Clouds Of War, page 4
part #3 of The Descendants War Series
"Yes, well. Make them a final offer at the very least." Renz waved his hand dismissively. "Tell them they'll be serving better if they stay aboard."
"I'll... take care of it." Kivda left without another word
He's acting oddly. I'll have to speak to Vhel about him. After the Lord Marshal's decree that they run this operation jointly, Renz began to think his friend had become an informant. I know Father already has one spy aboard. Why not add a closer one? I'll watch what I say around him for a time until I find out one way or another.
He returned to the bridge. Vhel worked with Inda at her console.
"I thought you were joining us," Renz said, "that you were in the middle of some sort of resource problem with the station."
"Inda and I," Vhel explained, "wrote some queries to get better data from the archive information we took. I believe we've found the site that you discovered. The inventory included this old key. Deep archives, that is information that has been essentially stuffed away in backup, are harder to navigate."
"It's true," Inda added. "I've been through normal data centers before but this... Before Vhel, I didn't know anyone who had to go this deep."
"Yes, he's good at deep," Renz muttered. "Anyway, what have you discovered then?"
Vhel said, "a file location. We know where to look for the information. That's what the queries we just wrote are for. They're specifically designed to get through the layers of encryption. Because if we unpacked them all, we'd be waiting for a long time. This is thousands of years of data after all."
"Why do we keep it all?" Renz asked. "That seems... inefficient."
"Obviously not." Vhel smiled. "Since we need it now."
Renz actually chuckled. "Alright, a reasonable point. Though I'm surprised we have the space for it."
"The compression techniques used are modern even if the information is ancient. I'll bet you we have things in these databanks so old no one has seen them for a couple centuries. We're talking data from way back at the foundation of space travel. Some of our scholars might go over this stuff... like the ones who run the place we just saved."
"Should we ask them some questions?" Renz offered.
"Nah," Inda shook her head, "they already made it clear they haven't gone this far back. Besides, the librarian got hurt during the engagement. He's in their medical bay until further notice. The rest of them are security or custodians. That's it." She shrugged. "Anyway, the detailed information will be available momentarily."
"For now," Vhel said, "we know it's a key with data on it. We may have a copy of the data, which we're looking for. Our initial findings suggest it is a pilgrimage dial. We don't use them anymore but way back, priests and the supremely devoted would take one to various sites to pray and learn more about our culture."
"I've never heard of such a thing." Renz frowned. "How could this hurt us?"
"If the enemy has it," Vhel said, "then they'll find out about our history. Our religion. And of course, once the Prytins get a hold of it, the biggest threat would be them subverting our people with falsehoods. Propaganda delivered to our colonies and even to our soldiers. After all, everyone right now thinks our information is sacred and untouched."
Inda added, "And if the enemy suddenly knows all about it, that won't be good. Everyone will freak out a little."
"I see." Renz sighed. "Well, it's as severe as we thought then. What is it you're looking for in this deep archive?"
"The starting point for the pilgrimage," Inda said, "we may not have more than that, but it should show the coordinates for the first destination. Our priests kept such things on hand to assist their acolytes in the event that someone damaged one or the data was somehow lost. Each of the stations has the next location if you can unlock them."
"And if we arrive there but don't have the key?" Renz asked. "What then?"
Vhel said, "We may be able to break the code with the information we do possess. It'll be tricky but Inda's pretty amazing. And I've picked up a thing or two myself. Between us, we should be good. Though obviously the best way would be to take the key back from our enemies as quickly as possible."
"Then we can follow the course ourselves," Inda replied. "Find out what our ancestors intended for us to find."
"Porth," Renz called over the senior bridge officer. "The moment they have coordinates for where we need to go, I want you to lay in a course. Get me a time to destination. No matter what else I'm doing, interrupt me. I'll give the go order for our departure. Be sure our destroyers are ready as well."
"Yes, sir." Porth nodded, hurrying over to the helmsman
"Alright, good work everyone." Renz nodded. "Vhel, I'll leave you in charge of this little scavenger hunt. I hope you figure it out soon. For now, I'll be in my quarters. Let Kivda know I'll be there until further notice if he has need of me." He won't. Something's going on. We'll have to clear the air before we get to our next destination.
He hated the idea of arguing with his friend. He'd been jealous of the way his father treated the man, even found it intolerable that he had to share any of his command. But deep down, he recognized Kivda's value. And losing him over a stupid disagreement would be a dramatic loss on many levels.
This key business intrigued him. Renz didn't want the assignment. He had no desire to go on a hunt for the thing. If not for Griel, he would've struggled to maintain his focus on the efforts. However, given what they just learned, he felt invigorated to the cause. The information they could gather may just help him with his own goals.
A pilgrimage with violence, Renz thought. That could be just the thing to bolster my career. To understand my past and at least on the surface, look like a spiritual individual. I know that's how my father won over so many people and how he rose to be Lord Marshal. I can do it too.
And finally show that I'm my own man as I step out of his shadow for good.
