by E A Wicklund
“Oh, for Mind’s sake. That’s bullshit, Colonel!”
“I know it is. I’m sorry.”
MCCray pulled at his hair. “Well if Majinn News got footage and published, why didn’t Schubert News? How is that even possible?”
Bertram looked like a cornered animal, fending off attacks from all sides. “I don’t know. I’m still getting complaints from news outlets. They claim government aircraft chased them away from here and Braunfels, and they’re accusing me of government suppression.” The Colonel’s mouth worked angrily. “Well, I received no orders from the Governor's office to chase them off, and it wasn’t our people, so honestly, I don’t know what the hell is going on.”
“But not the Majinn guys? So the damned foreign newsies get their side published and we don’t? Does that make any sense to you?”
Bertram held his hands up, placating. “I’m on your side, okay?”
“Mind it,” said McCray, kicking an innocent dirt clod. From a military standpoint, everything worked out perfectly. Good guys survived, bad guys got vanquished. From a diplomatic standpoint, he had triggered yet another catastrophe. How could stopping an armed assault by mercenaries from a hostile foreign adversary be a bad thing? It seemed like no matter what he did, irrespective of how morally right, he was going back on the damned beach. He felt like a doomed man, his fate written in stone.
Aja rubbed her temples. “Colonel, we need to get Mallouk to a secure facility and refuel our aircraft. Can we take him to Vickers for the time being?”
“Absolutely. You folks could probably go for some S3.”
McCray grinned at the military parlance for Shit, Shower, and Shave. He caught a worried glance from Aja . “I think we could all use that.”
***
Vickers Planetary Force Base sprawled across many square kilometers at the foot of wildflower-covered foothills. The pale tarmac, winding around a central cluster of low buildings, supported even the largest orbital haulers. A few vessels, some civilian, some military, rested in apparent disarray near the center, as if a child thoughtlessly dropped them there.
To the north, silvery Ramjack Planetary Force attack shuttles sat in neat rows. They glistened in the sun, looking fresh from the factory and ready for the next available holovid op. Beside them sat Springbok’s Marine DaggerSwifts. The Marine craft were streaked with mud and stained with a rosy patina from the clouds of blood they flew through. Burn marks from the weapons they fired scored their sides. They didn’t look as pretty as the Planetary Force craft; they looked dirty and scarred.
A group of military slider trucks in Planetary Force grey arrived to meet them as the Fightin’ Franny cruised in to land. They whisked Springbok’s and Castellano’s marines off to a plain-looking structure. As with many military buildings, the visiting enlisted barracks lacked any nod to aesthetics, looking like it had been assembled in an afternoon by teens as a class project. Sealant filled mismatching seams and the paint looked hastily applied.
Inside, the tiles were scuffed and some stains looked permanent, but it was clean. The military-style racks had been painted over inexpertly many times, and the mattresses were thin. Despite the spartan surroundings, everyone basked in the luxury of a cleansing S3, donning the fresh grey shipsuits left out for them.
Colonel Bertram checked in with his war weary guests, leaning against the doorway. “Sorry, Captain,” he said to McCray. “This is the best we can do on short notice. I appreciate you wanted to billet with Scirocco’s marines, but until I hear otherwise, I can’t allow them into an even slightly classified area.”
“This is perfect,” said McCray with sincerity. His opinion of the Planetary Force was stepping up a notch at the accommodating behavior of Bertram. “We appreciate the hospitality.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
“Hey, how did things pan out at Arcoplex?”
The Colonel kicked at the floor, disconsolately. “I won’t lie to you. It was ugly. The Xerxes murdered about two-hundred-fifty of the Scirocco crewmen and most of the guards.”
McCray squeezed his eyes tight. All that death for what? He’d had just about enough of all the killing. Maybe the beach wouldn’t be so bad after all. At least he wouldn’t have to witness the murders of so many good people. “I should’ve stayed there.”
“And done what? You’re a ship jockey, not a fighter.”
