Chapter 1

Produced by Al Haines

+------------------------------------------------------+ | This work is licenced under a Creative Commons | | Attribution-Non-Commercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 | | Licence. | | | | http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ | +------------------------------------------------------+

HOSTAGE

A Terran Empire story

by Ann Wilson

Copyright (C) 1992 by Ann Wilson

Nemra, 2555 CE

The crash must've been more realistic than he'd planned, Ranger Esteban Tarlac thought groggily as he regained consciousness. His head hurt where something had hit it, and his body ached in a pattern that matched the crash webbing's. But at least one thing was going according to plan: he'd obviously been captured by the rebels, since he was hanging by his wrists with his arms stretched painfully apart--and only the rebels, on this world, would be willing to risk treating a Ranger with such hostility.

He blinked a couple of times, then got his feet under him and straightened, taking the weight off his arms. A look around satisfied him that he was indeed a prisoner of the rebels--and on display in the middle of their base. That detail hadn't been part of his plan, but shouldn't affect it adversely. Even from here, the base looked like the large recreation area it supposedly was; if Tarlac hadn't been familiar with sensor data that showed it was actually close to the equivalent of a planetary defense base, as far as equipment went--personnel were a different matter--he would have thought himself at the main campfire site of a particularly prosperous commercial camping area.

"So Your Highness finally decided to honor us by waking up."

Tarlac winced inwardly at the sarcasm in the man's voice. It was the first time since he'd become a Ranger that he'd experienced open hostility, though he'd known from the beginning that sooner or later he would. He looked toward the voice, immediately recognizing the older man as Lord Robert Kaplan, second child of Count Jonathan Kaplan and the reported leader of this rebellion. "Your hospitality leaves something to be desired, my Lord. I hope you're giving my pilot and bodyguards better treatment than you're giving me."

"In a manner of speaking," Lord Robert said. "They, at least, are in no discomfort."

"They're dead?"

"I'm afraid so," Lord Robert said. "Not that you would really care."

The rebel leader was mistaken there, Tarlac thought grimly. He did care, very much, about the Navy pilot and the four Security Division Marines who had volunteered for the mission that had cost them their lives--but he couldn't let those feelings show. "What do you plan to do with me?"

"Trade you for rule, I think, rather than fight for it," Lord Robert said consideringly. "That way, none of my people suffer. And I think I should be able to get . . . oh, a Subsector at least for you."

In spite of his position, Tarlac had to laugh. Lord Robert was deluding himself if he honestly thought the Emperor would make that sort of trade! "You must know better than that, my Lord. The Empire doesn't make deals with criminals."

"I think His Majesty will make this one, Highness. You are, after all, his newest Ranger, and he is bound to want to keep you; Rangers, for whatever reason, are scarce enough to be worth trading for an entire Sector." Lord Robert looked thoughtful. "Yes, a Sector would be even better. Myself as Duke, my lieutenants as Earls and Counts, other officers as Barons--that would be just enough." He scowled. "There may even be places for my beloved parents and sister, once they acknowledge that I am truly the best of them, cheated out of what is due me by the accident of being born second."

"You're welcome to try, but you'll be disappointed." Tarlac remained outwardly impassive, though he was becoming convinced that Lord Robert was, to use the Marine expression, firing from a dead powerpack. Well, he could manage to tolerate a couple of days like this while Lord Robert called the Palace and tried to negotiate; then the time limit he'd given the colonel in charge of his ship's Marine forces would expire, a company or more of power-armored Marines would land to pull him out and take prisoners, then--if necessary, which he hoped it wouldn't be--his ship would destroy the base and any of its personnel who chose not to surrender.

"We'll see," Lord Robert said, smiling. "In the meantime, I think your capture is cause for celebration."

His people evidently agreed; not long after he left, they began party preparations, bringing out folding tables and loading them with food and drink--mostly drink. Their festive mood didn't extend to the young Ranger, though; Tarlac found himself the object of curses, gloating, and comments about what most would like to do with the ranking Imperial officer who was so totally in their power.

