Ram-Jack

Chapter Four

I don't know if I was their first living captive. They could have had dozens from the two observatories they'd already blasted through getting this far into our home turf.

A recording of my voice boomed back from the walls of the chamber, "Get a good look at me."

I remained silent and still.

The end of a cable tapped at my chin while another thumped at my chest—hard.

"You want me to talk, okay."

The cables withdrew, but remained hovering a quick flick away.

"My name is Lieutenant Stefan Kell. I am an Earthman. I am a peaceful and gentle soul. I'd love to meet you so we can learn to get along and share our knowledge of the universe. Perhaps we could pick wildflowers together along the bank of a gentle river."

I went on, giving them a good sample of words to begin working with. When my own voice began speaking back through the walls, I shut up.

"Turn around, Stefan Kell."

I turned around. I wanted to appear obedient and docile. This wasn't my first rodeo being in a position where someone had power over me. Appearing normal was a constant exercise in appearing obedient. My military career provided excellent training in obedience. I think I found it easier than many of the other Ram-Jack pilots. The difference was, I knew I was acting. They lived their lives with their mundane goals. I hunted—a wolf among sheep.

Hunting sheep bored me to tears. Only the effort of getting away with it yielded any sense of challenge. Where possible, I hunted other wolves, or sheep who thought of themselves as wolves.

As wolves went, I liked to think of myself as smart. I am sure I could have fought and then been pulled apart by mechanical tentacles that I had no hope of dodging in the small chamber. Neither could I hope to match their strength. I was flesh and bone, and last time I checked, prehensile metal cables trumped flesh and bone.

No, I needed to meet my enemy, assess them, before I showed my teeth.

An opening similar to those through which the bodies had gone opened with the grinding of metal. I ducked and stepped through. More flat black walls greeted me. A glance at the ceiling revealed the end nobs of more cable tentacles, but they remained retracted. The opening sealed behind me. It needed oil. Either the noise didn't bother them or it didn't matter. Maybe it was designed to grind noisily, but to a Ram-Jack pilot, a noise like that meant something needed fixing.

The chamber otherwise appeared featureless, no pipes or conduits marred the black walls. Neither were there any grills or vents, yet I could feel air moving over the fine hairs of my body. In space, we didn't take air for granted. Every bulkhead of the Katrina had gauges and com panels, plus vents and valves.

These aliens did everything directly through the material of their walls. The walls could hide any number of facilities if the machines were microscopic in scale. I found that thought a bit unnerving. Sabotaging a bulkhead to vent oxygen had been child's play on the Katrina. Here, the systems themselves could be impossible to see, let alone manipulate.

I stepped to the center of the chamber and halted.

They could learn anything they wanted of our anatomy from the corpses they'd collected, but they were keeping me alive. They wanted to communicate. Could they want anything from me, but information?

What else did I know about them? They'd fired on us from range, not getting close enough to mix it up personally. They'd take our machines apart just as easily as they took the bodies apart, but they were cautious. They'd targeted and killed every active radio signal. They hadn't planning on taking any of us alive. Now they had me, though, and they weren't keen to just flush me out the airlock.

An idea began to form and I chose to act on it.

I drew my shoulders up defiantly. "We were a training exercise, using out-of-date machines. You won't find the rest of our forces so easy to deal with, I know, I helped design them."

A cable lashed down and cracked me across the ribs. I crumpled to the deck and curled into a ball. They'd read my defiance and weren't having any of it. They'd also understood me. Bruised ribs were a fair price to pay.

"Please, don't kill me!"

What a disgusting wretch am I. What did the aliens know about acting or lying? The may be commensurate performers in and of themselves, but would they suspect the same of their one naked human? If they did, they'd hit me again. They'd hit me enough to prove to themselves I was being truthful with them.

I braced myself, but the cable didn't strike. Instead it snaked around me, as did several others. Then they lifted me up horizontally and spread my limbs apart. I struggled a bit, as if frightened, but not enough to warrant another disciplinary strike.

They thought they had captured a prize specimen. Why? Because I had told them I was—a human that had designed better warships than those they had just demolished. I'd have to prove it, of course. That's when the real fun would begin.

The walls remained silent as I hung suspended. They weren't asking me any questions, but that could mean I was going to be moved up the chain. Were these restraints securing me for delivery to their mothership?

I let my mind relax, though I continued to test the grip of the cables. Going completely belly up wouldn't do, they already knew that humans had a healthy survival instinct. I'd watched enough of them die to know they always kept trying to live.

I only had to act like I thought I was going to die.