by Rob Dearsley
She leads us through the facility into the industrial looking access ways. It doesn’t feel like we should be here.
“Are we supposed to be here?” Jim asks.
“They haven’t stopped me so far. And it’s not like they don’t track us.” She pulls her ID card from her pocket to illustrate her point.
They’ve never actually said that they can track us through the cards. But none of us are stupid enough to believe they can’t and don’t monitor our locations. Still, I can just imagine the blasting we’d get for wandering off like this. It feels wrong to be sneaking through the maintenance hallways. What has Sam got in mind? Worry and excitement mingle with the mystery food as we pad along the hallway.
We climb the bare concrete stairs to the top, where Sam forces the roof door open. She’s grown even stronger over the last week or so.
“Check this out.” She beckons us through the door and out onto the roof.
Jim follows, with me a step behind.
Sam is already over by the edge leaning against the railing.
We walk over to join her and…
Wow. The view is breathtaking. The lights of the facility and the city beyond twinkling and shimmering against the night. Running lights on the space elevator rise up into the clear night sky, blinking in sequence. The training centre is one of the tallest buildings in the city. So, we can see everything spread out beneath us. Streets flow with traffic, like the glowing arteries of some giant creature. The city is alive beneath us, pulsing with light and life.
This is it. This is what the Imperium is, humanity pushing back against the endless night. This is what we’re here to defend. This shining beacon of life and love and light.
I glance over at Jim and I see the same wonder and recognition in his eyes. His jaw tightens and his posture straightens, regaining that ten centimetres.
On Jim’s other side Sam smiles. She knew what she was doing when she brought us up here. Knows what effect seeing this view has on us. On Jim.
She’s as sharp as they come. I don’t doubt one day she’ll be a fine officer.
“Come on,” I say, breaking the moment. “We should get back before the others notice.”
Sam and Jim nod and head back toward the door. I give the skyline one last look before turning to join them.
◊◊
Over the next few weeks, the relentless physical exercise gives way to more and more technical training. While Sam remains physically stronger than me and a better shot, I’m the better tactician. While I hate to admit it, Jim is falling lower and lower in the rankings. I’d hoped – we’d all hoped – that he’d do better once we got into the more technical aspects of training. But there doesn’t seem to be any part of military life that he’s suited to.
The three of us will stick together until the bitter end and, whatever happens, we’ll stay friends.
To that end, I peer out onto a dusty street. Grey-brown buildings line the street on both sides. Bullets zip past my head, close enough to ruffle my hair had I not been wearing a helmet, and slam into the wall behind me, kicking up puffs of dust. This test is a doozey.
Rationally, I know it’s all mocked up, that none of this can actually hurt me. But damn it feels real, and the rush of adrenaline is real enough to send my heart tripping.
I duck back into the dead-end-alleyway and turn to the others. “Three of them, dug in, in the main foyer. A hundred metres north. What’s your play?” The last is directed at Jim.
He fumbles his gun out of the way to sketch in the dust with his finger. “If we can get around and come at it from the side, then we might be able to take them by surprise.”
It’s a workable if basic plan. I’d have split our small strike team and sent Sam to the rooftops to provide overwatch, but I’m not the one who’s been told to prove himself this time out.
“Let’s move out then.” Sam takes point, using her rifle butt to break down the old blockwork wall into the side street. We follow her through the hole, our weapons up and scanning for trouble. Jim stays on her heels, with me bringing up rear guard, straining my senses for any signs of movement.
As we approach the entrance to the building, we slow, staying low and quiet. Our enemies for this round are from the other training platoon. We’re in competition with them and so far, they’re winning. This is our chance to pull it back to level pegging.
Now comes the tricky part, we need to breach the foyer and hit their fortified position, hard and fast. The instructors are watching Jim, if he doesn’t prove himself, he’s out.
“How do you want to play this?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
Jim reaches down for a clear patch of dusty street. I grab his gloved hand. “No, just think. How do we go in?” I flick my eyes toward the nearby rooftop, hoping he’ll catch on.
He follows my gaze, recognition flickering in his eyes. “Hale, can you get up to the rooftop, cover us?”
Come on. He knows Sam’s the better shot. Although, she is bigger than me and a lot more physically imposing. Having her running at me in full combat armour would make me want to cut and run.
Sam boosts me up onto the rooftop and I creep forward on my stomach, staying as low as possible, the memory of the electric grid on the assault course and the scars it left on my back reminds me to keep my chest pressed as low as I can.
I’m a couple of feet from the front of the edge by the time I have a good sightline into the foyer. I tap my earpiece activating the com-link and peer through the weapon’s scope.
“All three of them are behind the main desk, one tripod-mounted autocannon and two LMGs.”
“Good,” Jim’s voice filters through my earpiece. “We go in three, two-”
Oh crap. He’s not called any targets. I line up my sight on the autocannon. It’s a tricky shot, through the small sighting slit on the weapon’s built-in shield. I’ve hit targets that size before, but only on the range.
“One.”
I take a breath, line up the shot and squeeze the trigger. My shot pings off the shield, just to the right. I try again and overcompensate, missing to the left.