***
Maurda Flink woke to the sounds of shouting. He had no idea how long he'd been out. His back felt raw, totally thrashed, as if he'd experienced the worst sunburn of his life twice over. Someone let him rest on his stomach. He pushed on the cot in an effort to rise. His muscles trembled yet he couldn't rise.
The shouting grew louder. A crowd just outside the tent seemed to be gathering. He needed to see what they were doing, why they were freaking out. Rolling on his side made it easier to move. He bent his waist, hissing at the agony springing from the base of his spine up to his skull.
"What're you doing?" a man's voice asked. They were a Rhulin as well. "You were lashed within an inch of your life. You're lucky to be alive!"
"What's happening outside?" Maurda muttered. "Why's there so much shouting?"
"The Tribute." The man sighed. "You don't want to know. You'll find out soon enough."
"What tribute? What're you talking about?"
"Ah, a headstrong one. You won't be happy here." The man helped him rise, moving him over to the tent exit. Maurda peered out, wincing at the brightness of the sun.
A group of men banged into each other, none of them wearing shirts. They threw blows, kicked and bit, grabbed at hair and grappled on the ground. The violence was total chaos without any side or teams. The free for all saw no mercy, no slowing down.
Punches to the face clapped over the cries as noses broke and knuckles bruised. Maurda had never seen such a wild array of violence in his people nor their allies for that matter. They'd turned on each other, like wild dogs desperate for some scrap of meat available for an entire pack.
"What are they doing?" Maurda said. "Why are they doing it?"
"The Tribute," the man repeated. "They fight."
"Why?" Maurda glared at the individual helping him. He stared into black-brown eyes beneath a heavy brow. Gray streaks marred his dark hair. Thin cheeks made high cheekbones all the more prominent. He looked a touch malnourished but otherwise healthy enough. For a prisoner of war. "What's your name?"
"I'm Mareth Sunn. Former doctor of a Rhulin Garrison on Ketch Two. And you are Maurda Flink."
"How did you know?"
"Reputation, actually. You were a starship captain."
"Am," Maurda corrected. "I will not stay here any longer than I have to."
"That's what many of us have said." Mareth sighed. "I'm sorry that you were captured. And for what they did to you."
Maurda returned his attention to the violence. The mob kept at it with a few people remaining on the ground, unmoving. He wondered if they'd died. They were covered in filth and blood, beaten stupid in their madness. The whole display made him shake his head, disgusting him to the core.
"So this tribute you're talking about," Maurda said, "the guards have the men fight for privileges and better rations, right?"
"Correct."
"Disgusting."
"It goes against everything we've ever stood for." Mareth shrugged. "But what can you do? We are at their mercy."
"We talk to the commandant," Maurda said. "We will find out what we can do to stop this. They should know that it doesn't help their cause for our people to fight like this." He watched a man take a kick to the groin. As he bent, his opponent grabbed him by the hair, punching him five times in the face. "That's enough!"
Maurda surged out of the tent.
"Wait!" Mareth grabbed him. "Don't interfere!"
"I have to stop them! They're going to cause some real damage!"
"The guards flogged the last man who broke up a fight. The Kahl gain pleasure watching us fight. They place bets, jeer us on. And the victors... the top three individuals... they do get better rations. Which they often share with the rest of us. When our captors are especially generous at least."
"Really? So we have to bank on them offering some form of mercy in order to gain anything else? All the while we focus on one another rather than them." Maurda shook his head. "Are there no officers among you? No one to bring this in line? Or fix it for that matter? Aren't you a commander?"
"I hold a rank," Mareth said, "but I'm no leader. One man tried. He commanded ground soldiers. A Prytin chap. He couldn't bring order to this place. I don't believe anyone can. It's frankly evil. The fact they haven't killed us is simple cruelty. Nothing more."
"For a culture that doesn't take prisoners, there are quite a few of his here." Maurda couldn't count all the people involved in the fight. "I trust there are some who are not fighting like us?"
"Yes, the woman are not allowed to compete. The Kahl consider most of our females inferior to such things. There are some older people as well like me... those who are sick or weak. But everyone else, must fight." Mareth looked him up and down. "When you've recovered from your flogging, I'm sure you'll be expected to do the same."
"How long do I have before I gain the privilege?"
"Two weeks or so. They give me plenty of medical supplies to get the injured back out and working in a day or two at the most. Then, just when we've had a chance to fully recover from the last brawls, they throw us at it again. Over and over... without fail."
"We're their entertainment." Maurda rubbed his chin. "Maybe I can use that to our advantage."
"What are you thinking?"
"Ultimately? Escape. Right now? Camaraderie. We should not be throwing our health away for these fiends. I just need a plan to make it work." Maurda backed away. The sight of the conflict made him sick but he stopped before getting too far into the tent.
No. I have to see this through to the very end. I need to know how it works out. Do they immediately hand over the rations?
Only five men stood when he returned. They squared off, none of them willing to commit to further action. A couple faints got the crowd outside excited. He realized the shouts came from Kahl observers, an audience of scum enjoying their illegal entertainment. They jeered, ordering the remaining people to get back at it.
