by David Ryker
“They demoted me for my actions on the Falmouth. They stripped me of my lieutenant commander rank for undue risk and willful destruction of Federation property. I save three thousand lives and they’re pissed I didn’t take ten thousand more.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. That was about as shitty as blows came.
“Don’t be.” She smirked a little. “Because now we actually get to make a difference.”
“I’m not following.”
“They gave me a choice,” she said, leaning forward. “I could either go back to field work, or I could do something else, something unorthodox. I was in the Ground Corps for eight years. I saw lots of friends die, and lots more strangers go the same way. The Federation are stagnated in their tactics, but you proved that so much more can be done with so much less, so I said to them if they were going to demote me, and put me in charge of a battalion again, then why not go the whole hog and slam me down further? Put me in charge of a squad. Just one squad.” She held her hand aloft, one long finger sticking stiffly into the air.
“Is that what you wanted?” I asked quietly.
She smirked a little more now. “Yeah, providing I could choose the squad. And they said okay, that I could do that — because as far as they were concerned, I was taking my medicine like a good Federation curr. Resigning myself to the bottom so I could work my way back up. So, you’re now addressing Major Volchec. Not Lieutenant Commander, not Colonel. Major.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to throw her off her flow. She was building to something, but I still didn’t know what and didn’t want to guess. Still, it was sweeping me up a little. I had at least figured out that I was involved in this somehow — we weren’t friends and she didn’t seem like the sort to brag aimlessly.
“And you, First Class Airmen Maddox, are going to be working under me. You and Kepler, and MacAlister, and Sesstis. You belong to me now, and you’re my squad — a specialized unit operating outside of the normal mandates of the Federation. You’re going to follow my orders, and with just the four of you, we’re going to get shit done.” She sank backward proudly, fists clenched and rested on the desk. Her eyes were narrowed and her face was cut into a gleeful smile. “We’re going to show them exactly what numbers count for, and we’re going to make the sort of difference that a hundred thousand bodies can’t.”
I swallowed, not really knowing what to say. “Okay.” I didn’t know if there were any other words, because I couldn’t see any other options, but it did sound better than being tossed into a new war every week. I realized I was nodding at her, and she returned it.
“Alright then. Get your shit together — get your team together, and let’s get off this fucking monument to selflessness.”
She said nothing more, and after a few seconds, I nodded and got up, heading for the door.
“Oh, and Maddox,” she called.
I paused and turned back on the threshold.
“We’re going to need another showrunner. Someone to be your eyes and ears when you’re on the ground. Someone smart — someone who shares our sentiments. Someone who wants to make a difference, but never got their shot. You know anyone like that?”
I thought for a second and then grinned, nodding. “Yeah, actually, I do.”
3
The door to the lower rear hangar opened with a clang and swung into the wall. Everett was framed there, crooked and bent sideways over a walking stick. Her leg was still in recovery webbing and her head and face were still a little bruised and swollen, but the dressing had been taken off. It’d only been four days since I’d called in to see her, so it was a miracle she was out of bed at all. But when the Federation wanted to, they could do amazing things medically speaking.
She’d had her ulna reconstructed with carbon fibre mesh, her tibia, too. Her shoulder was still recovering, and her arm was slung across her chest, but they’d done wonders with her head and face, doing reconstructive nanosurgery where nanobots injected stem cells and 3D-printed tissue right into the bone and flesh. It turned years of recovery into days. It wasn’t available to most, but Volchec had pulled strings. It seemed that despite her demotion and apparent fuck-up, the three thousand people she’d saved were pretty damn grateful, and it so happened that some of them were officers, and some were doctors. So when she’d asked, they’d obliged and went to work on Everett in the way they already should have, if right was right, that is.
I grinned at her as she hobbled in, stepping over the bottom of the door frame and into the hangar with a grunt. She sighed and cracked her neck. Even her hair was starting to sprout back. It looked like tennis-ball fuzz, but it would thicken, and she’d be back to her old self in no time. She looked at me first and nodded. That’s all it needed to be. I knew she was happy to have another shot at something, and she knew I’d not done it out of charity or anything like that. She was here because she’d earned more than the Federation would ever give her, and this was her chance to do what she’d always wanted to — play in the big leagues.
