The Prize: Book One (9 page)

“I don't see any danger in the foreseeable future, your Majesty.”

“Without Cg material, they are trapped on their accursed planet, with no real manufacturing facilities to speak of, and certainly no way to produce advanced weapons, let alone starship.”

“And what if, in the future they do?”

“Without Cg material, or any way to obtain any significant amount, the best they can do is use chemical rockets to get off the ground as they did when we offered our hand in benevolent friendship.”  How Markoff was able to say that with a straight face, and without gagging on the word, the Emperor didn't know.  Both knew how empty those words actually were.

“It still begs the question of the future.”

“Before that happens I will implementation Imperial directive 10001.”

“Planetary bombardment with mass drive cannon.”  The Emperor muttered with distaste.

“The planet will be reduced to a glowing ball of rock, after which I will have every human in the Imperial Military forces executed for treason.”  The corner of the Emperor lips ticked up in a slight smile, admiring the Director's ruthlessness.

“I think, the sooner that happens, the sooner I will sleep easier.”

“Yes, your Majesty, but it will be a few years before we finished extracting the readily available resources on Earth.  It is a very rich planetary system, your Majesty."

  “When that day arrives, have that idiot Sector Governor who got us into this infernal mess in the first place executed.  Along with his whole misbegotten family.” The Emperor snapped, anger making his perfect face flush.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“I don't want any of his pathetic offspring making a similar mistake in the future.”

“I'll see to it personally.”

“Good.  Make sure he knows why before you feed his body, alive or dead into the furnace.  I want him to suffer as much as I before he dies.”  The Director nodded and bowed his head.

“Pull this off successfully, and you will get the Var, you want so badly in front of your name.”  Director Markoff understood the Emperor also knew how to use the carrot and stick approach.

From Markoff's point of view, it was almost childish of the Emperor to give such an order.  He would obey of course, and make sure the Sector Governor's death, and that of his family was long and painful.  The upside was, the message it would send to the rest of the elite once he'd 'secretly' released some carefully edited recording of the event.  Nothing like a good object lesson to keep the Var elite in line.  Briefly, a ghost of a smile touched his thin lips.  Then it was gone. 

CHAPTER - SIX:              

              Penn woke to the subtle vibration of an intersystem drive system starting up, instinctively rolling off the bunk onto his feet to check his surroundings.  His new clothes, a ubiquitous tan jump suit, and soft traction slippers answered the immediate question of where he was.  A ship, and from the smell of the stale air this one hadn't seen planet fall, or a decent space dock for a long time.

Shaking off the dregs of lethargy, he checked his body for signs of injury with the detachment of a mechanic checking a car after an accident.  No headache and no stiffness.  Nothing except the horrible taste in his mouth as if he'd been sucking on a well-worn sock.  Other than that he felt as if he'd just woken up from a long sleep.  He then remembered the stun bolt, and the equally stunning Sub-Major Ellis.  So why didn't he feel like shit?  Whatever residual effects he expected from the stun bolt, had already dissipated.  Drugs probably or induced 'Delta' sleep.  Either way, the prolonged unconsciousness had a beneficial side effect for which he was thankful.  Not having to suffer through jingly nerves and blinding headaches for a week from the stun bolt.

The Sub-Major's reaction time was something of a surprise.  No normal human could possibly be that fast, as he knew from experience, and that was without going into combat mode.  That brought up the intriguing possibility that she’d received the same, or similar genetic engineering as he had, not that he was sure exactly what they'd done to him.  Both of his parents and the rest of the scientists died in the attack on the research base before they could tell him the full story.  The fact she'd been quick enough to shot him at all reminded him of his old unarmed combat instructor, Sergeant Major Blessing.  How many times had Blessing warned him not to underestimate an opponent, no matter how unassuming, or unprepared they looked?  For all his diminutive stature, the little aging Sergeant Major underscored the point by kicking his ass all over the dingy training, mat time and time again.  Then he could chalk up those beatings to inexperience, but today, if he actually had an excuse, it was that he lost his temper.  It pained him to think what Sergeant Major would have to say about that.

