A Memory of Violence

by Percival Arbogast

  Victor gave a salute and took his place at the helm as Kanpei began for the mess hall.

  ***

  “I thought it was well-calibrated!” shouted Stella, tearing away the electrodes and shoving her headset to the side. “What the hell happened?” Her high voice echoed shrilly through the chamber.

  Cleo adjusted her overalls and ran a hand over her forehead. “I dunno. Seems to me that there ain't nothin' wrong with it. Coulda just been a blip-- some false readin', maybe.” She hovered over the console, unfastening one of the panels and inspecting the various wires within. Tapping a few buttons, she continued, “Unless there's a problem with the system outside the ship, I dunno what to tell ya.”

  Stella hopped down from her seat and gave an exaggerated sigh. “It was real, I'm telling you. Whatever it was simply vanished! S.A.L.V.O should've picked it up with more accuracy. It was large and metallic and--”

  “What do you want me to tell ya? I can take a look at the infrared generator and the other components on the outside of the ship when we make it to Anvil Station, but you helped me tune the thing up not too long ago. It ain't S.A.L.V.O's fault, girly.”

  Stella scowled, folding her arms. “I don't make mistakes, Cleo. You know this.” When things didn't go her way, Stella was prone to tantrums. Her outbursts were tolerated, but only because the crew considered her such a valuable asset. “If the stupid thing had been working right, maybe I'd have gotten a clearer look,” she said with a pout.

  Cleo didn't get along terribly well with the conceited navigator, and had been less than thrilled when she'd called her to the S.A.L.V.O chamber in a fit. “Sure you should be takin' that stuff off?” asked the mechanic, pointing to the headset. “Ya might miss the thing if it pops back up out there.”

  “Shut up,” hissed Stella. “I'm just taking a break. They're running the native systems right now and I need to get centered again. Mr. Kanpei said it was all right, and he has rank on you.”

  Spoiled brat, thought Cleo. Stella was younger than most of the crew, seventeen or eighteen years old, but old enough to know better than to act in such a way.

  From the hall came Gene, the cabin boy, with a tray of food. “Brought your dinner for ya, Stella!” he said gleefully. He always acted especially pleasant around the navigator, thinking her mighty cute.

  “Why, thank you, Gene. Just what I needed,” replied Stella, pushing past Cleo and taking the tray. “Now leave me in peace,” she mumbled to the mechanic as she returned to her seat.

  “No problem,” said Gene. “But what's the matter? You seem bummed out.”

  “Oh, it's nothing,” said Stella flippantly. “Cleo here is just being her usual bothersome self and upsetting me. I guess she wants to frustrate me so that I can't concentrate and put everyone's life at risk.”

  “Ya petulant little...” growled Cleo, balling one of her massive hands into a fist.

  “Miss Cleo, what would the Captain say if he knew you were giving Stella a hard time? Come on, we should leave her alone. The crew depends on her a lot!”

  Cleo arched a brow. “You serious, Gene?” She left the chamber, spotting a sly smile spreading across Stella's lips. She pulled Gene along by the collar of his shirt, despite his protests.

  “Do keep Miss Cleo in line, Gene,” called out Stella with a grin as she started into her meal.

  The mechanic groaned, turning a corner and letting go of Gene's shirt. She sighed and relaxed her mighty frame. “Sorry I yanked you around like that, kid. I needed outta there before I ripped her head off. I dunno what you see in her. She's a brat.”

  He smoothed out his collar. “It's all right,” he said. “She's pretty cute though, wouldn't you say? A little high maintenance, maybe...”

  “Ha!” laughed Cleo. “Maintenance? Whadd'ya know about maintenance? Tell ya what, I'ma bring ya along with me and teach ya a thing er two bout maintainin' a battlecruiser. It's a bigger job than maintainin' the moods of some bratty girl, loverboy! C'mon, now you're in fer it!” she said, hooking him around the neck and dragging him off towards the hangar.

  “C'mon, Miss Cleo!” he gasped, locked into the crook of her powerful arm. “Lemme go! This ain't fair!”

