by Linn Schwab
“This is very impressive,” he said. “How big is this area, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Approximately two hundred and fifty meters across,” she told him. “Altogether, we have six chambers like this one here. Enough to supply about one third of the fleet’s current nutrition requirements.”
“Wow!” Peter said, looking around. “So this is where our food comes from.” He noticed several workers tending to the plants, and made note of the fact that all of them were women. “Are there any men here on this station?” he asked. “All of the personnel I’ve seen so far are women. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
“No men here, Captain Straydel. But remember what I said about behaving yourself.”
Peter took a step back and raised his hands in an animated gesture of ‘hands off.’
“Come on,” she said, leading him through the interior. “There’s one more thing I need to show you here.” They passed through the entire length of the agrisphere and stopped near a bulkhead in the far wall. The word NURSERY was stenciled in bold letters across the door. Peter reasoned that since this door was closed, the area behind it must be slightly more sensitive. Perhaps it was sealed off to avoid contamination, or because seedlings required special atmospheric conditions.
Commander Parks reached for the control switch, but stopped short of actually opening the door. “I have to warn you, Captain Straydel, that should you decide to enter this room, you’ll want to exercise extreme caution. There are hazards in here that you couldn’t possibly imagine.” She grinned and added, “Unless, of course, you’ve ever been a parent.” She pressed the control and the door opened up, revealing a room containing more than a dozen young children, and several women who appeared to be caretakers.
Peter felt his heart begin to race. Children! he thought. What are children doing out here! They should all be safely back on Earth! Why would anyone bring kids to a war zone! But it soon became apparent that many of these children were too young to have made the journey from Earth. Even with the most recent advances in technology, a one way trip still took close to two years. And many of these children were infants and toddlers. In fact, the oldest appeared to be no more than six.
“Surprised?” Commander Parks asked, studying the look on Peter’s face.
“You could say that, yes. These kids,” he said, looking into her eyes, “...they didn’t come from Earth, did they?”
“No, Captain Straydel, they didn’t come from Earth. All of them were born out here.”
“For what purpose? Is this the military’s doing? Tell me these kids are not part of some experiment!”
“Experiment? Oh, come on, Captain! There’s nothing that nefarious going on here. The ships in our fleet are manned by mixed gender crews. Whenever you mix men and women together, eventually you’re going to end up with babies.”
“Oh...” Peter said in relief. “And this is where they bring the fleet’s babies.”
“Actually, the pregnant mothers come here to give birth. The children remain here until six years of age, and then they move on to Paradise Two, where they begin their school education.”
“Paradise Two? Another station like this one?”
She nodded.
“How many Paradises are there?”
“Three that I’m aware of. A fourth was under construction, but that was halted a few years ago, for some reason that was never explained to me.”
Peter was sure that he understood the reason. Those workers were probably sent to Trafalgar. Something brushed against the lower part of his legs. A young girl had crawled across the floor to him and was grasping his pant leg as she tried to stand up. He leaned down and got a firm grip on her, then gently lifted her into his arms.
Commander Parks chuckled a little. “Well, Captain Straydel, it looks like you’ve already made a friend. Congratulations. You’re probably the first man she’s ever laid eyes on.”
Peter looked at the young girl’s eyes, and was mesmerized by the joyful expression on her face. She reminded him very much of his daughter — a bubbly, adorable little girl who, even up until she drew her last breath, could still manage to melt his heart with a smile. Holding this young girl in his arms conjured up a memory that was very dear to him — a memory of his daughter playing in the yard, and holding up a handful of sand for him to see, as if it was the most precious discovery in the world. It stirred a bit of emotion in him, and caused him to reflect for a moment on something that was troubling him now. No child should have to grow up on a space station. What kind of empty childhood is that!
Commander Parks leaned over and studied the girl’s eyes. “I think she’s fascinated with you.”