While thinking about that, another part of Penn's brain was busy cataloging the depressingly spartan cabin and its contents.  Six gray battle-steel bulkheads, eight by ten feet, a toilet, shower, recessed lighting, and storage, with a drop-down desk, seat, and a bunk with a foam mattress.  They'd removed anything loose he could use as a weapon.  Everything else was either bolted or welded to the deck, bulkhead, or deckhead.  The pencil dicks at Imperial HQ would never understand that he didn't need a weapon, he was the weapon.  He felt a slight tenderness at the back of his neck, and his exploring fingers discovered the slight ridge of fresh scar tissue.  They'd implanted something in his neck again.  Penn guessed a pain induction chip, or maybe an explosive charge this time, possibly both.  The question was who held the remote, Sub-Major Ellis, or General Tandy?  Penn was betting each had one.

That was all right with him.  At least he knew where he stood.  Once they got down to the surface of this planet, he'd just kill them all and take off on his own.  He frowned at the thought, and for some reason dismissing that option.  He couldn't put his finger on what had changed, and it puzzled him.  He shrugged it off, maybe he was getting squeamish in his old age.  Usually he had no difficulty eliminating IMPSEC thugs.  The more of them he could kill, the less they could hurt other people.  Killing Imperial troops, and especially IMPSEC goon was like taking out the garbage.  Someone had to do it, so why not him.  He didn't for a second believe Tandy's ridicules story about ships' being pulled from space and not being able to take off again.  That was blatantly absurd.  One way or another, he'd find a way back off the planet, and maybe this time he could do some serious damage.

As expected, the hatch wouldn't open when he tried, suspecting that even if he could, guards would be waiting outside.  He checked the storage cupboard and lockets, finding an emergency suit.  Out of habit he checked the attached air cylinders, finding both full.  That gave him three hours of air should the ship's hull spring a leak.  As he closed the door, the flat screen embedded over the desk lit up.  By opening the emergency locker, he triggered the ship's safety program, and he kicked himself for forgetting.  The Imperial anthem began to play as a chippy female voice filled the room as he remembered the adage.  Never, ever touch the yellow locker unless it was an emergency.

'Welcome aboard and this safety orientation to all for the first time passengers, crew, and other ship's personnel.'
The Imperial anthem surged in volume for a moment, almost loud enough to wake the dead.  Penn heard the guards outside laugh.

'This ship is equipped with the latest in Imperial emergency equipment, and technology for your protection, and survival.  Over each hatchway you will see a small meter, the TRE 3000 mark XIII-D…

'
How many modifications did it take to get the damn thing to work right? Penn thought, as the incessant voice droned on
.

…This combination unit monitors the cabins air pressure, oxygen level, CO
2
and is preset at 14.5 pound per square inch, and 21.5 percent oxygen.  If any of these setting should drops below 5%, an alarm will sound.  In the event this should occur, each person should immediately retrieve one set of emergency equipment in the designated yellow locker, and immediately place the air mask over their nose and mouth and securing it with the attached head-strap.  This will activate the automatic flow regulator and permit you to breathe while you are donning the remainder of your emergency equipment, and air tanks.  Please note.  This should be completed before attempting to help, or rendering aid to other occupants of the cabin…

“
Oh right, let your poor kid suffocate to death while you try to figure out which way it up.”  He snorted.

…
An alarm will automatically sound on the bridge, and in the ship's environmental section to indicate a hull breach, or other emergencies, such as fire or toxic gasses.  No attempt should be made by untrained personnel to prevent leakage of air due to a hull breach, as this could cause serious injury or death…

“No shit, lady, Penn muttered.  And smoking is harmful for your health.”

'…lastly, refrain from smoking any stimulus, or mood enhancing products while in the cabin, as this is strictly forbidden under Imperial law, and is hazardous to your health.  A violation of this regulation is subject to fines of up to five thousand Imperial credits for the first offense, and ten thousand Imperial credits, and up to two solar cycle's imprisonment for the second offense… 
Penn always wondered what the penalty was for a third offense, hanging.
…Any attempt to disable, or tampering with the meter will also cause an alarm to sound.  Tampering with, or disabling the detector, or the alarm system is a felony, and under Imperial law 10836 Section 408-X, subsection 1056, Paragraph 103 and punishable by a fine of twenty thousand Imperial credits and up to six solar cycle's imprisonment for any offense, and under certain circumstances, death.  Thank you for your attention'.

“Thank God that's over.”  He sighed, hearing the guards outside laughing again.

