by Trevor Wyatt
Yeah, I sure as hell deserve this drink, Jeryl thought, eyeing his bottle. Hell, maybe two of these.
“You think they’ll be okay?” Ashley asked him, and Jeryl sat up and looked at her.
“Who?”
“Lydia and her son,” she replied, never taking her eyes off from the horizon, almost as if she was gazing across the galaxy and looking straight into Centralia, the heart of the Confederation.
“They’ll be okay, I’m sure,” Jeryl merely said, lying back down again. “The Chancellor will probably take good care of them. Will probably parade them around a little bit for his gain, then set them up for life. Not a bad deal for a girl from a colony like Galea.”
“She seemed to like it.”
“Well, there are a lot more farming colonies in the galaxy, Ash. If she ever grows tired of Centralia, I figure she’ll be able to find a place to call home easily.”
“But is it worth it?”
“What is?” Now he was getting confused. What was Ashley even talking about? Maybe the wine was getting to her head.
“I mean, she has a son. Is it worth it, raising a kid in a galaxy like ours? Just look at what happened to Galea. And the Sonali War, and—”
“Where’s this coming from, Ash?”
It has to be the wine, Jeryl thought, but then he glanced at Ashley’s glass and realized that she hadn’t even started drinking it. And if there was something that Ashley enjoyed, it was New Sydney vintage red. Unless that meant…
“Holy shit,” Jeryl whispered, jumping out from his seat. He looked down at Ashley, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and then finally knelt in front of her.
“Don’t tell me that…that…” He didn’t even know how to say it. “Am I going to be a—”
“Yes,” she finally admitted, her lips showing a hesitant smile. “You’re going to be a father, Jeryl.”
“I…I don’t even know what to say,” he stammered, grabbing both her hands as he looked into her eyes.
“Just say something,” she asked of him, running her tongue over her dry lips. “Anything at all.”
“Well, let’s see if this helps then… Right now, I’m the happiest man in the whole galaxy, Ash,” he told her, and only when the words finally fell from between his lips did he realize that he was telling the truth.
I’m going to be a father, he told himself, that thought sounding as foreign as the first time he ever saw an alien spaceship. Except this time, he was happy about the unexpected—more than happy, he was ecstatic.
“You know what this calls for?” He asked her, suddenly going up to his feet.
“What?”
“A celebration.”
“I shouldn’t be drinking,” she hesitated, and he just grinned at her. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against hers and took her glass out of her hands, setting it down on the small table in front of them.
“I’m not talking about drinking,” he said, lowering his voice into a whisper, his eyes never leaving hers. “I had something else in mind.”
Finally, she got the message.
Moving slowly, she went up to her feet and turned on her heels. With her back turned to Jeryl, she strolled inside the bedroom and then looked back at him over her shoulder. Smiling, she grabbed one strap of her dress and pulled it down her arm, showing him one naked shoulder.
“Then what are you waiting for?”
Jeryl
“The Admiral will see you now,” Flynn’s secretary said, looking at Jeryl over the rim of her glasses. She had her hair tied up in a bun, and despite her advanced age, she still managed to look stern enough to make Jeryl sit on his chair without slouching. If she hadn’t followed a career as a secretary, Jeryl was sure that the woman would make a perfect headmaster in some uptight school.
“Thank you, Rose,” he said as he got up, buttoning the jacket of his uniform. As he strolled inside Flynn’s office, the Admiral immediately got up from his seat behind the desk and walked around it.
“And here he is, the Armada’s own troublemaker,” Flynn greeted him, shaking his hand firmly. “How are you holdin’ up, Jeryl?”
“I’m doing just fine, Admiral,” Jeryl said, unable to stop a smile from creeping up on his face. “One week in New Sydney and I’m a new man.”
“Yeah. I should go back there myself. I’m just afraid I won’t want to come back here again, you know? Gotta deal with all the pencil-pushers, every single day.”
“I don’t envy you,” Jeryl laughed, sitting down as Flynn went back behind his desk. “I prefer to be out there, if I’m being honest. I’ve had my fair share of pencil-pushers back when I was playing at Vice-Admiral.”
“You, Vice-Admiral? That was just a title, Jeryl. You spent half your time blowing shit up, and don’t even try to deny it,” Flynn laughed, his voice filling the whole office. “You were born to raise hell.”
“Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t—but I sure as hell was born to get shit done.”
“That’s right, that’s right…but no medals this time, I’m afraid,” Flynn continued, his laughter from before vanishing as quickly as summer breeze. “Barely anyone knows of what happened in Galea, and that’s how things should continue.”
“Wasn’t expecting any medal. Nor wouldn’t I want one. As far as I’m concerned, Armada Intelligence can keep all their fucking medals.”
“No love lost for them, huh?”
“What do you think? The murder of more than two hundred thousand civilians barely merits a badge, wouldn’t you say?”
