by Mark Tufo
“We are completely off-line!” Tracy shouted over the din, she was holding onto her console.
I had no idea if my plan had worked. We’d hit them, that was for sure, but if they had armor like this beast had it might not do much more than scratch the paint, and they probably wouldn’t even claim it on their insurance because of the high deductible on warships. Got our answer soon enough—not necessarily the way I would have wanted—but confirmation was confirmation. We were still circling the globe like the wayward, doomed Mir space station when we flew through an incredible heat and debris field. I was fairly confident the ship was shielded against radiation, or by the next time around we’d all be losing teeth and hair.
At least we were knocked free from the Earth’s atmosphere; the problem was we were now spiraling uncontrollably through the galaxy, no power, no air, no weapons, and even worse than all of that, no light. Space is as dark as that closet Spangles the Clown hides in when you’re four and terrified of his six inch-long barbed teeth and white, pasty, makeup-laden face.
The only bonus was that the false gravity was off, so we could no longer tell that we were spinning like a top.
“Anyone hurt?” I asked. After everyone on the bridge checked in that they’d suffered no more than a few cuts and bruises, I pressed on. “Anyone have any ideas how we can get the lights back on?”
“Yeah, is it like a blown fuse or something?” BT asked hopefully.
To be honest, that was what I was hoping as well.
It was Dee that found a flashlight; the single powerful ray was like a beacon of hope. He was pointing it at me.
“Somehow, Michael Talbot, this is a victory. Well done, my friend.”
“You can buy me a drink later. And that’s the key buddy…I want a later. How much air do we have?”
“We will freeze long before we run out of air,” Tracy said.
“She’s right,” Captain Anders said.
So far victory wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be. We were going to somehow force defeat down victory’s throat. “Alright, so how long until we…you know.” I couldn’t even bring myself to say it. A bullet to the brain was more merciful than freezing to death; at least as far as I was concerned.
“Fifteen hours,” the captain said quickly.
“That a hard number?” I asked.
“Within an hour.”
“Dee, do you have a general idea where the Stryvers are in relation to us now? And why they aren’t firing on us?”
“I think that perhaps when they pulled back from the explosion, we were lost in the confusion, and since we are basically a dead marble right now, their sensors are not able to pick us up. For right now, being dark is working in our favor.”
“Well, that’s one way to spin it, I suppose. I wouldn’t exactly call that a stroke of good fortune, but to each his own. Drababan, I need you to get flashlights to as many personnel as you can. Then we need to check out the crew for injuries. Those with engineering experience, I want you down there posthaste to see if you can help; but we will remain dead in the water for now—I don’t want them to see us until we're ready. Check in with me, here, in one hour.”
In less than a minute, the bridge was mine and BT’s.
“That was something, man. I don’t know what, exactly, and I certainly don’t want to do it again—but holy fuck, man.”
“Yeah, let’s just hope it wasn’t all for nothing. Feels like it’s already getting cooler in here.”
“Vacuum of space and all that shit. Isn’t it close to absolute zero out there?”
“See, this is exactly why I hate space. You can’t even go outside.”
“I’m not done living, Mike,” BT confessed.
“Not dead yet, brother,” I told him, though I could feel the icy finger of death traveling along the base of my spine.
We sat in silence most of that hour, lost in our own thoughts and memories. I imagined a giant hourglass and the sand rapidly pouring through an ever-expanding hole. If time were indeed this short, I wanted to be by my wife’s side. I loved BT like only men who have fought together can, but the chances we were going to find comfort in each other’s arms was fairly low. The way my luck was working today, no sooner would I go in for a hug when Dee would come in.
Much quicker than it should have, the hour elapsed. I started hearing reports, and not a one of them was filling me with anything remotely resembling optimism. The number of dead and injured was maybe not as many as it could have been, but it was more than “acceptable." Most had struck their heads on something hard or been struck by something as we spun. We had hull breeches in at least a half dozen places that we knew about; there was a fire burning out of control in one of the crew centers.
