Vengeful Dawn

by Richard Patton

  The computer’s response was only three words, but they instilled more dread than anything else it had said. It was necessary.

  The Lead

  To: IMS Vengeance

  PRIORITY 1 COMMAND

  Reroute immediately to Expanse, grid ref: 1785.4827. Defend position at all costs.

  Special Warfare Operations and Reconnaissance Division

  Dispatch Center

  “You, good sir, are an idiot,” Ford informed Ethan, punctuating the jibe with a puff of cigar smoke.

  Ethan blew the incoming haze away and glared back at the cowboy. “What did I do?”

  “What you didn’t do,” Ford corrected, leaning in. He snuffed the cigar on the polished metal of the card table they had conquered and stuck it behind his ear. “Let me clue you in: when someone says they used to have a crush on you, it means they still have a crush on you.”

  “And you know this how?”

  The crack of a cue ball jerked Ford’s gaze away toward the pool table where the only other inhabitants of the lounge were gathered. It took him a long time to refocus on Ethan. “That’s how I met the wife.”

  A shot of ice surged through Ethan’s heart, simultaneously pushing all the heat in his body to his cheeks. He had not meant to bring up the harrowing memories of Ford’s deceased family. He avoided Ford’s gaze. “Sorry.”

  “What’s there to be sorry about? Ethan, I’ve moved on.”

  “What about your pledge? Kill all the aliens and whatnot?”

  Ford let out a hacking laugh, spreading his arms wide. “What exactly do you think we’re doing out here? Fighting the good fight. And there ain’t a gooder fight to be fought.” Abruptly, he shifted into reverse, patting the table to get Ethan’s attention. “Anyway, that woman’s got it bad for you. Think she stays up late drinking with some guy all the time? Hell, you think she would’ve stayed around otherwise when that reporter showed up?”

  As if summoned from whatever hell her ilk resided in, Haley materialized behind Ethan. Ford broke into a grin, all ill will toward her – if there was any to begin with – dissipating in an instant. “Well if ain’t my favorite marine,” Haley said, swiping the dealer’s position before Ethan could object. “And, of course, my favorite pilot. Now I didn’t know you two were friends!”

  “We are,” Ethan said bluntly. “You and I are not.”

  Haley did not look at all surprised. She flashed the same malevolent smirk she had the previous night. “Look, Lieutenant, we don’t have to get along, but there are men and women across the Empire looking for a good evening news reel, and if we’re not beating ‘round the proverbial bush, you’re the best source of news we got. Absolute best.”

  “I’m just a cog in a big-ass machine,” Ethan said dryly. “I don’t know anything.”

  “How poetic. And the hell you say.” Ford was caught mid-drag by Haley’s retort. He released a nasal snicker. Haley ignored him and continued to press on Ethan. “Like it or not, Lieutenant, you’re a hotshot. People want to see hotshots.” She paused, eyes glazing over as an idea struck her. “I’ll tell you what,” she resumed, instantly snapping back. “Do me one solid and you’ll never hear from me again. Probably. Never again. Most likely.”

  Contrary to his inclinations, Ford was silent, even after Ethan shot him a look of desperation. His eyebrows slid upward slightly, just enough to convey that the situation was entirely beyond him. Ethan was alone here.

  “Fine. But I want to know what it is now. Your favor,” Ethan ceded.

  Again, aggravatingly, Haley was not in the least taken aback. “Naturally, naturally. It’s simple, really. Quite an easy thing.”

  “Stop selling it and tell me.”

  “I want to mount a camera in your ship. Over the shoulder, maybe, or on the console. And I want you to really… put out when you’re out there. Give it all you’ve got.”

  Ethan’s shoulders sagged in relief. It seemed a remarkably simple proposition. “Done,” he agreed. Haley stuck out her hand like royalty, and Ethan took it, if only for the shortest moment. Without another word, he escaped the lounge.

  *

  Having tasked Rick and Jess with installing Haley’s dashboard camera, and having been given no end of grief about it by the twins, Ethan retreated to the bridge to bask in the radiant calm of Captain Briggs.

