Penance (RN: Book 2) (2 page)

Denz fell to his knees in defeat, his hands clasped in supplication as he pleaded for mercy, pleaded for forgiveness; for the release he deserved. His shoulders heaved as the tears fell, his cowed form jerking from the tangible anguish as he raised his clasped hands to the whispering shadows closing with the darkness. He begged for forgiveness. Begged for release from the persecution.

They gave him the way out. The metal felt heavy in his hand and cold against his temple. He asked them not do to it this way; he begged for clemency from his fine honourable crew as the unseen attendants curled his finger around the grip, one finger hooking the cold metal talon which they helped him squeeze. His scream came like a steam whistle.

The service pistol lay in the spreading circle of moisture as the mocking whispers faded. He took several deep breaths, screaming the last one out until his lungs protested.

Denz stood with his forehead against the shower wall as the streaming cold scrubbed the images from his soul. The tremors that shook his body having little to do with the water temperature, yet they faded, if slowly. It never got easier, only more vivid. They’d told him he’d suffer and the benevolent Koll were never wrong.

It had been during the return trip to Earth after his capture that the whispering voices explained the depths of his betrayal: the cell, the solitary chair, his shackled form sagging from the sleep they deprived him of. The Koll took their time in deciding a fate for his desertion, but they assured him there would be sufferings.

The public saw only the tour of shame;: the visit to every British colony, outpost and place where an RN officer served, not the psychological brutality. On entering a place he would assume his full rank of Air Marshall and beg an interview with the most senior officer, only to be unceremoniously stripped of his rank and broken to rating with his treasonous acts read aloud.

On completion of this task he would be appointed the temporary rank of transport commander and allowed to proceed to the next place, where the process would be repeated. He was to continue doing this for two years or until he had visited all places. In between time he had to spend an hour a day in self mortification, reflecting on his failures as a commanding officer in the greater Koll forces.

The precursor to visiting a station or outpost was the sports day stroke and trip to the ninth circle for judgement by his former crew.

His fine, honourable crew.

Only when dressing did Denz remember the communications awaiting his attention. The first two messages were more than the scratchy static of a comm channel left unattended. The third played as he prepared the uniform, only for him to become stock still with his incredulous gaze fixed upon the comm unit as he listened. The voice was unknown to him and spoke with the calm authority of a troubled headmaster as it described a scene of chaos. All the time accompanied by the three repetitive beeps of a vessel demanding assistance.

***

“Mr Felsroy, I don’t understand. Why didn’t the governor send a distress call on the emergency network?” Denz said to the man on the main view screen.

“I don’t rightly know, captain. We received the exact same message as you did, but what were we to do about it? We’re only a small civilian colony with two trade shuttles to visit the platform. We can’t go fightin’ bandits to rescue people.” Felsroy said in a strong Welsh accent. His forehead furrowed and he scratched at his dense black beard as something distracted his attention away from the camera..

Denz stood before the raised command chair flanked by Canthouse to his left, both men with their hands behind their back. The commander was momentarily struck dumb by the man’s apathy toward the apparent loss of the colonies governor and his Royal Navy adjutant, to bandits. Governor Middlemore was the man Denz was here to see and he suspected Felsroy placed more concern with the absence of overdue supplies, with his becoming especially surly and resentful when he learnt they weren’t aboard the Bristol.

Felsroy was a squat bull of a man with a wide shouldered frame from manual work and a high fat diet, deep set eyes and an indignant weather reddened bulldog face mostly hidden by a wiry black beard and thick eyebrows. He wore a heavy blue knitted fisherman’s sweater suitable for very cold climates, with his fogging breaths hinting at the local climate. The thought of seasons momentarily distracted Denz as he considered their cocooned sanctuary aboard the ship. None of the crew had seen, heard or felt any sort of weather for more than three months.

A red slit opened and closed in Felsroy’s beard with the occasional flash of white teeth as he spoke to someone off camera. The anaemic hand of a woman flashed into view from off screen, with Felsroy’s face growing redder and a finger stabbing towards her with every one of his wide spaced Gaelic words. The words of her own response were lost in the bitter-shrieking tirade, and Felsroy appeared to give up, dismissing her with the cast of a thick fingered hand as he turned back to the camera, his face purple from fury.

The sound of a throat being cleared saw Denz turn towards Canthouse who had leaned close. “Procedure, commander.” Canthouse said, with a questioning inclination of his head.