“Must be the uniform,” Peter said. He bounced her in his arms a few times and discovered he still enjoyed holding a baby, even after the loss of his daughter. “What’s her name?” he asked, gently rubbing her cheek with his thumb.
“Her name is Katie. Her mother works a shift in one of the agrispheres here. At least for the time being, anyway. We’ll try to keep the two of them together as long as possible, but eventually...”
“What?” Peter insisted. “What happens?”
“The same thing that happens to all of these kids. When Katie is old enough to join the fleet, she’ll end up serving on one of our ships. And her mother will end up on a different ship. It’s fleet policy not to group family members together.”
Peter looked into Katie’s eyes and tried to imagine a future for her — growing up and passing through all the different phases of childhood, only to end up dying on a warship, shredded by shrapnel or consumed by flames. It was an image he really did not want to dwell on, but he could tell it was going to haunt him for a while. Nothing about this ever gets any easier, he thought. Whoever it was that said “War is hell” was underestimating just how bad war really is.
AFTERMATH 049
Calm after the storm, Major Richards observed, returning to the relatively peaceful control room. Miranda and Veronica were still at their consoles, with the young trainee, Ariel, sitting between them. The calm demeanor of the two experienced controllers suggested the threat to Volaris had passed. Both of them seemed reassuringly relaxed as they watched the display screens in front of them. Only Ariel still appeared to be on edge, anxiously glancing toward either one of her mentors each time they reached forward to adjust a control setting. In time, she would come to see those actions as routine. But for now, she was clearly interpreting them as possible indications of imminent danger.
“Give me an update,” Major Richards said, placing her hands on the back of Veronica’s chair.
“The enemy forces have all withdrawn,” she answered. “Radio jamming has ceased. Normal communications have been reestablished.”
“What is the status of our own forces?”
Veronica shook her head. “It’s like you said a little earlier, Major. Our ships got beat to hell out there. Our repair crews are trying to patch some of them up, but it’s going to be a while before they can all fly again. If they decide to attack us again any time soon, we’re going to be in serious trouble.”
“Has there been any word about additional forces being sent to assist us?”
“Not yet. There’s been a lot of chatter on the communication channels, but it sounds like they’re still trying to decide what to do.” Veronica turned around and looked up at Major Richards. “How is ECHO 5?” she asked. “Are all of them okay?”
The major took a deep breath. “Sheri has a serious head injury. It’s too soon to tell if there’s going to be any permanent damage. The rest of them seem to be okay. We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed for Sheri.”
Veronica nodded and lowered her head, still upset over her role in the Wallaby’s disappearance.
“Listen,” Major Richards said, “I have to go file a report with Command–net. Keep me posted if anything new comes up. And put a requisition in for some new fighter planes to be delivered here as soon as possible. I
want all of our technicians to concentrate on getting those damaged destroyers repaired. We can’t afford to have them waste any time on patching up fighter planes right now.” She turned around and headed for the exit.
“Yes, Major,” Veronica responded. “How many planes do you want me to order?”
The major called back over her shoulder, “Just ask them to send us twenty–four. If that doesn’t get their attention, then ask them to send us forty–eight.”
Miranda and Veronica looked at each other in silence as Major Richards stepped out of the room. Ariel seemed confused by the major’s last order. “What did she mean by that?” she asked.
Veronica leaned over her console to input the major’s requisition. “They’re never going to send us twenty–four fighters,” she explained. “With all of the ongoing requests for replacements, there are never enough of them to go around as it is. If we’re lucky, they might send us two or three at the most. But the more desperate our request comes across to them, the more likely it is they’ll make us a priority and send us whatever they can spare.”
