Ep.#4 - Freedom's Dawn (The Frontiers Saga), page 6
“Oh, rest assured; if given the opportunity, I’m quite certain that Captain de Winter will do at least that… if I’m lucky.”
“Then why the hell did you do it?” Weatherly asked, still puzzled. “Why would you turn on your captain, your ship?”
Ensign Willard stopped short of the entrance to the flight control center. After looking down for a moment, he turned around to face his inquisitor. “Because I didn’t want to turn on my world,” he stated, looking directly into the sergeant’s eyes. “That’s my world down there. It’s where I was born. It’s where I was raised. It’s where my family still lives.”
Weatherly was slightly taken aback. As far as he knew, this man was a member of the Ta’Akar military. “If you’re from Corinair, then what are you doing on a Takaran warship?”
Willard laughed. “None of us are from Takara, at least not most of us. Only the officers are Takaran. The rest of us are from worlds the Ta’Akar have conquered.” Willard entered the flight control center and made his way across the small room to the main console with Weatherly following behind him. “Many young men on Takaran controlled worlds are randomly selected to serve in the imperial military, starting on their twentieth birthday.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Weatherly said. “Many of the nations on my world still require service from their citizens. Not ten years, mind you, but you usually end up getting something worthwhile out of it, like a skill or a trade at least.”
“Not so for us,” Willard told him as he began powering up the flight control console. “If we’re lucky, we’re put off on a half-decent world when our service has been fulfilled.”
“They don’t provide you transportation back home?”
“If they happen to be nearby when your time is up, then yes. However, most of us end up on the Takaran home world, or worse.”
“Is Takara such a bad place?”
“Not if you are Takaran. Foreign veterans are not exactly welcome. If you are lucky, you will find a job doing some menial task. And in about twenty years you might be able to save up enough credits to book passage home.”
Weatherly refrained from commenting further. There was no way for him to know if the ensign was telling him the truth, or leading him on for some other purpose. While he did not have the training that his friend Enrique had, he knew enough to not believe everything he heard, especially not from an enemy prisoner.
“That should do it,” Ensign Willard announced. “The AFCS should guide them in automatically now.”
Weatherly regarded the young ensign a moment longer. His gut was telling him that the man was being truthful, but it was not his place to make that determination. He would simply pass what he had learned up the chain of command, starting with his friend, Ensign Enrique Mendez of the Aurora’s spec-ops unit.
“Thanks,” he told the ensign as he reached for his comm-set. “Aurora, Weatherly. The auto-flight system is up and running.”
* * *
“Shuttle One, Aurora.”
“Finally,” Marcus said. “Go ahead.”
“Shuttle One, you are directed to land on the Yamaro, port side flight deck. The auto-flight system should be operating now. Once on board, meet up with Sergeant Weatherly on the flight deck. We’ll figure out how to get the shuttle back to the Aurora later.”
“Ah hell,” Marcus complained as he checked the AFCS display for the carrier signal from the Yamaro. “I don’t wanna be stuck on the Yamaro for God knows how long.”
“It’s better than being stuck out here,” Enrique pointed out.
“Don’t be too sure. You ever been aboard a Takaran warship? They’re kinda creepy inside,” Marcus explained as he set the auto-flight system to accept control from the Yamaro. “Then again, I guess that could be just the brig. That was the only part of the ship I ever saw.”
The shuttle began moving again, her course changing slightly toward the Yamaro’s port side.
“Well, at least they’ll probably have better food on board.”
Marcus turned, looked at Enrique, and smiled. “Good point. I don’t know about you, but I’m already sick of molo.”
* * *
“How the hell did a grunt like you figure out how to turn on a Takaran auto-flight doohickey?” Enrique joked as they walked down the shuttle’s rear boarding ramp.
“Wasn’t me, sir,” Sergeant Weatherly admitted. “It was this guy,” he added, pointing to Ensign Willard to his left. “This is Ensign Michael Willard, son of Robert of Aitkenna,” the sergeant explained, mimicking the fashion in which the ensign had introduced himself earlier.
“Aitkenna,” Marcus observed. “You’re a Corinairan?”
“Yes sir. Born and raised. My clan goes all the way back to the original colonies of the Corinairan people,” he explained with no small amount of pride.
Enrique looked at the ensign with surprise. “If you don’t mind my asking, what the hell are you doing on a Takaran ship, especially one that just tried to glass your planet?”
“I figure that’s why he led a mutiny and surrendered the ship,” Sergeant Weatherly explained.
“He did?” Marcus asked, looking the young ensign over. “He doesn’t look like he’s got it in him. Hell, he’s just a kid.”
“Well that kid apparently cold-cocked his captain and took the command staff hostage. Seems there’s more Corinairans on board as well. Apparently, the enlisted are drafted from various worlds and forced to serve.”
“Yup. That’s the way it’s been for decades. Taxes, resources, and young men to serve in their military: all the worlds conquered by the Ta’Akar have to meet their quotas in order to continue governing themselves.” Marcus chuckled once before continuing. “Give us your money, your rocks, and your fresh young lads… That’s the running joke.”
Enrique stepped closer to Ensign Willard. “So is that why you did it; to save your world?”
