Alien Caged (6 page)

Miragin snorted.  “Coombs is as conscious as a lusgo worm.  And almost as pretty.”

Oret smirked at that, but Zemos couldn’t find any humor right now.  Their situation was as it had been for the last three months:  not totally hopeless but as close to it as they could get.  The odds of getting one of those field disruptors, even Elisa’s, was slim at best.  His original plan of fighting their way out of the situation when the ship got to wherever it was going still looked to be their only real chance.  The trouble with that was they’d have a lot of armed guards to get through.

What bothered Zemos most was that he didn’t know where they were headed.  He could only wonder how dire the situation would be.  It meant that if the chance came about to get hold of Elisa’s field disruptor ... or even Elisa herself ... they would have to act.

Zemos slammed his fist into the wall, something he’d done a lot of since being taken prisoner.  “Damn it.  I don’t want her hurt.”

Behind him, Oret said, “I have no intention of hurting Elisa, only taking her hostage if given the chance.  I don’t harm Mataras.”

Zemos turned to him.  The words he spoke were so foul he could almost taste the rot of them on his tongue.  “The situation is bigger than one woman, Oret.  Though we’ll do our best by her, we’ll do what we must.  We have to get out, and we have to find out what Walker plans to do to us.  For all we know, the repercussions of whatever he has in mind could reach throughout the Empire.”

Refusing to acknowledge the first part of his Dramok’s statement, Miragin said, “I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who thinks the threat that hangs over us might reach beyond your crew.”

Zemos eyed his Imdiko.  Miragin was the first to acknowledge he knew nothing of warfare or battle strategy, yet he too had considered Walker might be playing a bigger game than what appeared on the surface.  Zemos was sure of it, especially after thinking over their last conversation with the Earther captain.

He told his clanmates, “It’s something major.  I see it in the fear in Joseph’s eyes.  Whatever is in store for us, it’s playing hell with his conscience.”

Oret had other matters more important to him on his mind.  “You can’t ask me to injure the woman.  Elise is a sweet child and an innocent.”

Zemos was the Nobek’s clan leader.  He was also his captain.  It still didn’t mean Oret would automatically obey him, not when his conscience was at odds with what had to happen.  While it would have made Zemos’ life easier if Oret simply followed orders, he felt better that his longtime companion challenged him on important matters.

The Dramok told him, “Of course you’re to do everything in your power to avoid harming her, my Nobek.  But we have a duty. The Empire comes first, and if what’s going on threatens Kalquor—”

Zemos had to stop and swallow against the sudden thickness in his throat.  He didn’t want to be the reason Elisa found herself in terror or pain.  His soul cried out against it.  Yet the threat hanging over his crew’s heads, a threat that might be big enough to encompass the Kalquorian Empire itself left him little choice.

He drew himself up and glared at Oret.  “Do what it takes to get us out of here.  That’s an order.”

Oret’s face purpled in sudden rage.  He threw his untouched tray of food, sending it crashing against the wall.  Zemos had little doubt Oret had preferred to throw it at him.

The Nobek turned his back on Zemos.  He hadn’t gotten over how his leader had knocked him out when the Earthers had disabled and boarded the destroyer.  When it had become obvious the Kalquorians would be overcome, Zemos had known Oret would fight to the death.

For Zemos, losing his ship was calamity enough.  Losing his Nobek as well was intolerable.  He’d dealt Oret a brutal blow to the head when he wasn’t looking, injuring the man and yet ensuring his survival in an unwinnable battle.

Miragin looked from one to another of his clanmates, his concern plain.  He kept quiet however, knowing the tempers of the men he was linked to for life.  If Oret snapped and went after Zemos, Miragin would jump in between them, putting his own health in jeopardy to keep them from harming each other.  Zemos thought it must be hard to be clanned to a ferocious Nobek and a Dramok with equally violent tendencies.

Oret didn’t move however.  Little by little, the three let the quiet soak in and cool quick tempers.  It was too bad the enforced timeout left Zemos with nothing to do but contemplate what it would take to get them out of here.  Elisa’s last glance at him as she’d left the cell block seemed burned into his retinas; it was everywhere he looked.  Her smile wouldn’t leave his mind, its sweetness mocking him with a promise he might have to destroy.