Jim and Sam toss grenades and rush in, firing.
I fire twice more in quick succession, missing both times.
The autocannon spools up, its spinning barrels rising to aim at me. Crap.
I roll away as the weapons fire chews up the rooftop in my wake, stumble back to my feet and run for the edge of the roof.
The autocannon stops as I tumble from the rooftop onto the street, landing awkwardly and jarring my hip and shoulder. While I’m out of the line of fire, I pause to gather my scattered wits before moving cautiously into the foyer rifle up and ready.
Jim’s down, his body crumpled on the dusty floor, arms and legs twisted at odd angles. All three of our opponents are dead, slumped over their makeshift barricades, unmoving.
Sam shoulders her rifle and grins. “Come on, I made that shot while running.”
I return her smile. “To be fair, you were a lot closer than I was.”
“Blue team wins.”
The foyer turns transparent before dissolving into nothingness.
The shock of coming out of Virtual Reality is like having ice water thrown on my head. I gasp as the helmet unfolds from my eyes and electrodes pull away from my neck.
I blink away the after-effects of the VR, as my eyes adjust to the bright light of the room. To my right, Jim and Sam are already climbing down from their VR harnesses. I unsnap the cool metal framework from my arms and join them.
Training instructors and techs watch us from the other side of a transparent display. I can see our vitals along with mission stats in reverse painted on the glass
The instructor reaches down to hit the intercom control. “Briefing room. Five minutes.” Then he turns and walks away.
Sam glances over at me. “We won, didn’t we? Why do I get the feeling we’re about to be rinsed?”
I shrug, my gaze flicking to Jim. I have an inkling, but I’
m not going to share. Even if I’m right, it’ll do more harm than good to bring it up. “Come on. We’d better hustle. Don’t want to be late for our rinsing.”
The briefing room is the same sterile white and blue as the VR chambers. We stand one side of the room’s holo-table, currently idling on the Imperial Navy logo. The instructor stands opposite us, his hands clasped behind his back.
The instructor watches us in silence long past the point at which it becomes uncomfortable. When we are about to break, he reaches out and turns the table on. Translucent buildings rise from the surface in miniature. After a moment, I recognise it as the VR assault we’ve just complete. Callouts spring up to show our starting positions.
“Good call with the flanking manoeuvre.” He looks at Jim. “A lot of recruits just go for the frontal assault.”
Our callouts move forward through the alleyways. Mine breaks away up onto the rooftop. The instructor pauses, looking at me. “Interesting idea.”
He touches a control and the rest of the simulation plays out as I remember it. As it turns out, Sam got all three of our kills.
“Recruit Sterling,” the instructor addresses Jim while looking at me. “Whose idea was it set up a high ground position?”
Jim glances over at me, and then down at the floor.
I jump in before he can speak. “I followed Sterling’s orders to go up onto the roof.”
“As you say. You know we monitor all your actions during these sessions?”
“Recruit Sterling gave the order to use the high ground position.” I’m technically not lying and the instructor knows it. But he knows Sam and I have been carrying Jim, and my suggesting, albeit subtly, must confirm it for him. Damn, we should have just stacked up and gone in, it wasn’t like I’d helped that much as overwatch anyway.
The instructor shakes his head. “Recruit Hale, who would you have chosen for the overwatch?”
Oh damn. I don’t want to play this game. It’s not fair to make him second guess his decision. If they want Jim out why not just say it. “Sam’s the better marksman, but her size gives a compelling case to have her on the front lines. Of the three of us, I’m the better choice to stay back.”
Screw him and his questions.
He turns to Sam. “Could you have taken out the mounted gun?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam replies.
The instructor steps back from the table, his hands going behind his back again. “Recruit Sterling, you are one of the lowest scoring recruits still in this process, and your tactical awareness is sorely lacking-”
“You can’t do this.” Sam steps forward, her knuckles turning white.
“Recruit Sterling, you are to be removed from this process.” Sam goes to speak again, but a look from the instructor silences her. “There’s no shame in it. Think how many people you’ve beaten to get this far. I’ve no doubt you will find success in the future.”
“Just not in the military,” Jim mutters, his eyes down.
“Dismissed.”
As we turn to leave, the instructor catches my arm. “Hale, do you know how many times we’ve seen recruits successfully use overwatch positions in this simulation?”
I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. All I want to do right now is find Jim and make sure he’s okay. I shrug.
“Twenty percent,” the instructor says. “Only twenty percent of recruits use overwatch on this test, and nearly all of them win the rounds. You’re a good tactician and with loyalty like that, you’ll make a fine officer one day.”
I nod in thanks and leave.
I find Jim and Sam on the roof, looking out over the glimmering lights of the city.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I take up position next to Jim.
“Not your fault.” Jim doesn’t look at me, just stares out at the city. But I can see tears shimmering in his eyes. “It’s only down to you guys being amazing that I’ve made it this far.”
There’s nothing more I can say. Nothing more to be said. Sam and I place our arms over his shoulders and look out at the glimmering skyline. One last moment of solidarity.
