Cooked Human is, for want of a better term of phase, a delicacy that should be enjoyed by those that have actually earned the privilege.
They can, at times, be most disagreeable, take Pax and Xier for instance, however, I am sure that was a mildly exceptional case where one's dinner, quite literally, became the death of him.
Processing Camp - North of Karin City - Gorean Occupied Kari
OCCUPATION: Day SIXTY-SIX
A Leader, of sorts. That was what Alessandro had come to call the prisoner in the different uniform, and he was currently yelling. The angry tirade spilling out of his mouth was punctuated with his beating of the bunks with a small, rubber club. He marched down the rows in the barrack house yelling out instructions and regulations.
Alessandro was far too tired to pay much attention, and the others around him sat listening in stunned silence. Their eyes followed the leader as he paced disgustedly from one end of the long building to the other. Alessandro had counted the bunks and was shocked to realize exactly how many prisoners were in there. Four hundred souls crammed together, and that was just one block. The size of the Gorean processing camp had to be staggering.
One man, Alessandro recognized him as the marine that had interceded back in the original processing of the camp, stood up from a bunk across the building, interrupting the Leader. He stood in front of him in a daring display of what Alessandro had come to recognize as stupidity, and demanded his rights...
In answer, the Leader lifted his club and smashed it down on the man's shoulder, bringing him instantly to his knees. There were more, rapid succession blows that left the young man cringing on the floor. Everyone in the building watching in horror as the Leader laughed in the face of his own viciousness.
"You have none," the Leader stated, looking about him, "none at all. You are food!"
Alessandro had to restrain the urge to leap to the defence of the helpless marine, it would have only earned him a similar beating. Instead, he gripped the edge of his bunk and gritted his teeth, wondering exactly how he was going to escape the twisted hell he'd found himself thrust into.
The clothes he had been given didn't fit right, sitting far too big on his slender frame. He wondered how he must look in the pale grey jumpsuit. At least he had been spared the haircut, much to the envy of many of those around him who were realizing that being bald in the cold wasn't pleasant.
He picked at the thin material, wishing they'd included a coat, but he couldn't be that lucky. He just had to be thankful they hadn't given him something far too small to wear. Without shoes or boots, it was going to get very.
There was sobbing in the room, and Alessandro looked about him as the Leader continued his tirade. Realization had settled into those about him. An understanding of where they were destined to end up - the stew pots of the Gorean Armada. It was enough to terrify anyone.
The building was quite different from the others. There was a walkway down the middle with what looked like a short, wide, brick wall running the length of it. Alessandro thought he felt a little heat coming from it. It was not enough to heat the room. On either side were wooden bunks, three high and without mattresses or blankets. They were crooked and didn't look very sturdy.
He wondered what was next. The strange pantomime was always unfurling some new nightmare for him to experience and even his normally unflappable will was beginning to wane.
The soup... he still had visions of the noxious liquid that was one part mud, two parts brackish water and another part pure protein. The things floating in it definitely weren't vegetables; no, the Gorean preferred their meat lean. At first he'd refused to eat it, but as the first day had worn into several he'd given in to the hunger and tried it. He'd naturally thrown up rather violently, but when you were hungry it was surprising what you could stomach.
He'd thought the Gorean would have put them to work, but that never materialized. Instead, they'd been permitted into the courtyard briefly, or in groups to the toilets and the endless number of roll calls where they were counted and recounted ad-nauseam.
It was unpleasant, being dragged half asleep from their beds while it was still dark outside into the yard, counted, and then permitted to remain under the watchful eye of the Leader who drilled them with almost military relentlessness. The only explanation Alessandro could figure was that the Gorean liked their meat a bit chewy and bulking them up was the only answer.
He'd been forced to lie down in the slush and get up so many times that the days had began to blur. Exhaustion was setting in, and he wasn't sure what that would mean for him. He still had so much to do that losing himself in the mire of endless repetition would kill any hope he had of getting out.
At least he was fit, but hunger and sleep deprivation was beginning to take its toll and there were some around him who had just collapsed never to get up again. He tried not to think of that as he stood shivering in the icy wind for yet another roll call.
He'd had a few conversations with those around him, huddled in small groups in the evening talking quietly, hoping that the Leader or the Guards wouldn't hear them. Any complaint or suspicious behaviour was seen as an infraction and severely punished. It was seen as reasonable provocation for yet another beating, and in the past two days Alessandro had counted thirty odd men who had died from beatings or sickness.
