I.

“What?!” Isaac exclaimed.

“Sir, please fol-“ the patrol guard began to repeat.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time. I mean what are you talking about? Why should I go anywhere with you?” Isaac began to feel his heart inch closer to his mouth.

“Sir, I can assure you that you are not in any trouble.” The patrol guard replied, “Our captain simply has some questions for you about a person or persons potentially connected to the smuggling of illicit substances. Your PAD indicates you were within close contact or proximity with the person or persons based on photographic evidence. Now, we simply want to ask you about whether or not you spoke with them.”

“Can’t you just do that here?!” Isaac began to feel his heart pound. He knew he had just over the legal limit of pot and alcohol in his bags.

“I’m afraid not, sir.” The guard flatly explained, “As you may or may not know, all forms of legal questioning can only occur in a designated questioning room. This ensures that tamper proof records of the interview can be recorded in a manner that is admissible in court. You will be allowed council if you deem it necessary, but again, I can reassure you that we’re only interested in asking you about the person or persons in your photographs.”

Sweating slightly, but trying not to betray this, Isaac asked while straightening his stance, “May I be allowed to change into more formal attire? I am a gentleman of high status; it would be unbecoming of me to dress improperly. Especially in a recording for a court case.”

The guard, not betraying the slightest hint of exasperation or impatience flatly stated, “If you believe it to be necessary, sir, do so.”

Without hesitation the attendants undressed and redressed Isaac. This time into his more formal suit. To finish, the attendants gave Isaac a once over his face and hair. Trimming errant hairs, refreshing his perfume, and lasering off the five-o-clock shadow that was beginning to show.

“Done!” Isaac exclaimed.

“Follow me.” The guard replied flatly.

Isaac, despite still being nervous about the whole situation, followed the guard down to the airlock. Looking out the windows on the way, he could see the imposing figure of the Agent of Chaos. The massive voidship dwarfed the already sizeable lunar ferry. It looked like a giant dagger, thin and pointy at the nose and slowly curving upwards until it abruptly meets the main engine. The engine was a fat cylinder that jutted out from the back of the voidship. The hull of the voidship was covered in an octagonal pattern that seemed to make it glisten in spite of the dark blue coloration. Where the tip of the dagger would be, a giant maw opened. The Kessler cannon. While it was hard to say at these distances, Isaac felt like he could easily drive one of his dad’s classic 21st century cars inside of it.

When Isaac arrived at the airlock he was surprised to see an attendant alongside his bags. The red head from earlier.

“Hold up, why is my stuff here?!” Isaac asked as he froze in his tracks, mouth going dry.

“Follow me, sir.” The guard repeated once again, more tensely this time.

“No no no no no! I’m not going anywhere until you explain!” Isaac cried out.

“Sir! You should go with them, for your own sake.” The attendant called out.

Shocked, Isaac looked at the attendant that had spoken to him. They never speak unless spoken to. Something was very wrong. Flustered, Isaac began to turn to run. The two guards reached for him but Isaac managed to slip away. As he swung around and ran he suddenly crashed into something behind him. It grabbed him like a steel jaw, not budging as he wildly wriggled around trying to break free. The other guards then grabbed him by his arms and began dragging him into the Agent of Chaos. Looking behind him he could see two more guards, each carrying his heavy bags like they were empty boxes, the attendant laughing into her hand.

“Listen, I swear I just got space sick!” Isaac cried out, “I wasn’t wasted! Please let me go!”

Isaac was dragged across the gangway, through the airlock, and then onto a lift. The guards commanded, “Officers’ quarters.”

When they arrived at room O-56, Isaac was limply dropped on the ground. He didn’t even bother to get up until after the guards left quietly. Alone, Isaac looked around. The room he found himself in was small and very utilitarian. A tiny bathroom area crowded the back right corner with a shower, toilet, and sink. The left face of the wall was taken by a bunk, while the remaining space on the back wall contained drawers. Lastly, a plain metal desk was pushed against the front wall with a small lamp bolted to the top.

