Theocracy: Book 1.

by Doug Dandridge

  Alyssa and Derrick looked over at each other, and the woman shrugged. Patrick saw the look and knew they had to be wondering where he had gotten that information. He had asked the ship to give him an education in modern space naval tactics, and it had force fed him the short course. Not enough to make him a space warfare genius, but enough to set his mind into thinking along the best paths.

  “There is minimal coverage over the polar areas,” said the ship, and the view changed to a tactical map with a transparent moon and blinking icons. “A ship leaving the moon Vasus at that region will still come under fire from a number of units, but will only have to deal with at most one ship that might block them.”

  “Take us underwater to a point near the pole where we can egress into space,” said Patrick, looking over at Alyssa to see how she would react. She wasn’t shaking her head or saying anything, so he thought she must approve. “Keep us deep and as unnoticeable as possible.”

  “What will be our estimated arrival time to the egress point?” asked the woman.

  The ship was silent for a moment, but Patrick sent it a mental go ahead and is answered. “Approximately thirty-four hours,” answered the ship.

  “Derrick,” said Alyssa, looking over at the man. “Why don’t we get you in the tank and repair that damage. You’ll be out in four or five hours and ready to go.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said the man, casting a hostile glance at the Monk. “You’ll be OK with Captain Outrageous here?”

  “I’ll be fine,” said the woman. “Now let’s get you back up to top condition. We may need you to fight if things go in the crapper.”

  “Then we better not let them go in the crapper,” said the man, casting another suspicious glance at Patrick. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  “Why the hell won’t they come up,” growled Chung, looking at the surface of the large ocean on the viewer. “Still no sign of them?”

  “Nothing positive sir,” said one of the sensor techs, who was monitoring the feeds from the more efficient warships. “We keep picking up what seems to be cavitations or vibrations, and they always lead us to subsurface seismic events.”

  “Crap,” said Chung, glaring at the screen and trying to will something to appear.

  “It would help if we knew what kind of acoustic signature they leave in the water,” said the tech, nodding at the sonar screen to his front. “We chase after something and find out that it’s a Plesiosaur or Mosasaur or some other damned big creature, and we’re lucky if we get our sensor probe back.”

  “Well, keep trying,” yelled Chung, slamming a fist into his chair arm. “Keep fucking trying, before I send all of you down there to swim with the damned ocean lizards.”

  There was silence on the bridge, and Chung felt himself smiling at the thought of all these highly specialized people swimming in the water while big dorsal fins and toothed heads on long necks hovered about them.

  “And how are you doing?” said Chung to his guest, looking over at where Sean O’Hara sat upright in a chair. “You can speak. I give you permission to speak your mind.”

  “If you’d give me my will back, I would show you how I feel, you bloody bastard,” growled the captive, glaring at Chung.

  “Believe me,” said Chung with a laugh. “The experience would not turn out as you hoped. Your primitive skills would mean nothing to me. Nothing at all. Just be glad you are still of use to us.”

  Sean started to open his mouth, but Chung raised his hand, flashing a subliminal signal, and the mouth shut. Chung decided he preferred the man thus. He only wished he could have his whole crew trained to respond like the prisoner. He only wished he could have the damned admiral of the fleet trained just the same, so that he wouldn’t be sitting here waiting for the enemy to make the next move.

  * * *

  Alyssa watched as the Monk ran through his movements. The large room, the gym/recreation room it had been called on the ship schematics, was now configured to mostly open area. There were some obstacles raised here and there, and a sloping ramp along one wall. Otherwise, the twenty meter square room was empty.

  Patrick moved across the room, throwing kicks and punches and moving into blocking positions. A sheen of sweat gleamed on his body. Alyssa felt a thrill run through her body as she watched the play of his muscles under his taunt skin. A shiver of fear followed as she noted the speed and grace with which he moved. And it seemed to be a little heavy in here.

  “Artificial gravity?” she asked as she walked over to the ramp, Shadow on her heels.

  “The ship uses a system to produce its own, while shielding out the ambient gravitational field,” said Patrick, throwing a kick as he was speaking, then springing into the air to throw a spinning kick.

  “Do you know what that means?” asked Alyssa, squatting to the floor.

  “Not entirely,” said Patrick, stopping for a moment and walking over to where his sword and shield lay. “The ship is teaching me, but the concepts are so foreign.”

  “And how much weight are we pulling in here?”

  “I asked it to set the gravity to twice the baseline,” said Patrick, pulling the sword out with a swish. “From what I understand, baseline is the gravity of the original home world of our race. Earth? Anyway, even the ship’s computer doesn’t have a whole lot of information about it. But it had about double what this moon produces.”

  “So why this high?” asked the agent, her eyes fixed on the gleaming blade of ancient metal that was the sword.

  “I want this body to be ready to react to anything,” said Patrick with a smile. “The first hour I had it set to one gravity. Then I did a half hour at the native field of the moon.”

  Alyssa found herself looking at the body he was talking about with desire. It was well muscled, just like they had made it to be. But now the muscles were sliding easily under the skin like those of a cat. The man moved with a lithe grace like she had never before seen. And she wondered what it would be like to lay encircled by those arms, and run her hands over that chest. He turned his deep blue eyes on her and she felt a shiver run down her spine.

