: “ The Speed of Pain ”

INFORMATIONAL SUPPLEMENT 31-J6 SECTION TWO
CLASSIFICATION R-2
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL EYES ONLY
Contents :
Partial transcript of (Dir. of Confed Disease Control) Dr. Maria Benbow’s interview with Evelyn K. Ishii, last survivor of the FUBAR.
Correspondence seized from Cmdr. Mason E. Moore.
2681.084 (March 25th)
[ Partial transcript from the interview, 2681.076 ]

Benbow: Ms. Ishii, you say... ah, may I ask that you not smoke that in here?

Ishii: Sure.

Benbow: You’re still smoking.

Ishii: Go ahead and ask.

Benbow: Ms. Ishii, plea -

Ishii: There. It’s out. Happy?

Benbow: Thank you. Now let us get to the point.

Ishii: Oh, by all means.

Benbow: You had no idea the fatal biohazard your ship’s contraband posed to you and your crew... did you intentionally ignore the Class 5 NBC protocols and public warnings?

Ishii: Hell if I know. Look, my crew and I would live and die by the Immortal Credit - always had. Biohazard? Occupational hazard.

Benbow: As you know, a similar incident happened on the freighter Hispaniola and passenger liner Blue Horizon, to name only two - we’re hearing reports of privateers ferrying the contraband as far as Gemini, Argent, Leo Minor, and even the Landreich. The information your crewmen provided us with upon recovery of the FUBAR has been instrumental in CIAI and TCIS’s understandin -

Ishii: Fuck you.

Benbow: Now hear me ou -

Ishii: No - fuck you! Those guys... [they] were my family. As close to one as I’ll ever know. We were a unit; a team... you talk about them like their deaths are some kinda contribution to you Confee pricks getting your jollies.

Benbow: I apologize.

Ishii: Fuck you. Fuck you very much.

Benbow: I see we’ve, ah, gotten off on the wrong foot here. Perhaps you’d like to tell me, for the record, a little about your... family... and the chain of events that brought you here...?

Ishii: If [you’ll] let me go.

Benbow: You’ve still got a month of quarantine ahead of you - that’s mandatory, I’m afraid - but it’s been seen that all charges have be dropped. Shall we begin?

Ishii: Fine.

 

Merchant Vessel SS FUBAR; Control Room
Outer Khaiq’fral Province, Approaching Trik’kha - Planck’s Star jump point
The Trik’kha System, H’Hriss Quadrant, Trk’Pahn Sector
MAR 16 2681/2681.075; 0630 Hours (CST)

“Hang tight, gang... we’re almost there," the Captain’s voice cackled over the static-ridden PA intercom, almost entirely drowned out by the blaring noise of the klaxon. The gallant man’s thick Irish accent always seemed to come on strong in times like these, now being no exception.

At 102 meters and over 1,100 in tonnage, the FUBAR’s standard twin laser cannons had been stripped off, replaced by a turreted twin plasma cannon and added the bonus of a Stormfire Mk1 tail turret. Between the engine array—that stripped off an old Sheffield destroyer—and the existing crewman compartments had been inserted and welded the small, four-fighter capable hangar section of a decommissioned, similar-sized Durango-class heavy destroyer that also doubled as a cargo hold at a cost of some 79 million credits. Additionally, the Captain had spent a fortune in Merchants’ Guild profits upgrading the vessel’s isometal armor and shields to be at least the equivalent of a Caernaven-class patrol frigate... which still wasn’t saying much. The FUBAR was a Venture-class corvette—the infamous TCS Auburn while in ConFleet service untold decades ago if the story the shipdealer Gar regaled the crew with was to be believed—though now was the true embodiment of what was nicknamed a "Frankenship." Though the limits of how far the obsolete vessel could only be tweaked had long since been reached, the Captain still tried his damnedest.

"This bucket of shit’s holding together on gum and coathangers, boss," the lookout grumbled. Elbowing the appropriate button near his station, the youth thankfully killed the klaxon.

