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Confession by Kyle Stegerwald
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Confession
Date: 30 November 2004, 11:47 PM
Confession Chapter 1
The cell was stone-cold and the metal bunk was unyielding- it was impossible to sleep. Peter sat up again and leaned up against the metal wall, feeling the soft thrumming of the ship's engines as it cruised along. He had been this way for days- ever since they threw him in this hole. His eyes were bloodshot, his clothes were crumpled and dirty, his muscles ached and his brain throbbed with pain.
But he knew it could, and most likely would, get worse. They still hadn't interrogated him yet. Perhaps this was the way they played the game, he mused. Maybe they use sleep deprivation before they interrogate you- just one more advantage they have.
In addition to having him locked up in here with an armed guard...
Speaking of which, Peter could now see him through the barred window in his door. The Marine wore combat armor, a battered-looking helmet, and an assault rifle. He most likely had a pistol and maybe a few grenades too. Peter looked at him through the bars and smiled. Peter could have smoked him with a single bullet from a thousand yards- but here he was helpless. Seeing him reminded him of old times- times that had ended- maybe for good- not so long ago.
The marine moved closer and looked down. He seemed to be fiddling with the door and Peter heard the clank of keys. He stood up, awaiting the handcuffs.
"Alright, rebel. Hands behind your back." The marine coolly aimed his assault rifle at Peter while two more Marines came into the cell and flanked him. One handcuffed him and the other grabbed his left arm and shoved him out of the cell. The other two took up positions in front of Peter and the trio marched him down the hallway of detention block C. The group passed at least twenty more cells before reaching the most beautiful vista Peter had ever seen. It was a hallway that ran along the side of the ship, and Peter looked out of its thick and broad windows to see a beautiful white planet. Peter's heart skipped a beat and he sighed in longing and regret as he saw the planet he had fought and might yet die for loom large in his vision. You better take it all in, thought Peter, this might be the last time you see it.
Peter's journey neared an end after an elevator ride up to deck thirteen. There, Peter surmised from all the security clearance, was the Office of Naval Intelligence deck. The marines marched him right into one of the first rooms they saw- a plain, rather spartan room with a single table and chair and a floodlight in the ceiling that bathed the dull gray walls in harsh light.
Ah, the interrogation, Peter mused, I've waited so long...
"You and I both know what is going to happen if you refuse to cooperate." The ONI officer was standing in front of him, arms folded, blue eyes staring straight at him.
"Yes." Peter curtly responded.
"We'll do one of two things." He started to pace around the room. "We'll either haul you into Reach, pack you on the nearest outbound prisoner transport, and ship you off to Lambda Four."
"The penal colony..." Peter said, averting his eyes from the officer and staring intently at the table in front of him.
"Not just any penal colony- there are no guards at this one. No fences, no cells, and certainly none of our type." The officer nearly smiled. He stopped pacing and leaned down on the table, arms spread wide and gripping the corners. His face was six inches away from Peter's. "Just you and every other hardened criminal in the galaxy. Not many patriots or politicals down there, my son. Just thugs. You wouldn't last a second." He walked away from the table, obviously pleased with himself. Peter laid his hands on the table and watched him as he continued.
"Or we can make a deal. If you tell us what we want to hear, provide us with information we can use, we'll let you off easy. Ten years exile in Lambda Six- the damn place is a health resort compared to Four. Nobody there but intellectuals, priests, politicals, etc. Even some filthy rebels like you. You'll be in good company- and you'll be safe." The interrogator leaned close to Peter once more and said softly, his eyelids raised and his face tense:
"So, what's it gonna be?"
Peter brought his hand up and made a clenched fist. Then he slowly and delicately extended his middle finger and placed it directly in front of the interrogator's face.
"So, you're going to be the punk, eh? There are many more like you we have on this ship. We can get rid of you easily and find someone else who will cooperate. You just squandered a very important chance, my friend!" The interrogator pushed a button and the door opened. The three marines walked in and dragged him from the chair and across the hallway to a heavy door marked 'Disposal'. The gauges next to it gave it away- it was an airlock.