He stood waiting as the gates to their courtyard burst open. Lesser Gorean guards stalked in, heavyset and ape-like in their motions, and within seconds everything was silent. Even the Leader, notoriously noisy at the best of times, cringed in fear of his overlords. The Gorean issued orders, pulling the prisoners into a line.
There was a commotion behind them as more guards stalked into the barracks. Soon the sounds of things being broken emanated from the building, as they searched for some sign of contraband that may have been smuggled inside.
It was pure intimidation, Alessandro knew that. He also realized that he was intimidated. He kept his expression meek, staring at clawed toes as they passed in front of him. Holding his breath, as he knew they were looking for an excuse, any excuse to inflict yet more pain. Stomping loudly, they passed him again, heading for the Leader.
Alessandro allowed himself a slight smile at that moment; it was good to see a man that revelled in inflicting fear experience it himself.
The Gorean turned smartly and began to walk back up the line, moving slower this time, more deliberately. And Alessandro sucked in his breath again as they approached him. A couple more steps and...
It stopped, rancid breath hot against his cold flesh as its heavy nostrils sniffed at him. He was so close that Alessandro could smell the rotting meat between his razor sharp teeth. "You issss the one." he said slowly, his tone filled with disdain. "The Karrrrrdiac."
Alessandro exhaled in a slow, deliberately calming manner. It was futile, his heart was hammering in his chest. He was probably going to die. He stiffened expecting vicious blows from Gorean claws, or a swift shot of plasma that would roast him alive... but neither came.
"Come herrre!" The Gorean rolled its words slowly, enjoying the scent of fear.
Alessandro found his breathing strangled as he looked up in confusion; he didn't want to go anywhere with the Gorean. That would mean he would be away from the crowd, and he felt himself beginning to shake as he stepped forward, willing himself not to collapse in fear.
There was a sharp snap as a plasma rifle was levelled at him. "Move!" the Gorean commanded, gesturing towards the gates, and the unknown beyond.
Expedition Two Camp - Aivilik - Eelim Territory
OCCUPATION: Day SIXTY-SIX
"It's really rather simple." Captain Hansen had shucked his coat and was wearing a vest over his green Henley undershirt. He rested his chin on a knee, sitting atop a packaging crate, "The Ex has lost her Propylons, so we're going to be stuck here a while."
The members of Expedition Two stood clustered around the portable holo-emitter. They had gathered just shortly after Commander Durnham had arrived, unceremoniously transmitted through the FTL-communication network. His flickering projection listening to their concerns as they took turns to voice them. Both Hansen and the Commander attempted to reassure the nervous scientists and engineers.
"How long is 'a while?'" Doctor Murphy was drinking coffee from a tin mug, his arms crossed as he looked firmly at the Dragoon. "Are we talking days or weeks?"
"Months," Casey supplied, noting the rustle amongst the platoon of soldiers who grew restless at the prospect of an extended stay on a planet where they had no form of transport other than a single Dropship without jump drives.
"See, now, that is something I just don't like," Murphy answered, setting his mug aside and folding his arms so that the hands tucked into his armpits. "What about the Eelim?"
"We have a very tight window," Hansen said calmly, his eyes, covered with sunglasses, turned upwards to the sky. "the Eelim seem to patrol these systems once every six months according to the locals. We may find them jumping into the system to find us still camped here. Then it's probably going to get ugly."
"Y'think?" Murphy sank heavily into one of the folding chairs. "A dozen or so Marines, a single dropship, and a couple of ATVs; not exactly enough to hold off the Eelim swarm."
"I've been through the Eelim swarm before," Commander Durnham said, standing on the flat bed of a portable holographic emitter. He looked out of place in a pressed uniform casually polishing his glasses, but he appeared calm. "And I was there when Taine beat a million ships with a single missile so I know it can be done. You let me worry about the Eelim. For now, the Warlord's instructions are to get the Propylons in the mound working."
Casey looked over at the pair of engineers that were leaning against the portable fusion reactor, which bore Karin markings all over it. Courtesy of the Warlord just before the Propylons had gone off-line. They hadn't had time to rig it into the system as yet, and Murphy urged caution in case the reactivation did serious damage to the whole network of glyphs.
The meeting broke up with Murphy walking a little after Captain Hansen, the Dragoon scooping up his Pulse Rifle and checking the Polian shard weapon underneath the barrel as he looked at the archaeologist. "What?"
"Forgive me," Murphy said quietly as he picked through the pockets of his maroon body warmer, "but we're stranded in the middle of nowhere and you're acting like it's all just another day's work. How do you do that?"
"I keep a little ball of happy right here," Hansen tapped his chest as he moved to one of the ATVs, "now Doc, I have to go survey our position and see what I can do about hiding us from orbital scans..."