  The CO was draped across the captain’s chair, intently watching the bright vortex of compression wash over the windscreen. He looked up upon Ethan’s arrival, and motioned for him to take the commander’s chair. Commander Borschev was rarely on the bridge.

  “Lieutenant,” Briggs said, practicing his booming captain’s voice, “what can I do you for?”

  “Just hiding from Haley,” Ethan answered, taking the offered seat.

  Briggs chuckled. “Aren’t we all. You know I told them not to bother you when Vengeance took off. Looks like she didn’t get the memo.”

  Ethan looked over at him, blinking ignorantly. “Why’d you do that?”

  “Because, well… ah, it’s not important.”

  “No,” Ethan pressed. “What?”

  Briggs braced himself with a heaving sigh. “Because I thought you’d had enough excitement for one life. No offense, Ethan, but you’re not really the military type.”

  A memory of Rebecca saying a similar thing flashed across Ethan’s mind. “So I’ve been told.” He put forth his defense. “I only really joined to be a pilot. I was a cargo runner at first. Before I joined the Guard.”

  “Cushy jobs all,” Briggs agreed. He skipped a beat. “That doesn’t explain what you’re doing here, though.”

  “I wish something would.” Ethan laughed bitterly. “I just… I didn’t feel right on Mars. Like something was missing. When I saw this ship launch, I thought – I knew – I had to be on it.”

  “It’s hard to stay out of the fight,” Briggs said sagely, nodding. “Sounds like it’s not doing the trick, though.”

  “Not the way I thought it would,” Ethan admitted. “Something’s still wrong.”

  “You just need time to adjust. Before you know it, you’ll-”

  “Captain!” the helmsman barked, cutting across Briggs. The captain looked mildly bewildered by the interruption. “Coming up on nav point,” the helmsman continued, foregoing courtesy. “Two Naldím signatures. Corvette class.”

  Ethan looked to Briggs. “I’ll get to the hangar.”

  “No need,” Briggs countermanded. “We can handle it.”

  Ethan hesitated, torn between the order and an overwhelming urge to fight. After a moment, his hard-learned conditioning to obey won out. He rooted himself beside the captain as the vortex disappeared, the view through the window changing to that of sheer darkness.

  “Distance?” Briggs inquired of his tactical officer.

  “Two thousand klicks. They’re moving to firing range.”

  “Lucky we don’t have that problem. Run out the trips.” The gunners behind Briggs tapped in their respective commands. A shudder ran through the hull, consequent of the twenty-four-inch guns moving into position. The moment they were ready, Briggs gave the command.

  “Fire.”

  Twelve searing rounds spat out of the artillery, disappearing in the distance and closing on the Naldím ships. They were still at such a distance that the damage could only be assessed via the incoming telemetry, but it was still awe-inspiring. “Lost two rounds to point-defense,” the tactical officer read off his screen. “Three hull breaches on tango one. Five on tango two. Tango two is losing life support.”

  “Concentrate on tango one,” Briggs commanded. “Give them a hit from the dubs.”

  “Yessir.” A secondary set of cannons sent another rumble through the hull, lobbing a multitude of smaller but no less formidable shells into the abyss. “Four more breaches,” the officer reported, completely unfazed. “They’re losing power.”

  “Helm, take us in.” Briggs turned back to Ethan, dropping his captain-y façade. “See? Nothing to it.”
>
  “Three signals, sir,” navigation reported, heading off Ethan’s reply. “New signals, jumping in close.”

  Briggs sighed dramatically. “Drop speed. Target all three and fire at will.”

  “They’re coming into range!” tactical shouted over the growing thunder of the cannons. A flash of green filled the bridge, preceding an explosion somewhere nearby. The Naldím were returning fire.

  “Alter heading sixty degrees starboard and roll on tack-poz. Emergency power to pols!” Briggs responded. Ethan gripped the back of the captain’s chair as another bolt of energy lanced past the bridge and slammed into the covered runway. “And someone get Chief Hail on the horn!” Briggs cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composition, and reached out to grab Ethan by the shoulder, but he was already gone, setting the elevator’s course for the hangar.

