Wandering Engineer 6: Pirates Bane (13 page)

Two thugs remained behind. Irons noted one of them had a tattoo of
a line across his throat with the words 'cut here' in various places above and
below the line. Cute. He had a heavy jaw, nose flattened by repeated breaks,
and hard hands. He was an older bruiser, going a bit thick in the middle, but
he obviously still worked out.

The tape was cut and he was kicked a few times. He was roughly
forced to his feet and then escorted to the brig under heavy guard. There he
found it filled with the surviving crew of the other ships. He looked around as
the guards freed him. One had a hand on his shoulder, pushing him against the
wall outside the brig door. “New Meat!” the guard said, grinning evilly.

“Hang on, you gotta tell him the rules,” another guard, said. He
frowned suddenly and looked to the companionway they had just come down. “This
it? He is the only survivor?”

“He's the only one period. Boss lady said he's
special
,”
the first guard said.

“Well, he can go in with the rest,” the guard behind the desk
said, waving a baton to a shift coming in. Irons glanced with his eyes but they
were still covered in tape. He focused with his implants and watched the IR
signatures of six prisoners, shoulders slumped, in chains, shuffle past him
under guard. After a moment he felt the tape around his eyes being roughly
ripped off. He gasped.

“Rules of the road,” the guard growled. He slapped the baton
against the Admiral's kidneys. Irons gasped, knees buckling.

Irons felt a hand roughly grab his short hair and pull back. “You
listen here
boy
,” the guard snarled he tugged on the hair and shoved the
new prisoner into the wall hard enough so his chest was compressed. “You mind
your P's and Q's and you'll live to see another sunrise. You so much as think
mutiny and you will be out an airlock so fast you'll never know it till you are
sucking vacuum.”

Irons gasped. “That clear enough for you Guppy?” the voice asked,
turning his head away to the guard on duty.

“Yeah, whatever. He'll learn quick if he wants to live.” The guard
behind the desk said, sounding bored. “Did you search him?”

“No. Not my catch.”

“Stupid,” the corporal snarled. “Do it quick.”

Rough hands patted John down. They found a few tools he had in his
pockets and tossed them onto the desk. They were rough, ripping a hip pocket.
One even grabbed his genitals, making the Admiral freeze. The pervert felt him
up for a second, getting in his face to look him in the eye. “Oh this one likes
this. He's going to be fun,” the guy said. His breath stank of rotten teeth.
Irons didn't look away. “Oh yeah, you have spirit. Lieutenant Sikes is right,
it's more fun to break em when they have balls like these!” the guy said
squeezing.

Irons gasped in pain.

“Quit playing around Johanen. We've got other shit to do.”

“Why? You want to get back to the barracks so bad so the gunny can
get us doing make work?”

“Shut up. I want to see the show that's why. Besides, I'm off
shift, shit head,” the thug behind the Admiral said. “He's clean,” he said in a
bored voice, turning to the corporal.

The corporal waved a hand. “Then by all means, send him in. Let
the show begin,” he said, smiling nastily.

The Admiral took a quick look around the compartment, identifying
people and assessing their condition quickly. Sprite highlighted a few people
and things of interest.

His mussing was abruptly cut short when one of the prisoners got
up off a bunk and came over to him. He was certain from the big male's posture
he was there to confront him. He was a big human male, about thirty, with scars
on his face and hands. A big bald brawler, wide about one hundred eighty two
centimeters tall, with a snake tattoo that started with the head of the snake
on his brow with gaping fangs. The rest of the cobra's hood was spread over the
top his head. The body of the snake apparently extended down the back of his
head and neck then twined down his left shoulder. “New meat.
Dead
meat,”
the man said sounding amused as he sized John up.

Irons brought his passive sensors up briefly and did a sweep of
the compartment. The guards were watching behind the bars behind him, eager for
some show. Studying the burly prisoner he realized he was attempting to
establish his authority. He placed his arms up defensively, trying to wave the
guy off. “Look man, I don't want any trouble. We're all in the same ship here.
There is no need to fight. I don't want to fight you.”

“Too bad meat, I do,” the guy responded and threw a round house at
his jaw. Defender kicked on before he could stop the AI, he went i
nto defense mode and the Admiral leaned
back and ducked. The swing went into open air, throwing the giant off balance.

“So be it,” the Admiral muttered, recovering swiftly. He blocked
a back swing and the fight was on.

Admiral Irons followed through with a rush at the guy’s chest,
slamming into him and bringing them both to the deck. He followed the slam into
a tuck and roll, landing on his feet to spin. The giant was slowly getting to
his feet, brushing himself off and eying the new meat warily. The other
prisoners and guards were cheering wildly, stamping feet and screaming to ki
ll.

