Vengeful Dawn

by Richard Patton

  “Sergeant Barret,” she reported. Her voice sounded like it hadn’t been used in days.

  “Sergeant Barret,” Rebecca echoed, “I need everyone here on station. Marines, clear the other barracks.”

  “What about the Naldím?” someone asked.

  Rebecca hefted her rifle over her shoulder. “I’ll take care of them.”

  Encouraged by a Wraith’s presence, or perhaps just glad to have some glimmer of hope now, the crew obliged with vigor. Rebecca preceded them into the hall, quickly dropping two approaching Naldím and clearing the way for everyone behind her.

  She patched into the bridge comm. “Captain, you’ve got fifty-two crew heading to station. Get the ship ready to fly.”

  “Copy, Agent Winters,” Briggs panted. Controlling the bridge on his own and in his condition was clearly taking its toll. “Your ship’s detached, but I’m still reading a Naldím signature on the starboard.”

  “Ethan can handle it.” Rebecca continued toward the starboard hatch nonetheless to cut off any reinforcements. The crew would take care of the stragglers.

  The Naldím were already moving to retaliate when Rebecca reached the portal. A scalding volley of fire forced her to take cover before she could respond. Bolt after bolt hammered at the corner she hid behind, completely unrelenting. She only had the slightest moment between shots to glance out and assess the situation.

  There was only one thing to do. Rebecca pulled the pins off a handful of smoke grenades and rolled them down the hall, smothering the area in a thick haze. Blinking at her HUD, Rebecca adjusted her eyes to infrared and darted into the hall. The Naldím appeared as deep red silhouettes against the black of the smoke like massive bullseyes. They were easy targets.

  Though the Naldím continued to fire, it was now blindly, and Rebecca moved with ease between them, slitting throats and cracking skulls with little resistance. In moments, the last opponent was bleeding out on the floor.

  Her sight transitioning back to normal, Rebecca sealed the hatch and activated the external camera. At first, her view was obscured by the scaly silver hull of a Naldím cruiser, but a moment later the Phantom pulled through, pounding at its hull with electric charges and melting it off the airlock with twin lasers.

  As quickly as it began, the barrage ended, leaving the cruiser a wreck, dead in the water, floating aimlessly away. Then the Phantom docked.

  Rebecca stepped away from the console, ready to greet Ethan. She considered telling him how well he had done. He’d like that, coming from me, she mused.

  There was no time to dwell on it. The airlock shattered, edges curling inward like burnt paper, and threw Rebecca against the opposite wall. She looked up, dazed, just in time to see Eve leveling a pistol at her. A pull of the trigger, the snap of a hammer, and the world went dark.

  The Reprieve

  SWORD Dispatch Center,

  What the hell is this? You can’t just land an eleven-million-kilogram dreadnought a few klicks south of Akinawa and not expect everyone in the resort to notice. This planet has a reputation to uphold, and it’s NOT as a military base.

  Captain Voinovich supports my request to relocate the IMS Vengeance. You’ll note his sig below.

  Deepa Murali, Administrator, Akinawa North Resort

  app. Captain Antonin Voinovich, Pearl Bay Waystation

  Akinawa was the premiere resort world in the Empire, an idyllic blue marble in a sea of black, its only feature a pair of minor continents near the equator. Despite its reputation for unparalleled tranquility, however, it was home to a Sector Security outpost – a feature every Frontier world, however reluctantly, received. This particular outpost, known to the locals as Pearl Bay, hid within its depths a SWORD operation center, and it was for this reason Eve had directed the Vengeance and Phantom to make berth there for repairs.

  As the Vengeance had been stripped of its landing thrusters to make way for more guns, the gargantuan hull had to be escorted to the planet’s surface by a full procession of tugs. It was far less exciting than a colony landing, Ethan thought, but on the upside, he got to watch the process from the bridge – a view he thought he’d never get to see.

  Nevertheless, it felt rather lonely on the bridge; Briggs was receiving proper treatment now, and Rebecca had disappeared. The other Wraith, Xeno, had said she had returned to the Phantom for post-op recess. Ethan didn’t even bother wondering what that entailed.