“You seem too happy for a man that just murdered an entire colony’s population, I gotta say,” Flynn said. Just like Jeryl predicted, Flynn didn’t have to know the details to figure out that Jeryl had pulled some kind of shady strategy to get out of an unwinnable situation. And, as far as The Seeker’s captain was concerned, there were no unwinnable situations—only situations you’d have to be more patient about. In the end, there was always a way out.
“What can I say, Admiral? I’m a happy man by nature.”
“No, you’re full of shit by nature, Jeryl,” Flynn laughed once more, this time even more heartily than before. “And you’re fine just like that. As far as I’m concerned, the Armada needs more men like you. And I’m not talking about having men like you serving as Captains, I’m talking about—”
“No, whatever it is, you can shelve it,” Jeryl cut Flynn short, waving him down. “I’m not looking to become Vice-Admiral again. Been there, done that.”
“Maybe not Vice-Admiral…but what about a position in Intelligence? God knows these soulless bastards need some fucking ethic in there.”
“They wouldn’t find it even if it bit them in the face. These guys play by no rules—legal, moral, or ethical. They play their own game, and they make up the rules. They respect nothing, and I don’t want to be a part of it.”
“You shouldn’t speak of them like that, you know? They have ears everywhere,” Flynn said, the expression on his face telling Jeryl that the old Admiral didn’t give a fuck if Intelligence officers were listening in to their conversation right now.
“I’ll try. I don’t want to be murdered in the middle of the night by some murderous operative.”
“They have a few of those, that much is true,” Flynn shrugged. “But it might be one of those murderous operatives that’ll solve this teleporter riddle.”
“How so?”
“Intelligence has been trying to develop teleporter tech with no success. They’re exploring…other alternatives.”
“Don’t tell me they’re planning on stealing it from the Tyreesians. No one would be crazy enough to attempt something like that.”
“You’re damn right,” Flynn laughed. “No One would do it.”
“Are you talking about—”
“Alright, alright. I’ve said enough,” Flynn cut Jeryl short, but that just served as confirmation. When Flynn said ‘no one’, what he really meant was ‘No One’—the Intelligence operative everyone simply dismisse
d as a legend. Beautiful, stronger than a small squad, and more capable than a whole battalion put together…and she only operated in the shadows.
Or so it was said. Jeryl didn’t even know if No One was in fact a she.
“Seriously now, Jeryl,” Flynn started again. “Reconsider. Your talents are being wasted as Captain of The Seeker. I know you love that ship as much as you love your wife, but I see bright things in your future.”
“Admiral, thank you for all the trust but…I don’t want bright things in my future,” Jeryl said, standing up from his chair and offering Flynn his hand. “The only things I want in my future are my ship, my wife…and my son.”
Flynn’s eyes widened in surprise, and Jeryl almost felt bad about the way he had said it. Flynn had never married, and he didn’t have any children to call his own.
“Congratulations then, Captain,” Flynn finally said, shaking Jeryl’s hand. “I wish you all the best. Truly.”
“Thank you, Admiral.”
With that, Jeryl started walking out of Flynn’s office. He stopped dead on his tracks as Flynn called after him.
“Jeryl.”
“Admiral?”
“If you care about your wife and your son…I’d think about choosing another career.”
“Sir?”
“I know men like you. I was just like you. And as long as you have a uniform…there’ll always be another war to wage.”
Jeryl simply stood on the doorway for a long moment, Flynn’s words echoing inside his head, and then he just nodded.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, and then finally left for good.
There’ll always be another war to wage, Flynn’s words continued to echo inside his head, and Jeryl knew it was the truth.
The worst part was he knew he’d never be able to give up his uniform. Sighing, he allowed one last thought to cross his mind.
If war comes…so be it.
I’ll be ready.
The Ghost Fleet
Call of Command Book 4
A Pax Aeterna Novel
Copyright © 2018 by Pax Aeterna Press
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
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Prologue
All of the lights were flickering.
The corridor ahead of him was covered with shadows, the red glare of the alarm lights making it look as if it was awash in blood. Still, the stranger stepped out of the airlock and half a dozen men followed after him, all of them the kind of men that shouldn’t be aboard a Terran Union Spaceship.
Hardened men, every single one of them—and there was murder in their eyes.
And they all feared him.
“HALT!” a young man in an Armada uniform shouted from the end of the corridor. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and thick beads of sweat were dripping down his face. Even though he was more than forty feet away, the stranger could see the man’s hands trembling as he tried to keep his rifle steady.
How sad was it? An Armada man, shaking in his boots like that?
Without a word, the stranger simply strolled down the corridor, making his way toward the young Armada officer. His heavy footsteps echoed throughout the corridor, and with each step he took, the young officer’s eyes seem to widen more and more.
“H-HALT!” the officer tried to repeat, his voice cracking.
