By Dawn's Early Light

by Jason Fuesting

  Oh.

  A small crowd had gathered around the edge of the porch.

  “What’s this about?” someone muttered.

  Leah sidled up to him and asked quietly, “Any idea what’s going on?”

  Eric nodded grimly as old memories flashed through his head. The tang of freshly polished boots and recently polished brass toyed with him. Captain’s mast is being held in the wardroom. Please remain quiet in the vicinity of the wardroom.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Turing began. “I am sorry for pulling some of you away from important work, but I regret its necessity. The charges facing these two men are as severe as they are many. For the sake of unity, you have been called to stand witness to these men’s crimes.”

  As Captain of this ship, it lies on my shoulders to enforce discipline. Your actions have dishonored us and stained the Fortune’s name. For the crimes you have committed against your victims and the shame you have brought upon us, you are sentenced to death. Bosun, show the man the airlock.

  “Gregor Zeitchev, Sergeant of the Sixth Penal Legion, you stand before us to face the following charges: theft of military supplies during a time of crisis, one count; vandalism of vital facilities during a time of crisis, one count; attempted murder, four counts; aggravated robbery, twelve counts; murder in the first degree, ten counts; aggravated rape, eight counts; treason, one count. How do you plead?”

  “I’ve seen enough of your precious Protectorate justice already,” the ranking prisoner snarled and spat on the grass.

  “Very well. Let it be known by the witnesses that Sergeant Zeitchev led a small unit that raided my father’s house and its attached bunker. Amongst the supplies pilfered were food, water, explosives, machineguns, miscellaneous heavy weapons, and a plethora of ammunition for the same. This account is confirmed by the direct evidence, the accused own admission during interrogation, and collaborated by his comrade-in-arms.

  “During his occupation of the structure, the accused led multiple patrols in which they intercepted exile groups dropped from orbit. These groups were held at gun-point, robbed, and summarily executed. This account is confirmed by the accused’s own admission during interrogation and collaborated by his comrade in arms. This account is also confirmed by witnesses, one Lieutenant Pascal, formerly of the independent privateer Fortune, and one Lieutenant Commander Grace of the Pershing Navy, both of whom belonged to groups waylaid by the Sergeant’s men.

  “Let it be known that under the Sergeant’s direction female exiles were taken into captivity where they were forced to service the sergeant’s men until such a time they were deemed to have lost their value and then summarily executed. This account is confirmed by direct evidence, collaboration by his comrade-in-arms, and testimony of the witnesses.

  “Finally, let it be known that as this planet’s sole legitimate authority, engaging in hostilities, direct or otherwise, against myself or agents of the same constitutes treason. Sergeant Zeitchev and his men mounted a spirited defense against our attempts to reclaim property justly ours. In doing so, they destroyed and defaced property belonging to myself and injured one of my agents with intent to kill. This account is confirmed by direct evidence and witness statements from both Hadrian MacGregor and Eric Friedrich.

  “Under Protectorate law, the penalty for these charges is death.”

  Turing’s pronouncement silenced the crowd.

  “Are there any objections?” Turing asked no one in particular. “Seeing none, the sentence is to be carried out forthwith. I do understand that a request has been made in accordance with Pershing custom and law. Barring objections, Lieutenant Commander Grace is now recognized as the executing authority. Commander?”

  Snow crunched under Elizabeth’s boots as she stepped from the porch and joined Turing. Hadrian pulled Lance Corporal Taylor to the side as Turing handed Elizabeth the weapon. She turned toward the prisoner and stepped forward, stopping just outside of arm’s reach.

  “As required by Protectorate law, an appeal has been filed on your behalf,” Turing informed the condemned. “Commander?”

  Byron stepped back as the pistol came up to knee level. Two shots rang out and the accused grunted and fell to his side.

  “Appeal denied,” she rasped. A third shot interrupted faint echoes from the first two returning from the mountains around them. Blood welled up from the wounds to the man’s stomach and knees, staining the snow.

