Chapter 12

 

“Proxitor Ol’ixe, again you seek audience with me. What favor is it you wish of the Nau this time? Do you wish to be rewarded for bringing us these human spies, or is there some other matter troubling?”

Alex wasn’t quite sure what to say. He even found himself surprised to be standing here, in the Nau’s own quarters, having disturbed him from his sleep. This was not the right time, he thought. But as he’d tried to walk to his own quarters to catch some sleep, he’d walked through the extraction corridor. The rooms themselves were closed, but none was so perfectly sealed that it trapped all the noise. The screams and cries of his human companions had disturbed him with each and every step. And, although he’d tried to reassure himself that by saving their lives he owed them nothing, he still felt a miserable, sour-like ball of emotion weighing him down in the pit of his stomach.

Guilt was the word the humans used. The Rotham had no proper word to describe it. Rather they characterized the feeling as a symptom of illness rather than the conditioned response to a betrayal of one’s community. But they’re not my community, he’d tried to insist to himself. They are humans, I am Rotham. I was their prisoner!

Still, here he was, ready to advocate on behalf of the humans once again. A gesture which would likely prove fruitless and only serve to weaken him in the eyes of the Nau. This particular Nau was a high-ranking Advent commander and no doubt already looked down upon Alex for his past failures, including his capture by the Rahajiim. Persuading him will not be easy, he thought.

“Yes, Great Nau, I am here again. Please forgive my intrusion at this sleepiest hour.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” said the Nau, indicating he was in an agreeable mood, though they both knew there had been something to forgive. An interruption such as this was certainly unconventional and, even under best circumstances, disrespectful.

“Still, you have my most humble apologies all the same,” Alex bowed his head.

“Then I accept them. Now, tell me, what business has brought you here? Or is it pleasure you seek?” It was no secret among the members of Advent that Alex was one of the few who preferred the company of other Rotham males. The Nau too was one, but that wasn't what had brought him here.

“I've come to ask for the extractions to desist,” said Alex, deciding to go for the straightforward approach. “I believe all useful intelligence has been extracted and, should there be any gaps, I believe my own knowledge can fill them.”

The Nau folded his arms but, rather than looking upset, he seemed amused. “So, the long lost Proxitor has developed affections for the humans. Tell me, which one is it? Certainly it can’t be the Polarian. Or can it?” He looked intrigued. Cross-species romances were very uncommon, considered a taboo almost universally, although only technically illegal in the Polarian states, however this was not the direction Alex had hoped to go with this conversation. “Tell me, Proxitor, which of them has captured your affection?”

“All of them, sir.”

The Nau’s eyes widened so much they threatened to burst apart. “ALL of them? So then my ship’s capture of yours must have spoiled quite the party!”

“No, Great Nau, you misunderstand me. I only meant that—”

“Come now, Proxitor, have you lost your sense of humor? I jest with you. Of course I know what you mean. You’ve been with the humans long enough to become soft. To develop some of their…empathy, yes, that is the word. And so, as you know they suffer, a part of you suffers with them. Isn’t that right?”

“Why, yes,” said Alex. Surprised to hear his feelings so well described when he himself could not find the words for them.

“You needn’t worry; the sickness will pass in time,” said Nau T’orrna. “Soon you will recall those creatures in there are not people like you and me; they are cretins.”

“Cretins?”

“Why, yes! Did you know the human females can produce offspring for nearly forty years! And that the humans practice breeding well into their old age? And you thought your proclivities were a matter of discomfiture! And let’s not forget the Polarian; he’s a tribal warrior from a race of brutes and barbarians. A culture trapped like a relic in time, frozen with one foot in the present building starships and exploring the galaxy, and the other foot trapped in the Bronze Age, paralyzed by myth and superstition, belief in gods and bogeymen and magic. And let’s not forget where their hands are!”

“Where are their hands?” asked Alex, not quite sharing the Nau’s enthusiastic species-ism. Of course Alex thought his species the superior one, but so did all the others. That did not necessarily make it so.