There was nothing to do, nothing to read, and no computer to hack, so with nothing else to do and stretch his slack muscles, Penn did twenty minutes of exercise, and twenty minutes of slow kata.  The narrow confined of the cabin actually helped, as he had to gauge each swing and punch to touch rather than impact the steel stanchions of the bunk bed and other parts of the cabin.  A few times his timing was off and he hit something hard enough to draw the guard’s attention.

“Whatever you are doing, stop!”

“Fuck off.  I’m exercising.”

“I’m ordering you to stop!”

“Why don’t you come in here and make me stop, asshole.”  Slamming his fist into the stanchion again for good measure. 

Whatever the guard saw helped change his mind about coming into the cabin and nothing further was said.  Once he’d limbered up Penn sat himself an arm’s length from the steel bulkhead and began snapping punches toward the steel wall.  His objective was to touch, not hit the wall, but his timing was still off and the first few punches brought an angry hiss from his lips.  He stopped for a moment, flexing his hand and taking several deep breaths to calm his mind.  Squeezing down on his stomach muscles slightly, he sent his system into a partial combat mode and started again.  His first strike hit the wall with a resounding clang, but after that his timing and control came back.  For twenty minutes he punched at the wall, varying the angle and strike pattern, his bare knuckles barely kissing the super hard steel.  For the last five minutes he went into full combat mode, dancing around the narrow, confined of the cabin as if he was practicing on a wide-open mat.  Not once did he miss a stroke or hit anything harder than he intended to, as this was more about control than strike impact.

  Satisfied at last he stopped and brought his systems back down to normal breathing heavily to purge his system of the combat drugs.  How he was able to do that he had no idea, just that he could.  Had anyone been watching, all they would have seen is a blur of none stop motion.  To Penn, everything appeared to slow down, colors get brighter, sound sharper and all of his five senses go into over drive.  Once in the zone, it was almost as if he could anticipate where the next attack was coming from and what his response should be without even having to think about it.  Even so, in some ways it frightened him, as once he was there, all human emotion, such as hate, fear and compassion vanishing as he became nothing more than a killing machine.  Even pain vanished, and many times he was unaware he was injured until after the battle was finished.  After a shower, and a short rest, he ended sitting cross legged on the floor, with his hands on his knees, and quickly dropped into a meditation state to help pass the time.  With no crono, or other way of telling time, his growling stomach told him it was time to eat.  He meditated on that until the intercom inevitably squawked to life.

“The occupant will stand to the rear of the cabin with his back to the door.  The occupant will place his hands on top of his head, and not move from this position until instructed to do so.  Comply now!”  Penn stood, moving reluctantly to the furthest bulkhead from the door and waited.

Nothing happened until he'd placed his hands on top of his head, which meant the person on the other side of the door had a way to monitor his actions.  The cabin door slid open, and by the slight scent in the air, he knew food had arrived.  He was beginning to wonder if they were going to feed him at all.

“The prisoner may move.” The guard announced as the door closed and locked.

Wonder of wonders, real Kaf, and the food wasn't shoddy either.  He didn't bother trying to hide any of the plastic utensils as he didn't want to go through the rigmarole of them having to search him and the cabin.  He'd rather spend the time exercising.  Unlike most humans he didn't need much sleep, preferring to assume the lotus position and meditate, learning to trust the acuity of his senses in that state.  Two weeks later he sensed something different.  He heard voices murmured in the passageway and someone conferring with the guards.  Then the hatch slide open and in walked the Sub-Major Ellis, but he already knew who it was.

                                           *  *  *  *  *  *

Though she tried to suppress it, Ellis felt her heart rate increase all the way to Penn's cabin.  The perpetual frown lines between her eyes deepened.  Penn was nothing but a distraction, one she couldn't afford right now, and just another chauvinistic male pain in the butt to boot.  She dredged up all the harassment she'd had to endure to get where she was, feeling her anger build the nearer to his cabin she got.  It took a long time for her to reach her present position of trust, despite the ingrained prejudice most Var had of alien races, especially humans.  This Penn person wasn't about to screw it all up for her.  By the time the guard hit the control to open the cabin door, Ellis had her emotion under tight control, and stepping across the threshold, she reached out and touched the man with the toe of her shiny combat boot.

"Doing the Zen thing, are we?”

"You should try it sometime."  He answered without opening his eyes.

"No thanks I tried it once.  Too passive for me.”  He obviously knew it was her even before the hatch opened.