"Say goodbye, you bastard." The marine that had summoned him from his cell opened the door with the pull of a lever and pushed Peter inside. The door slammed shut and Peter, for the first time in his life, faced death square in the face. It was the round heavy metal door in front of him- the door they would open into space- and his undoing. His knees began to shake and sweat beaded on his forehead as his mind raced in a thousand different directions- childhood memories, old friends, first love, they were all a blur- he had no time to say goodbye, no time to make his peace- just a few seconds to die. He turned around and saw the marines' faces presed against the glass as they witnessed his final moments-
And then the voice spoke.
"How about now, rebel? Does my offer sound better now?" the voice was that of the ONI interrogator, mocking and malicious. "I'll give you five seconds. If I don't see the thumbs-up in that time, say hello to outer space." Apparently there was a video camera in here too. This must be a pretty regular operation, Peter thought.
"Alright. Let him out." The ONI interrogator stood up from the microphone at the communications console and turned around to face his fellow officers.
"Did it work, or are you just being lenient?" Corporal James asked him.
"I'm not lenient with these people. He gave me the thumbs-up."
"He's a pansy. All the one's I've interrogated have given me the finger or swore at me." James grinned. "They're all in space now, of course."
"Of course." Intoned the interrogator as he strode from the room and back to the interrogation.
"Tell me everything, then. You've given in." The interrogator sat across from Peter now, leaning back in his metal chair and folding his arms across his chest.
"If you have the time." The interrogator laughed.
"I have all the time in the world."
"Fine, then. We'll start at the very beginning, on Orion four."
Beginnings
The alarm was blaring loud and clear as he woke up, eyes weighed down and mind still clouded with the fog of sweet slumber.
Damn it, he couldn't sleep in today.
So he reluctantly got up, got dressed, packed, and left his three-room apartment for a cozy café down the street. The sidewalk was nearly empty- it was five-thirty- and few cars drove past him as he trod through the growing light of the early dawn. The day would be a clear one- he couldn't see a cloud in the sky, though the high buildings blocked his view. Even though the sun would be shining, it would still be cold. It always was on this planet- even in the summer. The previous night's rain was evaporating, leaving small puddles here and there, and giving the air a fresh, sharp scent. He drew it all in.
It might be the last time.
The small café was on the corner of Thirteenth and Port streets, a low-key affair with wood trim on the bar, granite -two-seat tables and small, high chairs. His appointment knew the city well. Peter strode inside and instantly caught sight of the man he was to meet. He was sitting, leaning back in his chair, staring out the window and slowly sipping from a cup of coffee. The large window looked out onto the street and from there, Peter assumed, the man had been watching for him. It gave him a certain sneaky pride that the man hadn't seen him.
Peter calmly walked up and sat down across from him and said:
"Well, Sasha, it's good to meet you finally. I've heard such good things about you from my friend..." He hesitated, trying to remember the code-word he had been given. The man across from him stared directly in to Peters eyes, and Peter could feel him boring into his very soul...
"Jamie. My good friend Jamie." He said, finally, with satisfaction. The man across from him visibly relaxed, smiled, and extended his hand. Peter took it and they shook.
"Name's Sasha, as you well know. Good to meet you- is it Peter? That's what they told me."
"They were right. The name's Peter." The waitress walked up, interrupting the conversation, and Peter ordered a cup of coffee. Then he remembered that he hadn't eaten anything since last night, and he was about to go on a trip...
He ordered an omelet.
"So, what's your background?" Asked Sasha, removing his hood and at last revealing a handsome, youthful face with blond hair pulled back in a rough ponytail.
"Ex-military intelligence, I went to college and got a degree in computer science. Spent my entire five years out of college locked up in some damn office building breaking rebel codes all day and designing database and encoding software." He took off his coat and hung it on he chair behind him.
"But that's not all, is it?" his voice had a curious edge to it.
"Well, no- I did to a tour of duty aboard a UNSC cruiser."
"As a codebreaker?" Peter knew where this was leading.