“I think you should back off while you’re ahead,” the other
prisoner said, smiling grimly. The large man stared at him and wiped his mouth.
Irons felt his tongue over his own swollen lips.  He turned his head slightly
and spat on the deck. “Let's just settle down.”

Enraged the man charged, and Admiral Irons casually slapped aside
two punches before stomping on his opponent's foot. The man howled and backed
off John didn't stop there. He followed that up with a rapid series of blows to
disable the man. The crowd had gone silent as the man fell, but Admiral Irons
quickly stepped in and helped the man to sit up and breathe.

“You'll be fine, just concentrate on your breathing. You're a
brawler I can tell. Not much into science, but pretty good.”

The man coughed, hand on his chest. Weakly he brushed John away.
Irons stepped back and did another assessment of the compartment and situation.

He did a head count. There were forty prisoners, and three of them
looked angry. Some were confused. A few of the other prisoners sported bleak
faces. They looked like they were communicating pity for his predicament, and
for his joining them.

Most of the confused ones were likely friends of the leader so Admiral
Irons nodded to them. “You're friend will be fine. He got the wind knocked out
of him. He could use a little water though,” he said, looking at the man.

Warily one nodded to another to get the drink. Admiral Irons stood
slowly and stretched. It was instructive to see if they had access to water. He
would need it to fuel his systems if he couldn't tap an electrical line.

“So much for keeping a low profile,” Sprite said in exasperation.

“What?” he turned fighting the urge to speak out loud. He'd been
spoiled too long speaking with the AI out loud over using his implants
exclusively. “What do you mean?” he texted back.

“I should have known you wouldn't have been able to keep a lid on
your temper for long. That fight was what you think you needed, but it could be
bad. Look at them. Listen to them. Now they know they have someone more
dangerous than themselves in their midst. Don't be too surprised if they throw
you a blanket party. Or if they try to slit your throat.”

“Shit.”

He fought the urge to look around as he went over to a wall. Men
got out of his way. There were few women in the compartment, just six. The half
dozen stuck together, well five did and one was apparently a Horathian. He was
surprised there were any females. The Horathians were brutal to their prisoner
slaves. They only kept Neo's and gene engineered humans alive if they knew an
important skill. Women tended to be fodder for their entertainment. Sick
entertainment. He looked in their direction, careful not to stare. He was
surprised there were Horathian's in the compartment at all.

“They screwed up. Ships discipline, but I'm betting a few are
shills to keep the prisoners in line,” Sprite said. The Admiral nodded slightly
in acknowledgment.

Everyone was warily watching him he noted. That was both good and
bad. Sprite was right, he'd fracked up. He leaned against the wall and tried to
relax.

He realized now he had made himself a target, the guards now knew
he was more dangerous than assumed, and his fellow prisoners were unsure of the
pecking order.

The water boy came back and then hesitated. Apparently he didn't
like the idea of coming too close to the new predator in their midst.

The Admiral nodded curtly and tapped his data from his passive
sweep. He silently digested its log while stepping aside from the fallen former
leader. The ship’s computers were locked down and they couldn’t be remotely
accessed. There were only video cameras in the room, no audio.

“Who are you stranger?” one man asked and then coughed. The Admiral
studied him, noting the bruised ribs and contusions on his face and arms. He
had electrical burns on one arm.

“My name is John. John Doe, Captain of the Phoenix.”

“Bite your tongue sonny. There can only be one Captain on this
ship. He's on the bridge. Here you are a slave,” the gruff voice said, shaking
his head. “What'd you say your ship's name was again?”

“Phoenix. I'm out of Hidoshi's World. I was en-route to Destria
when this happened,” he said, waving helplessly.

“I see,” the man said, shaking his head. He smiled ever so
slightly. Irons could see he was missing teeth. “I'd say make yourself at home
but they aren't very hospitable around here,” he said bitterly.

“Yeah, I saw that,” the Admiral said, glancing over his shoulder
to the grumbling guards behind him. He nodded to some of the other prisoners
who weren't closed faced. Some of the prisoners began making introductions.

Captain Luscious Franx was the former Commander of the Le More; a
small freighter captured a week prior to the Admiral's arrival. The small wiry
human was badly beaten, with two black eyes, missing teeth and welts on his
neck. He could see some badly healing ribs and some minor internal injuries.
Two of his fingers on his right hand were broken. His right wrist had a
hairline fracture; he kept the hand close to his chest. “The lady over there is
Karen Hoshi,” Captain Franx said, indicating a small battered Asian woman at
the center of the knot of five women.

Exec Karen Hoshi from the Jaw-te was introduced and Admiral Irons
tried to avoid her haunted eyes. The woman's injuries... his jaw set. There
would be a reckoning that he vowed; for her and for all the other women who
never had a chance. His look apparently spooked her and others. They growled
darkly and looked away.