  “And is there anything I can do for you?” asked Patrick, interrupting her thoughts.

  Several things, she thought. But nothing they really had time for right now.

  “Derrick will be out of the tank in another ten minutes or so,” she said, controlling her breathing so the words didn’t come out in a rush. “I think we should meet to discuss how we’re going to break out of this moon, and where we should go next.”

  “I have already decided where we should go next,” said the Monk, turning away and maneuvering his sword in some lightning fast moves. The blade swished through the air, circling the Monk as if it were a living thing. He finished the move with a two handed swing, then brought the blade back behind him and sprung into the air, turning a backward somersault and landing balanced on both feet, sword pointing to his front.

  Alyssa pulled in a breath as her face flushed. He’s magnificent, she thought. Like nothing I’ve ever seen. We need him on our side, and not through forced obedience.

  “You seem to have your, body, under control,” said Alyssa, again thinking of that body next to hers.

  The monk frowned at her for a second, then sheathed his sword and walked a few steps to get a towel, giving the woman a good look at his warrior’s torso. He wiped his face and turned back to her.

  “It took years to develop the balance and precision I had trained into my original form,” said the Monk, glaring at her. “I do not have that level of control with this body. That lack of control almost led to my death.”

  “I am sorry about that,” said Alyssa, bowing her head. “We thought that in the long run it would be better if you could handle stresses greater than you would experience on this world. We weren’t really thinking about the short term consequences.”

  Patrick gave her a smile that again melted her heart. “I think that in the long run it will turn into an advantage,” he s
aid in a softer tone. “It is coming along well, but may still need some weeks or months before I am as in control of the new as I was of my old.”

  My God, thought the woman with an internal whistle. He’s already ahead of anyone I’ve ever seen practice the martial arts, and he’s talking about it like its scant progress. If he gets any better, will we really be able to handle him if he breaks free of conditioning. That last thought brought some more guilt, thinking about what they could do with him if they deemed it necessary.

  “You said you’ve already decided on our path,” she said, bringing her thoughts back to the here and now, where they needed to dwell. “What is your decision?”

  “I’ll tell both of you when we meet,” he said, grabbing his top off the floor and pulling it over his body. He aligned the fabrics and pressed, allowing them to adhere and form a single piece body suit that clung to him like another skin.

  “Isn’t it kind of presumptuous of you to tell us where we are going?” she asked, trying to distract herself from the man musk smell of him that still filled the room.

  “Isn’t it presumptuous of you people to come to my world and insert yourself in our affairs to gain advantage in your own wars,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “But I guess it’s OK to do so, since we’re just primitives, with no real importance to your nation. And no thoughts for our own hopes and dreams. So why not disrupt our plans, kills thousands of us, just like stepping on an ant’s nest.”

  He pulled the sword sheath over his shoulder and adjusted the belt. The anger radiated from him like heat from a star. Alyssa wanted to say something, but could think of nothing that might actually help the situation. The Monk took some deep breathes, then a dozen or so shallow ones, then seemed to radiated serenity instead of anger.

  “We will meet in the dinning hall closest to the bridge,” said the Monk with a mock bow. “If that meets with your approval?”

  “I will be there,” said Alyssa, feeling her face flush. “I will make sure that Derrick is there as well.”

  “And don’t forget Shadow,” said the Monk with a smile, nodding at the cat. “Since he has a part in this, I am sure he will want to be there.” He knelt down and put out a hand. The cat ran forward, took a sniff of the offered member, and then rubbed against the hand. “Honest feelings there,” he said, running his hand down the animal’s back. “I wish all people could be as honest.”

  I do too, thought Alyssa, watching him walk from the room, wishing his hands had been stroking her, especially in her secret places. But I have a mission, one that is important to my people and this section of the galaxy. And personal feelings can’t be allowed into it yet.

  * * *

  Nathan Chung watched as the kinetic weapons hit the waters of the ocean below. Each bore in and slammed into the water, hitting the bottom within seconds and creating a well of dryness several kilometers in circumference. The water poured back onto the exposed sea bottom while waves kilometers high swept out in every direction. But even after a dozen impacts they had not found their quarry. He was beginning to think that this method, born of desperation, was not going to accomplish a damned thing.

  “So where the hell are they?” he asked aloud for the tenth time in an hour. “We have millions of square kilometers of ocean to search, and we have no idea how to find them.”

  “They have to come out eventually,” said the Commander, his own expression strained from the search.

  “Do they?” asked Chung, slamming a hand down on the arm rest. “And have you told them that?”

  When the Commander didn’t answer Chung looked over at Sean O’Hara, sitting there straight in his chair looking at the screen through zombie eyes. Chung got up from his seat and motioned for the captive to follow him, then headed toward the entrance. “I will be in the gym,” said Chung to the Commander, nodding at his prisoner. “He will be there to watch, and so that I might question him.”

  The Commander nodded and watched Chung without a word. He’s afraid of me, thought the Colonel with a smile. Good. Then I don’t have to watch my back as hard as if he just hated me.

