Wayne called the Sailing Master over and pointed at the message. Lt. Commander Jessie Burling didn't need to use a tablet to do the numbers. She thought for a few seconds and said, "Transfer as much mass as you can to the freighter- including all the cutters loaded with our reserve stores and we can do a speed run to Abilene, pick up stores and make the rendezvous point in 28 days, allowing two days to load."
"Set the course Commander," said Jamieson.
He started keying codes into his panel- "QM- load all reserve foodstuffs for transfer to the prize."
"Engineering- Get a reclamation team and stores onto the prize- have them take our synthesizer kit."
"Transport- Stand by for cross-loading- all cutters to remain on that freighter for the jump."
He then called the XO over. "Have the Chief of the Boat organize a contact team and prepare to receive casualties. Wayne knew that many of the slaves would be in poor condition. The Crows like to condition their new captives by having a few die in transit- it let them know how low their lives were regarded.
These detail attended to, he turned his attention to the approaching task force. Time to arrange a little surprise for them.
***
"Grav drive is synched sir, but those tractors are beyond repair. They used a shaped charge on the field generator casing- we are going to have to drag this bucket all the way back," reported the damage control chief.
"Very well Master Chief- we are under way now- attend to the auxiliaries- you have five thousand refugees on that ship and they will need all the facilities that you can rig and repair to survive- Hendrik out."
"OK you idlers, you heard the skipper- lets get the reclamation on this piece of junk working like it never has before- which shouldn't be too hard.”
***
Tom Phillips stalked through the assembled ranks of the captives. Unsurprisingly, none would admit to being captain of this freighter with it's cargo of misery.
Amongst the slave trustees who did the scut work on the ship, he saw what he was looking for and gave a slight nod of his head. Two marine guards pounced on the man indicated and dragged him aside. Slaves, no matter how favored, did not have well-manicured nails, a lack of calluses or the marks of rings on their fingers. Tom turned to the nearest prisoner “Who is he?”
When the prisoner remained silent, Tom said, “Throw him out the nearest airlock.” The marines had been hoping for this and their sergeant pointed to two troopers who dragged the stunned slaver away. Tom grabbed another captive and simply glared at him.
“Noble sire- he is our captain.”
“I can see that your captain does not want to want to be identified- my men found a young slave girl in his stateroom- a VERY young girl.”
Tom watched the assembled captives as they looked away from the doomed captain- it looked like they were not surprised to hear this. He let them consider what there fate would be for a minute longer, and then made an announcement that shocked them all. “My orders are to put you on a shuttle and return you to your fleet which is approaching now.”
This was the last thing they were expecting- Imperials were reputed to show no mercy towards slavers- indeed, this is what would have happened if the direct order of Captain Jamieson had not said otherwise.
“Except your captain,” said Tom. “He goes out the airlock- fit him with a suit and throw him out.”
The marines herded those spared to the hanger bay where they were loaded onto a shuttle and sent on their way, the younger marines shaking their heads at this decision. The senior ranks were not bothered. They had a fair idea what Captain Jamieson was up to.
***
“Sir- We will be at tractor velocity in two minutes,” said the Sailing Master.
“Engage tractors at start velocity,” said Hendrik. He knew without checking that the enemy fleet was 90 minutes away and that the tractors would now give them plus vector with an estimated fifteen minutes lead until they were safe in subspace. 'Fury' had already fallen back to prepare to give covering fire, although they were reluctant to give away their targeting abilities, so were holding fire. The flotilla's lighters and cutters had transferred all of the reserve store to the freighter and the logistics people were trying to sort out exactly what stores were on-board- a huge task on a ship of this size. They had already discovered that the manifest was far from accurate or complete. It looked like a lot of loot gained when the slaves were taken had been undeclared.
