Floreina screamed silently, an audible one seeming pointless, the pain momentarily overwhelming even the thought of her sudden, bludgeoning death. She covered her head, wrapping her arms about her face and cowered, curling her body.
But the beating did not come. Instead, she felt movement all around her, and after several seconds, raised an elbow to peek at the slaves’ feet stepping over and around her. Another few seconds and she felt hands on her uniform, tugging, reaching for her arms.
She found a palm and released her hold on her head to take the Minmatar’s hand. Floreina planted her left foot into the floor grate and locked her knee as the slave pulled her to her feet. Several other hands pulled her sleeves, helping her along.
“Master Floreina,” shouted one of the slaves, just as she recognized the roar of infuriated voices contrasting the recent peacefulness of the interrogation chamber. “You need to leave, Master. We’ve been instructed to escort you to the nearest airlock. Can you walk?”
“Mostly,” she shouted as the slave pulled her away from the hatch.
They began moving, the slave taking her arm, another coming around to the other side as she hopped toward the far end of the corridor.
Behind her, agonized screams and war cries rang out through the hall, unrecognizable to her naked human ears. They compounded into a single mass, interspersed with the bludgeoning thuds and painful slaps of clashing weapons and fists.
She traveled down the hallway, half carried, half hopping toward the next hatch. The slaves surrounded her in their plain brown work suits, moving rapidly, but keeping close. One of the slaves typed his code at the hatch and it snapped obediently open, Mahran, no doubt, still having control over most of the hatchways on board the ship.
She seemed to float on the guidance of the Minmatar, as though they had somehow reversed roles. All her life she had been guiding and controlling the Minmatar slaves, and now, suddenly, they guided her. She had no idea where they were going or what she was supposed to do when they got there, but somehow, it seemed as though these Minmatar knew exactly what was right… as though guided by God Himself.
That was the only real explanation for all of this; the Lord had embodied these Minmatar and were guiding them, just as they guided her.
Floreina smiled as the lead Minmatar punched in his code and they lifted her rapidly through the hatch. And she envied them, just for a moment, as she imagined an entire life like this… the simplicity, the ability to relax and know that as long as you follow orders, everything will be okay… knowing your director—your protector and guardian—is guided by the all-knowing and infinitely compassionate Lord.
Being an Amarrian was a true blessing,… but sometimes… just sometimes… she envied her slaves.
The door sealed behind them, and almost immediately Floreina heard a voice over the loudspeakers in the corridor. “There is a restroom adjacent this hallway.” The voice was distorted and metallic, but still held Mahran’s familiar characteristics behind the oppressive audio filtering. “Take a few minutes to treat Commander Floreina’s leg. This corridor is sealed for now.”
“Yes, Master,” replied the lead slave as they moved into the restroom through a large swinging doorway. They stopped near the entrance and Floreina put a hand up to the corner to hold herself upright. She stood on one foot, holding her right leg outward, to keep it cleanly separated from the other.
She noticed the original slave from the interrogation chamber, his mouth still frozen in its half-open position. He looked at her as he put his hand on the opposite wall for support and teetered forward momentarily before catching himself.
Floreina saluted casually, and, caught by surprise, the slave straightened and gave a more invigorated salute before his energy seemed to drain and his posture slouched.
He sat on the floor and leaned against the wall.
Despite the mild stench of urine in this lower-level restroom, Floreina decided to join the slave on the floor and allowed her back to slide slowly down the smooth steel wall. She was already covered with splatters of Minmatar blood, with parts of her uniform soaked with it… so cleanliness and appearances didn’t really matter at this point.
Several slaves returned from the row of sinks with damp towels. Two of them knelt before Floreina and a third stooped to examine the injured slave’s cheek.
“You haven’t treated this at all?” one of the slaves asked as he opened a tube of nanite medical paste.
“No time,” she replied.
“You had time to stitch his face—“ he motioned toward the injured slave.
Floreina shrugged.
“Well, I’m sure he appreciates it…” The slave moved toward her leg with the cream applicator, and paused. “Do I have your permission to apply the nanite burn cream?” he asked.
“Yes, yes,” she replied.
And he began scraping the cream in globules across the thick lines on her thigh. With each touch, she cringed, then relaxed as the cream began to sooth.
“It’s going to be extremely painful, Master… you know?… when I activate the nanites.”
She nodded.
He lathered about a third of her thigh with the cream before grabbing a radiation applicator and scanned it briefly over the area to signal the nanites to activate.
The slave continued applying, moving up to the next section. Floreina placed her hands on the wall and gripped, clenching her fingers in preparation for the cleansing process.
“My apologies for this, master. Normally we do small sections and wait for the nanites to do their job before moving on, but we don’t have time…”
“I know,” she said from the back of her throat as she felt the soothing turn to tingling and the tingling turn to burning, as though the original precision torch were suddenly back in contact with her flesh. She imagined the nanites; millions of tiny, eternally loyal little robots burrowing into her flesh to ingest, process and expell the damaged tissue.
