by G J Ogden
“Direct hit, enemy destroyed,” Shade confirmed, announcing the victory with a touch more gusto than Sterling was used to hearing from her. However, it made sense that the only thing that could move his weapons officer to joy was the delivery of violence and death, Sterling realized.
Ensign Keller, however, was far more vocal, shaking his fist and whooping as if his team had scored in the dying seconds to win the championship. Commander Banks joined in the cheers, but Sterling was still focused down on his console, staring at one blinking indicator in particular. They had made it past the destroyer, and now had a clear run to the aperture. The other ships would not be able to catch them in time – not even the heavily modified and augmented MAUL. And the torpedoes that sailed through space after them would not penetrate the barrier created by their point-defense guns. However, they had not come through unscathed. Commander Graves had already reported fourteen dead and seven wounded, two critically. Yet, as cold as it may have seemed to any outside observer, Sterling did not lament the dead. This was war, and in war soldiers died. He would honor them in time, and in his own way, but in order to do that they had to make it back to Fleet space. Sterling stared at the blinking indicator again and cursed under his breath. During the firefight with the Sa’Nerran destroyer, their reserve fuel tank had been hit, causing the ship to automatically eject their fuel into space. One of the shimmies that Sterling had felt was the blast of the fuel store detonating in the darkness behind them. Their internal fuel store was still intact, but their high-energy maneuvers had depleted them to ten percent. They had enough to reach the aperture and to surge, but not enough to get back into Fleet territory.
“You look particularly miserable for someone who just played chicken with a ship twice its size and lived to tell the tale,” said Banks.
From the quizzical expression on her face, Sterling guessed she’d been watching him for some time. He sighed and pointed down at his console. Banks frowned and stepped beside him, looking at the blinking indicator that had transfixed Sterling for the last few seconds.
“Ah, crap,” muttered Banks, closing her eyes and gently shaking her head.
“My thoughts exactly,” replied Sterling. “We’re not out of this yet.”
Chapter 23
Colony Hera 4ML
Sterling peered out through the viewscreen at a sea of lush green trees that seemed never ending. It was a stark contrast to the darkness and emptiness of space, but also a welcome sight for a battle-weary spacefarer. However, as much as he would have enjoyed to simply soar over the planet’s surface for a few more minutes, Sterling had other more pressing priorities to attend to.
“There, how about that spot?” Sterling said, pointing at the viewscreen. He then jumped down from his command platform and moved beside Ensign Keller so that his helmsman could better see what he was indicating.
“There’s enough tree cover to shield us from view, though it’s a good couple of miles from the settlement,” Keller replied, slowing the Invictus to a hover.
“That’ll be fine, Ensign, we can use our ground rovers to head into town,” Sterling replied, giving Keller a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
“We’ll need to scuff them up a bit, so it doesn’t look obvious that we’re from Fleet,” Commander Banks chipped in. “Same goes for our clothes. We obviously can’t wear our uniforms. These settlers are as likely to want to kill us as the Sa’Nerrans are.”
“Given how Fleet abandoned them, I’d say they’re probably more likely to want to gut us,” Sterling replied, stepping back onto his command platform.
Both Sterling and Banks had referred to the settlers’ likely desire to murder them in a lighthearted manner, though in truth it was no joking matter. All of the former UG planetary colonies that ended up inside the Void after the start of the Sa’Nerran war held a deep resentment against the Fleet. This was no less true of the planet they had managed to limp to after surging through the aperture to escape the Sa’Nerran strike force. Its name – or at least the designation the United Governments had given it – was Colony Hera 4ML. It hardly tripped off the tongue, Sterling thought to himself, idly. The planet was relatively deep inside the Void, and had so far been left alone by the Sa’Nerra. Though with the development of the new neural weapon, Sterling wondered how long it would be before Hera 4ML, and others like it, were harvested for bodies to form part of the aliens' turned workforce.