“Still.” Then he remembered another asylum seeker. “Did you find a Second Lieutenant? His name was Qaas.”
Bertram’s mood turned around quickly and he grinned. “The young officer? He’s fine. Got a fire in his belly, that one. He teamed up with a pair of guards who somehow collected Xerxes weapons. The three of them blocked off passageway leading to a group of prisoners. From there, they killed about twenty and held off thirty more. Probably saved hundreds of the prison population’s lives.”
"Yehey,” cheered McCray. He turned away a second. He felt passionately about the good in people, rising up against the darkness in the universe. Often, civilians couldn’t relate to that or his emotional reaction to it. McCray noted Bertram glanced away, too. “Sometimes the good guys win after all, eh? So, you’ll make a statement to the press soon?”
Bertram looked like the man designated to clean latrines with his bare hands. “Unfortunately, yes. Why?”
“It seemed like the Xerxes were hell-bent on executing Mallouk. I’m not sure why, but if they want him dead, it’s probably best if he stays alive. We need to get him safe aboard my ship. So if the press asks where he is, it’s better if you’re still looking into his whereabouts.”
“I can do that. But he’s safest on a military base, don’t you think? Besides, I’m not comfortable getting marching orders from civilian captains, even ones that just survived firefights. What does the captain of your escort think? And why haven’t I met him?”
“Well, for operational reasons, our Black Ship captain must remain anonymous.” McCray didn’t like the continued subterfuge. It got in the way. “Miss Downey speaks for him, though, and that request came from her.”
“Oh, the spook?”
McCray cleared his throat.
Bertram frowned, realizing he wouldn’t get confirmation about Aja’s precise role. “Well, you lot took good care of him so far. You keep him. In the meantime, you folks rest easy. I’ve got chow coming to you.”
McCray returned to where Castellano and his men lounged in the racks, exhausted, while others gathered around the holovid to watch the news. Aja pulled McCray aside and led him into small meeting room down the hall. “Time to see your orders, don’t you think?”
***
In a small meeting room, they sat down at a battered, timeworn table with a small holovid in the center. McCray held the datajack Aja had recovered from the courier at Braunfels. The little cylinder was three centimeters long and three millimeters wide. Though storage density continued to miniaturize, human fingers remained the same size as it had for centuries.
He stared at the device with trepidation. The orders upon it might just end his career. If that were true, he would’ve rather died on the battlefield beside Arcoplex. Then again, maybe getting kicked out again was good news, as long as Aja could come with him. With a sigh, he plugged it into the holovid projector. A cube of dim light, four feet square, rose up and the splash screen for the Admiralty appeared. McCray had to touch his finger to the bioreader and submit to a retinal analysis.
Once past the security, the face of Admiral Gaatz appeared in the holo. He looked tired but happy. McCray hoped that was a good portent.
“Good day, Captain McCray,” said Gaatz. “I hope this message finds you well.”
“I feel like crusted compressed crap,” muttered McCray, making Aja laugh.
“I trust this message arrived in your hands expeditiously. I have little doubt you saw the broadcast on SNS and learned that Captain Callaway has been placed on administrative leave. Perhaps that news story caused you a certain amount of heartache, because of course, Captain C
allaway really means you. I apologize if it struck you the wrong way. I can say now that’s all a load of pickled political pig shit.”
Aja turned slowly and glared with eyebrows raised, as if to say, ‘See? Should’ve listened to me, you bloody fool.’
“Sometimes, Admirals must do things that reflect none of their true feelings,” continued Gaatz. “It made me sick saying what I did during that broadcast. Those were not my words. The diplomatic corps demanded I broadcast it, and considering the very high tensions with the Maddies, I had little choice in the matter.
