Escape From Altera

[Note: This is not a "sexy story". It is a mix of WW II "The Great Escape" and Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's "The Gulag Achipelago"... set in outer space)

Chapter 18: Getting Justice on August

Took:

After three, grueling years as a prisoner, It took me several weeks to get readjusted to the life of a free man. Physically, I was suffering from borderline starvation and exhaustion.. But psychologically, the adjustment was much greater. When you lock up a man for years and suddenly make him free, it takes him time to readjust. For example, the first two weeks I couldn't sleep on a normal bed; I had to sleep on the floor, which was hard like my shelf.

I also couldn't return to eating regular meals all at once; my stomach couldn't handle it. But the flavors! To taste the flavors of different foods again was incredible! I had had different foods from time to time during my escapes, but this was different by an order of magnitude. Eating was no longer just a chore, but a pleasure, once again.

But the worst aftereffect was the nightmares, of punishment, torture, and fear of execution. I would constantly dream of being chased by the Redcaps. Sometimes in my dreams I would be caught, and sometimes I would escape, but always I would wake up in a cold sweat. I still had those nightmares even years later, but it was the worst the first few months afterwards. Part of me just couldn't believe I was finally free.

Croft came to visit me in the hospital.

"How do you do it?" I asked.

Croft looked at me quizzically.

"You're in a job where you're constantly being chased, with the fear of capture or execution. How do you do it?"

Croft paused, and then looked at me. "How do

you

do it?"

"Do what?"

"Fly into battle every day with the fear of being shot down."

"Oh," I thought reflexively. "Well, I'm very good at what I do, and because I control my own fate, I don't think it will happen to me."

I looked up at Croft, who only looked back at me with a slight smile.

When I got out of the hospital, I was given some time off. Since the war was over, there wasn't exactly any burning need for fighter pilots. But I received a personal message from a military official, issuing an open invitation for a visit. Only a week later, I took it.

And so I found myself shuddering a little with nostalgia as my shuttle landed on the Command Carrier

Glory

. The

Glory

still had some marks of battle--there was a new scar along the left side of the ship, and a puncture hole along the topside, which was slowly being patched by a repair team, and this was months later, long after the war had ended. I wondered what the

Glory

had looked like right at the war's end.

I made my way to the bridge, only to be greeted with surprised looks and greetings from the bridge crew. They had been told I was alive but obviously didn't expect to see me, all except the new Captain who merely pointed to the War Admiral's office and said, "He's waiting."

When I entered the Battle (now War) Admiral's office, he looked exactly as he had the last time I had seen him, three years ago.

"Iday," he said, standing up and actually shaking my hand. He gave me a firm looking over before releasing me, as if he were scanning me, to see if he could detect any residual signs of my ordeal. "Welcome home," said the War Admiral, gesturing for me to take a seat, which I did.

We exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, and then, as was only natural, we talked about my fateful mission.

"So it was a double feint the entire time," I said.

The War Admiral nodded. I had figured this out some time ago, but to finally get it confirmed from him meant something.

"Did you..."

"Mean for you to be captured, and give the Slurians false information? Absolutely not," said the War Admiral, already knowing what I had intended to ask. "I assure you, Iday, that was never part of the plan. It was a risky mission, but your ship's presence, not your individual capture, was meant to convince the Slurians that we were attempting to feint and attack elsewhere. Naturally you weren't told our real objective in case you were captured, but our plan didn't rely on you getting captured and releasing false information."

I believed him. The War Admiral had never lied to me. "So when I was quickly bundled off of Volvograd-"

"That was because we were about to take Volvograd," said the War Admiral, looking amused. "I saw your debrief. Right about the time they told you the

Glory

was 'burning in space', our task force was closing on the planet. If we had only been a few hours sooner-"

"Don't blame yourself," I said.

"But I do," said the War Admiral. He looked away for a moment. "At first we heard that you were in a civilian labor camp. When you were reported dead, and nobody was repatriated, we should have investigated further. You were in that prisoner of war camp for nearly a year after the war ended."

"And so was your nephew," I said evenly.