  The rest of his friends were scattered throughout the ship: Rick and Jess and the rest of the engineering division were already hard at work repairing what they could without access to full facilities, and the marines had been drafted into helping them.

  There were others, though, that stayed with him. As the cleanup of the ship began, twelve dog tags were recovered from the carnage in the hangar – each a blatant reminder of Ethan’s poor choice. Though not likely his intent, Commander Borschev added insult to injury by giving them to Ethan. He was their commanding officer, after all, and would be in charge of writing to their families and sending the tags home.

  Since then, Ethan successfully managed to put off writing the letters of condolence. He wore the dog tags around his neck as a reminder to do so, but each time the clasps dug into and chaffed his skin, he only felt more ill equipped to properly honor the fallen. So they stayed with him, serving as company amidst the strangers on the bridge.

  “Helm, open comm to base,” Commander Borschev ordered, yanking Ethan’s thoughts back to the present.

  “Comm open, sir.”

  “This is Commander Borschev of the IMS Vengeance. We are on approach on bearing…”

  “Three-five-two by four-one,” the helmsman supplied.

  “ETA forty minutes,” Borschev resumed. “Please advise if we should change bearing to avoid the resort. Wouldn’t want to ruin folks’ holiday.”

  “Very considerate of you, Vengeance,” the captain of Pearl Bay responded through a thick Neptunian accent. “If able, take approach pattern beta. Will send you deviations for special landing pad.”

  “Much obliged. Vengeance out.” Borschev swiveled his chair around to face Ethan. “Lieutenant Walker.”

  “Sir.” It sounded as if the commander had only just noticed he was there. “You sent for me,” Ethan reminded him.

  “Yes, I had a request to make of you. You know how these Frontier SS bases are. You can’t trust them.” Ethan stayed silent. He wasn’t exactly sure what the commander meant, but it sounded slightly racist. Borschev continued. “It’d be best if they didn’t know about – or at the very least didn’t have access to – your fighter. I want you to talk with Agent Summers about storing it aboard the Phantom. SWORD might be dodgy, but at least you can trust them with military assets.”

  “Will do, sir.” Shrugging to himself, Ethan stepped off the bridge.

  “Yes,” was the one word he received when he relayed the commander’s request. He didn’t expect any more out of a Wraith, but Agent Summers seemed particularly keen on avoiding conversation. She began to sidestep him as soon as the word escaped her helmet, as lifeless and robotic as she.

  Ethan caught himself midway through raising a hand to stop her. Doing so, he imagined, was probably not in his best interests. She caught the gesture nonetheless and halted. “What?” she grunted.

  “I was wondering if I could see Rebecca. Agent Winters. I got the feeling she wanted to talk to me, but she disappeared right after we freed the ship.”

  Xeno studied him, her head tilted ever so slightly to one side. “Blizzard is on post-op recess,” she said finally. Before Ethan could press, she added, “That means no visitors.”

  “You said that before,” Ethan objected. “You still haven’t told me why.”

  “Standard procedure,” Xeno answered with a weary sigh. “Especially after a Wraith’s been through as much as she has.”

  The comment struck a peculiar note with Ethan. “What happened to her?”

  “Hell if I know.” Agent Summers dodged around him and stal
ked away.

  *

  Captain Voinovich of the Pearl Bay Waystation was a tall, skinny man whose pine green uniform didn’t quite fit right, but made up for that particular flaw with a fantastically well-maintained beard of full, silver hair. Given the wrinkles spanning his forehead, he looked as though he spent most of his time being decidedly unhappy, but he put on a toothy smile for Commander Borschev.

  Ethan had accompanied Borschev at his request – no doubt as a sign of force to demonstrate to this Frontier rabble who was in charge – and found himself in the more pleasant company of Elaine and the two other remaining Air Sergeants. They stood well clear of the simmering tension between Borschev and Voinovich.

  “Commander,” Voinovich growled, attempting in vain to sound pleasant. “Thank you for diverting your course. Our installation prides itself on discretion. That said, we do not have room for your people on our base. Administrator Murali has been generous enough to allow you to stay at the resort for the time being. Would arouse less suspicion if you stay under pretense of R-and-R, rather than recovery from… attack.”

