by Neal Jones
Benjamin scrubbed a hand over his face as he walked through the trauma bays one more time. He nodded to his officers as he passed them, showing them what he hoped was a look of confidence and professionalism. This wasn't the first time the CMO had been in this type of situation, so putting up the brave front wasn't difficult. But the difference now was that Jennifer and Emalie were back on Earth, safe and sound. During the war, when Ben had been stationed near the frontlines and Jennifer had accompanied him, the doctor's thoughts had always been preoccupied with his wife's safety, distracting him to a point that had made it hard for his military discipline to keep control. But now that Jennifer and Emalie were nowhere near Exxar-One, Ben felt only relief, and he should have been able to completely focus on the situation at hand.
Except that all he could think about was the arguments that he and his wife had had over the last several months. And the fact that Jennifer had never stated clearly if she was planning to return to Exxar-One, even after the current crisis was over. But while those two things were distracting enough, what was really preoccupying the doctor's mind were the words that Jennifer hadn't said. The unspoken threat that they both knew had been hanging in the air between them before she'd ended the "discussion" by calling Emalie into the kitchen for dinner.
If she wasn't coming back to Exxar-One, and if Ben didn't request a transfer, then the marriage was over. Jennifer was going to remain on Earth with Emalie, and if Ben wanted to see her he would have to take leave to do it or fight in court for joint custody.
The CMO sighed deeply as he began a tour of the rear hallways of the ER. There were almost two dozen treatment bays in this section, reserved for emergencies that weren't life-or-death. A group of med-techs ended their hushed conversation as the doctor approached, but he only nodded to them as he passed. Everything here was in order, and he moved on to the supply rooms. Doctor Eppler was rummaging through the cabinets of the first room, a compad in one hand, and he jerked with surprise as Rosenberg entered.
"We've already accounted for everything," Ben murmured dryly as he pulled up a chair.
Sam nodded. "I know." But he didn't give up his task, and the CMO motioned to the compad.
"What have you got so far?"
"I finished counting the number two hypos." He handed Ben the pad. "The regenerator packs are next."
"You ever been married?"
It took a moment for Sam to adjust to the abrupt change of subject. "No. I never saw the point, especially when you're in the military. It's too much work." He finished counting the packs - "Twenty-seven" - and then turned to the CMO. "What are you going to do? Assuming we survive all this, I mean."
Ben shrugged. "I don't know."
"Yeah, you do. You just don't want to admit it."
"All right, fine. I don't want to give up this post. I'm the first to admit that these conditions aren't ideal for raising a family, but this crisis will pass. I have more resources at my disposal here than I've ever had at any of my other postings, and I finally have a prime opportunity to really dive into my research instead of just scratching the surface." He blew air through his teeth. "I can't believe she doesn't understand that! She hasn't tried once to see it from my point of view!"
"But you did renege on your promise, and women take that shit seriously. Not only that, you didn't discuss any of it with her before accepting the transfer."
"You and my wife have something going on that I should know about?"
Sam chuckled as he reached for a stool. "No, but you know how scuttlebutt is. Besides, you pour your heart out to Si'Kora like she's your therapist, and you don't even do it in the privacy of your office. I just happened to overhear the details."
Rosenberg gave a frustrated grunt as he glared at the compad. After a few moments, he said quietly, "She doesn't get it. No matter how many times I've explained it to her, she just doesn't get it. I know that what I did was unacceptable and that I'm completely in the wrong, but if she truly understood how important my research is to me, she would forgive me."
"Iverson's Disease. The one your sister had."
"Yeah."
"Kade told us about it. That's a hell of a thing to suffer, especially when you're that young. I'm really sorry."
"Thanks." Ben glanced at Sam and then looked around the cramped closet. "I should get back to my rounds."
Sam nodded as he accepted the compad, and he watched with sympathy as the CMO left the room.
