"I've nay talked about that with anyone since it happened. I...I don't be knowin' where to start."
"I heard you beat the tar out of an officer."
"That be God's truth, Lieutenant, but if ever a man had it comin', it was him."
"What did he do?"
"He beat up a girl real bad, Lieutenant, and did... other things to her. She was a prostitute, but nobody should be treated like that."
"Did you know her?"
"Aye... I did, since she was a wee girl. Sophie her name was and she was the daughter of one of my oldest friends. She went to the Nexus 'cause she'd found a good job and my friend asked if I could kinda check up on her for him next time I be goin' there. It was her idea to be meetin' in a bar to talk; I think she didna' want me seein' her digs." He sighed and shook his head. "Sophie was a fair lass, but, truth to tell, she was always a bit naïve and way too trusting. The job was some kind of scam and she be runnin' out of money within a month after she got there. Took to the streets, as the sayin' goes, to survive."
He paused and took a deep breath. Harris could see the pain in his eyes.
"She was worked over a week earlier, the poor lass, and she was still hurtin' so bad when I be meetin' with her that she could nay hardly walk. She tried to hide the bruises on her face, but I could still see 'em. It were just bad luck, but the officer who did it be comin' with a couple of his toadies 'bout a half hour after we did. Drunk as Lords they was and every bit as high and mighty! Sophie turned white and pointed to the one who'd roughed her up. I dinna want trouble so we were makin' to leave straight away. Bastard got between us and the door, grabbed Sophie's arm and made like to drag her over to his table."
Hawkins paused again, swallowed.
"When she told him to leave her alone, he turned mean! I swear I've never seen anything like it before or since, Lieutenant. It was like dealing with the Devil himself! He told her all the things he was gonna do to her, just like last time. I tried getting' between 'em, tellin' him we dinna want no trouble and we be leavin' but the bastard took a swing at me. I guess I kinda lost it then. I think I only slugged him twice, Lieutenant, and in maybe three seconds, he be cold on the floor. One of his buddies whacked me with a chair, one of the bouncers stunned me, and the MPs came. The rest I think you'll be knowin', I were court- martialed and shipped out here."
"So, you weren't involved with her?"
"Heavens no, Lieutenant, she were my friend's daughter. I was goin' to give her some money to help her to be gettin' back on her feet, but I never got the chance. I didn't dare to be sayin' anything; my buddy would have been mortified."
"What happened to her?"
"The officer was from a filthy rich family and, to be tellin' you the truth, they weren't bad people. The mistake they be makin' was thinkin' he'd be changin'. I tell you, Lieutenant, the bloke was just pure evil, a black sheep, a bad seed. The family were bein' in the habit of cleanin' up after him. When they be findin' out about Sophie, they be takin' care of her. In fact, they be payin' her a lot of money to keep quiet. That be another reason I could na' be sayin' anything. She be findin' a sailor who did na' care about her past and they be settled down. I haven't seen her since the...incident, but her father still be writin' to me. She be havin' a baby last year and her sailor seems to be a pretty good chap."
"What about the bad seed?"
"There be some justice in the Universe, Lieutenant. He managed to be stayin' in the Navy, but within six months the authorities be findin' him near dead in a passageway in a very bad part of the Nexus. Whoever be workin' him over was sendin' a message. He'd been cut up by someone who be knowin' how to give pain and how to be makin' it last. Word is that a pimp be doin' it. Apparently his yen for to be hurtin' prostitutes hadn't been changin' any by his experience with me."
"That's quite a story, Hawk."
"You'll be the first person I ever told about it."
"Don't worry, Hawk, the story is safe with me."
"I dinna ever doubt that, Lieutenant. So you'll be considerin' the ensign's plan?"
"As I said earlier, I don't see where we have too many other options." Harris yawned. "Can you take the watch, Hawk? If I don't get some sleep I'm going to be totally worthless!"
"No problem, Lieutenant," said Hawkins. "But there is one more thing..."
"What is it, Hawk."
