The Coming Storm_A Pax Aeterna Novel

by Trevor Wyatt

  “Thye’re engaging their FTL drives,” Ashley whispered. “We’ve won the day.” Her eyes were focused on Jeryl’s monitor as, one by one, the remaining Sonali ships pulled back from combat and jumped into FTL, their enormous shapes vanishing in the blink of an eye.

  “What’s our status?” Jeryl asked her.

  “Aside from minor damages, all warships remain ready and operational. The Seeker has received no hits. We only lost two frigates to the Sonali,” she announced, reading the information on her own monitor.

  “Very well,” Jeryl barked, going up to his feet. He was feeling happy about the victory, but he didn’t want to sound to gleeful—after all, they’d lost two frigate crews to the Sonali. Even if they had scored a victory and inflicted major losses, losing two frigates meant that a lot of families across the galaxy would be receiving folded Terran flags.

  “Send orders for the rest of the fleet to align,” he continued, now turning to the comms officer, Mary Taylor. “We’re going to end the job and then get the hell out of here before they send reinforcements.”

  “Already done, Sir,” Mary replied briskly.

  “Sir, there’s something you should know,” one of the Ensigns in charge of both the ship’s sensors and scanners said, jumping up from his seat and turning to face Jeryl.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Our scanners have detected more signs of life than Armada Intelligence led us to believe,” the young man replied nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he stared at Jeryl.

  “Go on.”

  “We were to believe that the research facilities on Oriane housed no more than 50 thousand Sonali, but our scanners indicate that at least two million Sonali inhabit this colony.”

  “Two million?” Jeryl whispered to himself. Maybe Oriane wasn’t that unimportant of a target after all. If a research colony had that many Sonali living in there, it meant they were probably pouring a lot of their resources into it.

  “The battalion is aligned and ready to proceed, Sir,” Mary announced. Jeryl looked at the viewscreen in silence, watching as dozen of hulls aligned in Oriane’s orbit, The Seeker right in the middle of the line.

  “Very well. Proceed,” he commanded, and then sank down into his seat as the plasma cannons started firing down onto Oriane, the beams lighting up the cold space as they slashed down the atmosphere and hit the stony ground thousands of kilometers below The Seeker.

  Two million dead in just a few seconds.

  No more running, he mused to himself as he saw the planet burning under him.

  Jeryl

  “One more for the road,” Jeryl whispered as he poured another shot of whiskey. He wasn’t the kind of man to drink during service, but he figured he needed a drink after cutting short the lives of more than two million Sonali.

  Throwing his head back, he downed the whiskey fast and then slammed the glass on top of his Captain’s desk, the amber liquid burning down his throat. He looked at the bottle for a few seconds—just a cheap import from a hidden corner in Terran territory—and then closed his eyes.

  He tried to peer down into the well of his own heart, but the darkness inside it stopped him from doing it. After glassing a whole planet, he knew he should be feeling...something. But all he felt was a corrosive numbness that stripped every emotion away from him. Two million, two billion...it was all the same to him. He’d follow his orders, kill and destroy everything in his path, and see this war through.

  “Captain!” He heard a familiar voice blare through his comms. “We need you here”

  “On my way,” he responded automatically, and then jumped up to his feet. He pushed the empty glass to a far side of his desk and then put the cork back on the bottle. Straightening his uniform jacket, he then marched out of his private office.

  “What’s the situation?” He asked Ashley as he strolled into the CNC, his eyes going straight for the blinking light on the viewscreen. There was an unidentified ship travelling at sub light drive speed trying to escape Oriane’s orbit. “Sonali?”

  “Yes,” Ashley responded, tapping a few buttons on her console. “No weapons systems, though. It looks like it’s a civilian transport. It was probably already in orbit when we glassed the colony, and it kept itself hidden until now.”

  “We’ve got survivors, then,” Jeryl muttered, remembering his orders: No Sonali shall leave the planet. We can’t risk whatever information or technology they’ve been developing at the Oriane colony to find its way into Sonali command.

