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Description
PART1

It had been about an hour since Cawn made the split-second decision to crash his fighter into the hangar bay of the first Terran starship he saw. He had been taken from his craft and now sat with his daughter on a medical repair bed in a small, isolated med bay with opaque blue glass and an equally opaque white stripe across the middle, wrapping around the small facility. On each door was part of the symbol of Earth, a symbol he had come to know as the symbol of his mortal enemy. But it was different; it had no outer border.
Through it and on either side of the single entrance to the room, he could clearly make out the silhouette of Terran troops guarding the door. Likely a particularly feared cadre of soldiers, the Terrans referred to as "Marines," based on everything he had learned during his nearly two decades of loyal service to the Empire. He knew that these men could, and would, kill him and his daughter at the drop of a hat if he took one step out of line. So he sat as quietly as he could, fearing any disruption he caused might lead to repercussions.
All the same, Metara was hungry and in need of a diaper change. In his panic, he had grabbed only a few items of sentimental and tactical value in his escape. He hadn't even thought to grab food or clothes for her. With the planet literally boiling around him, he reasoned that it was at least a forgivable transgression in comparison to treason. As afraid as he was, his daughter's increasingly pained cries triggered his instincts as a father. He gently set his daughter down and marched up to the door. But before he could knock and demand food and fresh clothes for his daughter, years of brutal conditioning overwhelmed him yet again, and he froze in fear.
Just as he was about to overcome the fear and readied himself to knock, he saw three more people approach outside. They greeted the soldiers, and Cawn could tell simply by the tone. But he couldn't understand the words they spoke. He quickly turned and scurried back to the repair bed, picking up his daughter and holding her tightly as the door opened. The two soldiers entered first. Their faces were totally invisible behind their light power armor suits. He had seen those suits, the weapons, and the insignia they bore before on the battlefield. Definitely Terran Marines, there was zero doubt. Cawn gulped and closed his eyes tight; he had personally seen the damage even a small squad of Terran Marines could do to a much larger force. It was two against one, and he was locked in a room with these guys. He waited for a sensation of pain, numbness, warmth, cold, or anything that might indicate he had been shot, stabbed, or whatever they were planning to do.
Instead, he heard a language he didn't expect, his own, spoken by a young female. The accent was that of someone from east of the Kolgith Badlands, a very distinct accent. He had spent a summer there as a child and had done his first round of basic training in that region. "Hello, Mr. Pilot? I'm Kitell. This is the ship's doctor and one of her assistants. Their names don't translate well. Will you let them help you and your baby girl? I promise you neither of you will be harmed," the voice said softly.
Cawn was shocked. He opened his eyes and looked up to see the Marines had left the room, and standing before him now were two humans and a Vorlan female. She was quite young, maybe in her early 20s, and was wearing a Terran Navy uniform. He never thought he'd see anything like it, and for a brief moment, he felt rage boiling up inside him. He wanted to jump up and wrap his arms around her neck for being such a traitor, but then he remembered how he got here in the first place, what his beloved Empire had done to his family.

How many more had they done the same thing to? How many times was he the one committing such an atrocity? He never asked who he was shooting at from the cockpit of his plane. His stomach churned, and he knew he was about to vomit. He looked around frantically and grabbed the nearest container he could find. He spent the next few minutes heaving and gagging the contents of his stomach into the small plastic bin.
As his face was buried in a plastic container, Kitell asked gently, "Hey, while you get it all out, can they get your daughter cleaned up?" Unable to speak, Cawn just nodded reluctantly. "She's hungry," he managed to blurt out in between retches. "What did he say?" Dr. Marković asked as she began cleaning Metara on a nearby counter and preparing a makeshift, yet fresh diaper for her. "He said she's hungry," Kitell answered in fluent English, which surprised Cawn.

As his stomach began to settle down, his rage turned to what he thought of as an almost morbid curiosity. "Why... When... Why did you... Leave?" he asked, his voice shaky and weak. "My parents were Denagori... Resistance sympathizers, though they were not public about it. When I was six, someone overheard them questioning the Emperor, a family friend. They couldn't bear the thought of what might happen to me if he reported us, so we left that very night."
Dr. Marković returned with Metara and placed her back in Cawn's arms. "Would you allow us to give you a small injection that would allow us to communicate?" she asked in English, which Cawn didn't understand more than a few words of, so he looked to Kitell to translate, "She wants to know if we can inject you with nanites that will allow you to talk with us. I promise they won't hurt you."
He was terrified of the concept but nodded in agreement anyway, as he felt as though he wasn't really being asked. "This won't hurt at all," the doctor said as she pressed a device into his neck and activated it before Kitell could even translate. There was a slight amount of pressure and a mild tingling sensation, but otherwise, it didn't hurt. "It should work just about instantly. Can you understand me?" she asked. "Yes!" Cawn responded in amazement. He looked around the room; not only was he able to understand Terran speech, but he could also read their writing as well.