The shuttle full of captives was now standing off the point cruiser. No doubt the Crows were trying to decide if the persons on-board had loaded with viruses and were scanning for radiological or explosive contents. Crow paranoia had worked for the Free Company yet again, as somebody made the decision to destroy the shuttle. A laser flareed briefly, then disappeared into a white flash as it hit Jamieson's package and sent the D-T mix hidden in the shuttle's water tanks into fusion.
“Aspect change Sir- we have three hostiles drifting unpowered- the point cruiser and two frigates- the rest of the formation is starting to disperse.”
“Signal 'Wotan's Fury' and synch our confirmed jump time- also congratulate Captain Jamieson on his trap.”
“Aye Sir, message sent.”
“Advise engineering of our jump time and that they have my permission to continue working on the hull.”
The fitters, welders and techs would like that- 'outside' work in subspace rated maximum hazard pay.
“All away, Sir and hostiles still 55 minutes out of range.”
“Their range,” said Jamieson, resisting the strong temptation to send a few parting volleys. “All hands prepare for subspace running- Sailing Master- the helm is yours.”
Safely transitioned, he gave the order to stand down from general quarters. Commander Hendrik's troubles would now be beginning.
***
Prize ship 'Golden Caravan'
Subspace.
While the rest of the Free Company would be easing into a relatively relaxed drag through subspace, the prize crew would be preparing for a far less pleasant journey to the rendezvous point. Hendrik and his officers knew from experience that they just couldn't let the slaves out- their release would have to be carefully managed- those who had been recently taken into slavery- most of them would be relatively easy, but those who had been slaves for generations would be far more difficult to manage. There is an ancient saying: 'you can take the farm boy off the farm, but can't take the farm out of the farm boy.' This ran true with slaves too.
With all the ship's officers tied up directing repairs and organizing the prize, the task of liaising with the slaves fell to Lt Tom Phillips, aided by a warrant officer, contact specialist Guiardio Rameraiz.
“Records- such as they are- show this hold to contain 2000 persons captured in a colony raid, Sir. This is why they are in such filthy conditions- this trip is part of their slave conditioning. They will be stressed, half-starved and kept cold and dirty to break down their spirits, the Crows like to let the older and weaker ones die and leave the bodies in there, as part of the process. Sir, we let them out and they will tear the ship apart looking for Crows and trustees- so here is the best way to proceed...”
Tom switched on the audio and video feed to the hold's announcement system. “This is Lieutenant Tom Phillips, Free Company 'Wotan's Fury'. Acting under an Imperial warrant, we have seized this vessel from the Hegemony and claim her as a prize of battle. We are currently in subspace and are in the process of refitting this vessel in order to get you into some decent living conditions. Please bear with us as we complete this work and repair battle damage and we will get you all out of there as soon as practical. Please get your sick or injured ready to move out- we have a surgeon on board and pick representatives to assist us with helping you.
Times are going to still be tough and we will ALL be getting a little hungry before long, but YOU ARE NO LONGER SLAVES. Welcome back, citizens.”
“That was good Sir, now we give them ten minutes and go in with a squad a
nd meet them face-to-face.”
If the view on the monitor looked bad, inside the slaves hold was several orders of magnitude worse- the stench of excrement and death was appalling- especially to career spacers who are renowned for being meticulous in their hygiene. This was all deliberate- keeping new captives naked, degraded and in filth- all designed to break down their spirit.
These were recent captives and had not yet been broken. A group of three approached Tom and his men, while the crowd looked on; they walked tall, carrying themselves with dignity despite their nakedness and dirt. “I am colony leader Shannon Antares, ICS grade six- Lieutenant, you and your troops have our profound thanks for your rescue. What may we do to assist you?”
“Firstly, we will see to your immediate medical needs. I need you to keep order in here- you are, unfortunately, going to have to remain in here for a while longer although we can move the sick out now. Can you have any engineers, or those with maintenance experience assist us with getting some sanitation in here?” The colony leader nodded to one of her assistants who went off to gather a work party.