"Now that I think on it, if ought should be happenin' to me, you might just be telling Sophie MacPherson. She lives in the Holyrood section of New Edinburgh."
Harris nodded solemnly. "Will do, Hawk."
"Thanks, Lieutenant."
"No problem. I'm going to go get some sleep now. Wake me in four hours."
Harris headed for the other side of the bridge.
Chapter 39
The Veritian Way, also referred to as "The True Path," is a Christian fundamentalist sect noted for their views on the strict interpretation of Biblical teachings, with special emphasis on Old Testament guidelines for living a pure and righteous life. Most members are located on Heard's World, a planet originally colonized by them, in a remote corner of the Santana Quadrant where they live simple lives in a more or less agrarian communal setting. While their doctrine is mostly pacifist in nature, Veritian Way members are allowed to enter military service and even to engage in combat, if the cause is deemed justified. Because of the austere lifestyle and their narrow views on racial purity, they never were a very large group to begin with and their numbers have been in decline for the last several decades. Recently many followers of the Way have rejected the racist views of the founders and have embraced a more universal view wherein they openly welcome individuals of all human races to join their movement...
...A more sinister offshoot of the Veritian Way is the radical Veritian Brotherhood of Christ Resurgent, a reportedly violent sect that seeks to spread this group's more strident and traditional doctrines on racial purity and the intolerance of other belief systems by force. The leaders generally rise through the ranks and are said to be anointed to the post by the Lord God Almighty Himself. This group was openly sympathetic to the Opposition viewpoint during the Succession War with many of its members boldly participating as combatants for the Opposition cause. At the turning point of the Succession War, they were the sole operators of God's Almighty Sword, an Excalibur Class heavy cruiser. The Brotherhood has never retracted or apologized for any of these actions...
...Members of this group usually abandon their given names and take instead a name they have chosen for themselves. The names are taken directly from scripture or have strong Biblical connotations...
Hartwell Wrist Comp reference notes highlighted for further review by Tamara Carlisle. Excerpt is from "Life on the Fringe: Oddball Religious Groups of the Federation," by Betsy Harcourt Schumacher.
New Ceylon Orbital Station, Governor's Suites, October 8, 2598.
Hanna Jordan finished changing the dressing on the wounded security officer's leg and helped him limp back over to the makeshift hospital bed that he had been resting on. This man was her only patient and he was from the orbital station, not from among the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood soldiers, in their old but still quite serviceable battle armor, had suffered no casualties whatsoever during the brief skirmish accompanying their invasion of the station. This poor man had been shot just because one of those trigger-happy goons of Ezra's had wanted to shoot someone. They had, in fact, killed at least two dozen people during the short raid, all of them for no good reason and all of them innocent civilians, even that poor, brave security chief who had only been armed with a stun rod.
The whole thing made her sick to her stomach. That spawn of Satan, Ezra, with his silver tongue and persuasive ways, had been lying to her and Caleb the whole time about the purpose of their mission. All those people dead at the Reclamation Center, here at the the orbital station, and onboard the Boise. She felt dirty and used. She was also badly frightened. What she had overheard just an hour ago, the Brotherhood's horrifying plan for the Meridi
an Ambassador, had made up her mind for her. She had no choice, she was leaving the service of that scoundrel and his henchmen as soon as she could.
What she and her husband had been taught and had been living -- The Veritian Way -- was a means to preserve a righteous and just life style that was rapidly disappearing. It was not an excuse for the hatred and racial purging and other ungodly things these men claimed to be doing in the name of God. The Veritian Brotherhood, she sniffed in disgust, what a bunch of hypocrites and misfits! Besides, if they found out about what she had overheard, she had no doubt that she would be their next victim!
She had a sudden bout of sick worry. What about Caleb? Her husband had been on the ship that had gone back to the Scrapyard to "tie up some loose ends," in Ezra's words, and no one had heard from him or anyone else aboard that ship for way too long.