The stranger could almost smell the fear, its stench coming at him like fresh blood. Stopping right in front of the officer, the muzzle of the rifle pressed tight against his chest, the stranger looked down at the young man.
“Are you afraid?” he whispered, slowly reaching for the muzzle of the rifle. He curled his fingers around it, and then made the young man raise it up. Pressing the muzzle against his forehead, he repeated his question. “Are...you...afraid?”
“N-no.”
“You should be,” was the stranger’s quick reply. With that, he swatted the rifle out of the officer’s hands, and with his open right hand, he grabbed the young man by the head and pushed him back against the wall. The moment the man’s head hit the wall, the stranger let go of him. Like an empty paper bag, the man just collapsed on the floor, his open eyes now lifeless.
The stranger carried onward silently, his group of soulless mercenaries moving right behind him. They were just seven, but other groups were already boarding the ship as well, swarming it like wasps attacking a beehive.
They made their way through the maze of corridors without meeting anyone else, their heavy boots drumming an anxious song on the floor. In the distance, they heard shots being fired and cries of agony. The stranger didn’t care if the cries he was hearing belonged to his own men or to Armada officers—in the end, all men sounded the same.
“Here they come,” one of the men behind him whispered, as loud voices seemed to come their way. Reaching inside his overcoat, the stranger grabbed a small rifle and took a knee; the moment he saw shapes moving right at the end of the corridor, he opened fire. The bright particle beams connected with their targets, and the human shapes dancing in the flickering lights stopped moving, falling onto the floor in quick succession.
The stranger slung his rifle over his shoulder as he stood up and continued his silent march across the ship. Judging by what he had seen of the plants, the CNC shouldn’t be too far ahead. Just one more turn left and…
Standing in front of the large bolted door that led to the CNC were three security officers, all of them carrying heavy particle beam rifles. They immediately put their backs against the door and raised their rifles the moment they saw the stranger’s crew.
“Lower your weapons!” one of them shouted as the stranger stopped a few feet away from them, his rifle still slung over his shoulder. Slowly, he looked at each one of the three officers, gazing straight into their eyes.
“Lower yours.”
“LOWER YOUR FUCKING WEAPONS OR I’LL—”
The officer’s words died on his throat as particle beams erupted from behind the stranger, hitting the guard straight on the face. As the man collapsed on the floor, wisps of smoke left his burnt face. The other two officers suffered the same fate—one being hit on the chest, the other on the neck.
Feeling the stench of charred meat, the stranger looked over his right shoulder at one of his men, and then nodded back at the large door. The man quickly scurried toward the door, and kneeling down, retrieved a circular device from his bag. He pressed it against the door, made sure it stuck there, and then tapped a couple of buttons. The device lit up with a bright red light, and the man rushed behind the stranger.
“Sir, you should probably take a few steps back,” the man advised, but the stranger simply kept standing in front of the door, apparently oblivious to what the man said.
Two seconds later, a concentrated explosion blew the door open, shards of metal flying everywhere as the emergency system kicked in and opened the CNC doors.
The stranger narrowed his eyes into slits as the smoke cleared. With all the patience in the world, he grabbed his laser rifle and strolled inside the CNC. By now, his other men had already reached him, and there were close to thirty men behind him.
“Captain,” the stranger started, looking around the CNC and mentally making a headcount. Finally, his gaze settled on Captain Anders of the TUS Musashi. “If it isn’t too much of an inconvenience, I’d like you, and all of your officers, to surrender your weapons to my friends here.”
“You…No, it can’t be.”
Before the captain could move, the stranger closed the distance between the two of them and put his hand around the other man’s neck. He squeezed tight, bringing the captain down to his knees, and then bent over to look hi
m in the eyes.
“Yes, it can,” the stranger whispered, his voice almost a growl. The captain’s eyes widened in panic, and he tried to grab at the stranger’s fingers as he started running out of air. Moving slowly, the stranger removed a handgun from his belt, placed it right between the captain’s eyes, and squeezed the trigger.
Panicked cries erupted all around the CNC, but the stranger wasn’t worried. They were all novices for the most part, rookies that hadn’t been in the War, and they would never dare make a move against a crew like his—not if they valued their lives.
With his face covered in blood, the stranger looked at the cowering Armada officers and smiled.
They were right to be afraid.
Chapter 1
Jeryl
“Fire!”
Jeryl leaned forward as he gripped the armrests of his chair and shouted orders.
“Fire!” he repeated, but his voice merely echoed across the empty CNC. All lights were off, and there was no one at the control stations. The command center was bathed in a red light, and in the distance, Jeryl could hear the klaxons sounding.
He slowly stood up and made his way toward the dark viewscreen. With the tap of a button, he brought it up to life. The screen was red, filled with the same light of the command center, almost as if blood was dripping across it.
