“The hunters slain in the attack – I cannot be certain they suffered.”
“There is no guarantee, true. If they are denied the glory of the Great One, however, then our cause is only further fueled by vengeance.”
The marines reported twenty-seven hostile casualties, and every one that hadn’t been incinerated or flattened by a three-ton Cobra had been brought in to be dissected. Ethan and Ford were the only non-senior officers to attend the autopsies. Ethan was there because, although the sight of one of these creatures now sickened him, he felt a certain overwhelming curiosity similar to when he had brought in the Bullhound. Ford, meanwhile, seemed to simply enjoy the desecration of the corpse.
The first step in the dissection was to remove anything non-organic from the corpse, but that proved to be more difficult than anticipated.
“Most of this tech looks like it’s grafted onto their bodies,” Doctor Turing observed, trying in vain to pry the leg harness free. Ethan recalled him being much more enthusiastic during the examination of the Bullhound. His demeanor was now appropriately repressed. “Both the harness and the gauntlets are very secure.”
Rhodes leaned around Commander Hadings to get Ethan and Ford’s attention.
“Did you ever see them remove any of the tech?” he asked.
“Nut jobs don’t even sleep, from what we saw,” Ford grunted, “and it’s not like they’re wearing much to begin with.”
“I think they use their wrist devices to power their guns,” Ethan cut in, trying to be more helpful than Ford was.
Rhodes activated the intercom. “Doctor Turing, could you check the gauntlet for a battery or some other charging apparatus?”
“Hm,” Turing murmured. He poked the device with his scalpel, then gently pried off the cover. “There doesn’t appear to be any battery here… Most of the inside space is taken up by… some sort of container.”
“Container for what?”
“Difficult to say. It has a lead running to the palm…” Turing returned to the Naldím’s hand and began to cut away the device with interest. As the charging port came loose, Turing stopped dead. “Oh. Oh, my,” he said.
Rhodes activated the comm again impatiently. “What is it, doctor?”
“There’s a film over the palm – it leads directly into the circulatory system.”
“And?”
“And this device runs right through it. It looks like a siphon.”
“What does that mean, doctor?”
Turing looked up hesitantly. “Based on my initial inspection, Captain, I do believe that they’re charging their weapons with their own blood.”
*
“What kind of sick-ass alien kills people with his own blood?” Ford exclaimed loudly as they exited the lab an hour later.
“Naldím?” Ethan guessed. It was a weak attempt to lighten the mood, and got an expectedly poor response from Ford.
“Cute,” he sneered. “There is literally nothing good and green left in this damn universe. Excuse me while I go have an existential crisis.” Ford stalked off, brusquely shoving his way through a cluster of scientists bound in the opposite direction. Ethan threw them an apologetic look and hurried after his friend, although he had no idea what to say to console a man in such a state.
Ford had certainly become more tense since the arrival of the Naldím. It was understandable. But Ford was not normally so vocal regarding his feelings, and never had burst out like that. In truth, it frightened Ethan. First Rhodes had given him the impression that things were worse than they seemed, and now Ford was falling apart as well. He had a sneaking suspicion that things were going downhill fast.
“There you are.” Ethan jumped slightly at Rebecca’s voice. He stopped, letting Ford escape. It was just as well, he supposed. There was nothing he could have done.
“Here I am,” Ethan blurted out. He righted himself and faced her. “What’s up?” he asked.
“I noticed while we were out that you have absolutely no experience using a weapon in the field,” Rebecca said, deadpan. Ethan had a difficult time telling if it was supposed to be humorous, or if she meant to be as harsh as she sounded.
“Everyone has to take firearms training in boot camp,” he said defensively. He thought for a moment, then added, “I’m not ashamed to say I’ve never shot anyone before.”
“I think that’s true for most of the people on this ship. And right now that’s not a good thing.” Ethan was about to argue, but Rebecca grabbed his arm and steered him down the hall, bound for the shooting range. “I’m not in the habit of letting my squad mates get killed because they don’t know how to handle a gun,” she said.
