Cargo Hold
Krasnyk
Munro System
M’raq briskly passed crates full of dried meat and spare parts before diving straight into a knot of his crewmen. All off-duty males had gathered in the cargo hold, to greet their prisoner. They managed to drag the Ape from his cockpit/escape capsule without rendering any part of him permanently damaged. At least they have not damaged him yet. The Terran pilot looked slight and puny before the sheer size of the average Kilrathi. The fact that such smallish creatures managed to successfully battle his own race in ground combat was a testimony to their own skill.
The captain forced his way passed crewmen in a not-so-gentle fashion. One crewman, a more skilled pilot than Nalkarg, M’raq simply pushed him hard into a bulkhead. The pilot growled in annoyance, but made no move to strike back. That was wise; Kilrathi captains had the power of life and death over all their crew. He needed all three-eights of warriors to run his ship. He supposed automation could help, but what machine could appreciate the glory of a hard won battle?
When his crew tried to rip the Ape from his flight suit, M’raq closed the remaining gap in a few strides. “Looks like we finally have some fresh meat,” one of the Kilrathi called out, bringing a round of approving laughter. M’raq would not mind the taste of flesh that is not salted, dried nor otherwise artificially preserved, but such desires had to wait.
“There will be no such feast tonight!” M’raq roared. “This Ape is going to Intel for interrogation.” Maybe the Ki’ra scions that infest the intelligence service can drag the information from him. They might act most unwarrior-like, but they long ago learned that there are more efficient means of extracting information than beating the suspect to death.
Growls of protest rose up in his off-duty crew. One of the Krasnyk’s gunners stepped forward. “Lord Captain, we have gone without proper food for too long. There are also more Apes to be caught.”
M’raq snorted his disagreement. “Not of his rank.” M’raq was pleased to see the insignia of a Sub-Shintar. It was high for a pilot, but not high enough to make him the carrier’s wing commander. He was just a squadron commander. “If you want to feast upon Terran flesh, then either capture a low ranking one, or transfer to the army.”
The rations would certainly be better. One might even be able to live off the land, provided the planet was not too badly damaged in the conquest. “What of his legs? Surely he does not need them to talk?”
M’raq’s growl was deep and vicious. His swipe was equally deep and vicious. The captain’s claws tore into his gunner’s jaw, just high enough above his throat to prevent it from being ripped from his living body. Blood sprayed across both Kilrathi, as bits of flesh came free from the gunner’s face. To his credit, the gunner did not utter a sound, though he was no doubt in serious pain. The aim of M’raq’s slash made its point as well; he could have just as easily killed his gunner as scarred him.
“Take the Ape to the brig! There will be no more contemplating him as dinner! Am I understood?” M’raq’s mane bristled, daring any to challenge. Blood dripping from his hand to the deck gave all doubts. Perhaps he was too rough on the gunner, but if M’raq let such insolence go unchecked, his crew might think him weak. As the codex goes; ‘a weak leader gains no followers’.
All Kilrathi present stiffened to attention, baring their throats in submission to their leader. “Understood, Lord Captain!”