“Wouldn’t you?” the ensign answered.
Enrique grunted in agreement. “Damn right I would. Thanks.”
“For what?” Ensign Willard asked. “Surrendering or turning on the auto-flight system?”
“Well both, I suppose. But I do have one more question. You guys got anything to eat on this bucket? We’ve been eating nothing but dehydrated crap and molo for days now.”
“I believe I can help you there as well.”
“Then lead the way,” Enrique told him, holding out his hand to point toward the exit.
“Why would you eat molo?” the ensign asked as they headed out of the flight deck. “We won’t even feed molo to our dogs.”
Enrique cast an accusing glance back at Marcus as he exited the hangar bay.
“Hey, don’t look at me. I didn’t tell your captain to buy all that disgusting fungus.”
The journey from the port side hangar bay was short, as the galley that served the crew of the Yamaro was centrally located. The first thing that Enrique had noticed was that the ship itself was much different on the inside than the Aurora. His ship had numerous pipes, conduits, and ducting running all along the walls and ceilings, leaving very little open wall space. The Yamaro’s walls and ceilings were relatively clean, with only the occasional interruption of a strategically placed interface panel or comm-console at shoulder height along the walls.
Another thing that was different was that the bottom edges of the doorways were flush with the floors. On the Aurora however—other than a few doors designed to allow rolling apparatus to pass through them—the hatchways were always twenty centimeters above the deck. The Yamaro’s hatches were automated, disappearing into the bulkheads when activated. Most of the Aurora’s hatches were of the hinged type and had to be operated manually—except of course a few of the main hatches that sealed off critical areas or passed through primary bulkheads. All of those were automated.
There was a different aesthetic as well. The Aurora was simple and functional. The Yamaro by comparison was more ornate; with the seal of Caius the Great visible nearly everywhere. While the Aurora's corridors and ceilings were designed with space efficiency as a primary consideration, the Yamaro was designed to impress visitors with its lavish accommodations and gratuitous dimensions integrated in to every facet of its structure. As they approached the galley, Enrique couldn’t help but wonder how much it had cost to produce a ship like the Yamaro. While it was impressive, all the extra space and decoration seemed like such a waste.
“How many people did you say it took to crew this ship?” Enrique asked.
“The standard crew compliment is two hundred eighty-six,” Ensign Willard told him.
“That’s, like, a dozen less than the Aurora. It doesn’t seem nearly enough for a ship this size.”
“The ship is mostly automated. It takes only a quarter of that number to actually operate her.”
“Then why is this ship so big?” Enrique wondered as they entered a mess hall that was obviously designed to seat more than twice the ships standard crew.
The ensign smiled. “Yes, I can see how that would be misleading.” He pointed to a bank of machines built into the far wall of the great room. “The food is dispensed from those machines.”
Enrique gestured for him to continue moving toward the food dispensers. As they made their way between the rows of dining tables, the ensign continued his explanation. “You see, it is not uncommon for this ship to carry additional assault forces in addition to her operational crew, hence the need for her size and additional space,” Willard said, gesturing at the size of the mess hall.
“But you’re not carrying any now, right?” Marcus interrupted, looking around as if he expected a squadron of heavily armed men to come charging out from the shadows of the poorly lit room.
“No, not on this patrol. We were on our way to pick up a batch of new recruits to ferry them back to Takara.”
“But you’re a warship,” Enrique said. “Don’t they have other ships to perform those tasks, like troop transports or something?”
“Normally, yes. But resources have been depleted in recent years due to the rebellion.”
“But still, this is hardly a gunboat. This is a heavily armed cruiser. It seems a poor use of resources if you ask me.”
“They don’t ask us,” the ensign said, another small chuckle peppering his otherwise somber tone. “Besides, rumor has it that Captain de Winter has fallen ‘out of favor’ with command.”
“Ah. I see it flows downhill in your military as well,” Enrique commented.
The ensign looked at him quizzically as he tried unsuccessfully to discern his meaning. “It isn’t my military,” he corrected.
Ensign Willard stepped up to the bank of machines. There appeared to be four distinct stations, each appearing identical to the others. “These are the primary food dispensers,” he explained. “You simply select what you want to eat, and it will be provided through these compartments on the bottom. The red door is for hot items, the orange for room temperature items, and the blue for cold items.”
Enrique looked at the instructions on the screen. “These are all in Takaran.”
“Of course,” the ensign answered. “We were all required to learn the Takaran language.”
“Allow me,” Marcus offered as he pushed Enrique aside and stepped up to the dispenser.
“You read Takaran?” Ensign Willard asked, somewhat surprised.
“Since I was five,” he answered, as if it had been a stupid question. “Besides,” he added, “after dining with these people for a few days, I think I have a pretty good idea what they like to eat.”
“Who says we like what we’ve been eating lately?” Enrique corrected.
Marcus navigated through several menus, after which the display began to show pictures. After scrolling through several pictures of complete meals, he stopped on one. “Whattaya think?” he asked Enrique and the others.