  “We do. I don’t think they’re aware we’ve detected them. It looks like they’re trying to go for one of the moons. If they have any hidden emergency base there, they’ll probably try and wait us out there.”

  “Let’s make ourselves known then,” he said, raising his voice so that everyone in CNC could hear him. Taking his place in the Captain’s chair, he looked at the sensors in his private console and delineated a plan. “Tell Burning Fist and Black Flag to intercept the Sonali vessel,” he told Mary Taylor, and the comms officer got to work immediately, repeating Jeryl’s orders into her headset.

  Thirty seconds later and the two warships broke formation, engaged their sub light drive engines and set on an interception course with the Sonali transport.

  “They’ve seen us,” Mary Taylor said. “And now they’re hailing us.”

  “They want to talk? That’s a first,” Jeryl replied suppressing down a laugh. The Sonali were known for their constant refusal of any communication attempts, and it was almost ironic that some beaten down ship in the middle of nowhere would be the one to try and establish a dialogue. “Patch them in.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mary responded, tapping a button on her console; images of the Sonali transport in the distance were replaced by the live feed of a Sonali wearing a civilian Sonali uniform. Jeryl was more used to their military garb, but he had dealt with enough civilian Sonali to recognize their specific uniforms.

  “Greetings, Captain Jeryl Montgomery,” the Sonali said, The Seeker’s AI translating his speech in real time. “I am Legate Gorsak, and I am the one commanding The Urd,” he continued, referring to his transport ship.

  Even this guy knows my name, Jeryl thought. It wasn’t that much of a surprise, if he was being honest. The Seeker had a reputation among the Sonali, and that reputation was impressive enough for the Sonali to know the name of its captain.

  “How many aboard your vessel?” Jeryl asked the Sonali legate, not bothering with niceties.

  “120 of us,” Gorsak replied in a heartbeat. “We’re nothing but maintenance engineers. We were doing routine maintenance on an orbiting station when you attacked the planet, and that’s why we survived. All we want is for you to let us through. We just want to survive.”

  “Don’t we all?” Jeryl asked, a hard edge to his words. The Sonali could be telling the truth, but somehow Jeryl didn’t buy it; he had seen enough civilian Sonali ships, and the one trying to outrun the warships Jeryl had sent in pursuit was too sleek and fast for a ship doing transport runs between the planet and the stations orbiting it.

  “Please, just let us through,” the Sonali legate insisted.

  “Burning Fist, Black Flag,” Jeryl started, opening a separate comm channel. As he spoke, his eyes never left Gorsak’s. “Do you have the Sonali vessel within range?”

  “Yes, sir,” the two captains of the Terran warships answered in unison. “I can disable their engines, and we can capture them easily,” the Black Flag’s captain answered. All the while, Jeryl kept his comm channel with Gorsak open, making sure that the Sonali legate was listening to each and every word.

  “It’s pretty straightforward, Legate Gorsak,” Jeryl said, turning his attention to the Sonali, “Surrender and prepare yourself to be boarded.”

  “All we want is to leave the system!” Gorsak protested, and Jeryl noticed how nervous he was. Even though the Sonali weren’t as expressive as humans, he felt confident enough in his appraisal of their emotions—Legate Gorsak was
hiding something.

  “And that won’t happen,” Jeryl continued. He was about to tell Gorsak to surrender again when the Sonali cut down the comm channel and the viewscreen went dark.

  “Do I have clearance to engage?” The Black Flag’s captain asked Jeryl. “We can have them captured in thirty minutes. All we need to do is—”

  “No,” Jeryl said, cutting the other man short. “Light them up.”

  “Sir?”

  “Their sub light drive engines are revving up. They’re going to try and escape. I don’t want to risk it. Destroy them,” Jeryl commanded, his voice terse. His words didn’t even sound true to his own ears—he knew they could capture the Sonali transport easily, so why was he so quick in his decision to destroy them?

  Because that’s what I've become, he thought to himself. I’ve become a cold-blooded killer.

