WARNING: The contents of this chapter contain material of a graphic nature, and is intended for mature audiences only. Reader discretion is advised.
)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
Camp Biden Holding Facility, Rise of the Empire Foodstuffs, Alderaberg, Occupied Mars
)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
The Martian Christian Church spoke of a place called Hell, where a Dark-sider named Satan tortured poor souls for eternity. The Corellians had a similar concept of Hell, which was one of nine realms of Chaos making up the netherworld of the Force, where the ghosts of Sith Lords past tormented those who fell to the Dark Side. The Mon Cal had a similar concept of the Abyss where servants of the Great Leviathan, in the form of Quarren demons of course, tortured those who fell from grace in the eyes of Dac's old kings and queens.
Althus Vebb didn't think any of those places could touch the pit of despair that was named Camp Biden.
"Fierfek Camp Biden." Althus whispered to herself over and over that first month in the blinding light of her cell. After that horrific death march, they had separated the troopers from the 212th Legion and forced the alien sentients into this debauched hell on Mars.
That was the last time she saw another single, living being. She had been separated from the rest of the crew of the Convor and thrown into this cell. The room was a two-by-two meter box with padded walls on three sides to prevent her from beating her brains out. Along one wall was a one-way mirror, which she was positive hid cams that recorded her every move. To make matters worse the Earthling guards had stripped her of her clothing and left her nude. She had a retractable fresher pot that she could call for her biological needs, but she also suspected the device catalogued and sampled her excrement for medical research. Food came once a day in paste form through a nozzle in the ceiling, and she was only able to activate it after answering a series of logic puzzles that appeared on the mirror an hour before feeding time.
Her back was sore from sleeping and sitting on the floor day after day. To make matters worse the room was only a meter and half high, preventing her from standing upright and getting a decent stretch. She was cold all the time. The place had an antiseptic reek to it, and vents circulated air tainted with a bleach aroma several times a day. Sometimes late into her sleep cycle, she had no idea if it were day or night anymore, she would hear faint, distant screams emanating through the walls of the prison.
It must have been after a month or two of isolation that Althus was awoken by a roaring klaxon. As she cleared the sleep from her eyes one of the padded walls slowly slid open. As she turned to the disturbance, a pair of blue-suited humans rushed in. Each of them carried a large plastoid shield that they used to ram her into the far wall and pin her. Behind the shield-bearers came three more humans in blue utility suits. They carried more blue clothing with them.
As she struggled against the shields the other humans aggressively dressed her in an identical utility suit. They didn't give her any undergarments or socks. They just forced Velcro laced sneakers on her webbed feet. One of them grunted at her during the grapple. "Stop fighting, baker, the Empress did this to you."
Althus didn't understand what they had called her, but she sure enough understood that Empress Phasma had nothing to do with her current predicament. Once she was dressed, they dragged her into the hall outside her cell and shut the door behind her. They stood her up and she found her legs were weak from not being able to stand for so long.
They placed her in the middle of four more blue clad humans. Two in front of her and two more in the back. She wasn't sure if they were Imperial humans or Earthling near-humans. Out in the corridor, she stopped struggling and took in her surroundings. For the first time she noted each of the humans were shaved bald and had an identical, small scar on the left side of their heads. Each of them was a female. Without a word they started marching forward. Althus feared their intentions if she didn't go with them and quickly fell into step. Her legs weren't as weak as they had been by the end of the death march, but they were a tad wobbly from weeks in solitary confinement.
The halls of the facility were clean and bright with a slight chill. They reminded her of a med clinic. As they marched, they passed several laboratories filled with more humans in white lab coats, and dozens of patient rooms. It wasn't until she had passed by several of them that she noted each bed was nothing more than a metal exam table with several restraining binds attached to each of them.
She was so intent on looking at her new surroundings that she almost didn't notice her first alien. The tiny shriek came from another laboratory. As they walked past, Althus was able to peer into an observation viewport. Inside, a scientist directed a pair of strange droids, Althus would later learn they were called Chappies, in manhandling a diminutive, rodent alien in an orange jumpsuit. It took a moment for Althus to identify the prisoner as a Jawa, as she had never seen one without its hood on. The Chappies flipped the hapless Jawa upside down and held its feet still. Under the scientist's direction another Chappie stepped forward with a red hot branding iron. While the little Jawa shrieked the Chappies pressed the scalding metal to the poor creature's feet. As the group moved past the viewport, Althus cringed at the wanton cruelty she had witnessed.
She was led into a large room. The high permacrete walls of the place suggested an abandoned limmie court or an emptied public swimming pool. Inside were five ranks of six blue clad prisoners. Most were human but she spotted several near-human aliens amongst them. None of them met her gaze but silently stood facing the front of the room. She was shown her place in the formation, and with nothing else to do stood with the rest of them.
Time passed slowly. Althus feared what would happen if she stepped out of her place in line and took the break as a chance to plan her next move. At the moment she was pretty low on ideas.
As time went by several beings crossed the front of the room on their way from one section of the facility to another, giving Althus the impression the space was some kind of travel junction. More blue and orange clad beings walked past the formation. Althus noticed the orange suited prisoners were of the majority aliens, and she strained to identify any members of the Convor's crew among them.
After what she figured was about two hours of standing around and waiting, Althus's heart skipped a beat as she recognized a figure entering the room. Despite the chill of the room, a cold sweat broke out along her chitinous skin. Something wicked, this way came.
