Gunship - The Series

by John Davis

  “I know, thank you,” Adam replied, speaking from the heart to a woman he once loved. “And I want you to know that I'm sorry for putting you into this position. Truly.” he added.

  “Just speak to them from the heart Adam, and fate will take care of the rest.” Sarah replied, a warm smile upon the face of such a beautiful woman.

  Though she'd become a vampire, Sarah's beauty had remained intact. Even more so, depending on who you asked. She had the same elegant curves and angelic voice as before, though her skin appeared much whiter.

  She had once been widely considered the most compassionate person alive. Daughter of the acting commander of the colonies, she was a true advocate of humanity.

  The wrong type of Hunter had strayed from Ronica and soon their paths met, dragging Adam into things during the process. Stumbling onto true love during the worst of circumstances. Their love for one another had simply been storybook, though several events tested them.

  When he faced the decision of a lifetime, Adam walked away from the woman his heart loved so truly. Unknowingly handing her to the Hunters with his decision.

  There were many regrets throughout his lifetime, but none of them greater. A bad call which spawned from pride and bitterness, leading to the death of a woman he truly loved. At least partial death.

  He knew she was a vampire because of his inability to forgive. Still, he saw her just as beautifully as ever. Feeling butterflies while in her presence.

  As Adam was led into the castle, a large security detail following behind, Sarah watched him walk away. Searching her own feelings for a man she once was prepared to marry.

  She had loved him with everything not so long ago. From the pit of her stomach; her very soul. She loved the man who walked away once more – this time on business.

  “Good luck Adam Michaels.” she said with a dedicated, yet hushed, voice.

  Aboard Colonial Star Triumph

  “I am having trouble accepting this.” Commander Ortega admitted, his emotions torn in half as he sat on a long couch of plush red, several advisers standing nearby.

  “Sir, this decision is not on you.” one of the advisers remarked.

  “In fact, it is the only choice. We're left with no options.” another adviser added.

  “Sir, we have been crushed,” a second adviser added. “Our mightiest of bases, Glimmeria, fell as though it were a dying leaf in the fall of year. It is in my opinion that nothing can be gained from our situation outside of the greater good.”

  “Yes,” Ortega replied, standing to his feet. “I understand the logic. My heart bleeds for every person we leave behind. Truly, it does.” he added with sincerity.

  “Sir, if we had time to gather more ships, perhaps we could save them all. We simply do not have the time. The realization of defeat came too late.”

  “Doctor Arness,” Ortega said, turning to the high-ranking adviser. “I wonder if you know what a burden this is, having to decide the fate of thousands by the stroke of a pen? I wonder if you feel for the same for these innocent people as I do?”

  “Sir, I understand you convictions,” the doctor said, though his primary role throughout the fleet was political. “But I also understand that we may not even have time to form the fleet, much less expand it. The horde cares not for our guilt or convictions. They simply come.” Doctor Arness said.

  “Yes. I'm painfully aware,” Ortega replied. “You have often been the voice of reason for me when my heart is worn too openly on my sleeve.”

  “Just doing my job sir,” Doctor Arness commented. “Someone has to be here to keep things in perspective. Sadly, innocent children will have to die in order for us to survive. The fleet needs us.”

  With the delivery of his statement, the two marines stationed by the door of their private quarters exchanged glances. Obviously shaken by Arness' ease when it came to loss of innocent life, though they understood the chain of command.

  “In just a few moments, you'll be broadcast to every monitor in the Skyla System. Everyone needs to hear strength in your voice and indecision in your heart. Even if it is not entirely there, our citizens need to hear it.” one of his advisers said.

  “Now more than ever, they need to hear it.” Ortega replied, agreeing with the logic of his advisers.

  “As soon as we deliver the speech, what remains of our government can begin the process of supplying for the journey to come.” Doctor Arness said.

  “We have enough ships to make this type of journey?” Ortega questioned, turning to the men.

