Katherine- War Master

by Will Crudge

“I see.” At least I think I see. This is all new to me, and I’m trying to wrap my head around it. It seems I’ve missed a lot of weird shit while in exile!

  “So, we’ll add Jack to the mix, and…” Darius starts to say.

  “Who’s Jack?” I interrupt.

  “Peterson… Jack is his real name, or so he tells us.” Darius politely answers. “Naturally, Shade will come with him to make sure he doesn’t cause any grief for you.”

  “Shade?” I ask.

  “Shadow’s grandmother. She is the widow of Sundown.” Val chimes in.

  Sundown? Fuck me in the ass with a super-sized porcupine! That’s the legendary paired mount of the Mighty Kaylen! He is our greatest hero!

  “Wow! That’s a tremendous honor, all told.” I gasp.

  “But the next entries, you may not care for…” Val says, carefully. I turn to shoot him a serious look.

  “Speak of the devil!” Darius exclaims. I look up to see an older man in a blood-red Crimson Alliance dress uniform. He’s got five stars on his lapel. Fuck!

  I push back my pride and stand to greet him as he approaches. His short black hair is tinged with grey, and he’s built solidly. He approaches with an ambiguously sincere smile and extends his hands in greeting. I take his in mine and make sure to fight the urge to crush every bone in his hand.

  “It’s an honor to meet the heroic War Master Katherine!” He says diplomatically. I play nice for now.

  “The honor is mine… err.” I don’t see a name tag. Derp!

  “Varle Singleton. I am the Military Chancellor of the Crimson Alliance.” He declares. Then he looks around the room as if he expects to see someone in particular. “Where is my UAHC counterpart? I figured he would be here?”

  Darius shook his hand. “I’m afraid Military Consul Gerhardt is a few thousand light-years rim-ward from here aboard the Battleship Hailstorm. He has to deal with our true enemy directly.”

  Singleton seems taken back. “You mean the Mwargoths are engaging the main UAHC Fleet?”

  Darius shakes his head and pulls a solemn look across his face. “Worse I’m afraid! The UAHC Civil Quorum’s budget oversight committee!”

  The men break out in roaring laughter, and I’m smiling awkwardly. I don’t know any of this political shit, and I don’t care to. I let them all get their jollies for a few moments.

  “Well then, I suppose you’ll want to meet your Crimson ‘augmentees’, then?” Singleton says to me as if I know what the fuck he’s talking about.

  “Well…” Darius chimes in awkwardly. “We haven’t gotten to that part of her in-brief, as of yet.”

  “Oh, I see!” Singleton’s eyes formed a fake-looking sense of surprise. I’m not buying any of this man’s bullshit. For all I know, he ordered the attack on my temple personally. “Speaking of your team, do you need any fighters, or perhaps back up pilots?”

  Darius says to me privately.

  I reply.

 

 

 

 

  “I’ve got the pilot spot covered, Chancellor. But thank you for the offer.” Darius says politely. Singleton seems to fane acceptance, but I can see the gears turning in his head.

  “Very well, Fleet Marshall!” Singleton slaps the side of Darius’ arm. I can feel his disgust without having to be melded with his emotions. But he plays is cool, and keeps a diplomatic smile on his face.

  I ask Darius.

  He replies. I shouldn’t have bothered to ask. Not only did she spend nine months pretending to be a Crimson Officer, but she did so under the command of one of the three ‘Petersons’… The nastiest one, at that... Zedd, the rapist!

  “I feel honored that you would personally deliver your troops to us, Chancellor,” Darius says as we walk out of the room, and towards the lift.

  “It was nothing, really!” Singleton spits out his farcical humility. “I was coming here anyway. I wanted to personally observe the search and rescue process, and see how the resources I sent to help were working out.”

  This man is a catastrophic fuck-bag! If the Crimson Alliance didn’t have the largest single military in all of human existence, then I’m sure Darius would be happy to remove his spine with his bare hands… but he would have to try and beat me to it first!

  We go down the lift, out of the CIC secured area, and out to the mag-train. I sit there and listen to the empty platitudes, and political maneuvering as we go. I don’t understand a shred of what they’re talking about. None of it is military related. It seems Singleton is weaseling his way into the bountiful trade routes that the inner stars enjoy. A master politician… weaving his endless web of shenanigans and fuckery all over the place.

  Eventually, we make it to the command staff dock, and we walk up to large berthing. I see a late-model UAHC frigate perched in landing cradles, so as to negate the need for the retractable landing struts. I’m told it makes it easier for a pilot to land, and it makes maintaining the landing gear a snap. Honestly, I don’t give five fucks… I just want to stab this motherfucker.

  You might be wondering, by now… ‘Why isn’t Katherine acting like an enlightened War Master who’s at one with the universe?’ It’s simple… most War Masters achieve some semblance of enlightenment after centuries of meditation, experience, and prayer… All I know is how to disembowel someone with a drinking straw, or perhaps a few Uno cards.

  “Allow me to introduce your augmentees, Katherine,” Singleton says as he gestures his hands out beyond the thruster array of the frigate. I look over to see a row of spec ops commandos in their blood red armor. They stood shoulder to shoulder and held their multi-purpose rifles at the ready.