* * * *
Something about the office felt wrong to Major Richards. It was as if it somehow still possessed the aura of Commander Jeffries. And being in this room only served to remind her that Commander Jeffries was never coming back. Her voice would never be heard here again, and her elegant stature was forever gone. Her life force had faded from the universe now, but remnants of her presence still seemed to linger, like shadows in Major Richards’ mind. The walls were still here, and the desk was still here — all the things that seemed to be of little importance. Why should those things continue to exist when the one thing that mattered the most to her did not? What an unjust quirk of fate it was that the most precious thing in the universe also turned out to be one of the least durable — that living beings burned away in such a short span of time, while inanimate things like walls made of steel could exist unchanged for literally eons. Completely unfair, she thought in anguish. And as if our lives aren’t short enough already, we also have to suffer through the cruelty of war.
Her thoughts now shifted to the task at hand. With some degree of apprehension, she sat down at the desk and began typing out a brief summary report:
From: acting commander of Volaris
Hostile forces successfully turned away.
Enemy installation located and destroyed—
see attached video file for details.
Defensive capabilities severely depleted—
additional assistance urgently requested.
As an afterthought, she also added:
CVS Wallaby successfully recovered—
full crew surviving — one critically wounded.
She then sent her message over Command–net, where it would supposedly be reviewed at some point. Reviewed by whom, she had no idea. Even after serving as a major for more than six years, the command operations of the Sentinel forces remained a bit of a mystery to her. But that wasn’t a matter of great concern to her now, nor had she previously given it much thought. After all, she was only a major. And Command–net was officially reserved for commanders.
Mentally exhausted and physically spent, she leaned forward and rested her head on the desktop — just as she’d seen Commander Jeffries do so often. She had no intention of actually falling asleep there. In fact, it was the furthest thought from her mind. Just a brief rest to regain her strength before retiring to the comfort of her private sleeping quarters...
* * * *
As Virginia watched fragments of the enemy fighter drift around her, she half expected them to draw back in toward each other and regenerate the indestructible adversary of her nightmares. But after several anxious minutes had passed, she saw no signs of any such activity taking place. The Tiger Sharks, it seemed, were truly mortal after all. They could be killed just like any other human pilots. One had only to strip them of the air of invincibility built up around them by their reputations. And, of course, to land enough bullets on them to finally bring them to their knees. That was not an easy task to be sure, but she’d proven to herself that it could be done — although it now seemed that it may have been achieved at the cost of her own life as well. She’d willingly and consciously thrown caution to the wind in order to pursue this overriding obsession, fully aware that her own survival was doubtful, yet compelled to accept that risk nonetheless. And even though she was still alive at the moment, she was also very much aware that her life remained in great jeopardy. Her fighter had suffered horrendous damage; there was no guarantee she would make it back to Volaris. And beyond that, she was so utterly exhausted that she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to try.
Still weak and weary from the exertion of combat, she closed her eyes and began to consider her options. It would be so easy just to let it end now — to join Kathy and the others from squadron Fifty–Seven in whatever awaited her after this existence. All it would take was the pushing of a few select buttons and she could override her fighter’s safety precautions, and force her canopy to pop open. The fighting would all be behind her then. And so would the agony of watching her companions die. But choosing that path would leave Jenny and the others to continue the fight without her protection. And as much as she longed for an escape from the war, that was something she just couldn’t allow to happen. I have to make it back! she decided. I have to! The others still need me!
With her will to survive edging back from the precipice, Virginia assessed her current situation. She ignored the pain in her upper left arm and the dampness that suggested she was likely bleeding there, and focused all of her attention instead on things that remained within her ability to control. Her flight controls still seemed to be working. That was one thing she appeared to have in her favor. Her left engine was completely dead, though, and her right engine seemed to be barely hanging on, taunting her with unfamiliar vibrations. That was a powerful strike against her. A quick glance at her communications array revealed that calling for help was not an option. Enemy bullets had rendered it inoperable, leaving her with no other choice but to point her fighter in the direction of Volaris, and hope and pray that she made it that far.
Grasping the flight controls in her hands, she eased her fighter’s nose around and nursed the throttle forward a little. The fuselage reacted with creaks and groans as it strained to comply with her commands. She winced at the slightest of sounds it made, fearing it was going to come apart at the seams. A quick glance at her fighter’s exterior revealed an extensive amount of damage — far more than it had ever endured before. It was going to be a long and nerve–wracking journey. That much was clear to her from the start.
