by Trevor Wyatt
“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 somet
hing 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.
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.”
“We’ve moved on to hundreds of different worlds,” Jeryl said as he nodded in agreement. “But this one is special.”
“It is indeed,” Flynn said quietly. “We already tried to destroy it a few times in our misguided past. But we’ve spent the better part of the last two centuries trying to do right by her. And now we’re trying to save her from people who want to take her away from us.”
The mood became somber.
“We won’t let them, sir,” Jeryl said. “I was feeling pretty exhausted, but I swear that sitting here, seeing what we’re fighting for, it makes it all worthwhile.”
Admiral Flynn chuckled.
“Let’s hope the Sonali sees your resolve and decide to put down their weapons,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “God knows they’ve gotten their asses handed to them by you recently.”
Jeryl let himself laugh. The last few months had been rough. He had difficulty looking at himself in the mirror recently. But he knew now that what he was doing was for a greater good.
Or at least that’s what he said to himself so he could look at himself as he shaved in the mornings.
As the two men turned to their drinks, they noticed a group of people gathered at one of the video screens on the far side of the room. Suddenly, the room was filled with hushed talk and nervousness.
Jeryl felt a prickle on the back of his neck and he looked over to the bartender.
“Can you pipe the signal over here?” he asked but the bartender, his face white, was already patching the feed into all the screens.
The levity of the moment vanished in an instant.
Jeryl saw Davos II station. Surrounding it were dozens of Sonali craft. Large and small, and they were firing at the station.
“Armada Command, we’re patching you in through a flybot to get these images out on a broad-based slipstream, requesting reinforcements immediately,” the vo
ice on the other end of the feed pleaded. Jeryl didn’t know who it was. Maybe a technician on the night shift. Maybe the ranking admiral.
God, we were supposed to be there right now, Jeryl thought to himself as he sat, transfixed in horror.
“Armada Command, we count approximately 49 Sonali ships, with 5 dreadnoughts, bearing for the planet.”
“There’s gotta be at least 3 million people down there,” Admiral Flynn croaked. He got on his comms.
“This is Flynn, what’s the status of our forces in Edoris Sector?” he asked his adjutant through his comms.
“3 battleships, 12 frigates,” was the quick reply. Jeryl’s heart sank at that. Despite all the investment the Armada had done to upgrade the fleet, there was no way in hell they’d be able to stand their ground against the Sonali with numbers like those.
“Fuck,” Jeryl muttered, his eyes never leaving the screen. Even if every single ship in the sector rallied to protect the Davos II station, the Sonali had the upper hand. Jeryl balled his hands into fists, his fingernails digging deep into his skin; he would’ve been there if it wasn’t for the stupid commendation.
Stunned, he watched as the Sonali fleet kept on firing against the station, a storm of particle beings tearing it apart. It didn’t take the Sonali more than one minute to turn one of the key Terran stations into a pile of rubble.
“Without the station—”
“The colony is defenseless,” Jeryl completed Admiral Flynn’s sentence, his blood freezing in his veins as he saw the Sonali fleet moving away from the destroyed Davos II station. Just like The Seeker’s battalion had done in the Oriane colony, the Sonali fleet lined up along Davos II’s orbit, their plasma cannons powering up as they prepared to glass the planet.
“These fucking animals,” Flynn grunted through his gritted teeth. Judging from the expression on the Admiral’s face, Jeryl wouldn’t be surprised if the man simply stood up and ripped one of the screens off the wall; his rage was so palpable that it was almost enough to boil the whiskey in Jeryl’s glass.