  “Crimson Agents? Paramilitary commandos?” I ask.

  “No, these fellas are rank and file. The Agency has been dissolved by own hand. Their personnel has either been court-martialed, imprisoned, or sent to front-line standard infantry units. These men and women are commando qualified, but they aren’t slithering snakes like those zealot idiots were.” Singleton says.

  It sounds like he’s trying to sell me on his bulbous sack of lies. A simple ‘no’ would have been enough to ease my fears, but the extra detail and sales-pitch like inflections send up a red flag in my mind. My only solace is the knowledge that I’ll have Marbles, and another War Master covering my six.

  It’s still weird to say ‘another War Master,’ by the way. I still haven’t embraced my title, as of yet.

  “I count twelve,” I say.

  “Yes, this is the standard makeup of a spec ops team. Captain, Warrant officer, and two five-man elements of NCO’s.” He explains.

  “Have they had a chance to settle in?” Darius asks.

  “I should think not. I came to see you right after we landed. They’ve been standing by since I touched down.” Singleton replied.

  “Not in formation the whole time, surely?” I say.

  “I hope not!” He fakes compassion. I test… he fails.

  “May I speak to their commander?” I ask.

  “Certainly!” Singleton says and then makes a few subtle movements in his facial musculature. I read it as a tell for neural interface coms.

  The man, all the way o
n the left flank, comes running towards us. He slows to a brisk walk when he gets within thirty paces, and then stops at attention about six paces out.

  “And you are?” I ask.

  “Captain Frick, Madam War Master!” He sounds off. I can’t see his features behind his visor, and his speech unit has a standardized male voice. He may well be a damned cyborg, for all I know.

  “War Master is fine, Captain,” I say. “Where is all of your personal gear?”

  “We off-loaded it in the next berthing over, War Master.” He replies.

  I ask privately.

 

  “Captain Frick, is it?” Darius chimes in.

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Please have your men stand at ease. I’ll send for the ground crew to gather your unit equipment, and have them secured in the frigate’s armory. The gunner’s mate, Sergeant Jefe will be along shortly to give you a tour of the vessel, and help you get your troops settled in.”

  I say.

 

  “Where is the rest of your crew?” Singleton asked.

  “They’re already onboard,” Val answered up.

  “I see,” Singleton said. I got the feeling that he was expecting us to give him a tour of the ship. That’s the kind of useless dog and pony show he was probably accustomed to. But nobody said a word.

  “Chancellor?” Val comes in for the save! “Would you like to see our staging area for the rescue operation? The GBE folks have an impressive set up over there in the next bay.”

  Singleton’s slimy form perked up, and he nodded like a kid being offered candy. Fucking idiot!

  We exchange our formal goodbyes, and Val takes the shit-head into the next docking bay. I noticed a palpable absence of handlers for a man of his rank, but then I shook off the thought. I was just glad to be rid of him.

  Darius turns to me. “I’d better go and be a good host, as well as Val’s wing-man.”

  “I understand,” I say with a smile. “You know, I still don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing right now.”

  “None of us do, Kat!” He smiles. “That’s the fun part of living!” he says, as he walks off.

  I was fucking serious. I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing right now. As a candidate, everyone tried to tell me what to do all the time… Now that I’m a War Master, they don’t tell you to do shit!

  Come to think about it… That’s pretty fucking cool, actually!

  CLOSE QUARTERS

  Marbles and I walk up the boarding ramp of the frigate that leads into the underbelly of the hull. The ship is brand-spanking new, as far as I can tell, and the scent of fresh paint on the entrance foyer confirms my supposition.

  The foyer looks more like a cozy hotel lobby than a starship’s interior. I get the feeling that this vessel is designed for long autonomous voyages through space, and is decked out nicely in order to reduce the stress levels of her crew.

  The walls are ornately painted with textures of light green color, and they are topped with subtle gloss-white crown molding. What’s the deal with crown molding on a starship? I think to myself. Some of the LRF’s, including my own have it also. Which is odd, of course. An LRF-90’s berthing area has rounded off bulkheads that transition to a slightly domed ceiling. Many of the UAHC and Unum ships are jazzed up as well. I can’t help but wonder what the taxpayers think about funding so much pomp and circumstance.

  As I take stock in the elegance of the bulkheads, Marbles plops down into one of the eight plush seating arrangements that fill the space. “I could get used to this!” He says.

  I roll my eyes as I swagger over towards him. I’m making a conspicuous effort to exude smug body language in the process. “You’re an infantry drone, knucklehead!” I muse. “You are just as comfortable in a standing position!”

  “Says you!” He retorts as he waves me off.

  “Well, whatever,” I say as I turn away to get a closer look at a nearby painting. It’s got a gold painted wooden frame, and it’s been distressed to assimilate aging. The picture is familiar to me. It’s an oil relief of a horse-mounted cavalry charge with period-specific British uniforms and weapons. I’m guessing it’s the doomed cavalry charge during the Crimean War that inspired the famous poem, Charge of the Light Brigade.