"No, as an auxiliary."
"Well, hell of a jump there, from tech to soldier?."
"I had always been a good shot, and they made me a sniper when someone saw me on the firing range one day. And the auxiliaries aren't that demanding, as you well know. Mostly routine garrison duty."
"And then the tour ended?" Sasha seemed to know exactly what was coming.
"No. It was just getting started. We ran into some pirates- some rebels from a nearby world."
"What'd they do?"
"They boarded us, and we fought them tooth-and-nail for three days." Sasha's face tightened, his head dropped and he stared at his coffee in silent contemplation.
"How many?" he whispered.
"I had thirty-five confirmed kills. I was decorated." And with that he brought forth a small bronze star, as if it were a mark of shame or some horrible crime committed long ago.
"So, you have experience. Good. We'll need you." Sahsa rose up and pushed in his chair.
"Where are you going?"
Sasha just smiled, walked around the table to Peter, bent down and whispered in his ear:
"Four-thirty." And pressed a small scrap of paper in his hand. Peter sat and stared at it for a while after Sasha had disappeared down the street, then remembered what it was and hurriedly shoved it into his pocket.
Interlude
"Wait a damn minute- you were in the Army?"
"The auxiliaries, there more like a militia-" The interrogator shot him an exasperated glance.
"I know what the auxiliaries are, rebel. I commanded a battalion of them."
"Well, yes. I was a sniper for two years."
"And what about this fight onboard the cruiser?"
"It was tough. The rebels were desperate to obtain a heavy cruiser and some armaments- and they must have found out that we were loaded and heading their way."
"What do you mean 'loaded'?"
"We were carrying enough weapons, armor and artillery to adequately equip two marine divisions." The interrogator let out a low whistle.
"We wouldn't let them have it, though. They captured the bridge, all the crew quarters, most of engineering and nearly two-thirds of the ammunition. They tried to maneuver the damn thing down onto the planet, but we took control of engineering and shut down the engines. Then, the rebels brought up transports, unloaded all that they could, planted a nuclear mine, and left."
"Quite a story. The mine was defused, I assume?"
"Yes. I was the one that defused it."
To be continued
Confession Chapter II
Date: 13 December 2004, 11:48 PM
Confession Chapter II
The Orion IV spaceport was spread across some fifty square kilometers of land- individual landing strips were far apart. This had been done to minimize the environmental impact, but, until recently, it had been an absolute bitch to navigate. But now, underground subway lines crisscrossed the airport, and Peter boarded one that was marked 'Private B'- bound for the cargo warehouses and offices of large shipping companies that operated out of Orion IV. Peter was looking for a small arms dealer named 'Phoenix Arms, inc.'. He looked at his watch- four o'clock. He had plenty of time.
The subway was mostly empty, save for a man in a black trenchcoat and battle fatigues, sleeping silently, his head cocked back against the window, legs spread out in front of him and crossing the entire aisle. Peter ignored him and examined the contents of his messenger-bag once more. Money. Energy bars. A change of clothes. Some toiletries and a pistol with a few clips.
Hey, you never know.
The subway slid to a stop outside the station marked 'Private B' and Joseph stood up and walked out of the train. The doors closed softly behind him and with a soft groaning of unwilling cogs somewhere in the subway, it moved off again.
Joseph climbed up a flight of stairs to ground level, and it was with reluctance that he stepped out into the cool fall air. This section of the airport was open, and Joseph could see the company offices and warehouses, as well as private landing strips, amongst the thick trees. Joseph stepped over to a large blue sign with white lettering telling the traveler where to find his destination. Phoenix Arms was... to the East a hundred yards or so. Looking down a road, Peter could see a low, gray building with an antenna on top and a large hangar-like structure next to it. That must be it, he thought, and he began walking.
The day was dying, and over the treetops, Joseph could see the sun set. The orange light was already streaming over the forest and lighting up the control tower behind the subway station with a fierce glow. Joseph shoved his hands in his pockets and put one foot in front of the other and drew in every breath of crisp air slowly and deliberately.