◊◊
Months later, Sam, I and the other twelve members of our training platoon – originally sixty recruits – pass out. We’ve got the other platoon’s eleven members beat.
It’s the best day of my life. The endless physical, and mental test, the aching muscles, the small scars on my back, they’re all worth it to be standing here in my crisp blue uniform.
I rush into my parent’s beaming embrace, my dad sweeping me off my feet. For a moment I’m eight again, and he’s lifting me onto the hood of the tractor, the scent of bacon and the sunrise filling my senses.
“We’re so proud of you,” my mother says, holding me at arm’s length to admire me and my navy blues.
I catch a glimpse of a thin face and a hawkish nose. Jim? I give my mother another hug before making my way over to where he stands in the shadows of the tiered viewing gallery. The seating looks just like that in big sporting venues.
He looks good in the dark suit, hair cut military short.
“I had to come.” He pulls me into a brief hug. “I heard both you and Sam passed out. You guys were made for the military.”
“Thanks.” I look over the graduates. Sam is surrounded by her family, literally buried beneath squalling toddlers. “Looks like you landed on your feet. What are you up to these days?”
He gives me a sly half smile. “Technically, I’m still working for the Imperial Navy. Turns out I have a unique skillset that R and D was looking for. His eyes drift skyward, where, even during the day, the massive triangular silhouette of the new Asgard II shipyard hangs above us.
Eighteen
(SDF Feynman, Terran System)
The Feynman’s bridge lights flared to full power, leaving Dannage squinting against the sudden brightness. Acrid smoke from burned-out consoles burned his throat. That was quite a journey. He brushed his hands along his coat, checking his body was where it should be. Seeing himself from the outside… Just the memory sent shivers down his spine. It had been trippy as all hells. He definitely wasn’t looking forward to the return journey.
Around him, watch-standers and damage control teams rushed about, desperately trying to get the ship’s systems back online. Would there even be a return journey? Had he dragged his friends, his family, on this damn fool’s errand? Arland would tell him he hadn’t dragged anyone, but the guilt still tasted sour on his tongue.
By the still dark holo-table, Vaughn helped Jenna to stand. Jenna hissed in pain as the doctor probed her arm, now loose from its sling. Rossini pulled herself up on the holo-table’s other side.
Dannage moved over to the railing as Hale helped Arland to her feet. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Arland steadied herself against the railing next to him, her eyes scanning the room. “Did you hear the voices?”
Hale frowned. “Voices?”
“Captain, did you hear them?”
Arland looked haunted, almost scared. He remembered it, something between the worlds. Lost in the dark. No, not lost. It revelled in the dark.
“I felt it.”
It had gone beyond words, beyond sight. It had been something else. So far beyond anything he’d ever experienced before he didn’t even have a way to frame it, let alone start to describe it.
Before he could think more on the presence, the large screens on the far side of the room flickered, the optical feed coming back online. They all turned to look at the view. Please let them have made it. Dannage didn’t want to be stuck in that pitiless darkness.
The view was stunning. A dull red sun peeked out from behind the curve of a massive planet.
Thank the Stars.
The remains of hundreds of stations drifted around the planet. The shattered shaft of a space elevator rising up through the debris to what would have been the biggest of the space stations, a series of concentric rings radiating outward until they were bigger than one of those new relief habitats.
The broken husks of thousands of ships spun away from the shock of the Feynman’s arrival.
“Angels,” Hale’s voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “And this is how the world ends, in fire.”
“What’s that from?” Rossini joined them at the railing.
“It’s an old proverb.” Hale sounded distracted, her gaze not leaving the screens. Tears glistened in her eyes. “This was my home.”
Dannage’s heart broke for her. He reached out, placing a hand on her arm. A pathetic gesture, but it was all he could do, all he had. “I’m so sorry.”
On Hale’s other side Arland placed a hand on the big Terran’s arm. After a moment Niels and Lloyd joined them, looking out over the wreckage of the Terran system.
“That was one heck of a battle,” Lloyd said, his eyes skipping over the husks of ancient warships.
“Electro-magnetic scanners coming online,” Valentine said from below them in the watch pit.
Callouts started popping up across the screen, all red. There was nothing alive out there, not anymore.
They were all dead, inert. Silent. The pressure on Dannage’s mind was gone, the silence was blissful. He closed his eyes, stretching out his neck, revelling in his mind being his own again. Even the Terran link couldn’t reach thousands of lightyears.
Is someone there?
Dannage’s attention whipped around. Even as he did so, he knew he wouldn’t see anything. The source of the voice wasn’t on the bridge with them. It was out there. Watching, waiting. It had sat in the dark for millennium. The part of his mind that wasn’t quite his anymore almost itched with it.
Something out there was still alive and it wanted to bloody talk to him. Typical.
“Cap’n, what’s up?” Luc asked.
“I can hear something, out there.”
Hale spun to face them. “What? Where? I didn’t think there would – there could – be anything alive.” Hope lit in her eyes.
“Can you give us a bearing?” Rossini asked.
Dannage focused, clearing his mind and reached out for the voice. The vast emptiness of space stretched out before him. Infinite darkness, empty. “I can’t feel anything. Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”