by Lance Berry
Travis climbed out and set foot on solid ground, appreciative to still be able to do so. He stepped away from his DFC but turned to look it over from a safe distance, just in case the diagnostic had been misinformed, and the rear engine were to blow anyway. The DFC had gashed the desert ground severely, leaving a twelve-meter tear in the earth, stretching for at least half a mile. The ditch was full of torn shards of metal from the undercarriage. Travis slowly walked around the ship, and saw that his starboard wing had actually been partially sheared; if he had stayed aloft any longer, it more than likely would have come off. As he checked over the damage, a strange thought came to him: during the entire incident, he had been worried, alarmed, anxious–but not afraid. It was an odd thought to have, but it forced him to go over parts of his life, and he realized that no matter what the incident, whether it was getting into a fight with the school bully as a kid or the encounter he had on the slalom a while back with Theo Booker, he had never felt a moment of raw panic or felt the instincts of fight-or-flight playing tug-of-war with his nervous system. More accurately, for him it had always been “fight”. What did it mean? No human being was devoid of fear; it was a biological holdover from the times when they dwelled in caves and knew to hide from more dangerous predators. How could he not know fear?
The sound of the transport approaching brought him back to the here and now. And here and now, it finally came to him, Hugo Guzman had died. His friend, his cadre brother, was no more–lost in a disaster without reason. He sat on the remaining good wing of his DFC, and wondered what would happen to Christina and her baby. He wondered what this tragedy meant for the rest of his cadre. And as the transport touched down and Professor Ivanston rushed over to him, he simply wondered what in the hell was going to happen next.
Chapter 23
It was a bleak, cold and rainy morning when the memorial for Hugo Guzman was held at the small cemetery behind Druice Hall two days later. The cemetery was more of a type of honorary shrine to those students which had perished either in the service itself or through on-campus accidents since the school had been founded. No bodies resided here; only small rectangular headstones containing the students’ names and birth and death dates. There were only about a hundred or so headstones in the cemetery, Hugo’s being the most recent. The UEF flags across the Sanderson School’s campus were raised to half mast, but they dangled limply in the rain, their corners blowing just barely when the wind picked up a bit now and again.
Hugo’s parents, Margaritte and Torrance, flew in from Michigan. Christina had been inconsolable since the accident, and couldn’t bring herself to attend the service. It had been explained to Travis’ flight cadre– and later Hugo’s parents–that an investigation determined that upon reentry into Earth’s atmosphere, Hugo had simply misjudged his initial proximity to the other ships in his squadron. When his proximity sensors went off, Hugo panicked and banked the wrong way. Professor Ivanston’s students had been dismissed that day, and all piloting classes were not to resume until a remedial test was given to every flight student on campus.
Travis and Marion stood together under an umbrella, his arm wrapped around her waist, her head resting on his shoulder. Since the accident, Marion was at his side almost every moment when neither of them was in class. She used to take off her engagement ring during runs on Macavee’s obstacle course or in the gym, but now she never removed it except to shower. She professed her love for him over and over, but now when they made love, there was a type of desperation to it which Travis didn’t enjoy. He still loved Marion, but for reasons he couldn’t fathom, the closer she stayed to him, the more emotionally distant he became inside.
He glanced to his left and caught Danielle staring at him. She looked away quickly, focusing on the memorial once more as she stood with Tony Drake. The couple had supposedly grown closer over the past few weeks, but Travis had noticed that after the accident the other day, she had been stealing glances at him in class. Fortunately Marion didn’t have a clue about this, as that would have opened up a whole other world of problems he just didn’t want to deal with.
The memorial was presided over by a Diviner from the Nondenominational Church of the All, a development which Travis wasn’t happy about. This church had only sprung up a few years before he was born, and if the military had to be in bed with a type of religious organization to service the troops, he didn’t understand why it couldn’t be the Roman Catholic Church, which used to be the tradition. This was the way things were however, and Travis supposed he had to just get used to it.
“In our belief in God and the eternal hereafter, we say that there must be a reason for everything which occurs,” the Diviner said as he addressed the assembled mass of students, family and friends. “We say this because we can have no true comprehension of God’s will, no understanding of what His plans for our lives, however brief, may be. Mortal and flawed, limited human minds cannot hope to brush against even the barest understanding of what such a mighty will carries. If an ant were to observe a human putting on their shoe, could the ant ever hope to grasp an understanding of what that person is doing, or even why? Such are we to the All; ants, scurrying about in our lives without hope of understanding the true reasons behind all that occurs while we are here. And so we say that there must be a reason, because deep within us, our souls do grasp the concept which our minds cannot fathom. We know God exists, but we do not know His plan…we just know that there is one.
“Hugo Oscar Guzman is with God now, and so he does finally understand the plan. And if such is true–as we know it must be–then he would not want us to grieve, although he knows that since we are mortal, we do. But as brothers and sisters within the community of humanity, we are also here to support one another in this time of mourning. And so as we mourn, let us remember the light which Hugo briefly brought to those lives here, and that not only are we all the more better for having known him now…but that one day, we will see him again. Amen.”