He was going to savor his last moments on this planet.
The building itself was rather unimpressive. There was the faint sound of a heating unit around the back of the building thrumming softly, and from inside Peter heard drills, arc welders, and some other unidentified tools banging away.
He strode into the building and down the narrow hallway past doors from behind with emanated the sounds of construction. He was looking for the main office and he found it at the very end of the hallway, behind a door simply marked 'Director'. He opened the door, and there stood Sasha.
"Hello, Peter! Welcome to our little operation." He smiled, stood up from behind his computer, and gestured dramatically around the room. Around him were weapons- sniper rifles and machine guns, mortars and rocket launchers, all hung on the wall like trophies of some exotic hunt. Sasha glanced approvingly at them, and Peter began to wonder exactly what he had gotten himself into. But before he had time to think about it any further, Sasha led him out of his office and into the next building- the large hangar that Peter had seen.
Peter stepped inside a moment later, and saw a large spacecraft the size of a Pelican parked in the middle of the hangar. It resembled a heavily modified UNSC surplus space transport. The gray, angular ship had a massive cargo bay, a bridge at the front of the ship, and some small crew quarters. The cargo bay was about half-full, and most of the stuff was packed into one side of the ship. There were strange red and green markings on it- but there was a familiar name - a small phrase above the main bridge window that read 'Phoenix Arms Company'. Peter followed Sasha as he walked slowly and deliberately across the hangar's smooth concrete floor and to the rear end of the ship, as it was being loaded up with crates full of- well, the sides read 'titanium rods, class B', but the actual contents could be anything. Two men, sweating and grunting under the weight, made their way slowly past Peter. One of them tripped and quickly darted to the side to avoid being crushed by the immense weight. Peter jumped back quickly- the wooden crate bucked and finally busted on the metal floor of the cargo plane.
Rifles spilled out of the crate and onto the floor. Peter grinned, and Sasha appeared behind him, his hands on his hips and his eyes sternly set on the mess in front of him. The two men grumbled and began hauling the rifles out of the ship. Sasha noticed Peter's expression and stepped forward, seizing a piece of the wooden crate that read 'Titanium rods, class b'.
"Titanium rods, yes. But it's what attached to them that's important!" A grin spread across his face, and he turned around swiftly, picked up an armful of rifles, and carried them off the cargo plane. Peter stood looking at the pile of gleaming metal, and the followed suit.
A few minutes later, the ship was completely loaded up with crates filled with rifles, machine guns, mortars, rocket launchers, and other weapons. Peter took a quick tour, and found a small cockpit filled with controls, a smaller room lined with four beds, and an even more miniscule lavatory. He was gawking at the toilet seat when a familiar voice sounded behind him.
"Well, get used to it. We'll be in here for six weeks." It was Sasha.
"When are we leaving?" Peter said, turning around.
"Well, as soon as..." Sasha frowned, suddenly, and stepped back. He turned his head to look out of the cargo bay.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He said, sounding frightened. Peter, still in the bathroom, couldn't see who he was talking to.
"Well, sir, I think you know as well as I do. We've been receiving reports, you see..." It was a deep, resonating voice that was smooth but most unsettling.
"Bullshit!" Said Sasha, wild-eyed. He was visibly shaking now. His fists were clenched and his small mouth was tight as a drum. He ground his teeth.
"Well, Sasha, we can settle this the easy way, or the hard way. You just give all this up, and we leave. No questions asked." Peter heard the clomp of sildiers' boots, as a squad deployed around the craft. Peter summoned the courage to poke his head out, and saw a tall, thin ONI operative standing, arms akimbo, in the cargo hatchway. Behind him were three marines, rifles at the ready.
Peter pulled out a pistol, and Sasha dove behind a crate. The Marines fired a few rounds at Sasha but missed, and Peter stuck his head out again and let loose with the pistol- driving the Marines and the ONI operative behind cover, for the moment. Sasha bolted into the cockpit, slammed buttons frantically, and soon the cargo bay-door started to close. The soldiers, quickly recovering their professionalism, let loose with grenades- five of them clanked to the floor inside the ship, coming to rest in the small grooves of the diamond-plate floor.