He had memorized their numeric symbols long ago and had seen their writing many times over the years, but now it all actually made sense. As if he was reading his own writing. But it wasn't; he was seeing it as it was. But it made sense now. How this was even possible, he didn't ask. He knew he would be unlikely to understand the answer anyway. All he knew was that, for the moment anyway, he could at least communicate with those around him.
"You can return to duty, Master Chief. Thank you for your help," Dr. Marković said to Kitell as she turned to activate the scanner on the medical bed. Maybe it was because, besides his daughter, this young woman was the only connection he had to his people that he felt less alone with her there. The idea of Kitell leaving terrified him, and he looked to her, not knowing what, if anything, to say. "Actually, doctor, I'm technically off duty as of... 4 minutes ago. I can stay a little longer and help out if you want," she said after seeing Cawn's reaction. The doctor looked up from the screen at the two. "OK, you can hold the baby. Sir, could Kitell hold your baby for a moment while you lie down? I just need to run a routine medical scan."
She answered, returning to her screen as the large scanning module deployed and slid into position. "Nurse Caldwell, I believe I'm set here. Would you please contact acquisitions about getting some diapers made? And get some ointment for that rash," she said to her assistant, who agreed and left.
Cawn cautiously handed Metara off to Kitell, who held her tightly. "Ohh! You're so adorable! Aren't you!" She said as the baby grabbed her finger with her tiny hand and laughed. "Rash?" he asked as he laid flat on the bed. "She has a minor diaper rash. Don't worry, it's quite common." "I know what a diaper rash is, doctor. I have... I had..." Cawn couldn't finish the sentence as the images of his family's final moments flashed through his mind. It took every ounce of willpower to not burst out into a deluge of tears.

He wanted to scream and smash everything he saw, but he knew all he could do was lie there. The scanner ran along its rails several times, scanning him head to toe before resetting itself back into the recess in the wall that was perfectly shaped to fit it. "Well, the good news is you're as healthy as could be according to this," the doctor said as the machine powered down and the results displayed on the screen. "What's going to happen to us?"
Cawn demanded, his grief and rage nearly overflowing at this point. "Your daughter will be cared for; she'll grow up free and safe. That much I can guarantee... As for what happens to you? That's up to the Marshal."
"The Marshal?! You mean The Butcher!? This is his ship!? Oh, gods of old, what did I do!?" Cawn jumped up from his seat and began to pace back and forth, holding his daughter tight to his chest, muttering. "Please. Be honest. Is it true he feeds on his enemies' children?" He dropped to his knees and begged Kitell, honestly expecting to hear "yes" as the answer. "What!?" She laughed, the statement so absurd from her perspective it didn't seem serious, but as she looked down at him on his knees with tears in his eyes, she quickly realized he wasn't joking. "No. I actually don't think he eats anything. What the hell did they tell you?"
She said softly, helping him back to his feet and leading him to sit back down on the bed. "That... That he's a terrible and ancient creature made of deformed, rotten flesh. It's said his visage alone can drive a man to madness. That he was conjured up eons ago from a form of black magic lost to time. We're taught The Butcher is a creature with no sense of feeling or compassion and only exists to serve his sadistic fantasies and desires left over from the man he once was. And that he was enslaved to do the wicked bidding of humanity."
Both Kitell and Dr. Marković just stared at each other, unsure of what to say. Kitell had all but forgotten that she too was raised for the first six years of her life to believe the exact same thing. She couldn't imagine spending an entire lifetime believing this and fighting based on such beliefs; then finding out put your only child under the same roof as, and at the mercy of the literal devil as far as your people were concerned. "Well, he is quite old. So you got that part right," Dr. Marković said snarkily as she ran a small device over Metara, which caught Cawn's attention, causing him to jerk away slightly. "Just checking something," she said before putting the device away. "What made you leave?" Kitell asked.