“Why, they’re holding the pike of course,” said Nau T’orrna. “With your head upon it. Remember, these are tribal killers and conquerors. And the humans are little better; they are a perverse and self-absorbed species. Each human spends all his thoughts every day obsessing over his own status and appearance so as to impress the other humans, but they themselves are doing the same thing. And so the whole enterprise is for a hilarious nothing!”

“The humans are a vain species,” Alex was willing to admit.

“You see?”

“But these humans, and this Polarian,” Alex paused, finding it difficult to say the words. “They are different.”

“Different how?” the joy in the Nau’s voice faded.

“I don’t know. They seem…self-sacrificing.”

“Hardly a valuable trait; what else?”

“They are committed to each other. They express loyalty.”

“They are tribal, go on.”

“No it’s more…” Alex simply could not find the words. “They…are fighting against the same enemy that we are.”

“The enemy of my enemy is not necessarily my friend,” Nau T’orrna said, quoting from a famous Rotham treatise on strategy.

“But they are…” he stopped himself before he could say the word.

“They are what?”

Alex didn’t reply. He tried to think of something to say, something the Nau would approve of.

“They are your friends,” said Nau T’orrna. “Is that the way it is?” As Alex had expected, there was tremendous disapproval in his tone. And the worst part of it was, they weren’t Alex’s friends; not really. The big one constantly mistrusted and ridiculed him and the rest, even the kind ones, had treated him like a pariah, something dangerous to be handled with delicacy, if handled at all. And yet Alex felt a peculiar desire for the extractions to end, for his former companions to not have to suffer.

“No, they are not my friends,” said Alex. “And if you gave me over to them, they would kill me.”

“Indeed, they would kill you. But only because you betrayed them by handing them over to us as was your duty. But one can only betray someone when there exists a bridge of trust. The kind of trust which comes with friendship.”

“I was their prisoner,” said Alex emphatically.

“Yet, in your debriefing you told us they liberated you from the Rahajiim. Could you really be a prisoner to those who freed you, especially when they gave you free reign to explore their starship?”

Alex didn’t know what to say. He realized he’d made a mistake. Not only had he failed to end the extraction sessions, he’d weakened himself in the eyes of the Nau. And that loss of standing would be unfortunate with regards to his Advent career.

“I apologize, Great Nau,” Alex said, bowing his head. “I have disturbed your rest to discuss things of madness and lunacy; I should have known better.”

“Indeed, you should have.”

“I beg your leave to go now.”

Nau T’orrna nodded and Alex turned to leave. Before he reached the door, he heard the Nau say, “Just one more thing.”

Alex turned back to face him.

“Yes, Great Nau?”

“I shall release your companions from the extraction chambers immediately,” said Nau T’orrna.

Alex tried hard not to appear pleased, although it was difficult.

“Under two conditions,” said Nau T’orrna. “The first, you will agree to sessions of rehabilitation once we return to Ro after all this terrible Rahajiim business is put to bed for good. It is clear to me your time with the humans has affected you and softened your mind. I cannot have soft minds in my organization, so you must necessarily be rehabilitated.”

“Agreed.”

“And second, you not only allow your companions to participate in the upcoming mission, you convince them to do so.”

“Mission, sir? I am not aware of any mission.”

“Then there is much to tell you. Go to the strategy room in two hours’ time and wait there. The V’ort and I will explain everything.”

 

***

 

Miles lay on his back on the floor of the room he’d been shoved into. All the others were here too, probably. It was hard to tell without looking. But he lacked the strength to stand, much less examine his surroundings. His eyes still stung, though no more liquid was touching them, and the floor felt like it was shaking, although it did not move. Worst of all, even worse than the cuts and bruises on his chest, was the feeling of spinning…faster and faster, round and round. He felt like he was falling, only upward. Toward the ceiling. Falling at a thousand kilometers an hour.

Please, Dear God, make it stop, he thought, but he couldn’t even mouth the words.

