Chapter 35. The destruction of the Mandela
No one saw Hogan. Despite a careful search among the prisoners, he could not be found. As one of so many different creatures, he's sure to attract immediate attention. Because even among all these different kinds, he is still unique. However, he is not in the cave. He can only be outside the mine. If that was the case, then there was no hope for him. He helped Tiny, giving his own life in exchange for hers, and Noah believed it. He could barely accept what was happening. Is there no way out? Will he have to watch his crew die one by one? He managed to remain calm. He is the captain. He must be an example to others. This means never giving up. Still, it was so hard for him.
"Captain," a trembling voice called to him.
Shocked, Noah turned around, not expecting anyone to talk to him. And this person was not a member of his crew. Standing before him was a gaunt man, more like a skeleton than a human being. However, he is clearly human. His eyes were sunken into their sockets. The skin clings to the cheekbones and head, leaving only a little hair on the head. It makes him look like a desiccated mummy. There were only a few teeth left in his mouth, and they all looked like dull debris. The skin was rough and cracked, scars and dried blood covering his body. Blood from various creatures. There is no opportunity to wash it off here, and no opportunity for hygienic care. Only a few patchwork remnants of clothing were left around his waist. Every rib is clearly visible. Even a layman could tell with the naked eye that two of the ribs were broken. His hands were shaking and the index finger on his right hand was missing. This reminded the captain of Charles, where apparently people often lose their fingers. The hellish work performed here is truly unimaginable. The wound healed only roughly without receiving any medical help. Pus and blood covered the wound. He must have been in terrible pain.
Noah felt like he was being transported back to Earth's cruel past. Involuntarily, he was reminded of the concentration camps during World War II. Images of detainees seen during liberation, with only skin and bones left of them, if they were still alive. But that was more than three hundred years ago. There are no living witnesses, and documentation is the only thing that remains. And humans have evolved. Such cruelty no longer exists on earth, and no one has ever experienced anything like it. But here it is. This is hell. It's like Armageddon.
"Who are you?" Noah asked slowly, noticing the remnants of his costume. Isn't that a remnant of a Starfleet uniform? Did the frail man have just aroused his sympathy? Did he have any responsibility towards Mr. Hogan? But this is impossible. He simply has no ability to do so. Moreover, these scraps of cloth are very old.
"My name is Gram," he began. Speaking was clearly difficult for him. "I was first officer on the Mandela."
These words caught Noah's attention. They did find Mandela survivors. He had doubted Charles's assertion that Mandela had fallen into the hands of the Demon Flame. But if the man who calls himself Gram is telling the truth, the crew of the Mandela have already been through the same hell they are about to face. But is this man, this man named Gram, really telling the truth? They've been here for a week and he didn't reveal his identity to them until now? This is really weird.
Noah's hesitation seemed to drive Gram to despair. "You don't believe me?" he asked in a trembling voice.
"No, that's not the case," Noah responded quickly. "Mandela disappeared ten months ago, but we've been here a week and you didn't reveal your identity to us until now." He hoped he didn't sound too suspicious. He didn't want to make the man too nervous. Noah must know the truth.
"I..." the man stammered, looking around helplessly. His hungry body and the fear on his face make one can't help but sympathize with him. Then he looked at Noah again. Fear flashed in his eyes. "It's been ten months? Has it really been that long?"
"Yes," Noah confirmed. He didn't know what to say.
"Unbelievable. I..." His eyes became blank. "I've completely lost the sense of time. I can't remember how long it's been since I've been here. But, if you put it that way..." He paused, trying to regain his voice. Then he came back to reality and stared at Noah. "Everyone else died around me. I was the only one left alive. I was the last survivor of the Mandela."
Noah looked at him sharply. No one here can corroborate his story. He could only choose to believe him or not. In this case, how to find out the truth?
"I'm Commander Gram," he repeated. "From USS Mandela. Registration: NCC 1918. Entered service in 2250. I forget the exact date. Old class. Commanded by Captain Marla Tiner. Is there anything else I need to tell you?" His voice was laced. begging. He finally found someone, but no one believed him.
Noah was at a loss. This man seemed to know something, but these were things he could also learn from others. And, based on his experience with Charles, he needed to be more careful. He needs the input of trusted people.
Just then, Jeffrey appeared next to him, as if summoned. He's such a punctual guy, Noah thought to himself. "Any questions, Captain?" the Vulcan asked.
"Listen to this man's story," and said to Gram, "Tell him."
The man repeated his story laboriously and in a trembling voice. As he spoke, his voice grew weaker and weaker. So much telling seemed to strain him. "Please believe me," he then begged. His knees began to slacken. Before Noah and Jeffrey could react, a hand slipped under Gram's arm from behind and supported him.
"You shouldn't have put him to such trouble," said a calm voice. Then, his face also appeared. Long black hair surrounds an angular face, and there is a bone spur on his forehead. This is Nilfer, the Klingon who took a Vulcan name. "He's exhausted and doesn't have much time left. Let him rest."
"We might need to get some information from him," Noah countered, wanting to help Gram.
"I can also answer the questions you want to ask him. I know everything he knows." Nilf replied, continuing to support Gram.
Noah and Jeffrey looked at each other. The peaceful atmosphere surrounding this Klingon was truly strange. Such a temperament is completely inappropriate. Not suitable for this environment and not suitable for this Klingon. This is not Klingon style at all. Noah only knew one person, and he was the Vulcan standing next to him, a person with a calm atmosphere like Nilf. "How could we trust a Klingon?" Noah asked challengingly.
However, Nilf just raised his right eyebrow, and Gram answered him first. “You can trust him because I trusted him, too.”
