by P J Strebor
Lucas Telford tried to push aside the ugly images that kept creeping into his thoughts. It only caused his heart to sink and his blood to boil. This situation should not have occurred, but once again the Francorum Navy’s reputation for unreliability held true. Bellinda’s crew would now pay the price for another example of Francorum's complacent attitude to her League responsibilities.
Captives from Iberia brought onboard had said that the Francorum warships had left three days before the raid. The Pruessens somehow discovered this and struck into the system without serious resistance. They stripped it of everything of value including forty two hundred of its population. Since the decimation of the North during the Plague war, the thriving slave trade had made the unfortunate detainees one of the most valuable commodities in the North. Especially if in their heads they carried the much sought after high tech training that the north had lost since the collapse of their civilization.
With their holds packed with high tech bootie and Iberians, the Pruessens were preparing to depart the system. Following the system hyper beacon Bellinda had egressed blind from hyperspace and into the waiting arms of the Pruessen squadron. In another hour the enemy squadron would have been gone. The difference between freedom and slavery. An hour.
For now the question lingered in the air like a sword. What would happen to them? He had a few unpleasant suspicions but pushed them to one side. Captain Hartman had promised them safe passage as long as they cooperated. The Pruessen marines who had come aboard had been coldly efficient but reasonable. Under the strictest orders from the captain the Athenians offered no resistance to their presence aboard. Could not if they wanted to. Every station had at least two marines observing. They were large, well armed and encased in unpowered body armor. With the Athenian's weapons confiscated there seemed little chance of overwhelming such a force. A brilliant escape plan would be useful about now.
The entire crew stood in the enormous number one cargo boat bay with a small contingent of marines guarding them. The gathering represented the Telford bloodline of twenty two, plus wives, husbands and crewmembers. Although not of the bloodline, the crew had been part of Bellinda’s compliment for so long they were as good as family. It was the way of the Independent traders to carry their entire family aboard. From the day they left family behind on Saint Joan, before fleeing south after the first war, the same mantra had governed their actions. Live as a family or die as a family, but never leave family behind.
After the first hour of waiting the crew began to shuffle their feet as children whined and the older folk took their rest on the hard deck plates. A nervous anticipation hung in the air, reflected in shifting eyes, brief, urgent discussions and a rising sense of apprehension
Lucas walked slowly to where his mother stood speaking with Captain Hartman. A dozen pairs of well trained eyes tracked him as he did so.
"Excuse me, captain," Lucas said, "may I have a word?"
She excused herself from the Pruessen captain and followed her son as he gestured for them to step out of earshot.
Lucas shot a quick look at Hartman whose hard features remained static. He could not be certain, but the Pruessen’s eyes could have surrendered the slightest hint of regret. What had the old girl been up to? "Captain?"
Celia smiled as if nothing in particular had happened recently. "Rogert has just given me the heads up on what to expect."
"Oh, has Rogert?" Lucas said. "Anything you'd care to share with your First Officer?"
"Certainly son," Celia said. "We are to be turned over to the Human Resources Section."
Lucas’ brow knitted. “A HR department?”
She snorted. “You know how the Pruessens are with euphemisms. No, sadly this is a cat of a different color.” She took a deep breath. “The HRS is the most feared entity within the empire. A malignancy with the power to appoint any person, Pruessen or other, into any role they see fit. Break the rules, even slightly; show a trace of disloyalty, commit the tiniest infraction and the HRS will fall on you like a house. According to Rogert their absolute power is feared absolutely by absolutely every human soul within Pruessen.”
Lucas shuddered at the thought of such indiscriminant power being placed into the hands of mere humans.
“I warned you about Jasper -”
"Jasper’s gone,” she snapped, “probably on the auction block by now, so get over it. This is where things get tricky, so the two of us have to be on our best game. Remember, nothing comes before the interests of the family. Right!"
"Right."
Mother and son locked eyes for a long moment.
“What’s next?”
“Yeah,” Celia said, “like I said, this gets tricky.” She rubbed her chin, never a good sign. “The gentleman we’re about to meet is the adjutant of the Kulak’s Internee Labor Camps. He put down the last uprising of slaves in the empire eighteen years ago, here on Kulak. Since then his power base has grown, significantly. He was awarded a gold eagle baton in recognition of his service. From the emperor himself.” She shook her head. “According to Rogert he’s an unpredictable psychopath with a God complex.”
A chill ran down Lucas’ spine.
“A character with too much power and too much time on his hands.” Quietly she added, “A megalomaniac who kills for the pleasure of it.”
Lucas shook his head. "So, what do we do? I assume that you have something up your sleeve."
"We will bide our time, son," the captain whispered. "When they think they have us sufficiently whipped, then and only then, will we strike."
"That's your master plan?" Lucas couldn't help shaking his head at the old girl.
"Yes." No humor in that remark. "But for the time being we have to take it on the chin. With any luck they'll keep us together."
Lucas considered that for a moment. The Pruessen Empire depended on their slave population. Even more so since the end of the war. A slave sat at the bottom of any social ladder. Yet at the same time they were a valuable commodity. However, slave owners could be unpredictable.