“Set us down, Ensign, and give us as much cover as you can,” Sterling said, turning his attention back to the matter at hand. “If you have to do a little bit of woodcutting then so be it.”
Keller responded with a brisk, “Aye, sir,” then set about burrowing the Invictus inside the dense forest, using its hundred-meter-tall trees to shield the battle-scarred Fleet Marauder from view. Even with the ship’s reactor reduced to minimal power and its engines disabled, Sterling knew that the Invictus could never be fully hidden from the scanners of an orbiting Sa’Nerran vessel. However, the extreme use of cover was not to hide them from the probing yellow eyes of the alien warriors, should they come looking at Hera 4ML, but from the colonists themselves. If he was to get the resources he needed to repair and refuel the ship before the Sa’Nerra discovered them, he needed the colonists' co-operation. Though, if it came down to it, he’d take what he needed by force. That prospect didn’t excite him, but it didn’t faze him either. There was more at stake than the lives of a few backwater colonists.
Sterling winced as tree after tree was felled by the descending mass of the Invictus. He guessed that many of the trees had likely taken centuries to reach the imposing heights they had achieved. In contrast, tearing them down had taken mere seconds. It was a brutish destruction of natural life for an entirely self-serving reason, yet this was exactly what the Invictus had been built to do. Whether turned humans, Sa’Nerran warriors, or simple trees made no difference to him; their mission was destruction. Their job was to cut away the corrupted flesh then eradicate the disease, so that what remained of humanity could survive.
Sterling was roused from his thoughts by a weighty thump that resonated through the deck. Then the familiar thrum of the Invictus’ engines began to diminish.
“We’re on the ground. Thrusters and engines powered down, sir,” said Ensign Keller.
“Understood, Ensign,” replied Sterling, as one of the giant trees they snapped like a twig toppled past the viewscreen and bounced off the hull on its way to the forest floor. “Keep the key in the ignition, we may need to get out of here in a hurry,” he added.
Sterling was about to head off the bridge when an alert chimed on Banks’ console. He stopped and threw his head back, as if looking skyward to the gods for help. “Tell me that’s not a Sa’Nerran warship entering orbit,” he groaned, casting a weary glance at his first officer.
“Well, it is a Sa’Nerran warship, but it appears to be a phase one Skirmisher,” Commander Banks replied.
This time Sterling let his head fall forward, as if he’d lost all the strength in the muscles in his neck. “A Marshall?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Aye, sir, looks like it,” replied Banks.
“And I suppose it’s heading to the same town we are?” Sterling asked, holding on to the slim hope that the ship might be en route to one of the other towns on Hera 4ML.
“Right again, Captain,” said Banks, suddenly sounding as weary as Sterling felt.
Sterling puffed out his cheeks and blew out a sigh before noticing that Ensign Keller had spun his chair around to face them and had his hand held up.
“This isn’t school, Ensign, you don’t need to raise your hand,” said Sterling, allowing his irritation to spill out.
Banks smirked, though not cruelly. Keller’s occasional greenness was endearing, but only because when it mattered most their young helmsmen never let them down, as he’d already demonstrated several times that day. Keller sheepishly withdrew his raised hand and tried to nonchalantly rest it on his thigh.
&n
bsp; “Sorry, Captain, but I was just wondering what a Marshall is?” the helmsman asked, again showing his lack of experience in the Void.
“Marshalls are a bit like a cross between mercenaries and Wild West lawmen,” said Sterling. “Besides Fleet and the Sa’Nerra, they’re just about the only ones out in the Void that can traverse the apertures. They travel from colony to colony, settling disputes, usually violently, and getting paid handsomely for their services.”
“So, these Marshalls are human?” Keller asked, clearly intrigued yet also still confused. “But Commander Banks said the ship was a phase one Skirmisher. Those ships haven’t been active for decades.”