* * * *

Captain Joseph Walker sat in his chair, staring at the vid transmission of a man almost everyone thought was dead.  Holy Leader Browning Copeland had not just survived Armageddon, he had escaped Earth before it had even happened.  He had also avoided the trials the Galactic Council of Planets had imposed on Earth’s surviving leaders.  Living on another rogue battlecruiser, Copeland flew about space, hiding from those who would see him answer for the deaths of billions of people.  The Galactic Council of Planets would not care that he had been the Voice of God on Earth.  Copeland would be made to pay for genocide if they ever caught him.

The Holy Leader showed few of the trials Joseph’s crew had endured since the end of Earth.  His wavy hair was carefully combed back, the alabaster sheen of it gleaming with an aura of almost divine radiance.  It put the supposed white of his robes to shame, making them seem dingy in comparison.  His crystalline blue eyes were creased at the corners, a slight testament to his 68 years since gracing Earth with his birth.  Besides the few lines that marked the passage of time, Copeland’s complexion was flawless, almost ageless.  His shoulders were broad and strong.  Even over the vid he projected serene grace. 

The ruin of their planet, her creatures dead or scattered amongst the stars, was all the evidence Joseph needed that Copeland was not the infallible messenger of God he’d been revered as.  Yet he still felt insignificant in the man’s presence, even over a vid communication.  Worst still, he remained driven to worship Copeland whenever they spoke.  Joseph hated that he was so brainwashed.  Even knowing Earth’s former leader was little more than a snake oil salesman couldn’t halt the instinctive need to seek praise from him.

Right now, the Holy Leader looked quite pleased with Joseph.  It took all the control the younger man possessed to not howl his unworthiness to receive Copeland’s approval. 

Inwardly, he cursed himself.  Damn it, the man was nothing but a charlatan.  The whole religion had been a sham, at least the way Earth’s government had used it.  Joseph knew he should be screaming at Copeland, insisting the Holy Leader tear the mask of righteousness off so his true monstrousness could be revealed.

However, Joseph knew the hopelessness of making such demands.  Even if he could overcome the tethers of lifelong subservience to government and Church, it would get him nothing but death.  Copeland would simply contact Commander Chase, put him in charge, and have Joseph executed.  That the Holy Leader could control them even over a distance was not in doubt.  Perhaps escaping through death would not be such a terrible thing, but the captain knew his would not be the last.  Joseph’s officers and a lot of his remaining crew continued to believe in Copeland’s leadership with rabid fanaticism.  They would be dangerous to the rest who now had every reason to doubt as the captain did.  The executions that Joseph had thus far averted would forge ahead without his tenuous leadership to block them.

So why was his first reaction to Copeland’s approval always unmitigated joy?  Why did he still feel unworthy when the Holy Leader seemed disappointed or, even worse, disapproving? 

Simply put, Joseph was as fucked up in the head as Chase and Robards.  His particular brand of insanity had asserted itself in a different way than the others.  Where it made them strong, he felt weak.  The awful thing was, Chase and Robards knew just how feeble their elected captain was.  His was the kind face they used to keep the would-be deserters calm and in line.  He had served their purpose well over the last couple of years, but eventually they would tire of the masquerade.  Joseph was sure that day was looming close.

He was in far over his head and had been from the moment they’d made him captain.  It was all he could do to deal with one emergency at a time, and there was always some crisis to be dealt with.  The current disaster he faced was the impending starvation of his crew and lack of power to run the battlecruiser.  The fate of Joseph’s ship relied on Browning Copeland.  Their continued survival rested on the awful deal the Holy Leader had made.

Copeland’s perfect teeth beamed an exalted smile at Joseph.  “You are only five days from Bi’is space, Captain Walker?  Excellent.”

Joseph snapped a dutiful nod.  “That will put us eight days from their research station, Holy Leader.”