  As if the universe hasn’t given me freakishly inspired forethought enough, I hear a British accent behind me.

  “Cheers, War Master!” I hear a youthful sounding male voice behind me. I turn to see a GBE officer in light armor walking up the ramp and into space. He’s a Royal Marine Captain if my knowledge of British regalia is up to date.

  “Greetings, Captain!” I say as I extend my hand in greeting. He takes mine in turn, and I lock eyes with him. He’s got dirty blonde hair with a hint of red, and a youthful pail face. I can’t decide if he’s naturally pasty, or if he’s been out in the black for an extended period of time. Given the distance of travel from GBE controlled space, I assume it’s the latter.

  “I was hoping you may be able to tell me where my commandos and I can get settled in.” He says cheerfully. I tilt my head and squint my eyes at him involuntarily. I’m so confused right now.

  “I’m sorry, but I haven’t been briefed on any GBE personnel being a part of this mission,” I say politely, but with a palpable tone of confusion. The Brits are polite as a rule, so I take care not to offend him in any subtle way.

  “Ah! Of course not, War Master.” He chuckles lightly. “I believe our leadership has been advised to make our entrance subtle. Apparently, the joint command staff didn’t want to break the news to Crimson Military Chancellor until it was too late for him to respond with any potential – subterfuge – as it were.”

  I blink wildly. His words hit me like a mental hammer. But it makes perfect sense. Having a significant non-Crimson presence would counterbalance any schemes that may be going on in the background. Besides, I feel at ease with the knowledge that the Royal Marines are loyal allies. They won’t allow the Crimson commandos to take control over anything more than what I decide to delegate to them.

  “How many marines do you have?” I ask.

  “One squad of twelve, and a heavy weapons fire team. Including myself that adds up to thirteen.” He says cheerfully. “My name is Percival, by the way. Archibald Percival.”

  “Excellent!” I say with a smile. “I am War Master Katherine.” I pat him on the shoulder and begin to lead him to an adjacent corridor to the left.

  Marbles informs me privately, via analog brainwaves.

  “Oops!” I say with a light chuckle. “You’ll be going to the officer’s berthing. This way.” I say as I lead him to the right.

  Marbles says.

  I reply.

  *****

  “Hey, drone!” An arrogant sounding voice spouted. Marbles sat up slightly from his reclined position on the plush seating arrangement. He saw a group of Crimson commandos walking up the entrance ramp while they dragged duffels. “Grab my bag, and show us the berthing area.”

  “No.” Marbles replied dryly. The man cocked his head to the side and then threw his helmet down in anger. The helmet bounced across the deck and stopped a meter from Marbles’ feet. He watched it until it stopped, and then rotated his head towards the man. His visual field made the head moving irrelevant since he had a near two hundred and forty-degree field of vision, but he decided to play the asshole.

  “Are you malfunctioning, drone?” The man shouted. The other men and women stopped dead in their tracks and seemed to look indifferent to the exchange. “Get. My. Shit. To. Berth-ing. Now!”

  Marbles decided he’d had enough of this man’s shit. He knew full-well that drones were often used as
manual labor when they weren’t catching bullets for the Crimson Alliance, so he decided that he needed to prove a point.

  Marbles deliberately walked towards the bag, slowly picked it up, and then stopped to look at the man in his eyes. He had sergeant stripes stenciled into his left breastplate, and his bright red hair looked matted from wearing his helmet.

  “That’s a good little, toaster!” The sergeant said as he bent his lips into a crooked smile. “Now take it to the berthing area.”

  Marbles heaved the duffel back over his shoulder, stepped to his left, and threw the bag down the ramp. It impacted the ramp’s surface, before sliding across the docking deck, and tumbled another thirty meters. Marbles could see the wide eyes of the other Crimson troops. They were obviously not accustomed to an infantry drone that had that much strength… or rebellious tendencies.

  “What the fuck!” The red-haired sergeant said with a gasp. Marbles noted that the man was slowly stepping backward, and his vitals went through the roof.

  “Get it yourself, sergeant!” Marbles said as he stepped up in the man’s face. The sergeant eased his fingertips onto the handle of his side-arm, but Marbles didn’t give him the satisfaction of flinching. “Let’s get one thing straight. I may resemble an infantry drone, but more than half of my tech is UAHC. Not to mention, I don’t work for the Crimson. Especially not arrogant fucks like you, understand?” His words were cold and sinister.

  “Stand down, Marbles!” A new voice boomed out. Marbles knew that it was Jefe, the UAHC Sergeant. The drone slowly stepped back while squaring his shoulders, and then he turned to give Jefe a nod of acknowledgment.

  “You’ll have to excuse, Marbles,” Jefe said as he walked up to the group of Crimson troops. “The Crimson haven’t been too – kind – to him, plus he’s also a sentient.”

  Gasps filled the air, and many of the Crimson troops were sharing whispers and glances. Marbles could hear their chatter and knew they were shocked at the news of his sentence. The Crimson may not like sentient AI’s, as a rule, but even they have laws that somewhat protect them.

  “I’ll get you all settled in, ladies and gentlemen,” Jefe announced. “Follow me!”