Though surrounded by a small entourage of fawning scientists, Dr. Incite was a man who took the time to take in every facet of his surroundings. Dressed in what looked like an expensive Earth suit and flanked by a pair of body-armor wearing guards carrying slugthrowers, Dr. Incite crossed the front of the idle formation. Suddenly he stopped and stared at the small formation. His gaze was so clinical that Althus felt as if he was already dissecting them.
One of his scientists stopped when Incite did and noted what his superior was looking at. "New bakers, doctor."
"Of course. One of our most ambitious and important projects. I trust we are getting good results with this case study group?" Dr. Incite asked his subordinate. His eyes fells on Althus causing her blood to move like glacial ice.
The Earthling moved like a creeping fog as he weaved his way through the front ranks of the other blue-clad prisoners. He came to a standstill directly in front of the helpless Mon Cal. Studying her like a biological sample underneath a microscope, he peered at her aquatic features as if he were committing them to memory. His guards came to his side as he stood there. They each gave Althus a glare and rested their hands on the truncheons secured to their belts.
"Althus Vebb, I see your time in quarantine has concluded. You must understand that you and your crew mates were quite contaminated during your stay under the First Order's care as well as that dreadful march from the Area 51 ship. Such a waste of potential research candidates." Incite tisked sadly. For a moment Althus actually believed the cold-hearted scientist was capable of processing loss.
Incite continued his inspection. "I am heartbroken. You were my first aquatic alien and I had so hoped to include you in some of the depth limits and pressurization studies my researchers have prepared. What an honor it would have been to be part of such important research papers. Alas, I fear your contamination was left unchecked for too long. I've already had words with Colonel Bishop on the matter and we've limited the amount of exposure other case studies might experience. But don't fret, my dear. I've got an ample supply of other Mon Cals here at the bakery, and as a baker yourself, you'll be able to oversee some wonderful science."
"B-b-b-baker?" Althus stuttered. The guards crept forward. Their fingers tightened around their truncheons.
Incite held up a hand. "It's alright. Althus, here, has not been properly orientated to her new role in this facility yet. Bakers, such as you, are in charge of the loaves. Bakers are subject to my researchers and guards and as long as you behave you shall enjoy the privilege of work. Get out of line and whatever befalls you is out of my hands." Incite cocked his head and spoke over his shoulder to the other bakers, "And why is that?"
"The Empress did this to you." Each of the blue-clad prisoners said in unison with one another.
"Precisely. You, your fellow aliens, and the false humans are in the position you are in today because your Empress has abandoned you. Our 4th class prisoners are here because the Empress has forced our hand. The Empire is a flawed system with a vile monarchy worshiped by lower alien sensibilities. We shall show you the error of your ways and perhaps find some purpose for you within the Confederacy. But first, I'm afraid you did speak out of turn, and you should be reminded of your true place." Dr. Incite's face never changed, never gave a hint of what was to come as he snapped his fingers.
Althus's eyes hadn't left the two menacing guards. They were muscular brutes who looked experienced in dishing out pain. With her focus on the Earthlings, she never saw the first blow coming.
A baton slapped across her back, sending her stumbling forward. Before she could shamble into Incite the prisoner next to her had reached behind her neck into her own utility suit to extract another baton. With a spin she caught Althus across her midsection. The next blow came from the prisoner on the other side across her shoulders sending Althus to the floor.
Dr. Incite and the guards stepped back as the bakers all removed hidden clubs and batons. As they wailed and beat upon the helpless Mon Cal they pushed and shoved each other out of the way to deliver harsher blows than the prisoner before them. As they swung each would shout, "The Empress did this to you." Until their voices overlapped so that all Althus understood was, "The Empress, the Empress, the Empress."
Laying bruised and bloodied on the floor, the beating didn't stop until a few minutes later when Dr. Incite snapped his fingers again. The bakers scrambled away to fall back into formation. Their chests heaved from their exertion.
Incite stood over Althus. "You see, baker. No Confederate will ever lay a hand on you. In time you will only remember the trauma and what we have taught you here. Your pain now is because the Empress wills it. You may not believe it now, but you are a part of it. For example, in your opinion which of your fellow bakers went the easiest on you?"
Althus wasn't sure what he was asking. She hurt everywhere, but even more the brutal shock of what had just occurred to her was not letting her accept her reality. Did he want her to name names? She didn't know any of the other prisoners. All of their blows and hits had stung, and she wasn't certain if she was permanently maimed or worse. Incite was persistent. "You may speak, baker. Whose blows were the softest?"
Althus didn't know. Finally, she pointed at the man who had been standing next to her. Incite nodded and then turned to the man. "The Empress did this to you." The man dropped his baton and didn't try to defend himself. The other bakers broke formation and fell upon the man, delivering violent, bone cracking strikes that went on for several minutes. Finally, after several more minutes, Incite stopped them again with a snap of his fingers. Two prisoners picked up the unconscious male and dragged him away, leaving a heavy blood trail in their wake.
Incite looked to Althus, who had regained her feet and tried her best to stand at attention despite the aches and pain coursing through her muscles. "Do your work, baker. You are abandoned, just as your Empress wanted. Fail at that and you will find out how truly alone you are."
With that Incite turned and returned to his entourage. They launched into updates of their projects as they walked off as if two brutal beatings of sentient beings hadn't just happened right before their eyes. Althus wondered if the male prisoner was still alive after his beating. Had she killed him? Had the Empress made her kill him?
She blinked in surprise at her own line of thinking.
