Crimson Strike

by Peter Bostrom

  I summoned the purple stone’s brassy, heroic tune and sent the bolt flying forward to a spot between the two groups of soldiers. Then, still focusing on the bolt, I sped up the tempo of the purple stone’s melody until it reached the faster tempo of the orange stone’s drum-laden music and the bolt hung in the air.

  That’s when the fun part happened.

  The stones on my glove grew warmer, and the bolt began to pulse with light—slowly and dimly at first, then faster and brighter until I saw, through squinted eyes, that the soldiers all held up an arm or hand to block the light. I quickly brought the music inside my head to a crescendo, and just as I ducked behind my trusty barrier, the bolt exploded in a burst of light. It sent a shock wave throughout the room, knocking both groups of soldiers onto their backs and leaving them stunned.

  I barely pulled myself over the barrier, brought my glowing sword in front of me, and straightened my crooked sensor-crown before making the most menacing face I possibly could. I was dead out of energy and they’d need to buy this if I wanted to avoid a serious ass-kicking.

  “Play time’s over,” I said in a gravely voice, just loudly enough to cover the sound of my growling stomach. “Now it’s about to get serious.”

  There was a crackling sound over the speakers—I must have damaged them with that little bolt blast—and Colonel Vaiega’s voice sounded scratchy. “Stand down, Sergeant Walker.”

  I let the remaining music in my mind die, extinguishing the light of my rod-sword. I slung it over my shoulder and slipped it back into its sheath with a satisfying thunk, letting out a deep breath.

  The other soldiers were slowly getting to their feet. I shuffled over to a pair who were rubbing the backs of their heads and said, “Great job, guys—you really had me scrambling there.”

  I held up my hand for a congratulatory high-five, but they just glared at me and turned around to leave. I held onto my smile as I looked to the others, but they were all shuffling toward the door, too. My smile fell, along with my shoulders, and I slumped on top of the concrete barrier just behind me.

  A few moments later, I saw a set of dark green fatigues approaching out of the corner of my eye. I fiddled with my Power Glove until Vaiega sat his wide Polynesian frame next to me.

  “Don’t let it get to you,” he said in his deep voice. “They acted the same way when I was promoted after the battle of Alba Mons.”

  He placed a strong, caramel-colored hand on my shoulder. “Once they see your loyalty when all hell has broken loose, they’ll warm up to you a bit. But they’ll never treat you the same as before.”

  I looked up from my glove and into his large, almost yellow eyes.

  “Why?” I asked.

  Vaiega chuckled. “Because whether you like it or not, you’ve changed.”

  I shook my head slowly. When I decided to become a hero on Pluto, I had no idea how much it would change they way other soldiers treated me—for better and for worse. Mostly for worse. I thought I’d finally get a little respect once I was a hero. But ever since those damn rumors started circulating, it seemed like I was getting about as much respect as a hairless Sasquatch.

  If anyone could understand the challenges of suddenly being thrown into the limelight for heroism, it was Vaiega. He’d turned out alright, as far as I could tell—he was not only the latest poster child for the UFS Peacekeeper forces, but the other soldiers seemed to genuinely like him. I sure couldn’t say the same for myself.

  I opened my mouth to ask him how he did it, but just then, an urgent call crackled through the comm unit on the wall.

  “Colonel Vaiega,” a strained voice said. “You’ve got an incoming call on your office’s secure line. It’s Triton base, and they say it’s urgent.”

  2

  VAIEGA LEFT QUICKLY to take his emergency call, but not before he plucked the sensor-crown off my head for analysis. My stomach was now growling like a Rancor monster. If I hurried, I could meet up with my trusty crew and catch the tail end of lunch. Peacekeeper Central Command had transferred us all to Salacia—their headquarters on Neptune—after the Dominion appeared out of nowhere and tried conquering Pluto and its moons. I needed people I could actually talk to—not mindless soldiers who were either star struck or couldn’t stand the sight of me.