Master Sergeant Beckert himself came onto the bridge. That, of all signs was the worst; Scotty never leaves the engine room. If there was even the remotest chance he could flip some miracle switch and get us running, he would have been working laboriously to that goal, even if his timeline was twelve hours past the one we had.
“Master Sergeant,” I said as he came on.
“Colonel,” he said as he strode toward me. “I had duty in Scotland two years ago, we were working on that long range antennae array—you remember the one?”
I nodded, even though I had no clue what the hell he was talking about. Seemed that wasn’t what this was about anyway.
“Went to this pub called the Molly MacPherson, one night after work—great name for a bar. Molly herself, however, was a hag of a woman. Might have been a witch. Wart on her nose and everything. Beside the point. I got pissed-drunk that night; ended up sleeping with her.”
BT winced.
“Yeah, I’m thinking my pecker had a mind of its own; she had more hair on her face than I do. She was, err, not a handsome woman by any standard definition of our time…or any time really,” he said, getting a far off look in his eye. “Anyway, I don’t know if she felt bad for taking advantage of me or was appreciative of a good old fucking, but when I woke up the next morning, she’d left me this bottle of 21 year-old Clynelish Single Malt Scotch Whisky. I wanted nothing to do with it—not that next morning, anyway. But I’ve been dragging it around with me ever since, sort of as a reminder of the trouble booze can get you into. I haven’t had a drop since that day, Colonel Talbot. But now, right this very fucking second, I want a drink. I couldn’t think of a better person than you, sir, to share that drink with.”
“You got a glass?” I asked, not even thinking.
“We’re spinning in zero Gs, sir; it’ll be a bit trickier than that.”
“Well, there’s a quandary for you, Mike,” BT said. “We’re each going to have to put our lips on the bottle,” he laughed.
“Who the fuck said you were getting any,” I said as I took the bottle from the master sergeant’s hands. “Thank you, Master Sergeant, I’m honored to share a drink with you.” I took the top off and placed my thumb over the hole before placing the bottle in my mouth. I drank more than I’d intended to and nearly choked as I handed the bottle back to Beckert. Twenty-one days or twenty-one years, whiskey still burns like hot bacon grease. I never understood those that enjoyed the caustic concoction. The master sergeant took a much better controlled drink before handing the bottle to BT.
BT handed me the bottle after he took a large swig. “Wow, I feel like I have a cold sore coming on,” he said as he touched his lip with his free hand.
“If your nasty germs are the worst thing that happens to me in the next fourteen hours, I'll be glad to have them.” I said right before I took another huge gulp. Fire spread through my belly. I know it’s a fallacy that alcohol can keep you warm in freezing temperatures, but damn if it didn’t feel good. Couldn’t have been a half hour more and we were more than halfway through the bottle. I’d just taken the largest hit thus far. Funny how the more you drink the easier it goes down. Everything was great until a loud clunking gong, like we’d run into an old MTV satellite or something, resonated throughout t
he ship for long minutes.
“What the hell was that?” BT asked. We were all looking at the ceiling as if that were going to give us some answers. A completely out of breath corporal came flying through the door.
“Sirs!” he shouted. “Major Talbot told me to get you. We’re being breeched. Deck four, hangar seven!” He hunched over. We bounced immediately back to the task at hand. “She said to suit up before you get there.”
We were all business now as we moved to the lockers and grabbed suits. It was a struggle finding BT something big enough, but once that was done we grabbed some weapons and were on our way. Couldn’t have been five minutes later when we got there. Tracy already had her men in position. Great sparks were showering into the bay as the Stryvers cut through the heavy alloy in a bid to get at us. I immediately went over to her.
“You bring the scotch?” she asked, looking at me.
“I would have, except for these stupid helmets.”
She smiled. “I love you, Michael Talbot, no matter what happens here today I just need you to know that.”