This time Banks answered. “In the early part of the war, the Void was littered with the remains of defeated warships,” she began, seeming to enjoy giving the young ensign a history lesson. “Some of the traders who were cut off in the Void pieced these ships back together from the wreckage. Most have been destroyed in the years since then, but a handful of the strongest captains survived, and carved out a niche for themselves in the Void. Those are the ones we now call the Marshalls.”
“But how can they fly a Sa’Nerran Skirmisher?” Keller replied, now leaning forward. He was fully invested in the story of these frontier adventurers. “I thought no one could comprehend the Sa’Nerran language?”
“The Marshalls don’t understand the language any better than we do,” replied Banks, shrugging. “They figured out the basics through a process of trial and error. Mechanically, there isn’t much difference between Fleet and Sa’Nerran tech.”
“As fascinating as this little discourse is, can I remind you all that we have a ship to repair and refuel?” said Sterling.
The sharpness in his voice caused the ensign to snap back into his seat and spin around to face the viewscreen again. The mention of repairs then reminded Sterling that he was currently without a chief engineer. This, he admitted to himself, was his fault alone, considering he was the one who’d shot Crow in the head to prevent him from being captured.
“Unfortunately, repairing the Invictus isn’t going to be straightforward, since we no longer have Crow on board,” Sterling added, shaking his head.
“Lieutenant Sullivan is now in charge down in engineering,” said Banks. “She’s capable and dependable. She’ll get the job done.”
Sterling nodded. “Then bring her along. I want to make sure we barter everything we need from these colonists.”
“And what about the Marshall?” Banks asked.
Sterling cursed. He’d already forgotten about that particular complication. “If he gets in the way then we’ll deal with him,” he replied. Then he had a thought. “Though his arrival might actually be a blessing in disguise.”
“How so?” Banks wondered, folding her powerful arms and looking at Sterling through narrowed eyes. Marshalls had a reputation for causing problems with the Fleet, rather than fixing them.
“The Marshalls need to trade and resupply too,” reasoned Sterling. “It’s likely this Marshall has some of the parts we need on his ship.”
Then another voice joined the discussion.
“Or we could just take the fuel from the Marshall’s ship, along with anything else we need.” Sterling spun around to see Lieutenant Shade staring at him. She was slightly hunched over and had one hand wrapped around her side, pressed to the wound on her back. Shade shrugged. “Just a thought, sir,” she added, nonchalantly.
“I like her plan better,” said Banks, with a wicked smile.
“So do I,” replied Sterling, though unlike Banks, he wasn’t smiling. He was deadly serious. “If it comes to that, then I have no problem taking what we need. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he added, somberly. “The last thing we need right now is another fight.”
Sterling then set off for the exit, aiming a finger in the direction of Shade while he walked. “Lieutenant, go and see Graves and get that wound tended to right away. That’s an order.”
Lieutenant Shade appeared taken aback by the order then immediately jumped down from her station and hustled after Sterling. She was clearly struggling from her injuries, though from the flat, emotionless look on her face, it was impossible to tell the weapons officer was in excruciating pain.
“You’ll need me out there,” snapped Shade, blocking Sterling’s path. She then appeared to recognize the impertinence of her statement and actions and quickly corrected herself. “What I mean to say is, as your weapons officer, I should be at your side, sir,” she added, forcing herself to adopt the stiff-sounding military manner in which Fleet officers were supposed to talk.
Sterling stopped and locked eyes with Shade. She held his gaze for a couple of seconds – which was at least one second longer than the officer could normally manage to look anyone in the eye – before awkwardly looking away.
“I didn’t say you weren’t coming, Lieutenant,” said Sterling, irritated that Shade had stood in his way. “I just ordered you to get your wounds tended to. Right now, you could barely fight off a couple of kittens, never mind an irate colonist, not to mention a Marshall or Sa’Nerran warrior.”
“Aye, sir,” replied Shade, stepping aside. Her eyes were still cast down to the deck.
“We meet in the cargo hold in one hour,” Sterling called out, resuming his route to the exit. “No uniforms, and concealed weapons only. Again, we’ll need to scuff them up so it’s not obvious who we are. As far as anyone on this forsaken rock is concerned, we’re colonists, just like them. Understood?”