  I hurried to the mess hall, ignoring the handful of dirty looks from soldiers along the way. When the doors whooshed open, the smell of mediocre synthetic meatloaf and reconstituted potato mash filled the air. As I fell into line, my stomach growled so loudly that the soldier in front of me turned around, pale-faced. When he saw that it was just me and not a Dominion monster, he narrowed his eyes and whipped back around. I guess those nasty rumors about me wouldn’t be taking a lunch break, after all.

  I now held two gray plastic plates overflowing with lukewarm food and scanned the hall for my crew. I quickly spotted Private Elric Kovac’s hulking figure—made even more hulkish by his light green fatigues—at the far end of the room. I hurried over, which was harder than it should have been with the few not-so-accidental bumps I received from the sneering soldiers who passed me.

  “Now, there’s my Scoundrel Force,” I said with a grin as the heaping plates clanged against the table next to Kovac, my tough-looking-but-surprisingly-sensitive crew mate.

  “Shut up, Walker,” Private Maria Lopez said from across the table, without looking up. “Nobody wants you to call us that.”

  To no one’s surprise, she was bent over a data pad and her straight shoulder-length black hair rippled slightly as she swiped through a trashy celebrity magazine. Her gray administrative fatigues were less wrinkly than the rest of ours, but just as faded.

  “Well,” I said as I struggled to break loose a piece of brown and red speckled foodloaf, “I really wanted us to be known as ‘Rogue Squadron,’ but it didn’t really fit with only the four of us.”

  Lopez shook her head, but kept swiping.

  I was finally ready to take a bite when something on her data pad caught my eye. “Wait—go back. Was that an image of me?”

  “Probably not,” Lopez said in her usual monotone.

  “Come on, Lopez—I just want to make sure.”

  “Fine,” Lopez sighed. She flicked back a few screens, and then quickly tapped the upper corner of the page in question—but not before I saw that she’d already marked that page as a favorite.

  “It is me!” I said, leaning over the table and twisting my head so I could get a better look. “Did I seriously make it onto the ‘Peacekeepers—They’re Just Like Us’ section of Sol Weekly? No way?!”

  “What were you doing?” Kovac grumbled as he used his fork to shape his leftover potato mash into something that resembled a graceful, long-necked bird. After the Pluto incident, my ruddy-faced companion seemed a little more comfortable in his skin and had made the astronomical leap from three-word to four-word sentences. I don’t know if anyone else noticed the change, but it was a pretty big deal for him.

  “Looks like I’m coming out of Cosmart,” I said. “Best deals—”

  “—in the Solar System.” Private Aaron Rand finished my sentence. “And one of the few remaining beacons of capitalism. If the tyrannical UFS had their way, they would certainly appropriate it as another branch of the government.”

  To my surprise, Rand wasn’t tinkering with any machinery at the table. Instead, his lanky, goblin-like figure was hunched over a mini data pad, which he held in his pale hands. His faded navy blue mechanic fatigues had a bunch of small singe marks on the arms, so I knew he had, in fact, been working on something mechanical.

  “What are you doing with a data pad?” I asked as I sat back down and picked up my fork. “Wanting to freshen up your seasonal wardrobe?”

  I lifted my fork back up to my mouth, but just as I was about to finally taste my loaf, a soldier walked past our table and bumped into me so hard that the piece of tough synthetic meat flopped off my fork and landed with a solid bang on the metal tabletop.

  Ass.

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nbsp; Rand raised his thick mound of brown hair—neatly parted down the side, as usual—and looked at me with bloodshot eyes.

  “After several attempts, I am still unable to file a patent for my newest innovation. This blasted information hub keeps forcing me to re-enter my information.”

  “What did you make?” Kovac asked.

  Rand reached into his breast pocket and whipped out a small, egg-shaped silver object that looked like it might hatch a robot dragon any moment.

  Which would be awesome.

  “This,” Rand said with a smug smile, “is a solid steel slug. Granted, it seems a bit old-fashioned, but I thought it might neutralize Dominion trooper shields, since plasma slugs have had such difficulty.”

  His mustached grin melted as he slipped the thing back into his pocket, snatched up the mini data pad, and began tapping violently at the screen. “But I request that you refrain from mentioning this to anyone else—I have yet to secure the patent, and I’ll be damned if the UFS rob me of another hard-earned design.”