Yesterday the Iberian captives left the ship. The poor devils would be down on Kulak by now, awaiting their turn at the auction block.
His eyes scanned the eighty-eight crewmembers who filled out a small section of the huge number one boat bay. Their heads still held high, their faces cast with determination.
Jasper had been removed from the ship, under heavy guard, before the crew could get to him. Lucas hoped he was on the auction block awaiting his turn. He liked to imaging a fat, elderly Pruessen businessman taking a fancy to him. That, and a thousand other horrors would never make up for his cowardly betrayal.
His eyes came to rest on his family. His wife stood close to their children, Rebecca by her mother's side with Nathan wedged between them.
The sound of clicking heels on deck plates broke the mood. Lucas straightened his back as a small group of HRS goons marched into the boat bay. They stood out from the Pruessen naval personnel, their brown, high collared tunics and knee length black boots sending a strikingly clear message. WE are the masters. The smallest of the men, blond and overweight, stood for some time running his narrow eyes over the family. Lucas noted his pearl handled sidearm. Not a standard pulsar pistol but something far older. As the Pruessen examined the latest consignment of 'stock' he tapped the gold eagle head baton into his left palm. Having made his assessment of the cargo he tucked the baton under his left arm and held his hand out to his assistant. The large ugly guard slapped the clipboard into his waiting hand. It took no further investigation to know who this man was. His nametag, pinned with exact precision over his left breast pocket, contained one name. Manson. He ran a cursory eye over the group one more time then read from his clipboard.
"The following slaves will report to landing boat one for immediate disposition."
"Excuse me, Major Manson." Celia Telford took one step toward the HRS officer. Six raised Pulsar rifles greeted her. Manson looked up from th
e clipboard his eyebrows arched dangerously. The captain held up her hands at the ridiculous show of force. "May I have a word with you, major?"
Manson glared at her with a combined sense of outrage and amusement. "And you are?"
"Celia Telford, master of this vessel."
Manson motioned for his over eager bodyguards to lower their weapons and gestured for the Athenians to approach him. Lucas felt the stone weight in his gut twist. Like all people possessing the ring of absolute power, Manson did not seem like the type to see reason. The Athenians stopped three paces from the HRS officer and stood to attention.
"What can I do for you, Captain Telford?"
"Major it’s about the distribution of my crew," Celia began. "I fully understand that our status has taken a significant down turn, but if this vessel is to continue to operate for our new, ah, owners, in an efficient manner, then I will need my crew kept in place. I assume that the HRS plans to use this vessel and her crew."
"Of course, Captain Telford," Manson said. "We have great need for your ship and its trained crew. However, I have examined your crew manifest and find a large number of personnel who are not essential to the efficient running of this vessel."
"Might I have an example?"
Manson smiled. A cruel, dangerous smile. He turned to a smirking henchman who stood at his right shoulder and shook his head.
"Why certainly, captain." Manson consulted his clipboard. "Doctor Joan Makowitz Telford. We provide full health care facilities for our slaves. An onboard doctor is not required." He looked up as if the conversation were over.
"Who else major?"
"All personnel who have been deemed unnecessary to the efficient running of this vessel. That is all that you need to know." His amusement disappeared in an instant.
"May I show you something, major?"
His expression showed irritation and curiosity. He replied with a curt nod.
"This crew is an integrated package. Three generations working together to maintain the vessel. Remove one component and the whole becomes less effective. We have cadet programs to train the next generation of crew members. The crew operates more efficiently than normal crews because we are a complete family unit. The elderly of our family look after the children and as each progressive generation comes to age they are trained to take over from the rest of us." Celia stopped before her immediate family. "Here is a perfect example of what I mean. My daughter in law is second officer and will follow my son when my time comes to retire. My granddaughter will follow her, and my grandson will follow her. And so on."
"And what is your function aboard this ship, my dear?"
"Helm officer, major." Rebecca Telford, just out of flight school, stood a half head taller than the Pruessen. She blanched as Manson ran his eyes over her body.
“I see,” he said and turned to Celia. “You’ve had your say Captain Telford and for some unfathomable reason I listened. Now join your crew.” He turned a cold glare to her. “And captain, don’t ever interrupt me again.”
He returned to his position, retrieved his clip board and continued where he had left off. Forty-five of Bellinda’s family and crew were sent down to Kulak. Only the briefest of farewells was permitted them. Shared tears, an occasional hug, a few fleeting words and they were gone.
After the wrenching ordeal the remainder of crew were ordered back to their stations. For an hour Lucas and Celia considered their options.
“We must endure,” she said. “Endure the impossible and wait them out.”
Lucas’ anger burned away any rational reply. He could tell that his mother felt the same stunning loss as he. Forty-five loved ones lost forever.
The bridge hatch had opened and six of Manson’s guards stomped onto the bridge.
“All slaves will stand to attention,” the head guard shouted. “You scum will not dare to look at any Pruessen. Eyes to the deck, slaves.”
They complied. Endure, his mother had said.
“All clear major.”