  “You have your orders,” Jeryl said for the last time, and then he shut down his comms. Sitting on the captain’s chair, he just stared at the viewscreen and watched as the two Terran warships closed the distance between them and the Sonali vessel. As soon as the transport ship was in range, both the Black Flag and the Burning Fist fired; their particle beams lit up the darkness of space for a moment, and Jeryl held his breath as he watched the Sonali ship be cut in half, huge chunks of twisted metal separating from the ship’s hull and floating aimlessly.

  “We could’ve captured them,” Ashley said. She was standing by his side, her vacant gaze locked on the viewscreen.

  “We could’ve,” Jeryl replied, “but we didn’t.”

  Jeryl

  “Captain Handsome,” Ashley laughed, one hand on Jeryl’s shoulder as she looked at him with an appraising look. He was wearing his white ceremonial uniform, cap and all, and he was feeling as comfortable in it as a mouse trapped in a bucket full of boiling water.

  “I hate it,” he sighed as he looked in the mirror once more. Although he loved the Armada and the life in the military, he never enjoyed the ceremonial aspect of it. More often than not, he saw it for what it really was—sugarcoating the brutality of war.

  “Don’t look so gloomy. They’re all gathered here because of you,” Ashley replied, straightening his tie and patting his chest. “Besides, it feels good to be back on Earth, even if just for a couple of hours.”

  That much was true; Jeryl didn’t remember the last time he had set foot on Earth. He just wished it was under a different set of circumstances. It couldn’t be helped, though—after what happened in Oriane’s orbit where he downed a Sonali transport ship, the Armada had awarded him a commendation. Despite Jeryl’s protests, they had insisted on a ceremony—it’d help morale, the politicians insisted.

  Jeryl didn’t give a shit about morale. He had a war to worry about, and he doubted medals and parades would help him do that. Especially when they were being awarded based on nothing but pure luck.

  Back then, Jeryl didn’t know it, but aboard the Sonali transport ship that his battalion destroyed was one of the most important Legates in the Sonali war effort. Apparently, he was there to follow-up on the latest weapons research being conducted at the colony; he was leaving right when The Seeker’s battalion entered orbit, and luck wasn’t on his side. The moment The Seeker’s sensors picked up the transport, he was done.

  Still, it had been nothing more than a blind stroke of luck. Jeryl had no idea that there was someone important aboard the Sonali ship—at the time, all he wanted was to follow his orders and make sure no survivors left the colony alive. Even if that meant destroying an apparently harmless transport ship and killing everyone aboard.

  “Just get it done, Jeryl,” Ashley told him, going on her tiptoes and brushing her velvety lips against his. He rested his hands on her hips and pulled her close, the warmth of her body stirring something deep inside him. If he could, he’d spend the time he had allotted for the ceremony doing something way more interesting than being paraded around like a horse.

  “You’re right, Ash,” he whispered against her lips. “Let’s get this over with.” With that, he strolled out of his private quarters and made his way through the maze of corridors inside The Seeker. They had landed in one of the largest landing pads on Earth, one so large it could house a small town, and the whole place had been transformed into a ceremonial arena.

  There were enough seats for a crowd of about two thousand people, and the VIP ones were reserved for the Terran Union President, a select cadre of Senators, and whoever Admirals were on Earth at the time.

  The moment Jeryl emerged outside, the whole crowd jumped up to their feet and started clapping their hands, the sound of it thunderous and overwhelming. With his head held high, Jeryl marched out of The Seeker, his senior officers trailing behind him, and made his way toward the stage that faced the crowd. As he walked up the steps, he realized that his heartbeat was picking up the pace; suddenly, all he wished was to be sitting in his captain’s chair in The Seeker somewhere deep in some uncharted area of space.

  That was where he belonged, not here.

  Just follow the damn protocol, Jeryl thought. This whole bullshit will be over soon.