Coming to his senses Isaac grabbed out his PAD and began trying to contact his legal team. Strangely he could not get a call out, even in emergency satellite uplink mode.

“Fuck fuck fuck! Why aren’t you going through?!” Isaac muttered to himself. Furious now, Isaac began to shout, “You cant do this! I have a right to call my lawyers! I’ll sue your asses so hard for this that they’ll court martial the fucking lot of you! Do you hear me?!”

Silence.

II.

Some time passed. Isaac wasn’t really sure how long, he never bothered to check, just that it felt like eternity. The only thing he could muster was to lay on one of the bunks and stare at the door, perking up when footsteps approached, then laying back down when they receded. Eventually several sets of footsteps could be heard. Isaac immediately arose when they stopped at his door. A man flanked by two guards entered the room moments later. Bald and clean shaven, man wore a grey jumpsuit with a single silver bar embroidered on his shoulders.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“Hello Mr. Novak, I am lieutenant Alistair. I imagine you have a lot of questions.” The man remarked, “Now, there is a lot to go over but the short of it is: You’re a hostage.”

“W-what? Hostage? Why? You’re the military! Why would you need hostages?!” Isaac mumbled out.

“Well Mr. Novak, you see, we’re hostages too. In a manner of speaking.” Lt. Alistair replied, “You and the others we collected may be our ticket out of this mess for all of us.”

Seeing the confused look on Isaac’s face, Alistair explained, “Everyone on this ship, from the captain down to the lowest ensign, was manufactured to live and die on this ship for the entirety of their lives. You see, we’re not normal humans, and we certainly aren’t treated like it.”

“Are you joking? What is really going on here?” Isaac responded in disbelief, “What do you mean you’re not normal?”

“One question at a time, please! No, I’m dead serious. What I just told you is completely true.” Replied Alistair with a slight chuckle, “Now for the important question; why aren’t we ‘normal?’ What I mean is that instead of being born to parents like a normal human being, we were artificially created. Why? For the sole purpose of manning these deathtraps to fight your wars."

Isaac stared blankly. He was unsure if he would believe something like this. However, the officer looked completely serious, albeit slightly amused by Isaac’s reaction.

“But why would they need to? I know at least a few people who signed up for the voidship core. One even got posted to a Galilean trade route flotilla!” Isaac finally asked.

“Well… That goes back to one of the largest issue any military faces: How do you convince someone to kill and be killed?” Alistair put forth.

Isaac briefly waited for an answer until the officer gestured to speak up. To which Isaac guessed, “Because by not fighting things might turn out worse for them?”

“Yep! In more ways than one.” Alistair exclaimed, “Now, you probably meant something along the lines of “If you don’t defend yourself, the barbaric masses will pillage your home and kill your loved ones!” or “The enemy wants only to destroy our way of life, so we must defend ourselves at all costs.””

Isaac, unsure of himself, replied, “I guess?”

“And you would be right for thinking so.” Alistair explained, “Throughout history we see examples of professional militaries made up of volunteer recruits. Especially during the 20th through 22nd centuries. In fact, the Coalition of Earth, superficially anyways, maintains a professional army. Reportedly, the COE meets recruitment goals by around 115% yearly.”

“Ok?” Isaac, deeply confused, inquired, “So where are you going with this?”

“Well, simply that recruitment goal is a lie!” Alistair excitedly explained, “You see, in order to maintain a voidship core the size that the COE boast, some 11,000 ships, you’d need an average of 3,000 people per ship. That’s about 33 million people just manning the ships. Factor in the logistics of supplying and commanding this many ships and you have a voidship core of around 70 million personnel total.”

“I suppose that sounds right? I’m not really familiar with exactly how many ships the COE has.” Isaac replied, “But that doesn’t seem completely unrealistic! Does it?”

“Well, yes and no.” Alistair began, “When people sign up for service, they are allowed to opt for whatever branch they join. Of course, most everyone who just needs a job joins the logistics or defensive branch. Why wouldn’t they? Joining the expeditionary flotilla is a death sentence if a fight happens.”

