Parks didn’t need to hear any more, the direction in which the woman was going perfectly clear to him. “Gunning for another promotion, Karen?” he said, suddenly unable to help himself smile.
“Just doing my job, Captain,” Weathers said, smiling again.
“Keep it up and you might just be in line for one,” Parks said. “Mr Liu, you have the bridge. Should all go well, then I’ll be departing Griffin for the time being. Liaise with Captain Meyers and Captain Bailey until my return.”
“Yes, sir,” Liu said, moving to take the captain’s chair.
“Weathers, come with me,” Parks said, striding towards the deck lift. “About time we reminded the Enemy that they’re not the only ones who can be sneaky.”
XVIII
— An Admiral’s Pride —
An excerpt from A GIFT FROM THE GODS by Kelly Taylor
??? December 2617
I awoke after sleeping deeply for what might have been several hours. I still lay next to Enrique, holding his hand. By then, his breathing had become a lot more regular. It sounded to me that he was recovering, and I held out hopes that he would regain his strength and not die, and not leave me there, trapped alone.
It felt like morning, although it could have been any time, any day. By then, I had totally lost track of the passage of time. Still sealed within that small padded cell, with its four walls and ceiling blocking out all of the world beyond, I could only go by what my own body clock suggested to me. And right then, it was telling me a number of things.
My stomach growled ferociously; I realised I was starving. I hadn’t eaten since the day before, and after everything that I’d been through in the past twenty-four hours, my body was desperate for food. Anything would’ve been good at that moment – if you’d thrown me a scabby old dead horse and a bottle of ketchup, nothing would have stopped me from gobbling it up. I wondered why we hadn’t been fed. I was certain that our captors wanted us for something and was sure they wouldn’t allow us to starve to death.
My stomach was aching, but so too was my bladder. It felt incredibly tight, as did my bowels. I was desperate to go to the toilet and might well have gone in a corner within the hour, had I not heard the heavy locks of my cell shifting apart. The soldiers’ impending approach must have woken me! Even though at that time I was sure that they wouldn’t kill us, the fact that they were once again coming to our cell filled me with terror. Enrique didn’t stir, so I released his hand and stood up, preparing myself for whatever was to come. I remember briefly looking about my prison, entertaining thoughts of seeing what I already knew wasn’t there – a weapon of some sort; a way to prevent our captors from taking me or Enrique away, and subjecting us to any more torture, or whatever else they might have in store for us. But as always, save for the two of us, the cell lay empty.
The door swung open. The movement was smooth, a whole lot less forceful this time than on the previous two occasions, and into the cell stepped an armed soldier. A man, unmasked, his eyes as vacant as the rest of them. He raised the rifle he brandished and, as before, when they had returned Enrique, trained it on me. He gestured for me to move away from Enrique and back into the corner of the cell.
It appeared I had been right – they had come for him. With that thought in mind, I didn’t move. I wasn’t about to let them take him. “No”, I said firmly, standing my ground and staring down the barrel of the rifle. “Leave him alone.” I wasn’t even pretending not to be scared; I just wouldn’t let them have him.
The soldier pointed again to the corner, behaving like a computer that was stuck at a logic junction, unable to proceed to the next instruction until the previous command had been complied with. I ignored him, looking past him to the doorway and seeing three other figures standing there. Another pair of soldiers blocked the exit, apparently waiting for the resolution of what was happening in the cell.
And behind them was Julian Rissard.
He appeared fresh, clean and completely uninjured, very different to how Enrique had looked after the fight in the torture room. Rissard’s features were once again flawless, his nose undamaged, his eyes – with their deeply unnatural blue that unnerved me so – were as bright as ever. The man had healed fast. Even for just those few seconds, I felt fear grip me and I shifted back several inches.
The soldier before me must have picked up on the break in my defiance and stepped forward to press me into the corner, forcing me down and pushing the rifle closer. Behind him, the other two walked forward and knelt down next to Enrique. They were dressed a little differently from the ones I had seen before. Their heads and hands were exposed and their uniforms appeared lighter, both in colour and weight. One carried with them a white metal case, bearing a Star of Life emblem, which they set down and opened. That was the first time I had ever seen field medics amongst the Pandorans’ ranks. Given my experiences of them in the past, it’s fair to say that one might have thought such a position would have been redundant. But I guess they still had their uses.
Within the open case I caught the glint of steel implements. Memories of the agonised screams and horrific scenes of the other Confederation personnel I had witnessed in the corridor came flooding back to me. I couldn’t bear to see Enrique suffer the same fate; not after everything they had already put him through, and especially not before my own eyes. I cried out and made to intercept the box, but the strong hand of the man marking me forced me down again.
Needles and bottles were removed from the case and set down on the padded floor. With there being little else that I could do, I simply shouted out, directing my fury at the medics knelt down next to the sleeping Enrique. My pleads and insults all proved worthless; the two attending to the case didn’t so much as even glance in my direction. I had come to expect no less of them.