“…be real, real painful for about ten minutes…” the slave was saying. “…then will feel a whole lot better.”
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “It’s okay,” she said. “Just do what you gotta do.”
But the pain wasn’t as bad as she expected, the cream containing effective numbing agents and moisturizers as well as nanites. The pain built from her lower thigh as the nanites did their work, but the soothing sensations contrasted the burning as the slave applied more cream to her upper thigh. She focused on her breathing and waited.
The slave finished the last of the cream application and activated the last area with the sweep of radiation. A moment later Floreina winced as she felt the slave wiping away the waste products from her lower thigh, and her nose suddenly curled as the stench of artificially-decayed flesh hit her nostrils. She opened her eyes only long enough to see the puss oozing from her wounds like condensation on a glass of ice water.
And despite the stench and revoltingly subtle movement and quivering of her flesh that almost overshadowed the physical pain, it all seemed to feel okay, as long as she knew it was healing. It was simply doing what it was supposed to.
And within just a few minutes it started feeling better, and she looked down at her lower thigh, already noticing a reduction in visible scar tissue and the first two letters of the word were clearly readable.
“Okay,” Floreina said finally. “It’s not going to heal any faster lying here in the toilets… help me up.” She put up her hand and the slaves helped her to her feet.
She limped more dramatically now as they exited the restroom despite the fact that her leg, overall, didn’t feel any worse, and was on its way to feeling better. They moved quickly, the slaves supporting her shoulders as she hopped, slowly regaining feeling and movement in her right leg. The six slaves kept close and moved rapidly through hatchways and corridors toward the nearest airlock.
Only two officers were in attendance when the slaves entered the airlock. The slaves fell on them rapidly, shielding Florein
a from their view, and incapacitated the low-level officers, binding their hands and ankles tightly with strips cut from their uniforms and injecting them with sedatives from the med pack. They returned the sidearms to Floreina, who stuffed both of into pockets on her left leg.
She looked at her right leg again and wiped away more of the filth, revealing even more of the word etched into her skin. She stared at it for several seconds before moving to the pressure suit compartment.
She keyed her access code, opened the cabinets and whimpered upon seeing the empty rack. “They’re all gone,” she said.
The slaves watched as she moved to the discard rack and opened it to find only three pressure suits. “Guess I don’t have much choice,” she said. “Suppose we can forgo the safety checks…” She checked the air supplies on each suit and sighed. “Twenty-five minutes is the best I’ve got.” She pulled the suit from the rack and began stepped into it, already smelling the scent of its previous user. She placed her new pair of weapons on the shelf, unclipped and detached the oxygen tank from the second suit, shook herself to settle into the suit and began buckling herself in and double checking connections.
“What do you wish us to do once you are gone, Master?” asked one of the slaves.
“My suggestion would be to blend into the rest of the slave population and tell no one that you helped me. If the abolitionists come, don’t try to fight them; simply go with them peacefully… and wherever this life carries you, just remember to stay faithful to our Lord.”
She looked up at the ceiling. “I assume I’m heading toward—” and she stopped herself, looking at the slaves and the two unconscious airlock attendants. “I need a datapad…” She found one on the desk near the two officers and plugged into a data outlet for a secure connection. “Load me up directions to my destination,” she said.
“Copy that,” came the distorted voice, sounding distinctly, yet artificially Amarrian. Mahran sounded like a demon in his attempt to disguise his voice, and she sensed a deepening anger, yet somehow, his presence was still soothing.
She downloaded a map of the outer surface of the ship that traced a route to her destination near the pod control center at the top bow. A straight line from her location to the bridge would have been about half a kilometer, but traced across curved outer bulkheads and extended armor plates, the route displayed was nearly three times that length.
“May I have a moment to speak with the commander alone?” asked the voice.
Floreina nodded toward the slaves. “Thank you,” she said, and saluted each of them before sending them out the hatch. “You have done the right thing in helping me,” she assured them.
“Floreina,” Mahran started in his same cold, distorted voice after the last of the slaves had left the airlock control center and sealed the hatch behind them. “I can’t get a remote connection to either you or the datapad without exposing ourselves to hacking attempts…”
“I know,” she replied.
“And… Master… I’m uncertain about the outer surface of the ship… as you know my clearances are for internal security systems.”
Floreina sighed. “Right… environmental suits are missing. Do you know who’s using them?”
He paused. “Most likely repair workers… higher level slaves would be my guess, but no logs since we took over the computer.”
“Okay,” she replied. “I can hopefully deal with a few slaves…”
“It’s the missing drones I’m concerned about…”
“Oh…” Floreina sighed.
“The automated drones have been instructed that you are an enemy.”
Floreina took a deep breath and trembled, then quickly began searching for straps and attachments on the outside of her suit to stow her two laser pistols, the datapad and a spare oxygen tank.
“The abolitionists are going to increase their rate of damage as you head out—“
“Increase?” she asked. “When I’m out on the surface?”