“Amen,” the group replied, and all bowed their heads in a moment of silence. The Diviner made the sign of the cross, then traced an infinity symbol in the air before him. It was then time for the honor guard salute. Travis, Danielle and Pietro–with the exception of Christina, all the members of Hugo’s last flight–approached the master-of-arms standing near the headstone. They each received a VK-11 Blastrifle, and took positions just in front of the headstone. “Cadets, present arms,” the masterof- arms ordered, and the three students raised their guns in readiness. “At ready,” she said, and they clicked off their safeties, their guns whining in unison as packets of charged antimatter slid into their firing chambers–a new innovation for the company which had created the weapon. The rest of the gathered people saluted.
“Honors, hup!” the master-of-arms said loudly as she dropped her arm. As one, Travis and his fellows pointed their Blastrifles into the air and fired, their black/white bolts of antimatter soaring into the sky and colliding in a powerful burst of destruction at a predetermined point. They fired again, then a third time, and finally lowered their weapons and clicked the safeties back on. They returned them to the master-of-arms, and the ceremony was over.
A small wake was held in Talbert Hall. Travis reluctantly met Hugo’s parents, and told them how sorry he was for the loss of their only child. They graciously accepted his condolences, and acknowledged some relief that Travis had not died on that day as well. He felt guilty about accepting their grace, but did so anyway. The wake was brief, and when it was over Travis returned alone to his quarters on the first floor of Brigand Division. The accident at the school had made the pressnets, and Travis was sure that Aunt Lisa must have heard about it, but he had been too distracted to either check his e-mail or call her to say that he was okay. He sat down at his desk and sighed forlornly as he activated his vid-com. The UEF seal appeared automatically, followed by a special text bulletin from United Network News. Travis was tempted to skip over it, but the headline caught his attention immediately:
FLEET DESTRUCTION NEAR CASTOR
149th and 250th Divisions Destroyed by Enemy Forces
At 7:14 this morning, Earth Standard Time, a defense fleet comprised of the 149th and 250th Heavy Cruiser Divisions–170 ships in all–was destroyed in combat with enemy forces in the Castor star-system, nearly fifty-two light-years from Earth. It is estimated that almost one hundred thousand United Earth Force soldiers have lost their lives in the conflict, which lasted three-and-a-half hours.
The conflict itself was predestined: two days ago, a Watch Station recently placed in the Altair star-system detected a massive Calvorian fleet gathering near Castor. An equal number of UEF ships were immediately dispatched to intercept and destroy the enemy fleet. When they arrived, they engaged the enemy. However, according to a signal sent by the Heavy Cruiser Apollo, nearly a quarter of the enemy fleet consisted of dreadnoughts. The rest of the transmission was lost, and it is presumed the Apollo was one of the first ships destroyed. The Watch Station, some thirty-five light-years distant from the battle, was able to intermittently receive images from the conflict, which quickly went south for UEF’s side. Near the conclusion of the fight, however, the Calvorians set up a transpace interference net, jamming all conventional sensor reception. The last image received was of several Calvorian ships surrounding the brutally damaged Heavy Cruiser Brooksfield, while the rest of the enemy fleet moved past the doomed ship, continuing on their way, presumably, to Earth.
UEF sources have declined to say what action will be taken next, but do confirm that this is the worst loss for our side since the destruction of the 185th Division at Vega, nearly four years ago. Our readers will remember that at that time…
Travis skimmed a few lines ahead and saw that the rest of the article was primarily recalling the loss of the 185th. He couldn’t bear to read anymore, and shut off the computer. He sat in his chair for several minutes, contemplating what he had to do. He couldn’t just sit by any longer, while his fellow soldiers did his job, fighting and dying on the battlefield.
He got to his feet, a look of grim determination on his face. He chose his path, and went to find Marion.
INTERIM FOUR
(David Christenson)
Captain David Christenson, commanding officer of the United Earth Force Heavy Cruiser Victory, sat anxiously in his command chair in the center of the vessel’s bridge.
He stared ahead, past the helmsman and navigator, at the swirling miasma of nearly nauseating color on the central viewscreen. His ship and his entire task force of two hundred and fifteen ships were traveling through hyperspace, each within their own individual artificially generated wormholes. Of these ships, the Victory was the fastest, being able to travel at seven times the speed of light cubed, whereas other, older Cruisers could only make it to five times that speed within their wormholes. Christenson wasn’t worried; he knew the Victory would arrive at the coordinates to intercept the enemy fleet a few seconds ahead of his own. But that was alright; he actually preferred it that way. He had already mapped out the battle in his head, how it would go down, and knew that this time, UEF would be victorious.
This time, they had no choice but to win.
In the half century of war between the two sides, the Calvorians had managed to press dangerously close to Earth space a handful of times, the last being nearly twenty years prior to this moment. In that span of time, the war had escalated considerably, and spread out into numerous starsystems. Earth Force’s resources were spread far more thinly than most knew, and if a final victory could not be achieved, then at least the status quo had to be maintained. With this latest loss, the status quo had been shaken considerably, and the top members of the President’s cabinet were concerned that this might signal the twilight of humanity. But David Christenson was a soldier, borne from a generations-long line of them. He believed above all else that no matter what, a soldier doesn’t quit until he has either won or drawn his last breath.