What was happening with her reasoning?
No guard led them away from the assembly room. Instead, the other bakers seemed to know where to go. They marched away, with Althus in tow, as if she had always been part of them. The bakers passed groups of orange-clad prisoners and for the first time Althus noticed there were very few black armored guards around. Mostly the larger groups of orange prisoners, who Althus would soon learn were called loaves, were ushered around by other bakers. The loaves were nearly all aliens while most of the bakers were humans.
The loaves were shuffled to small individual cells and watched by cams and roving bakers. But the bakers had their own barracks. A single guard protected the two person cells the bakers were housed in. With a point of his finger, he assigned a room to Althus and a human woman. There was a buzzing alarm and each of the bakers ran for their cells. Althus followed along, not wanting to know what happened if she was caught outside her cell when the buzzing stopped. A large metal door slammed shut behind her as she entered.
The room was completely bare except for a single metal fresher in the corner and an odd sleeper along one wall of the cell. It was small enough to only fit one of them. Were they meant to share it?
Althus looked to her new cell mate. The woman's head was shaved recently, and the hair had only started to grow back. She had a scar on the left side of her head like many of the other bakers she had witnessed. Had they been experimented on? Had that mad Dr. Incite removed a part of their brains, she wondered?
"I will go first. We only get eight hours of rest time." The woman spoke quietly in accented Basic.
"Eight hours seems like plenty." Althus replied.
"Four for me. Four for you. The bed is weighted and monitored. They know exactly how much sleep we get."
"It's ok. I will sleep on the floor." Althus offered.
The woman's eyebrow raised. She handed Althus her baton and laid down on the sleeper. "No, you stand guard."
"Stand guard from what?" Althus looked disbelieving at the door. If the guards sicced the other bakers on her there would be little she could do about it.
"In case I move." The woman said.
"What?"
"Movement is prohibited. The bed is monitored by sensors. Do you see the green light above the door?" Althus looked up at the lamp and nodded. "Any time I toss or turn the light will glow. It will not turn off until you deliver a severe enough blow. The bed's sensors will detect it. If you take more than a minute, they will send in men to punish us. Believe me, you don't want that."
"That's insane." Althus gasped.
"The whole galaxy is insane."
"I don't know if I can."
"It's alright. If you don't then we both get beaten."
"I'm Althus by the way."
"Szia, Althus. I am Naomie. I've seen other aliens like you. Are you a were-lobster?"
"Lobster? No I don't think so. I'm a Mon Cal." Althus assured her. "And you are a Confederate?"
"Ha! No. I'm a fourth-class Romani from Hungary. If my birth status wasn't enough to get me sent here, I was caught stealing groceries from a second-class store. Instead of sending me to a durasteel prison factory I was sent up as part of a large group of loaves."
"You were a loaf? How did you become a baker?" Althus asked.
"I was part of a project for blood transfusions. You know this process?"
"Aye, we have synthetic plasma in the Empire because of so many types. I have blue type O. But red is more common, especially in the human sentients. But I know of yellow, green and black types as well."
"I wish you had the same as us, then what I was forced to witness wouldn't have happened."
"What happened?" Althus finally had someone to talk to about this place and she didn't want Naomie to stop now, even if she had to prod her about an uncomfortable subject.
"Dr. Chettiar is a hematologist here. He injected us with IV fluids from alien after alien." The Earthling explained. Althus shuddered. Every academy youngling in the Empire learned in biology that you shouldn't mix blood types and especially not blood colors. "Oh, the good doctor had our blood typed and cataloged but for most it didn't matter. Hundreds of loaves died from Imperial blood. I heard one of Chettiar's researchers say we were missing some kind of protein Imperials had. Something to do with potassium, I think."
"I've never heard of such a horrible thing. I don't know anything about a protein deficiency, but shouldn't the red blood recipients have survived if the blood was typed correctly?" Althus asked.
"I don't know. I think my group was a lucky control group. All ten survived some green blood from a Rodian supposedly. Another ten were given the same blood and they all died in great pain."
"Dark Side take them." Althus swore.
"After that, maybe thirty of us survived out of five hundred. They turned us into bakers after putting monitors in our head." Naomie tapped the scar on the side of her head. Althus peered at it. Was this an inhibitor chip that Dr. Incite had told her about back on Earth? The bakers that had beaten her in the earlier formation didn't seem to have any hesitation when it came to following Dr. Incite's cues.
"I guess you were contaminated like me and my friends. I wonder if they are here."
"There are many alien bakers inside the bakery. Plus, alien soldiers of the surrendered troops from that mountain battle run the outside experiments."
"The 212th is here? How come they aren't inside with the rest of us?" Althus asked, finding strength in numbers.
"I don't make the decisions. If I did, I would never have come to this place."
"Where do the other Earth bakers come from?"
"All over Earth. The government doesn't care about dirty fourthers. We have no rights."
"I think it was like that in the Old Empire. But everyone says it's better under the Empress. She even brought back the Senate."
"The Empress left you here. You better learn that quickly. The guards want to hear us saying it all day long or they will sic the others on us." Naomie warned.
Althus felt the aches in her legs and arms. She had no desire to be beaten again. "Why were so many females among our group of bakers?"
"It's like that in each group. There is big experiment going on in a lab on the other side of the bakery."
"Oh, doing what?" Althus had a healthy interest in females before the war. Now any libido she once had had long cooled.