Cawn said nothing; he just looked at his daughter and ran his hand gently over her head. "Ah, of course," Kitell said in acknowledgment. "They... killed," Cawn sniffed and sat for a few moments. "My wife... My son... They killed them... in front of me!" he spat with rage before breaking down into tears.
For the next hour, Cawn sobbed and recalled the events that led him to this point while the doctor fed and held Metara. Dr. Marković had left shortly after hearing the bulk of the story to report any potential findings to the command staff, leaving Cawn, Kitell, and Metara alone in the med bay. After being gone for only a few minutes and without much warning, Dr. Marković burst back through the door. She seemed to be concerned but confident at the same time. "Listen to me carefully. I believe you came here to protect your daughter. If you're honest and direct, the Marshal will too. Just be honest and forthcoming, okay?"
Cawn was confused and terrified at the sudden change of tone from the doctor who, until this point, had seemed rather distant and unattached. Now, she seemed far more focused and attentive. He didn't even have time to ask what was going on before he could hear the sound of heavy boots coming down the corridor outside at a significant clip. It was like someone wearing metal boots was marching across the metal floor plating. "They won't hurt you. Just do what they say, okay?" the doctor said as the source of the footsteps came into view.
He couldn't believe his eyes. For a moment, he was sure he was dreaming. A man, at least double his height, could be seen through the opaque glass surrounding the room. He walked up to the door, and without saying anything, the two Marines standing guard stood aside. The door opened, and in entered a man in bright blue power armor with gold trim. He was easily double Cawn's height and had to just about kneel down to get through the normal-sized door. He carried a plasma lance weapon so large that his people would consider it a crew-served weapon.
Even as he ducked under the door, the lens-covered eye slots of his ornate helmet never broke contact with Cawn, and with each step closer, he seemed to grow another foot. Cawn's grip on Metara tightened as the giant man stepped up and stopped only a few feet away before speaking up in a deep voice, partially distorted by his helmet in a deliberately intimidating manner. "Pilot, my name is Captain Yadda Tem'orik, First Commandant of the Marshal's Guard. Fleet Marshal Kincaid requests your immediate presence."

Part 3:
Coming soon.

Description
PART1

It had been about an hour since Cawn made the split-second decision to crash his fighter into the hangar bay of the first Terran starship he saw. He had been taken from his craft and now sat with his daughter on a medical repair bed in a small, isolated med bay with opaque blue glass and an equally opaque white stripe across the middle, wrapping around the small facility. On each door was part of the symbol of Earth, a symbol he had come to know as the symbol of his mortal enemy. But it was different; it had no outer border.
Through it and on either side of the single entrance to the room, he could clearly make out the silhouette of Terran troops guarding the door. Likely a particularly feared cadre of soldiers, the Terrans referred to as "Marines," based on everything he had learned during his nearly two decades of loyal service to the Empire. He knew that these men could, and would, kill him and his daughter at the drop of a hat if he took one step out of line. So he sat as quietly as he could, fearing any disruption he caused might lead to repercussions.
All the same, Metara was hungry and in need of a diaper change. In his panic, he had grabbed only a few items of sentimental and tactical value in his escape. He hadn't even thought to grab food or clothes for her. With the planet literally boiling around him, he reasoned that it was at least a forgivable transgression in comparison to treason. As afraid as he was, his daughter's increasingly pained cries triggered his instincts as a father. He gently set his daughter down and marched up to the door. But before he could knock and demand food and fresh clothes for his daughter, years of brutal conditioning overwhelmed him yet again, and he froze in fear.
Just as he was about to overcome the fear and readied himself to knock, he saw three more people approach outside. They greeted the soldiers, and Cawn could tell simply by the tone. But he couldn't understand the words they spoke. He quickly turned and scurried back to the repair bed, picking up his daughter and holding her tightly as the door opened. The two soldiers entered first. Their faces were totally invisible behind their light power armor suits. He had seen those suits, the weapons, and the insignia they bore before on the battlefield. Definitely Terran Marines, there was zero doubt. Cawn gulped and closed his eyes tight; he had personally seen the damage even a small squad of Terran Marines could do to a much larger force. It was two against one, and he was locked in a room with these guys. He waited for a sensation of pain, numbness, warmth, cold, or anything that might indicate he had been shot, stabbed, or whatever they were planning to do.
Instead, he heard a language he didn't expect, his own, spoken by a young female. The accent was that of someone from east of the Kolgith Badlands, a very distinct accent. He had spent a summer there as a child and had done his first round of basic training in that region. "Hello, Mr. Pilot? I'm Kitell. This is the ship's doctor and one of her assistants. Their names don't translate well. Will you let them help you and your baby girl? I promise you neither of you will be harmed," the voice said softly.
Cawn was shocked. He opened his eyes and looked up to see the Marines had left the room, and standing before him now were two humans and a Vorlan female. She was quite young, maybe in her early 20s, and was wearing a Terran Navy uniform. He never thought he'd see anything like it, and for a brief moment, he felt rage boiling up inside him. He wanted to jump up and wrap his arms around her neck for being such a traitor, but then he remembered how he got here in the first place, what his beloved Empire had done to his family.