  Obeying his own thoughts, he quickly climbed up the steps that led into the stage and took his position behind the raised stand. He took in the hundreds of people sitting in front of him, most of them much more important than a simple captain, and then he cleared his throat. He took a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and started reading through it, the words coming out of his mouth wooden and stilted.

  No one cared.

  Jeryl looked the part of the war hero—square jaw, confident stare—and that was all that mattered. He knew that some of the Senators were eager to show the populace how the war seemed to be turning, and they felt that parading Jeryl around and pinning a medal on his chest was the perfect way to go about something like that.

  “Congratulations, Captain Montgomery,” the President said as soon as Jeryl finished his dry speech. He stood there, on top the platform from which he had delivered his speech, and waited patiently as the Union President pinned a medal on his chest.

  “Thank you for everything you’ve been doing out there, Captain,” the President said, addressing Jeryl directly. “We all sleep better at night knowing you’re out there.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jeryl replied. He knew the President was just doing his old politician routine. For politicians, words and appearances were their pillars...but Jeryl knew better. Out there in space, only one thing mattered—guts.

  “You know we’re screwed, right?” Admiral Flynn whispered into Jeryl’s ear the moment he assumed his position next to The Seeker’s captain, right before the President as the man addressed the crowd.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Jeryl asked between gritted teeth, even though he already had an idea what the answer would be.

  “They’re not going to sit still after this,” Admiral Flynn continued. “The Legate you killed had a lot of political clout, and now that he’s dead...well, there are a lot of Sonali asking for swift revenge.”

  “Why don’t they come and take it then?” As he said it, Jeryl dug his fingernails into the palm of his hands. Lately, he was always itching for a fight—all he wanted was to keep running through Sonali fleets like a hot knife through butter.

  “Do you think they’ll just come after you, Jeryl? They will, sure...but they’ll also take their frustration out on all the defenseless colonies we have spread around the galaxy. A lot of lives will be lost because you made a call. Not that I’m judging you, son,” the Admiral added quickly. “I would have done the same.”

  “Will it ever stop?” Jeryl asked, his lips barely moving.

  “Unless there’s a miracle, it’s going to be either us or them,” the white-haired admiral responded, his tone soft but firm at the same time.

  This time, Jeryl just nodded. Flynn was right—it was either them or the Sonali, and Jeryl would do everything in his power to make sure that humanity had a shot at victory.

&
nbsp; Jeryl

  “Want to buy me a drink?” a voice called out from behind Jeryl and he looked over.

  “Admiral Flynn!” Jeryl stood up at attention. Howard Flynn smiled with genuine affection.

  “No more need for formalities, son,” he said as he sidled up to the barstool on Starbase Alpha, overlooking Earth. “No one gives a rat’s ass right now who’s a fucking Admiral and who the Captain is. Besides, you’re the hero of the hour.”

  The bartender came by with a glass of scotch. It was obvious Howard Flynn was a regular.

  “Hero of the hour,” Jeryl said, taking a sip of his beer as he gave a sardonic chuckle at the title. “The things we give out medals for these days.”

  Jeryl and Howard were sitting at the bar in the Officers Lounge of Starbase Alpha. The lounge was lavishly appointed, with deep leather chairs and recessed tables for solitude or quiet conversations. A series of screens lined one corner of the lounge with updates from around the Terran Union. The outer wall, towards the hull plating was transparent aluminum, and thus offered floor to ceiling windows overlooking the planet Earth.

  She was currently orbiting, with Asia and Australia currently on view.

  Admiral Flynn caught Jeryl looking through the windows towards the planet, as it glistened like a jewel.

  “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” he asked Jeryl.

  “You know, sir,” Jeryl said after a moment, lost in thought. “It never gets old with that view.”

  “It never does, son,” Flynn agreed. “It never gets tiresome to look at. And when shit really hits the fan, it really puts everything in perspective.”

  Jeryl looked over to the older man as Flynn continued.

  “All of that bullshit—the commendations, the bureaucracy, the politics—all of that flies out the window when you see your home,” Flynn said. “The birthplace of humanity. The cradle from where we came from.”