Tarlac ignored curses and threats alike, since there was nothing he could do for the moment, and since he was convinced that nothing serious would be done to him, whatever was threatened. He'd never heard of anyone deliberately injuring or killing a Ranger, which wasn't surprising; the punishment was death, with no reduction of sentence or mitigating circumstances allowed. He didn't notice--and wouldn't have cared--that his disregard of their threats made the rebels more determined to break through the reserve that was so much a part of him that he never noticed it.

As dusk turned into night and the campfire was lit, the party got both loud and violent enough that he couldn't disregard it any longer. Eventually, one of the rebels brought out an animal whip, suggesting it might be fun to see if they could get some amusement out of the damned Imperial.

* * * * *

Somehow, Dave Scanlon thought, being held prisoner by a bunch of rebels just wasn't what it was cracked up to be. He wasn't even locked up, and his guard had won every one of their chess games so far! Oh, the rebels themselves seemed to be having a good enough time--it sounded like a fun party--but he was bored. Then he heard something odd, and looked around. "Hey, Theo, what was that?"

His guard moved a knight before replying. "Check. What was what?"

Dave scowled at him, waiting for the sound to come again. "That," he said when it did. "It sounded like a scream."

The guard listened for a moment, then frowned as the sound came yet again. "Bad news, if it's what I think." Dave shivered at his expression as he went on. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm checking, kid. This could be serious."

"I won't," Dave promised, impressed into obedience despite himself. He'd tried escaping a couple of times since he'd been foolish enough to try replenishing his supplies at what had seemed to be a commercial camp, but he'd been recaptured quickly; now he endured his captivity stolidly.

"Good enough. I'll be back as soon as I can." Theo left the tent they shared, with Dave following him as far as the entrance. It was dark, so he saw only fire-glow from the central area--but from here, he could hear a slapping noise like something hitting flesh before another scream broke through the party sounds. It made him wish again that he was back in his own tent, maybe five kilometers away. His parents had let him go camping alone to celebrate his fourteenth birthday, and that had been a lot more fun than this . . .

Moments later Theo returned, looking grim. "It's time for you to get out of here, kid. Lord Robert's gone beyond trying to kick out his big sister; this ain't just a family fight any more, it's treason against the Empire." He paused. "I'd get out myself, but maybe I can help the Ranger by sticking around. Think you can slug me convincingly with that lamp, then get the hell back home? There're grav-hoppers in the parking area just south of the camp, and it's drunk enough out that you should be able to duck what guards're left."

"Ranger!" Dave exclaimed, horrified. "That's a Ranger--" He broke off at Theo's expression. "Yeah . . . I think I can." Then he'd see what he could do!

"Okay. Do a good job; I'll need a fair-sized lump to convince his Lordship." Theo turned his back to his prisoner.

Dave picked up the lamp and hefted it, thinking. He and Theo both wanted to help the Ranger, so he'd have to make his escape look real--but he didn't want to hurt Theo, who'd been as good to him as possible under the circumstances. He took a deep breath, gave the lamp a couple of practice swings, and then brought it down with what he hoped would be the right amount of force.

Without a sound, Theo collapsed.

"Hey, it worked!" Dave exclaimed, a little surprised.

Then he frowned as a sudden thought struck him, and he knelt beside Theo's limp form. A blow like that, he'd read, could sometimes kill! But thankfully this time it hadn't; he was relieved to find his guard still breathing. Theo might play a mean game of chess, but for a rebel he was okay. Dave started to leave the tent, but it occurred to him that it would look better if he took Theo's gun.

He did so, slipping the heavy disruptor pistol into his belt. He knew how to use it; his mother had been an Imperial Marine, and had made sure her husband and children knew how to handle all the weapons she'd been trained on. He checked to be sure the area was clear, then left the tent. Everyone seemed to be near the main fire at the center of camp, but he kept to cover anyway. He knew he should leave without stopping for anything, but he couldn't. Not with a Ranger being hurt . . .