He had no intention of drawing his last breath today.
“Coming up on coordinates, Captain,” the ship’s navigator announced.
“Very good. Bridge to tactical…bring all weapons up to hot standby. As soon as we’re out of our womb, lock onto the lead vessel. It’s imperative that we do not miss that first shot.”
“Weapons at bear, standing by on your order, Captain,” Tanner Matthews, the security chief’s second, replied over the ODC.
“Helm, prepare to drop back into 3-D,” Christenson said. The communications officer turned partway in his chair to face the back of Christenson’s head. “Sir, should I alert the fleet to prepare to drop out?”
“No,” Christenson answered, not looking back. “They’ll see our wormhole destabilize, and know. Best not to give away any surprises to the enemy.”
“Yes, sir,” the com officer acknowledged, and turned back to his console.
“And…now, helm,” Christenson said easily. The helmsman worked his console, and on the viewscreen the swirling mess of multicolored hue coalesced into a single point, which widened rapidly as the Heavy Cruiser approached. There was the barest shudder as the Victory reemerged into third-dimensional space, and Christenson gripped the arms of his chair tightly in anticipation as the enemy war fleet of 190 ships loomed before them. There were indeed quite a few dreadnoughts interspersed within this pack, as had been reported. Christenson’s eyes narrowed slightly as he thought to himself, Good. They’ll just make bigger targets.
“Patch me in to the lead ship.”
After some mild maneuvering of the controls, the com officer turned to Christenson. “You’re on, sir.”
“This is David Christenson, captain of the United Earth Force Heavy Cruiser Victory,” he said in an even tone. “Who is the commander of this fleet?”
It took a moment, but then a gravelly voice, like stone rubbing on stone, replied: “This is General Veen, of the First Division of the Calvorian armada. My ship is the Razharh’s Dominion. You seem to have strayed quite a ways from your home system, human.” The tone was light, but there was no joviality in this Calvorian’s voice. Only a type of amusement, with a threat waiting below the surface.
Christenson wasn’t fazed in the slightest. “You are hereby ordered to turn back and return to your own space. If you attempt to proceed any further toward Earth, you will be fired upon and destroyed.”
Another pause, then: “You are either the greatest human captain in history, or the greatest fool to ever traverse the stars.”
“I don’t claim to be the former, although I am by no means the latter,” Christenson said, a dark thunder rumbling beneath his light English tone. “And I only hailed your ship so that I could know who it is that I am about to kill. Of everything I know about your culture, that tradition is the one I like the best…and I intend to keep it as mine.” The proximity sensors sounded, and Christenson knew that just behind his ship, the universe had opened up and the Light Brigade had arrived.
His eyes narrowed once more as he focused on the lead ship and readied to give the order. “Prepare to die,” he said with a darkness in his voice which made Captain Veen inexplicably shudder.
Chapter 24
“Travis.”
His name had been spoken with a quiet calm, like small ripples gently disturbing a pond on a barely windy day. Travis turned to see Sensei Ling approaching, still wearing the full dress black United Earth Force uniform, his chest fairly glowing with a multitude of shining medals. Travis couldn’t name half of them, and had no idea so many UEF medals even existed.
“Sensei–?” he said, some concern in his voice. In the four years he’d known Ling, he had never seen him inside Brigand Division. “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” the sensei prodded gently, offering Travis a discreet explanation for exiting if he didn’t wish to speak at the moment. Instead, Travis shook his head. “Not at all. What can I do for you?”
“Now may not be the most opportune time to mention this, but we didn’t get the chance to speak at the wake,” Li
ng stated. “The semester is nearly over. I was just wondering how your actualization of the Zen philosophy is coming along?”
Travis tried his best to keep an apprehensive look off his face. At the beginning of the semester, Ling had told all his classes that part of their final grade was not only how well they had come along in the practice of Jeet Kune Do, but also how well they mentally and spiritually understood those principles. To this end, each student would have to come up with a simple statement of no more than thirty words which completely encapsulated and clearly explained what the practice of Jeet Kune Do personally meant to them. Any statement which brought into aspect a military bent would mean half their grade would be deducted from their final mark…and every one of them knew that with so much taken away, it would be impossible to pass the course. It was an assignment unlike any Travis had had to that point, and at the time, he relished the challenge.
Now, however, he wasn’t so sure. With Hugo’s death and his conflicting feelings about being with Marion while so many ships had been lost in recent engagements, he had become distracted and unfocused on Ling’s task.
“I’ve been trying my best to come up with an answer to your assignment,” Travis lied, and felt horrible doing it, “but to be honest, it’s probably going to take me up to the last day before end of class for me to come up with something.”
Ling regarded Travis silently as he considered his top pupil’s answer. Finally, he nodded in a type of understanding. “I have faith in you, Travis. I’m sure you won’t let me down,” he said, then turned and left. Travis stared after him a moment, then slowly turned back in the direction he was going, and proceeded down the hall to Marion’s room.