by Chris Hechtl
“It has been a long time coming,” he said. “This, and what we are about to do. And all of you have passed through a horrible rite of passage to get here. You have all been scalded by war; you have all seen what it costs. You are all here because you don't want that to happen to anyone ever again. Nor do I.”
He paused a moment. “For thousands of years, men and women just like you have put on that uniform for many reasons, but they all boil down to that simple thing. To serve and protect your fellow sapients. To guard them from those who mean them harm, even when they don't think they need or want it. To be there, when the call to arms sounds, ready and willing.”
“I like a famous quote, trained in the art of war, but the profession of peace.” He paused to let that sink in a moment. “It is literally true. Each of you are about to undergo a major change in your life. You will be reshaped and molded, just as your experience with the Horathians has reshaped and molded you. But this time you will be better. You will receive implants, geriatric treatments, and most importantly of all, the training to fight back,” he said.
There was a soft growl of approval and agreement when he said that. He nodded.
“Some of you may perish. But you will do so knowing you are protecting others, protecting your comrades, your families, and those who can't fight back. Remember that. You have something worth fighting for!” He thundered into the echoing silence.
“Let us begin,” he said, raising his right hand. “Please raise your right hand and repeat after me...”
<----*----*----*---->
When the Admiral finished with the oath he slowly dropped his hand. He could feel the force emitters come online behind him. The hatch clicked. The boat bay's force field had been repaired and thoroughly tested for this event. The hatch opened, spooking a few in the room. They gasped in fright, but their fellows didn't move, and the Admiral didn't either so they stood firm.
Behind the Admiral he knew what they were seeing. The sun was rising; it's rays clawing their way over the gas giant's bulk. It was bright despite the field's ability to block out most of the harmful light. A few people raised a hand to ward off the light.
“The Xenos took something from us, they took the light of civilization. It's our job to bring it back. Bring it back and guard it from ever going out again.”
“It's the dawning of a new day ladies and gentlemen. Too long have we labored in the dark, waiting for the sun to rise again. Today, with you, that changes. Let's pass this on to others. And let's make the Horathian's regret ever meeting any of us,” the Admiral said.
The bay broke out into wild cheers over that statement. He nodded. “Dismissed,” he said.
At the hatch door he nodded and stopped next to Mister Takagi. He gave each recruit a series of pills and glass of water, then instructions to swallow it. Each did so. Then they left. When they went to bed the red pill would kick in, dissolving into a packet of nanites and material. They would go to work taking the other pills apart and using the materials to create the basic military ID implants. Sprite initialized each before the Admiral handed it over with a handshake and welcome aboard.
When each person woke they would be military personnel, or at least the larval form. It would be up to the medics to take things beyond that point.
“You do have a flare for the dramatic.”
“Sometimes I get it right,” the Admiral replied, looking around in approval.
“Sometimes,” Sprite agreed. “This time you did well Admiral. I'm proud of you.”
“Thank you Commander. Now let's really get to work.”
“Aye aye. Sir.”
Chapter 17
Doctor Glenn reported that the military personnel were ready for the next stage of their implants. The Admiral had him run them through first stage geriatric stabilization treatments and basic repairs or physical updating before he agreed to proceed.
Reluctantly, Admiral Irons used his nanites to augment Doctor Glenn. Sprite ran him through the ethics test when he woke and was sufficiently lucid to handle it.
Marty was back on his feet within three days, just in time for the ship to finish pushing Anderson to the three ships. The Admiral used materials from the wrecked ship to make a pair of medical replicators for the infirmary, and oversaw their installation and initialization. He had Sprite walk Marty through the keys codes, then left them to learning the new device. Marty practically gloated over the medical replicator like it was a new toy, which in a way it was. A serious device, but an important and powerful tool too.
The Admiral went back to work organizing the tearing apart of Anderson. Anything of value had already been stripped and shipped out already. He accessed the list Kinja and Hoshi sent him and then made certain the survey crews kept an eye out for any useful items. If they could get away with using something over remaking it for now, all the better. They were on a time crunch, the enemy was due to show up in a minimum of three weeks, if not sooner.
After two days of experimentation the medics reported they were ready to precede with the second stage implants. Holly was the first to undergo the procedure. Marty was justifiably nervous, working on his wife. He was all smiles a few hours later when he reported that she was stable and in good condition. With that success under his belt, he managed to upgrade an additional ten people to full basic implant status before she reported back to duty. After that they managed to do a few a day.
<----*----*----*---->
“How are they?” the Admiral asked. He checked in with Gustov daily while making his rounds. Up until now he hadn't bothered going into the brig itself though.
None of the Horathian's had seen or understood who he was. They might have heard him over the PA, but they probably hadn't connected it to Doe yet.
“Fine sir no matter what they think or say. Bitching and whining about the food, crowding, and facilities,” Gustov said, grinning as he shrugged. “The usual.”
“Are you serious; after what they put us through? I’m glad they are getting a taste of their own medicine,” Irons replied with a chuckle.
“There is that. We've got a request from the senior surviving officer, an Ensign Derrick. He wanted to speak with you to put his petition through.”
