NationStates Jolt Archive

The warship Relast was nowhere near the Shotego system when the Bio-Technological Alliance attacked the Holy Empire’s holdings there. The Warlord had little interest in Shotego, and little interest in taking sides in the latest conflict between the two factions. And so Brukates, along with his shipmates, got to hear about it on the military news report.

To Brukates, it wasn’t unlike his joining up to begin with. He’d come hoping to see the Warlord – and never did. Oh, he was in the same grand space, in his vague proximity for a few days, but never did he walk up – as he imagined when he signed up – and salute, or perhaps even shake hands with the great leader. It was straight to training and toil.

“Worms!” called a voice everyone recognized. It was Mirgaz, the section leader. “Enough gawking. You all have work to do.”

Everyone scrambled, the news forgotten. They hadn’t been told much, anyway, and what they had was censored, filtered, and weeks out of date. Brukates found himself jammed up against the bulkhead.

“And you,” Mirgaz said, breathing hot, somewhat smelly air against his face. “You’re in my way.”

He was released as Mirgaz swaggered down the narrow passage. He felt shamed, that he had just felt such fear, and had nothing to respond.

“Mirgaz, he just loves everyone,” said Kelnos. Kelnos had an odd sense of humor that he didn’t quite like, especially at times like these.

“Right,” he grumbled.

“Hey, don’t bite my head. I guess he loves some more than others. What’s for food?”

“I think tonight is worm stew.”

“Worms! We had that last night.”

“No one’s creative anymore.”

“Least of all you. Hey, move out of the way!” Kelnos was carrying some sort of engineering machinery in a basket. It looked broken, but Brukates couldn’t be sure.

“What’ve you got there?” Brukates asked as he stepped aside.

“Dessert.”

Without warning, the bulkheads shuddered, throwing Brukates off of his feet. The entire hull seemed to shake with the violence, and the ringing, roaring, screaming sound of ongoing explosions deafened him. Almost immediately, the lighting changed to battle-ready red. He supposed there were klaxons sounding, but he couldn’t hear until after he’d stopped screaming.

The Relast, on patrol near Os-Far V, had been hit by a low-speed, low-yield missile, whose low energy signature and heat radiation had enabled it to sneak past the warship’s sensor fields. Perhaps it had gone undetected until impact; perhaps it’d simply been detected too late to react. It slammed against the well-armored bow, penetrated the outer armor, and detonated against the inner armor. The warhead and vaporizing missile material breached the hull, sending a stream of molten metals against the forward compartments there, killing seventeen crew in their stations instantly. The attack continued.

tag

Brukates was assigned an assistant-warrior role to the number five HK cannon. When he got there, the gunner didn't overact but merely stated: "Took you long enough."

His station was a simple one. Assist the gunner. It was now a matter of waiting until the fire control network locked onto a target, and tracked it until it came into range, at which point the gunner had the option of opening fire. The HK was a close-range weapon, which meant it would never fire on moving targets beyond a few thousand kilometers relative distance. It wasn't a point-defense weapon, so if the computer gave the go signal to fire, that meant either a completely stationary target at some greater distance, or something large and mean, and too close for comfort.

They waited. The HK's were individually powered, individually controlled, armored cans beneath the thunderous electromagnetic accelerators. Although linked to the command network, they were essentially their own sealed-off worlds, oblivious to the terrors just a few meters distant. They even had their own emergency life support capability - for up to 50 hours, that was.

It was hot. Despite the atmospheric controls, it was too hot for Brukates' preference. He desperately wanted to jump in a bath, detesting the stench of sweat from the previous shifts. Waiting for imminent action or inaction frayed his nerves. He hoped he wouldn't die slowly enough to feel it. But he hoped more that something would happen.

The targeting noise changed, and he heard the massive cannon somewhere above him as it began to track a target. The gunner's expression continued to show nothing but steady determination. Brukates felt like a coward.