Chapter 26
____________________
( 1 )
There had been twenty-two officers on the command deck when Colonel Serehl's fleet had de-cloaked and surrounded the station. Now, those same officers were scattered throughout a cell block in the brig of Serehl's flagship, and they were all silent. Major Saveck and Commander Hiller shared a cell, but Commodore Gabriel hadn't been brought in at all. Saveck estimated that it had been at least a couple hours since their capture, and he decided that enough time had elapsed. Gabriel had left this part of the plan up to the major, and Kralin had wanted to give Serehl enough time to deploy his soldiers to Exxar-One. If he acted as Gabriel and Saveck expected him to, he would send most of his men in the first wave and keep back a few reserve units, just in case.
But enough time had gone by - or at least Saveck hoped that his estimate was correct since his commlink had been confiscated with everyone else's - that the assault against Exxar-One's crew should be well underway, and the Tl'Keth should be operating with a sparse crew complement. Only two soldiers had been left to guard this cell block, and the major watched them with a keen gaze, trying to figure out what Serehl had told them about this battle and the reasons behind it. Both of the men were lieutenants, and they were wearing Alliance military uniforms, same as Saveck and the other Chrisarii aboard Exxar-One. The only explanation that made sense was that Serehl had such a strong hold on the crew of his fleet that no one dared question his orders. With a reputation like his, it wouldn't bee too difficult to command that kind of allegiance and respect. If he told them to attack a Federation starbase, they would do it, believing that they were giving their lives for the empire and the Gods.
But surely not every single officer was that blinded by Serehl's charisma and power. The pair of lieutenants guarding Saveck and the other prisoners, for example, were trying to hide their fear behind a mask of cold bravado. It was easy to tell, because Saveck had once been in their position. These two had probably just graduated from the War Academy and were "scared shitless", as the human expression went. Saveck could tell by the way they clutched their rifles, and the steady, methodic pace that they kept as they circled the block. They were also trying desperately to avoid directly gazing at any of the prisoners. A seasoned warrior wouldn't be afraid to look his enemy in the eye, nor would he hesitate to intimidate and inflict pain. By now, one or both of the guards should have physically assaulted two or three of the prisoners. Nothing too damaging, of course, just a blow to the stomach or the cheek with the butt of a rifle.
Gabriel's plan hadn't included trying to enlist the aid of Serehl's soldiers, but Saveck knew that a fallback option couldn't hurt, and, if nothing else, these two would go down easy. He leaned slightly towards the front of the cell, trying to get a glimpse of the one across the aisle that held Lieutenant Ranoss. She, too, was watching for him, and she caught his gaze and nodded. She was ready. Saveck turned to Hiller and gave two quick, tiny jerks of his chin.
In the hour that Serehl had granted Commodore Gabriel to prepare his crew for surrender, Gabriel and Saveck had carefully selected the crew who would be present on the command deck when Serehl finally arrived to claim his prize. The command deck of a starbase the size of Exxar-One didn't need twenty-two officers to man it. Fifteen was plenty, eighteen at most, so the commodore figured that twenty-two was a nice, even number that wouldn't arouse suspicion on Serehl's part and provide a solid group that would enable a successful prison break.
In their pacing, the guards were spaced far enough apart so that they
were on opposite sides of the "track" at all times. Saveck waited until Number One was approaching his cell and Number Two was coming up on Ranoss'. In one swift movement he was on his feet and the slender, coin-size device that had been tucked inside his right sleeve was now in his palm. He pressed a button and hurled it at the forcefield that covered the wide entrance to the cell. The energy field flashed, sizzled, popped and vanished, and Saveck and Hiller were already charging Guard One. Over at Ranoss' cell, she had knocked out her forcefield at the same Saveck destroyed his, and she and Greene were assaulting Guard Two. Both of the soldiers went down without a sound, just as the major had anticipated, and Hiller moved quickly to the control panel where he deactivated the forcefields for the rest of the cell block. He then opened the weapons locker that was located in the wall behind him and started passing out rifles. There were only ten, and counting the two that were taken from the guards, that left ten prisoners unarmed.