In spite of himself, Ethan was thrilled at this opportunity to be alone with Rebecca. She frightened him a little, to be sure, but there was something alluring about her that piqued his curiosity. Although relationships were to be kept strictly at a professional level aboard the ship, he wanted to think there was beginning to be some sort of connection between them. They were on affable terms after the bio-dome clean-up, and had since progressed to the point that they traded brief pleasantries over meals in the mess and exchanged nods in the halls. But there was still so much mystery surrounding her – her sudden concern with his aptitude for firearms only furthering his confusion. It occurred to him that she was most likely only concerned with the combat effectiveness of the group as a whole, but he chose to believe it was her caring for his well-being that prompted the offer. On those terms, the experience would be more enjoyable.
The door to the range hissed open, and they stepped inside. It was completely empty within. The practice weapons were stored on a rack nearby, and the glass targets downrange sat idle. Rebecca grabbed a gun and tossed it to Ethan, who fumbled it awkwardly.
“Your kill count consists of one Naldím at point-blank with a high-power rifle, and a messy kill on an animal. Your problem is precision,” Rebecca said, activating the targets. The glass glowed with a dozen successively smaller circles. “Take a shot,” Rebecca prompted.
Ethan lined up the sights and took careful aim, methodically going through the steps he was taught in boot camp. He fired; the simulated recoil blasting the pistol back and nearly out of his hand. But despite his loss of control, he had scored a good hit. He looked to Rebecca for approval.
“I can shoot,” he asserted. She cocked an eyebrow.
“It took you two seconds to fire. When you have to dash out from behind cover and kill three targets before you get to your next position, you’re not going to have time to line up the shots like that. Here.” She grabbed Ethan’s gun from him and fired off three shots. They landed with deadly precision in the center of the target. Satisfied, she put the weapon back in his hands.
“Try again.” This time, Ethan opted for the same quick-firing method she had used, although he suspected she had not relied on as much luck as he was counting on. He squeezed off three virtual rounds. Only two of them found the target, and neither was near the bullseye.
Rebecca sighed. “We have a ways to go.”
Ethan quickly lost track of time after that, as she continuously drilled him on precision aiming techniques and quick draws and myriad other detailed maneuvers that she swore would make his shooting more effective.
Finally, Rebecca was satisfied with his improvement, citing some accuracy quotient he immediately forgot, and grabbed a gun herself. She claimed the adjacent booth and Ethan continued to practice.
“This is nice,” he said a while later as he reloaded for the hundredth time.
“What is?” Rebecca asked.
“Just hanging out, not worrying about flights or scouting runs or anything.”
“We hang out all the time in the mess.”
“No, I mean just us. So we can get to know each other better.”
Rebecca set down her gun and turned to Ethan. She looked legitimately confused. “Why would you want to get to know me?” she asked.
“Why not? If I’m your designated pilot, it couldn’t hurt to know a
bit about you. Where you’ve been, what you’ve done, things you like…” He cut off, mentally slapping himself for that last one. Smooth, he thought bitterly.
Rebecca considered the proposal, idly chewing her lip. It was a strange reaction in Ethan’s mind. Most marines couldn’t wait to boast about their daring escapades, and Rebecca had no doubt seen some action in her time. If she had been part of an advanced training program like she said, she had to have stories worth telling. Now, though, she looked as though the idea of sharing was completely foreign to her.
After a moment of thought, Rebecca conceded. “I’ll bite,” she said. “What do you want to know?”
Ethan chanced a grin. “Great,” he said. He rummaged through his brain for an intelligent question, finally settling on a simpler one. “All right – how many planets have you visited?”
“Three. Mars, Carmine Four, and Mercer Six.”
Ethan nodded and gestured to her. “Okay. Your turn.”
“My turn for what?”
“To ask a question. I ask one, you ask one, and so on.”