  “Yes sir,” one of them responded. “Some of them are a bit older, but certainly capable of deep space travel. We can make any necessary repairs once we're on our way.”

  “Good,” Ortega nodded. “Supplies?”

  “That is our main concern at the moment,” the adviser admitted. “Fuel, water, food and ammunition will all be in short supply. Especially after being sacked so many times by the Priests.” he added, stitching truth into his statement.

  “As will hope. I cannot leave people behind without a fighting chance,” Ortega said. “I will not leave them here without at least a small chance of survival.”

  “Sir, we've selected the location for several reasons. It is the furthest away from the Priest's main force, but it is also one of the resource-richest planets of our system. Full of minerals to fuel a civilization and plenty of land to grow crops. Our survivors would have a good chance to rebuild, should they somehow find a way to turn the Priests away.”

  “I wonder if your confidence would be as firm if you were to be left behind?” Ortega asked.

  “Sir?” the adviser replied, both men with a look of shock.

  “That is the way of a politician, is it not? Save his own skin by sacrificing the skin of others?”

  “Sir, I assure you. We've done the best job possible given our circumstances. For both sides involved.” the adviser replied.

  “Indeed,” Ortega commented, seeming to take a moment to breathe and focus on the task at hand. “Let's just get it over with,” he added, scooping up several papers and heading for the door to his quarters, surrounded by the bustling of suits and ties. “Let's doom nearly half of our race to certain death. For the sake of politics.”

  Drift Planet - Sandila

  “Your card skills are as bad as your Priest-hunting skills!” a man proclaimed, erupting laughter throughout the small bar setting.

  The boasting man was very much on the chubby side, an unshaven beard masking most of his face as he began reaching for the pot of gold. Or, in this case, three packs of fresh cigars and a near-full bottle of whiskey.

  “Not so fast you cocksucker,” Dalton replied sharply, slamming his own cards onto the table. “Three gems and two zips – now give me my damn winnings.”

  “That's impossible!” the large man claimed, grabbing Dalton by the wrist in an attempt to stop him from collecting his winnings.

  “As will be your attempt to eat solid food with a wired-up jaw,” Dalton warned. “Which it will be, if you don't unhand me. Friend.”

  “Let it be Daniel.” one of the other players commented, the small table holding four players total.

  “Well, alright then.” the chubby man calmly replied, releasing his grip of the smuggler's wrist.

  “Besides boys, hell, plenty enough to go around.” Dalton said with a grin, hinting of pouring everyone a shot; a suggestion that immediately brought cheers throughout the sunlight-poor room.

  As his shaky hand began to pour the first shot of whiskey, Dalton's attention followed everyone else to the only door of the sad dwelling. Embers of filth highlighting such a dank pub as rays of light poured in. Its walls held together with nails, while cracks of sunlight bled in through mismatched wooden boards.

  Dalton had a good idea who was entering. She had a way of showing up each time he was preparing to embark into the land of no good, and it really would have pissed him off – if not for the fact that she was so incredibly easy on the eyes.

&nb
sp; His captain, Cambria Sims.

  Cambria slowly entered, her vivid blue hair standing out among the pack of thieves and self-admitted outlaws. And though she eased the door closed once more as if to enter the room unnoticed, the bar had become silent enough to hear the aging of wood. Nearly.

  “Better hide the whiskey mate, your boss lady is here.” one of the players taunted, chuckling a bit.

  “Dalton James don't have to hide a damn thing.” he commented proudly, though he casually corked the bottle of whiskey and eased it into the inner of his brown coat.

  “Yea,” another player mocked with laughter. “Sure he don't.”

  “She says jump and the man asks how high.” the chubby card game loser said.

  “How about I jump across this table and pistol-whip the shit out of you? How about that?” Dalton asked with a scowl, lips cutting though a beard of brown.

  “Relax boys, she is sitting up there with the monitor.” one of the men commented, noticing Cambria sitting to the front of the building; her seat at the bar directly in front of the news monitor.