Suddenly the targeting noise changed again - higher pitched, quicker pulses. The gunner, listening to the computer, waited for a command authorization. Then the spine-tingling, bone-shaking sound of immense energy; power, stored like a spring, roared through a massive, coiled length, propelling the projectile to furious velocities. Just two of the HK batteries were opening fire; the others either not in position, holding back, disabled or destroyed.

The gun stopped, its sensor link shattered, blind. The gunner cursed silently, then relayed the problem to the bridge in a clear voice. Whatever answer he got, he must not have liked.

Brukates had never felt quite so useless as now. Theoretically, he was supposed to be learning from this so he could advance. This wasn't his first combat, but it was his heaviest to date - and he sat, dumb, knowing his best option was to keep out of everyone's way...

The Relast had taken four more kinetic strikes and now drifted slowly, unable to fire its engine without crushing the hull. Its sensor system had been overwhelmed, both by impact and laser weapons. Over half the crew had been killed. The armored gun tank was impotent, and the gunners had all been ordered to stand down.

Brukates finally learned this from the gunner: "The Commander is surrendering the ship. We don't have enough warriors to make a defense."

"What do we do now?" he asked, feeling as small and weak as he must have sounded.

"Now," the gunner said grimly, at last a trace of emotion showing through his professional stalwartness, "We wait for them to board and take us prisoner."

Zel-Zakir reclined at a desk. Made out of true wood, it was a luxury mass to have on a warship, but it was allowed for a flag officer. Or, for the Warlord of Agnals.

"We've secured the enemy ship," reported Commander Egute. "Many of the prisoners need medical attention, which we're giving. Unfortunately our warriors are spread somewhat thin. Should I double the guards?"

Zel-Zakir shrugged, as if to say it didn't matter. "That is your prerogative, Commander. I personally do not fear them overmuch."

Egute stood silent for a moment. The warlord's office was deceptively homey. Behind the wood panelling and paintings thrummed enough electricity to power the command center of Agnals' administration. His personal datalink was connected to the ship's communication equipment. It was unlikely that he'd be surprised by a rebellion at home while away on an expedition...

"Bring me their captain. The Commander. Is he alive?"

"Yes, warlord. I'll have him brought up here at once."

"Please see to it." And by his demeanor he made it clear that Egute was to leave. Egute could hardly do anything but comply. On the way out he saw the guard leading a prisoner: the Commander of the Relast, who looked exhausted but unharmed. He stood to the side and nodded curtly to the prisoner. He'd meant nothing personal in the attack, even though it turned out to be a bloody ambush. He wondered at how the enemy captain must feel.

Commander Teral, as it turned out, kept his feelings at bay as he was brought before the reclining Warlord.

"I trust you are not dissatisfied with your treatment, all things considered?" asked Zel-Zakir.

Teral paused carefully. "All things considered, yes."

"You must not be very pleased at the outcome of the battle."

Teral, again with a studied pause: "I was not pleased that there was a battle."

Zel-Zakir blinked. "Nor was I, but unlike you, I had the painful knowledge of the reasons for why it was necessary."

"Which were?"

Zel-Zakir smiled slightly, and then stood, as if about to give a speech to his masses. "The Independents had it only partially correct. It was needed, for the future order of society, to split our race apart into small, petty factions with local concerns. But it was not needed that it was always to remain so! The Clomata must be again forged into a single state, a single realm."

"Why must they? Why can't we remain Independent?"

Zel-Zakir held up a finger, and then used his other hand to operate a panel. The room dimmed, and a holographic projection showed points of light in space. Stars. Teral recognized Os-Far, his home.

"These are the systems inhabited by our race," Zel-Zakir said, gesturing at a broad, interlinked cluster. "These are the ones uninhabited or only partially explored. Beyond that is the great expanse of unexplored, uninhabited stars. Right? Everyone is taught this in basic astrography."

Teral nodded slowly. Zel-Zakir, pleased, continued. "But that's another half-truth. These aren't unexplored. You're a Commander, you know as well as I how easy it is to launch a small survey ship from point A to point B. As long as the distance isn't too far, which it isn't in this case. They've been explored, and some of them aren't uninhabited either."