  ***

  Horace, the cook, had made a strange stew. Carrots, potatoes and what was presumed to be beef had been simmered in a tomato-based sauce for entirely too long, lending the dish a slightly burnt taste. Kanpei ate it quickly with a grimace. The old cook had a habit of mashing together uncomplimentary ingredients or overcooking his food, making each meal a roulette. Sometimes the crew would luck out and come away with a fairly satisfying meal. Then there were times when even the hungriest among them couldn't help but turn their noses up and fill up on bread and water. Kanpei didn't have time to complain about his lousy stew. He simply needed calories and shoveled the stuff in as quickly as he could.

  As he ate, he overheard a few others around him discussing their feelings about the current mission. Some of them pilots, others deckhands and janitors, huddled over one of the tables adjacent Kanpei's and let loose. Little of what they had to say was positive.

  “I don't see why we're helpin' the guys on Earth. They've never done a thing for us. Not one damn thing,” said one, blowing on a spoonful of stew.

  “I hear ya. They've got all those riches and all that wisdom since they ain't been fightin' over the last three-hundred years. If they're so enlightened then why do we gotta bail 'em out?” asked another.

  The Bosun, who was also seated nearby, dabbed a crust of bread into his stew and shot Kanpei a wry smile. “Seems I'm not alone in my discontent, Mr. Kanpei.”

  Kanpei looked up from his meal and took a sip of water. “It's best not to question the Captain's plans,” he said to the group of gossiping crewmen, trying to wash away the aftertaste of the wretched stew. “He's got the best interests of the crew in mind, even if it doesn't seem that way.”

  “Seems to me that Mr. Kanpei over there's just blindly trusting his superiors,” added one from the table of pilots and roughs.

  Kanpei shot them a narrow glance before returning to his meal.

  Barnaby took his things and sat down across from Kanpei, a grin on his face.

  “Barnaby, I'm short for time. I haven't the patience for more complaints.”

  The Bosun lapped up a bit of sauce and scowled. “Fine, then. You can just enjoy my company.”

  The others resumed their conversation, expressing doubts about whether engaging an unknown foe was wise. It was true that the crew had little idea of their capabilities, and Kanpei himself, though he hid it well, harbored some doubts of his own. Was it really a good idea, even if it was the moral thing to do? Despite his loyalty to the Captain, he wasn't entirely convinced. Despite his initial reaction to the dispatches, he'd had time now to consider all the things that could go wrong, and had experienced only minutes prior the terror of battle-- even if it'd been a mere false alarm. Though the space-born were known for their fight, Kanpei certainly wasn't a fan of going into battle. “Tell me,” he asked the Bosun as he dove into the last bit of his stew, “why do you think the Captain decided to go through with this?”

  Barnaby smirked. “Why do you care what I think? Having doubts, are ye?” He gave a dry chuckle and shook his head. “You know what I think? I think that the Captain is a good man who dislikes seeing helpless people get slaughtered. And I also think that his heart has gotten in the way of his brain. He's forgotten who these people are. They're Earthlings. They're not exactly friends, you understand. And without knowing anything of the enemy, he's agreed to assist them? These aliens could be unlike anything we've yet faced, and he's happy to march in and take up the fight? It's the very definition of irresponsible. And, of course he talks about hefty remuneration, but you can be sure that he himself cares nothing of receiving payment for his work. Oh, no, I'm sure that he included that bit in his conditions solely to appease some among the crew, like myself.” He took a swig of water and set aside his tray. “In respect to the en
emy, he doesn't seem to care what we're up against because he has so very much faith in us and this old ship. That faith is not unfounded-- you and I have seen the marvels by which Methuselah has earned her name, 'The Undying'. But this time, well... this time might be different,” he added with a bitter laugh. “We've only ever fought against our fellow men. There is no telling what this enemy may be capable of. It will be interesting to see whether the old gal stacks up to the Captain's fancy,” he finished, slapping the table and easing himself up.

  Kanpei found that he couldn't disagree with much of what Barnaby had to say. He nodded and stood up, shoving his tray away and draining his glass of water. “I don't disagree with you. At least, not entirely,” he said, forcing a smile.