  “Part of me hopes we won’t need to field test that anytime soon,” I said. “But a much stronger part of me wants to get out of this place ASAP.”

  Cutting my losses with the doomed foodloaf, I quickly loaded my fork with a scoop of lumpy potato mash to jam down my throat before I imploded from hunger. It was nearly in my mouth when someone tapped me urgently on the shoulder. I sighed, dropped the fork in resignation, and turned around with clenched fists to defend my honor.

  But as quickly as I had been ready to deliver a Kraken-sized ass-whooping, I just as quickly dropped my raised fists as I saw the two soldiers in light green fatigues who leaned toward me. The one on the left had long, dishwater blond hair, and lowered her eyes as soon as I glanced at her. Her companion was shorter, with a buzz cut and thick glasses, and was apparently the spokesperson for this dynamic duo.

  “Um … Sergeant Walker? We wanted to ask you something,” he squeaked.

  Oh boy.

  “What can I do for you, Privates?”

  Lopez snickered. I made a mental note to embarrass her later.

  But the kids just kept gaping at me in wide-eyed wonder. Buzz Cut answered. “Um …we were wondering … er … would it be okay with you if … um …”

  “Spit it out, Private,” I said, my stomach roaring in solidarity.

  Lopez snickered again. Dammit.

  “Um … could we … er … take a picture with you?” The shorter soldier fidgeted with his thick glasses. “You see … I mean … our families don’t believe that we’re … um … stationed with the soldier who tamed that … that wicked-looking mechanical cat. From the news holovids.”

  I took a deep breath and stood up, leaving my cold food to congeal. “Sure,” I said. Fans. What can you do?

  “Her name is Panthra,” I said. “And you can tell your folks she’s actually pretty sweet. But it’s hell cleaning up after her when she marks her territory.”

  “I can testify to that fact,” Rand said without looking up from his screen. “She soaked a perfectly good palette of thermal dampeners just this morning.”

  The tall soldier pulled a thin, collapsible data pad from her cargo pocket and stopped a muscular soldier who was passing near our table to take our picture. He nodded and reached for the pad, but when he realized I’d be in the picture, he frowned and shoved it away.

  There went another asinine ogre who almost certainly believed those rumors against me. Every day at Neptune Peacekeeper Headquarters someone was begging for my autograph, but a steadily growing hoard of others were wanting to punch me in the face. I’m not going to lie—I liked the attention and even encouraged it sometimes. Who doesn’t want to be adored? The problem was, there was always someone on the sidelines with an axe to grind, and I found myself expecting that one day, one of those taps on the shoulder would be a soldier who could—and would—physically remove my head from my shoulders. Or even worse—someone from Peacekeepers leadership who had come to dismiss me from service altogether.

  Ever since my last adventure thwarting the Dominion’s army from vanquishing Pluto, it felt like the whole universe was changing. And I was changing even faster. Just a month ago, the human race was alone in the universe as far as we could tell. And I was just a maintenance officer on Pluto’s second-largest moon, where troubled and misunderstood soldiers went to grow old and die.

  But today, there was proof that we weren’t alone in the universe—or at the very least, that our universe wasn’t the only one around. And now I was probably the best-known soldier beyond the asteroid belt next to Colonel Vaiega. Being labeled as a hero was a lot more pressure than I thought it would be. It made me feel so tired, so … hungry.

  I glanced back down at the table and thought I saw ice crystals forming on my fork’s potato mash. My two fans lowered their heads a bit and looked around nervously for someone else to take a picture. Luckily, another solider practically ran over to do the honors.

  I flashed my flashiest smile for the picture, shook each of their hands, and then sat down. And just as I had raised a lumpy fork to my mouth, the intercom in the mess hall screeched.

  “Calling Sergeant Walker—”

  My stomach plummeted.

  “—and Privates Kovac, Lopez, and Rand. Report to Colonel Vaiega’s office. Immediately.”