Eventually, the sensation lessened until the vertigo faded altogether. But that only made the rest of his pain that much easier to notice. He didn’t move, he just lay there quietly repeating over and over. “Goddamned lizards…goddamned lizards…goddamned lizards…”

 

***

 

They tossed him in a rather nondescript room. It was empty of any furnishings or equipment, containing metal walls, metal flooring, and a metal ceiling. Calvin supposed its purpose on the destroyer was that of a cargo hold, but there was no cargo to be seen.

“Good, you’re still alive,” said Rain. She and the others were already there. Rafael stood leaning against one of the walls; he seemed tired, but otherwise unharmed. Miles lay on the floor muttering something over and over, but showed no signs of permanent injury. Rez’nac was the only one who seemed to be genuinely hurt. The tough Polarian warrior still managed to remain on his feet, though Calvin did not understand how. He had been stripped of most of his clothing and his muscular grey-blue body was littered with bandages. It seemed he’d been cut in a thousand places from head to toe, not to mention whatever other torturous methods they’d imposed upon him, which Calvin didn’t even want to think about. Yet it was none of the three, but instead Rain to whom Calvin ran. She was sitting on the floor, arms curled around her knees, her wild red hair obscuring much of her face.

“Are you all right?” asked Calvin as soon as he got to her. She looked up at him. Her face, at least, was untouched. And, despite their surroundings, despite all they’d been subjected to, she still managed a smile. It wasn’t a joyous smile, she showed no teeth, but as their eyes met, her lips subtly curled, proving the Rotham had not entirely quenched her optimistic spirit.

“I’m fine,” she said. She started climbing to her feet and Calvin extended a hand. She took it and he lifted her. She seemed surprised by the ease with which he pulled her to her feet. Once she was standing, he did not let go of her hand immediately; instead, he held it, feeling its tenderness and warmth, enjoying the softness of her skin and, just before letting go, he gave her palm an affectionate squeeze. This made her smile even more.

“I’m so sorry I got you into this,” said Calvin.

“This isn’t your fault,” she said, trying to reassure him. “None of this is your fault.”

He saw no injuries on her anywhere and knew they’d spared her from the whip and knife. Still, whatever they’d done to her, it couldn’t have been pleasant. And despite what she said to the contrary, the whole thing was entirely his fault, and Calvin felt awful because of it.

“I brought you along,” he said, their eyes were locked together. He doubted he’d ever seen a prettier shade of soft blue than the perfection which were her irises. “I shouldn’t have, and I knew it. I knew how dangerous this would be. But I brought you anyway. That is my fault.”

“No, it isn’t,” she tried reassuring him again. “You didn’t make me come; I chose to come. I asked to come. That was my choice.”

“I knew how dangerous it was. I should have protected you.”

“It’s not your job to protect me,” insisted Rain. “It’s my job to watch out for myself, just as you do for yourself. You’re here because you chose to do this mission despite the risks. It's no different for me.”

Calvin felt otherwise. He was her commanding officer, which implied a greater sense of duty, an imperative to be mindful of the safety of all of his charges. But he did not want to argue. He was just grateful that she seemed so unharmed.

“What did they do to you?” he asked, not really wanting to know, but too curious not to ask.

She pointed to her face. “They poured an irritant onto my eyes.”

Calvin nodded. “They did the same to me.”

“And more,” said Rain, looking concerned, apparently just now noticing evidence of the lacerations he had from the whip. She grabbed at his shirt and looked down it to see the extent of his chest injuries, and she gently touched his chest. He knew she touched him and examined him as a doctor would her patient and not in a romantic way, but still he closed his eyes and couldn’t help but feel glad at her touch.

“Did they do anything to disinfect the wound before they applied those bandages?” she asked.

“They did something; I don’t actually remember,” said Calvin. He’d been unconscious before the extraction had ended. Truthfully, he didn’t even remember what information he’d told them. For all he knew, they’d gotten every secret out of him before they were done, even though he’d intended to resist and been trained by Intel Wing to resist giving up information while under torture. But somehow this had been different. The Rotham themselves were different.