"Yes," said the War Admiral grimly. "We had been told that he died too, along with everyone else who was put in that camp. They intended to keep the prisoners forever." He paused. "The problem is that we stopped the war too early. We accepted their offer of a truce, which turned into a permanent armistice, rather than pushing for their surrender."

"Pushing for their surrender would have resulted in more lives being lost."

"True," said the War Admiral. "But in the long run it would have saved lives. The Slurian Union, which now has launched two major wars against us, still exists. The same government is there, and once it rearms, I have no doubt it will launch a third war against us. And since they didn't surrender, we have no way of knowing how many other prisoners they are still keeping."

"But at least we can do something for the prisoners on Altera," I said. I saw the War Admiral's expression fall. "Right?"

The War Admiral said, "Our Interstellar Affairs Department has been 'looking into it'."

"What does that mean?"

"For the past few weeks they've been making discrete inquiries. But the Slurians still deny the camp exists."

"Discrete inquiries? We should go in there in force-"

"Which will almost certainly restart the war," said the War Admiral. "We have to approach this most carefully."

There was a buzz, and the War Admiral pressed a button. "Yes?" And then. "Send him in."

A familiar face walked in. The super spy himself

"Croft! I thought you'd be back at work by now," I said.

"I would have been, but the War Admiral politely made a request to the Column that I make myself available," Croft said. "My Chief was overjoyed to comply."

The War Admiral smiled. As a certifiable war hero, he had a disproportionate amount of influence, even more than a typical Admiral. Or even a typical War Admiral, if there was such a thing.

"I want the two of you to go to the Interstellar Affairs Department and meet with the deputy secretary in charge of Slurian affairs," said the War Admiral. "Find out what's going on and report back to me." The War Admiral gave Croft a knowing look, as if more was involved than I had been told.

"Us, sir?" I asked.

"You've both seen the camp, firsthand," said the War Admiral. "You're our only eyewitnesses who are currently available."

"Yes sir," I said, saluting. Croft, not a military man, merely waved a bit with his fingers and gave a knowing smile. He obviously knew more of what was about to transpire than I did.

The Interstellar Affairs building was one of the largest buildings on August, the capital of the League. It was 250 stories high and was an entire block in length and width. The building, of course, had a number of secondary annexes around August, and of course operated hundreds of embassies on other planets.

Croft was relieved of his blaster by security on the ground floor, which annoyed him.

"Why do you think you'll need your gun for?" I asked, as we entered a crowded elevator.

"You never know. We're dealing with bureaucrats," said Croft.

The other occupants of the elevator, probably bureaucrats, gave Croft an odd look.

Croft took another blaster out of his jacket, and appeared to check the settings, ignoring the stares aimed at him.

"How did you sneak that in?"

Croft gave me a look. "It's a stealth gun."

"Are you planning on using it?"

"It depends on the level of cooperation we receive," said Croft.

The elevator stopped at a lower floor. Everyone else rushed off, even if it wasn't their intended destination.

Croft put his weapon away and chuckled.

"You enjoyed that," I said.

"Didn't you?" he replied.

Deputy Secretary Robert Rye had a wide, spacious office with an unobstructed view of the palace, Sarney Sarittenden proper. He was on a holocall when we came in, though it was shielded so we couldn't see who he was talking to. He waved us in, and gestured for us to sit down, even as he continued talking.

"Yes, yes Sergei," said Rye.

He heard something we didn't hear and laughed. "Very good! We have those too!"

The conversation continued on for several minutes, then ten minutes, then fifteen, then twenty. We couldn't really figure out what it was about until Rye started saying more explicit details.

"Yes, of course we will have your favorite borsch at the banquet. And I've arranged to have the cultural heritage tablecloth you requested too."

Rye went on and on, discussing details of the meal, completely oblivious to our presence.

I know my temper was boiling over, so I wasn't surprised when Croft got up and went over to the other side of the desk, where he could see the hologram of Sergei.

"What is this?" said Rye.

"Sergei, I'm afraid the deputy secretary is going to have to call you back," said Croft. "A crisis has just erupted in appetizers that he has to attend to." He pressed the TERMINATE button, and Sergei faded before he could respond.

Rye's eyes bulged out of his sockets. "What did you do?"

"I got your attention," said Croft coldly. "We're here on business a little more important than the size of the napkins at some Slurian banquet."