  Elizabeth stood mute, the pistol hovering in the man’s direction. After a half dozen heartbeats, she looked over her shoulder and asked Turing, “This is supposed to be quick, relatively speaking?”

  Turing nodded.

  The pistol barked. A sizable hole appeared in Zeitchev’s throat with a small burst of gore.

  Ignoring the gurgling prisoner, Turing cleared his throat.

  “Christopher Taylor, Lance Corporal of the Protectorate Marine Corps, you stand before us to face the following charges: theft of military supplies during a time of crisis, one count; vandalism of vital facilities during a time of crisis, one count; attempted murder, two counts; aggravated robbery, six counts; murder in the first degree, one count; treason, one count. How do you plead?”

  The prisoner crisply replied, “Not guilty.”

  Turing raised an eyebrow. “Your defense?”

  “Admiralty code stipulates that Protectorate combatants cut off from support in hostile territory may engage in any and all activities deemed necessary to their unit’s continued survival at their commanding officer’s discretion. The code also stipulates that responsibility for such acts falls on the commanding officer’s shoulders, not his men. Appropriation of supplies, defense of self, accosting non-uniformed locals to acquire supplies, all are allowed. It appears you’ve adequately punished the person immediately responsible just now. For the murder bit, it was defense of a comrade. The exile, as you put it, had disarmed one of the men I was with and was preparing to fire on us. As for the count of treason, I do believe the Admiralty code stipulates that only actions knowingly committed qualify for the charge. Considering we had no idea this was a Protectorate planet, how could I consciously commit treason? If you are, in fact, the only legitimate authority here, then that makes my chain of command quite a bit clearer. Much shorter, too. Considering I’m the last from my platoon, that makes you my new CO.”

  Eric snorted at Turing’s lingering silence.

  “What’s so funny?” Leah whispered.

  “Barracks lawyers and berthing barristers,” Eric muttered. “Turing doesn’t seem the type to get stopped cold like this.”

  Turing waved Hadrian over and the pair whispered for a few minutes before Turing stepped back. Hadrian stalked off as Turing spoke.

  “On the grounds of your cooperation and witness testimony from Commander Grace, I am inclined to grant some measure of leniency. The sentence of death is suspended pending further review. You are to be remanded to the custody of the head of security where you will engage in such duties and responsibilities as he sees fit until such a time that further legal review can ascertain the validity of your defense. Be aware that any acts deemed a threat to our security will result in reinstatement of the punishment immediately and without appeal. Do you understand, Lance Corporal?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A slow murmur went through the onlookers.

  I’ll be damned.

  Byron waved Eric over as the crowd began to disperse. Eric looked over his shoulder at Leah.

  “Work to do. See you around,” she said.

  “Go back to bed,” the old commando told Eric when he got near. “We’re leaving day after tomorrow.”

  “We heading out to the cabins like I suggested?”

  Byron nodded.

  “You think we could get Doc to come with us?”

  “Why would we do that?” Byron asked, giving him sly grin, a look Eric had seen more than a few times since they arrived. Byron knew why it was a good idea, but he was testing him.

  “Well, anyon
e out there isn’t likely to have a doctor. If we’re trying to get people on our side, scaring them with stories about the legion might work, but then they’d only be on our side out of fear. Fear only makes allies until the threat is gone. Good will can make much better allies.

  “That, and I don’t know about you, but having another set of eyes to watch my back wouldn’t hurt.”

  Byron smiled. “I already asked Turing if they could spare him for the week we’re gone.”

  “And?”

  “Turing agreed,” Byron replied. As the old man walked away he added, “Go to bed.”

  Despite Byron’s instructions, Eric found himself leaning on the porch railing staring at the cooling corpse, lost in thought. How much shit have I seen in the last month? Three? Is that how this is going to end for me? Stuck here until someone pulls the trigger?

  Snow crunching drug him out of his reverie. He glanced over to see Elizabeth at the foot of the porch steps with a haunted look on her face.

  “You okay?”

  She jerked and looked up at him with wide eyes as if he’d appeared out of thin air.