“It looks like they did an okay job with this,” she said, examining his bandages closer. “Still, if we were on the Nighthawk, I could do something more about this. Are you in any pain?”

“I’m all right,” he said, “it’s no more pain than this.” He lifted his left hand which was still bandaged from when he’d sliced the outermost skin of his palm. “Rez’nac over there is the one you should be worrying about,” said Calvin, nodding in the direction of the Polarian. He certainly looked like he’d received the worst of it, by far, yet he stood defiantly. Not laying down, not sitting, not even leaning against one of the walls. He wore his bandages like badges of pride, and the wounds they’d inflicted, although numerous, were superficial. Calvin suspected the Polarian warrior had sustained, and survived, much worse. Certainly that was the way he looked.

“I looked at him when he first came in,” said Rain. “Or tried to, at least. He wouldn’t let me near and insisted he was fine, that they’d barely scratched him.”

“Sounds like him.”

At this point, Rafael approached. Despite the fact that he’d been leaning against the wall, and appeared to have some difficulty standing straight, he didn’t show any signs of pain. Calvin looked at the man’s eyepatch and was reminded that he, like Rez’nac, had experienced torture before and had never broken. Calvin wished he had the same fortitude.

“So, what now?” asked Rafael. “Are they going to kill us?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Calvin. He led Rafael and Rain to the center of the room, catching Rez’nac’s attention in the process. Even Miles stopped his mumbling and looked up, although he remained on the floor. Calvin looked at each of them and noted how they all looked to him for direction, and wished he had some idea of how they could get off this ship and back to Imperial space. In that moment, he wished for nothing more than to be back on the Nighthawk. If he ever did get back on that ship, it was hard to imagine anything could ever convince him to part from it again.

“If they were going to kill us, I think they would've done it already. Probably during the extraction,” said Calvin. “So, obviously, we’re still worth something to them.”

“Or at least worth more alive than dead,” said Rafael.

“Yes. It’s possible they want to trade us for something, or someone,” said Calvin hopefully, thinking that was their best chance of ever seeing the proper side of the DMZ again.

“But you doubt it,” said Rafael shrewdly, seeming to read Calvin’s facial expression. It was true; he did doubt it. It seemed far likelier the Rotham had something else in store for them. Perhaps more sessions of extraction.

“What we need to do,” said Calvin, “is to figure just why we’re valuable to them, why they’re keeping us alive. Once we know what our value is, we can leverage that to our advantage.”

There was a whooshing noise. Calvin looked to his left and saw the main door had opened. Four Teldari soldiers entered the room and approached them. Rez’nac looked at them as if ready to rip them to shreds with his bare hands, and Calvin didn’t doubt his ability to do it. But he also knew, even with the Teldari dead and their four weapons in Calvin’s team’s hands, that wouldn’t buy them anything more than a swift death. They were too outnumbered on this ship to hope to take it by force. So Calvin raised a hand to stay Rez’nac just as the Teldari reached him.

“You,” said the forward-most Teldari soldier, pointing at Calvin. “You’re the leader, yes?” Calvin had a flashback to the brief time he’d been a prisoner aboard the Thorpian cruiser in Abia. The Rotham had been interested in who was the leader then, too, ultimately dragging Major Jenkins away for torture never to be seen again.

“Yes,” said Calvin tentatively, hoping not to receive the Major Jenkins treatment.

“Come with us,” said the Teldari. The others looked ready to draw their weapons and attempt to take him by force. Rather than risk a battle that could end up with one of his teammates dead, or himself, Calvin elected to go peaceably.

“Very well,” he said. “Where are we going?”

They grabbed him and shoved him toward the door, clearly unwilling to answer his question.

“Easy,” said Calvin. “I’m going, I’m going.”

He felt the point of one of their rifles stick into his back as he marched for the door, wondering just what the hell they had in store for him.