The cries of pain were weaker, and as Dave made his way toward the fire, he found himself hoping the Ranger would pass out. He was getting too close to stay on the ground, though; he climbed one of the trees that ringed the campfire and made his way along a limb until he could see what was going on through the leaves.

Almost immediately he ducked back, half-sick and not wanting to believe what he'd seen. He'd known it would be bad, the sounds hadn't left any doubt of that--but knowing didn't make it any easier to watch an Imperial Ranger being beaten, maybe to death. Dave's first impulse was to start shooting, but even as he reached for the disruptor in his belt he realized that would do more harm than good. Firing into the rebels would just get him recaptured, maybe killed, and that wouldn't do either him or the Ranger any good. There were too many rebels, and it looked like they were all mean-drunk.

Where in Chaos were the Marines? Dave thought desperately. They should be here, stopping this! In the holos, they always came to the rescue--but in his mother's stories, they were sometimes too late. He inched forward again, horrified fascination making it impossible for him to look away. The Ranger's cries had subsided to moans, his body jerking at every impact of the whip the rebels were taking turns using on him. After what seemed like hours, even the moans ceased, and he hung limp in his bonds.

With the entertainment over, the rebels lost interest in their prisoner, and the ones who hadn't already been overcome by the refreshments wandered away, too drunk--or, Dave thought bitterly, too confident of the Ranger's helplessness--to bother posting guards. He descended from his perch, careful not to lose the disruptor. He didn't dare use it now, it was too noisy, but it could come in handy later. Right now what he needed was a quiet way to cut the Ranger's bonds. Maybe one of the passed-out rebels carried a knife he could use--most people did, in the wilderness.

The dying firelight provided just enough illumination for him to find what he needed on the second rebel he checked. It was an expensive hunting knife, and he hesitated for a moment, feeling a twinge of guilt at taking it even from a rebel.

But the twinge didn't stop him; he had to help the Ranger! He stared for a moment at the limp figure in the torn and bloody forest-green uniform, then moved toward the south. He had to get transportation first; he was strong for his age, but he didn't think he could carry or drag that much dead weight--he shuddered at that thought--very far.

The parking area was guarded, though it was obvious that the two on duty had been doing their share of drinking. Dave thanked any gods who might be listening that the rebels didn't come at all close to Marine standards; if they had, a fourteen-year-old civilian wouldn't have had a chance. Even as it was, he'd be lucky to get out.

Not that he didn't have some things going for him, he thought as he studied the layout of the parking area and the way the guards were negotiating their patrol routes. First was surprise, since they wouldn't know he was free and wouldn't consider him much of a threat if they did see him. Add that he was armed, something else they wouldn't expect--and, he thought grimly, that he had paid a lot of attention to his mother's stories and teaching. He might be young, but he had as much theoretical combat knowledge as anyone who hadn't been through the Academy, and he was willing to use gun and knowledge both to help the Ranger. But right now, stealth was better than a confrontation.

He made his way cautiously to an aidvan, finding as he'd half-expected that it wasn't secured; aid vehicles had to be ready to go at a moment's notice. He would have liked to take the van, considering the Ranger's injuries, but he didn't dare; he needed something that was both more maneuverable and less noticeable. He also didn't have the training to make use of its resources, at least not enough to make it worth the tradeoff. But he could take things he knew how to use, like bandages, emergency blankets, a survival kit, and rations; he stuffed those into a carrying sack, then went forward to check the controls. This was a rebel camp, after all, so the vehicles shouldn't require personal ID to operate; if it was like most large fleets a single code should be able to activate anywhere from five to a couple of decade vehicles. And the aidvan ought to have one of the code cards in the slot, ready to go . . .

Dave grinned in satisfaction when he got to the driver's position. Convenience, as he'd hoped, had overcome security, something his mother said disapprovingly even happened sometimes with Marine units; the card was in the slot. He took it, then grabbed his supplies and hurried into the next vehicle in line.