How many more had they done the same thing to? How many times was he the one committing such an atrocity? He never asked who he was shooting at from the cockpit of his plane. His stomach churned, and he knew he was about to vomit. He looked around frantically and grabbed the nearest container he could find. He spent the next few minutes heaving and gagging the contents of his stomach into the small plastic bin.
As his face was buried in a plastic container, Kitell asked gently, "Hey, while you get it all out, can they get your daughter cleaned up?" Unable to speak, Cawn just nodded reluctantly. "She's hungry," he managed to blurt out in between retches. "What did he say?" Dr. Marković asked as she began cleaning Metara on a nearby counter and preparing a makeshift, yet fresh diaper for her. "He said she's hungry," Kitell answered in fluent English, which surprised Cawn.

As his stomach began to settle down, his rage turned to what he thought of as an almost morbid curiosity. "Why... When... Why did you... Leave?" he asked, his voice shaky and weak. "My parents were Denagori... Resistance sympathizers, though they were not public about it. When I was six, someone overheard them questioning the Emperor, a family friend. They couldn't bear the thought of what might happen to me if he reported us, so we left that very night."
Dr. Marković returned with Metara and placed her back in Cawn's arms. "Would you allow us to give you a small injection that would allow us to communicate?" she asked in English, which Cawn didn't understand more than a few words of, so he looked to Kitell to translate, "She wants to know if we can inject you with nanites that will allow you to talk with us. I promise they won't hurt you."
He was terrified of the concept but nodded in agreement anyway, as he felt as though he wasn't really being asked. "This won't hurt at all," the doctor said as she pressed a device into his neck and activated it before Kitell could even translate. There was a slight amount of pressure and a mild tingling sensation, but otherwise, it didn't hurt. "It should work just about instantly. Can you understand me?" she asked. "Yes!" Cawn responded in amazement. He looked around the room; not only was he able to understand Terran speech, but he could also read their writing as well.

He had memorized their numeric symbols long ago and had seen their writing many times over the years, but now it all actually made sense. As if he was reading his own writing. But it wasn't; he was seeing it as it was. But it made sense now. How this was even possible, he didn't ask. He knew he would be unlikely to understand the answer anyway. All he knew was that, for the moment anyway, he could at least communicate with those around him.
"You can return to duty, Master Chief. Thank you for your help," Dr. Marković said to Kitell as she turned to activate the scanner on the medical bed. Maybe it was because, besides his daughter, this young woman was the only connection he had to his people that he felt less alone with her there. The idea of Kitell leaving terrified him, and he looked to her, not knowing what, if anything, to say. "Actually, doctor, I'm technically off duty as of... 4 minutes ago. I can stay a little longer and help out if you want," she said after seeing Cawn's reaction. The doctor looked up from the screen at the two. "OK, you can hold the baby. Sir, could Kitell hold your baby for a moment while you lie down? I just need to run a routine medical scan."
She answered, returning to her screen as the large scanning module deployed and slid into position. "Nurse Caldwell, I believe I'm set here. Would you please contact acquisitions about getting some diapers made? And get some ointment for that rash," she said to her assistant, who agreed and left.
Cawn cautiously handed Metara off to Kitell, who held her tightly. "Ohh! You're so adorable! Aren't you!" She said as the baby grabbed her finger with her tiny hand and laughed. "Rash?" he asked as he laid flat on the bed. "She has a minor diaper rash. Don't worry, it's quite common." "I know what a diaper rash is, doctor. I have... I had..." Cawn couldn't finish the sentence as the images of his family's final moments flashed through his mind. It took every ounce of willpower to not burst out into a deluge of tears.