"Fertilization studies under Dr. Palmer. They inseminate the women with alien seed to see what would happen. I don't know of many pregnancies. Only a few with the more human Imperials. I get the goosebumps when I think about it." Naomie admitted.
Althus could fully sympathize. She momentarily feared she would be raped here to satisfy some Confederate's curiosity, before realizing the study probably utilized artificial insemination. In the Empire cross species pregnancy was possible, though not that common. Usually, the infant took on the traits of the alien over the human parent, and the child was typically infertile upon reaching maturity. For many species fertilization was impossible, such as Mon Cals with humans. The most common cross species fertilization was the rumored impregnation of a large part of Camp 1138 during the last war. The Empire had purposely shipped all the mothers back to Earth after the war and mystery orphans had been raised by the Honorable East Empire Company during the inter-war years. Somehow, what the Confederate scientists were trying to do seemed just as evil. She wondered if the small amount of pregnancies here on Mars was a result of the protein issue Naomie had mentioned.
The lamps went out in the room. Naomie became deathly still under the lone blanket on the sleeper. She closed her eyes. "Good night, Althus. The lights will come on in four hours and we can switch places."
Althus had more questions, however, she respected her new friend's need for sleep. She felt tired herself. She sat on the floor and watched the unlit green light above the door. She must have nodded off for the lamps suddenly turned on, waking her from her nap.
Naomie jumped out of the sleeper and grabbed the baton from Althus's hands. "Get into bed. We only have a minute to switch."
"Dank Ferrik, I'm moving." Althus swore as she climbed into the bed and pulled the blanket over her torso. Her last sight was of Naomie standing over her tapping the baton in her open palm when the lamps went out again.
The first blow came ten minutes after she had fallen asleep again. Althus had forgotten not to move and had turned on her side, illuminating the green lamp. With a swift downstroke, Naomie laid a blow across Althus's belly. "The Empress did this to you."
Althus couldn't even rub the bruise after the green lamp went out. If she did she feared its green hues illuminating another assault. With petrified fear she cried herself to sleep.
Althus was awoken before sunrise by the same alarm klaxon that had sent the bakers to their cells. The prisoners shuffled from their rooms to a fresher on the far side of the barracks. There the Confederate engineers had repurposed a row of sonic showers for the inmates to use. They rushed through, only taking a few seconds apiece to vibrate off all the dirt and grime of the day before. Althus would have given anything for a hot shower with water. At the end of the line another prisoner sprayed the line down with an antiseptic deodorizer.
Althus was surprised to see the baker with the spray gun was her old shipmate, Melion Card. The Muun spotted her amongst the bedraggled mass of blue utility suits. His eyes went wide in recognition. As he sprayed her down, she smiled hopefully. She wanted to say something, but he shook his head to warn her to remain quiet before moving onto the next prisoner.
His presence gave her the slightest bit of hope and joy to fight away the darkness. Perhaps the others were still alive and somewhere inside this nightmare of a bakery.
And just like that Melion was whisked away as the next baker moved forward. There were dozens of groups of thirty bakers, each supervising large groups of what they called loaves; aliens like her who were seen as nothing more than laboratory womp rats. Perhaps the rest of the Convor's crew were somewhere among the other baker groups or, Lightside forbid, they were among the unfortunate loaves.
Naomie pushed her from behind. They weren't here to dawdle and contemplate things beyond their control. They were here to serve the administrators and scientists of Camp Biden and it's ironically named cover, the Rise of the Empire Foodstuffs, where not a lick of food was ever produced.
Althus's orientation continued as her group of bakers marched into the facility's cafeteria. Their breakfast was a pasty rice gruel and a couple slices of bread with butter. One of the male bakers made the mistake of complaining he hadn't received enough spread on his slice. One of the kitchen staff, an Earthling trooper from their army, overheard the complaint. With a snap of his fingers the bakers jumped upon the complainer. Althus was the only one who hesitated drawing her baton until Naomie pushed her forward. Echoing the others, she laid a strike across the man's left arm and shouted, "The Empress did this to you." She was shoved aside by other bakers eager to deliver their own blows upon their fallen comrade.
"Who went easy on you?" The trooper asked the injured man. He barely had the strength to point to a human female baker next to Althus.
She couldn't believe the relief she felt that he hadn't chosen her. Yet she gripped her baton and smacked the female across her shoulder. The group demanded it and she had done her part, again echoing their mantra, "The Empress did this to you."
Why had she reacted so, Althus worried? She had never had an inhibitor chip implanted in her brain as she feared had happened to her fellow bakers. The fact that she thought of herself as a baker was disturbing enough, but now she was reacting just like one of the group.
The cycle repeated again as the injured girl choose another female as the one who had gone the easiest on her. The group acted as one once more. Althus lost herself in the rhythm as they nearly beat to death one of their own. This time the victim lost consciousness, ending the trooper's cruel game.
Two bakers dragged the injured away to Camp Biden's infirmary while the rest of them were dismissed from the cafeteria; their breakfasts uneaten. Camp Biden marked a terrible departure in the annals of medicine and scientific inquiry. Althus wondered if the legendary Sith had ever created something so vile in their evil machinations. The camp was part prison, part hospital, of a sort, and part microbial and chemical research lab, using beings in a method that the galactic scientific community reserved for lizard-monkeys, womp rats, tookas and other lab animals.
Inside the massive facility, blocks of prison cells housed approximately 2400 to 2500 alien guinea pigs. They were shackled at the ankles and wrists, yet were also fed well-balanced meals at a nutritional level well above what the bakers received. Their diet included frequent servings of meat and fish shipped from Earth. Loaves were also given time to exercise in a special exercise room watched over by their baker overseers.