Saveck inputted a few commands into the console, and he scowled at the readouts that appeared. "We're locked out of the primary systems. These aren't standard security failsafes. Petty Officer Criswell, can you do what you need to from this console?"
"I'll do my best, sir." Bailey Criswell was one of the officers who'd been specially selected by Gabriel. Calling her a computer expert was putting it mildly. She displayed an almost superhuman skill at cracking almost any code, bypassing almost any failsafe or firewall, and she set to work as soon as Saveck stepped aside.
Everyone else fanned out to cover the cell block and ensure that there were no other entrances or booby traps. The pair of lieutenants had been secured in separate cells, handcuffed and gagged.
"This is going to take a little longer than I initially anticipated, sir," Criswell said absently after a few minutes, her gaze never wavering from the terminal screen. "But I think I can get it done." Her forehead creased slightly as she continued. "You were right. The operational software, as well as the basic system layout, is different from what I was expecting. It's going to take some time to find what I'm looking for."
Hiller looked up into the far corner of the ceiling and took note of the tiny dome and its hidden eye. "Don't take too long. This block is being monitored."
"Don't be so sure," Ranoss replied. "If it was, we'd be under attack right now."
"Or maybe they're just giving us enough rope to hang ourselves," Hiller retorted.
"There's one way to find out." Saveck rummaged in the locker and found a scanner. He activated it and inputted a couple commands. "There's no one else in this section, or the deck above us. A patrol of four is passing on the deck below, and it looks like they're headed for a PTL."
"I found it!" Criswell exclaimed. "Excuse me a second." She turned around and stepped into the corner where she unzipped her trousers, reached inside the waistband of her underwear and pulled something out. She zipped up and returned the console where she inserted the data disc into the slot next to the screen. "Virus is uploading, and we should be good to go in ten minutes."
( 2 )
"You've had more than two hours, doctor. Why isn't he awake?" Colonel Serehl peered down at the unconscious patient, noting with pleasure that Gabriel appeared very pale but none the worse for wear.
The Tl'Keth's chief surgeon repressed a sigh as he checked the prisoner's vitals on the bio-monitor. "There was a minor complication during surgery, and the procedure took a little longer than I expected. He needs another hour, at least, to recover from the anesthetic and the operation itself. If I wake him now, he'll be too groggy and too out of it to understand what's happening to him. Your torture session will be useless."
"What kind of complication? Were you able to put in all the implants?"
"It was a problem with the anesthetic. The commodore had an allergic reaction, and we had to switch to something else in the middle of the operation. But I was able to put in all the implants, and if you're willing to wait an hour, your prisoner will be ready for his interrogation."
"No, doctor, I'd rather not wait that long. I'll be back in ten minutes. Get everything ready."
"Yes, colonel."
( 3 )
"All right, we're good to go. I think."
"You think?" Hiller echoed.
Criswell shrugged. "There's a big difference between the operating system of a raider and that of a dreadnought. I can't be certain the virus is embedding and replicating itself properly. We'll know for sure in about two minutes. There is the possibility that this virus had already been erased and/or stopped cold by failsafes and firewalls that I couldn't detect from here."
One of the nuggets of useful information that Garrett and his FCE team had pulled from the raider's core memory was that the raiders that had attacked Exxar-One were networked with one another, operating as a single unit, and because the engineers had the networking protocols, it was a simple matter to create a virus that could be transmitted to any future raiders that might attack the station. But once Serehl had showed up with his fleet, Gabriel had given Garrett and the FCE officers twenty minutes to modify their virus, and now the prisoners were crossing their fingers that the last minute changes would have the desired effect. If it all went according to plan, the dreadnought's main systems should start displaying major glitches in the next few minutes, which should eventually lead to primary system failures. And one of those failures should affect the enhanced defensive network and cause the Tl'Keth's deflector screens to completely fail. And somewhere along the line, if all the ships in the fleet were networked as the raiders had been, the virus should already be uploading itself to their systems and would eventually cause the same problems in the rest of the fleet as it was about to do here.