  “Oh, come on, Mr. Kanpei. Don't go doubtin' the Cap'n!” cried one of the men at the other table mockingly. “He's got our best interests in mind, don'tcha know?” The table erupted into laughter.

  “You know,” began Kanpei, “the Captain has arranged for the crew to take up residence on Earth. Providing that we assist the Earthlings and vanquish the attackers, we'll be extended an invitation to live there. How does that sound?”

  A few of the crewmen seemed to take a genuine interest in the news, while others scoffed. “That'll never happen,” said one of them. “They'll never let us settle down in that land of milk and honey. Ain't no room for men like us, not down there.”

  “Earth isn't really in a position to negotiate,” said Kanpei.

  “Maybe not,” returned the crewman, a janitor by the name of Fritz. “But when this is all done, I'll betcha they change their minds and boot us all outta Earth-space.”

  The Quartermaster arched a brow and dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “All right, that's enough. Return to your posts and relieve others before old Horace closes up shop and the rest of the crew goes hungry.” The table dispersed and Kanpei nodded to the Bosun. “I'll be on the bridge if you need me.”

  Barnaby sauntered away. “Yes, well, if you get another word with the Captain, remember this little conversation of ours and try to talk some sense into him.”

  ***

  Before reporting back to the bridge, Kanpei stopped by the Captain's quarters. Eager for the Captain to set his doubts at ease, he knocked upon the solid door and awaited a response.

  “Enter,” came the gruff, familiar voice within.

  The Quartermaster pushed the door open and stepped inside, his eyes struggling to adjust to the dimness. How it was that Faust could work in such dark conditions Kanpei would never understand. It was such a barren, uninviting place. He'd asked the Captain once why he enjoyed coming to such a simple room to clear his mind. Faust had explained that, without clutter or bright lights to distract him from his thoughts, he was able to meditate more thoughtfully on matters related to his command. To Kanpei though, stepping into the Captain's quarters seemed more like descending into a dank prison. No matter how many times he entered, he always felt uneasy.

  “How goes it, Kanpei?” asked Faust from the floor as he pored over an especially visceral recording. It was some of the battle footage that Earth had sent along earlier in the day. The holographic display lit up with bursts of fire. Small fighters of strange size and proportion flitted across the sky and rained hellfire on the city below. It was hard to describe the ships based solely on the glimpses captured in the footage. There was only one thing they could be sure of as they re-watched the grainy, shaky recording, and that was of the fact that the strange vessels depicted, hard to see and describe as they were, were completely unlike anything they'd seen in their many years.

  “Victor is still at the helm. I wished to have a word with you,” said Kanpei, stepping towards the center of the room.

  Faust nodded. “Have a seat, then.”

  Kanpei sat down upon the cold, steel floor across from the Captain, a shudder running through him. The footage had been paused, and the frame that remained upon the display was perhaps the clearest image of the enemy fighters in the entire recording. Kanpei watched as Faust sized it up, studying it, observing what he could of its irregular design before leaning back with a grimace. Kanpei cleared his throat. “Tell me, Captain, what sort of enemy are we up against? And, more importantly... do you think we can win?”

  Where such a question might just as easily have earned some bold platitude about the ship's reputation in any other case, Faust instead frowned, drawing in a deep sigh. “Our enemy,” he began, his cold eyes lit up by the flickering hologram, “they are diabolical, I think. Creatures who'd observed Earth's military decline and descent into helplessness with interest over many, many years. When they felt sure of Earth's weakness, they made their move. They could have done so one hundred, even two hundred or more years ago. Why they waited this long is a mystery to me, unless they were waiting for some threshold of complacency to be reached by the Earthlings. And this, the opportunistic approach they've employed, is a good strategy, truth be told. It's precisely what I would've done. There are a lot of questions, of course. How did they bypass the Solar Reef? What are they they after? I have my guesses on the latter, but the former is, admittedly, perplexing. If their technology is sufficient to destroy or somehow evade the Solar Reef, then we are very likely outgunned and outmatched.”

  Kanpei gulped. “Certainly there's something we could do. Right?”

  Faust shrugged eloquently.