By now, Tom had sized up the mood of the freed slaves. “I will open the compartment doors, but please have your people remain in here unless involved in a work detail. Our marines are searching the ship for any crew we may have missed and I don't want any of you getting mistaken for them- and getting tossed out the nearest airlock.” Tom's comm buzzed, signaling work details wanting clearance to enter. “Lt. Phillips to Ops- open the main hatchway to bay five and turn all services on.”
“Colony Leader, we need to remove your dead. They will be frozen for the meantime and we can hold a service for the dead when we get to our destination- if your people could assist with identification, that would be helpful.”
“Of course, Sir.” She lowered her voice: “The former crew of this ship?”
“All dead- we don't take slavers prisoner,” replied Tom.
“Good- I will pass that on to my people.”
“You might pass on that we spaced the captain- in a fully operational suit.”
“Thank you sir!”
The constant drone of the ventilation fans changed pitch, as one of the operations team found the control and boosted the airflow to vent the foul air and the lighting intensity started to increase. Ops and the fitters had already unlocked potable water cocks and turned on the showers and toilets, while logistics were tracking down a long list of supplies, such as soap, toiletries, cups, bowls and clothing. At least they would have water and sanitation now. When the area was cleaned up, they could start assembling the bunks stowed in a now unlocked adjacent storeroom.
A runner arrived and saluted Tom. “Sir, quartermasters compliments and can you please report to Ops and help them out with the manifest? Sir, they can't make heads or tails of half of it.”
“Colony Leader, I will leave Warrant Officer Guiardio Rameraiz here with you to liaise- I have to go help find some of these stores your people need. When we get them sorted, I want to do a full debrief with you,” said Tom.
“Thank you and all your people again Lieutenant and I hope to pass on my compliments to your commanding officer in person soon.”
“You will get to meet Captain Jamieson in about 28 days at our rendezvous- Colony leader, from what I have seen you have done an outstanding job of leading your people though the worst of times.” Tom saluted her and left, following the runner to the operations control room.
Guiardio's nose wrinkled and he walked over to the sanitation area- a collection of plastic pails and a waste hopper to empty them into. He took his belt knife and put the point of the blade on a nearby pipe, then put his ear to the tang. Sheathing the knife, he called the tech working in the guard room. “Johnny- turn the damn waste vents on.” The Crows, in their perversity, had shut down the waste vent fans, in order to cause more of a stench- as if not supplying water for cleaning their filthy hole in the deck excuses for toilets was not enough. Now to find a cleaning stores locker. There would be one near here, as the slaves’ last task on board ship would be to clean this fetid hold.
***
“Baklava- 1200 kg- what that means is one day's more food,” said Tom. “Now, let's see what else we can find in this manifest. When the locusts raided that colony, they would have taken all their stores as well. We are still seven days subsistence rations short.”
***
“Sir, the drive generator is beyond repair, all the ancillaries are OK. Good news is that we can replace it with a Caterpillar FTLD-4 and those are easy to pick up- even out at the frontier. Power grid is in good shape and life support is in fair shape too, but could use some work to get it running at capacity- looks like this is a fairly new ship and the Crows haven't screwed it up too badly yet.”
“QM is still trying to sort the stores, Sir- techs are having some trouble interfacing a translator with their GUI. The OS is written in something called 'French', then translated into Crow scribbles...”
“Yes, spare me the technicalities,” said Commander Hendrik. “What is your progress locating foodstuffs?”
“Sorry Sir, Lt Phillips is the only one who can really read that manifest and so far he has identified additional three days rations, at subsistence levels.”
“Sir, given the condition of our refugees, we can expect a two to five percent mortality rate at those levels,” said the ship's surgeon.
“If they seized that colony's stores, then there is a high probability that their emergency rations are somewhere on board- find them,” said Hendrik.
“Sir, I believe that we have the hardware to rig an algeprote processor. That stuff tastes like shit, but it will sustain life,” said the surgeon.
“Then get a team on it- in fact- start looking for one on-board. I recall the Crows use such things to feed their slaves. If that is all, back to your posts.”