"These rocks are all laced with Peligian crystal. Something about its refractive nature seem to block most scans," Murphy said calmly, putting a booted foot up on a small boulder. "If we pulled everything underground to the Peligian tunnels the Eelim won't be able to spot us."
"Isn't that dangerous as well?" Hansen asked, leaning on the handlebars of the ATV and firing up the engine. The imperial fusion drives supplied more than enough electricity to the vehicle to keep it running indefinitely, which was a relief. The last thing they needed was to run out of gas in the middle of nowhere. Hansen suspected that the five hundred light-year walk to the nearest gas station would definitely suck.
"I don't know what we're going to do with the vehicles, but we'd be out of sight out of mind for the most part." Murphy coughed a little and shrugged. "A little luck and we could last a few days without being spotted and maybe, if we can figure the Propylons out, we'd have an escape route and at worst, a weapon if we needed it."
"You keep thinking like that," Hansen replied, sounding pleased, gunning the engine of the ATV and rocketing off, bounding up the trails as he made his way towards the high ground.
Monastery - Keppe - Orion Territory
OCCUPATION: Day SIXTY-SEVE
Morning came the way that it had for over two weeks, Galadriel waking to the feeling of a man stretched across her back, his warm skin against her own. The feeling of perfect safety was so pleasant that she let herself drift just below wakefulness for a few minutes.
Except the clicking was out of place.
She opened her eyes and jumped back from the Mech standing beside the bed. It still wore the Templar sports gear, the varsity jacket zippered up and the hat pulled low. But there was no need for its holographic system to be engaged in private.
She backed away a little, feeling Rikard stir behind her. "Enarbrem." She nudged him.
The former Chancellor cracked an eye and sat up, "Do you mind?" he asked the metallic creature pointedly.
"I do mind," the Mech replied in Lex Talionis's voice, as the holographic disguise flickered to display Kardiac's face, "my patience is wearing thin. Where is the shrine of Z'ræl?"
Rikard climbed out of bed, pulling on his suit trousers and slipping on a shirt. He didn't bother to do up. "Your impatience will be your undoing," Rikard warned, motioning at a chair, which slid out from the desk as he sat down in it and pulled an open book towards him. "There is no record or a shrine of Z'ræl anywhere on Keppe."
"It is here," Lex Talionis insisted. "This is the only place for it to be."
Rikard surveyed the drone a moment and then shoved the book aside. "It isn't on Keppe. And it certainly isn't a part of your religion. Now if I had a clue as to why you want this place found, or even who Z'ræl actually was..."
Galadriel had risen from bed, pulling on her own clothes as she eyed the mech. "What he's saying makes sense. We have no frame of reference, and we've exhausted almost everything in the library here. I just have my doubts that the shrine of Z'ræl is a physical thing, it could be a metaphor for something else... but without more information we're guessing."
"Kardiac spoke of the Ark-Angel that visited him," Lex said at length, his mech beginning to pace, "in a holy place called the shrine of Z'ræl. It is said this occurred after a holy pilgrimage during the War of Ice..."
"War of Ice," Rikard exclaimed, sitting upright in his chair, "when Sephradon was imprisoned."
"I don't follow," Galadriel said, sitting on the edge of his desk, "Sephradon, the same one who's running the Amsus Hegemony?"
"Yes," Rikard said calmly, "she escaped the prison the Immortal Emperor created for her, and caused a great deal of chaos, about ten years before the fall of the Empire. The Emperor had transcended by this point, and the Bishop Council decided to send Kardiac to... capture her. He called this the War of Ice. Though no one outside of the Imperial High Council actually knew that it had ever happened."
Lex straightened up. "Then you know of the pilgrimage?"
"Well," Rikard rubbed his jaw line, "I know Kardiac had to find a method of fighting Sephradon, and that he and his Templars journeyed to the farthest reaches. But..."
"You will recreate this journey," Lex Talionis insisted.
Rikard rubbed his palms together and looked up at Galadriel. "I am not certain I can. Though there may be records of the journey kept somewhere."
"Tempus," Galadriel replied, swallowing at the thought of what Lex Talionis would do to the Kardiac homeworld, "or aboard one of the ships in the Skyella Nebula."
"It is going to take months to jump there, even with your far step drive," Rikard observed.
"Then we must leave at once," Lex Talionis insisted, the mech turning and marching to the wardrobe, throwing down bags and beginning to toss clothes into them.
Sentinel Station - Two Jumps From Earth - Terran Occupied Zone
OCCUPATION: Day SIXTY-SEVE
The alarms had Riley marching out of his office, tossing a series of intelligence reports aside as he walked down into the centre of the CIC. The dual row of holographic displays sprang to life, encircling him with a field of information that updated him on their situation.