“Now that I can express what I like, let me be absolutely clear: you’ve done a fine job out there, son. Positively capital! The Joint Chiefs are singing your praises. There’s a rumor going around that Quartermain actually smiled the other day. That’s unconfirmed, mind you.” The huge salt and pepper sideburns he affected rose with his grin. “You’ve done everything we asked you for and more. The fact that Springbok took on a cruiser and didn’t even get a scratch is astonishing. It tells me we placed the Navy’s newest weapon in the right hands. Though, let’s not make a habit of taking on cruisers, shall we? The doc says I’m over-stressed as it is.”
Gaatz winked and then took on a sober expression.
“All that said, the diplomatic front is quite different. Personally, I don’t give a damn, but I’m not in charge of those damned diplomatic dunderheads. It turns out, Stephen Mallouk is the son of Senator Marcus Mallouk. Mallouk senior is probably the most feared man in the Madkhali Senate. He’s got the dirt on everyone, and he’s not afraid to use it. If he tells the Senate go to war with Elysium to get his son back, they’ll probably do it.
“Simply put, we’re teetering on the brink of war. We’re only now recovering from conflict with the Thallighari, and I can tell you we don’t need any more. This means the diplomats are all scrambling around with their panties in a bunch. If you had caught some unconnected captain with his hands in the cookie jar, we’d simply have the diplomatic leverage we wanted, but you caught the scion of a powerful man, a man who can drag both nations into war. What are the damned odds? This really complicated things.
“The current plan, and I’m sorry to say this, Evander, is we’ll not try your little bastard for piracy. Instead, we’ll be trading him. I’ll bet that’s not what you’d like to hear. You should feel better knowing this will help get some good people out of a Madkhal gulag. Your orders are as follows. Bring Mallouk back to New Chicago ASAP. We need to trot him out for the Madkhali diplomats, so we can get down to business. I’ll see you at Admiralty House. Fair Stratas and may The Emergent Mind watch over you.”
“Well, there you go,” said Aja, staring at the floor. “You’re not back on the beach after all.”
“I should’ve listened to you.” McCray should’ve felt good, but he felt like he’d lost something far more important. “Maybe I’ve been doing this for too long. I’ve lost sight of the important things.”
Aja spared him a brief glance. “Like what?”
McCray shrugged. Months ago, he would’ve said life on the beach would end his life. But after all the death he’d just seen, and the promise of yet more if he remained in the Navy, he began to have second thoughts.
He hadn’t tried the beach, civilian life, with Aja had he? She would change things, almost certainly for the better. A life without death, with companionship and love instead, began to look more and more like the preferable alternative.
Turning to look at her, he said, “Like people. There’s more to life than conning a ship, even if I can’t think of anything else I’d be good at.”
Aja’s lovely eyes looked moist as she stared into his. “You could be good at a lot of things. You just haven’t tried yet.”
“Maybe I could make cookies.”
She chuckled. “It’s a start.”
“You think you could show me what a farm looks like? A real one, that is?”
“You mean it?”
“Why not?
She fixed him with her gaze. “Don’t feck with me, McCray.”
McCray had never seen her look like that. Anxious and hopeful all at once. “I’m serious. Who knows? Maybe I could be good at catching pigs. Those are the ones with feathers, right?”
Aja leaped upon his lap. “I’ll show you. I’ll show you, and it’s chickens.” She wrapped her arms hard around his neck.
He reveled in the feel of her against him, and the almond scent of her perfume. He could live with this, enjoying her presence every day, away from battles on alien planets.
As good as she felt, her powerful grip surprised him.
"Okay, okay, it’s chickens.” He patted her back quickly. “You’re choking me.”
Chapter 20
McCray returned from the review of his orders feeling like a new man. The specter of having Springbok taken away from him had been dispelled. He and Aja had reconciled and formed plans for a future together. No storms prowled on the horizon. Everything would be all right.
Castellano and his men were not permitted to leave the barracks until they departed for the Springbok. Military police stood guard outside to enforce this. It might have felt like house arrest, but it didn’t to McCray, and he saw no indication the marines cared either. Everyone was too exhausted to go exploring anyway. Later on in the evening, he sat at a long table with the marines and dove into a meal. The sea scallops alfredo they enjoyed exceeded his expectations. Flyboys ate better than he imagined, though their cook could never match Senior Chief Sabong back on Springbok.