  “Another round?” a man asked, having scooped up the deck of cards in an attempt to shuffle.

  “Nope,” Dalton said, though he wanted nothing more than to blister the men once more at a man's game. “Gotta go check in with my captain.”

  Though laughter ensued, the smuggler shrugged it off, locking eyes onto a man who had eased his way onto a stool beside Cambria.

  So much for honor among thieves. Dalton thought, casting a hard glance to the man. “Cocksucker.”

  Pausing for a moment, Dalton turned his attention to the pub's door. Believing he'd heard a distant scream, though no others among them heard it. Either they were all too drunk to have heard the bone-chilling cry for help, or Dalton was drunk enough to imagine it.

  Finally shrugging it off, he once again focused on his walk to the bar.

  “Hey Cambria,” Dalton said with a grin, one that was quickly returned by the young lady of impeccable beauty. “Hey guy with no chance of getting into Cambria's pants.”

  Both the blue-haired beauty and local patron developed strange looks across their faces, for different reasons, of course.

  “I wasn't going to...” the man began to reply.

  “Save your shit Mahone, I've known you long enough. Probably using the same damn lines as always on this young specimen of insatiable beauty.”

  It was the first time he'd openly hit on a woman while warning off another man without at least a pause for breath. A fact that made the smuggler grin a bit.

  “Dalton, really. He was just being nice. That's all.” Cambria proclaimed.

  Yea right, and I'm the fucking commander of the colonies. That silver-tongued son of a bitch is a bigger booty-chaser than I am, and that's saying something. Dalton thought.

  “What takes up 12 docking spaces...six women pilots,” Dalton spouted off, striking home with Cambria, who had heard the joke only moments before. “Or maybe he hit you with the old...What do you call a woman who can't make sandwiches?” Dalton asked, knowing he'd exposed the panty-snatcher. “Single.”

  “Well, I'll take my leave.” Mahone stated, knowing he'd been given away by the man who would have been his wingman on any other occasion. This was different though. This was love. Though neither Dalton nor Cambria would admit it.

  Dalton was careful to watch the man walk away too, as though he were a mighty dog protecting its master.

  “Wow, I feel like an idiot.” Cambria confessed.

  “Don't,” Dalton replied, though his eyes cautiously watched Mahone walk away. “Most of the skanks that come through here would have been in bed with him after the first line,” he added, quickly realizing the damage of his own words. “Not to say you're a skank.”

  Cambria answered his confession with a laugh.

  “Wow, and I thought his lines were bad.”

  A short moment of silence fell between them, making each a bit uncomfortable.

  “I don't know, I just feel a need to watch out for you. That's all. Places like this, they're in my blood. I know what's going through most of these people's heads before they do. It's like I'm a psychic or something.”

  “A psychic with whiskey on his breath.” Cambria replied.

  Ah fuck! Dalton thought, though he broadcast a look of confusion.

  “It's alright, this is a bar. I expect it. Besides, it kind of feels good knowing I can come into a place like this and be safe.” Cambria admitted.

  “Yea,” Dalton said, his mind wandering to distant places as he thought of her statement. “I understand that.”

  “Can I ask you a question? A serious one?” Cambria asked.

  “Technically you just did,” Dalton replied with a smile. “Sure you can, you know that.”

  “How come you never let anyone close? I see through the whole comedic front you put up, I just don't understand why? Why can't you just be open about what's on your mind? In your heart?” Cambria asked.

  It was a damn good question, and Dalton knew it. His silent reaction for several moments only confirmed it to her.

  “Not sure really. I reckon I'm just afraid of losing people,” he admitted, becoming as serious as Cambria had ever seen him before. “Each time I open up to someone, I lose 'em. One way or another, I lose 'em. Be it in a gunfight or to the undead,” he added. “I hate the fucking undead.”