The captain of the FUBAR, Clive Ryerson, appeared from the bridge, his stoic, yet reassuring gaze bearing down on the lanky man’s station. He seemed particularly winded now, sweat permeating his brow and soaking the tunic he wore loosely, veins jutting out of his forehead. Perhaps he was finally on the verge of the heart attack every member of the crew predicted he was long due for? "Let’s try to keep a positive attitude here, shall we, Mills?"

"Sure thing, boss. Positive attitude. Absolutely I will."

"See that you do." Ryerson gave a succinct frown, then walked away.

Ultimately, "Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition," was the only way to describe the battered, archaic corvette in its current state. Appropriately enough, that also happened to be the corvette’s name.

The Captain poked his head in the turreted twin plasma cannon his co-pilot was currently manning. "Think we’ve had it, Eve?" he inquired. 

Evelyn Ishii acknowledged her Captain with a dismissive grunt. She blew a gust of cigarette smoke his way apprehensively, giving him his answer without saying a word. "Well, it doesn’t look good," she replied. "Frankly, it looks pretty damned shitty."

"It does, does it?" Ryerson muttered quietly.

"Yep."

She’d once been a part of The Guild, easily the Landreich pirate clan with the most notoriety. That had been back when Zach Banfield had been in charge of The Guild, back when it had been the tangent of a loose association of ship captains and businessmen from a dozen worlds along the frontier—and not only those within the Landreich’s sphere of influence. She’d been operating with them as a privateer in those days, raiding shipping and remote planetary outposts and selling the proceeds at a substantial profit. When Banfield stepped down, she found the new leadership that took over was not to her liking.

Having swallowed her pride years ago, Evelyn was serving on the FUBAR, reduced to doing missions for the much more rudimentary and legal Merchants’ Guild chiefly out of Gemini. There was certainly nothing rudimentary or legal now, however, about the mission the FUBAR’s crew was undertaking or the contraband she was carrying.

They’d barely been able to hold off the three-wing assault by the Cats—Zartoth EWs followed by Dralthi IV—an hour ago. The last of their three Razor-class light fighter escort had been obliterated, and now they found themselves hounded by two persistent Darkets with only the FUBAR’s two turrets to defend themselves with. Their blips registered at only three thousand kilometers off now, closing forty klicks a second.

Evelyn spared a look down at the crumpled body of Jenna McThanton at her feet, the official gunner whose post Evelyn had been forced to take over a half hour ago. The woman’s casual attire had been scorched in several places, blackened flesh apparent through the burns in her green tunic. Her freckled cheeks and brow were charred, her mouth remaining open as if in a permanent gasp. Her eyes were the only part of the gunner that were recognizably normal, not dilated but fixed in a grim stare at nothing. 

Jenna had been a sister to her, the sister she’d never had. Now she was a rotting corpse, just another page in Evelyn’s history she would rip from her memory to retain her sanity.

Evelyn winced, shaking the image out of her mind. The lone Darket light fighter that was breaking amidships across the FUBAR’s starboard and coming on her scopes helped. "Darket coming into my sights—I’m taking it!"

"I’ve got one of the furry fuckers, too!" called Hendricks from the tail gun.

Evelyn brushed aside a stray strand of her white-dyed hair and bit down on the filter of her half-smoked cigarette, bringing the Darket into her targeting reticule. The turret module she sat in swiveled as she fought to keep it steady, her constant jinking of the controls in her attempt to keep her brackets in-line with the bogey. A glance at her board told 120 rounds remained out of her Stormfire Mk1 turret’s original 400—she’d have to make them count. 

"Furry fuck... c’mon... c’mon!" She fired off twenty streamed rounds as the Darket made a pass at the FUBAR, the volley missing completely. The Darket completed its pass unobstructed, hitting up the FUBAR’s starboard shields with meson cannon fire and letting a heat-seeker go before peeling off. 