The only goal of such treatment was to keep the loaves healthy enough in all respects other than the diseases they contracted when lethal bacteria and viruses were injected into them by Dr. Incite's researchers. When she saw it in action, Althus realized the scientists were attempting to negate the effects of malnutrition, muscular atrophy, obesity and other normal sentient problems in service to their dastardly experiments. Incite preferred younger than middle-aged loaves for subject material, just as research scientists generally preferred their lab animals to be as young and healthy as possible at the outset, in order to achieve optimum experimental controls and the most accurate results for his Confederate masters back on Earth.
Their first task of the day was cleaning the ovens. While falsely claiming to be a foodstuff production facility, the laboratory actually did house several hundred large ovens. One of the practical problems the researchers of Camp Biden faced was the continuous transport of hazardous materials from Earth at the same time they were trying to bring up large amounts of healthy colonists and military units for the fighting along the Bloodstripe Run. The laboratory had to fuel its own experimentation efforts by growing its own supply of viruses and rickettsia to have a sufficient amount on hand for the creation of epidemics.
The bakers manned a large area reserved for the incubation of bacteria in rows of specially designed incubator ovens. Each oven measured approximately half a meter by a meter and weighed about 135 kilos, and held fifteen trays for growing colonies of bacteria. Each contained three kilograms of gelatinous agar-agar nutrient medium, upon which the bacteria fed.
The bakers scraped the bacteria off each tray at intervals, the harvesting period depending on the species of bacterium. For example, aerobic bacteria grew better in the presence of oxygen, such as anthrax and glanders. What the Earthlings called the plague, typhoid, and paratyphoid organisms, could be collected from the ovens every twenty-four or forty-eight hours. Anaerobic bacteria such as tetanus and gangrene were more difficult to raise and required a week of growing before they were harvested. A third category of bacterium required even more care. These were diseases much more familiar to Althus such as Hesken Fever, Anoat Pox, Kozema, Chirgotta, Green Hives, Gugal Bloom, and the, apparently by the Earthlings, much feared Festering Plague among dozens of others from across the Empire. The Earthlings studied the new bacterium even more thoroughly than they did their sentient research subjects. They certainly treated them better, keeping them suspended in captured bio-sterilization fields.
Althus worried about the meager protective gear they were given. Supposedly it was top of the line back on Earth but fell far short of anything used in the Empire. Naomie shrugged when Althus brought it up, replying that if you got sick you would just become one of the loaves again, and sick loaves didn't last long. This type of work is for the droids, Althus figured.
By the time they were finished Althus had done the math. The facility could produce at peak performance about a metric ton of cholera bacteria a month, five to seven hundred kilograms of anthrax, three hundred kilograms of bubonic plague bacteria, and about eight hundred kilograms of typhoid. The germs were continually collected from their cultivating ovens, put in sealed plastic syringes, and then stored for later deployment in the outside galaxy as germ warfare.
They worked hard and as swiftly as safety concerns allowed. When they were finished a research manager told their group to move to another area of Camp Biden to process a new shipment of loaves from Earth. Naomie said most of the Earthling loaves were destined for the blood replacement and alien insemination products. Only a handful would be taken for the disease experiments as it was more highly detailed research. Althus shuddered when her new roommate told her that even though the loaves were taken from the hardy fourther class on Earth, their lifespans after arrival at Camp Biden rarely lasted more than thirty days.
They marched two by two out of the oven section past other baker squads furiously cleaning every nook and cranny of the research lab with antiseptic sprays. Outside the building were rows and rows of more of Camp Biden's nefarious research labs. Althus had a rudimentary understanding of the alternate Basic script the Earthlings used and could read LICE/TICK/FLEA MUTATION on the nearest ones. That made some sense, as she recalled most of those pests had evolved only to irritate one or another specific sentient species. If they could be mutated to carry Earth diseases as well, the horror made her shudder.
There was a large open space next to the rows of labs. Althus thought it was a parade ground or some sort of sports field at first. Bakers from another team had escorted three loaves to the center of the field and tied them to stakes. There was some kind of device the Earth researchers were fussing over at one end of the field and the loaves had been secured at intervals of fifty, seventy-five and a hundred meters from it. Once they were bound the researchers quickly moved some distance from the round, cylindrical device they had been working on.
With a pop that sounded like pottery breaking the cylinder burst releasing a phosphorescent green cloud that drifted down wind towards the shackled prisoners. The prisoners gagged and choked as the cloud enveloped them before dissipating into the air. Althus watched the whole act unfold from several hundred meters away, before nudging Naomie. "What the kriff is going on over there?"
"Germ bombs. They use prisoners from the soldiers that surrendered. Infect them with the Martian Fester and then try to cure them." Naomie whispered her explanation. Visible curiosity in anything in Camp Biden drew a swift beating.
"But Imperial troopers are vaccinated against the Fester. And bacta clears it up lickety-split."
"Bacta is rare on Earth. Only the 1st Class can afford it from pre-war stocks. Perhaps they're trying to make a variant of Martian Fester that is bacta resistant." Naomie suggested.
Who would do such a terrible thing, Althus thought? If troopers couldn't fight off simple diseases like the Festering Plague then it would spread to the Empire's civilian population. "It would make it . . ."
"Like Earth after the last war. The Martian Fester killed tens of millions. We all lost people to it." Naomie blankly stated.