The first few moments passed without trouble. Virginia remained cautiously hopeful that she might yet have a chance make it back alive. But when she attempted to increase her speed, there were hints of problems yet to come. Her fighter clawed its way forward with the grace of a caterpillar missing all but one limb. Output from the engine became increasingly sporadic, forcing her to make frequent adjustments to the throttle to keep it from stalling out on her. An unfamiliar internal knocking sound hammered incessantly on her nerves, and the fuel gage flickered back and forth between zero and forty percent capacity remaining.
“One last time,” she pleaded to her fighter, thinking back over everything they’d been through together. Throughout all of her previous battles, this plane had never failed to deliver her to safety. For five years now, it had been her trusted steed, dating back to that disastrous first outing on the Mistral. It had seen her through many ill–advised engagements, and repeatedly paid the price for her reckless behavior. Yet despite all of the abuse this well–worn workhorse had suffered, it had stubbornly refused to give out on her, as if determined to carry her forward to her goal — a goal which she had now successfully achieved. A goal we both achieved together, she reminded herself. As these thoughts lingered in Virginia’s mind, she experienced a sense of gratitude, as if her plane itself was a
living being, deserving of her appreciation. She smiled in embarrassment and relaxed, ready to accept death if that was her fate. She patted the throttle in a gesture of affection. “We did it,” she whispered. “We finally did it. I have no right to expect anything more out of you. Perhaps it’s only fitting that we perish together.” And besides, another thought occurred to her now, I’m not so sure Jenny and the others are going to want me back anyway.
How the others in her squadron would react to her return was something she’d not considered until now. In the past, they had always welcomed her back after her impromptu solo excursions. But what if it were somehow different this time? What if something had gone wrong in her absence? What if one of the others had died because Virginia hadn’t been there when she was needed? And what about the Wallaby? Had Robin and the others made it to safety? And even if they had, how would the others react to the fact that Virginia had just abandoned them? Or to the fact that she had run off to pursue her own interests when her sister squad was still in danger? They have every right to be upset with me, she realized. Even if all of them did survive. For several hours, these worries tormented her, pushing aside her concerns for her own survival. It was only when Volaris came into view that she managed to refocus on matters at hand.
As Virginia attempted to align her fighter with the airlock, she passed very near to one of the spurs. All four of the docks on that particular spur were occupied by Sentinel destroyers. She held her breath in anticipation as she focused her eyes on each of the ships. Sparks appeared to be dancing on their hulls — a sign that they were undergoing repairs. Her heart began to pound and her hands began to tremble. One after another, she read the names to herself, hoping ECHO 5 had made it back to safety. Angelfish. Terrapin. Wallaby. Relief. Relief like she’d never experienced before. “Please let them all be safe,” she whispered.
The airlock responded to Virginia’s fighter. The outer doors parted and opened for her. She lowered her landing gear and flew inside the chamber, setting her plane down as gently as she could. “Almost there,” she whispered aloud, wincing as her plane touched down on the floor. The airlock doors slid closed behind her. She watched the pressure gage climb back to normal. Letting out a heavy sigh of relief, she closed her eyes and said, “We made it.” But when the airlock’s inner doors opened up, her fighter refused to move any further. The engine coughed and hissed for an instant, then sputtered and whirred as it spun down to silence. Her instrument panel faded to black, and the left side of her plane sank toward the floor. Her fighter was bleeding hydraulic fluid. The landing gear was beginning to collapse. She opened her canopy and climbed out. Once her feet were on the floor, she briefly surveyed the damage to her plane and realized it would never fly again. The trusty fighter that had been with her for so long had finally given its all for her. “Thank you,” she whispered sincerely, then planted a kiss on the side of its fuselage. She then stepped out of the airlock and made her way across the hangar.