“To distract the repair drones. If they’re repairing armor, they cannot take time to come after you…”
“Sounds like a risk—“
“That’s exactly what I said about this entire plan,” Mahran retorted.
“Do you know how the drone priorities are set? How far will they travel to kill me? What level of damage will they abandon?”
“I don’t know.”
Floreina grunted.
“They will attempt to direct the damage toward the aft-starboard side to keep as far from you as possible… but will need to be close enough to distract any nearby repair drones… they will have an eye on you at all times, Master.”
She groaned again as she did her final checks of her suit and gear and attached a magnetic grapple gun to her left arm. She stopped for a moment to remember the controls to automate her exit from the airlock.
“Okay, buddy,” she said, just before locking her helmet into its latches on the suit’s neck. “I’ve survived this long…” and she laughed and shook her head. “…lets see what happens.”
She clamped down the helmet and the suit began pressurizing. She stepped into the airlock chamber and the door closed behind her. She hit the evacuation confirmation and waved to the nearest monitor. She waited, but Mahran did not reply.
She felt her suit expanding as the air was pulled from the room. She checked the magnetism of her boots and punched her code to open the outer hatch. She felt the strange, nauseating sensation cross over her head and down her body as she stepped out of the artificial gravity bubble and into the liberating vastness of space. Her weapons and gear began floating, one by one as she pulled her body out of the hatch. The boots clamped to the surface and Floreina took a moment to stare up at the great vessel, the raised armor plating and energy turrets towering above her.
She stood on the bottom section of the vessel, a giant maneuvering thruster, more than a hundred meters in width that jutted from the central undercarriage of the ship, below the massive armor plates. Beyond the thruster, the ship extended fore and aft for more than half a kilometer in each direction.
But Floreina didn’t have time to admire the grand Amarrian craftsmanship, and ignored the sun gleaming off the golden surface of the ship she had called home for so many years. She started walking, navigating across the thinner sections of armor plating and around the many viewports.
She looked up as she walked, the empty blackness of space expanding in all directions, just beyond the soft glow of the Abaddon’s external shield system, now just a thin barrier. Barely visible, one of the Blackbird Caldari cruisers orbited ominously in the distance.
A bright flash came from the rear of the vessel as a missile passed directly through the shielding and exploded into the rear armor plating on the far side of the ship. Floreina continued walking as she felt the rumbling of the plate beneath her feet.
She looked back occasionally, scanning for droids or human technicians, painfully missing her rear camera.
The reached the top of the thruster, and craning her neck to look up at the ship’s defenses splayed out before her, she prepared her grapple gun to fire across the great expanse toward the main section of hull and armor plating, upon which jutted the row of eight Tachyon Beam Lasers.
The grapple sailed through the expanse for several long seconds, the thin line unraveling with a rapid vibration on her wrist as the device fired its tiny thrusters to navigate toward her intended position.
She looked over her shoulder and her entire body jolted as she saw several drones racing toward her position. Grabbing the weapon from her side and disconnecting its strap, she pointed at the closest droid, closed one eye and fired, her hand trembling as she stared down the barrel. Her shot glanced against the surface of the armor plating several meters before the drone. She fired again, over compensating and sending a shot wildly into the space beyond.
The weapon blasted again and again, and Floreina heard a growing cry of terror emanating from deep within her throat. Her shots came close
r, and finally one connected and the drone imploded and the artificial creature sailed from the surface to be forgotten in the blackness of space.
She turned quickly to the next drone, firing several rounds and finally connecting.
The grapple announced its successful attachment to the bulkhead above. She looked up, just as she saw the last drone driving fast over the edge of the plating toward her, extending its welding torch in her direction. And behind it, climbed several more.
Instead of firing, she knelt and shut down the magnetism of her boots. She looked at the drone as it raced toward her, its torch bright and homing in on her position. She leapt outward.
The drone reached her a moment later, pointing its beam upward just as she floated out of range.
Turning away from the drones to look at her trajectory, she saw the massive bulkhead coming steadily closer, but from the corner of her vision saw a streak cross the emptiness.
She saw the plasma trails of the assault missile in a circle, as though the warhead bore directly toward her location. Her brain scrambled in a panic for a trajectory readout, and of course, found nothing more solid than conflicting emotions, vague intellectual concepts, and the fear of a suit rupture.
So Floreina found her commands on the console on her arm and fired her suit thrusters, adjusting her position to point herself toward the bow. Her speed increased rapidly. She let out some slack on her tether as she sailed forward.
The missile seemed to alter course as it approached, the sides of the plasma trails becoming clearer. It slammed into the plating just beyond the last of the eight turrets. The shockwave pounded through Floreina’s body and she resisted the urge to wretch as the particles of her being seemed to shift inside her.
She shut her thrusters down and locked the grapple device. The line pulled tight, wrenching her arm and twisting her body. Nearly instantly, Floreina pointed the other direction, her shoulder aching from the sudden strain.
Against A Rock Page 22