"That wasn't just 'some Slurian banquet', as you so quaintly call it," said Rye. "This was a meal set up for our annual diplomats banquet, the first such banquet, I might add, since the end of the Slurian War!"

"I'm so sorry to disrupt your food diplomacy," said Croft wryly.

Rye looked disgusted. "Don't be a fool. I was trying to reestablish a human connection with my counterpart at the Slurian foreign affairs ministry. The damage you have wrought-"

"May have an incalculable impact on your dessert diplomacy," said Croft.

"Who are you to think you can speak to me like this?" said Rye. "Who sent you anyway?" He started looking at his appointments screen to get more information.

"Admiral Norman North," said Croft. "

War Admiral

Norman North."

"Norman North?" said Rye, looking momentarily confused.

"The hero of the Slurian War," I added helpfully. "That's Norman North with three n's."

"Oh," said Rye, slightly deflated. Perhaps he thought he could just throw us out.

"We've come to talk to you about a menu of items slightly less palatable than borsch and Slurian cantaloupe," said Croft.

Rye looked startled. "Thanks for reminding me, I forgot to write down that Sergei wanted cantaloupe." He jotted a quick note on a datapad.

"We're here to talk about the Slurian prisoners of war," said Croft. "Prisoners, I might add, who are being held after the end of said war."

"Ah, yes, I believe I got an electronic message about this," said Rye. "If memory serves I had one of my underlings do some research on this; in fact, he completed quite a fine research memo, if I recall."

"Do you recall what this fine memo said?" I asked.

"Yes, it looked into the existence of the so-called detainees, but failed to find any evidence to substantiate your claims."

"Evidence?" said Croft. "I've seen the prisoners firsthand."

"And I was a prisoner there," I said.

"Yes, yes, I have read summaries of your report," said Rye. "But we need objective proof. Did you take any holos of the camp, or the other men?"

"My recorder got confiscated in customs on the way off Mount Perm," I said sarcastically. "Are you saying you don't believe us?"

"Not at all," Rye said. "I just need evidence to present my diplomatic counterpart with."

"Send a team to Mount Perm! You'll find them there!"

"Oh, I'm sure Sergei would never allow that," said Rye.

"Why?" Croft asked.

"Altera is a closed planet. We wouldn't want to insult their pride by demanding to see one of their closed facilities."

"Not when we're at this critical juncture in our new and blossoming relations," said Croft.

"Exactly," said Rye, without any irony.

Croft looked at me. "Onwards and upwards?"

I nodded.

"I did a little research," said Croft. "The Secretary's office is on the top floor. The penthouse."

"It figures," I said, getting up.

"Wait a minute," said the Deputy Secretary. "You can't just barge into the Secretary's office!"

"I think we can," said Croft, pressing a small button on his wrist comm as he too stood up to leave. "But don't let us interrupt your important work. Try to negotiate some good appetizers for our side, if you can."

"I'll call security!"

Croft shrugged as we walked out.

We actually made it to the penthouse floor before security caught up with us. The penthouse suites were lush, with smooth lighting and wall to wall carpeting in the latest Augustian styles.

"Hold it right there," said a diplomatic guard, pointing his blaster at us. He had several others backing him up.

At that moment, the door to another elevator opened behind us, and we heard someone stepping out. "Who exactly are you pointing that blaster at, Lieutenant?"

We didn't have to turn, because we recognized the voice and saw the shocked expression on their faces.

It was War Admiral Norman North himself.

"We're here to see the Secretary," said the War Admiral.

The guards' eyes caught the glittering sets of silver eagles on his collars, and they instinctively lowered their weapons.

Henry Fance was the Secretary for Interstellar Relations. The press dubbed him a "moderate", perhaps because he issued measured statements and when he did take action, it was usually of a limited sort, such as to "wish the Slurians could do better when it comes to human rights" or to hope that the Rurrians "adopted a more developed attitude" when it came to impounding League merchant ships.

The press also called him a "pragmatist", perhaps because he understood, pragmatically, that Slurians were Slurians and nothing was going to change that, so if you accept the fact that there were Slurians out there and one had to deal with them, it didn't make sense to unduly aggravate a major negotiating partner with charged rhetoric.

