{"sf1_id":711505,"sf2_id":null,"title":"The Voice of Treason","author":"BlackSmoke","words":1195,"posted_at":"2014-05-30T14:14:00.000Z","tags":["Gore","No-Yiff","Pirate","Plot Development","Sci-Fi","Snuff","Spess","space"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/711505-the-voice-of-treason","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/view/711505","image_url":"https://www.sofurryfiles.com/std/thumb?page=711505\u0026ext=.jpg","description":"A short story about a pirate character I've had going for awhile. Her ship has a catchy name.","content":"\n\"This is Admiral Smoke of the Voice of Treason. I hereby take\ncharge of your vessel in the name of the Transastria Confederacy.\"\nAn aged coyote appeared on the screen of the bridge of a Republic\nfreighter, saying these words. Freighters had small crews, and much\ncargo, and were mostly automated these days. Saying so, they were\nincredibly easy prey for Admiral Smoke and her mixed crew of marqued\nand impressed privateers.\n\"You have one last chance to surrender remote handling of the ship\nto my pilot, or you will be boarded.\"\nThe hush of the officers in the bridge was telling. The captain was\npulling at his starched white collar. Intimidated by the old coyote\nwoman, and her tight fur and her hard eyes. From the bust-like\nportrait of her shown on the communications screen, all he could see\nwhat her face and her neck with its loose scruff leading down into\nthe rusted and metal-bared collar of an antique space suit. \nShe waited there, staring at the captain through the screen's static.\nHis crew stared, too, awaiting his decision...\n\"Battlestations,\" the captain barely croaked, and then cleared\nhis voice. \"Battlestations!\"\n\"Unfortunate call,\" the Voice of Treason replied. As soon as\nthat came through, the whole Republic ship shook, and the holographic\nmodel turned red in several departments along one side. They were\nbroadsided, their shields useless against the Voice of Treason's\nstrong cannons. Airlocks engaged automatically, and air was vented\nfrom the affected chambers to prevent fires, killing whoever was\nwithin.\nThen there was another shock, though it was not presented as a hull\nbreach. Then from that chamber and its neighboring ones came\ndesperate pleas to engage the airlocks and vent the oxygen, but they\nwere all silenced before anyone in the bridge could act.\nLock after lock was breached in a direct line to the bridge.\nSecurity wouldn't get there in time, and the two security officers in\nthe room would be hard pressed to defend against the boarding party.\nHell, they were still in their dress blues.\nThere were two doors on either side of the captain's chair on his\nraised platforms, the officers sitting at terminals in a sharp arch\naround it. Those that were armed drew their pistols, the captain his\nown... Then a pop. Neither door was breached yet. One of the\nofficers had just eaten his gun.\nSilence... The airlocks were engaged. The room wasn't vented,\nthough. They knew better. Not enough emergency space suits for them\nall.\nTales of what was found in the debris-strewn wake of the Voice of\nTreason flit through many of their minds. Stories of the mutilated\ncorpses and the things that were done to the crewmembers impressed\ninto service within her ancient hull. The rumors of torture and\nmisery deep within the walls of the Fission-powered ship from the\nlast millennium were well known amongst Republic crewmen and women\noperating in the middle rim or the colonies.\nThere was a tapping at the door. The captain glanced over his\nshoulder at the communications screen, which was now showing just the\nempty leather cushion of an old Officer's chair like he'd seen in the\nSpace Museum near the Core of Civilization. \"Open up,\" came the\nclear and surprisingly loud voice of the aged Admiral. She was on\nthe boarding party personally... That rumor held true. How could\nshe still, if she looked nearer to a hundred than fifty? \"Open up\nand we'll spare your lives.\"\nOne of the younger officers reached toward a control to do so. Or\nmaybe he'd just looked towards it. In a flight of fear the captain\nspun and fired thrice at him, and instead of his fingers, the\ncrewmember's brains and teeth and hopes and memories found their way\nto the surface of the control, sizzling.\n\"What was that?\" came the steady voice of treason. \"Ah yes,\nRepublic protocol...\" There was a thump against the door, the old\nAdmiral leaning on it. The Captain considered trying to fire through\nthe door, but those thick bulkheads were nuclear-proof. \"You'll be\neating each other alive in there. Best to... Relieve the Captain\nthere of duty, if you value your lives.\"\nThe captain turned around to his crew. The desperate, scared bunch.\nHe waved his gun wildly. Mutiny? \"I've got enough charge to have\nat all of you!\" the Captain cried out.\n\"He doesn't,\" came the Voice of Treason, \"And 'sides, I figure\nthat at least one of you can quickdraw.\"\nThe lower officers began to mumble. One twitched his right hand\ntoward his holster, and the Captain jumped and fired. A sizzling\nburn right through the fine-pressed coffee colored uniform, and the\nflesh beneath it. Not even a gasp as the Chief of Communications\nslumped down, never to rise again.\nNow too many paws reached for their holsters, and too many ready\nbarrels did the Captain have to look down to see the eyes of the\nsoon-to-be mutineers.\nThe doors were open soonafter. The carnage of bodies in the bridge\nstank of burnt fur and fried blood. There were but three left barely\nstanding, wounded, one cat on his side on the floor clutching a burnt\nphotograph of his family as he choked on his own collapsing lung.\n\"Pity,\" came the Voice of Treason accompanied by the heavy sound\nof metallic boots on the floor. They were more than boots, however.\nEach leg up to above the knee was replaced with a crude mechanical\nfacsimile of the digitigrade legs of the Canis Latrans, the metal all\ntarnish and patina. The old bitch upon those legs was neither\nhunched nor frail, though thin in her old space suit. Those legs were\ndated to the same age as the ship, from the era of in-atmosphere\nfighting, when legs were replaced to keep more blood in the upper\nbody when experiencing the high gravitational forced.\nShe strode over to the dying cat, and kneeled over him. He tried to\ncower away, but she put a paw on his quivering shoulder. \"Don't\nworry, they'll be told you died like a hero.\" She then drew her\nown sidearm, and discharged a chemically-propelled round into his\ntemple.\nThe cleanup didn't take long. The ship was hacked and hauled until\nits cargo could be offloaded. Surviving crewmembers were brought\nonboard the Voice of Treason if they so wished, and then the ship was\nstripped and vented of air and set to drift with the distress beacon\non.\nImpressment was an easy process for Admiral Smoke. Her brightworks\nwere no longer bright and her halls dark and tight, but no one would\nwant to be jettisoned into deep space without a suit. Most chose to\njoin her crew, and found it to be no less hospitable than Republic\nspace-side life. The ship was old, the Admiral older, the guts cruel\nand crude. However, there was one thing that the Voice of Treason\ndid understand. Hope was the one fuel that would keep a creature\ngoing. No one wanted to die alone in space. And so long as they\ncould draw breath, there was hope they'd either see home again, or\nmake for themselves a new home..."}