  “Woah, relax,” Eric stammered, suddenly happy she’d given the pistol back at the end of the court martial. “Just making sure you’re okay, Elizabeth. You look a bit frazzled, that’s all.”

  She stared at him for several long seconds before asking, “Did you wait up for me?”

  “Honestly? I think we were both doing the same thing, lost in our thoughts,” Eric said.

  “Oh,” she said softly, climbing the stairs to stand next to him. “What were you thinking about?”

  “A lot of things really. Life’s been a bit chaotic the last few months,” Eric said and snorted. “I’m being stupid. It’s been chaotic for everyone.”

  He trailed off, his eyes returning to the corpse. She followed his gaze.

  “Tell me?” she said to him.

  “I can’t help but wonder that, well, I don’t know. What the hell am I doing here? I mean, what do I have to look forward to? How does this all end? For me? For us? Like that? I don’t know. Just feeling kinda hopeless.”

  “Alone.”

  “Yeah, that too. I want off this damn rock, but that’s not going to happen. Stuck here with only a mountain between me and a bunch of legion assholes that, if we’re lucky, just want us dead. I guess seeing how it ended for him makes me wonder how it’s going to be when it’s my time. What were you thinking about?”

  The pair stared at the corpse for several heartbeats.

  “That it’s a lot easier to train to kill someone than it is to actually do it.”

  Eric cocked his head slightly.

  She explained, “Every person I’ve killed has been a readout or flash on a monitor. Doing it yourself is a hell of a lot different. Even with that scumbag. He had it coming. I don’t regret what I did. It just, it takes something out of you.”

  “Yeah, it does,” Eric started sagely, but a smirk peeked through. Mortified, he added, “Sorry. It hit me that I’m not some kind of expert on this like Hadrian or Byron. I’m a newbie compared to you and them. Seems funny for me to be saying it, but I’ve been where you’re at, and you’re right. So far, I’d say it doesn’t get easy, it just bothers you less.”

  “New at this? The way you handled things at the bunker, weren’t you trained to do this?”

  Eric snorted. “Me? Hadrian and Byron have been trying to get me up to speed, but I’m a pirate, or at least I was. Never even been on a boarding crew. I killed my first man a month before I got here. I’m evidently just good at picking things up fast. And lucky. But like I said, I have an idea where you’re at right now. It sucks.”

  Elizabeth looked out over the snow for several moments before asking, “What happened to the sharp young man I met a few days ago who told me he’d help get word back to Pershing?”

  “That’s what I’ve been wondering, Liz. I don’t want to give up, but I think Turing’s right. There’s no way off this rock and we’re fools to hope for more. The promise still stands, I just don’t think it’s going to happen.”

  Eric could see the gears turning behind her eyes as she regarded him.

  “That’s bullshit, Eric. Sometimes hope is all you have left. I don’t care how smart Turing is; you can’t live without hope.”

  Eric shrugged.

  “I never claimed to be a genius. This six on, six off schedule has me dead on my feet and in the skull.”

  Elizabeth grimaced and she asked, “That’s the schedule they’ve had you working since we got back?”

  Eric nodded and replied, “Helped Byron interrogate those two.”

  “Oh, well that explains why I haven’t seen you around.”

  “Well, I’m going to go rack out. You going to be alright?”

  She replied with a nod and Eric went inside.

  He was half asleep with the lights off when he thought he heard his door open. Something made out of cloth fell on the floor. He stirred, half sitting up.

  “I don’t really want to be alone with my thoughts anymore. Do you mind?” Elizabeth asked in the dark.

  Eric moved over what little he could and she slid in beside him.

  “Thanks,” she said. She draped his arm over her as she scooted her back into him.

  Day 33

  “You ready?” Byron asked.

  Eric wiped the fresh snowflakes off his tablet and stashed it in his pack. He grabbed his rifle as he stood and nodded.

  “What were you reading?” Doc asked as he rubbed his gloved hands together.

  “Been skipping around, there’s quite a bit of interesting stuff on there. Working on a piece called the Art of War right now. Seemed appropriate.” And trying not to think about Liz.