"Incoming," Colonel Churchill reported from an upper tier, his hand on his TAC-link earphone listening as he reported, "Long range Raptors Constant Bearing Decreasing Range with the fleet. Launching our own fighters to intercept them."
"Polian enhanced models, sir," Luther, Riley's flag lieutenant, reported, standing over a sensor console. "They're jumping..."
The tactical displays around the field marshal resolved again, changing to show the Raptors jumping again as they closed the distance, registering on the stations scopes again before they vanished again.
"I don't know how they're doing it, but they're multi-jumping around our picket defences," Churchill reported, grabbing onto a rail as he looked down at the Field Marshal. "Our ships don't have time to lock on with missiles."
"Target?" Riley demanded, feeling a bead of sweat begin to roll down his collar.
"Sentinel Station, sir." Luther observed. "Shall I alert gunnery crews?"
"Shields up," Riley ordered. "Get all gunnery crews ready, they'll jump as close as they can to the station...."
"I have an anomalous reading," Luther reported by the sensor scopes. "The Raptor's are jumping with zero forward momentum."
"That's impossible," Churchill called out, "everyone knows that ships exiting hyperspace have significant forward momentum..."
"Negative," Luther insisted as the Raptors jumped again, "there's no..."
The station heaved, and Riley was knocked to his knees. Around him, the command crew of the station scrambled to hold onto things. The station vibrated again, and again.
"Report." Riley ordered, picking himself up and noticing that his displays were flashing warnings. "Where the hell are those Raptors?"
"Negative all scopes," Luther called.
Churchill rushed down the steps to the sensor tier and grabbed his earpiece, "Sir, reports of Amsus troopers aboard the station... oh god they jumped into the station!"
"Suicide?" Riley demanded. "What, ten Raptors? That's not nearly enough of a boarding party to take the station..."
"If they intended to take it." Luther looked panicked as he leapt his console to grab the rail. "Sir, the Raptors, zeroed momentum... they're going to try to jump Sentinel."
"That's crazy," Churchill scoffed. "I'm dispatching troops. We'll have the Raptor's contained in no time..."
The crew felt the shuddering bump as the station jumped. There was an explosion, and one of the consoles tore itself off of its mountings, showering the CIC with sparks as it spun end over end down towards the Field Marshal.
Riley jumped, feeling the gravity well snap off as the ship bucked and lurched. The console smashed end over end till it collided with another.
There was something critically wrong with the jump. As the deck vibrated again, Riley realized it was because he had never felt a jump last that long. He tried to get back to his feet again, as the station lurched and a bulkhead buckled.
"Crash jump!" someone was yelling from above him, and he realized it was Churchill, both he and Luther were grabbing at him, pulling him along as the station violently shook and a shuddering groan resonated through it.
Hyperspace was a violent beast that seemed to despise the unnatural things that dared invade its realm. Even with fusion and zero-point reactors, the energy required to transit only allowed for a short egress into that turbulent storm before a ship was spat out. The Amsus Raptors had jumped, shutting down their jump drives mid-transit to strand the station inside. The storm that gripped Sentinel was furious, crushing the station like an egg as it bounded along one of the hyperspace eddies, hurled furiously off course. It was a suicidal manoeuvre, one that had doomed both the Raptors and the Imperial station, throwing it light-years off course. They could literally exit anywhere...
Riley felt the world go black as the lights failed, Sentinel heaving again. The air seals buckled and failed, emitting agonised shrieking sounds. Riley wondered if that was it, if he was about to die.
Communications Node - Outpost A-IX - Amsus Territory
OCCUPATION: Day SIXTY-SEVE
Strega stretched her arms out before her and yawned. "All too easy."
Duncan lurked back amidst the communications consoles, limping on that damnable cane as he watched her through his dark eyes, "you tipped your hand too early," he warned.
"Rubbish," She answered him, crossing her ankles on the situation table and folding her arms. "Riley's dead by now, and as for Sentinel... well I am sure that one day, thousands of years from now, someone will find a lost relic from our era and wonder how on Earth it travelled halfway across the galaxy."
"There is still the Dreadnaught," Duncan reminded.
"Speaking of ships," Strega looked up, wagging her finger at him, "wasn't there a rogue battleship you were supposed to destroy? In fact, you dared to say you would deliver it before I could deliver Riley. From what I've seen you haven't done anything."
Duncan shrugged, simply.
Strega laughed at him. "You don't even know where it is..."