Althus had never heard of the Fester breaking out on Earth. It wasn't something covered on the HoloNews or taught in the Academies. The platoon of bakers had marched all the way across the edge of the open ground before Althus saw what had become of the staked troopers.
They arrived at a large receiving yard. The Earthlings had constructed an oddly railed train yard instead of the normal hover train siding one would expect to find in the Empire. A small armada of wheeled vehicles were parked in a nearby motor pool. Lab coated researchers shouted on reek horns while disinterested black armored guards looked down from surrounding guard towers. Several more blue-suited baker groups had arrived before them and milled about in one corner of the railyard waiting for orders. Althus's group was ordered to join them by several guards.
A familiar voice greeted her from behind. "So, I see they finally let Her Crabbiness out from isolation."
Althus spun around, ignorant that any sudden, eager moves might draw the attention of the guards and another beating. Behind her stood the multi-limbed Xexto pilot of the Convor, Srev Drevan. Srev didn't meet her eye, instead he pretended to be looking at something in the distance. His normally cheerful and carefree attitude seemed to have completely vanished from the last time he had seen her.
"Srev you're a baker as well." Althus commented on his blue utility suit.
"Aye, I've been out for about two weeks. It's tough to tell because the kriffing Earthers' weeks are different than ours. However long it's been, it's been too long after what I've seen in this place." Srev whispered, for the first time Althus noticed he was studying the outer walls of the facility.
"Kriffing barricades. You think you could get anywhere near them?" Althus whispered out of earshot of even the nearby Naomie.
"If I can, I can scale them. That's Amidala City on the other side."
"What about the others? We can't leave them behind." Althus reminded the pilot.
"I can't do much for them here."
"Who is left from the Convor?" Althus asked.
"Melion is a baker like us, though they keep us separated in different units." Srev reported.
"Yeah, I've seen the old Muun this morning."
"Pontar is around too, though he's something of a protected loaf."
"Protected loaf?"
"Something like that. The Confeds didn't capture a lot of Givin. They're fascinated by his species' ability to withstand life in a vacuum. They've been doing experiments with him and trying to mutate some poor Earth fourthers with his DNA. My guess is they're trying to make a new kind of mutated space sailor for their Space Force, so he gets the VIB treatment. His own cell and everything. Must be nice." Srev rubbed his shoulder and Althus noticed bruises across his skin. His roommate must beat any movement Srev took in his sleep as Naomie did last night with her.
"What about the captain?" Althus asked.
Srev sighed and looked down. "Teemasvalli is on his last legs. I haven't seen him in days. He's still a loaf. Because of his breathing issues they stuck him in their viral lab."
"Dank ferrik." Althus swore. Teemasvalli may have been an idiot, but no one deserved the horrors of this place. She would say the Earthlings did but there were thousands of them trapped in here with the Imperials experiencing the same evil tribulations as the rest of them.
"Time to get to work. I'll contact you when I can." Srev indicated the locomotive rolling into the train yard. Althus offered a weak smile and then rejoined her assigned group of bakers.
Large shipping containers rested on the flatcars that comprised the train. Loaves from Earth were of the 4th class and the authorities rated them no better than cargo. Shipped up from Earth among the furniture and belongings of better off 1st and 2nd Class Confederates or the supplies the army needed for the occupation of Mars and packed into the bowels of Magnificient-class transports. A baker with a crowbar unfastened the bolts on the first container.
They stepped blinking into the light of Sol. Blocking the harsh light with their hands and gaping at the lilac sky overhead. They wore a rainbow of utility suits marking the various prisons they had come from on Earth. Made to strip in the open they were sprayed with water hoses and disinfectant spray before given the orange utility suit that would mark them as loaves. Bakers took away their old clothes and burned them.
The in-processing of the new loaves was a kind of perverse variation on the kind of routine medical testing done at a normal medical center. The bakers took their types of blood, their pulse and blood pressure. They were CT and PET-scanned and mapped by MRIs. Althus took a whole range of vital signs of the inductees which were carefully entered into a data recorder. The information was transferred to bar scans tattooed on the loaves' necks. Several bakers endured beatings for making the smallest of errors. Althus was forced to join each time, terrified they would turn their bludgeons on her.
The loaves looked on dispassionately whenever the bakers delivered a punishment. Their details such as name, birthplace, reason for incarceration and age were transferred to their bar codes. In their place, the loaves were given a number. A loaf was just a number, a piece of experimental material . . . They seemed to know their fate.
The doctors came out and took viable subjects for their studies. Naomie was correct in her prediction that most would go to the blood experimentation labs. The sex fertilization experimentation subjects must come on a different day, Althus figured, as none of the fertilization or sexually transmitted disease doctors were present here today.
The baker groups escorted subjects away as the researchers' quotas were filled. Althus and Naomie's group went one way while Srev's went another. It was here, inside the research block of labs that Althus learned the true horror of Camp Biden.
They delivered a dozen loaves to the Russian team producing a mammalian sentient targeted dysentery bacillus. Another dozen went to a Luna team working on cross-typing Typhoid to Twi'leks. More went to the Chinese team working on planetary rocket delivery systems for cholera and so on and so on. In each lab, 500 cubic centimeters of blood would be taken from each loaf every two to three days. This produced the effect of a progressive wasting disorder and the prisoners became weak and listless to the point of incapacitation. Althus learned that she had just missed taking part in an experiment on alien loaves where they drained each sentient species of blood to see when they died from low circulation or cellular deprivation.