Knowing the answer, but knowing that he was expected to ask anyway, Teral asked: "Inhabited? By whom?"

Zel-Zakir shook his head. "By what, more like. Starfaring, sentient alien races. Hostile to our interests by their nature. So far there's been no conflict, but it's only a matter of time. And if they launch their attacks, all the Clomata will eventually die. Do you know why?'

"Because they are united, and we are not."

"Exactly! There is a clear need for unification. It's one that an Independent, like your warlord Chul-Irun, can never admit publicly, for he'd have to give in to some kind of interstellar state policy - it's the only logical course of action."

"I see. So he's been keeping the existence of the alien races a secret, so he can stay in power. But you know the truth, that we need to unite, and you are the one to unite us."

Now slightly wary, Zel-Zakir repeated: "Exactly!"

"And these are the reasons you fired upon my vessel, killed half my crew and broke the peace treaty?"

Zel-Zakir refused to be put on the defensive. "Your warlord will not submit to unification in any other way. It may be hard for you to understand-"

"Sir, I understand all too well. I understand you had five ships to mine, and that as we were in a state of peace, I had no reason to suspect or prepare for your surprise attack. The only reason I might have prepared is if were to be going through pirate territory. You had no reason to pound the ship practically to pieces, when you had every advantage and could have captured it whole. But you needed to send a message to my warlord. And so you made sure to kill more than you needed, to demonstrate your seriousness."

Zel-Zakir surprised the commander by laughing. Teral stood icily until he stopped. "Well, Commander, you have me there. And you are right to feel angry, to mourn your warriors. I don't expect you agree with me. But you clearly know as well as I do the necessity of what happened here today. You will make a perfect messenger."

"If you intend to add my body to the dead, you may find the message gets a different reception than you might want."

Zel-Zakir smiled tightly. "I will not kill you, my good commander. On the contrary, you are far more valuable to me alive." And he motioned for the guards.

They brought Commander Teral in for the last time while Brukates snacked on a rubbery chunk of reprocessed grain.

He was weak and they had to carry him by his arms. He fell something like a sack of potatoes and the guards left.

"Those bloody worms," swore Kelnos. "They've no right, treating us this way."

The XO knelt besides Teral, who merely sat there panting, staring into space. Finally their commander said: "Something's happened... something's changed."

"Don't worry about that just now, sir."

"No..." and now Teral grasped his first officer by the sweaty collar of his uniform, pulling him closer. "No... they've found something... Agnals... Zel-Zakir..." and he broke into a fit of wet-sounding coughing.

The prisoners waited silently, knowing they could do nothing. Their medics were killed in the battle, and the guards could care less about prisoner health issues.

"Found.... alien race.... races... maybe technologies.... something big, something that... makes him think he can... must be... be crowned Emperor..."

"Why are they torturing him!" Mirgaz, standing nearby, demanded. He was sweaty himself, and visibly afraid, but he was angry too. As usual. Then again they were all angry at seeing their ship ambushed, their commander tortured.

They ignored Mirgaz, not knowing the answer and not wishing to interrogate poor Teral.

Teral answered, anyhow: "They wanted to know about... Outer Colonies defenses...." he laughed miserably. "At this point... I do too. Maybe they'd quit ask- asking...."

Teral broke into a fit of coughing.

"This isn't good," muttered Brukates to Kelnos.

"Nope."

The guards were at the cell door again. "Two more. And you," a guard said, pointing a beefy finger at the Commander.

"You bloody worms, you won't!" cried Kelnos, who was ignored. Brukates found himself being led out of his cell, away from the other prisoners, along with Mirgaz - of all people.

They brought out Teral too, and dragged him down the corridor, in the other way. "What are you doing with him?" Brukates asked steadily. "He doesn't know what you want."

"Don't know, don't care. Come with us or we'll knock you on your head."

Brukates followed, there being little else he could do.