Manschini reported from the downside damage control station when the FUBAR’s durasteel deck plates ceased their rattling, "Lost starboard shields again... can’t take another one like that."

Just as well it couldn’t, because the Darket wouldn’t get the chance. When the light fighter came around this time, she was ready. Keeping her reticule trained with hair precision over the fighter, she cut loose the instant it came within range. Its fore hull breached, the Darket went up in a haze of joint explosions sealing its doom. A grin formed on Evelyn’s lips as she watched its debris clear while the FUBAR cruised on by.

"Beat me again, Eve—consider the second one nailed! Hot damn."

She took another puff of her cigarette, finding the adrenaline rush of her own kill already ebbing away. Never lasted. "Nice work, Hendricks," she conceded to her comrade, confirming Hendricks’ kill—the Heads Up Display was clean, save for the Fralthi II cruiser they’d lost 170,000 klicks behind.

"Report!" the Captain bellowed when it was over.

"Sentry here!" Mills called.

"Astrogator here!" cackled a voice over the PA from the bridge.

"Co-pilot here—Gun Turret One," Evelyn inputted, even though she was in plain sight of the Captain.

"Damage Control working!"

"Tail Gunner here!"

"Engineer still kickin’!"

Captain Ryerson exhaled with relief. "We’re still good to go, then. Great work. Very well, I’m going back to the bridge—shouldn’t be more than six thousand or so klicks from the Planck jump." Evelyn felt his hand on her shoulder as he added, "Watch our backs, Eve. I’m counting on you."

Evelyn sighed. She took one last drag off her cigarette before mashing the butt against a bulkhead. "Just get us home, Clive."

The Captain shot her one last tired glance with his sunken eyes, then started for the crewman’s corridor. He didn’t make it far. His knees buckling beneath him, Ryerson fell to the floor.

"Captain!" Evelyn scurried down from her gunnery station and ran to Ryerson’s side. The man remained immobile, coughing profusely as she cradled his head in her lap. "What’s wrong?" she demanded. "Talk to me, damn it!" 

He managed to rasp, "Evelyn... sorry I couldn’t... sorry..." His sunken eyes dilated, leaving her gaze and rolling above his eyelids.

The veins jutting out of his forehead were purple and viacose-like now, other veins spread out like grotesque cobwebs amidst the man’s body. Lesions appeared and boiled out of his hands and face, and blood began to streak from the tear ducts in his eyes and roll down his cheeks—it was as if every cell in his body was breaking down in some kind of sudden, horrible cellular necrosis.

It didn’t last long. Before her eyes, the Captain died. 

If Jenna had been the sister she’d never had, Captain Ryerson was the father she always wanted. He had his quirks and occasionally obsessive ways—everyone did—but he had come to be a man she could always look up to, go to for advice, and share a friendly laugh with.

Oh, Evelyn had a real father and a real sister as well. Last she heard her father was lost in BuWeaps, probably making sure he remained busy enough with paperwork and bureaucracy to ignore the dying wife he’d remarried with. Her sister, an officer in the Confed Space Navy on the Third Fleet’s TCS Valley Forge, had died during the Battle of Nifelheim during the last leg of the Combined Fleet’s campaign to hold the line with the UBW Navy’s Battle Group Valkyrie against the Alien incursion in February. Neither relative or their fates concerned her, for neither had ever been there when she’d needed them so badly—no, only the men and women around her had.

"It hurts, it hurts!" came a muted cry from behind her. Soon afterward, a virtual chorus of screaming ensued.

And not long afterward... silence.

Mills lay slumped in his lookout station; Hendricks sat dead, still strapped into his Tail Gunner module; Manschini hung draped over the side of the damage control station, discolored blood dripping from every pore in his body. A glance aftward at engineering revealed Anriquez, collapsed face-forward against his console.