"Pity.  It might help you get a better perspective on life, and not be such a bitch.”  He shot back, opening his eyes.

"You want to get out of here, or trade insults all day?”  Ellis balled her fist.  She didn't stand for any man calling her a bitch, but she had her orders.

"Whatever turns you on Princess?"  Penn rose to his feet effortlessly, and stood eye-to-eye with her, grinning.  Ellis took a step back.

"Let's get something straight from the get go," she said, anger driving her forward,  ”I don't like you, or what you did on Earth.  All you and others like you did was to get a whole lot of good people killed for no damn good reason, except arrogant male stupidity.”  She hissed, his cinnamon scent almost overpowering her.

“I know you don't like me, so we're equal there.  To me, you are just another chauvinistic male asshole I have to deal with, and someone I have to transport to the surface to do his thing.”

If anything, the last ten years of Imperial service had taught her self-control, but something about Penn just rubbed her the wrong way.  His 'I don't give a shit' attitude, his looks, and he was handsome, in a boyish sort of way.  Hard, strong, dangerous, sexy...  She chased the thought away as you would a skunk, using a big mental stick to drive it back to the dark recesses of her mind.

"Good, I'm so glad we cleared the air at last.”  Penn leaned forward until his face was a fraction of an inch from hers.  “For a moment there, I thought you were going to kiss me.”

"Kiss you!  Screw you Penn!”  She snapped, fist balled, ready to strike.  “This is an utter waste of time!  I can get this job done as well as you can.”

"Don't bet on it Princess.  You'd lose.”  It wasn't bravado.  Penn said it more to irritate her than anything, but he hadn't learned to tell if it worked yet.

"You think you're a hard ass, don't you? Some sort of Alpha male, and God's gift to women.”  Penn didn't actually frighten her so why did she want to attack him, or run like hell?  Why did it have to be fight or flight?  Ellis shook her head.

"Not really.  I don't know enough women to claim that distinction.”  He gave her a lop-sided smile, but she detected a touch of sadness in his voice.  "There weren't many females left to go round after the invasion, and the slavers got finished, especially in the Amazon jungle.”  Ellis let out a soft dismissive snort.

"For whatever reason, Imperial high command thinks you're the only one who can get this job done, and even if I don't agree, and I have my orders.”  Order had become her rock, her Security.  She'd carry out the mission the General had given her come what may.  Even so, Penn's words made her feel uneasy.  There was a secret there, one he wasn't about to share with her.

"Orders from a bunch of butchers.  That's rich.” Penn snorted.

He reminded himself that no matter how good she looked, she was a traitor to the human race.  And she did look good, even in her loose combat OD's.  It was an act of will to stop his hand going up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her beautiful ear.  For a brief moment, he wondered what she'd look like out of uniform, or no uniform at all.  Just him, her, a soft bed, music, and maybe a good bottle of wine…  He chased the thought away.  She was a turncoat, and that’s all that mattered.  Neither noticed how hard they were breathing, nor the nervous guards gripped their stun sticks a little tighter.

To the guards, they looked like a pair of angry hellcats sizing each other up and getting ready to tear each other to bits.  In a way, Penn was so confident in himself, it worried her.  He didn't seem to care if he lived or died, and that wasn't something she understood.  She'd seen combat, lots of it, and her unnatural speed and agility had saved her many times.  Could he be as good as she'd heard?  Thinking back, she wondered briefly if hitting him with a stun bolt was good shooting, or just dumb luck.  She'd heard about him killing the four Esterian guards at the last prison he was at, and after seeing him move, she wasn't surprised.  The question remained, was he as good against someone as fast as he was?  She needed an answer to that question as soon as possible.

For an instant, she thought of taking him down to the gym and on the mat.  As appealing as the thought of getting her hand on his body were, and beating the crap out of him, it wouldn't prove a thing.  She brought her wandering mind back to the problem at hand.  She just hoped the device implanted in his neck was as good a method to ensure his obedience as the General claimed.  There was also the cryptic message the General told her to give him if he continually refused to cooperate.  'One million'.  Whatever that meant, and General Tandy hadn't bothered to explain.

"Follow me!”  She snapped, spinning on her heels, and walking out, like an angry hellcat who'd just lost a hissy contest, head high, back stiff, unwilling to admit she'd lost, or that the confrontation had happened at all.