“I am pleased with your work.  You will receive many blessings for your service to me.”

With those words, the now hated warmth filled Joseph’s chest, that instinctive reaction of serving the Voice of God and earning his esteem.  Soon enough it was followed by a curdling of his stomach as his right mind reminded him that Copeland was no righteous leader.

Even the way the Holy Leader had managed to escape Armageddon unscathed sickened Joseph.  Copeland had claimed that God had come to him in a vision, warning him that the Kalquorians were on their way to invade Earth.  God had insisted he leave Washington, D.C. and save himself.

Which led to the question that bothered Joseph the most:  if Browning Copeland knew the end was coming, why didn’t he warn everyone else to get the fuck away from the main cities too?  Why had so many innocents been left to die?

The question brought pain and impotent rage.  However, the captain of the renegade cruiser didn’t have time for pain and he didn’t dare indulge too much in the fury at senseless loss of life.  In his position, he didn’t have the luxury.

Joseph drew a deep breath.  He needed to ignore all the wrongs that had befallen the human race right now.  He had enough problems without setting Browning Copeland against him.

Those problems were why he dared to broach a touchy subject.  “Holy Leader, about the Kalquorians we’ve taken prisoner?”

“Yes?”

“Why do the Bi’isils want them so bad?  Why are we taking them to a scientific research station?  Both species are members of the Galactic Council, so Bi’is is prohibited from taking Kalquorians as either slaves or experimental subjects.”

There was the disapproval he’d known was coming.  Being prepared didn’t mean something inside Joseph didn’t shrink to see it on Copeland’s face. 

The Holy Leader said in a forbidding tone, “What Bi’is wants with Kalquorian subjects is none of our affair, Captain.  All that matters is that you hand off your prisoners and collect the funds promised.”

That led to Joseph’s main concern.  He fought the little voice screaming in his head that he’d only piss off the Holy Leader with more troubles.  He had to speak. 

Damn it, be a man for once in your life.  Stop acting like a brainwashed robot.  Too many lives are at stake to mindlessly march to orders! 

Screwing up his courage he said, “That’s another issue, sir.  My crew is on strict rations to the point of desperation.  There are signs they are heading for mutiny.  If more of the Bi’isil payment could be allocated to my ship, that would take some of the pressure off.  The men believe in you, but they’re running on fumes now.  We can ask only so much sacrifice from them.”

The Holy Leader sighed, the sound one made when greatly put upon.  “The crew knows you are my hand-picked captain for that ship.  You may have a few faithless ones, but most know better than to thwart the living embodiment of God’s word.”

Joseph kept his expression bland with effort.  The truth was, he’d been the first officer of this oversized bucket when the previous captain committed suicide in the wake of Armageddon.  Terrified of the responsibility of commanding the then 1000-strong crew, Joseph had argued against taking command of the ship.  Well-liked and thought of as fair, the crew had voted to make him captain despite his efforts to avoid it.  They had also voted to not surrender to the Kalquorians, which Joseph had thought of as a mistake.  Mitch Chase and Alec Robards, the next senior officers on the ship, had insisted it was Joseph’s God-ordained duty to lead the ship and to keep it out of their enemy’s hands.  Hounded and begged from all sides, Joseph had finally conceded to the will of his crew.  He had also promoted the experienced and battle-hardened Chase to be his first officer, not knowing he was playing right into the man’s hands, not realizing Chase would turn him into more a puppet than a leader.

It was over six months later that Joseph learned the Holy Leader was still alive.  Browning Copeland had nothing to do with him becoming captain.

Copeland continued listing the reasons he couldn’t give Captain Walker’s greatly dwindled crew more to survive on.  “It isn’t just our ships that use the funds.  There are those who must be appeased with their share too.  It is enough that I have to deal with the greed of the Basma.  I don’t need it from my own thankless flock as well.  The trouble with so many of the rabble is they have no idea the trials their leaders face.”

Walker didn’t know which made him more uneasy; that Copeland considered those who still looked to him as ‘rabble’, or the Holy Leader’s strange partnership with the Kalquorian known as the Basma.