Ep.#4 - "Freedom's Dawn" (The Frontiers Saga) (8 page)

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.

“There are weapons of use other than knives and guns.” The ensign smiled and leaned back in his chair, his meal now finished. “I was a Corinairan long before I was a Takaran communications officer. I will remain a Corinairan long after my tour of duty is over, as will my Corinairan brethren on this ship… one of which worked in environmental control. As soon as the captain ordered the bombardment, I knew I had to act fast to save my world. I sent a covert message to my friend to reduce the atmospheric pressure and oxygen content on the bridge and the upper decks. Takarans are used to a much higher pressure and oxygen content. It took a while—as it had to be done slowly so as not to alarm anyone—but eventually, it made them weak and impaired their mental acuity. When the time came, it was quite easy to overpower both Takaran guards and capture their weapons.”

“And the blow to the captain?” Sergeant Weatherly inquired.

“That one was personal.” Ensign Willard’s grin instantly tripled in size.

* * *

Commander Dumar’s eyes momentarily glanced at the video feeds from the rooftop security cameras as all five of his Kalibri airships set down safely. His eyes had been fixed on the current action reports scrolling across the large screen built into the planning table in the middle of the command center. He had at least two dozen teams instigating conflicts between Loyalists and Followers in Aitkenna alone. In addition, communiqués from the other posts on his continent reported that they were running similar operations, if not quite as complex as those he was currently running in the planet’s capital. This was, after all, the seat of the Corinairan government, and if he was to destabilize them then this was the place to make it happen.

No more than a few minutes after the airships had returned from the mission to free the command staff of the Yamaro from their captivity, her captain came bursting into the command center. As with any nobleman, he expected everyone around him to gaze in awe upon him, a common trait that the commander found somewhat puzzling as very few of the nobles he had met in his career were visually impressive.

“Commander!” Captain de Winter bellowed as he entered the room and immediately spotted the man in charge standing at the planning table.

The commander continued to watch the various displays built into the table. Live feeds from various sources played in at least a dozen separate windows on the main screen. Most were from handheld digi-cams with live mobile links to the planetary data network. Others were from professional news services still operating within the ruins of the city—the ones that he had allowed to continue broadcasting due to their decidedly loyalist viewpoints. At catastrophic events, there were always plenty of digi-cams around to record it from every possible angle. It made getting live intelligence considerably easier. Since Commander Dumar could control which news agencies were still on the air, he had a greater degree of influence over the population.

“I need to speak with you!” the captain insisted as he approached.

As if to convey his complete lack of interest in or respect for the man, the commander responded without even looking up from his displays. “What can I help you with, Captain?”

“I require ships and armed personnel, the best that you’ve got.”

“You mean like the men who just freed you and your fellow nobles?”

The captain recognized the sarcasm in the commander’s voice but chose to ignore it for the moment. Had he been on Takara, he was quite sure that the commander’s tone would have been more respectful. “If those are the best that you have, then yes.”

“And just what types of
ships
do you require?”

“At least two orbital shuttles escorted by fighters and gunships.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Captain, but I’m afraid I can’t provide you with all of that at this particular moment.”

“Well, when can you?” the captain asked impatiently.

“If we’re lucky, in a few days. But it’s more likely to be a few weeks.”