He breathed a sigh of relief when the card proved to activate this vehicle as well; he might have had to go through a decade or so. Now to see if it had . . . yeah, good. Lord Robert might be a rebel, with creeps--well, mostly creeps, Theo was okay--for followers, but he had good equipment. This had variable coloration, which Dave promptly set for camouflage, as well as convertible capability, a light-enhancing windscreen, and a low-power setting that made the whine of null-grav engines almost inaudible. Making use of the last two, Dave took the vehicle carefully out of the parking area. Really good equipment had its disadvantages, too, he knew,; he'd have to get the Ranger, get out of camp, and find a hiding place fast, before the rebels realized what was happening and used the override the car almost had to have. He wouldn't dare take enough time to get home, or to a town, and his camp was out of the question.

Dave lowered the car's top as he guided it into the campfire area and nudged the passenger side against the Ranger's legs, then he clambered into the back and stood on the seat to reach the man's bonds. They were rope, so he wouldn't have to risk even low-power disruptor fire; he sawed through them, then laid the Ranger as gently as he could on the back seat. The fabric he touched was sticky-wet; he wiped his hands on his pants legs before he got back in the driver's seat and began edging the car away from the camp.

He kept the car on low power, traveling slowly, until he was almost a kilometer away, then went to normal power and sped up. This part of the mountains was honeycombed with caves, so he decided their best bet would probably be to find a nice one and hole up until the Marines finally landed. Dave was confident they would; whatever had kept them from showing up right away surely couldn't keep them from starting to search when the Ranger didn't return when he should!

It took him almost an hour, but he found a cave that would serve them as a decent shelter. It had a fairly level floor, as far as he dared take time to explore, with enough turns and side passages to keep the wind out and maybe provide them with emergency hiding places or a stronghold--if he could get the Ranger to them. And, best of all, one of the side passages had a small spring overflowing into a stream that led deeper into the cave. Yes, he decided, it would do nicely.

He brought the car to the entrance and turned on the visible-light headlights long enough to unload his gear, arrange a makeshift bed for the Ranger, and finally half-carry and half-drag the man inside and settle him. Then he started to program the car to take it away from them, but hesitated, thinking. He'd gotten what he could carry from the aidvan, but there was a better than even chance the car itself held something useful, this far from any settlements. He checked, finding more blankets and rations, a military-issue medikit--and the jackpot, a fusion lamp/stove combination. He grinned, lighting the lamp and stacking his fresh loot inside the cave entrance, then finished programming the car and sent it on its way.

It lifted off, climbing to well above treetop height, then oriented itself to a heading that would take it--if it didn't blow itself up or get shot down first--to the Planetary Palace an hour or so after dawn. Dave listened until it was out of hearing range, then carried his finds further into the cave and braced himself to check the Ranger's condition. First he cleaned his patient's face, recognizing him as soon as he'd washed the blood off: Esteban Tarlac, newest and youngest of the Emperor's personal representatives and troubleshooters. Then he started pulling Tarlac's uniform shirt off, trying not to get sick as the wounds were exposed. When he had it about halfway off, the Ranger stirred.

Tarlac woke slowly, aware at first only that he was laying on something hard and that he hurt all over. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, but a hand on his shoulder restrained him. He opened his eyes, to see a young man--not much more than a boy, really--bending over him. "What--"

"We're in a cave in the Webster Mountains, sir," Dave told him. "I'm Dave Scanlon. I was a prisoner too, but when they brought you in, my guard let me go so I wouldn't be involved." He went on to describe their escape and present circumstances. "I'm afraid it was the best I could think of," he finished apologetically.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Tarlac assured him. The youngster had probably saved his life; he wasn't in any mood to quibble about details. "You might not believe how much I hate to ask this--but just how bad is it?"

"Uh . . ." Dave hesitated.

"That bad?"

