Ragnarok-ARC

by Patrick A. Vanner

  "Well, sir, first, I have already issued orders to Admiral Tanner and to planetary defense informing them of the likelihood of a Xan-Sskarn attack and to prepare accordingly. Second, I have informed counter intelligence of the possibility of traitorous activity within the fleet or the government, and they are beginning an investigation as we speak. Finally, I have a plan on how to deal with McLaughlin and Rachere." Admiral Greco leaned back in his chair, the first evidence of relief since his entrance into the secretary's office crossing his face. It appeared that the secretary was going to leave this in his hands, and not try to take charge. Which, seeing as how they were his officers and therefore his responsibility, was as it should be. But he had been a bit concerned.

  "And that plan would be?" Secretary Lipinski asked as he resumed his chair, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk, waiting expectantly.

  "Well, first I am going to get the both of them in my office."

  "Then?"

  "Then, Mr. Secretary"—Admiral Greco, actually smiling now, let Secretary Lipinski in on his master plan—"then I'm going to ask them what actually happened."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Quantico, Virginia, Terra

  October 8, 2197

  2112 z

  Sol

  Pain.

  Hate.

  Death.

  Alex felt them. Felt them all directed at her. Confused, she began looking around. She saw herself strapped into her chair on the command deck, but it was blurry, as if she were looking at it underwater. The structure kept shifting. One moment it was the Fenris, the next it was the Gna, then back again. Shaking her head, she tried to focus. Yes, she needed to focus; her crew needed her. As if summoned by her thought, her crew appeared, seated at their stations, apparently oblivious to her presence. They, too, were out of focus, morphing between faces she knew so well. Faces she had thought never to see again. Then they began to transform with each change. Uniforms became blacker, as if burnt; faces grew paler; movements became stilted. Then the blood began to appear: first in small, isolated patches, then blossoming into large splotches, as if her crew were a canvas being painted with broad strokes. Alex tried to turn her gaze away, but no matter where she looked, the same scene was played out. Unable to look anymore, she squeezed her eyes shut. Then the voices began.

  "Captain McLaughlin," The hollow sound echoed in her head. She could not differentiate between voices, yet somehow she knew each one, remembered hearing it in better times. Happier times. Living times. "Why?"

  "Why? I don't understand," Alex choked out, tears streaming down her face.

  "You left us behind."

  "No, I didn't want to. It was my duty . . . " She fell silent at this. It sounded hollow even to her. Duty or no, she knew. She knew. They were right. She had left them behind.

  "What of your duty to us? You were our captain, yet we are alone. We died, yet you still live." She could hear the voices clearly now. So very clearly, friends she had known. Friends she had loved. Friends she had abandoned.

  "I'm sorry. Oh, God, please forgive me." She wept openly now, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "What can I do? What do you want?"

  "You belong with us."

  "Yes," her voice whispered back, her head down and eyes still clenched shut.

  "Join us, Captain McLaughlin," the voice whispered in her ear. Looking up, her tears gone, she opened her eyes and looked out upon her dead. They stood before her, an endless sea of horribly mutilated, bloody faces, each with accusation in their eyes. They beckoned to her. Join them. Do not leave them behind again. Her hands began to work at the buckle, trying to release herself.

  "Yes," she breathed dreamily as the straps began to fall from her.

  "Captain McLaughlin." They called to her, waiting for her. The last strap fell away.

  "Captain McLaughlin." She began to rise as their hands reached for her, pulling her, bringing her home.

  "Captain McLaughlin." Home, yes, never to leave. Her crew needed her, and she would not fail them again. She felt the hands grip her tighter, like they would never let her go.

  * * *

  "Captain McLaughlin! Wake up!" the parade-ground voice snapped, loud enough to wake the dead.

  Alex jerked awake. The howls of her dead still echoed in her head as she tried to sit up. She couldn't, and looking down, she could see why. She was strapped to the bed. What she could not figure out was why she was strapped to the bed, or, for that matter, what bed it was. Nor did she recognize the room. The single overhead light cast dark shadows on the gray painted walls. Letting her gaze sweep the room, she saw a toilet, sink, desk, chair, and bars. So, she was in a cell. That certainly did not bode well, but with consciousness came remembrance. Threatening an admiral, no matter how much he deserved it, was certainly reason enough for her to be here. Though she still could not figure out the reason for the restraints. Her gaze finally rested on the owner of the voice that had brought her back. A marine corporal stood at the bars, looking in at her, concern on his face. Upon closer examination, she could see his sidearm and the MP brassard on his left arm. So, he was her jailer.

  "Captain McLaughlin, are you okay?" his voice, much softer now, held the same concern she'd seen in his face.

  "Well, Corporal," she said, her voice still harsh and rasping, "if you define 'okay' as being strapped to a bunk and locked in a cell with no idea as to how you got there, then I'm just peachy." She tried to make light of her situation, but the restraining straps around her arms and legs felt too much like the hands that had been pulling at her. She shivered at the thought, though she could not tell if it was from relief or regret.

