`“You are here, Captain Duncan McDougall, to report on the events that occurred last Wednesday night around 0100 in the New Hampshire system. This interview will be filed with the other official paperwork on the incident, and our business here will be concluded.”
I looked the interrogator in the eye. This was no simple interview, or I would be speaking to some Navy lieutenant, not an LSF operative. One glance at the stack of files in front of him gave me an idea where this was really headed, so I decided to see how this played out.
“All right,” I said, trying to appear more at ease in the interrogation room on the Planet Houston. The chairs in the Officer’s Club on the Battleship Whitefield were much more comfortable. It was where these “incident reports” were usually conducted for me, but I doubt the stiff knew that.
“I was in New Hampshire, performing ‘humanitarian efforts’ to pay for ship repairs”, I began, studying the man’s face for any sign of a reaction. “With all the hostilities in the sector between Liberty in the north, and Rheinland forces in the south, sometimes the pilots and crews of destroyed vessels get lost amidst the carnage. I’ve rescued more than a few Navy pilots and gunboat commanders during my missions of mercy.”
“For money,” the man countered, not believing my unexpected altruism.
“Of course,” I admitted. I knew better than to try to lie to this guy, yet there is more than one way to tell the truth. “I’m a freelancer, and I have expenses. Plus Liberty has a standard fee set for that sort of thing. All the official paperwork lists it.”
A twitch at the corner of the man’s mouth betrayed his feelings. So this wasn’t a routine investigation. I continued to play along and let him believe he had the upper hand. He wasn’t showing his hand, so neither was I.
“It’s difficult, being a neutral civilian in a war zone,” I continued, “Especially with this pelican I’m flying.” The agent’s look of disgust didn’t faze me. “The Spatial is a big bird, and I can’t get too close to the action for fear of getting caught in the crossfire, which happens occasionally, I admit. But the rewards are worth it.”
The man’s face hardened, and he returned a glare. “Feasting on the corpses of dead ships like a vulture. Like a Junker,” he retorted. “Scavenging parts and equipment for resale to make a quick profit.”
I shrugged a shoulder noncommittally. “Everything I find I take straight to the Whitefield. The Navy doesn’t complain when I help outfit their ships.” I returned the man’s gaze.” And the LSF doesn’t mind all the Rheinland prisoners I offload there for interrogation, either.”
“You expect me to believe that you do all of this out of the goodness of your heart?” the agent asked sarcastically.
I matched his tone as I replied. “And credits. What can I say? I’m a good man. I never said I was a great one,” I added before he could fire off a comment.
We stared at each other for a few moments, but I didn’t back down. Presently the interrogator decided to try and get the interview back on track.
“So as to the events on the night in question?” he asked.
“Usually when I fly I will shadow a patrol, or head out to open space and coast while I wait for something to happen.” I began. “When I see a possible contact, I fire up my engines and head straight out to the combats. I think the Navy ships keep tabs on me for that particular reason; if I move, it’s an indication that something is about to go down out of their immediate sensor range.” The interrogator’s blank look told me I was probably right.
“This particular incident I was out flying in the no-man’s land near Planet Colebrook,” I continued when no comment was forthcoming. There were more, and I do mean a lot more, Liberty vessels patrolling near the Whitefield than usual, so I ranged out further afield than I normally do. That’s when I saw it.”
I paused a moment for dramatic effect. The agent seemed to start taking an interest in the conversation, so I continued.
“From about twenty clicks out on the other side of the planet, I saw her almost before she registered on my sensors. A Rheinland battleship. Things were just about to get interesting” The agent’s eyes flickered as I continued my oratory, and I knew I had him hooked.
“He was probably looking for a few light vessels to pick off before trying to lure the rest into a trap to the south,” I surmised. “It was a standard tactic the Rheinlanders used to good effect, but never with such a large ship. This certainly was unusual.”
“Usually I keep radio silence; the Navy has their own channel and doesn’t converse on open frequencies. But seeing this huge piece of green firepower enter the area I knew that I had to alert someone without getting myself blown up in the process. So I fired up my engines and flew on a parallel course near the battleship and opened a comm channel. I had hoped that the Liberty vessels would see me and head out to investigate. I didn’t need to fly straight toward it because it was too big to miss.”
“’Greetings!’ I called out. ‘It isn’t safe for you to be here.’ I cautioned him, knowing the size of the force that was probably descending upon our location. As it turns out, even I was taken aback by the size and speed of the reply. I guess the Navy was planning something big on their own, and this guy just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
The agent’s furious reply interrupted me. “You contacted an enemy vessel in a war zone! That is a treasonous offense! That is a crime that carries the death sentence by Liberty law!” The agent rose to his feet, leaning on his balled-up fists on the table.”
I knew he would try to up the ante, but I didn’t take the bait. After all, if he really meant to kill me I would already be dead. I wasn’t about to let him get me on the defensive, so I played it off with a laugh.
“Oh, please,” I remarked, barely glancing at him and forcing myself to stay calm and relaxed. “What would you have me do? Keep silent until he ambushed a few vessels? Would their destroyed hulls have been enough of a warning for you?” The man didn’t answer, so I continued to press my point.
“I did what any freelancing CIVILIAN would do in this situation. I said ‘hello’ to a fellow traveler. One I am not currently at war with. Rheinland does not have me on their list of enemies, and firing at me would have given away his location. Yet my movement, and my broadcast to the entire sector alerted the Navy to his presence. It was atypical of me and was the easiest way to get everyone’s attention, short of firing at him. Considering the alternative, as well as the eventual outcome, I made the right call.”