  “W-well, what are their reasons, do you think? For coming to Earth, I mean.”

  At this question, the Captain ruminated for some time. “Earth is valuable for its resources. Years of exploration have yielded no other worlds quite like it in our galaxy. Some space-born have settled on various extrasolar planets by utilizing advanced technologies, however these planets are all, in the end, hostile towards life. Earth is simply a more inviting place than any hitherto found; it requires no preparation to make it suitable. When its inhabitants have been exterminated, then the natural resources can be fully exploited by the planet's new masters. It seems like the most obvious reason for their interest, anyway. What they haven't anticipated is the potential involvement of the space-born. Despite all their planning, they wont see us coming,” he said with a smirk.

  “Yes, but if we engage them and find ourselves outmatched... I mean, do you really believe this is worthwhile? Is it not suicide for us to pursue an enemy we know so little about?”

  The Captain pursed his lips. “No,” he replied cooly, standing up and shutting off the display. “Let me frame this situation in a different way, Mr. Kanpei. If the aliens manage to decimate Earth and all of its people, then where will they go next? It is just like you said before: Do you really believe that, if they have arrived in this leg of space, that we, the space-born, will not eventually meet them in battle? Though I'm unsure of how long they've operated within this galaxy, I find it most surprising that we haven't encountered them yet. It is no small miracle that we've yet to be acquainted. But this battle will not end on Earth, and it is for this reason that I insist on interceding. Better that Methuselah, a powerful ship with a capable crew, be the canary in the coalmine, I think. If we of Methuselah can't force them back, then I doubt very much that any in space could. But let me be clear.” His eyes firmed up. He pulled his long hair up into a messy knot atop his head and locked his stubbled jaw into a fearsome scowl. “The Earthlings and the space-born are neighbors, and each of us are a part of the galaxy's ecology. I will not stand by and watch my neighbors utterly destroyed-- no, the environment will fight back against this foe, Kanpei, and I will tear this galaxy from their grasp through sheer force of will if I must. Not for the sake of Earth, but for my people and the integrity of the galaxy as a whole.”

  An announcement came overhead, interrupting their conversation. It was Victor, the mate at the helm. “Captain,” he said through the intercom. “We're approaching Anvil Station.”

  Faust replied in the affirmative. “I'll be out there shortly.” Turning to Kanpei, he smiled. “Here we are, Kanpei. Standing on th
e brink of war. Today we prepare, for tomorrow we may meet our foe in battle.”

  War. It seemed like such a strange word to the Quartermaster right then, but as he processed Faust's words, he came to understand that it was the most fitting descriptor for the mission at hand. He's right... This isn't some skirmish or smuggling run. We're at war now.

  CHAPTER 4

  Anvil Station loomed silently in the void. It was a massive complex, perhaps thirty or forty miles across. There had been a time, not so long ago, when it was busier, packed full of ships and teeming with merchants. During certain seasons it still attracted wayfarers from distant stars, however it was, at present, almost certainly quiet. It had been built more than a hundred years ago now, the largest trading post of its kind at the time of its construction, and though the current owners had done much to keep it in operating condition, the slight superficial flourishes added to the exterior, such as fresh paint and new additions, did little to hide the age of the bones beneath. As the station came into view, Methuselah maneuvered slowly into one of its numerous docks, grinding to a halt and lowering itself down onto a landing apparatus. When the ship had landed, the airlock was promptly sealed and the dock was filled with oxygen.

  Slowly, the entire crew assembled on deck. Faust assigned certain of them to remain with the ship to keep watch. “Arm yourselves. Take guns from the armory and post men at each of the entrances to the ship. Some will need to wait out in the dock, too. We are at war now, and must act like it. We'll do this in shifts, and I will assign replacements in a few hours. Understood?”

  The selected crewmen made their way to the armory and took rifles, making their ways to each of the ship's exits. Methuselah's doors gave way with a hiss, and the rest of the crew filed out into the dock, chattering noisily. The gravity of the situation had been allayed somewhat by the prospect of leave. As they left, Kanpei wondered how many would actually return. Some of them were likely to take the Captain's offer and desert.