War Angel: part sixty-one

F’ath M’isti leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on his knees. “Fascinating. Simply fascinating.” He turned to look at his second in command. “M’aschi, what do you make of him?”

M’aschi T’reen bowed his head in respect to the Omegan commander. “I think he is a vile, untrustworthy worm. He has the stench of betrayal about him.”

“I agree with that assessment. But look deeper than that. What do you see?” M’isti asked.

The Kan’Tar’s second stopped for a moment, thinking about the conversation he had just watched. In his mind, he replayed the words spoken by the captain of the War Angel, finally putting his finger on what bothered him. “He is not meant to be in command of that vessel, is he not? The records we gained access to spoke of a Morrison leading that crew. Strange.”

“Indeed. Young Keys was in command in battle above Saturn as well. I would doubt highly that Morrison is anything but a corpse. There is a human word: mutiny.”

“Murdering one’s superior. Yes, Commander. You think this boy?”

M’isti smiled and leaned back. “M’aschi, have I ever told you of my days during our first occupation of this wretched planet?” He shook his head. “I was a pilot on a B-class ship. One day I was performing maneuvers when I saw one of the other cruisers acting strangely. It was listing in its orbit; very odd. Then I saw an explosion tear through its hull. Had it not been one of our own, it might have been beautiful. The fire cascaded through the ship, eventually shattering it into pieces. Nearly every soldier onboard found his way to Erestia that day.”

“I have read of that moment. A small human force had made its way inside and sabotaged the ship.”

The Omegan commander laughed. “Indeed. And history would later us that of all the humans who invaded that ship on that day, only one survived: a man named Steven Keys.”

“The boy’s ancestor.”

“Aye. He took with him weaponry and other tools that the Earthmen began to reverse engineer in an effort to build up their ability to resist us. Some of that technology went into building ships like the one orbiting the outer planet right now.” M’isti closed his eyes. “My squadron was diverted almost immediately to destroy the place where Keys and his fellows had come from on the ground. We reduced every square inch of it to rubble. But the true damage was done. Keys himself had not gone back to where he had left, which we did not know at the time, so we missed our first shot at him.”

“But you had a second chance and you killed him?”

M’isti’s eyes popped open. “We did get a second chance. And a third. A fourth. An eighth. This human…” he flexed his fists, “he was a thorn in our sides for a long time before we finally captured him.”

The Omegan second recoiled in shock. “He was not immediately put to death?”

“No. At first because we did not know it was him. Then, for pragmatic purposes- he had information we wanted in order to put an end to the resistance once and for all. Torture. Horrible, brutal torture.” F’ath M’isti smiled at the memory. “I was part of the squadron that brought him in, so I was given the privilege of watching his suffering. It was glorious.”

“How long did it take to break him? An hour? A day?”

Memories flooded the Omegan commander’s mind. He remembered chunks of skin carved off of Steven Keys’ body, toes and fingers being removed… of watching as Keys was struck so hard in the face that an eye popped out of socket. It was impressive that the human managed to take so much punishment without begging for mercy. As a young soldier, it was instructive for him to finally see his enemy up close and understand who he was truly dealing with on the battlefield. “He never broke, M’aschi. During a shift change, a small force penetrated our defenses, boarded the ship where Keys was being held, and rescued him.”

“Madness! They should have let him die!”

“Not at all. It taught me that the humans were far better strategists than I could have ever imagined. By getting him back, they could determine what he had told us and prepare themselves for any attacks we might be planning. If they killed him themselves, they would have the same problem. No, they showed intelligence, loyalty, and compassion all at the same time. That, my friend, is what makes them such a dangerous race.”

M’aschi exhaled. “Now we face another one, and this one seems to have a ruthlessness about him. As you said earlier, commander: fascinating.”

“And he knows just enough about our objectives here to be dangerous to them. Thus we must meet him on the… dinner table… of battle.”

“How long will you wait before you kill him?”

F’ath M’isti laughed. “Ahh, that is the question is it not? He will surely arrive with a plan to kill me. I will take his measure up close, see what information he truly has or is willing to share, and then…”

“He will die.”

The Omegan commander stood and clapped a hand on his second’s shoulder. “See to preparations for their arrival and send two ships to meet them.”

“It will be done.” M’aschi bowed and exited the command bridge. As F’ath watched him go, he sighed gently and shook his head. His second in command was a generation younger than he, and the Omegan commander found himself frustrated by that fact once again.

“This new breed does not know. It forgets,” he muttered. He lifted his uniform shirt and brushed his fingers across a large scar running across his torso. From mid-abdomen to his left shoulder, the raised and damaged skin stood out from the older man’s body. He gave an involuntary shiver, then lowered his clothing back into place. “But I will never forget.”