  “Very kind of you,” Borschev acknowledged, dipping his head slightly. “And the administrator.” Throwing Voinovich a salute, Borschev reversed course and returned to the Vengeance to inform the crew. Ethan stayed behind, intending to talk with the captain. Elaine waited with him while Voinovich muttered darkly with his cohorts.

  Only after an uncomfortably long moment did he notice the lieutenant and sergeant. “Lieutenant. I believe you were dismissed.”

  “Yes, sir. Just wanted to ask you a question.”

  Voinovich sighed dramatically. “And?”

  “I was wondering where you were going to be accommodating the SWORD personnel, sir.” Elaine glanced between them as the captain considered his answer.

  “I may just be lowly SS captain,” he said flippantly, “but I am not stupid. SWORD can do whatever it wants. I imagine they will stay on their ship.”

  “Got it. Thank you, sir.” As quickly as he could, Ethan turned on his heel and left, Elaine close behind.

  “What was that about?” she asked when they were out of the captain’s earshot.

  “I should probably go see Rebecca at some point. She doesn’t seem… normal.”

  Elaine gave him a quizzical look. “You mean Agent Winters? Wait, were you two, like, a thing on Dawn?”

  “No,” Ethan said quickly. “But she sounded like she needed to talk to me. Or anyone, for that matter. That other Wraith didn’t seem like the chatty type.”

  Elaine was silent for a moment. “Okay, but we’re at Akinawa!” she said suddenly, driving the conversation hard to the left. “This is, like, the resort!”

  “And Voinovich just gave us free reign of the place,” Ethan added, grinning like a child.

  “Exactly. I’m not wasting an opportunity like this. Let’s get settled and then go paint the town red or something.” Taking the suggestion to heart, Ethan led the way back to Vengeance where shuttles were already departing for Akinawa.

  The resort was more akin to a small country than a secluded beach and spa. Sprawling amusement parks, forests of hotels, and wide silver beaches were strewn across the island chain in amazing number. The week Vengeance was scheduled to stay there would not be enough to cover Akinawa North, let alone the three other quadrants.

  But the crew tried their damnedest. They filled every empty hotel room and saturated the parks with their grey canvas uniforms. Before long it was easier to find a crew member than an actual tourist.

  Ethan, Elaine, and the other pilots stuck together, as so few of them were left. They had silently agreed to leave their mourning on the ship, intent on drowning their sorrows in the white-blue waves of Akinawa’s beaches.

  By the end of the first day, they were inebriated on the colorful sights and spectacular experiences of Akinawa, and their woes were forgotten. The twelve pilots of as many shattered squadrons sat down to dinner under the invasively bright lights of a carnival tent.

  One of Elaine’s pilots, Maya Santana, poked hesitantly at a slice of deep-dish pizza that had nearly soaked through its paper tray. “Relax,” Elaine said, already digging in. “It’s carnival food. If it was going to kill you, they wouldn’t have been selling it for the past four hundred years.”

  Ethan glanced sideways at her. “You don’t read much into nutrition labels, do you?” he asked.

  “Nope.” She shot him a wink.

  “You might want to give it a shot.” Ethan turned back to the recruit. “The last time I saw that much grease dripping out of something, a DRAC had blown a valve. If you don’t think your stomach can take it, don’t eat it.”

  Elaine took an exaggerated bite out of her own meal – a bacon-wrapped cheeseburger leaking gratuitous amounts of an unidentifiable sauce – and clutched at her heart dramatically. “I can feel my arteries clogging,” she said through a mouthful of beef. “And it is wonderful.”

  Santana scraped some of the congealed fat off her slice. “No offense, sir, but I think I’ll take my dietary advice from the officer eating a salad.” She squinted at Ethan’s meal. “Even if it does have a bacon-grease dressing.”

  “Oh, come on, guys,” Elaine moaned. “Don’t you know the enjoyability of carnival food is directly proportional to the associated risk of heart failure?”