She saw with her own eyes that first day that whenever a researcher wanted to study the effects of their grotesque medical studies on various organs the prisoners would be taken away to be dissected, the blood sera and organs collected and studied, often without the benefit of anesthesia or pain reduction spices. The method of murder for most experiment subjects was a strike to the head with an axe by one of the bakers, so that the brain could be immediately removed for examination. But most prisoners died of the particular microbial disease or chemical toxin that the doctors inflicted upon them, or from some medical study such as blood-letting or electrocution experiments.
A crematorium was attached to the facility and manned by another platoon of bakers. Each day the remaining flesh and bones of the eviscerated victims were turned to billowing chimney smoke and ash. Naomie and the other Earth bakers joked that the Confederacy had brought Auschwitz to Mars, and then had to explain to Althus just what exactly an Auschwitz was. She didn't find it humorous.
Althus and Naomie were assigned to a chemical toxin lab. There they were forced to watch an Earthling and an Imperial human placed into a brick lined room. After several minutes nozzles in the ceiling emitted phosgene gas which caused both prisoners to choke and gag before collapsing on the floor. Althus and Naomie were issued gas masks and ordered to haul out the stricken loaves and place them in restraints, tied to metal examination tables. A Confederate nurse took their vitals and commented that both were showing signs of pneumonia and respiratory failure. Digital clocks above each patient kept track of the time from exposure. The Imperial died first, a near sixteen minutes before the Earthling. Althus couldn't have begun to explain why one died before the other. To her disgust the researchers had already begun to dissect the dead Imperial long before the Earthling on the table next to him succumbed.
The blood experiments were already shipping out cadavers when Althus and her cell mate wheeled out the two phosgene victims. Alien plasma was injected into Earthlings over there at a copious rate to see if it could act as a substitute for human blood and plasma.
"It's not viable." Naomie whispered.
"What do you mean?" Althus said.
"The blood stuff. I've heard the researchers talking. They don't really care about setting up blood banks for our soldiers at the front. They're looking to solve the medium chloride problem."
"Medium chloride? Do you mean midi-chlorians?" Althus asked.
"That sounds right. I didn't know what it was they were talking about." Althus didn't either. Midi-chlorians was some far out conspiracy theory that had something to do with Jedi kidnapping younglings back in the Old Republic days. They could have been proteins or cells or even a specific blood type for all she knew.
After dropping the bodies off at the crematorium, they moved on to what Naomie called the Little Shop of Horrors. She growled in simmering anger, "Professional people, too, like to play."
She should have warned Althus what to expect. Single research teams were usually paired with a single loaf and a few baker assistants. Althus and Naomie watched as a Confederate doctor ripped the arms off of a Trandoshan before sewing them back on opposite sides of the torso. Besides the awful curiosity factor, experimental surgeries of the switching-arm type had a scientific value that would have been impossible to achieve under normal ethical protocols. Doctors knew the Trandoshans were able to rejuvenate lost limbs over time, but would the body reject limbs from the same individual if they were grafted onto the wrong location? Camp Biden appeared to be the only course for directly exploring this biomedical unknown. The Confederates took full advantage of it.
Gruesomely illustrating this point was the pursuit of Camp Biden researchers to treat frostbite and heat stroke, as they were curious just what every Imperial species could endure. Alien loaves were placed in refrigeration chambers with temperatures at negative twenty Celsius. Their arms were bared and made to freeze with an artificial current of air. This was done until their arms were frozen and then either Althus or Naomie, given a heavy parka, were sent in to strike the frozen limbs with their batons. Each shouting, "The Empress did this to you," as they did so. The arms of a near frozen Balosar male was hit by Althus and emitted a sound resembling a board being struck. It wasn't over for the poor Balosar. Naomie came into the chamber and poured water over his arms and hands. As ice formed over the Balosar's skin they would chip it off with a chipping tool, and then more icy water would be poured over the limbs as the process was repeated to the point that when the tissue was struck it was hard.
Afterwards the Balosar's limbs were amputated, but he was kept alive minus his arms to be reused in another Camp Biden experiment. Elsewhere in the frostbite lab a helpless Askajian, who had already undergone the experiment was being kept alive to study her gangrene infection. The infection, if left untreated, as the researchers intended to do, would eventually kill her.
Equally cruel, in the next lab, were the experiments to study the effects of dehydration and malnutrition. Currently Gotal prisoners would be given food to eat but no water. In another test, Gotal loaves were killed by exposure to intense dry heat using fans. The loss of body water through sweat transformed their physiology into that of mummies, and their lifeless bodies shrank down to one-fifth their original weight.
Althus and her cell mate worked long into the evening, only pausing for a dinner of nutrient bars and an electrolyte drink. They watched the loaves eat an even bigger meal than the one bakers received. Got to keep them healthy before the researchers murder them, Althus shivered at the cold reasoning that Incite's scientists followed.
A guard approached Althus after dinner and told her to report to the rhinovirus laboratory. Naomie was sent to the phase beam target range and ended up being separated from Althus for the time being.
Althus never hated a place as much as she did Camp Biden. If she had the choice she would have preferred being defenestrated into the cold grip of the Void than spend another day here. The loaves had it even worse than the bakers. Their ends were a deep dive into the dark side as far as she was concerned.