  "Well, ma'am, the restraints were for your own safety." He reached down and pulled a communicator from his belt. "She's awake," he said into the device.

  "My own safety?" she asked. That didn't sound good, and she said so.

  "Oh, it's not 'cause you were going crazy or being difficult. The doc just thought it would be a good idea. You were pretty banged up when you got here, and the doc patched you up, then gave you something for the pain. He said that between the injuries and the meds, you might have some pretty vivid dreams, and that he wanted you restrained so you didn't hurt yourself more if you started thrashing about. And it's a good thing he did. It looked like you were having one hell of a nightmare."

  "You have no idea, Corporal," she said, letting her head fall back on the pillow. And I hope you never do, she thought to herself.

  "So, now that I am awake, would you please unstrap me?" she asked the overhead lights. Turning to face the guard just hurt too damn much right now.

  "Well, ma'am, I'd be happy to, just as soon as someone comes down here to join me." She could hear the amusement in his voice. Alex laughed at this.

  "Corporal, I am flattered that you think you need backup to deal with one beat-up little captain. But let me assure you right now—I think I'd have a hard enough time battling with gravity, let alone an armed marine."

  "Oh, it's not because I am worried about what you might try to do, Captain," he said in a tone that was not arrogant, just factual. "I could deal with anything you might try. But regulations do not permit me to enter a prisoner's cell without another person in attendance, except in the event of an emergency. Regardless of their condition."

  "I see. Well, I hope your backup arrives really soon." Her voice held a little aggravation.

  "Why, is something wrong?" The concern was back in his voice. "Do I need to get the doc back down here?"

  "No, it's just that I've got this itch on the end of my nose, and it's driving me crazy." Alex was twitching her nose as she said this in a futile attempt to stop the discomfort. She heard the guard laugh at that.

  "Well, you're in luck, ma'am. Here he comes now." With that, she turned her head slightly to see him begin punching buttons on the face of the cell door. After what seemed to be an overly long and complex code, the door began to slide open as another marine arrived. Once the door was fully opened, the corporal entered h
er cell and knelt beside her bunk.

  "Okay, now let's get these off you." He began to unfasten her restraints. As her right arm was freed, she began to move it up toward her nose, which incidentally moved it in the direction of the marine leaning over her.

  "Freeze!" the second guard shouted, hand dropping to the butt of his sidearm.

  "Relax, Frank, she's just trying to scratch her nose," the corporal called over his shoulder. Then he looked down at Alex. "All the same, ma'am, I'd appreciate it if you kept your arms and legs still while I finished this. Don't want any misunderstandings."

  "Gotcha."

  "Right, that's got it." The corporal stood up as the last strap loosed around her ankle. He backed toward the cell entrance and, once he was through, pressed a button. The door slid shut. Alex had been scratching at her nose the whole time.

  The itch taken care of, Alex finally got a chance to remove the sheets covering her. She was still sweat-soaked from her nightmare, and the feel of the cold air on her damp clothes made her shudder again. She also noticed she was in a hospital gown, and there was nothing else to wear in sight. Oh, well, not like I'm going anywhere anyway.

  Wincing in pain, she forced herself into a sitting position. Then, after a moment's rest, she stood, wavering slightly. Still under the marines' watchful eyes, she shuffled over toward the sink. Stopping in front of it and grabbing the sides to help support herself, she looked into the mirror and began to take stock of her injuries.

  What looked back at her was not pretty. The entire right side of her face was a mass of bruises and scratches. The swelling had gone down enough that she could see out of her right eye now. She still had a pair of butterfly bandages on her scalp, but she guessed that they were fresh, not what a rushed petty officer had applied. Her hair, which she had always worn long, was lopsided, burned and seared short, so it fell just above collar length. Supporting herself with only her right arm now, she ran her left hand over her right side. Feeling the bandages under the gown, she assumed that her ribs had been ministered to as well. She took a last look at her face before turning back toward the bunk. Deciding that lying down was not what she wanted to do right now, she headed for the chair at the desk instead.

  Lowering herself into it, she let her mind wander. Treason, desertion, cowardice, attempted murder, and assault. Yep, you've really done it this time, Alex. You really need to do something about your temper. Then she remember why she had done what she had done, and she allowed herself a small smile. If it had saved her crew, then it had been worth it, and she'd happily pay the price for it. Just like you were ready to pay the price for your other crew. The thought surfaced in her mind, and she pushed it down but knew it would never go away. And she wasn't sure if she wanted it to.

  Coming back to the here and now, she looked up at the corporal.

  "So, are you supposed to stay there staring at me the whole time I'm here?"

  "No, ma'am," the corporal said, standing back from the cell door, arms behind his back, relaxed. "The doc said to keep an eye on you for the first half hour or so after you woke up in case anything happened, and I figured if something did happen, it would be easier to deal with if I was here, rather than seeing it on the monitor and having to run down here." He pointed up at the camera behind him aimed down into her cell.