The room itself wasn’t especially large. It was one of the ‘envoy hangars,’ as they called them. Where smaller ships would come in and out, carrying supplies, bringing aboard dignitaries or visiting officers, or where they’d store maintenance or transport craft. There were six of them, and Volchec had commandeered this one for us, along with a Federation Tilt-wing that was going to be ours, at least until it was shot down or we did something stupid enough to get it taken off us — Volchec’s words, not mine. She seemed excited, and it was hard to say it wasn’t rubbing off. She really did have herself convinced that she could make a difference with us, and I had to admit that I was starting to believe it, too.
It was an unmarked ship that had the blue and white Federation stripes removed in favor of being slightly less conspicuous. The thing itself was around thirty meters long and about as wide. They called it a Tilt-wing because that was exactly what they did, curving down from the top and shadowing the floor. At the end of each was a huge jet engine that moved independently, along with the wings, making it pretty fast and surprisingly agile for the size of it. The body was bulbous and shaped like a pregnant fish, with a rear cargo hold large enough to accommodate half a dozen mech, or one HAM and about four others — and above that was the upper deck housing the cockpit which sat four at the front, and four against the back wall on fold-out seats. Below that was a makeshift living area with a toilet and shower, a tiny kitchenette, a couple of bunks, and a makeshift comms center. The hold made up the bulk of the space, and was used to transport everything from machinery to troops. The tail rose over the open rear door, the wide wings at the back half hiding the two rear ion jets that produced enough thrust to push the thing into hyperdrive.
Most Tilt-wings didn’t have those, but then again, this wasn’t most Tilt-wings. This was the one that had brought General Greenway in. And as such, it had a couple of other bells and whistles over the standard version, including a mess of ordnance — smart-sidewinder missiles, a minigun, flares — as well as ‘Independent Rudder Control’ for tactical maneuvering. Volchec had seemed especially excited about that as she’d slapped the hull, telling us everything that this baby was packing. We’d all just nodded and tried our best to seem impressed. In actuality, we all figured that if we were going to need all that extra firepower, we’d be going somewhere where we’d be using it — and most of the time when you were shooting at people, it was because they were shooting back. Still, it was a heck of a beast. The only thing that was missing was our Rigs, though we’d been forced to leave them on Draven.
“Everett,” Volchec said, coming down the rear ramp. It was fully open and propping the back end up so the Tilt-wing was squatting forward like it was drinking from a river. The rear doors had to be big enough to accommodate a Treader, or HAM, so the hole was gaping, to say the least. Volchec wasn’t big either, so she looked like an Edeldonian — a small race of subterranean humanoids from the Tembani System — against the ship. I smirked and look
ed away so she didn’t see me.
“Volchec,” Everett replied, hobbling forward as quickly as she could. She stopped and rested her cane against her hip, offering her hand, which Volchec quickly took, stepping onto the steel floor of the hangar dressed in Federation one-piece fatigues, complete with the calf-high combat boots and knee pads. Her top was rolled down to the waist and tied around her stomach.
She’d been tinkering under the hood of the Tilt-wing all morning. Supposedly, she’d been quite the grease monkey in her earlier days — her words again, not mine. She was taking this seriously, and actually looked to be enjoying herself. It was probably because she wasn’t going to be plunged into whatever shit-show we were headed into. So far, all we knew was that there was some unrest on a Federation sanctioned planet and that it was one that was of high value to the Federation.
The issue was sensitive, though, supposedly, the balance of power delicate. They needed it handled quietly, and Volchec had been quick to volunteer us. Though I think she wanted to get us onboard and away from the Mansoon before she spilled the details — either so that no one would find out what we were doing, or so that we didn’t have a chance to get off and back out. I was trying not to think about that part of it, but I could see out of the corner of my eye that Alice was fidgeting — so I thought she was, too. We’d not spoken since the meeting with Greenway. She’d been avoiding me. She’d been avoiding everyone, it seemed. Her sullen mood hadn’t lifted an inch. Every time I tried to grab a minute, she’d just turn away and walk off.
