by Ryk Brown
Admiral Galiardi placed his hand on Marty’s shoulder. “Thank you, my friend.”
* * *
The number of patients pouring into the hospital had become so great that the designated triage area had been moved into the parking garage adjacent to the emergency department. Cars had been pushed back against the far wall in haphazard fashion using forklifts from the supply dock, ruining many of the vehicles that they had repositioned to make more room for the constant inflow of the wounded.
The triage area had begun serving as a treatment area as well, requiring relatively inexperienced, young doctors, medical students, nurses, and medics to all perform procedures they were, in many cases, neither trained nor normally authorized to do.
The parking garage was lit with portable lights being powered from a generator parked outside the building. With the lights lined up along the inner edges of the garage, the light being cast threw strange shadows. Everywhere one looked, there was despair. Blood was everywhere—on the patients, the workers, the pavement. It was a stain that would soon be gone from neither the ground nor from the memories of those providing medical care to the injured masses.
Doctor Thornton worked frantically, moving from patient to patient and spending no more than a few seconds with each one. He tried to manage more than a hundred patients, all of them trying to survive until more definitive care could be provided. He tried not to think about the explosions in the distance, taking solace in the words of the two NAU protective agents that shadowed his every move—that there was no reason for the Jung to target hospitals. He couldn’t help but wonder, however, why the Jung were targeting the city of Vancouver in the first place. There were no significant military assets to speak of in the area, no airbases or naval shipyards. The only thing they had that made them unique was a large seaport, which could also be said of many cities along the Strait of Georgia. Yet their city was still being pounded from above, as it had been for nearly an hour.
Doctor Thornton didn’t even look up as the explosions became more frequent. He was so busy tending to his multitude of patients and shouting orders to hordes of medical workers that he didn’t realize that the explosions were growing closer.
The two protective agents did notice and began making their way through the rows of wounded, dodging medical workers as they darted back and forth amongst the patients.
“Doctor Thornton!” one of the agents called out. “Doctor Thornton!”
At first, Doctor Thornton didn’t notice his name being shouted. Someone was always shouting his name. But the voice kept repeating, and it was more insistent, and finally, it caught his attention. He turned to look in the direction of the man’s voice and saw the agents trying desperately to warn him about something. One of them signaled for him to come to them. They had been trying to get him to leave and rejoin Miri and his children in the safety of their protection in a remote location. He had told them time and again that he could not leave until the wounded were cared for, which, by current estimates, could be days. But there was something different about the behavior of the two agents this time. One of them was pointing—pointing at something behind him.
Doctor Thornton turned around and looked out the openings in the garage at the city in the distance. People around him began to whisper and mumble. “Oh, my God,” was the most common thing he heard repeatedly. In the distance, the explosions occurred every second, and they were coming closer at an alarming rate. They walked across their section of the city from the water northward, destroying everything within their path. The murmurs became louder and quickly turned into screams. Workers and the injured who could walk began running toward the far side of the garage. Doctor Thornton also turned and began to run, trying his best to ignore the looks of confusion and despair in the eyes of the wounded who lay helplessly on the pavement, fully conscious of both their fate and their inability to escape it.
The doctor was nearly halfway to the other side of the parking garage, heading toward the far exit at a full run with both agents flanking him on either side. A patient reached out and tried to grab his leg as he ran past, causing him to stumble and nearly fall.
“Keep moving! Keep moving!” the agent yelled.
Doctor Thornton could barely hear him over the sounds of the nearing explosions. The next one caused him to stumble yet again, and the one after that pushed at his back and threw him forward to land face down on top of an unconscious patient.
“Come on!” the agent screamed, stopping to turn back and help the doctor to his feet. The agent reached out his hand.
Another explosion struck the garage, causing the roof to collapse. Falling concrete knocked the doctor’s outstretched arm to the ground. The agent reaching back for him disappeared in a downpour of concrete and steel rods. The doctor rolled over onto his back and saw a large section of concrete ceiling directly above him crashing down. In that moment, everything flashed through his mind—his wife, Miri, their children, her voice pleading with him to leave the hospital and come be with them, and finally, his insistence that he had to stay. I’m sorry, Miri, he thought as the ceiling came down upon him.
* * *
Luis sat at the helm of the Celestia, studying the various displays and scrolling through the seemingly infinite number of options. Most of the options were disabled and inaccessible, undoubtedly due to the fact that the ship was unfinished. The more he investigated what was working, the more Luis realized that the Celestia was not much more than a big, empty hull with maneuvering, propulsion, and life-support systems.
What troubled him most was the question as to why Fleet was going to such lengths to protect a ship that had virtually no strategic or tactical value. There were twenty-six people on board who were cold-coasting to nowhere in particular, which made even less sense.
Luis tried to tell himself that his job was to shut up and follow orders, but such attitudes had never been his strength. He always needed to understand why he was being asked to do something—an attitude that had brought him trouble on more than one occasion.