“I already knew.” I reached down and momentarily squeezed the hand she had offered. I then checked my weapon in preparation for the unleashing of hell. I knew how this was gonna go down. A large section of the metal door was going to slam to the deck or actually float away and hundreds of creepy crawling spider insect-aliens were going to scurry up and over everything in their way as they sought us out and attempted to destroy us. There was one small thing wriggling in the back of my head, though. That scenario didn’t make much sense. Why bother? We’d be dead soon enough; hell, we might as well be dead now with them right on top of us. Maybe the freezing temperatures would cause damage to the ship, so they wanted to prevent that by taking her now. The red hot slag being created from the cutting tool stopped and those of us inside held our breath in preparation for the battle. I’ll tell you, the temperature was most definitely dropping right now though I wasn’t feeling much of it.
There was a heavy thudding on the makeshift doorway. “Do not fire upon us!” was shouted from the outside. My men were looking over to me for direction. The voice was not of Stryver origin.
“Identify yourself,” I shouted back.
“I am Pedellan, a crewman aboard the Vicieus.”
“Stand down—stand down,” I told those with me.
I had some severe flashbacks when that door came down. A Genogerian in full combat space gear with work flood lights behind him was illuminated as he stood in the opening and then came through. It was Tracy that had to gently push my arms down to remind me that I could not shoot the help.
Within the hour, all of our injured and most of the crew had been transferred over to the Vicieus. Her sister ship, the Dreadnaught, stabilized then docked with the Guardian, so that it would be easier to transfer supplies and personnel over.
I was on the last shuttle with Tracy, Dee, and BT as the Progs sent teams to hopefully bring the Guardian back online. Paul was there to greet us when we departed.
“How in the fuck, Mike?” were the first words out of his mouth. I figured he was going to berate me for beating the shit out of his ship.
I thought it slightly funny when Dee and BT pushed forward in an attempt to shield me from anything the general might say or do. “I got this,” I told them. “And when did you two start getting so chummy?”
“He is an admirable warrior,” Dee admitted.
BT clapped Dee on the shoulder. “I’ve always got your back.”
“You two done with the mushy stuff?” I then looked to Paul. “I think most of the damage will buff out,” I told him.
“You took out three Stryver ships and damaged a fourth. How in the fuck did you do something like that?”
“I didn’t do shit; these guys did. I just held on to your seat for dear life. If it had drink holders built in I would have had some space beers.”
“The colonel is much too self-effacing. If not for his very special talent for fanatically dangerous, erratic behavior, we would never have survived,” Dee said.
“Was that a compliment?” I asked Tracy.
“For you? Sort of,” she responded.
“He gave us orders that defied all manner of logic, exposing his crew and ship to levels of danger far above and beyond anything they have previously experienced,” he continued.
“When are you getting to the good stuff?” I asked.
“I am almost there,” Dee placated me.
“The crazy-ass cracker saved us by doing crazy-ass cracker things,” BT piped in. “Can’t even tell you how many times I thought we were dead.”
“That about sums it up,” Dee said.
“So, is this shit over then?” I asked.
“It’s certainly bought us some time. The remaining Stryver ships, have turned tail and run. I would not imagine they have gone far from their quarry though. We need to talk. Commander Asuras is waiting. Just you, Colonel,” he said when my group of four started to move as one.
I was about to argue that they should all be there, but at this exact moment I had no fight left in me, and I would relay everything anyway.
“Majors, Captain,” Paul addressed the others. “Quarters have been assigned for you. Get some food and some sleep. You’ve earned it. Sergeant, if you could escort them? Thank you,” he said to the aide by his side.
“I’ll see you guys soon.” I kissed Tracy lightly. “BT, if there’s beer, grab a bunch. Lead on, General.”
Paul brought me to Asuras’s quarters. The large Progerian was at his desk when we came in.