Manson did a circuit of the bridge his hand resting on the butt of his ancient weapon. He finally stopped, standing behind Rebecca.
“Turn around.”
Rebecca, keeping her eyes averted, complied.
Manson held out his hand. “Come with me.”
Rebecca shuddered but did not move.
“I said, come, with, me.”
Rebecca shook her head.
Manson’s outstretched hand dropped to his sidearm. He drew it and turned Celia.
“Captain Telford, look at me.” She followed his order.
The gun jerked in his hand and the projectile hit Celia Telford in the chest throwing her backwards. Lucas caught his mother as she fell and cradled her in his arms as they slumped to the deck. Clamping his hand over her torn tunic did nothing to stem the gushing blood that flowed onto the deck. His tears mixed with her blood as his mother died in his arms.
He felt the warm barrel press against his head. He was numb with shock and grief.
“No,” Rebecca screamed. “Don’t kill my father.” Her voice quavered with fear. “I will comply with you, major.”
“Very well, my dear.”
He turned to face the Damage Control Station. “You,” he said to Amy Covington Telford, “look at me.”
Oh God, no.
Manson raised the gun and fired.
Lucas turned in time to see Amy fall, blood running from her ruined head.
“The next one of you, things, who looks at me, will die.”
Manson took Rebecca from the bridge. Tears shone in her eyes. With his mother’s body attended to he and Mary returned to their quarters. They held one another close as tears flowed. Time appeared to stand still until his comm. beeped.
“Yes,” he managed to say.
“Lucas, you’ve got to come quick. The guards are dragging the women away.”
“Fuckers,” Lucas hissed.
He told Mary of the most recent atrocity as he headed for the hatch. It snapped open and a rifle butt stuck him a blinding blow to the forehead. He fell to the deck, his head swimming. Boots slammed into him from every side.
His body broken and unresponsive he could only listen as his wife screamed and fought until multiple blows rendered her unconscious. When the ordeal finally, ended the brutes left, laughing. Mary wiped her tears and began, without a single word, to treat his wounds.
Later she tried to shower away the shame. Her whimpering reached Lucas’ ears.
Once finished with their foul business against the women the guards beat every male crewmember. Manson had successfully marked his territory.
Nathan, all of seven years old, limped into their quarters, bruised and bleeding. His right eye was swollen shut. Mary tended to his wounds. Like her he said nothing, taking the stinging pain while his lips compressed with hatred.
Later, she sat by Lucas. Her words, spoken in a whisper carried more bile than he could ever remember hearing from her sweet lips. “I’m a God fearing woman, as you know, my love. However, after today I think the good Lord would forgive us if we kill every last one of these fucking animals.” It had been the first time in twenty three years of marriage that he had heard her cuss.
CHAPTER 2
O divine art of subtlety and secrecy! Through you we learn to be invisible, through you audible; and hence hold the enemy's fate in our hands.
Sun Tzu, The Art of War, c. 500 BC.
Time: 22nd February, 309 ASC.
Position: Pruessen Empire. Kulak system.
Status: Freighter Bellinda, en route to Kulak four.
Four years as slaves and it came down to the actions of this single day. Time, it was all about time.
The mood on the bridge had become somber in the last two hours. The air seemed warmer, tainted with a stagnant dryness that parched the back of the throat. Lucas Telford's logic told him that his imagination must be playing tricks on him even though the sensation felt palpable.
A nagging pulse hammered at the back of his head. He had little doubt that all of Bellinda's thirty-nine remaining family and crewmembers would be experiencing similar feelings of apprehension. Depending upon how chance played out, they would either regain their lost freedom or die in the attempt.
Lucas sat in the captain's chair unmoving, except for the fingers of his right hand that strummed lightly against the armrest. It remained as the only outer manifestation of a deeper anguish. Four years as a slave of the Empire had forced him to develop a superficial mask to cover his emotions.
His anguish remained deep within him hidden from all. If he had miscalculated even slightly, family and friends would suffer the dreadful consequences, and the fault would be his alone. Their painstaking examination of every possible consideration could not guarantee a successful outcome. Yet the entire crew had unanimously agreed that taking this desperate chance would be far preferable to spending one more minute under the oppressive heel of the Empire.
Following the beacon out from Kulak prime Bellinda entered hyper space and travelled for fifty one minutes before egression back into N space. She deliberately dropped well short of the egression beacon for Kulak four. For the last twenty minutes the ship had been crawling toward her destination at half speed. It would be just a matter of time before this state of affairs would raise the attention of their captors. The success of the bold escape plan pivoted on the predictability of such a reaction.
With typical Pruessen efficiency the bridge and other key areas were under surveillance by their captors. Shortly after egression back to N space, components from her hyper generator had been removed and transferred to the escort ship Kania. The standard security protocols that the Pruessens employed were highly effective and predictable.
No last minute instructions could be issued, no reassuring encouragement would be permitted to betray their hidden intent. Everything had to appear like the unfolding of another uneventful day in the lives of a ship of slaves. The bridge crew sat at their stations, unmoving, focused, determined.