Each loaf suffered a scientific reductionism of his or her body into its constituent organs; blood, lekku, antennae, optic stalk, chemo receptor, proboscis, exoskeleton, and cellular subset. Each prisoner was literally harvested for whatever experimental value he or she possessed and then, if the doctors called for it, dissected alive. Bakers would check a bulletin board on the wall to see the status of prisoner loaves, followed by their bar codes and the number of injections or gene dosages they received. Notes were made by the physicians or scientists with instructions for the bakers, indicating which prisoners were to be removed from their cells and dragged into the labs.
When Althus arrived she was told to wait as another baker had gone to fetch a loaf that was dying from end-stage COVID-19. They planned on performing a vivisection right in front of her.
Vivisections were not even an evil Althus had ever thought about until her time today. The victim was dissected alive after the biological warfare experiment to which they had been assigned had run its course and they had begun exhibiting severe symptoms. Whenever the victim died before a live dissection could be performed, the body would be placed on a gurney and wheeled into the autopsy room as soon as possible after death. Confederate pathologists performed an autopsy, making a Vev shaped Y-incision upon the alien's torso. Often specific organs would be removed and stored for further analysis. The heart and other organs frequently would still be beating and pulsing as they were dropped in formalin-filled plastic containers. The corpses would then be carted away to the incineration rooms.
The bodies always burned up fast, Naomie had explained to her earlier, because all the organs were gone and the body was empty.
The physicians scrubbed their hands thoroughly as they waited. They didn't have septic sterile force fields as would have been found in an Imperial surgical suite. They wore evo-suits with rebreathers attached to protective hoods. Althus was offered no such protection. She thought she was there merely to clean up after they were done with their grizzly task.
The door buzzer sang out, signaling someone was at the other side of the negative pressure door. The nurse assigned to the case opened the door. When it slid to the side two bakers entered wearing surgical masks. Supported between them was a weak and sickly Dresselian. Althus took in a sharp breath as she recognized her captain, Teemasvalli Obitt, now wracked with sweat and shivers from the deadly Earth virus. He looked delirious and barely recognized Althus when his limp head swiveled in her direction.
"Better hurry, sir. This one has the shits pretty bad." One of the other bakers told the chief pathologist as they laid poor Teemasvalli upon the steel dissection table. The head researcher snapped his fingers at his team to get them to move, which they did by first binding the Convor's former captain. They told him. "The Empress did this to you." As they secured him to the exam table.
Althus wanted to step forward. At least say something. She eyed the nearby bakers with their batons. If she acted they would beat her to death for such an offense. Her feet were frozen to the floor. She was shoved forward by the nurse. "Strip him and wash his body."
Althus joined the other two bakers in following the nurse's orders. They were given an iodine solution and slathered it onto the Dresselian. Teemasvalli stared at her through squinted, pain-filled eyes. "Engineer, take care of Rex. We will find the way to the Sagittarius yet."
He was obviously confused and wracked with delirium from his fever. Rex, the Convor's cat, hadn't been seen since their capture by the First Order. Althus feared she was being sloppy in washing the weakened Teemasvalli. She was somewhat hesitant in using the sponge brush on his face. Watching her, the chief pathologist, with scalpel in hand, impatiently signaled for her to hurry up. She closed her eyes and forced herself to scrub Teemasvalli's face with the brush. The assistant pathologist listened to the Dresselian's chest with her stethoscope and then the procedure started.
Teemasvalli let out a whimpering scream as the scalpels sliced into him. It was a noise that cut right to Althus's soul. For a second, she felt as if her cooperation with the act had cut her off from the Living Force.
Teemasvalli didn't suffer too long. He vomited once before shivers racked his body. With a snip of his pulmonary artery his suffering ended. Tears rolled from Althus's eyes as her captain's organs were methodically excised one by one. She was handed the culturing plastic jars which she placed on the receiving cart in a daze. The very act of assisting had made her just as complicit in Teemasvalli's murder as the Confederate researchers.
She, herself, wheeled the empty cadaver to the crematorium. She stayed and watched as the body was pushed into one of the ovens. Teemasvalli deserved a pyre, not this atrocity.
Althus made it back to her cell just as the alarm bell sounded. Naomie was already there and waiting on the bed. When she saw the tear-soaked eyes of the Mon Cal she rose and wrapped her in her arms. "It was only your first day. It will get easier as time goes by. You just have to endure."
"No it wasn't that. Well, it was a lot of that. This place is the chaos at the end of the Void. I saw someone I used to know."
"You have a friend here?" Naomie asked.
"Maybe. A former crewman. He was a poor loaf and didn't deserve what happened to him." They sat together as Naomie comfortingly rubbed her back. Finally, the grief welled up inside Althus and she leaned her head on the Earthling's shoulder. The tears poured forth as Naomie rocked her in her arms.
Eventually the lamps went out. Naomie frowned at the unlit green light above the door. "Do you want to rest first?"
"No, I don't think I can sleep right away. You go first." Althus offered.
Naomie thanked her and climbed under the single blanket.
Althus stood there for a long time. She tried to remember everything that had befallen her since their capture. The horrors she had witnessed on just this day alone and the ones that were waiting for her in the morning.
She looked down at Naomie. Perhaps she had found a friend to share this nightmare with. Someone she could grow close with.
Naomie shifted in her sleep. The room was suddenly bathed in a green light.
Althus tightened her grip on her baton. The automatic response to the stimulus poured from her lips as she swung downwards. "The Empress did this to you."
)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
Author's note: It all really happened
))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
Up Next: Setting sail: Operation Barbican