The Bio-Tech Alliance was comprised of 3 colony worlds on which 2.6 billion Clomata resided, making it the single largest political entity in the sector. Currently, it was at war with the Holy Empire of Kinegoa - Kinegoa, once the home of the Clomata Empire, now a diminished wasteland around which the Purificationists had built their impressively influential religion.

But that did not mean it was blind. The Autarchy of Agnals had long been a militant faction, but it had never been wantonly aggressive.

In a cold, digital room, two minds conversed.

:The Outer Worlds of Os-Far surrendered last week, and we estimate the Republic of Os-Far III will do the same within two or three days. That will add a second star system to the Autarchy's control.

:But we still do not know why Zel-Zakir has chosen to do this. His diplomats have been most uncooperative.

:Whatever his motives, he has a significant naval presence, and this conquest will increase his major shipyards to 6. This is sufficient reason to suspect he will continue to attack minor Independent states.

:His motives are important to us. He is a major Independent idealist himself, or he was. If he is changing to Imperialism, we should find out why.

:He timed it very well, waiting until we began our conflict with Kinegoa before he launched his own surprise attack. Could this mean he anticipated our intervention and wanted to prevent it?

:It could, yes.

:I do not think his motivations are that important. He has demonstrated that he is a threat, attacking for no apparent reason other than to gain in power. Agnals ships have always been quite capable, and our latest intelligence reports show construction of new designs utilizing antimatter. With new ship-building capacity, this makes Agnals a threat, especially given our current situation.

:It also makes them quite an appealing target. Their technology could add to ours.

:But we cannot attack at this time. We have no legitimate reason to, and the Kinegoans are already using their perverted religion to turn neutral parties against us.

:What intelligence assets have we in place?

:That is something I wished to discuss. One of our operatives was aboard an Outer Worlds vessel when it was captured two weeks ago...

Brukates and Mirgaz were brought to what looked like another cell block. Funny, Brukates thought, that the ship should have so many. The two were thrown into a small compartment and left there.

"Great," Brukates grumbled momentarily. "Of all the people to get stuck-"

"Listen to me," Mirgaz said in a quiet, clear voice quite unlike his usual tone, "And listen quickly. We're lucky to have this time,"

"Luck? What kind of game you playing, Mirgaz?" demanded Brukates.

"My name is not Mirgaz. I work for Intelligence. My mission was to discover a traitor among the Relast's officers. My real name is Jekur."

Brukates, frowning in contempt, began to believe as he listened - not so much to the words, but to the way Mirgaz/Jekur said them. It was really as if the Mirgaz he'd come to know as an officious brute had just faded away before his eyes, to be replaced by this new person.

His frown was replaced by a look of confusion. "How am I supposed to believe something like that?"

"Listen!" Mirgaz hissed. "They have to interrogate me first. I will accept their offer and you will be upset. You hit me, then they interrogate you, and you must accept their offer as well."

"What off-"

"No time to explain. You must accept their offer, or else they will kill you. This is the only way we can continue our service to the warlord. Do you understand? You must accept their offer!"

"Well, if you want me to hit you, I suppose that can be managed," Brukates said, remembering the weeks of shit-labor he'd been assigned by this man.

"Don't forget the rest," Mirgaz said dryly.

Perhaps a few minutes, perhaps a few hours later, the guards came to the cell and took Mirgaz away. He went without protest or resistance.

Brukates had, despite himself, begun to fall asleep when Mirgaz was brought back. His surprise at what he saw was genuine - Mirgaz (that is, Jekur) - wore a spanking clean uniform: the brown and gold colors of the Autarchy of Agnals.

Nor did he have to fake his response: "What in the hell is this?"

"Come on, you," said the guard, who opened the cell. Remembering what Mirgaz had said, but also just feeling like pounding on someone, Brukates launched himself at Mirgaz. It took another guard to separate the two, and then drag Brukates away. The cell closed behind them, and Mirgaz just stood there, the smallest of self-satisfied smiles on his face. It was the last thing Brukates saw for some time.