  “Fair enough.” Cambria replied, accepting his answer at face value.

  “Now let me ask you something.” Dalton said.

  “Shoot,” Cambria replied with a grin. “Though not literally.”

  “How come we talk about anything and everything but the obvious? Each time we get close to talking about us, you shy away from it. I don't know what to think?” Dalton asked.

  “Us?” she asked.

  “Ah, never mind then. I suppose my idiot brain just conjured that up. Won't happen again.” Dalton replied, standing to his feet, upset by her lack of feelings for him.

  Cambria offered no reply, simply turning her head away from him. Though she did so in order to mask her emotions.

  A part of her wanted to grab the smuggler and unload her own feelings onto him. Be with him. But her reservations prevented her from it, not seeing how a relationship with him would ever work out for the best.

  Cambria had a way of over-thinking things, usually for the worse. She was confused, and the tears which began to swell in her eyes were proof of it, eventually beading softly down her cheeks a bit.

  “Dalton, wait.” she asked, turning to him.

  “What?” he demanded to know. “What is it?”

  “Commander Ortega is on the monitor.” Cambria said, deflating all of Dalton's hopes for love with her reply.

  The smuggler offered no reply, instead walking to the bar as he joined dozens of others, all preparing themselves for a rare speech by the commander.

  “First off, I would like to confirm the rumors of Glimmeria falling. They are unfortunate, but true. Our army has fought valiantly in the face of this plague of man, but we are steadily losing ground.

  My fair people, this is not a decision that has come easily for me. Though I fear it is our very last option and the window of opportunity is quickly closing.

  I have signed an order that will fund an exodus fleet. A fleet of ships that will take us away from this threat once and for all, as we journey into uncharted space to search for a new home.

  Again, I would like to reiterate that my decision has not come lightly, and will forever burden my dreams as I know we simply do not have room for every last survivor.”

  Commander Ortega stopped for a moment as the sound of cameras snapping throughout his conference room seemed to echo the fact that it was an historic moment.

  “My advisory panel confirms that we will have room to house less than half of our survivors. I have personally overseen a lottery system in which we will select those who will accompany us into the stars.

  One-third of the exodus from t
his plague will be comprised of those with extensive military experience. Their service and zeal will lend in the survival of our race. One-third of our exodus will be comprised of those who are deemed too important to leave behind. Among these people, doctors, scientists and teachers. Our race will not survive without the above mentioned. I truly believe that.

  Finally, the remaining one-third will be randomly selected through an exodus lottery. This will provide everyone with a glimmer of hope for the future, and I assure you, the lottery will be random.

  In fact,” Ortega said, pausing as he carefully planned his next words. “I have personally decided to stay behind, as I could not live my life knowing I left a single person behind.”

  Pausing once more, the commander listened to the deafening sound of camera shutters.

  “Any politician or military person who wishes to remain behind with me, may do so, and in turn free up a spot for a defenseless woman or child. That is a personal decision that I leave to each person listening.

  As for myself, I will deem a commander for the exodus flight and then remain behind to coordinate one final stand against the enemies who approach our doorstep.

  I would ask that everyone pray. Not only for your own fate, but for the fate of those around you. Live every single day for the moments contained within it, and prepare for the next chapter in the history of our race. Thank you, and may God find it within his heart to grant us mercy in such troubled times.”

  Rather than take questions, Commander Ortega quickly exited from the podium, obviously shaken by his own announcement.

  “Sir, you must reconsider your decision to stay.” one of Ortega's advisers pleaded, while the other quickly raced out to the group of reporters who seemed as though they were a mob. Readying himself to field questions and assure the people of hope.

  “I've no intention of staying behind,” Ortega replied, still visibly shaken. “I simply told the people what they needed to hear. They need hope at a time like this, and I gave it to them. When the plague arrives, none of us will be any wiser as to who is staying and who is leaving. I owe these people hope, but I also owe the exodus fleet stability in leadership.” he replied.