“Oh he did did he?” the Admiral asked, amused again.
“Shall I have him come out?” Gustov asked, turning to the compartment.
“No,” Irons said. “Let's just stick my head in the lion's den. I want to make a few things clear,” he said.
“You are so not doing this,” Sprite grumbled.
“Watch me,” the Admiral replied firmly. “Shields Defender,” Irons ordered. Defender nodded. The Admiral waited a beat for his shields to come up and then nodded to the Marine near the door.
The Marine glanced at his boss and then shrugged and keyed the lock open.
Irons stepped in as men and women looked up. Some swung their legs off bunks or dropped to the deck from upper bunks. A few nonchalantly pretended to ignore him.
He surveyed the compartment. They actually had it better than the former occupants had it; there were a third less bodies in such a confined space.
“Ensign Derrick?” Irons asked.
Bard looked at him in disdain. “Just because you put on a pretty uniform doesn't make you an Admiral,” he mocked.
“In my case it does,” Irons replied, turning to him. His eyes flashed coldly. “And if you want a third lesson in manners, I can always give it to you,” he said. “Just remember, your knee isn't healed fully. I could do the same to the other leg if you want though. That way you'll have a matching set.”
Bard stared at him. “You didn't... that was Doe... wait...” he stared at the Admiral's face for along moment. Finally his eyes widened when he saw something. He pointed. “It's him! It really is him! I don't know how but it is! Doe!”
“Correct,” the Admiral replied, now amused. He turned, shrugging slightly. “My real name is John Henry Irons. Fleet Admiral,” he said stiffly. “John Doe is a rather
famous alias.”
“I knew it was familiar!” Bard said. He stared, licking his lips. He was pale, clearly shaken. “How?”
“Let them guess Admiral,” Sprite said. “It'll keep them off balance.”
Irons gave a choppy nod and ignored the question. He turned as a chunky male in a dirty uniform came forward.
“Um... Admiral. I asked to see you,” the Ensign said.
“Yes?”
“Can we not do it here?” the Ensign asked. He looked around.
“If not here, then some other time. My time is heavily scheduled right now,” the Admiral replied. “We're a bit busy.”
“I...” the Ensign frowned. One of the seven women in the compartment motioned to him. “Um, the food...”
“Is the same slop you fed us for years. Get used to it,” Gustov growled.
“Do you have to eat in front of the men? Um... where are you getting that other food?” the Ensign asked.
“Food replicators are fully functional,” Gustov replied with a grin. “All but the one in here,” he said. Irons turned to look at him. He noted the sudden tension in the room. He turned back as his shields crackled. Defender pulsed them, making the buffer of force felt through the air it pushed. Then Sprite altered the settings on the shields, blocking the red wavelength of light but letting the others through. The shield glowed for a moment before she restored it.
“I wouldn't,” the Admiral said coldly. “Any attempt... any,” he said, pointedly, looking around. “At harming the Marines or other personnel on this ship will make me reconsider your status in a negative and rather permanent way. Understood?” he said.
There were a few nods, starting with the Ensign. Bard nodded right off.
“Fine then. Next?”
“We're kind of crowded. Not that you care,” Bard growled.
“Nope, you’re right, I don't,” the Admiral, replied.
“We could use some medical supplies and some extra blankets,” the Ensign said.
“I'll think about it,” the Admiral replied. “Sickbay is rather busy right now.”
“Supplies are limited to the crew,” Bard growled in disgust. “Where have I heard that before?” he demanded.
Irons snorted. “Actually, no, the medical replicators are now fully functional.”
“You...”
“I can do a lot of things. So can this crew now. What else?”
“Um...” Derrick frowned. A female kicked him, then looked meaningfully at him and then the Admiral. She jerked her head. He nodded and cleared his throat. “Sorry, dry,” he said. “I um, request separate quarters for the ladies. We've had some issues and they've requested it for their own protection,” he said.
The Admiral studied him for a moment, and then the seven women. One had fresh bruising on her face and one arm. “I'm guessing the men are little more than animals and can't comport themselves like fellow sapients?” he asked, looking at the women.
The women stared. One nodded. The one with bruises nodded as well after a moment. She bit her lip.
“I'll look into it. For now ladies, I suggest you do like the ladies who were in here did, band together in one location. Don't do anything unless you are in pairs. Don't dick tease either.”
“Frack, that's it?” One woman demanded. “That's all your going to do?”
“Did you step up to stop the raping of the prisoners? Did you?” Gustov demanded. “Did you stop some of your friends like that bitch Sikes from raping some of us guys?”
“If you can get it up you wanted it,” a woman scoffed. “Don't hand that crap to me,” she growled. “With us it's different.”
“A double standard. If someone tortures you, threatens your life, or drugs you, it's still rape. Coercion doesn't mean compliance,” Irons growled.
“Says you,” a woman said.
“Says me indeed. Since I'm the one in charge, my opinion unlike yours counts,” the Admiral replied. “That it?”
Derrick looked around the compartment. Stony silence answered him. Slowly he nodded.