Somewhere in the aft end of the ship, his three friends were probably thinking much the same. He wished he could speak to them and discuss the chaotic turn of events that had seemingly changed everything. He knew their mere presence would make him feel better. Devyn would show concern and sympathy, Kyle would ask stupid questions just to see their reactions, and Tilly would make jokes at everything. On the bridge, Luis felt alone, isolated. There were eight of them on the bridge, nine including Lieutenant Commander Kovacic, but he didn’t know them and didn’t feel at ease talking about their situation with them—especially not with the lieutenant commander, who was now, for all practical purposes, the Celestia’s captain.
“How are you doing?” the lieutenant commander asked, startling Luis. “Delaveaga, right?”
“Yes, sir. Luis Delaveaga.”
The lieutenant commander sat down in the navigator’s seat to the left of Luis. “You doing okay?”
“I’m fine, sir, just a little confused, that’s all.”
“Yeah, it’s a crazy situation, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where are you from?”
“South America, sir,” Luis answered. “Old Brazil, actually.”
“Inland or coast?”
“A small village a few hundred kilometers inland from Baia de Marajo.”
“Beautiful country, Brazil.”
“Have you been there, sir?”
“No, not personally. I had a buddy who spent some time there after college. He loved it. Never stopped talking about it.”
“How about you?” Luis asked.
“Gdansk, Europe, on the southern edge of the Baltic. It used to be in Poland before the reformation.”
“Then you went to the European Academy?”
“Straight out of colle
ge.”
“What did you rate in?” Luis asked, trying to maintain polite conversation to keep his mind off their situation.
“Materials management,” the lieutenant commander said, a hint of disdain in his voice.
“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, how did you end up in command?”
“I was leading a supply team, techs mostly. We were loading supplies on board. Food, water, EVA suits, medical kits—everything needed to survive a few months in space. We were just about to leave when they ordered us to report back here. Since I had just loaded supplies onto the command deck, I came back here. I ended up being the most senior officer on board.” The lieutenant commander laughed. “Go figure.”
“What do you mean?” Luis wondered.
“I’m a supply officer in charge of a starship. Just between us, I don’t know the first thing about commanding a starship.”
“I don’t know much about flying one either, sir,” Luis said, “yet here I am.”
“Aren’t we a pair,” the lieutenant commander said with a smile.
“If it makes you feel any better, it’s pretty much an empty starship,” Luis added, smiling back. “Besides, you’ve been doing pretty well so far. If you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have known you weren’t a bridge officer.”
“What, you trying to give me a pep talk, Ensign?” The lieutenant commander laughed. “Truth is, I got a quick briefing from Captain Christopoulos just before he left port.”
“The captain of the Intrepid?” Luis asked.
“That would be him. He pretty much gave me step-by-step instructions.” The lieutenant commander looked at Luis. “You were supposed to be on the Intrepid, weren’t you?”
“Yeah. How did you know?”
“Your voice changed when I mentioned Christopoulos.”
Luis shook his head. “I’ve been waiting two months to start my rotation on the Intrepid. Two months listening to my sister complain about my mother, and my mother complaining about my sister. Finally, we get the call to report, and we just miss her.”
“You should be thankful you had that extra time with them, Ensign,” the lieutenant commander said, his tone becoming somber. “Who knows when any of us are going to see our families again.”
Luis looked at the lieutenant commander. He wanted to know what they were doing, why they were sneaking away in an unfinished, unarmed ship, while their world was under attack.
“Message from Fleet Command, sir,” Ensign Souza interrupted.
“What is it?” Lieutenant Commander Kovacic asked as he stood.
“We’re supposed to go to full power and burn our main engines for ten minutes.”
“When?”
“In three minutes, sir.”
“Same course?”
“They didn’t say, sir,” the comm officer said.
“If they didn’t give us a new course, they must want us to stay on the same heading as before,” the lieutenant commander said. “Tell engineering to spin the reactors up to full power. We’re going to need those inertial dampeners this time.”
“Yes, sir,” Ensign Souza answered.
Lieutenant Commander Kovacic turned back toward Luis who was still sitting at the helm. “Be ready to put our nose back onto our heading when the time comes. And throttle up slowly, just in case. Like you said, it’s mostly a big, empty ship.”
“Yes, sir,” Luis answered, swallowing hard.
* * *
Chaos had enveloped the streets of Winnipeg. As the sun had begun to set, a third wave of aerial attacks struck the city. Without power, the streets were quickly becoming a dark and terrifying place, lit only by portable lights and the frequent flashes of distant explosions.
Synda darted from cover to cover, avoiding Jung attack squads that had already landed and were roaming the streets, slaughtering anyone who appeared even remotely threatening. She had already seen two such squads, both from a distance, and had managed to hide from them. Her only hope was to get out of the city, to find someplace to hide that would be of no interest to the invaders.