"Well--not good, so far, and I've only checked your front. I haven't even cleaned that yet, since the water's still cold." Dave swallowed. "I'm no corpsman, obviously, and you need qualified medical attention, but I'll do the best I can for you."

"I'm sure you will." Tarlac tried to sit up, unsuccessfully; Dave caught him as he fell back, groaning. "Is there any painkiller in what you brought along?"

"I think so." Dave rummaged through the medical supplies, brought out an injector of quidine. "Uh, what's your mass?"

"Call it seventy kilos, that's close enough."

"Yes, sir." Dave read the instructions, set the injector for the weight he'd been told, and triggered it into the side of the Ranger's neck. "I hope that's right--there's only enough here for another couple of doses."

After a few minutes, Tarlac sighed in relief. "That's fine, Dave--a lot better. Would you help me sit up?"

"Of course, sir." Dave piled up some of the blankets he'd collected, helped the Ranger to sit up, and shoved the blankets into position to serve as a backrest. "I'm not really sure you should be putting weight on your back--but I don't really think you should be putting it on your front, either, and you have to rest somehow." He hesitated, then went on. "I ought to check your back now, if you don't mind."

"Whether I mind or not doesn't matter very much," Tarlac said. "It needs to be done, and at the moment you're the closest to a doctor I've got. Plus if I'm in as bad shape as it feels like I am, there's a good chance that I'll be unconscious a lot of the time--and when I am awake, I won't know what's been going on, and I could very well not be in any shape to make good decisions. Which puts you in charge, until we're rescued. What do you want me to do?"

Dave stared at the Ranger in bewilderment. "But--I can't give a Ranger orders!" he finally managed to get out. Granted that almost everything he knew about Rangers came from the holo, news and dramas, he was positive that they gave orders, they didn't take them . . . well, except from the Sovereign, of course.

Tarlac grinned, reasonably sure what the youngster was thinking. "We do take advice, suggestions, and sometimes orders, from anyone who knows more about a given situation than we do, or who's in a position to handle it better. Right now, that's you--and you had the initiative and resourcefulness to pull me out of the middle of a rebel camp; I'm satisfied to have you go on with the job."

"The kids at school will never believe this," Dave said, as much to himself as to the Ranger. "But okay, if that's what you want. Uh . . . I can ask you for advice, can't I?"

"Sure, but you'll have to decide if it's worth taking or not."

"I promise." Dave shook his head, still not quite believing what he'd gotten himself into. He knelt beside his patient, spreading out more blankets and grateful that he'd been able to find so many. "If you'll roll over, then, I should check your back."

"Okay." It took effort--he was weak from the combination of pain, shock, and loss of blood--but he made it.

Dave cut away the rest of the Ranger's uniform shirt, then checked the water he'd put on the lamp. It was warm enough now, so he used it to clean the caked blood away from the whip-inflicted wounds. He didn't want to believe what he saw as he worked--you didn't use stingweed for any reason!--but the yellowish edges of the wounds were proof that couldn't be denied, and he used a swear-word he'd seen embarrass his mother once.

Tarlac wasn't sure whether he should get worried or laugh at the boy's virulent language, but on the whole it didn't sound promising. "What's wrong, Dave?"

"The blankers soaked the whip in stingweed sap," Dave told him, trying to control his anger. "It can't have taken full effect yet, or not even quidine could kill the pain--and it carries something like a cross between a fungus and a bacterium that nothing in a standard medikit will touch. How long till your rescue party arrives?"

Tarlac frowned; this sounded serious. "Is this Tuesday, or was I unconscious longer than I think?"

Dave checked his chrono, then nodded. "2243, Tuesday night."

"They should be landing in about two and a half days, then; Colonel Korda had orders to give me three days, then come looking for me."

"But we're not at the camp any more, and I don't dare use anything much more obvious than the fusion lamp, or the rebels will find us first." Dave brightened. "Unless they blew up the car I used, when they found out it was missing; then they'd think we were dead."

"True, but we can't count on that; it'd be best to assume they landed it, and are looking for us."