  Chung walked to the gym, which of course was deserted with the ship on alert status. He ordered the lowering of some fighting bags, then told the prisoner to have a seat on one of the benches.

  Chung went after the bags with a vengeance, throwing full speed punches and kicks into the weighted practice appliances. He pretended that they were opponents, something he couldn’t get in the practice ring on the ships of the Fleet, since no one wanted to face the man who would hurt them severely depending on his whimsy.

  He punched and kicked at the bags until they were rocking back and forth, timing his attacks to keep them moving. They jarred up his leg as he threw side kick after side kick into them, then followed with flurries of punches. At one point he wished he had brought his sword, though it was kind of hard on the appliances. So he just gave in to a solid hour of fast motion.

  At the end of the hour sweat glistened on his heavily muscled torso. But his breath was still steady and he felt like he could fight all day if need be. He grabbed a towel and wiped at the sweat, looking over at his prisoner.

  “You’re free to act natural,” he told the man, flinging the towel into a nearby bin.

  “You are a very impressive warrior,” said Sean, reaching a hand up to rub at his eyes and forehead.

  “Your brother thought so,” said the big Colonel, grinning. “Last we met I had him. Until someone interfered.”

  “Then you should relish that near victory,” said Sean, a tight smile on his own face.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because when next you meet I am sure that Patrick will kill you,” said Sean, his smile widening. “And I hope I am there to see it.”

  Chung strode over to the prisoner, raised his hand, and gave him a backhand across the face. Sean’s head snapped back, and blood trickled from nose and mouth. He glared up at the man, not an ounce of fear in his demeanor.

  I wish I had some like him in my unit, thought the Colonel, not realizing that it was his own culture that beat that out of its soldiers.

  “You can beat me to death and it will not change the truth,” said the man.

  Chung brought his hand back and the warrior continued to stare at him without a bit of flinch in him. Chung dropped his hand and smiled at the man. “I will allow you to beg for your brother’s life when next I meet him. Not that I think it will do any good. But I will let you try.”

  Chung turned his back on the soldier, his sharp ears telling him that the man was tensing his feet and making ready to strike. “You’re back under control,” said Chung before the man could complete his action. The Colonel turned to look back at the man who again sat rigid on the bench. Only the eyes still showed some defiance, and that would soon fade as well.

  “Follow me,” he said to the man, turning and walking from the gym. “Maybe our fishing expedition will have accomplished something.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The three sentient beings and the almost sentient cat sat in the lounge around the table. A holo on the wall showed the moon Vasus, and moved in for a close up of the large waves stirred up by the Theocracy strikes on the ocean. There were no survivors on the coastlines of that ocean. And many had been killed inland by waves sweeping over lowlands or up river valleys.

  “How long before we reach the polar region?” asked Patrick, looking up from the meal he had been shoveling into his mouth to feed his new high metabolism.

  Derrick was also eating a large meal that the autokitchen had prepared, his own metabolism in starvation mode after going through the healing process. Shadow had a plate of tuna to his front that he was addressing, while Alyssa only had a salad. She took a fork full of crispy lettuce, wondering at the ability of the nanoreplicator on the ship to make such fresh facsimiles of vegetables.

  “We will be at the polar region in another fifteen hours,” said the ship in its human sounding but unemotional voice.

&nbs
p; “That’s not good enough,” said Patrick, looking at the holo again and scowling. “Those devils are wiping out the people of my world. I have to do something about that.”

  “And just what do you propose to do, my man?” asked Derrick, dropping his fork on his plate of beef and potatoes.

  “Leave this world and give them something else to shoot at,” said the Monk.

  “When?” asked Derrick, staring at Patrick.

  “As soon as we can get going,” said the Monk, putting down his own fork. “Which means as soon as we are through here.”

  “That’s crazy,” said Derrick, getting up on his now functional feet and glaring down at the Monk. “If you think we’re going to commit suicide just so we can keep these Theocracy assholes from firing down at you primitives, you have another thing coming.”

  “I could leave you here on this world,” said Patrick, rising to his feet in a fluid motion. “If that is what you prefer. I can drop both of you off on a convenient piece of land and then go into space myself.”

  “Are you fucking crazy,” yelled Derrick, pointing a finger into Patrick’s chest. “We would be swallowed up by a wave if you did that.”

  “No different than what you would leave the rest of this world to suffer,” said Patrick with a tight smile. “The cat, of course, can stay. I know how he feels about water.”

  “Why you son of a bitch,” said Derrick, reaching up to grab hold of Patrick’s shirt. He twisted the fabric and tried to pull the Monk toward him. He might as well have tried to pull a tree out of the ground.

  “Let him alone, Derrick,” yelled Alyssa, her imaginations showing her the ex marine lying a bloody mess on the ground.

  She stood up and started to reach, too late. Patrick’s hand came up in a blur and latched on to Derrick’s. With a twist he had the ex-marine’s hand removed from his shirt while Derrick opened his mouth and let out a silent scream.

  “I do not touch you without permission,” said Patrick, hissing out the words. “I would appreciate the same from you.” With that he released Derrick’s hand and went into a sitting position with one smooth movement.