The discussion in the Gen. Freespace thread about Shivans inspired me to write the following...Enjoy!
The prisoner stumbled into the cell, roughly thrown in by a guard. The door was shut, locked. Even in this high-tech age, there was still something about the soft hum of the magnetic locks that fell upon the soul with iron-clad certainty. Imprisonment again.
The prisoner didn't know how long he'd been there. He wasn't sure of his identity. All he'd known was that he'd told them everything he'd known.
They hadn't believed him. It was too incredible, he thought they thought.
He'd been on board the Iceni. On its last, final voyage. One of twenty-something selected to usher in the new era. He hadn't known what it was, he hadn't cared, really, all he'd wanted was to be out of this mess.
But Bosch had chosen him, picked him out, carefully. Somehow, he, the least committed of the crew, had been chosen among Bosch's top lieutenants.
The chosen had been called to the number three airlock. They'd been informed by Bosch of what was really happening - a Shivan ship was docking, and they were going to go on it. The Iceni would follow. The Shivans would protect it in the dark mists beyond. The crew had always known that something was amiss, that something was happening, something they couldn't, they wouldn't, never had known. But Bosch hadn't told them until the end, the beginning of the end, when he'd communicated to the Shivan cruiser.
An alliance with the Shivans was unbelievable, yet there they had been. Waiting. And watching.
Unarmed.
Bosch hadn't wanted to upset the Shivans, or alarm them, as he'd put it. Had he put it? Was that a memory, truly?
But they had had no guns, no weapons of any sort, save the combat knives that were standard issue.
They'd been ordered to salute. Show their respect for the Shivan commanders making their way to the vessel.
Then the door had opened, and a Shivan had stepped out. There'd been an involuntary fearful reaction from the men - except for Bosch. The prisoner could've sworn he'd smiled.
Hadn't he?
But then it had gone wrong, all wrong. Bosch had introduced himself. His top lieutenants. His crew. Told of his work to get here.
Then the Shivan - but there were more then - reached out and grabbed the Admiral. He'd been dragged out. With his lieutenants. The other Shivans attacked! With movements that seemed unreal, nothing natural, not human, they'd attacked the crew, torn them to shreds!
He'd been the first one down. But he'd been smart. He'd stopped, and never started moving. The screams, the cries, the gunshots, soon they stopped.
He hadn't dared open eyes. Didn't dare move a muscle. He felt stretched to eternity, his muscles screamed to move, his mind recoiled from the thought of further non-movement.
But he'd survived. Hadn't he? He'd never opened his eyes 'til he heard a Vasudan's soft croaks. He'd feared for his life then, more than ever. He was a Neo-terran slug. Unwilling, yet...cowardly. Too cowardly. He'd cried out and begged for mercy. The Vasudan was shocked. With all his begging he managed to gain passage on the transport.
Only to end up here.
Where was here?
The lights had gone out. Another ploy...another ploy...he would tell them no more. They deserved nothing.
But he had already told them all...