The comment chaffed at Denz as XO or not, friend or not, this man had gone beyond his station in presuming to inform his commander he was unaware of his duty in front of the crew. Denz considered asking his first officer to accompany him off the bridge and explain himself when he noticed Canthouse’s eyes jump between him and the screen. He then realised.

“Mr Felsroy, just so I’m clear on this. Can you please explain to me one more time what has occurred here? What has happened to Governor Middlemore, and what actions you took to assist?” Denz said in a prosecutor’s voice, his default stance when dealing with an unruly crewman.

Felsroy responded with a grim stare, his distaste of Denz’s tribunal attitude evident with the round face showing a hint of white anger that may have turned physical should they have been in the same room. “As I’ve already told you. Three days ago the platform relayed the message you now have. That Middlemore’s ship had been attacked and his requesting help. But what could we do? We’re just farmers and fishermen with two old trade shuttles, so I re-encoded the message and sent it to the platform as a priority message to Exeter station. That’s it!” The voice was bitter and the narrow red ringed eyes kept moving to something off camera. Denz felt he needed to keep the momentum going or risk Felsroy leaving to attend to other matters.

“The problem is the message was never relayed to Exeter station. It stayed in storage with no priority send request. Are you sure you followed the right proced -”

“Of course I followed the right procedure as I followed your bloody book, see!” Felsroy’s irritability rose to outright hostility and he snatched a slim white manual from off camera, its pages flapping as he brandished it at the screen before casting it aside with a flick of his thick fingers.

Denz clasped and unclasped his hands behind his back as he gave the screen a heavy stare. “Mr Felsroy, anger will solve nothing here. I am only trying to ascertain what happened to Governor Middlemore’s ship when it left the system. And if correct procedure was followed when dealing with the message, because if an error was made –“

“No!” Felsroy’s white knuckled fist slammed the table. He stood, placing hands like meaty sledge hammers on the desktop and leaning toward the camera, his face dark and murderous. “No more of this, captain. I told you what happened. You military men are always coming here demanding of us and demeaning us, yet when we need supplies they never arrive. When we need help you’re never around. Last year, during the tremors, we asked for help and where were you? Twelve days it took you people to arrive, captain. Twelve bloody days! People died. One of mine amongst them. I’m just a normal man, see. Not a military officer. I may be first citizen when governor Middlemore isn’t here, but I don’t know anythin’ what goes on outside this colony, and certainly not in outer space. I’ve no obligation to help you, captain. So that’s it, see. I can’t help you anymore.“ Something again distracted Felsroy off screen with the camera shaking and then pitching forward when jostled from behind, so only the unswept wooden floor of Felsroy’s cabin remained visible.

Despite his inner anxiety, Denz remained still, his countenance grim. He had failed in his questioning and had only succeeded in reducing Felsroy to an agitated road block to information. The man had to know more. Heads of local government never went off planet without someone in his staff having at least some knowledge of where he went or some idea as to his ulterior motive. This was usually the acquisition of some untaxed or forbidden cargo that would find its way to a secret place in the hold. If this were the case and the Bristol commenced a sweeping search and rescue between here and Trent quarter station, only for governor to have made a side trip in a different direction then he’d never be located.

He knew Felsroy had purposely bungled the sending of the emergency message for fear of being implicated in any illicit actions, but the man must have some idea as to the coordinates the governor had headed towards, but how to get them now?

Denz released a slow despairing breath as he gazed myopically at the screen. The instinctive problem resolution he took for granted during combat situations had failed completely when it came to diplomacy with an irate fisherman. He chanced a glance at Canthouse who stood with his hands behind his back, his face neutral. He should have let his XO handle this from the very beginning.

The commander chattered his teeth behind closed lips, something he did when pensive, but no matter how sternly he ordered his mind to resolve this problem no resolution came.

He again glanced at his first officer. “Malcolm. If you’ve any ideas.”

“Carrots, sir.” Canthouse said in a low voice and with a knowing expression.

Denz gave his XO a long uncomprehending stare.

“Carrots, sir.” Canthouse repeated with a low smile. “The governor certainly went off the beaten track to obtain something these people want. Something they couldn’t obtain through legal channels, and with Mr Felsroy seemingly more interested in the material than the person. Maybe he’d be open to ...” He raised his eye brows as a way of completing his sentence.

Denz smiled and gave a low incredulous grunt. His XO would make a fine diplomat one of these days, and he’d have to remember to say as much in his next report.

“Mr Felsroy -.” Denz was cut off by some venomous shriek from over the still open microphone, followed by angry shouts in what sounded like bloody murder from the other side. “Mr Felsroy!” Denz called again. When he received no answer he gestured to Cummings who increased the signal strength. “Mr Felsroy!”