She’d only read of such horrors before. Ebola Gulf-C was the obvious comparison, but right now she didn’t give a damn what it was. All she knew was her crew—the people she considered family—had gone screaming to their deaths, the FUBAR had become a mausoleum, and she was next.

Evelyn’s eyes widened. "The cargo... it’s gotta be the cargo!" Should have made the connection earlier. 

She’d heard the warnings along with everyone else. She’d also dismissed them along with everyone else. Per the directives of their Merchants’ Guild mission, when the FUBAR had reached the debris of what had once been a colossal Alien Kraken-class Ship Killer drifting in the Oort Cloud of the system, five of the eight people that crewed the FUBAR had gone EVA to retrieve some. The Captain hadn’t gone on the mission, staying aboard with Evelyn and Jenna, but had personally inspected what the others had brought on board in the makeshift cargo hold.

Evelyn hadn’t come into contact with the contraband—she hadn’t even seen it. When the Cat cruiser and its fighter complement had taken an interest in the FUBAR, there hadn’t been the time. 

Either it was luck, she decided, or a cruel twist of fate.

Dashing down the crewman’s corridor to the bridge, she found half a dozen amber lights were vying for her attention on the bridge’s port-side systems’ MFDs, each reading more damage assessment. She shoved the astrogator’s body aside and took the helm. Within the jump node’s sphere, she crossed her fingers as she activated the FUBAR’s Jump Drive. Her prayer was answered as the ship lurched into Jump Space.

The Jump transit completed without incident, the stars in the viewports shifted drastically, to a wholly different sky. She gave herself a couple seconds to recover from the momentary jumpshock before checking her scopes.

She didn’t need to read the HUD to know what was waiting for her—the bulk of a Confederation Murphy-class destroyer was in plain sight through the fore viewports, less than six thousand klicks off the bow. Kilrathi Assembly authorities must have notified Confed ahead of the FUBAR by burst transmission... but then what could she have expected?

"Fuckin’ furries... at least when Confed was at war with them they weren’t ratting out smugglers..." Of course, she mentally added, when Confed was at war with them they generally tended to have more than a Fralthi and a handful of fighters waiting when one jumped their borders.

Beyond the destroyer flew five F-103C Excaliburs, with one paired element of F/A-105A Tigersharks on each side of the closing Excals’ line abreast formation. Undamaged with a full fighting crew and its Razor fighters still kicking, the FUBAR still couldn’t offer a challenge, let alone beside the fact that it was currently in a barely mobile state.

"Smuggler vessel, this is Commander Moore aboard the destroyer TCS Hedland, Planck’s Star InSystem Security Militia," came an urgent male voice over the comm. The visage of a middle-aged man wrought with concern frazzled into existence on one of the VDUs.

A Murphy destroyer... here, and in InSys? she mused, befuddled by the notion. Murphys belonged in the Fleet itself, assigned to quarantine the mandated no-fly zone. The Murphy in question likely originated from the nearby 15th DESRON unit, its presence here now only leading her to further realize the importance Confed was placing on Alien debris-dealing smugglers on the borders.

 "Our sensors have detected Alien contraband aboard your ship. Heave to and prepare to be escorted to the nearest quarantine facil—"

Evelyn slapped the comm, blurting, "Fat chance, Confee prick!" She turned to run back into the crewman’s corridor to resume her place manning the Stormfire turret. She stopped herself short just feet from the doorway, her head sagging on her shoulders. "The hell with this..."

She’d spent a lifetime running. First from her family, then the orphanage she’d grown up in, her friends, The Guild...

No way out. Not now, not ever.

"Please, smuggler vessel... you are carrying a confirmed biohazard," the Confed Commander persisted. "I can forward you the documented incidents of the TCS Devonshire and Hispaniola! We do have orders to neutralize your ship if you do not cooperate, but for Christ’s sake... it’s crucial that you—"

"All... all right," Evelyn sighed. "All right."

"Thank you, ma’am! Please stand by fo—"

She didn’t give the Commander the satisfaction of finishing, cutting the comm with the slam of a clenched fist. She’d given in—what more did he want?

