(3) Rude Awakenings

Tarkath awoke, abruptly this time, his face was stinging, he could tell he hadn't been woken gently. The room was dark and he still couldn't see anything around him, his vision was coming back to him, but slowly. Just as he tried to shout again, his head wrenched backwards as somebody struck his face,

'Wake Up' ordered the voice.

He could feel the blood starting to run from the corner of his eye and his entire upper body felt numb, he'd obviously been unconscious for some time. As he moved his head dirt around him entered his bleeding and swollen eye, the pain hit him like a thousand pins in his temple.

'Stop. Stop. I'm awake. Stop.' He desperately shouted,

'Finally, I was just starting to get bored of this' said the voice.

A light came on overhead, it didn't help Tarkath to see anything around him, but he knew what was there, and from what little feeling he had left in his body he knew he'd better listen to what it said. 'Well mister! What the hell were you doing here?'

Tarkath was just a pilot, he'd never had any formal training for anything like this, he felt like breaking down and crying but he'd learned enough from the pros in the core that wasn't gonna get him anywhere.

'I don't know. I don't know, this is where I was told to come. Where am I? Please?' he pleaded. He could feel the blood dripping down his face, the oil on his skin felt like it was eating into him, the pain was making it difficult to speak but he managed more

'Who are you? Please, don't hurt me, I don't know anything. Please,' He sat waiting, listening, cringing, expecting another hit.

'I'm one of the guys who has thousands of friends left floating out there mister.' At this point the strangers voice sounded almost sad, but that was to be expected

'Please, I was only doing what I was told to do' said Tarkath, his voice shivering from the mixture of pain and fear.

'And you are?' inquired the voice.

'Interceptor Pilot 3147, Tarkath Aloirun, I was only ordered into the core three weeks ago,' in desperation he added 'please don't hurt me.'

Through his right eye he could see the shape of a man in front of him now, he was big and broad. He was so close he could smell the man, a mixture of dirt and metal. The voice replied 'hmmm, I think we can keep you here for now, expect me to be speaking to you again, and make sure you wake up faster next time'.

A sense of relief came over Tarkath like he had never felt, he certainly didn't relax, but he could tell from the man's voice that there was good in him somewhere.

He heard heavy footsteps walking away, the clang on the metal deck with the echo that can be heard in any large ship. A voice came back down the corridor

'Crewman, get that prisoner cleaned up, I want that bleeding stopped.'

At hearing this Tarkath relaxed a little. The pain in his eye was terrible, but he could tell he would suffer no more for now. A stronger light came on above, he could now see some of where he was, it certainly didn't look bright, and it wasn't going to lift his spirits. He bowed his head as a ragged crewman entered his cell with clean water and a cloth.

'What now?' he whispered quietly to himself.

(2) Aftermath

'We've picked up a pilot from the invading force, on roid-212 sir' announced the voice coming over the internal comm-sys of the salvage vessel.

Endrin pondered the next move for a moment or two, 'Take him to a holding cell lieutenant, I’ll get to him later' he replied as walked through the corridor toward the command station.

He paused a second as he passed the window, he could see the floating debris from the battle, hundreds of tonnes of metal and thousands of corpses were drifting through the abyss. From this vantage almost the entire planet could be seen, with its few remaining asteroids in orbit, surrounded by fallout from the fight.

'This is going to be a major cleanup job' he murmured.

'Captain on the bridge' announced the young officer at the helm as Endrin entered the room.

'Report please Mr. Driani.'

His second in command rose from his seat and spoke in his usual gruff and ordered tone 'sir, we've lost 32 thousand smaller vessels, 500 or so frigates and jettisoned sections of the new Dreads have been spotted drifting nearby. The enemy lost a similar number of vessels before leaving, and took 74% of our roids with them. All salvage crews are ready to depart.'

'How long is it gonna take us to finish the job?' requested Endrin.

'Well sir, if we can avoid too many collisions we can have all the material ready for use by the next tick.'

Endrin smiled slightly, his first officer always was efficient, then reached for a grooved panel on the wall to flick on the ship wide comms 'We have suffered great losses today, but with this crew I’m sure we'll have a perfect cleanup. Very well, get to work boys.' He ordered to the entire station. He flicked the switch to off, gave a swift nod to his officers, and departed to head for the cells on the lower decks.

Tarkath awoke gently, his entire world was still dark, but as he concentrated on what was around him he could make out the basics of where he was. He felt cold and battered, like he had just fought 12 rounds with a Retallion Gorilla.

He was lying on a solid bench in small dark room. The air around him was not pleasant and if he had been able to move he probably would have wrenched as the smell and taste of oil and dirt hit his senses.

'Where am I?' he whispered to himself, not like he expected an answer, but at least he knew he was able to speak.

'Jekrell' he shouted out and waited a moment, then shouted again, this time with more urgency, before dropping his head back down on a hard surface. His vision seemed to clear a little more, and he realised he was not on the surface, and he was not in his ship. He could feel the distant drumming of a large engine through the surface he was lying on.

'Where am I?' he said a little louder, still not expecting a response, but this time he got one, it wasn't a response he wanted to hear, and the voice was certainly not one of his friends,

'You don't need to worry about where you are, you should be more worried about what my men will do to you if I'm not satisfied with what you tell me.', Tarkath shuddered a little and once again drifted away to unconsciousness.

(1) Descendence

Tarkath sat in the cockpit of his interceptor, frantically avoiding gun lines of the War Frigate to port.
The panels around him flashed and beeped chaotically as the computer calmly announced 'Incoming enemy interceptors.'

Tarkath froze, his eyes bouncing around the cabin trying desperately to make sense of any of it; panic was setting in, his chest heaving as if trying to keep up with his heart, his ship rapidly descending into the thin atmosphere of one of the roids below.

'What do I do?' he shouted aloud, half to himself and half to anyone who might be listening. Falling back into his chair, his propulsion systems were down, he was rapidly losing hope of survival and started to think of his family, at home on the plains. Waiting, wondering, whether he would first be destroyed by the Frigate or the impact.

A voice came over the radio, it was hurried and crackly, yet familiar, 'Tarkath, what’s your bearing? Your velocity? Tarkath?'

He jumped forward in his seat, the restraints had broken earlier. It was Jekrell, his wingman, and good friend; he took a second to read the panels, and then replied, 'I'm on bearing 32mark7, heading for the roid.'

Tarkath noticed Jekrell's ship in his wing mirror and swung his head to watch, he had just narrowly escaped one of the Dreads close to the planet, but was still functional, for the most part.

'Tark, good to see you’re still alive. I'm going to give you a nudge, I just hope the hull is going to hold together.' His entire ship jolted around him, and he could just see the horizon of the roid below lift into his view, he was still falling
.
'You're gonna have to ride the atmosphere and land on the roid, I’ll follow you down friend. I'm losing comm. sys...' Tarkath's radio fell silent, and his friend disappeared from view behind his own heavily damaged ship.

He was falling ever faster but he dropped the gear and pulled back the air-brake, 'surely being behind enemy lines has to be better than being dead' he mumbled.

He knew the enemy ships would let him down, they could always use more hostages in their war effort, and any ship that could be repaired is of use if they find it. As he approached the surface he took a glance in the wing mirror and saw so many of his own ships left floating in the empty space, his colleagues, his friends, just out there.

'How many will I ever see again' he asked 'if I ever see anyone again tha…'

At that moment his gear hit the rocky surface below, and his ship became no more than a dart of steel jumping across the terrain, he closed his eyes, hoped for the best, and the world just slowly faded away to black.