Rebecca faltered. Evidently she did not understand the concept of the activity as well as Ethan supposed she did. Either that or she had no genuine interest in his background. He hoped it was the former.
“Okay…” she started, “Where did you train?”
“The Titan Fifth Installment. I actually shipped out with most of my training squad. You know Moira Goodman, from Diamond squad? She was my first flight lead.” He couldn’t tell if Rebecca was at all fascinated with his expounding on what could have been a short, accurate answer to her question. Given her regularly disinterested look, he let the subject go. “All right, next question. What’s your favorite color?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Your favorite color says a lot about you.”
“Fine. It’s blue.”
“See? It’s like I’ve known you my whole life.” Rebecca smiled reluctantly. Ethan savored the connection, however brief. “Your turn,” he prompted.
“Why did you join the navy?”
“My brother was in the navy,” Ethan answered. “He died during a training accident on Burgundy Three. But he inspired me to be a pilot like him.” His voice faded slightly as he lost himself in thought. “Scared the hell out of Mom and Dad,” he said with a light chuckle, “when I joined, I mean. I didn’t intend to stay for long. Just enough to make a decent wage and make my brother proud. Dad died a little while later, though, and without him, Mom went to a retirement home in the Belt. I had no choice to but stick with it. I transferred onto Voyager Dawn and learned to love it.”
He had not meant to relate the story so nonchalantly, but the fact remained it had all been seven years ago, and he was over the trauma of change. It was just part of his story now. Rebecca, naturally, was similarly unaffected by it.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding suspiciously perfunctory. “When was this?”
“Nope. You only get one question, remember?” Ethan joked.
“Tease,” Rebecca shot back. Ethan attempted to coax another smile out of her. She finally seemed to be unwinding, and as such returned the gesture. “So what’s your question?” she asked.
“Same as yours,” he said. “Why’d you join?”
This time, Rebecca took a long time to respond. “Remember the accelerated training? I started from an early age. I was sixteen when the government offered to put me in the program. I didn’t know what to do with my life at the time, so I was stupid and accepted without a second thought.”
“You regret joining?” Ethan asked.
“No,” Rebecca said quickly, “I just… sometimes I wonder what might have been.” Her voice died with the last word, and she fell into a trance. She snapped upright again a few seconds later, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not something I like to talk about.” She began to leave in a hurry. Ethan impulsively grabbed her arm.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories,” he said.
She smiled weakly. “It’s not your fault. I’ve put myself in this position. I’ve got to deal with it on my own.”
“No, you don’t. We’re a team. The squad supports its own.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” With that, Rebecca hurried out of the room, leaving Ethan to wonder how many more mysteries lay hidden in her past.
The Darkness
“The Orbiter is ready for deployment. There will be Nightfall at your command.”
“Consult the Master, but advise him that I would wait a while more. The Humans might have tasted victory once, but not again. I mean to prolong this Hunt. I mean to enjoy it.”
“The Prophets would have them exterminated quickly.”
“And I would have our Warriors enjoy the suffering of these parasites. It shall be a long and glorious Hunt.”
For two weeks the marines continued to comb the forest, seeking out pockets of vulnerable Naldím and finding themselves lured into ambushes with heavily-armed hunting parties. Every excursion cost lives, regardless of how much additional firepower they carried.
The entire crew had become discordant over whether the ship’s best chance for survival was to hide or bring the fight to the Naldím. Rhodes stood fervently by his belief that the only way to win was to beat the Naldím at their own hunt. But it was all too clear that the Naldím had every advantage.
The casualty list grew steadily, and so did tensions between crewmates. As Ethan had predicted, the Naldím’s mere presence instilled a paralyzing fear on the ship. It put everyone at each other’s throats. When they weren’t participants in inter-ship conflicts, the marines were putting out fires across the ship as civilians panicked, crewmembers butted heads, and everyone’s nerves wore thin.