Running a hand back and forth through her sweateaked hair in a feverish manner as she let herself slump back in her chair, she awaited the boarding party that would be on its way. Pulling the zippo lighter from her breast pocket, Evelyn lit another cigarette. She took two quick drags, then another in an attempt to soothe her nerves—it didn’t work.

Evelyn was alone again, her only company now the corpses of the friends any of which she had sworn she would die for. She felt numb, both inside and out. When the boarding party arrived they would find her cooperative and quiet, rocking to and fro in her chair, the fight in her as dead as her shipmates around her.

Ishii: It... it would have been better if the Cats had taken out the FUBAR... at least my crew wouldn’t have suffered. And at least I... at least...

Benbow: Survivor’s guilt, Ms. Ishii? But you seem to have taken their deaths so remarkably well.

Ishii: You rotten fucking bitch. 

Benbow: Pardon...?

Ishii: Fuck you.

Benbow: I meant no disrespect. Please, I’m simply trying to understand.

Ishii: ...

Benbow: On another note, can you confirm or deny the possibility that there may be Alien "stragglers" in the Trk’Pahn Sector?

Ishii: What? First I’ve heard of them.

Benbow: Yet that was a Kraken-class ship killer vessel the debris of which your crew was salvaging, was it not? That denotes at least a capship battle group... and there is little record of such movement through Trk’Pahn during their main incursion throughout February.

Ishii: Well, that wreckage looked pretty [fresh], but what do I know? Why, the Cats not answering questions?

Benbow: We have the... full support and cooperation of the Assembly of Clans.

Ishii: [laughter] That’s a "no," isn’t it? Maybe it’s time you flag-waving Confee shits went in and started cleaning house on the xenos... maybe those troublesome Cats while you’re at it, too.

Benbow: The Admiralty and Confed High Command are... sending out all available warships to maintain the peace. For the time being, however, ConFleet is in a most precarious time. The line has already been held against the alien threat codenamed "Nephilim" - the threat outside has been almost wholly extinguished but the threat within lingers, as the fate of your crew by the Alien viral agent proves.

Ishii: Uh... just what the hell are you saying?

Benbow: It’s time now for ConFleet to maintain the vigilance. What this portends can be interpreted various ways, but the time for fleet action is over for now. You see, it’s due time we looked after our own - Admiral Tupelov’s Seventh Fleet is seeing to this.

Ishii: Good for him. Hip, hip, hooray and three [cheers] for the boys in blue. Can I go now?

Benbow: I apologize - we digress. What will you do now, Ms. Ishii? A new line of work? Retirement, perhaps?

Ishii: I’m getting the FUBAR back, right?

Benbow: Ah, why do you ask? I thought someone discussed this with you already.

Ishii: Think again. Start talking. Do I get my ship back or not?

Benbow: That’s not for me to say, really. Once it has been decontaminated to the full satisfaction of Disease Control... maybe. Could be a month; could be a year.

Ishii: Or maybe you Confee shits are going to break it up for scrap. Just as well, though - too many memories attached to it.

Benbow: That is a possibility. A very strong possibility - there’s no telling what the Alien virogen can do and any potential risk will have to be dealt with accordingly. If that happens you will be supplied with a new ship... a scout vessel, perhaps.

Ishii: Christ, you try to throw a Tarsus on me and I’ll backhand your wrinkled ass halfway acr -

Benbow: Ms. Ishii, please. You asked if you’d get your ship back - I don’t know, but you will receive a ship nonetheless. What will you do then?

Ishii: What do you think I’m going to do? I’m going to go back to doing what I’ve always [done]. Not for me anymore, but for the memory of the FUBAR’s crew. I owe them that much, don’t I?

Benbow: I... see. Anything else you want to add for the record?

Ishii: Yeah. Fuck you.

[ End Transcript ]

 

FINIS