She looked around the makeshift infirmary and scooped a few meager supplies into her medical kit. She checked her patient one more time, assuring herself that he was resting quietly and slipped out of the door. Ezra and his lieutenants were having a meeting in the posh former office of the station's governor and weren't likely to be back for more than an hour, at least.
Hanna got past the guard station by simply saying that she needed more supplies from the druggist shop down the corridor. The guards, bored out of their heads, absently waved her through. She knew that the station had eight stairwells, each aligned with a spot where one of the spokes connected with the torus of the station proper. Her plan was to get to one of them and make her way to the outer levels of the station. Maybe then she could find somewhere to hide out. Or maybe she would simply curl up somewhere and die. With Caleb gone...
She prayed softly out loud.
"Dear heavenly Father, I beseech you. You have ever been my guiding light. Show me what to do. I was led astray by a very wicked man and I fear I have lost my beloved husband. Help me, Father..."
She went on for several minutes, as was their way, and finally, as praying always did for her, she began to feel a little better. Well enough to function anyway.
"...Thank you, Almighty Father. Amen."
The key to her escape plan was the druggist's shop. The invaders had arrested the petrified pharmacist and dragged him off somewhere. They brought Hanna in to take inventory of what was in the shop and to stock up on medical supplies, which were in very short supply among the terrorist group. While she was inspecting the shop, she found a door in the back that led to a hidden spiral staircase that led downward. She had carefully, and fearfully, inspected the staircase and discovered that it went into a residence located just below, on the second deck of the station. Apparently the pharmacist lived there. Perhaps there were many places on the station with stairs between levels but this was the only one she knew of and she was pretty sure that Ezra and his men weren't aware of it.
As expected, the drugstore was empty as she made her way carefully back through the aisles to the door where she had seen the staircase. With her heart hammering, she went down the stairs to the residence below. The outside door to the residence had been designed to keep people out, not to keep the residents in. She simply turned the door handle and found herself outside in the main corridor of the station, on the second deck. She walked about a quarter of a kilometer until she came to one of the main stairwells. She peeked carefully around the edge of the stairwell to check the status of the guard up at the top. To her immense relief, the man was slumped on his chair, obviously asleep. With another silent prayer, she went as quietly as she could to the downward set of stairs and descended. She kept going down until she was all the way at the bottom. With no idea what to do next, she said another prayer and, after a short hesitation, went to the east. After wandering for more than twenty minutes someone challenged her.
"Who goes there?"
The gruff voice startled her.
"My name is Hanna and I'm lost." That much was certainly true. The stress of the last three hours along with the loss of her husband and the horrifying results of the mission she had been deceived into being a part of were finally too much. She burst into tears.
"Please...Please help me."
"You need to get back to your quarters, Ma'am."
"I...I'm not from the station. I have nowhere to go!"
The two guards looked at one another for a long moment.
"Can you keep watch for a while, Tommy? I'll take her to Irene."
"No problem, Kyle. Bring me back somethin' to eat would you?"
The man treated her gently, despite his rough voice, and apologized when he blindfolded her. He spun her around a few times and then took her by the arm and led her off in a direction she could only guess at. After probably half an hour, which seemed much longer, during which they rode a maintenance cart, stopped and greeted another guard station, changed carts, stopped and negotiated several airtight doors on foot, they finally went through a smaller doorway -- she was short and she had to stoop to get through it -- and the guard took her blindfold off. They were in a long, narrow room with a low ceiling. Scattered groups of people were clumped together talking, some of them heatedly. Over in one corner there was another group gathered around a makeshift viewscreen. The guard led her over to a tall, beautiful woman with auburn hair who was working with another five or six women, one of whom was holding a baby. The women were in the middle of preparing a large meal. The guard handed off his charge.
"This woman says her name is Hanna and she asked for us to help her."
The tall woman smiled kindly and held out her hand.
"Hello, Hanna, I'm Irene Marshall."
Irene saw a slight, scrawny woman with brown, greying hair that was done up in a single long braid. She had a pretty, but careworn face.
"Thank God!" the woman said. "My prayers have been answered!"