“Colonel Talbot.” He stood. “It appears you have reached a legendary status during your lifetime that is not easily obtainable. Most have to wait until the entire record of their life has been analyzed and judged.”
“‘Why wait?’ is my motto.”
“Please, sit,” he motioned.
“I’ll stand. Both of you keep saying congratulatory things to me but your tones are flat and your mannerisms don’t imply this great victory you say I’ve achieved.”
Asuras and Paul looked at each other in a very scheming manner. Not that they were plotting something against me, but rather that they knew something I didn’t.
“Oh well, that’s not overly suspicious,” I said letting them know I’d seen.
“We have heard from my home world,” Asuras began. “They will not honor the truce or alliance. I am in direct violation, just having you aboard as guests.”
“Oh, isn’t that some convenient timing,” I stated.
“Mike.” Paul grabbed at my shoulder, I pulled away.
“I’m just saying. I wipe out the majority of the Stryver threat and then all of a sudden we’re no longer friends. I can’t imagine why anyone would think that strange.” Some intense feelings of foreboding pushed through my chest. “The Guardian?” I asked, now that it was devoid of humanity and crawling with Progs. I got my answer immediately.
“The Julipion will be repaired and reabsorbed into the Progerian fleet.”
I might as well have hauled off and sucker punched Paul square in the jaw by the way his knees buckled; he sure hadn’t seen that one coming.
“Commander, that is not what we discussed,” Paul recovered.
“In this, there is no room for negotiations, General. I do not fear nor do I hate your kind. You have held up your end of the agreement admirably, and you fight with a voracious honor. Yet, I cannot defy the Progerian home world. I promise you that I will deliver all of your people to the surface of your planet without harm. I have not told my crew yet; there will be no dissension onboard. I will allow those of your crew that have been injured to recover before formally ending our truce.”
“Two words, Asuras, want to know which two?” I asked as I pulled my sidearm.
Maybe it was lost on him, maybe not. Tough to ignore a large caliber bore pointing at you, though.
“You sully yourself for nothing, Colonel; killing me will accomplish little aboard this ship. It is true
that the Guardian revolved around her commander; on an expeditionary ship that is a necessity. On a war vessel, however, it is not. We have a long chain of command, again out of necessity. If I were to fall, there are any number of sub-commanders in line to take my position; not all are as reasonable as I.”
“Yeah? Well, as a chain of one, at least I’ll have the satisfaction of drilling a bullet deep into that lying head of yours.”
“Progerians do not lie!” he roared as he stood.
“Sit your green ass down,” I said menacingly. “If I remember correctly you stated something to the effect that we were all on the same side even though you had reservations of your home’s stance. Now that we did all the heavy lifting you’re just going to come in and claim the rewards? I don’t fucking think so.”
“Mike, what are you doing? We’ll never get off this ship.”
“I don’t intend to, Paul. What good is it if we get back to the surface? How long are we going to be able to live down there? Nope. Made up my mind. I’m going to kill as many of these cancerous fucks as I can, maybe stop the spread of the infection. I’m sorry, man, that I convinced you to side with these shitheads. I thought it gave us a better chance at survival.” My head dipped slightly.
I took a sour note of satisfaction that Asuras’s mouth hung open in the classic “shocked and stressed” fashion.
“There’s a better way, Mike.”
“Oh yeah? I’m not seeing it.”
“What if I told you I saw all of this coming?”
“You’ve been waiting all this time to say you told me so?” I asked. I think that would have hurt immeasurably. Kind of makes you already feel like shit when you pick the wrong side and doom your planet to death. How much lower does someone have to go to kick you?
“Commander,” Paul turned. “How many of your personnel do you believe to have aboard the Guardian at this moment?”
“Nearly half, and a third aboard from the Dreadnaught.”
“And how many of our crew are still aboard this ship?”
“All of them,” I said, not knowing where this was going. Asuras’s people still outnumbered our whole. “We’re not strong enough for a hostile takeover, Paul.”