I threw myself once more at the soldier separating me from Enrique, applying all my strength in a desperate attempt to get to his side and stop what was happening. It felt like I was trying to push over a brick wall, and the soldier simply took a grip of my shoulder and forced me down effortlessly. Remember how, when you were little, the older children would bully you in the playground – push you, sit on you, trip you up – and you could do little about it? It was exactly like that. The only thing you could do was to get angry. And so I did, and in my anger I swung a fist, landing a blow directly on the man’s face. I expected the bang of the gun and the searing pain of a bullet entering my body in response. The rifle, however, remained silent. So, it wasn’t entirely like the playground – my captor didn’t react at all to my retaliation.
Enrique had remained asleep throughout the disturbance, but now I could see he was awake. It appeared that sleepiness – combined with the hunger and injury he had been suffering – meant he was still far from his usual self. He made a pathetic attempt to fight off the unwanted attention from the two medics knelt over him, swatting at them like a small, frightened child. They ignored his futile attempts and continued sorting through the contents of the medical kit, setting aside several different items.
Eventually, one pierced the top of a bottle containing a clear substance, filling the syringe. They evacuated the air from the needle, before taking hold of Enrique and pushing it into his arm.
Terror gripped me. I launched myself forward, yet again ignoring the danger of the rifle. It was a more dedicated effort than my last, but was once again for naught. I was easily subdued by the soldier marking me, who still needed only one hand to hold me back. I was helpless to do anything but watch as the plunger was pushed all the way down and the needle was withdrawn. I waited for the onset of fits, screams and extreme bouts of thrashing that I had witnessed in the corridor.
It therefore came as a real surprise when they failed to materialise and Enrique perked up instead. The change was so sudden that I thought I was seeing things. It turned out that they had given him a shot of morphine. The medic giving the injection remained crouched and impassive next to him, dabbing the point of entry of the needle wi
th a cotton swab. As they did so, the other pulled out a small torch and shone it into each of Enrique’s eyes, tilting his head up and around, and making what appeared to be a critical evaluation of them. Once satisfied, he shut off the torch, spoke a word to his colleague and removed what appeared to be a needle and thread from the case. Holding Enrique steady, they started to stitch his face and scalp.
I will admit that I observed the entire ritual feeling somewhat polarised. The treatment here was in stark contrast to that which we had received up until that point. Enrique turned around to face me as the two tending to his injuries began to sort through more items in the case. I saw several stitches running across his features already, clinging to his face like millipedes. He didn’t speak; he was just as bemused as I was. They turned his head back again and continued their work. Even in that small act, they didn’t force him, acting more like how a barber would, needing their client to move their head around for a better look at their work. It will sound ridiculous, given what they went on to do to the entire galaxy, but there is only one word I could use to describe their behaviour – tender. Still, their faces remained expressionless as they worked, just like the one who stood marking me in the corner.
The cell door was still open, and I heard the sound of a voice drifting over to where I was. With all my focus on the state of Enrique, I had forgotten about the Imperial commodore standing in the doorway. The words – as always – were indecipherable. They were, however, quite calm, and I quickly discovered that it wasn’t Rissard who was speaking.
Peering around my marker, I saw that Rissard was no longer watching the activity in the cell. He was now facing up the corridor, conversing with someone just out of sight. Every now and again, he would nod his head and speak a few words. He was standing rather stiff, his arms by his side. I’m very certain that he was being reprimanded. After a few more words, he saluted, turned and walked out of view.
As his footsteps echoed down the corridor, I saw movement by the door and a moment later the person to whom Rissard had been speaking appeared at the entrance. The figure was a tall, old-looking man, with thinning hair and skin that looked like rough parchment. He didn’t look as healthy and perfect as the other soldiers that I had grown used to, but he nevertheless extruded a sense of strength and quiet dignity. Much like Rissard, he wore a formal uniform – pressed black trousers and a jacket dotted with silver buttons. The jacket was decorated with all manner of ribbons and attributes, all of which appeared to be of the highest order.
I believe that, after Simon Dodds, I was the second member of the CSN to have such a close encounter with Jason Zackaria and live to tell the tale. I could hardly believe who I was looking at. “You’re Admiral Zackaria, aren’t you?” I said. “Head of the Imperial Naval Forces; the one who hijacked Dragon; the one who started all of this.”
Unlike the soldiers, he looked at me when I spoke to him, though he didn’t answer. Aside from looking in my direction, there was hardly even a flicker of acknowledgement.
I asked him why they were doing this, why he was attacking these people, who had nothing to do with the Imperial civil war?
My questions were met with silence.
I asked him what they wanted from Enrique and I, but his lips remained sealed, no matter what I said. His eyes moved to the two who were tending to Enrique, seemingly awaiting a resolution.
In frustration I shouted at him – “Answer me, dammit! I know you can understand me, Admiral!” I expected an answer to that, but it had little effect. My words were falling on very selective hearing; Simon Dodds was the only person whom he ever acknowledged over the course of the Pandoran War. He turned his head toward me again, but that was it. In reflection, I’m surprised I had the audacity to speak to him like that. It must have been the hunger.
Zackaria remained where he was in the doorway, and very soon the two medics concluded their work and started to pack up the kit. They stood, saluted the admiral and withdrew from the cell.