Time moved in slow motion- Peter dashed from cover, his boots smacking harshly on the metal deck, his sweaty hands fumbling for the grenades as he scooped up one, two, three, and threw them frantically through the cargo port again. He slid, he dove, he grasped the last grenade and stood up, winding back. He threw the grenade through the narrowing portal of the bay door, and when it exploded shortly beyond it, he was thrown back onto the deck, his ears ringing, his head throbbing, and his heart racing.
The cargo bay closed, and Peter stood up shakily, only to be thrown down again when the craft lunged upward, crashing through the flimsy roof of the building as if it were matchsticks. Peter felt the metal of the building at first resist them, then buckle, then snap in twain, falling to the concrete floor of the hangar with the metal roofing, driving the Marines to cover.
"Ha ha! Try again, you bastard!" Sasha was screaming in exultation from the cockpit, his feverish intensity seeming to drive the whining engines onward. Peter groped his way to the cockpit, narrowly avoiding knocking himself on the metal floor and walls as the cargo plane lunged port, starboard, up and down in an effort to thwart the UNSC missiles that were homing in on them. Finally clawing his way into the cockpit, he found Sasha at the controls, gunning the engines. Peter saw the radar glowing red, as Longsword interceptors and missiles swarmed after them like bees chasing a particularly evasive honeycomb. Bewildered, bleeding, his vision clouded and his legs weak, he stumbled into the cockpit.
"It's a great machine, isn't it?" Said Sasha. Peter couldn't hear him, he was nearly deaf.
"We'll reach orbital trajectory in a few minutes. After we get out of this gravity well, it's Slipspace for us! We're headed straight for Elipson Seven. Beautiful place. Have you ever been there?'
Peter looked at him, pointed to his ears, and said;
"Can't hear you." Sahsa nodded soberly and returned to the controls.
"This is Atmospheric Command, come in Delta Leader." The operator was professional and businesslike, his brow furrowed over a communications console as he attempted to raise the force pursuing an unknown craft in sector 6.
"Delta, reporting in. We're in hot pursuit at the moment- the cargo ship is executing surprisingly deft maneuvers- and it's fading fast. We can't keep up with it."
"It's a cargo freighter, Delta?"
"Affirmative." Static burst on the channel for a moment, and then the operator said;
"And you can't keep up with it?"
"Also affirmative, atmospheric command." In a sudden lapse of professionalism and exasperation, the operator asked;
"What the hell are you flying, a bathtub?" Completely missing the sarcasm, the leader replied;
"No, sir. We're in Longswords."
The cargo craft punched upward into the atmosphere, while solid rocket boosters threw back long yellow streaks of flame and waves of sparks.
"Alright- we've got twenty seconds of burntime left- it should be enough." Sasha was calm now, if not nervous. Peter heard his voice as if from the end of a long tube, and slowly he began to come around.
"Hey, Sasha, what about the men that loaded the cargo plane?"
"What, them? Oh, well, I assume, ah..." He trailed off. "They know what to do."
"What do you mean?" Said Peter.
"We've got an entire network of false businesses providing arms to the rebels. There are ten of them in this spaceport alone. If they really want to get off-planet, they're smart enough to know where to go."
"Well, it's good to know that we didn't just leave them hanging."
"Yeah." Sasha was anxiously looking at the radar- no direction on the compass looked friendly to them.
"Delta leader, do you require assistance?" The operator inquired once more.
"Negative, we've almost got him in our sights." Replied Delta leader.
"Acknowledged."
The ship was rocked almost to the breaking point when a missile slammed into its backside. Luckily, Sasha had focused the shields on the back, so the rocket did only superficial damage.
"Delta leader?"
"The damn thing has shields." Delta leader was furious. "What cargo ship has beefy engines, can turn on a dime, and has shields?"