Ford, who had become increasingly irritable as the struggle dragged on, was the first of Omicron squad to snap, upending a table in the mess when Mason deemed their losses so far as “acceptable, given the situation.” He left without saying a word, his burning eyes saying all that needed to be said.
Ethan didn’t particularly appreciate Mason’s sentiment either, and he voiced his concerns, albeit in a less aggressive manner.
“You’ve got to stop thinking in the short-term, Ethan,” Mason responded. “If you look at the kill count, we’re making progress.”
“It doesn’t mean anything when you’re the next one on that casualty list,” Ethan retorted. He looked to Rebecca for aid. “Back me up,” he demanded.
She shrugged noncommittally. “Mason’s right,” she said, carefully avoiding Ethan’s gaze. “You’re going to lose people in a fight, and you have to learn to live with it if it means coming out on top. That’s why they’re called ‘acceptable losses.’ On Carmine we lost an entire battalion to insurgents because we couldn’t give up another position. Everyone understood. Everyone was ready to die for the cause.”
“Yeah, but here we have civilians,” Ethan argued. He pointed in the general direction of the civilian sector of the ship. “Every marine we lose out there is one that won’t be here to defend the civvies when the Naldím decide to attack.”
“Every marine we lose out there is taking a Naldím or two with him,” Mason put in. “It balances out.”
Ethan shot him a sharp look, but Rebecca came to his aid again. “You’re a pilot, Ethan,” she said, “I know you have a different view on casualties and leaving men behind. You can’t afford a single loss when you’re flying. But on the ground, we’re just grunts. The captain needs to be willing to take risks to win.”
Ethan was at a loss, stunned by the brutality of Rebecca’s statement. He was saved by Kyle approaching, bearing a tray scantily laden with food. He took a seat next to Ethan and was immediately harangued into giving his opinion. He thought carefully before answering.
“You’re right, Ethan,” he said slowly. “You can’t just look at them as resources. They’re people. You have the right to mourn them. But-” he turned to Rebecca, “this is war,
and there needs to be a certain disconnect between feelings and tactics, as you so rightly put it.”
“Well, thanks for being as ambiguous as possible,” Ethan snapped. “What are you trying to say?”
Kyle sighed and began to sort through his food. “I’m saying you need to fight now and grieve later. You will never get through it otherwise.”
“Thanks for the cheery thought.”
“You’ll thank me when you need to let one person die to save the rest,” Kyle said cryptically.
Thoroughly devoid of an appetite, Ethan excused himself from the mess and headed for the barracks, where he flopped down on his cot. He stared into space for a long moment before a voice broke the silence.
“If you’re having a bad day, you should check out the lido deck,” the voice said. Ethan recognized it as Ford’s.
“What’s on the lido deck?” Ethan asked, sitting up.
Ford rolled out of his own bunk a few rows down and walked up to Ethan, absently sucking on a cigar. “Civvies are on the lido deck. You ever think it’s bad, that the galaxy’s out to get you, take a gander at those suvs. They’re in the same crap heap we’re in, and they don’t know a thing about it. Not really, anyway.” He let out a sharp breath, exhaling a blast of smoky air into Ethan’s face. “I looked at the daily announcements,” he continued. “You know what it said? It said the situation’s under control.”
“Mason seems to think it is,” Ethan said. He agreed more with Ford than he did Mason, but the sergeant’s point remained tactically sound.
“Walker, the situation’s anything but under control. Screw the sarge and his ‘affordable losses.’ Those people dying out there? They had no stinking clue what they were getting themselves into. Hell, I’d say there are only two people on this whole boat who did know.”
“Who?”
“Me and whoever the Wraith is,” Ford said mildly. The assertion hit Ethan like a sledgehammer.
“There’s a Wraith onboard?” he asked incredulously. Ford was generally a reliable source, but to say that a Wraith – one of only a hundred or so legendary commandos – was aboard Voyager Dawn seemed to be a stretch. After all, if there was a Wraith around, the battle should have been over long ago.
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