"The Lex Talionis is cruising towards the Skyella Nebula. Its present far step jumping will put it at the nebula in exactly ninety days. My four carriers are en-route to the Polian Alliance and will be on station in ninety days as well. From there, I can track the Lex Talionis' next destination and snare it." Duncan tilted his head. "And that is just the surface of what I've done."
"Well," Strega gloated, "it seems our bet is mine then."
"Wait for the intelligence reports to confirm your victory before you celebrate," Duncan said, resting on his cane as he watched her from the shadows. "But I am gracious enough to acknowledge your resourcefulness."
Strega nodded. "As you should, Duncan. As for the Anger of Hades, I have every confidence that Captain Zoran, a drunken pirate, hardly rates the dire predictions you deem fitting."
"Careful about your confidence as well," Duncan replied. "Pirates tend to be cunning adversaries, especially when they know they have no choice but to do so."
ESCAPE SHUTTLE - Unknown Location - Unknown Territory
OCCUPATION: Day SEVENTY-FIVE
Riley opened his eyes and looked around him at the cramped shuttle, packed with survivors, floating dead in space without jump pods, nor any other method of finding safe harbour.
He stood, wincing again from the pain in his leg, injured when he had landed heavily dodging the flying console. He pulled himself through the hatch and into the cockpit where Colonel Churchill was sitting, ashen faced.
"Any luck?" Riley asked, staring at the young lieutenant sitting cross legged beneath the second chair in the shuttle, working on the FTL comm.
"No response yet," Luther answered, pulling his head out and selecting another tool, "but that isn't to say they haven't received our SOS, it could just mean they don't want to give away their position..."
"I like optimism," Riley said, sparing another glance at Churchill, who remained staring out of the cockpit window. He was in a near catatonic state that had started as soon as the realization of Sentinel's loss had settled in.
"Any chance of food?" Luther asked, tilting his head as he checked the panel.
"Unless you want to volunteer your boots for soup," Riley answered, "not a whole hell of lot. We weren't equipped to hold thirty people..."
Thirty people out of a crew of nearly thirty thousand. No wonder Churchill was catatonic, Riley would be too if he wasn't used to the heavy cost of the war. He rubbed Churchill's shoulder sympathetically, before he smiled back at Luther.
"Any luck finding other survivors?" He asked hopefully.
"When we ejected from Sentinel, we were still in hyperspace. We exited while they jumped on..." Luther sighed. "We were lucky to escape the eddy. Or else we could be even more lost."
The ship exiting hyperspace appeared nearly right on top of them, a mass of steel and guns, bristling beneath heavy armoured plates. Riley's brows knitted together as he leaned down to look up at its massive underbelly.
"I never thought I'd be so happy to see a Saint Bernard," he said, picking out the Imperial markings on the ships hull.
"...Shuttle," the comm. crackled, "EVAC shuttle, this is HMS Anger of Hades, respond please..."
Riley picked up the radio headset and put it on. "Tell that over sauced, arrogant son-of-a-bitch Captain of yours that I love him!"
He looked at Luther, grinning broadly, glad of the rescue, but wondering what the events of the last few hours meant for the invasion.
HMS Anger of Hades - Nav Point Gamma - Terran Occupied Zone
OCCUPATION: Day SEVENTY-EIGHT
Riley rubbed his temples, staring at the recon report displayed on the CIC table before him. Captain Zoran was standing to his right, arms folded, looking grim.
"They've snookered us," Riley murmured, staring at the arrayed Amsus fleet gathered around Earth, ready for war. Thousands of warships, fighters buzzing on patrols, and an Amsus battle fortress arrayed in Sentinel's place, ready to defend the world.
"We've given them the slip for now," Zoran said scratching his ear. "Stupid, they fell for fighters launching decoys. But they will find us soon. They are looking."
Riley walked around the table, glancing at the rotund former pirate baron. They'd lost days, and Sentinel. The grand plan for retaking Earth seemed very far away indeed. He walked forward and onto the bridge, looking out of the observation window at the water surrounding the dreadnaught. Hundreds of Imperial ships, hiding in the one place the Amsus would never think to look, inside their defensive perimeter, beneath the ice packs of the Arctic.
Zoran was resourceful, using an old pirate trick and slaving the fleet's Nav computers together to pull off the miraculous jump that had leapt them beyond the Amsus search nets. But even as they remained hidden, they were trapped. The Amsus were crawling over the abandoned and useless Jump Nexus that had leaped into the Earth system on auto-pilot.
Riley rubbed his eyes, watching a shoal of fish swimming around the warship, wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this one.
THE MIDDLE OF THE END