"I don't think it's a cargo ship, then." Said the operator, reassuring him. The operator switched channels, to the captain of the UNSC cruiser Kathorzane, orbiting around the system.
"Kathorzane, this is Atmospheric Command."
"Kathorzane reporting."
"We have a rogue cargo ship outbound from sector 6, we assume it may be attempting to gain slipspace."
"We are en route. Special directives?"
"Yes. Eliminate on sight."
"We copy, Atmospheric Command. Sector 6 will be in our line-of-sight in five minutes."
"Acknowledged."
"Well, Peter. It seems we have given the old bastards the slip." The radar was not glowing red anymore- there were a few dots, and the Longswords were giving up the pursuit. "The only thing that saved us was these solid rocket boosters- without 'em, we'd be toast by now."
"Yeah." Peter's head was still ringing.
"Hold up. What's this?"
"What's what?" Peter sat up in his seat, and tried to peer over Sasha's shoulder as he stared into the radar screen.
"I just flicked the radar into long-range mode by accident- look at this!" A huge red dot glowed on the edge of the screen.
"It's around the planet, it can't see us yet. I assume it's some sort of cruiser." Sasha flicked a few switches, and Peter gulped, to keep down the bile rising in his throat.
The Kathorzane was a smaller cruiser- the smallest ship that could still be given that distinction. It had seen heavy action in many wars years before, but its' size and construction prohibited the installation of the more modern heavy weaponry. So, it was relegated to garrison duty, where its once-mighty missile launchers and torpedo tubes could still manage to enforce the law, even if the cruiser could never hold up in a fair fight to a larger, modern foe. For blowing unarmed cargo ships and lightly armed pirate blockade-runners out of the sky, however, its' weaponry was more then apt.
"We're two and a half minutes out, sir." The radar officer of the Kathorzane barked professionally, and the captain on the bridge nodded his bare, old head in response, his arms folded behind him. He could see the planet softly turning to the port side of the ship, as new stars came into view and Orion itself came into view. Shades automatically dropped down over the windows, to keep the glare from burning the retinas of those on the bridge.
"Ready the missiles, pods four through six."
"Torpedoes, sir?" Asked the weapons officer.
"Nope. We'll not have enough time to fire them, before the cargo ship makes a bid for slipspace."
"Yes, sir. Arming now."
"We will have to be quick. We'll have all of ten seconds, by my calculations, to get out of Dodge before that cruiser locks onto us."
Peter nodded, and gazed anxiously out into space.
"We've got them, sir."
"Let loose with the missiles." Tiny pinpricks of light sped off into the distance, snaking around the planet, to the cargo ship. Fifteen of them- they would barely warp the paint on a larger, modern ship, but five of them could destroy a single cargo ship in a fantastic explosion.
"Oh, shit." Sasha saw the missiles on the radar before he saw them out of the cockpit window. His hands flew over the controls, flicking switches, adjusting sliders, pressing buttons. Finally, he typed a four-digit code into a small panel on the controls in front of him, and took a small throttle and slmwly moved it forward.
"Hold on."
"The missiles are almost there, sir. Ten seconds."
"It might not be enough."
The ship shook, lunged, dove, plunged forward as the Slipspace drive kicked into gear. Metal plates slid down over the glass cockpit window and Sahsa sat back in his char. He gripepd the arm-rests, and Peter did the same, sensing the worst.
And then the universe exploded.
"Sir it appears we've lost them." The radar officer said, as the cargo craft blinked of his screen.
Interlude
"That's quite the yarn, Peter." The ONI officer had sat still for the last hour, listening to him.
"It's no yarn." Peter said, sulking.
"No, no. I believe it. It seems absolutely typical." He said, standing up, and shoving his chair backward. He stretched, and called in the guards. They handcuffed Peter and led him from the room. As he was leaving, the ONI officer said;
"We'll continue this tomorrow. Same time."
The cell was still damp, and Peter's back still ached from the hard bunk. His mind was empty for the first time in weeks, and he quickly fell into deep sleep, his mind drifting back to old friends, old times.
In his sleep, he smiled.
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