  It took less than a minute for the elevator reached the hangar. Ethan ran his eyes over himself, checking for everything he needed. Gun, suit, gloves, he listed off mentally, patting each item as he spotted it. And my helmet’s in the ship. With a deep breath, he steeled himself, ready for the impending chaos of the hangar and the battle beyond.

  The elevator trembled, lightly at first, then more violently. From the corner of the enclosure, a red light flooded the cabin. Ethan heard the unmistakable sound of the elevator’s emergency breaks squealing.

  “Shit,” he breathed.

  Prying the doors open, Ethan climbed into the hall the transport had stopped at and gained his bearings. As it dawned on him how far he still was from the hangar, Ethan’s train of thought was derailed by the snappy commands of marine sergeants bouncing through the corridors. A moment later a platoon was surging toward him, one of the sergeants yelling for him to clear the zone. Ethan retreated into an adjoining room, drawing his pistol in response to the defensive positions the marines were taking in the junction where he had emerged. Their guns were fixed on the far wall, as if they were waiting for something to burst through.

  Something did.

  The debris from the Naldím’s explosive entrance lodged itself in the first rank of marines. With practiced speed they were dragged behind the line for the medics to look after, while the second rank unleashed hell on the intruders.

  Despite the veritable torrent of bullets barreling toward them, the Naldím slowly advanced. All but a few lucky shots that connected with their skulls were shrugged off. In moments, the first wave of attackers had moved past the room in which Ethan was hiding, and he took his chance. He ducked through the door and ran up to the rearmost of the Naldím. Taking careful aim, he tore into the foe’s nape, bringing him down. With the sounds of battle ringing in everyone’s ears, the shot went completely unheard. Ethan moved on to the next Naldím, executing him with a quick, well-placed shot, and moving again to another target. With a swiftness he proudly compared to Rebecca’s, Ethan felled the Naldím’s rearguard. By the time the rest of the boarding party began to notice his presence, the marines had steadied themselves, and were taking more careful aim. Each Naldím that rounded on Ethan was brought down by a marksman on the other end of the hall.

  The last of the intruders fell, neon green blood leaking from his fatal wound, and silence overcame the battle scene. Ethan grinned unashamedly at the marines, shaking like an unbalanced rotor, the morbid excitement of it all still coursing through his body. One of the marines shouted something, unintelligible over the blood pounding through Ethan’s ears. The soldiers raised their weapons and fired, and time dropped nearly to a standstill. Bullets ripped past Ethan. He turned, wondering what they might be firing at, only to see more Naldím clambering through the breach in the hull. Past their hulking figures, he could see the immaculate silver walls of Naldím architecture. He remembered the last time he saw such craftsmanship. He was not keen to see it again.

  The Naldím formed a semicircle around the breach, unloading bolts of brilliant green fire into the adjacent halls. Again, projectiles hurtled past Ethan, just missing him. Not one of the aggressors seemed to be targeting him. It occurred to Ethan how strange that was, but he was not given time to contemplate it. A rifle was being aimed at him now, so directly at him that he could see down the barrel into the reaction chamber. It fizzled with white light, something he had never seen before. The muzzle flashed – again, white – and an arcing bolt of lightning danced out of the barrel. Ethan was so bewildered by the visual change that he did not register the initial shock of the bolt pummeling his chest, or how it knocked him off his feet. Suddenly, he was too tired to do anything. He closed his eyes and fell idly into darkness.

  The Prison

  IMS Vengeance requesting assistance. Enemy ships armed with advanced technology attacking. Retreat impossible. Location is [Navigation offline] south of the Expanse.

  [Comms offline – Message not sent]

  [Reactivate comms and try again]

  Given the pitch black surrounding him, Ethan considered the option that he was dead; the only evidence to the contrary was the searing pain over his heart. Carefully, he felt the area in question. The skin was raw, the wound a perfect circle that overlapped an older scar also courtesy of the Naldím. A groan escaped his chapped lips.

  “Walker?” The familiarly gruff voice was a welcome sound. “You awake?”

  “I wish I wasn’t. Ford, right?”