I waited until the agent sat back down before continuing. He knew his ploy hadn’t worked, and so he had to let this play out as it was.
“Before the Rheinland commander could even form a reply, not that he would have broken radio silence anyway, a formation of four Navy cruisers dropped in and began firing. I backed out to give them all room to maneuver. For his part the battleship seemed to be doing well. He turned an oblique to the incoming group and concentrated firepower on a single cruiser, destroying it as the group finished their approach and began to circle the battleship. The constant barrage broke through the battleship’s shields and began to wear away at the hull.”
“Two more cruisers exploded in flames as the Rheinland vessel turned in a half-circle By this time, its hull was down to fifty percent but the crew had brought the shields back online and it began to get the upper hand on the last cruiser, who started to peel off to the south to escape.”
“That was when the next four Navy cruisers arrived, firing as a single unit on the now-doomed battleship. The Rheinlander panicked and tried to make a break back to the south but the combined barrage from five cruisers blasted through its shields and tore savagely into the hull.”
“Right before the battleship started to go critical and break apart, a pair of Rheinland gunboats arrived and finished off the mangled cruiser. So intent was I upon the firefight that I was nearly run over by a Liberty dreadnaught and its escorts that arrived on the scene with nothing left but a pair of gunboats to fight.”
“The cruisers, angered by the loss of their brethren, continued to fire into the forward section of the battleship even after she broke apart, the screams of her comm officer heard through the open channel. I dove to the far side of the battleship’s shattered hull, as much to get away from the path of the dreadnaught as to give me cover from the gunboats who were shooting at it. Not knowing if this was going to draw more forces from the south, I grabbed a hull full of salvage and ran back to the Whitefield and safety.”
`I paused for a minute to catch my breath, taking a sip from my water glass on the table. The investigator glared at me the entire time, fingering one of the file folders in front of him.
“I’m sure you’ve read the reports of the other ships by now, and I’ve told you nothing new,” I prodded. “So why don’t you tell me what this is really about?”
The agent shuffled through the pile of files. “So you dutifully offloaded all your salvage at the Whitefield,” he prompted me. “You aren’t hiding anything?” he asked coyly.
I stared blankly at the man. “Are you?” I asked.
“Can you tell me, Captain,” he began, folding his fingers in front of his face, “how the commanders of the four destroyed Liberty cruisers ended up in the custody of the Junkers at Beaumont base?”
“Can you tell me, Agent Smith,” I said, leaning forward and copying the man’s mannerisms exactly, “how the rear admiral of a Rheinland battleship, captured as a prisoner of war in a maritime conflict, when returned to the Liberty Battleship Whitefield for processing, can be classified as a CIVILIAN?”
`The investigator leapt to his feet. I jumped up as well, and got in the man’s face. “Listen to me, you bureaucratic paperboy,” I snarled. “I know exactly what you’re doing. Classifying him as a civilian means that you can hold him without following the Geneva Convention, that you can keep him forever and Rheinland won’t be able to protest or demand his return in a prisoner exchange. You’re keeping this out of the standard military paperwork for your own nefarious schemes, and I really don’t care.”
I lowered my voice to just above a whisper. “What I do care about, is that by calling him a civilian, I get paid for a civilian, not a battleship commander. I piloted my giant goose of a ship with the precision of a surgeon to snatch that pod from the withering firepower those cruisers were putting on the broken front end of that ship, so without me you’d have nothing.”
I held the man’s hateful glare, but didn’t back down. “I could have sold them to the Rogues, or taken them AND your ‘civilian’ back to the Rheinland ship Westphalia. As it stands, the Junkers will gladly ransom them back to you, unharmed, for an exorbitant fee. A fee which is probably a lot greater than you would have paid me for one rear admiral.”
I took a step back. “Don’t ever try to cheat me again,” I growled forcefully as I turned to leave. By the look on the investigator’s face I was glad that guns weren’t allowed in interrogation rooms.
“CAPTAIN”, the agent shouted as he threw the top file on the table. “Do you care to you explain this?”
I glanced at the closed folder with the edges of photographs and an orange slip of paper peeking out of them. Without even opening it I knew what it was, as I received the same orange slip of paper the day I first I arrived on the Whitefield. It was the three million credit repair bill for my ship when I had crawled her in for repairs. It was also the real reason we were having this interrogation right now.
I picked up the folder without opening it and tossed it in the trash. “What are you talking about, Agent Smith? Zone 42 doesn’t even exist.”
While exploring in Minnesota, scanning an interesting group of wrecked ships for possible salvage, I had blundered into a minefield in the middle of nowhere. Good piloting and a lot of luck combined to get me to a safe place between the mines where I could regenerate my shields enough for a bullrush to get out. Looking for the thinnest route out of the minefield, I saw a hazard buoy at the nearest edge. I also saw an unmarked jumpgate unlisted on any maps and not built by Ageira or Deep Space Engineering off in the distance. I figured it must belong to the mythical “Zone 42”. The hazard buoy had motion sensors and a camera mounted on it which doubtless had a nice view as my crippled ship lumbered out of the minefield.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a party for me at the bar,” I said, turning to leave once more. A few of the pilots I rescued are throwing a little shindig and calling me ‘hero’. My date is there as well, an investigative reporter for the Lonestar Tribunal; she wants to do an article on me. Neither would be happy if I just up and ‘disappeared’.
I opened the door and stepped between the two armed guards who had magically appeared there after I had entered the room. Without a glance to either of them, I walked down the hall to the nearest common area.
I didn’t look back.