“Fine. Enjoy your stay,” Irons said. He turned and followed Gustov out. Despite his shields his shoulders itched. He didn't like turning his back on the Horathians.
“Ballsy,” Gustov said. “They know we won't beat them. They are lucky we don't space them. I don't see why we don't sir.”
“Not unless we have to,” the Admiral replied, recognizing the ugly desire in the Marines. They were fortunately keeping such impulses under tight control. That said a lot to the Admiral. “I want them to enjoy their new life. We'll see about the separate quarters.”
“I don't know why Admiral, it will divide my manpower.”
“Which you have enough of now,” Sprite said. “Separating them may let them think they'll get a chance to escape. It could also create a few cracks in their collective armor. Divide and conquer. I bet just the threat of returning one of the women back into that hell's den will make them more interested in talking.”
Gustov shifted uncomfortably. Irons shrugged. “Like I said, coercion. We'll see. For now, keep monitoring them.”
“Aye sir.”
<----*----*----*---->
“Admiral, you mentioned we're still short on the crew... we've got a potential pool but it is... tainted,” Sprite said, coming to him while he sat in the Captain's office. Things were really shaping up. The new augmented personnel were coming on line and learning their new abilities. It was putting some pressure on the ship's limited computer network, but so far so good. He made another note to bump up the priority of the net repairs and upgrade.
“Tainted?” the Admiral asked, grimacing. “I'm not following. Unless you mean...”
“Yes. Several Horathian’s have quietly asked to defect to become crew. Some were former shipmates of the captured freighter survivors who had turned their coats to the Horathians,” Sprite reported.
“I'm... not sure I am comfortable about that. But it is something to consider,” the Admiral said thoughtfully.
“Admiral, a man who turned his coat once can do it again.” Defender objected.
“Some people will do anything to survive. Sometimes you have to set your pride aside and do what is necessary,” the Admiral replied.
“I think you should consider what you just said very carefully when we have time Admiral,” Sprite said.
The Admiral blinked in confusion. “What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded.
“Think about it. But as to what the Lieutenant is saying, I have to agree with the Admiral,” she said, refusing to go any further with her answer. “And remember Lieutenant, we will be watching, and by we I mean mainly you. And we will give them implants. And I believe you and I both know the monitoring systems for treason.”
“Yes,” Defender responded slowly. “But...”
“I'm interested in what they know as well. Separating them from the rest will weed out some of the sheep from the wolves as well.”
“You're going to do this anyway,” Defender said. “No matter what objection I voice, the decision has been made,” the AI said, sounding petulant.
“By no means,” the Admiral said, shaking his head. “I want you Lieutenant to interview each candidate with Sprite. Multiple interviews, you will handle security. I want you to monitor each for how truthful they are, and I want you to remind them that you are watching.”
“Admiral, that is by no means perfect,” Defender replied.
“No, but it is a start. Once they have implants, you can do a security evaluation monthly if necessary, and monitor their responses through their implants if needed.”
“True,” the AI replied.
“Anyone you have problems with will go to the back of the line and be reprocessed until we can be sure where their true loyalties lie. And if you can get recommendation material and background material from the survivors, that would help as well,” the Admiral said.
“Putting some of them in the same room could get ugly,” Sprite said. “Talk about a soa
p opera,” she said. “And oh, by the way, the Horathian Doctor wants to turn his coat too. What do we do about that?”
“That's tricky,” the Admiral said, exhaling slowly. “We'll start with the others first.”
“Understood.”
“Admiral, my work load is heavy,” Sprite said.
“So is mine,” the Admiral replied. “So is Defender's. We're all on borrowed time here, so we've got to step up. Do what you can. If you have to, see what you can delegate to Phoenix, Proteus, or Bounty.”
“Understood Admiral,” Sprite replied. “I'll do my best,” she said and then signed off.
Irons watched her sign off and then sat back, thinking over that little cutting remark she had hit him with. He frowned thoughtfully, uncomfortable where it would lead. He wasn't certain he wanted to know or find out just now.
<----*----*----*---->
Sprite heard the call over the security radio and checked the brig cameras. She noted the security guards pulling the young man out. He was hunched over, chest heaving, dripping blood. He gasped and collapsed onto the deck. “Medic!” Gustov called through his implants. “Not that he deserves one,” he muttered.
“Admiral,” Sprite said, turning her attention to the Admiral. He looked up. “Clancy, the Horathian who had surrendered with Ian was stabbed in the brig just now.”
The Admiral scowled. “Have Gustov do another search. A full scan and body search if needed. If he has to, pull them out, do a strip search, have the medics do a cavity search while another team search the brig. I want any additional weapons or other items found and removed.”
“Understood. From the look of it, it's an improvised weapon. Plastic.”
“All right. We'll figure something out, even if we have to do a count on the silverware for every meal. I don't want this happening again. I especially don't want this happening to one of our people,” he growled.
“Lieutenant Gustov is in full agreement now that he has thought of that as well sir,” Sprite said. She knew Irons was in a foul mood. “They are transporting the prisoner to sickbay now. The wound is in his chest.”