I knew whatever it was that was bothering her would need to settle, and that when she was ready to talk, she would. Until then, I wasn’t going to force the issue. If she wanted to be childish, or pissy, then that was on her. I was just trying to do what I thought was right. If she couldn’t see that, then it was her problem.
I lifted the lid of the fiberglass case I was kneeling in front of and couldn’t help but grin. Inside was a foam fitted sheet, and in the middle of that was a metal cylinder, punctuated with tiny holes that made a spiraling pattern around it. I lifted it out, weighing it in my hands. It was about thirty centimeters long, and half as wide. One end had a series of pin connectors and sockets, and the other had a bunch of blinking lights with tiny descriptions under them, and a glass lens in the middle that domed outwards. Under that was a sticker, and on it was written one word: Greg.
I checked that it wasn’t damaged, and then put the AI core back in the storage case. When we’d been picked up from Draven, we were told that we couldn’t bring our rigs as there wasn’t enough space on board the Mansoon to accommodate them. The others had left theirs, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’d had Greg walk me through the procedure, and I’d taken his AI core out and brought it with me. It’d been put in storage while I was aboard, but now that we were shipping out I was intent on installing him in whatever rig I was assigned to next.
Everyone said I was getting too attached and that he was just a machine — but like with Sally, I enjoyed the company. Mac had told me he’d been through nearly two dozen different rigs and AIs and that getting to know them was a good way to feel bad when you lost them. But if I followed that logic, then what was the point in making friends in the real world either? Everyone could die at any time and Greg didn’t deserve callousness just because he was likely to kick the bucket. They gave back what you offered, and I felt like if I gave a shit about him, maybe he’d reciprocate and make sure I didn’t eat a bullet at some inopportune moment. It might not have been sound logic, but after what we went through I didn’t think he deserved to be abandoned on Draven. He was as responsible for the success of that mission as I was — maybe more so. He deserved to live, and I was taking him with me, and that was all there was to it.
“How are you healing up?” Volchec asked Everett behind me as I secured the clasps on the storage crate and picked it up.
Everett sighed. “Well, thanks. Another day or two and this sling will come off. I should be walking fine a few after that. Thanks for bumping me up the list.” She smiled at Volchec, who just waved it off.
“It was nothing,” she said, looking up at the Tilt-wing. “It’s good to have you aboard. Your record spoke for itself, and there was no way I could let them discharge you after what you did.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Well, we’re doing things a little differently now.” She looked around at us, squaring away the last of our gear before we loaded up. We’d had fresh clothes and equipment from the armory of the Mansoon, and we were heading out to our next stop to pick up our new rigs, at which point we’d be heading off on our first mission, though despite knowing that much for sure, it still all felt vague and that was putting everyone on edge. I looked over and watched as she made a circular movement with her hand. “Wrap up, let’s get this bitch in the air.”
I laughed to myself. She was enthusiastic, I had to give her that. I watched Alice heft a crate into the air and sidle toward the rear door.
“You need a hand with that?” I asked as she passed. She didn’t acknowledge me, and I was left standing there like an idiot. Everett and Volchec pretended not to see, but Mac wasn’t so gracious, and clapped me on the shoulder as he walked by, laughing.
“Smooth, Red,” he said. “Like Anadonian silk.”
Fish stared blankly at me.
“What are you looking at?” I asked, my voice sharp.
He flickered his gills and narrowed his eyes and then headed up the ramp after Mac.
I ran my hand through my hair. “This is going to be a long flight.” And I was right — it was.
4
It’s easy to forget that Federation ships aren’t stagnated, like cities. And it’s only when you’re flying out of one and you look out one of the windows from your seat at one of the smaller ships in the Federation’s galactic armada, and it’s blocking out the entirety of the window, do you realize just how massive they are, and how fast they’re actually moving, despite them feeling perfectly still when you’re inside one.