Synda ran quickly down the street, dodging debris from damaged buildings and items strewn about by fleeing citizens and crazed looters alike. She took temporary cover behind whatever she could find: a parked car, a dumpster in an alleyway, a shadowy entrance to a shop—anything to temporarily hide her from the masses.
It was not only the Jung that she had to avoid; it was also the opportunistic criminal element. They were the worst kind, taking advantage of an unruly situation to commit acts that would normally get them incarcerated. While it had not yet happened to her, she had already seen several assaults and had even broken up what appeared to be an attempted rape in plain view of everyone. That had nearly gotten her stabbed by the assailant, and she had vowed never to put herself into harm’s way in such fashion again, at least not on this night.
Synda finished a longer than normal sprint down a relatively empty street, ending up in a recessed doorway and lurking in the shadows as she peered out into the night. There were the sounds of heavy boots, like the ones she had seen worn by the Jung troops, coming from the far end of the street. The Jung boots had some metal running under the arch and up both sides of the boot that made a recognizable clicking sound on the pavement as they walked. She wanted to get as far away from that sound as possible.
As soon as the sound faded, Synda peered out again, checking both directions. The street appeared to be clear, and she started moving down the street once more—slowly at first, her stride quickened once she was sure that the sound of the Jung soldiers was gone. She looked back over her shoulder as she came to the end of the street, stopping and leaning up against the corner of the last building.
Synda slowly inched out and peeked around the corner of the building, finding a man’s face only inches from her own face. It peered back at her. A short squeal left her lips. She immediately stifled it as she turned to run the other way, but a hand reached around the corner and grabbed her, pulling her toward him. The man’s other hand went up and covered her mouth from behind to prevent her from making any more noise. Synda instinctively rammed the back of her head into the face of her assailant, eliciting a subdued cry of pain from the man. As his hand left Synda’s face to cover his wounded nose, she rammed her free elbow into the man’s gut, causing him to double over.
“Wait,” the man cried in restrained fashion.
Synda spun around to kick him in the face, her back leg cocked and ready when she stopped herself. She looked at him again, her eyes squinting to see better in the darkness. “Tony?”
“Who the hell did you think it was?”
“I thought you were a rapist,” she said, relaxing her stance.
“A rapist? What kind of a nut would be raping someone at a time like this?”
“You’d be surprised,” Synda said as she reached for his bloodied face to check on his injuries. “Are you all right?”
“I’m pretty sure you broke my nose,” he said.
“Well, why did you grab me?”
“I was trying to keep you quiet,” he protested. “You started to scream, and there are Jung troops all over the place. Or haven’t you noticed?” Tony touched the bridge of his swollen nose. “Damn! That hurts!”
“Stop whining,” Synda told him.
“Whining?” Tony objected. “You break my nose, and I’m whining? Jesus, Synda.”
“I’m sorry, all right?”
“Where were you going, anyway?” Tony asked.
“Out of the city.”
“To where?”
“Anywhere,” Synda insisted, “anywhere the Jung don’t care about, at least. I figure that’s the safest place to hide.”
“Why? You think they’re going to execute everyone?”
“I
’d rather not hang around to find out, one way or another,” Synda insisted.
“Why would they want to kill everyone?” Tony asked. “What sense would that make?”
“Are you coming with me or not?”
“Fine, lead the way,” Tony agreed, still holding his bloody nose. “Damn, maybe we can stop at a store and pick up an ice pack or something.”
Synda ignored him, making her way farther down the street and stopping for cover along the way as before. Tony followed her from cover to cover, although in a more relaxed fashion.
“Where’s your roommate, Nikki?” Tony asked.
“Dead,” Synda answered coldly.
“Jesus, what happened?”
“Our building got hit. I barely made it out alive. She didn’t.”
“Damn, that’s rough.”
“What about your sister?”
“I have no idea,” Tony said. “I was at a bar with some friends when the bombs started coming down. We were watching the news and getting drunk, celebrating the end of the world and all that.”
“Well, that was certainly a constructive use of your time.”
“Yeah, well, it made sense at the time, I suppose…”
Synda stopped cold in her tracks, listening intently.
“What is it?” Tony whispered.
“I hear something,” Synda said. She listened more intently. There was a distant engine, like a large truck, but there was also the familiar sound of metal on pavement in the rhythmic fashion of boots walking down the street. “Come on!”
Synda ran down the street with Tony following close behind. They ducked behind a car with shattered windows. She peered up over the car, looking back down the street in the direction from which they had come. A truck full of local militia sped through the intersection. She heard the screeching of tires as the truck came to a stop. A second later, she heard the sound of Jung energy weapons fire mixed with gunfire from the militia. The intersection flashed with light, and the occasional energy weapons burst flew through the intersection. Another truck screeched to a stop before it even reached the intersection.