The response was a loud bleeding feedback from the other side, with the voices more excited than ever. Only this time the camera bucked and slowly righted to reveal the front of Felsroy’s baggy blue woollen sweater.”

Felsroy took several steps back, “What is it commander? I can’t waste my time with you all day, I’ve got a bloody colony to run. No! Leave it there and get out you bloody stupid woman. I’ll deal with you when I’m done with this ‘ere fool.” Felsroy said waving a finger at someone off screen. The response was an unintelligible string of rapid fire words delivered in such a high pitched and vexatious shriek that even Denz winced. There was the stamping of feet followed by the slamming of a door that rattled the fixings of the prefabricated cabin.

Felsroy’s burning attention stayed off screen for a several seconds, his chest heaving and streaming breath condensing like dragon fury, with his face near purple as if he’d been nose to nose with a fire and brimstone preacher. He slammed his chair into position and sat down.“What is it captain,” he snapped as he sorted through some loose papers.

“Mr Felsroy, I can only apologise for interfering with the running of your colony, which I can only imagine must be made somewhat worse by the frustrating delay in the delivery of supplies from Earth and the core colonies.”

“You’ve no bloody idea. We’re completely out of complex aggregates and our medical supplies are down to nothin’. If anyone gets so much as a common cold it’ll probably wipe out the colony. An’ all we get from Trent station is
next week, next week, next bloody week
. It’s no wonder we’ve no faith in any of you jockies.”

Denz suppressed a grin at the use of ‘jockies’. “So I’d be correct in surmising that this is the reason Governor Middlemore attempted to reach Trent station. To maybe acquire some medical supplies?”

“You surmise correctly, captain.”

“Would I also be correct in surmising that not all of the desired medical supplies were likely to found on Trent quarter station? After all, we all know certain
medicines
can only be obtained from certain obscure sources.”

“Eh!” Felsroy grunted and gave the camera a low steely glare. “I’m not entirely sure I catch your meanin’.”

“Come, Mr Felsroy, were both worldly men. Let’s not pretend there’s any misunderstanding here. I can assure you anything said here is purely off the record.”

Felsroy looked away from the camera momentarily as if considering something. He sat back and interlocked his hands over his barrel chest, “And if I was to say, supposin’ you might be right in what you said.”

Denz glanced at Canthouse the corners of whose mouth curled upwards betraying his diplomatic veneer. He returned his attention to the screen, “I’ve been in the Royal Navy a long time, Mr Felsroy. I’ve visited and patrolled every back-water path these sectors have to offer, and some it strictly doesn’t. I’ve apprehended and dealt with people that EDP central has no idea even exist. And, from time to time, have made some …shall we say, less than sanctioned trades for items that are hard to come by outside of the core systems.”

Felsroy stared quietly but keenly at the screen.

“We are often very far from home for months, or even years at a time, and I don’t see any harm in bending the rules a tad to keep the crew content. After all, a happy crew is an efficient crew.” Denz smiled broadly.

Felsroy sat with his head cocked considering the possibility of this being entrapment.

“We may be in possession of certain ...medicinals you may be in need of.”

“Aye.” Felsroy said, his face still lined with uncertainty as fat fingers pursued an itch in his mop of curly black hair.

“All I ask in return are the coordinates where we may begin our search for Governor Middlemore.”

One of Felsroy’s fingers tapped the desktop in slow deliberation as he stared at the camera for several long seconds. “These medicines, then. What type would they b –“

“You’ll understand if,
medicines,
is all I can say, Mr Felsroy.” Denz said, with something of a conspiratorial smile

“Aye. I guess I would. And how much would there be?”

“Enough to satisfy. That is, if we’re satisfied, first.” Denz smiled again.

“Aye.” Felsroy repeated. He drummed his fingers on the table top as he stared at the floor. After several seconds of apparent deliberation he turned to his computer and worked the keyboard.

A beep came from the operations station and Cummings nodded towards Denz.

“So what now then?” asked Felsroy.

“What now is we honour our end of the deal.”

“So how like? Will you deliver the medi –“

“You understand that we couldn’t possibly deliver such ‘medicines’ to you personally, Mr Felsroy. As every shuttle launch is logged with its crew and contents carefully recorded.”

“Aye.” Felsroy said the drumming of his fingers rising with his suspicion.

“However, if we were to send a drone to the weapons platform with a modified munitions pod. I’m sure it would be but a small inconvenience for you to retrieve it.”