Once the chaos began, the twenty-two escaped prisoners would start making their way to weapons control and that was where the really tricky phase of this whole operation would begin.
( 4 )
He's home, on the ranch in Idaho, standing on the back porch. The moon is full, and its pale light washes over the cornfields and pastures like the aura of ghosts. He turns to the house, reaching for the doorknob but it's locked, and the windows are dark.
Something draws him out to the north pasture, and he starts walking. He realizes he's wearing his dress uniform, but it's incomplete. The silver bars, which indicate his years of service thus far, are missing from the left sleeve. He's also missing his white beret, and an icy wind kisses the tips of his ears and caresses the back of his neck. He walks along the same dirt road that he and Melissa used to ride the mares on, and Jason always made fun of Marc.
"Horseback riding is for sissies!"
The voice echoes in the dark like a gunshot, and he whips his head around to see if his brother is there now. But all is as quiet as a graveyard. The barn is up ahead, but there's no familiar whinny of restless horses, nor the insistent barking of Jake. The door is ajar, and the space beyond is as dark as the house.
He's at the pasture now, and there's something in the middle of it. As soon as he's close enough to see, he stops in his tracks and wants desperately to turn away, but he can't. The chair is medical one, designed like that the ones in a dentist's office. The man in it is bare-chested, and his skin is as pale as the moonlight. He's bound to the chair with straps around his wrists, ankles and waist, and the Chrisarii standing next to prisoner has only one eye.
Serehl looks up, and his black eye patch is gone. In its place is a swirling, writhing vortex of darkness that mangles and twists the left side of his face. It pulls at Marcus Gabriel, compelling him forward, and he has no choice but to obey. He looks down at his own face, at himself in the chair, and when he looks up at Serehl, a cloud of moths bursts from the cavity of the Chrisarii's left eye socket. They churn and whip about Gabriel's head, and he stumbles backward, waving his arms at the horde, the sound of their wings as loud as thunder in his ears, and he -
- screamed. His eyelids felt as heavy as the gravity well around a black hole, but he forced them open against the excruciating pain that ra
ced along his spine, sizzling and popping like an electric current to every nerve synapse in his body. He screamed and screamed, shrieking like a helpless child, and through the gray haze of his tear-stained vision, a splotch of crimson appeared.
The pain stopped.
Commodore Marcus Gabriel gasped, drawing in giant, heaving breaths, and his limbs jerked involuntarily against their restraints. He blinked, eventually clearing his field enough to see the ugly, twisted visage of Colonel Serehl's face very close to his own.
"Hello, commodore."
Gabriel tried to speak but his jaw wouldn't cooperate. The pain had clamped it shut so tight that it had almost snapped his teeth.
"No, no, relax. Don't try to talk just yet. Let the pain subside a little bit more. We have a very long session ahead of us, and I don't want you to waste all your energy just yet."
Serehl disappeared from Gabriel's field of vision, and the commodore's chair began to move in a more upright position. He was in a large room, probably a medical bay of some kind. There were no viewports and only one entrance. The lighting was dim, just enough to allow him to see his captor and the four walls, but large pockets of shadows remained. Besides the chair, the only other piece of furniture was a control console.
"You're probably wondering why I'm bothering with this procedure at all. Why not just blow up your station and be done with it?"
Gabriel coughed and worked up enough strength to finally speak. "Fuck ... you!"
Serehl chuckled as he slowly circled Gabriel's chair. "Yes, a very common human sentiment, and I'm sure that it makes you feel good to refuse the role of victim, but you will be dead soon enough, and various members of your crew will take their place in that seat." A compad was in his left hand, and he typed in a command.
Fleet Admiral Robert Gabriel appeared on the other side of the room. Marc blinked, stunned by the magic act, and while he was certain that it was a holographic illusion, it was difficult to ignore such a perfect and realistic replica. It was a younger version of his father, just as Marc remembered him on that summer day when the admiral had surprised his family by arriving home a week early. He'd been a commander then, first officer of the ECS Melville.