  3

  WALKING QUICKLY DOWN the hallway, I violently shoveled cold meatloaf and potato mash into my mouth. Kovac flanked my left to prevent any disgruntled soldiers from knocking into me—now that’s a good teammate. In between bites, I saw a few surly-looking soldiers drift toward me, but the sight of Kovac’s hulk-sized frame sent them back to their side of the hallway.

  “Thanks, big guy,” I said to Kovac before shoveling one last icy forkful into mouth.

  “Anything for you, Walker,” he said.

  From behind us I heard alternating gasps of surprise from Lopez and silent curses from Rand, both of whom had their heads buried in their data pads. As we made the final turn to Vaiega’s office, I activated a nearby disposal chute’s laser field and tossed my empty plate through, brushed my hands off, and squared my shoulders.

  A moment later, the office door slid open and the four of us stood at attention.

  “Permission to enter, Sir,” I said.

  “Come,” Vaiega said from behind his sleek, dark metal desk. His eyes darted between the large monitor off to the side of his desk and the data pad he scrolled through in his hand. We stepped inside the doorway and formed a line—Kovac to my left, Rand and Lopez to my right, clasping their precious data pads behind their backs. When I realized we were standing tallest to shortest, I switched places with a puzzled Rand.

  “You asked to see us, Sir?” I asked.

  Vaiega bit his lip as he kept scrolling through his own data pad. He looked over at his monitor one last time, then turned to face us.

  “There’s been a development on one of the moons.” Then, after a long pause, “We’ve received civilian reports of a rainbow-colored . . . hole opening somewhere on Triton.”

  My shoulders tightened, and out of the corner of my eye Lopez flinched and Rand’s pale face turned deathly white. Kovac stood still as a statue—one of those scary statues on rooftops with wide eyes that looks like it’s one breath away from coming to life at sunset and devouring you.

  “It’s gone now,” Vaiega said, “but since we don’t know what, if anything, came through, we’re treating it as a Dominion incursion. The top brass at Peacekeeper Central is requesting that your unit be sent out on the next transport.”

  I tried not to smile, but probably just looked constipated, instead. I saw a similar look on the rest of my crew—only less constipated.

  “Of course,” he continued, “because you’re technically an unclassified special unit, we require your permission to be deployed and you’ll need to sign a waiver releasing the UFS from any responsibility if you are injured. Or worse.”

  Then, looking over at his monitor, he said, �
��Should you accept, it looks like you will be under the command of … let’s see here … Captain Jan Patel.”

  Lopez snorted loudly. I shot her a scathing look, hoping to even our score from earlier by embarrassing her.

  “Is there a problem, Private?” Vaiega asked.

  Lopez swallowed hard and tilted her chin downward in humility. Boom—mission accomplished. She said, “No, sir. It’s just that … she doesn’t like us.”

  Vaiega cocked a thick eyebrow. “I read that you encountered each other briefly on Charon station, but there weren’t any notes on what transpired. Care to explain?”

  Lopez tilted her head from side to side, weighing her options. “Permission to speak freely, Sir?” She asked.

  The colonel leaned back in his seat. “Sure,” he said.

  “We were being pursued by Dominion soldiers, and when we ran into her squadron inside the station’s armory, she was … well, she was a real bitch to us.”

  I quickly responded, “What she meant to say, Sir, is that she treated us poorly back on Charon. The only reason we were able to make it to Pluto and stop the Dominion was because Colonel Hiller regained consciousness and overruled her orders.”

  I paused, remembering the moment my commander and long-time role model gave his life to save mine. I still had serious doubts about that trade-off.

  Lopez shot her way back into the conversation. “And she was acting especially bitchy to Walker at the medal ceremony. Sir.”

  Vaiega nodded, then leaned forward. “Well, then you have a decision to make. You can stay enlisted in the infantry and be deployed with the rest of the soldiers when the situation escalates—take your chances on the front line—or you can join Patel’s company and do some actual good for the UFS.”

  “No way,” Lopez said.

  Kovac shook his head. I looked to Rand, who frowned and said, “She had the audacity to call us cowardly, Sir.”

  He clenched his jaw. “I refuse to be called a coward.”

  Apparently, I was the only one who saw this for the castle-sized opportunity it was. “Sir, may I speak with my team for a moment?”