I tried Zackaria again and asked him if he was going to leave us here and let us starve to death. I swallowed back my words as two other soldiers made their way into the cell, setting down two trays laden with foil-covered plates and bowls. The admiral spoke a few words and my marker retreated back to the doorway.
“Eat,” I was instructed by one of the pair who had brought in the food. I wonder now what might have happened if I had refused. Would they have forcefed me? There was no fear of me finding out – I was far too hungry to think about it. I moved forward and tore the foil from the plates, surprised to see what lay beneath – turkey, potatoes, carrots, peas, chicken, stuffing, sausages, bacon, sprouts, ham. There was even a tub of gravy and a bowl of trifle. Non-threatening plastic cutlery lay next to the plate.
I realised after I had finished that this was a type of Christmas ready-meal that had simply been heated up and served. The admiral clearly hadn’t ordered his top culinary chefs to prepare a feast for his ‘guests’. And, of course, after eating all that, my bladder and bowels were causing me even more discomfort.
Our trays were taken away, and Zackaria spoke a few words to the marker who had presided over our meal, before he turned on his heel and started off down the passageway. The marker backed out the doorway, sweeping the rifle over us as he went.
As Zackaria disappeared, I called out to him with one last request. “I need the toilet!” I cried. “I need to pee!” He paused, then returned. He spoke some more words and both the men who had brought in our meals stepped back into the cell, grabbed me and hoisted Enrique off the floor and marched us down to the toilets.
We were each pushed into a stall, where I was disallowed the privacy of closing the door. My escort watched me the whole time, never taking his eyes off me. When we were done, we were marched back to the cell. They put us in, and then a series of bleeps emitted from somewhere on the opposite side of the doorway, and the door slid shut. The locks clanged into place and all that remained were the muffled sound of boots, steadily diminishing down the corridor as their wearers made their way down the corridor, away from the cell.
*
“Enrique …” Kelly started. “Are you okay?”
Enrique ran his hands over his face, tracing the stitches. “They just patched me up and fed us,” he said in disbelief.
Kelly knelt down next to him. His face, whilst still heavily bruised, was looking a little better for the clean-up of blood and the stitches that had been applied. She gingerly touched his face, though this time he didn’t pull away or grimace despite the tenderness of his skin. She ran a finger over the stitches on his cheeks, then parted his long hair, looking at the ones that had been woven into his scalp. His attendees must have given him some strong drug – morphine or something similar – as he had not reacted at all whilst the stitches were being applied.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Okay,” he shrugged, “though I can’t feel much. I couldn’t really taste that food, either.” He prodded his face and pinched at his skin. “I feel a little numb. It’s kinda funny, actually.” He gave a toothless grin.
“That was Admiral Zackaria out there, wasn’t it?”
Enrique nodded. “He didn’t seem too happy with Rissard.”
“He wants us for something,” Kelly said, examining Enrique once more. The medics had even seen fit to apply some sort of salve to his knuckles, where he had struck Rissard. “That’s why they’ve kept us alive.”
“Maybe once they find the ATAFs, they’ll expect us to fly them for them,” Enrique said.
Kelly raised her eyes to his and looked at him in abject horror. The words made sense. “Oh my God, imagine us in the ATAFs, helping them to fight our own forces!”
“It won’t come to that,” Enrique shook his head. “I don’t think they’ve found them yet. The CSN will get there first.”
“What about the soldiers that were already on Ifrit? A few hundred probably went down with the ship.”
“I think it’s safe to
assume they would’ve drowned. They might be strong, but they’re not invulnerable.”
For a time, they were silent, then Kelly said, “You think we’ll become like them? The ones that don’t speak; don’t speak English, I mean.” Visions of herself, clad in one of those black suits, a helmet upon her head, and with two red eyes staring out at the world became almost unshakable.
“No, stop worrying. We won’t let them turn us into those zombies.” He didn’t sound all too convincing.
Kelly thought of the woman who had tackled her on the beach. More than ever now, she was convinced that the woman hadn’t always been a soldier, and her reasons for becoming so hadn’t been of her own choosing. Kelly briefly pictured the woman rising from her bed one morning, washing, eating breakfast and going about her daily routine, whatever that might have been. She’d had a life – a career, a partner, a home. But one day that had all been taken away from her. How it had happened, Kelly couldn’t say. But it had happened to a lot of people. For an instant, Kelly pictured the woman filling a glass of water from a tap and drinking from it, before the glass slipped from her grasp, shattering into dozens of pieces on the kitchen floor. She had then walked zombie-like from her home, joining a throng of others on the streets, all of whom had been … infected.
“They were human once, weren’t they?” Kelly said, as the image left her. “What do you think happened to them?”
Enrique was quiet for a time, as if imagining the same scenario she herself had just done. “I don’t know,” he said eventually. “All I can think of now is that I told them where to find the ATAFs.” He sat up for the first time since being returned to the cell. He took her hands in his, staring into her eyes. His face was sad. “I told them what they wanted to know, so I could save your life. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course I do,” Kelly said.
The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy) Page 75