A Rhulin finally had enough. He threw himself at the nearest opponent, pounding him in the chest. The others converged on him, battering him wildly, punches and kicks taking him to the ground. Some unspoken agreement between them took three against one as they beat the last of their opponents to the ground.
Those three should've received the prize, the additional rations and whatever else happened to be on the table. A Kahl in an officer's uniform entered their little arena. He carried a bag over his shoulder, pointing at each of the winners.
"You each get to share the contents of this bag." He set it down. "Good work. Next time, more blood, you filth! We're not giving you these things to watch you slap each other. Do as you're told or the next time, it will be to the death!" The people outside cheered again, clapping their hands before they went back to work.
Mareth stepped past Maurda. "I have to help the injured."
"I'll do what I can too," Maurda said.
"You're hurt yourself."
"I'm regaining my strength and I'll be happy to assist. Where do we move them?"
"Back into the tents. They each have a cot. We put them up and I'll tend to them. But before we do that, we have to triage the injured. Find the worst of them and ensure they do not have life-threatening injuries. I cannot allow any of them to die. Or they'll punish me and anyone else remotely capable of first aid."
"That seems... unfair."
"Welcome to life in a Kahl prison camp." Mareth smiled. "You'll get to know that your sense of justice was not invited nor did it fall upon the shoulders of those with power over us. In fact, we are in the worst version of the afterlife here. Tortured souls with no hope of redemption. That's what we're contending with."
"All the more reason to do everything we can to get out of here," Maurda pressed. "We will think of something. I promise you. None of us will remain here any longer than we have to."
"The Kahl are observant people. They watch closely and they punish severely. Any misstep can result in death. How can you possibly think you will be capable of escaping such perseverance? Such attention?"
"There's always a hole," Maurda said. "A chink in procedure or efficiency. We observe. We listen. We befriend and we study. Eventually, we'll find those things and when we do, that's when we act. It's a matter of trusting our training. I'll guide us all. Trust me. I'm ready for this challenge."
"I only hope the men you want to help are," Mareth directed him toward the first group of downed fighters, "for all our sakes."
I can't argue with that, Maurda thought. But we will get out of here. That much I know for certain. We are not going to be bound here as fighting slaves. No. We'll take off and leave as much carnage in our wake as possible. Then the Kahl will know they made a mistake going to war with us. They'll see we won't take their atrocities lying down.
Not now. Not ever.
***
"I've got bad news," Griel said. They'd returned to Titus's office before they started their conversation. "The Brekka has an assignment that can't wait. It's a relief mission to bring some goods to one of our resistance cells. Shouldn't take us more than a couple days but that means you'll have to head out there alone."
"I see." Titus had wondered how long they'd have the direct backup. He assumed it would be longer than a single mission and one valiant rescue. "I'm not sure if it's wise for us to rush out to some unknown sector alone. We have no idea what to expect or who else might be looking."
"I'm not sure that anyone else has the information you do." Griel shrugged. "The Kahl haven't found this stuff before, so it's reasonable to assume they have no clue now."
"We should probably not jump to that kind of conclusion." Titus sighed. "Your people have surveyed that area before. What should we expect?"
"A desolate planet with nothing on it," Griel replied. "I sincerely don't believe you're going to encounter anything. Should be a piece of cake. Hop out there, find the data, get out. The worst case scenario, the biggest threat comes from local animals, but you've got high-tech gear. They won't be a problem."
These feel like famous last words. Titus had no idea where Griel's optimism came from. Or why his own skepticism made it all feel unlikely. I need to be cautious. This is our only ship like this right now. Even with the engineers working overtime to get more off the assembly line, we have a responsibility.
Taking risks might be what they had to do to win a war. Titus needed to weigh how much they put on the line. Could we put off the trip? He doubted his science team would stand for it. Even if they accepted his order to hold off, they wouldn't be happy. And he had already heard the argument about the military suppressing discovery.
"Who can you leave with me?"
Griel sighed. "Well... Molush has to come. I need him on my scans. Niva can stick around. And of course, I have no control over Essa and his nephew. They're both yours as far as I'm concerned."
"You don't need Niva?"
"This mission..." Griel narrowed his eyes, turning to peer out the window. "Let's just say I wouldn't mind our intelligence teams staying in the dark about it. She reports everything to them. It's her job. You're not off to do anything shifty. My little trip, on the other hand, isn't exactly within Prytin protocols."
"Care to elaborate on that?"
"I take dramatic risks, Captain. That's what I've always done throughout my career. When I pushed the council to give me the Brekka for the war effort, one in particular took me aside. He made it clear I was to use my own judgment about the conflict, to win any way I could. And I've been doing that.
"Unfortunately, someone else assigned Niva to me as a watchdog."
"Has she ever stopped you from an action before?"
Griel shook his head. "Not yet. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before she exerts some level of influence I don't know she possesses. But on this mission, I want to keep her out of it."
"Alright, well... I guess we'll do it."
"My only advice," Griel said, "is when you arrive, double-check you can handle whatever is on the planet. If it looks like too much, withdraw and wait for me. We'll finish as soon as possible. You can contact us with updates as well. We'll be far enough away that there will be a serious delay but we'll still get it."