  “Who else would I be?” There was a loud thump and the stench of Ford’s cigars grew stronger. A greasy rag landed on Ethan’s chest. “Put it on the burn. It’s ointment.”

  Doing as he was told, Ethan tried to sit up. His head smacked against a metal girder. He knew the feeling only too well. “Are we in the barracks?”

  “Yup. Most everyone’s asleep, so keep it down.”

  Ethan felt the mattress sag where Ford sat on it. “What happened with the Naldím? I was… shot, I guess, and I blacked out.”

  “You’ve been out for, let’s see…” Ford’s face was dimly illuminated by the light of his watch. “Seven hours,” he concluded. “Anyway, I know you’re probably the last person that wants to hear this, but the ship’s been captured. We’re prisoners. On our own ship.” He spat out the last few words to emphasize the irony.

  “Huh,” Ethan answered, surprising even himself at his lack of reaction. Being a prisoner of the Naldím was nothing new to him. He felt only a vague sense of déjà vu.

  “Kappa’s wiped,” Ford said matter-of-factly. Unlike his previous news, this information struck Ethan in his gut. “So is Zulu. Every other squad’s been decimated at least.”

  “Is…” Ethan could hardly bring himself to ask, so powerful was the fear that suddenly overtook him.

  “Barrett’s fine. So are the Scotts. Nellie’s were only targeting marines, and only because they were the ones putting up a real fight.” Ford took a drag of his cigar. The lit butt flared in the darkness.

  “What about Briggs? The captain,” Ethan corrected.

  “Getting interrogated. On and off for the last few hours.” Ford snorted. “Used to call it ‘questioning with refined persuasive techniques’ back in the ‘Wars. Nothing refined about it, let me tell you.”

  “They’re torturing him?” Ethan said, pulling himself upright. He knew what pain the Naldím could inflict; he had no desire for any of his friends to experience what he had experienced.

  Ford’s answer was simple. “Yup.”

  “And we’re not trying to help him?” Ethan exclaimed.

  “Nope.” The cigar flared again. “Not much we can do. Hell, ain’t nothing we can do.”

  “Well, we’re not sitting around.” Despite the pain still pulsating across his torso, Ethan stood, pushing past Ford’s specter toward the door. It did not yield.

  “Nellies got the place locked tight,” Ford explained, catching up with him. “Besides, there’s a guard outside.”

  “There’s got to be another way,” Ethan retorted, straining his mind to think of one.

  Smoke rolled over the dim light of Ford’s cigar. “You’re
welcome to look, but we’ve already tried. Ain’t nothing.” Clomping footsteps preceded Ford as he approached Ethan and blindly put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, you can’t do anything either way, what with having just been shot and everything. Get some sleep, and we can talk it over with the rest of the crew in the morning.”

  Grudgingly, Ethan complied, fumbling his way back to his bunk. It was damp with sweat and, he suspected, blood, but it did not bother him. He rolled onto his side, away from Ford, and closed his eyes, already plotting his escape. He had done it before, and then in hostile territory. The Naldím would not see him coming.

  *

  There were fewer crewmates occupying Ethan’s barrack than he anticipated. According to Ford, the remaining crew had been scattered across the ship to prevent any such gathering as was now being held in Pilots’ Barracks One.

  “Alright,” Ethan said, leaning against a row of lockers, “what have you already thought of?” He scanned the diverse taskforce in front of him. Along with some fellow engineers, Rick and Jess were present, looking no worse for wear, though unusually tired. Some pilots from Diamond and Raptor Squadron were also in attendance, and marines from a dozen fractured squads.

  “Brute force,” Ford said simply.

  “Trying to hack the mainframe from a door panel,” another marine, badly beaten, added.

  “Someone thought we could access the J-tubes, but there’s no entrance in here,” Rick chimed in.

  “What about the electrical conduits?” Ethan asked.

  Rick stared blankly at him. “What about them?”

  “The J’s connect with the conduits at every junction. Someone small enough could crawl through to the junction and disconnect the power.”

  “And?” another engineer countered. “They’ve already cut the mains. The ship’s on standby.”