He wanted to scream and smash everything he saw, but he knew all he could do was lie there. The scanner ran along its rails several times, scanning him head to toe before resetting itself back into the recess in the wall that was perfectly shaped to fit it. "Well, the good news is you're as healthy as could be according to this," the doctor said as the machine powered down and the results displayed on the screen. "What's going to happen to us?"
Cawn demanded, his grief and rage nearly overflowing at this point. "Your daughter will be cared for; she'll grow up free and safe. That much I can guarantee... As for what happens to you? That's up to the Marshal."
"The Marshal?! You mean The Butcher!? This is his ship!? Oh, gods of old, what did I do!?" Cawn jumped up from his seat and began to pace back and forth, holding his daughter tight to his chest, muttering. "Please. Be honest. Is it true he feeds on his enemies' children?" He dropped to his knees and begged Kitell, honestly expecting to hear "yes" as the answer. "What!?" She laughed, the statement so absurd from her perspective it didn't seem serious, but as she looked down at him on his knees with tears in his eyes, she quickly realized he wasn't joking. "No. I actually don't think he eats anything. What the hell did they tell you?"
She said softly, helping him back to his feet and leading him to sit back down on the bed. "That... That he's a terrible and ancient creature made of deformed, rotten flesh. It's said his visage alone can drive a man to madness. That he was conjured up eons ago from a form of black magic lost to time. We're taught The Butcher is a creature with no sense of feeling or compassion and only exists to serve his sadistic fantasies and desires left over from the man he once was. And that he was enslaved to do the wicked bidding of humanity."
Both Kitell and Dr. Marković just stared at each other, unsure of what to say. Kitell had all but forgotten that she too was raised for the first six years of her life to believe the exact same thing. She couldn't imagine spending an entire lifetime believing this and fighting based on such beliefs; then finding out put your only child under the same roof as, and at the mercy of the literal devil as far as your people were concerned. "Well, he is quite old. So you got that part right," Dr. Marković said snarkily as she ran a small device over Metara, which caught Cawn's attention, causing him to jerk away slightly. "Just checking something," she said before putting the device away. "What made you leave?" Kitell asked.

Cawn said nothing; he just looked at his daughter and ran his hand gently over her head. "Ah, of course," Kitell said in acknowledgment. "They... killed," Cawn sniffed and sat for a few moments. "My wife... My son... They killed them... in front of me!" he spat with rage before breaking down into tears.
For the next hour, Cawn sobbed and recalled the events that led him to this point while the doctor fed and held Metara. Dr. Marković had left shortly after hearing the bulk of the story to report any potential findings to the command staff, leaving Cawn, Kitell, and Metara alone in the med bay. After being gone for only a few minutes and without much warning, Dr. Marković burst back through the door. She seemed to be concerned but confident at the same time. "Listen to me carefully. I believe you came here to protect your daughter. If you're honest and direct, the Marshal will too. Just be honest and forthcoming, okay?"
Cawn was confused and terrified at the sudden change of tone from the doctor who, until this point, had seemed rather distant and unattached. Now, she seemed far more focused and attentive. He didn't even have time to ask what was going on before he could hear the sound of heavy boots coming down the corridor outside at a significant clip. It was like someone wearing metal boots was marching across the metal floor plating. "They won't hurt you. Just do what they say, okay?" the doctor said as the source of the footsteps came into view.
He couldn't believe his eyes. For a moment, he was sure he was dreaming. A man, at least double his height, could be seen through the opaque glass surrounding the room. He walked up to the door, and without saying anything, the two Marines standing guard stood aside. The door opened, and in entered a man in bright blue power armor with gold trim. He was easily double Cawn's height and had to just about kneel down to get through the normal-sized door. He carried a plasma lance weapon so large that his people would consider it a crew-served weapon.
Even as he ducked under the door, the lens-covered eye slots of his ornate helmet never broke contact with Cawn, and with each step closer, he seemed to grow another foot. Cawn's grip on Metara tightened as the giant man stepped up and stopped only a few feet away before speaking up in a deep voice, partially distorted by his helmet in a deliberately intimidating manner. "Pilot, my name is Captain Yadda Tem'orik, First Commandant of the Marshal's Guard. Fleet Marshal Kincaid requests your immediate presence."

Part 3:
Coming soon.