  "Well, I appreciate it, Corporal." she said, trying to smile without it looking like some sort of grimace. "And seeing as how I have you for the next twenty minutes or so, do you mind if I ask you some questions?"

  "Not at all, ma'am. Ask away."

  "How long was I out?"

  "Couldn't tell you," he said. "You were out when you got here. You've been here for the last three hours."

  "Okay, fair enough. So, where is here, exactly?"

  "You're dirtside. Quantico, to be specific." Dirtside, and in the brig closest to Navy High Command . . . and, coincidentally, to the Judge Advocate General's offices as well. The situation was not getting any better.

  "Well, that explains a lot." She saw that he didn't quite see how that explained anything to her, but he just nodded. "Don't suppose you know the status of my ship and crew?" He shook his head.

  "Can I have my uniform back now? I'd like to get out of this gown."

  " 'Fraid not, ma'am." He actually sounded sorry to her.

  "Well, can I at least have my cigarettes?" Alex asked. She was alone, in pain, with a lot on her mind, and more than a little bit scared. All of which had her fiending for nicotine something fierce.

  "Sorry to say, ma'am, that you didn't have any cigarettes on you when you arrived—just a few cigars. Regardless, though, it's against regs to smoke in a government facility." Alex snorted at that.

  "Are you kidding me?" she asked incredulously. "Corporal, I'm in here because some idiot has charged me with treason, desertion, attempted murder, and a whole slew of other charges. Do you think I can get into any more trouble by smoking a cigar in here?"

  "Probably not, ma'am. But you still can't have them." He smiled as he said this, taking any heat there might have been out of his words. She yawned back in return.

  "Can I have some coffee, then? I'm beat." She stifled another yawn.

  "That would be the DermaGen and QuickKnit the doc gave you, ma'am. Really takes it out of you." Alex nodded her understanding. Dermal regenerators and quick-knit bone reconstructors might speed healing, but they burned a body's resources just as fast. Now that she thought about it, she was ravenously hungry. She started to open her mouth to ask when she could get something to eat, but the guard seemed to be expecting the question.

  "Chow's on its way now, ma'am, and coffee." He was still smiling. For a jailer, and a marine, he was rather nice. She smiled back.

  * * *

  Alex was working on her third cup of coffee when she heard someone coming down the passageway toward her cell. The corporal had left soon after her food had arrived, allowing her to eat in private. Sitting back in the chair, sipping at her coffee, she could see that he was back, and that he was not alone. A lieutenant commander was with him.

  "Captain McLaughlin?" the lieutenant commander asked, and continued on at her nod. "I am Lieutenant Commander Painter, adjutant to Admiral Greco. You will come with me, please."

  "Where are we going?" Alex asked, still sitting calmly at the desk, sipping her coffee.

  "I am to bring you to the admiral's office." He seemed to be affronted by the question.

  "I see. And what does the Chief of Naval Operations want with a lowly captain?" She had still not moved, but her eyes caught the small smile on the corporal's face. Apparently she was not the only one around here who did not like the lieutenant commander's whiny, officious attitude.

  "That does not concern you," Painter snapped, obviously not accustomed to having his commands ignored.

  "Well, I would like something to wear, if you don't mind." She smiled sweetly at the officer, knowing it would just irritate him more but unable to resist the temptation. What the hell? She was already in trouble, so in for a bullet, in for a barrage, as her father always said. "I'm sure the admiral would not want me reporting to his office in a hospital gown. It's bad enough I am going to have to do it in chains." She added this last sourly.

  "Get her something to wear," Painter snarled over his shoulder at the corporal. "She needs to be at least somewhat presentable for her meeting with Admiral Greco and Admiral Rachere." Turning back to face her, he gave her a condescending look and said, "You need not fear, Captain, you will not be in chains. In fact, you will not even be under arrest. Now, I suggest you keep your questions to yourself so that I can deliver you to the admiral's office without any more delay."

  At the mention of Admiral Rachere's name, a surge of hate flowed into her body. So strong was this wave of hatred that she did not register the rest of what Painter had said at first.

  "As you were, Corporal," Alex snapped, stopping the guard mid-sentence as he spoke into his communicator.

  "Captain McLaughlin—" Painter be
gan, but she did not let him finish.

  "Silence," she said, the bite of command evident in her voice. Being the adjutant to the highest-ranking naval officer apparently gave the man delusions of his own importance. Now, that would not do at all. Alex knew that she should keep her mouth shut and just do what she was told, but she couldn't. Something about the officer standing in front of her irritated her to no end, and situation be damned, she was not going to put up with it. He had said she was not under arrest, and that changed things considerably.

  "Now, Corporal, I would like my uniform please. Have it sent down immediately." Her voice was calm, but commanding.