Chapter 40
UTFN Reclamation Center, on board the wreck of FNS Terrier, October 9, 2598.
Ensign Tamara Carlisle woke up, not fully rested, but feeling well enough to function. After taking a few minutes to don a coverall and make sure she was presentable using the camera in her wrist computer to view a hologram of herself, she grabbed a food tube and went over to the command console. Harris was on the other side of the bridge looking through the periscope but he had heard the soft sounds she'd been making and saw her take station at the command console out of the corner of his eye. With their argument and their awkward interactions from a few hours earlier still fresh in their minds, both remained stiffly formal.
"Anything yet, Lieutenant?"
"Nope, still quiet, Ensign."
"No news is good news, Sir."
"Amen. Did you sleep okay, Ensign?"
"Yes, I did, Sir. I thought I'd take a few minutes while I eat to check out some more of the ship's log."
"Good plan. Hawkins is sleeping, it'd be best if you did something quiet for a while, he can use the rest."
She checked her wrist computer and input the code listed for the Terrier on the Captain's login page on the Terrier's command console. She waited for a few moments for the video log to come online.
"Any idea how much more time we have, Sir?"
"I make it probably eight hours or so. I don't expect them to reach turn over for at least another six."
Carlisle began going through the log. After several minutes she found some of the material she had been looking for. That and quite a lot more.
Still mindful of the tension between them, she nevertheless called out to Harris.
"Lieutenant, could you come over here for minute? You need to see this..."
Harris came across the bridge and looked at the screen over her shoulder. He was immediately aware of his nearness to her; the clean smell of her hair mixed with the remaining hint of the perfume that had caused so much trouble just a few hours ago. With an effort he concentrated his attention on the viewscreen.
"Look," she said, pointing to the screen, "this entry is from a week before the final battle." The screen showed a thirty-
something woman from the shoulders up. She had short brown hair cut in a neat military style and wore Captain's bars on the collar of her khakis. Carlisle unfroze the display and the woman began talking.
"...Ship's log, Captain Eliza Evans, FNS Terrier reporting. We have all decided to go ahead with the modifications to the ship as suggested by Commander Arthur's engineering crew. I am concerned that the engineer who made all these suggestions, a Mr. F. Talbot, is just an Ensign and not a very experienced one at that. However, the Lieutenant's personnel files show him to be a brilliant student and the chief engineer on Arthur's flagship is impressed enough that he said he will back the young man's theories. The only reason I am even considering making these modifications is that these Mark IV destroyers are so obsolete and outclassed that going into this battle is probably a suicide mission from the outset. See appendix XII of this log for further details on the modifications..."
The report continued, but Carlisle fast forwarded to a different date.
"This is from two days later." Carlisle skipped past the daily introductory remarks to the relevant section of the log. For this recording session, Captain Evans was wearing her Captain's hat, and had done something different with her hair.
"...We head out towards the Whitney jump point in two hours. Our modifications to the ship are complete and the live ammunition firing of the forward railguns was successful. The junior engineer, Ensign Talbot, assures us that with the aft capacitor banks on each side routed to the front launchers, the projectiles will be pumped up to a velocity of nearly fourteen thousand meters per second, and at those speeds, they will penetrate the shields of the enemy's ships, even the larger ones. I think there's a better than fifty-fifty chance that he's right and we can do some offensive damage. I'm much more skeptical of the hull coating, however. Details on the hull coating are also contained in Appendix XII, but it's really quite simple. The engineer says that a coating of Type B SFN ion drive reaction fluid on the hull will shield the ship from several direct hits from enemy pulse beams, even those of the more powerful weapons. I don't have high hopes, but, fortunately, the material was very easy to apply. The reaction fluid will coat nearly anything it comes in contact with. Simply opening several barrels and inverting them on the front of the hull coated the entire front of the ship within a half hour or so. We applied a total of three barrels; the engineer said that was all that were needed. Larger quantities wouldn't add any more protection. I don't see how the stuff could work, but Commander Arthur has ordered all of the destroyers under his command, including his own ship, to make these modifications..."
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