  Ethan scooped some of his salad onto Elaine’s plate. “I prefer to eat my food without imminent death hanging over my head,” he retorted.

  Elaine elbowed him playfully. “Hey, it’s better than an MRE.”

  “Ugh,” Ethan spat. “I can’t even think of those. How many must we have eaten on Dawn Six?”

  “A good month or so in the forest, so… a ninety-ish?”

  “That was hell.”

  As they reminisced about their heroic endeavors on Voyager Dawn, Ethan suddenly became aware of a lack of feeling in the pit of his stomach. Until this moment, even a passing mention of the word ‘dawn’ felt like a bullet in his gut. Now there was nothing. A blissful emptiness. It was the best feeling he had felt in months.

  The Evaluation

  To: Akinawa SWORD Garrison

  From: Scabbard Operations

  Please proceed the physiological assessment of Agent Rebecca Winters / Blizzard (Wraith ID 00087). Dr. Hannan has been delayed, but will arrive at Akinawa shortly. Hopefully his services will not be required.

  Rebecca awoke to a stabbing pain in her arm and the surge of drugs flowing into her system that followed. Her first instinct was to fight, but as her eyes snapped open and came to rest on the SWORD logo overhead, she relaxed. Even strapped to a table as she was, she felt more comfortable in their hands.

  Allowing the robotic arm to finish injecting her with whatever cocktail it had cooked up, Rebecca rolled a crick out of her neck and cleared her throat. “Sloane?”

  “Right here.” His soothingly quiet voice floated over her from somewhere north of her head. Instantly, his tone darkened. “That was some pretty stupid shit you pulled.”

  Rebecca closed her eyes, letting the memories surface through the fog smothering her brain. The entire rescue felt more like a day-old dream than reality. “Had to,” she mumbled.

  “It was good work,” Sloane answered. “But stupid. You’re going in front of the reconditioning board for it.”

  “They think I went out the tube?”

  “They think you’re emotionally compromised. For that matter, so do I.”

  Rebecca let out a hacking cough. “By what?”

  “Ethan Walker.”

  Before Rebecca could respond or even register her own suddenly increased pulse, the door snapped open. Two men and a woman, all in formal black attire and with SWORD-issue tablets in hand, filed in. Rebecca’s table folded into a chair, and her restraints released their grip. Still too groggy to do anything, Rebecca merely looked between the suits.

  “Agent Winters,” the woman started, “do you know who we are?”

  “Reconditioning board,”
Rebecca guessed.

  “Do you know what the reconditioning board does?”

  “Yes,” Rebecca answered, preceding her response with only the briefest pause. One of the men tapped something into his tablet.

  “Then let’s get started.” The woman took a seat opposite Rebecca and produced a stylus from her pocket. Its tip poised over her tablet, the woman began bombarding Rebecca with questions concerning every moment of her life since her return to the Scabbard after Voyager Dawn had been rescued. They were answered with ease; there had been nothing extraordinary, Rebecca believed, to interrupt her routine until recently. Even one of the board members agreed that her confused emotions were merely a product of a long undercover assignment.

  The woman, who appeared to be in charge, did not seem so convinced. She skipped past the encounter with the alien station to the question burning on everyone’s minds. “Why did you commandeer the Phantom?”

  “Someone needed to save Vengeance,” Rebecca said simply.

  “You didn’t trust the Navy?”

  “They wouldn’t have known. We only found out because of a stray signal.”

  “We?”

  “Xeno and me.”

  The woman whispered something to the man on her right. He stepped out of the room. “Xeno disagreed with you, then.” Rebecca nodded. “Why didn’t you contact command? The orders could have been verified.”

  “We were running dark. No comms.”

  “Yet you activated all systems only moments after incapacitating Xeno.”

  “I had to use the compression drive…”

  “But you didn’t think to even notify command of your reverse course?” Rebecca had no answer to that. The woman scribbled yet another note on her tablet and looked her steadily in the eye. “Why were you so desperate to save the Vengeance?”

  “It’s a rallying cry,” Rebecca answered slowly, quoting the briefing. “If it was captured…”