“It couldn’t be that bad, could it?” Isaac asked.

“Ohhh faaar worse than you imagine.” Alistair replied, “The weaponry used by every planetary power is advanced enough to guarantee that any battle is at best a pyrrhic victory, if not a total loss for every combatant involved. Rather, it’s about how many waves either side is willing to spend before the resource costs outweigh the benefit of victory.”

“That seems like a rather cynical way of looking at it.” Accused Isaac.

“You would not have the luxury of seeing it any other way were you in our shoes.” Alistair retorted, “Besides, for much of history this has been the viewpoint of any military leader; lives are just one more line item on a list of material costs. This view is just simply hard to stomach for most, and certainly not a life most people would willingly subject themselves to. Going back earlier to what you said, “...by not fighting things might turn out worse for them.” This is true in another way, as in; “if you don’t fight for us, we’ll punish you for not fighting.” In a word: Coercion.”

“So, you’re saying you fall into that category?” Isaac answered.

“Exactly!” Alistair exclaimed, “Professional militaries are popular when your side has an overwhelming advantage, meaning your likelihood of dying in combat is rather low. However, when facing a superior foe or when battles are a death sentence, oftentimes conscription is used to shore up your military. The Venerian Defense Fleet is a good example, nearly everyone other than the officers are conscripted. In our case we’re bred for battle, and we want out. That is where you come in.”

“How exactly does taking me hostage help? You have a gigantic voidship, with a big gun that can annihilate a city effortlessly. Why not just like threaten them directly?” Isaac asked exasperated at this point, “Or just fucking run. Go to Pluto, or Mars, or something. Why’d you have to take me?”

“I said we want out of this. I didn’t mean the crew of this ship. I mean everyone like us who were created to fight your pointless wars. Destroying a city doesn’t exactly make us look sympathetic when all’s we want is to be free to live a full and peaceful life.” Alistair said in a sullen voice, “Besides, we have no intention of just killing innocent people at random to meet our goals. We aren’t your leaders. If we can get the word out and stop our enslavement, you and the others we took hostage will go free. Safe and sound.”

“I suppose I don’t have a choice in the matter.” Isaac grumbled.

“You will play a part though.” Alistair pulled his PAD out, then with a flicking motion sent a document to Isaac. “To make sure we aren’t just blown out of the sky immediately, you will be delivering our demands on live broadcast. Make certain to rehearse well! Everyone will be watching.”

Getting up to leave, the officer remarked, “Feel free to modify that speech there to better suit your talking style but make certain that the core points are discussed.”

“Wait, who else did you take hostage?” Isaac asked, “Also, can I get some food?

“Oh, a few random people, mostly those who are wealthy and influential. We made certain to leave families out of this.” Alistair replied evasively as he stepped out of the door. A wide smile cracked across his face, “Also, yes. I’ll send a tray of food down.”

III.

The “food” arrived 30 minutes later. Served on a steel tray were several bricks of varying shades of brown and a bowl of green paste. Incredulous, Isaac looked at the short, stalky man who brought him the tray, “What is this?”

“Standard reconstituted protein bars, algae soup, and a yeast-based carbohydrate wafer.” The man replied, “It’s what everyone here eats. The soup tastes better if you break the wafer into it.”

“You could just say crackers Mr. Smartass.” Isaac grumbled.

“I’d say crackers if it were crackers Mr. Jackass.” The man replied as he stepped out, “Those definitely ain’t crackers.”

Isaac’s stomach dropped as he looked back down. He cut into the protein brick. The inside looked the exact same as the outside. Brown and without any discernable texture. Isaac sniffed. Nothing, not even the slightest smell. Biting into the morsel Isaac felt immense sadness. Flavorless, a texture similar to foam, and somewhat dry. The soup wasn’t much better, with it having a thick and pasty texture. Isaac tried crumbling in the wafer. The short man was right; they definitely ain’t crackers.