  Doc shook his head as the trio set off up slope to the last cabin.

  “We’d all be a lot better off without that kind of thinking. Look what it’s got us so far,” Doc grumbled.

  “True, but until no one intends to kill you, it’s pretty helpful to be better at it than they are,” Byron piped up.

  “One of Sun Tzu’s teachings is that it is best to win without fighting,” Eric added.

  Doc grumbled and remained quiet until they spotted the last cabin in their multi-week trek an hour later. Approaching from the south, Eric saw little moving around the cabin besides the trees in the wind. The woodpile built up against the south wall had been half knocked over since the last snow. Discarded clothing littered the area in front of the cabin’s east wall.

  Doc asked, “Do you figure these folks will actually be useful?”

  “Well, these folks can’t be worse than the last group. I will admit though,” Byron said with a pause. “These folks look like they could use a few lessons on how to take care of things. I can’t say that leaving trash sitting about is a good sign.”

  Eric squinted and used his hand to shield his eyes from the glare off the snow. His selector clicked as he thumbed it to ‘fire.’

  “That’s not trash.”

  Byron’s rifle came up and he muttered, “Best let us have a look about, Doc.”

  The wind died as the pair crept forward, leaving only eerie silence broken by the soft crunch of snow under their boots.

  Leading the way, Byron held a hand up for Eric to hold back. A hint of pink beneath the snow ahead confirmed his suspicion moments before he recognized a finger poking from a torn glove in the snow by the wood pile. Still nothing moving. Byron paused at the corner and waved him on.

  “Door’s messed up real bad from what I could see,” Byron whispered, nodding his head up the east wall. “I don’t think we’re alone here. Cover me, I’m going to swing wide.”

  Eric crouched by the corner while Bryon cautiously stepped out into the open, trying to figure out how to get his rifle around the corner without exposing himself. Bad time to be left handed. Real bad time. He shifted the rifle to his other shoulder so he could peek around the edge without exposing himself completely.

  Eric glanced over to B
yron who had covered ten or so meters and then jerked to a halt. What are you doing, Byron?

  Byron was staring towards the door, completely motionless. Eric turned his gaze to the front door in time to see a massive furry grey muzzle poke out where the door should have been.

  Oh fuck.

  The highland wolverine ambled out of the doorway a short distance and began dragging a body out of a mound of snow towards the ruined doorway.

  Fucking great. Byron? What are we doing here?

  “What’s going on?” Doc yelled from far behind them.

  Motherfucker.

  The wolverine flinched and dropped the corpse. Its head came up.

  “Guys?”

  The wolverine’s head snapped about. It snarled at him.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Eric pulled the trigger as the beast launched into a lumbering gallop that propelled it entirely too fast for something its size. Heart pounding in his ears, Eric squeezed the trigger as fast as he could manage while trying to keep his red dot centered on the creature’s chin. A fog of fear boiled up, attempting to wrest away control of his hands as the wolverine drew closer. He squeezed the trigger again. Nothing happened.

  Fuuu--

  He tried to backpedal, but his boots slipped in the snow. Falling backwards, he lost his grip on the rifle. The creature crashed into the snow and slid toward him, stopping just outside of arms reach. He lay there barely able to breathe and stared at the wolverine as it whined pitifully. Eric heard a faint pop. The beast grunted and went still.

  Eric pulled his eyes from the creature to find Byron standing a short distance away, lowering his rifle.

  “Well, guess we’re not going to make a rug out of this one,” Byron groused. The commando scratched his chin and glanced over at Eric. “You okay?”

  Eric tried to reply calmly, but his mouth acted on its own accord. “Holy shit, no, I’m not okay. What the fuck?”

  “Well, you started shooting. I plugged it in the shoulder until it stopped moving. Looks like you opened its throat up pretty good.”

  Eric “Throat? I was aiming at its chin.”

  “We zeroed for a hundred meters. Closer than that and your point of impact is lower than point of aim. Oh, and put your pig-sticker away.”