“One small bit of good news Sir- we located a consignment of coffee. The head chef has tested it and pronounced it good.”
Hendrik gave a small smile. “Splendid- have some sent up to control ASAP. You will be needing it.”
As the section heads left, Hendrik stretched out in his chair. It had been a full-on 27 hours since taking this freighter and there was still a lot of work to be done. While the ship was in a fair state of repair now and steadily improving, the human cargo was proving troublesome. Not the first refugees released- they were now almost self-sufficient. All they really needed was their freedom and dignity returned. The other 3,000 were more problematic. About 2000 of them had been broken to slavery and were, to say the least, dysfunctional. They were behaving like battery hens released from their cages- huddling in the corners, refusing to believe they were free. They would have to be transported to one of the empires rehabilitation centers where they could be returned to functioning.
Even worse were the remaining thousand. They were born into slavery and knew no other existence. Nor could they comprehend one. They were on lock-down and would remain so until the crew's specialists could determine what to do with them. Right now, they were as dangerous to the crew and the other slaves as their masters.
Then there was one who was outside of these groups. The young girl found in the late captain's cabin.
She was definitely unbroken and unharmed, but none of the other captives knew of her. Careful questioning by the surgeon had determined that she was the sole survivor of a pirate raid on an outie transport. Other than that all they knew was that she was about three-four years old and named Jennifer DeVries. The surgeon’s team had taken a shine to here and had her quartered in sick bay. By all accounts she kept quiet, stayed out of the way and was happy to entertain herself on one of the ships information terminals. Hendrik saw no reason to change these arrangements.
She could stay there until they off-loaded the former colonists at the Yalumba system in ten weeks.
***
“A drink?” said Captain Hendrik.
“Brandy and soda, thank you,” said Colony Leader Antares.
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“My apologies for taking this long to have this meeting,” said Hendrik, handing her a tall glass. “Before I start asking questions, I'm sure you have a few you would like answered.”
“I do, Sir- firstly, what are your intentions with my people?- we would like to know where we are going.”
“Firstly, we are getting far away for the system where we took this ship- 21 days out to an uninhabited system. At this point we rendezvous with our other two ships which have gone on ahead for supplies- real food, not krats. From there, to the frontier for more provisions and on to the Yalumba system, where we plan to land your colonists. If you want to establish a colony there, this is a place with plenty of room- they have only been inhabited about 120 years.”
“Not what we really wanted when we set out, but considering the circumstances- I think my people will be glad to take the second chance- although we have no capital now.”
“You still have most of your colony stores- we have no salvage claim on the property of Imperial citizens and the empire is quite helpful with distressed colonists. Of course they don't tell you that when you set out- I'm sure you understand why.”
“Yes, quite," she acknowledged. “Although I wish we were in a position to repay you- debts must be paid.”
Hendrik gave dismissive gesture with his raised glass. “The empire will also compensate us for our efforts- consider the account settled in full.”
“Well then- this ICS G6 is learning a bit about the empire today.”
“Yes, now I would like to know more about how you came to be in this most unfortunate situation.”
***
“We started out four years ago, to set up an independent colony deep in what was meant to be the neutral zone. Following typical procedures, the destination planet had been seeded with Terran flora and fauna, the LZ had been leveled and utility structures built in advance by autonomous robotics. We set down with no great dramas and for three years carried on setting up a colony, in textbook manner. Our only contact with the outside being an annual visit from an Imperial scout ship.
About a month ago- I can't be sure of time, as we have had no way of measuring it- we were in the middle of harvest. During the mid-afternoon, we lost our satellite and comms. Shortly after that, four drop ships landed on the outskirts of the settlement and we were attacked by two companies of light infantry with armor and gunship support. We were systematically split up and were unable to mount a meaningful defense. They set up a stockade and processed us prior to loading everyone onto a lighter. While this was going on- and for several days after- the colony was systematically stripped of anything of value,” She paused and took a deep drink.