The Cretins were in good spirits, despite having lost four of their number during the battle with the Xerxes. Four plates, unattended by anyone, rested at the other end of the table. They accepted the loss of their comrades with the unnatural aplomb of fighting men. Grieving for them in their own way, the stories they told about their comrade’s past heroics and antics fluttered about the room, carried aloft by their laughter.
It seemed strange to McCray, who took every loss as if a piece of flesh were removed from his body. He imagined that in their line of work, death was far more present. They might’ve held a dying comrade in their arms, watching the lights fade from their eyes. McCray shrugged. Everyone dealt with death in their own way. Who was to say what was wrong or right when it came to grieving?
The conversation died down as the volume on the holo suddenly increased. The words “SNS Special Report” blinked in red, demanding attention at the bottom of the screen. The Schubert News anchorman had been physically modified to the most recent ideal for men. Thin lips nestled between his narrow chin and his slender, beak-like nose. Feathers grew from the tips of his ears and eyebrows. His tenor voice rang out sharply.
“Is a racist policy, inspired by the actions of Captain Callaway, taking hold in the local government of the McGowan Star Group? Are military leaders attempting to influence civic life as some activist groups warned about for years, or are we witnessing the actions of a small band of rogue personnel, unsanctioned by military leadership? These are some of the questions being asked after a shocking set of events.
“In a single day, two possible massacres have rocked the relatively quiet farming community of Braunfels. According to unverified sources, more than a thousand people lie dead, their bodies riddled by bullets, after two separate attacks by alleged Elysium military forces. What might have triggered this unprecedented attack on a farming community? Some are claiming local Elysian military commanders perceive the large number of Madkhalis living in the area as a threat, but is there anything to that assertion? Information is sparse at this time, but we will show you what we have so far.”
“Ridiculous,” spat Castellano. “How do they get away with spreading such lies?”
McCray rested his cheek in his palm. “Welcome to Elysium, gentlemen. Spin is everything. News that tells people there’s a threat out there sells much better than news that says everything is all right.”
“Viewers be warned, the following images include graphic scenes of violence.�
��
Footage taken by a personal datapad replaced the anchor. It showed a man and woman holding each other and screaming while flames engulfed them. Around the pair, apparent Elysium Marines screamed and cheered while their victims wilted in the flames.
“My god,” said McCray. “Those animals did that? They needed to die.”
“Look at them,” Aziz said. “I’ve studied Elysian Marines for years. I’ve trained to fight them. I can tell these aren’t Elysians. They lack the military bearing of real marines.”
“Military men would pick that up right away,” said McCray. “But civilians probably won’t. Whoever asks us in the military? Who ever believes us when we give a warning?”
The view returned to the anchor who said, “As of now, SNS cannot confirm the validity of this anonymous source, but a police spokesperson has verified a significant civil disruption occurred in Braunfels. This footage confirms law enforcement assertions and as you can see, what appear to be Elysium Marines were committing horrifying acts of brutality against the largely Madkhali city of Braunfels. Unfortunately, the rampage didn’t stop there. Less than two hours later, these scenes were captured by Majinn News, the Madkhali news service. To date, SNS has been refused access to the site by PF military units, and we are unable to confirm the events as presented. Be warned, like the scenes before, these scenes present graphic violence.”
The shot was taken from a distance so details lacked. It did show the DaggerSwifts sweeping over the fields near Arcoplex. People rushed in all directions, clearly in a panic and trying to escape. Another piece of footage played close-up views of the bloody, mangled corpses of people in civilian garb. One man’s face revealed an agonized grin in death, his legs ripped away..
“Those were the damned Xerxes,” said Palomino. “They were all armed and trying to kill us. When will they show that?”
“Any moment they’ll be stopping this broadcast,” said Aziz. “The government can’t possibly allow this to continue.”