This pragmatic, moderate man was the chief diplomat in the League and the man whose office the War Admiral, Clifford Croft, and myself stood in.

"War Admiral North," said Fance. "This is a surprise."

"Forgive the interruption, Mr. Secretary," said the War Admiral. "But I have a matter of utmost importance to bring to your attention.

"Yes, the situation with the prisoners," said the Secretary. "Mr. Raye briefed me on your way up here. Have a seat, gentlemen."

The Secretary checked one of his data screens.

He looked at Croft. "You must be Clifford Croft, the daring Column agent who discovered this prison camp."

"Yes sir," said Croft.

The Secretary's gaze turned to me. "And you must be the valiant Idaho Took, who escaped from this prison camp, with the help of Mr. Croft and some... irregulars."

"Yes sir," I said.

"Now that I know who you are, what can I do for you?"

"Mr. Secretary, we want our POW's released," said the War Admiral.

"I understand your impulse, War Admiral, and share your sentiment myself," said Secretary Fance. "However, it is not as easy as you put it."

"Why?"

"The Slurian Union, while ostensibly a dictatorship, is actually composed of differing factions which strive for power--in the party, in the bureaucracy, in the military, in the intelligence services, and of course, in the Loyalty Police," said the Secretary, giving me a small smile. "Your men are being held by a hardline faction."

"Go on," said the War Admiral. But he already knew where this was leading.

"We can apply pressure for your mens' release, but doing so would only strength the hand of the hardliners."

"How so?" the War Admiral asked.

"The hardliners would use our demands to show that we are belligerent, and agitating for another conflict. The balance of power would tilt in their direction, and they might rearm, and precipitate another conflict."

"Mr. Secretary, that's preposterous," said the War Admiral. He ticked off points on his fingers. "Point one, it is perfectly legitimate to ask for all our prisoners of war back. We returned all of theirs. Point two, if there is any belligerence, it is on the Slurian side, for they are violating the armistice they just signed which promised the return of all prisoners. Point three, the hardliners

are

in control. They are the ones who launched the war. Point four, they are rearming, and will continue to do so, no matter what we say or do. And point five, if we can't trust them to keep the armistice on a simple matter such as return of prisoners, there will be war again, and sooner than any of us want."

The Secretary sat in silence for a moment, gazing for a moment outside his window which gave him a splendid view of the presidential palace at Sarney Sarittenden. Then he turned back to us.

"Admiral, Admiral, Admiral. You don't understand. Diplomacy and politics are not black and white issues like a war. Believe me when I say I want those prisoners of war back just as much as you do. If it were up to me, I would have had them released months ago-"

"You knew," said the War Admiral suddenly. "You knew they were there, and weren't being released."

"I assure you-"

The War Admiral turned to Croft. "Is this possible?"

"Yes," said Croft. "There are a number of intelligence services that report to the President, and the Secretary gets high level briefings every day, just as the President does. Maybe even the Column knew about it; I can do some digging and find out."

The War Admiral looked at the Secretary. "You knew," he said, with finality.

"I assure you-"

"We are wasting our time here-" said the War Admiral getting up. We stood up as well.

"Where are you going?"

"We'll see what the President has to say about this," said the War Admiral. Ordinarily, a military officer, even an admiral, wouldn't have access to the President, but the War Admiral had just saved the League from destruction; surely he could get an audience with the President if he requested it.

"He already knows," said Fance defiantly.

The War Admiral turned around to face Fance.

"What do you expect us to do?" Fance asked. "Start another war? For what? To rescue 200 men?"

"They are our men, and they fought for us," said the War Admiral.

"We lost several hundred thousand men and women in this war," said Fance. "I suspect we'd lose a lot more than 200 if we went in there with force."

"The Slurians are weak. We currently have the military advantage."

"That, sir, is a military opinion," said Fance. "The war is over, War Admiral. We may not like the peace. The peace is not perfect. But keeping the peace is the most important thing, and if those 200 men have to give up their freedom to keep the peace, then they will continue to serve the League."

"Not in that way," said the War Admiral. "Not under my watch."

He turned and left. We followed in his wake.