The Mansoon shrank behind us until it was an insect in the distance, clinging to the black wall of empty space behind. It glinted in the light of a distant star, and then became a pinprick. It’d been cramped and uncomfortable, but it was secure. The Tilt-wing was minuscule in comparison, and somehow felt less safe. The walls felt thinner, the deadly vacuum of space a lot closer. I swallowed and looked away, turning in my seat to find Fish hovering over my shoulder, looking out of the window as well. I stared into his deep black eyes and then traced the wrinkles under them down to his neck, to the slowly billowing gills above the collar of his flight suit. He turned his head to look at me, eyelids flashing out to form a vertical seal under the top layer of his eyes. He wasn’t pretty to look at — or maybe he was on Eshell. I couldn’t tell. Hell, maybe he was thinking the same thing of me — wondering how the hell I get any chick to lay some eggs for me to fertilize. I tried not to laugh at the thought but I don’t think the effort escaped him. He twitched and the fins on the top of his domed head flattened and then shivered. I broke the eye contact, not sure if he was reading my mind with some Eshellite sixth sense. Mac had said they were perceptive, but I didn’t quite know far that extended.
I smiled nervously, and he looked away, gurgling in his throat.
Up ahead I could see the backs of the four pilots’ chairs. At the front left was Volchec, hands on the controls. Next to her was Everett in the co-pilot's seat. Behind her was Alice, and behind Volchec was Mac. Fish and I were sitting on the fold out seats fixed to the wall next to the door to the cargo hold.
It was obvious Volchec and Everett would get the front two seats. Volchec was in charge and Everett her direct subordinate — both were the most experienced ship pilots, too. I’d hung back next to the door while the others chose their seats. Mac had gone straight for the one behind Volchec, and Fish had headed for the one next to him. Had Alice let him, she’d have been stuck next to me. She figured that out in about five seconds
. It took her three looks. One at Mac, one at the empty seat next to him, and then one at the seats at the back of the cockpit. After that, she elbowed Fish in the gut and shoehorned her way into the seat before he could get to it. He hissed at her, and she hooked a thumb at the two at the back of the cockpit without saying anything.
I didn’t think she’d said a word all day. On that front, all I could do was wait. One more glance at Fish told me that he wasn’t going to be much conversation either, so I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
I could hear Volchec instructing Everett to prep us for hyper-jump in the ether, and wondered what it would be like. I figured it would be like getting kicked in the ass, like my first blast-off from Genesis in the troop transport, what seemed like years ago — but was actually just a little under five months. It didn’t, though. It didn’t feel like anything, except someone pressing on my eyeballs. They squeezed into my brain and ached. Everything distorted in the cockpit slightly, all the straight lines bending, and then the stars visible through the cockpit window, a wraparound panel of glass, tiny pinpricks of lights against an endless blanket of darkness all flared and glowed, and then disappeared.
Everything was dark beyond the glass and the faintest whine rang in the hull as everything vibrated minutely at the frequency of the ship. It sang like a tuning fork as we sailed through a dark ocean.
Volchec turned in her seat and looked over us, her ragtag crew. She smiled for a second before she spoke. “That’s it, kids — nothing else to do now. It’ll be a couple of days until we reach FSS sixty-three forty. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.”
I was shocked. I thought hyper-drive was an instant thing. “A couple of days?”
Mac snickered, but she just shrugged and then grinned. “Space is a big place.”
The tension in the cockpit was thick for hours. Mac and Alice barely spoke — just a few words here and there to break the silence, none of which were friendly. Fish didn’t speak at all, and considering I’d not had my implant yet, I couldn’t make heads or tails of his gurgles and head cocks. I often just found myself smiling, but then stopped doing that in case it meant fuck you in Eshelleen. Up front, Everett and Volchec were swapping war stories, and that was hardly a conversation I could chime in on. I tried to sleep, but it was still early, despite the total disorientation that came with the utter blackness outside the windows, and I could feel the force of the speed pulling on my brain just enough to keep me awake. I could feel my teeth tingling, too, and no matter how many times I ran my tongue over them, it wouldn’t go away.