Noah remains skeptical, and Jeffrey expresses his thoughts. "You may have discussed it in advance to deceive us."
"Do you really believe that?" Gram asked in a trembling voice.
"Trust doesn't matter in this matter, it's the facts that matter," Jeffrey replied calmly. "So far, there is no evidence that you did not collude beforehand."
"But there is no evidence to prove that we want to harm you," Nilf said equally calmly.
If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, Noah would have almost thought it was two Vulcans fighting. But Nirfer is clearly a Klingon. In fact, he is long overdue to back up his argument with anger and fists.
"Please believe him," Gram begged. "The Mandela's fate is now secure and it will eventually reach Starfleet. You will eventually know what happened to the ship."
"If we can get out of here," Jeffrey replied.
"You will definitely do it, I'm sure." Gram's knees softened and he said. "Tell them everything," he said to Nilf. "I have no chance." His voice was nothing more than a whisper, but Nilf seemed to understand it without any problem. The Klingon just nodded solemnly and helped Gram to the ground.
Nilf raised his head and looked directly into the captain's eyes. "I can't ask you to believe me. But please respect a dying man's wishes and listen to me."
There was something about Nilf that fascinated Noah. Maybe it was his strange aura, so different from the Klingons. Furthermore, his eyes lacked the wildness of a typical Klingon.
He looked at Jeffrey thinking. The latter nodded almost unconsciously. This is a sign of approval. This made Noah sure that he would at least listen to what Nilf had to say. "Okay, go ahead," he said to the Klingon.
"Commander Gram was the first officer of the Mandela. The ship was captured by the Demon Flame ten months and thirteen years ago. Some of the crew died while defending the ship, and the rest were brought here to die. .Captain Mara Tiner was killed while boarding the ship, so Gram became the most senior officer. Officer Moyan preserved his life and kept him alive while he suffered here. Moyan thought For him to see his crew suffer and die around him. This is the game they played on him. Even though he is alive now after all this time. But he is broken inside and is no threat to the Demon Flamers. They have been there too many times Take him away, torture and abuse him. He knows that as long as there is one crew member alive, he has no chance of death. This idea is unbearable for him. But now it seems that his time is numbered." Nilf stated calmly There is no emotion in this. This is just a dispassionate account of events.
Noah listened, silently. This story doesn't sound very good. At least not to himself. If the demonic flames did to him what Commander Gram had experienced, then he would have spent a very long time here. This thought made him unwilling to think about it any more. "What happened to that missing finger?" Noah asked instead.
"This was the result of a torture session by the Demon Flame. In order to torture him, they tore off his fingers. There is no more reason behind it. During the torture, the Demon Flame did not ask him questions. Their purpose was not to obtain information. .It's just to humiliate the victim and show their power." Nilf explained calmly. To him, these were simply dispassionate statements of events.
Noah felt fear inside. If the Demon Flame does the same thing to him as it did to Commander Gram, then he's going to be here for a very long time. He didn't want to think about it any further.
"Then why should we believe you?" This question troubled Noah. What's this Klingon's strategy? Does he need allies to try and escape? Or trying to incite a riot without showing up?
"Because that's what it is," Nilfer said quietly.
"That's it? How do you know these things so clearly?" Noah did not intend to let this question go.
"I am integrated with the thinking of Commander Gram." Nilf's answer made Noah completely confused. This never occurred to him. This is completely impossible. Klingons simply don't have such psychic powers, just like humans do. There are only a handful of races in the universe whose minds are so pure and evolved that they can develop psychic abilities similar to superpowers. This is the prerequisite for achieving abilities such as mind reading or mind fusion. "That's impossible. Only Martians have this ability." Noah didn't even wait for an answer. He had had enough of the Klingons' lies and turned to leave.
"There are some half-Martians," he heard Jeffrey say, and he stopped as if frozen.
The ship's sirens sounded, accompanied by red warning lights illuminating the command module. It's almost like walking through a blood-red curtain of light, because under such light, the operating console also takes on a slightly reddish hue. Captain Razor closed his eyes briefly. There was something about this Klingon ship that made him very uncomfortable, and the alarm system was apparently one of them. He was sure he would never fit in. But modifying the system would cost a lot of money, and the ship would be stuck at the space dock for days. He would never take such a risk, it wasn't that important. Otherwise, the previous owner might use the opportunity to attack them while they are trapped. This is possible because the Klingons were very unhappy about losing their ship. But for pirates, this ship is really suitable. The exterior design resembles the bird shape of a predator, which is intimidating. The weaponry is quite powerful for the size of the ship, and the cloaking device is perfect for surprise attacks. Then disappear immediately. It's just that the interior decoration is relatively simple. If only the Klingons had rubber skin, they might feel more comfortable here.
"Captain, we have found the ship on the Repubrick." At this time, someone interrupted his thoughts.
Captain Razor looked up at the screen. A Starfleet spaceship appeared on the screen, floating in space without any control. The hull was clearly marked "Republic", and next to the "b" of the name there was a hole that looked like it had been scratched by a giant claw. The scene was distressing for Captain Razer, who knew that the ship's hull was the only thing protecting the crew from death in space. Every time he saw the destroyed ships, he was reminded again of their vulnerability in space. They face this vulnerability every time they set out. The ship slowly rotated on its axis. It looks like abandoned space junk.
"Are there any signs of life?" Lei Ze asked, then sat nervously on the command chair. He knew they could take their time with their operations. The ship posed no threat. In addition, the pirate ship itself is still invisible. He wondered if there was anything worth looting on the ship. But despite this, he was still eager to know the status of the Federation ship.