Enrique and Sergeant Weatherly both squeezed in on either side of Marcus to get a better look at the displayed image. It appeared to be some kind of cooked red meat, covered in a light brown sauce. Alongside it was a pale green vegetable that looked something like green beans, but with an abnormal hue.
“What is it?” Weatherly asked.
“It’s similar to what I believe you people call beef,” Marcus told them.
“All right then,” Enrique declared. “Order us up some.”
Marcus selected the item. The machine made a few faint noises and a half minute later both the hot and cold doors opened at waist level. Marcus pulled a glass of cold water from the cold door, and a meal tray containing the same food that had appeared on the display. “There ya go,” he said, handing the food and drink to Enrique. “Food fit for a king.”
“No,” Ensign Willard corrected, “not in here. But maybe in the officers’ mess.”
Enrique took the food from Marcus, sniffing the entree. “Smells edible. Order up one for everyone.”
“What do I look like, a waiter?”
“More so than a pilot,” Enrique quipped. “Are you hungry?” he asked Ensign Willard.
“Actually, yes.”
“Remove his restraints,” Enrique instructed the sergeant.
Sergeant Weatherly pulled the remote out of his pocket, held it against the metallic cuffs encircling the ensign’s hands, and pressed the unlock button. The Takaran restraining devices opened simultaneously. He plucked them from the young ensign’s hands and stuck them into the utility pocket on his thigh armor.
“Thank you,” the ensign said, rubbing his wrists.
“Least we could do, considering you’re feeding us.”
The ensign took the food and drink from Enrique, a puzzled look on his face.
“Go ahead, have a seat,” Enrique told him as Marcus handed him another plate of food and a glass of water.
Ensign Willard took the food and sat down at the nearest table, with Enrique sitting down across from him. He immediately began shoveling the food into his mouth. He had not eaten since before they had arrived in his home system more than eight hours ago. After a few bites, he noticed that Enrique was watching him intently, and had not taken a single bite of his own meal. “You are not hungry?”
“No, I’m hungry all right.”
A wave of understanding washed across the ensign’s face. “When dining with your enemy, always let him dine first,” he said with a smile.
“Something like that,” Enrique answered, also smiling.
Ensign Willard continued eating. “I assure you, sir; I have no intentions of poisoning you,” he explained between mouthfuls. “On the contrary, you are my only way home.”
“I hope you’re not offended,” Enrique apologized as he took his first bite.
“Of course not. In fact, I’m relieved that those who are to be our allies are not fools who would act without forethought.”
“Hey, this isn’t too bad,” Enrique said with surprise as he chewed his first bite of the unusual meat.
“Anything is better than molo,” Marcus insisted as he sat down to eat. “Here,” he said as he dropped a basket of rolls on the table, “I got us some rolls as well.”
“You’re right,” Sergeant Weatherly commented, “this is pretty good.”
“Believe me,” Ensign Willard insisted, “the stuff the command staff eats is much better than this.”
“How do you know?” Enrique asked. His training in special ops included interrogation, and the act of sharing a meal was an excellent way to get someone to open up to you without their even realizing they were doing so.
“Every junior officer is invited to dine with the captain at least once,” he explained as he continued to eat. “Some people think he does this to make you see how the upper classes live… as an incentive. But most of us know better.”
“Know better about what?”
“Let me put it this way. In the four years that I have served, I have never seen an officer of command rank that was not Takaran born.”
“Why is that?”
“Them Takarans think their shit don’t stink,” Marcus exclaimed. “Especially them ‘well-to-do’ bastards.”
“Your friend is correct,” Ensign Willard told him.
“But aren’t you an officer?”
“Technically, yes. But I’m what they refer to as a ’common’ officer. My rank is only to allow me access to the areas of the ship that are required to do my job. And even then only because I have unique skills that are of value to them. I am not allowed to roam the upper decks unless I am invited, or unless it is in the performance of my duties.”
“The upper decks?” Enrique asked.
“The ship is basically divided into four decks. The top two decks are officers’ decks, which basically means nobles only. They don’t allow non-Takaran born personnel on those decks.” Ensign Willard looked at them quizzically. “Haven’t you been to the bridge yet?”
“I haven’t,” Enrique admitted. He looked at Sergeant Weatherly. “Have you?”
“Yes sir. I was on the original boarding team. Been on board ever since.”
“Did you notice the two sets of stairs split by a center walkway?” Ensign Willard asked. “That walkway connects the bridge to the decks where the nobles live and work. The rest of us ‘commoners’ take the stairs down to the lower decks. Most of the crew never even go up those stairs—just a few of us common officers, and the service staff that takes care of the nobles.”
Sergeant Weatherly let out a muffled grunt. “That explains why that part of the ship was so much nicer.”
Enrique looked at the sergeant.
“Big, wide hallways, luxury suites, recreation center… it was like a cruise ship up there. At first, we thought we had walked onto another ship or something.”
Enrique looked back at Ensign Willard. There was something that was bothering him, something that didn’t add up. “If there is that much separation of the classes, then how did you get a weapon on the bridge?”
“Who says I had a weapon?” the ensign said, the slightest hint of pride forming on his otherwise somber face.
“You took out a bridge full of nobles without a weapon?” Enrique wasn’t buying it.