There was a chorus of, “Aye, sir,” from the officers on the bridge. Sterling set off again, then felt a familiar neural connection forming in his mind.
“Are you serious about taking what we need from the Marshall?” asked Banks, speaking through their private neural link.
Sterling stepped into the elevator and waited for Banks to enter too. “I don’t mean that we kill him, necessarily,” he replied in his mind. “These colonists aren’t our enemies, and we kill enough of our own kind as it is.” Then he shrugged and added. “We just need to appropriate the fuel without the Marshall realizing it.”
“‘Appropriate…’ said Banks, smiling. “That’s a fancy word for steal.” Then her expression hardened. “And what if we can’t ‘appropriate’ what we need? How far are you willing to go?”
Sterling cast a sideways glance at Banks. “It won’t come to that, Mercedes. But if it does the simple fact is, we need that fuel more than they do,” he replied, coolly. “So, no matter what happens, we aren’t leaving this rock without it.” He paused for a second to meet Banks’ eyes fully. “Do you have a problem with that, Commander?”.
Banks stood by his side, hands pressed to the small of her back, and simply shook her head. “No, sir. Not at all.”
Chapter 24
The Marshall of Vega 4ML
The main colony town on Vega 4ML was called Hope Rises. Sterling had no idea whether this was the town’s original name, or something its inhabitants had chosen for it, after being stranded in the Void. However, as their ground rover trundled down the pockmarked main street of the town toward the trading district, the only thing Sterling could see rising into the air was smoke. From the appearance of the town, hope had left it a long time ago.
Turning the rover onto a stretch of smoother road, Sterling took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder and check on Lieutenant Shade, who was in the rear. Incredibly, his weapons officer was no longer showing any signs of discomfort from her plasma injury. Sterling knew that his chief medical officer was fond of advanced, experimental and often outlawed forms of treatment, but even so Shade’s recovery was remarkable. Sterling then glanced at Commander Banks. She was in the passenger seat, staring out at the colonists through the rover’s windows like a tourist on a Jeep safari. The only member of the bridge crew missing from the rover was Ensign Keller. Despite requesting to come along for the ride, Sterling had ordered his helmsman to remain on the bridge in the event that a speedy getaway was required
.
“Stop looking at them,” said Sterling, as his first-officer continued to peer at the inhabitants of Hope Rises like they were exhibits in a zoo.
“But they’re looking at us,” replied Commander Banks, from the passenger seat.
“They’re looking at us because we’re strangers,” said Sterling. “Just act normal, like we’re travelers from another town, as we agreed.”
“I don’t know how to act normal in these clothes,” said Banks, clawing at the civilian outfit she’d cobbled together from items in the crew stores. Like the rover, which they’d hammered and scuffed up, the garments they all wore had been intentionally damaged to give them a suitably tattered appearance. “All I’ve worn for the last five years is my Fleet uniform. This stuff feels weird against my skin.”
Sterling scowled at Banks, running over a pothole as he did so, which jolted the rover and almost gave him whiplash.
“Seriously? You haven’t worn anything other than a Fleet uniform for five years?” asked Sterling, keeping one eye on the road and the other on his first officer.
“Have you seen me in anything else in all the time we’ve served together?” replied Banks.
Sterling thought for a moment, but couldn’t recall a single occasion, even when they were off duty.
“Is that dedication to the Fleet, or just a lack of imagination?” he smiled.
“It’s just practical,” said Banks, choosing neither of the two options Sterling had presented. “Besides, the fibers used in Fleet uniforms are as tough as old boots, and resistant to slashes, chemicals and fire. Considering my unique metabolism, I tend to rip normal clothes pretty easily.”
Sterling laughed. “Unique metabolism,” he said, enjoying the casual way that Banks had framed her gift of freakish strength. “Let’s just hope you don’t tear a hole in your pants while we’re out here then.”