Irons nodded. At least they had some spirit left. He wondered if
their fellow prisoners were as guilty as the guards and crew in their
depravity. He hoped not. He looked at the Horathian's among them. Though
some... he thought warily. Some were capable of just about anything, he
thought.

He focused on the other man who looked like an officer. He read
the battered nametag. Captain Ian something, he couldn't make out the last
name. The man was tall and well built, but had about as many bruises and welts
as the other two captains. There weren't any broken bones, but he had a bit of
a limp. He had reddish hair and the look of an Irish man.

A quarter of the survivors were engineers, but surprisingly, ten
were officers. He thought they would have been killed right off, but apparently
the concentration of knowledge in one person was too much of a resource to just
throw away. At least in humans, he thought darkly.

It made sense in a way. Freighters, especially those in this time
period had to have officers that were generalists. Officers had to know each
duty and also how to fix a problem so they could make certain the rating that
did the task did it right.

Of course that wasn't quite true, there were specialists, such as
helmsman and navigators. Two of the officers were helmsman another was a
navigator. But most small freighters didn't have the room to have people in one
dedicated slot many did double duty. Some rose through the ranks to get to
their specialty. He shook his head.

He shook hands with each of the officers. Some were battered and
wary, some had their heads down. He didn't keep track of the introductions
knowing Sprite would do that for him. He was horrible at names anyway.

He listened to them each informed how their ships had been taken.
Jaw-te had been taken first; most of her crew were gone, only a handful
survived. Anderson had been taken second. Most of her engineering compliment
was still alive. She had tried to run, but the destroyer had caught her long
before she could get to the jump point. The Captain and exec had been executed.
Only a handful of her officers remained.

Captain McGuyver's Deianira had been taken three months ago. Le
More had been taken a month ago. Most of their alien crew had been executed or
used as slave labor to man the ships and take them back to the Horath system. 
“So, who's the bruiser and what beef does he have with me?” John asked, nodding
his chin to the Horathian.

“Horathian, so watch what you say. There are a few here, they are
either spies or trouble makers the Captain decided to lock up.”

“Great,” the Admiral sighed.

“His name's Bard. He's, well, he was a master Chief. Now I'm not
sure. Apparently he pissed off the exec and Captain and now he's here.”

“King of the hill?” John asked.

Captain Franx looked at him for a moment. “Something like that,”
he admitted. “I'm surprised you know that.”

“I've been around,” John replied. “Seen a few things,” he said,
slurring slightly as he spat blood. The blood was more for show; Proteus had
everything under the skin repaired. He looked over to see a woman and a few
other men around the big guy Bard. “Followers?”

Franx looked that way. “Like I said, Horathians the rankers and
filers. They were sent here for minor infractions. Some will be out in a day or
week so don't get too chummy, they will turn on you the moment they are out of
here.”

“I'm surprised they keep them in here with you. I mean us,” John
said.

“I did say spy right? Besides, this is a small warship. Tight
quarters,” the Captain said, smiling without any humor. John nodded.

“How did you get into this mess?”

“Just jumped in,” John said wearily. He rubbed at his scalp. It
was a bit sore, but Proteus was finally doing something about that.

“Just like that?”

“Yeah. I ran a bit off, south of the entry point, but I figured I
was good.”

“How did you get the ship?”

“I scavenged her a couple of years ago. She's,” he paused and then
shrugged. “Well, she
had
been a yacht and then a courier before and
during the war,” he said, nodding his head. They understood the reference.
Several people nodded.

“What'd you say your name is again?” a voice asked, sounding
suspicious.

“John. John Doe,” the Admiral replied, raising his voice to be
heard throughout the room. He glanced to the door just in time for the guards
to slam the outer steel door shut. He wondered about that. The brig on the Io
11 had had a force field. Yet here, they relied on a steel door. It was...
quaint. Odd. Surprisingly practical, but still... old fashioned.

He was not amused by the ruse, not one person laughed at his
assumed name, nor how fake it. John Doe should have set off alarm bells, but
apparently over the past seven centuries the name like 'John Doe' had been
forgotten.

“Oh, you couldn't think of something better? Or original?” Sprite
asked in exasperation. “Remember that,” she said. “Think of yourself as John
only, not as your rank. Civilian. Act like it,” she urged.

He gave her a choppy nod and a motion to remain silent.

“So, how'd you end up alone? They keeping your crew alive on the
ship? Or did they kill them?”

“No, just me, thankfully,” John said, shaking his head. The other
officers were surprised. He shrugged. “What can I say?” he asked, spreading his
hands. “She's a small ship and I'm very good with computers.”

“Really good to handle her on your own,” Captain Franx said eyeing
him.