by J.J. Mainor
“They’re poisoning the atmosphere!”
The comm lines exploded with activity as word of the Vandal plan passed up the chain of command. It was too late and the flag officers knew it. They sent word to Earth for an evacuation while the fighters were ordered back to the ship.
The mission took a morbid turn as they were then ordered to hold off the Vandals and protect the escaping civilians.
* * *
Sadiq ordered his navigator to approach the Vandal ship, but having expended its ordinance, it retreated.
“Do you want me to pursue?”
The Commander didn’t give a second to consider his answer. “Negative. Our orders are to cover the evacuation.
* * *
Panic broke in the streets before the evacuation order went wide. The toxin tinted the atmosphere with a haze. It started high up above the clouds, but from the ground people could see it drop their way.
Space worthy craft were about as rare as luxury yachts. Some of the super-rich had their own private shuttles for pleasure trips to Mars and back. Others in the blue collar sector either had their own cargo transports for private mining, or they worked for mining companies with small fleets. Cruise ships sat on launch pads waiting for passengers, while factories sat on the most recent ships to come off the assembly line just waiting for delivery.
Christian and Honoria Pafford were two such individuals who had saved up for their own ship. Taking delivery only a day sooner, it sat loaded and ready to launch before word of the Vandal attack forced them idle.
Like most people, they didn’t believe the reports sent out over the airwaves until they stepped outside and spied the danger themselves. They looked up to the sky as the haze dropped below the cloud layer. Already, they felt their skin begin to burn before the dust was even on them. Whatever the toxin was, it reacted with the oxygen to give the entire atmosphere an acidic quality. The couple understood when the dissipation was total, there would be no survival.
Honoria didn’t even bother trying to retrieve family pictures from the house. The couple raced into their transport, and not a moment too soon. There was barely enough time to lock the hatch before the grayish-yellow haze encompassed everything around them.
The pair climbed to the forward compartment to watch the cloud settle through the forward windows. The bushes and trees outside all withered on contact. The grass charred black.
Across the street, their neighbors raced to get inside, hoping to escape the effects of the toxin. Their skin bubbled and liquefied. As they fell against the door, someone already inside fell against the window. Though protected from direct contact, the toxin seeped through vents and opened windows, entering the house and killing from the inside.
All around the world, anyone who couldn’t get into an airtight craft ahead of the rain was killed as well as every plant and animal. There was no time for an organized evacuation. Only those lucky enough to be near a ship as the Paffords were could escape death.
Christian powered up the ship and lifted off while his young wife screamed in terror. They had saved and sacrificed throughout their twenties, holding off on having children so they could acquire this ship. It was supposed to be their ticket to self-reliance – a dream to shed the constrictions of a boss and spend the rest of their lives working for themselves. Instead, it became their lifeboat.
Hundreds of small ships like theirs all over the world raced from the surface. The few survivors who managed to get inside feared the toxin might get through the airtight seals and burn them.
Even off the surface, there was no telling how it might hurt them later. It might stick to the ship across the vacuum of space, stirring to life in a new atmosphere to kill them when they stepped out. On the other hand, the radiation outside Earth’s magnetic field might render it harmless. Or the wind might scour it from their hull on the way up. Yet none of that hung in the minds of the survivors. The only concern in those last moments was getting off the dying planet.
Recriminations
Petron stepped from his office into the sorrow on the bridge. So few had made it off Earth before the Vandal poison reached the surface, it was far more likely each soldier and officer knew someone in the Vandal camp than one of the refugees. Spouses were gone. Children were lost. Parents, siblings, forgotten friends – everyone these men and women had ever known outside the military was dead.
The Captain couldn’t understand why every eyeball on his bridge turned his way with angry intent. It wasn’t his toxin, nor was he heading the operation to stop that ship. If they wanted to be angry at anyone, they should have started with themselves. Slow reaction times throughout these ranks led to the delays in their pursuit. Pilots that obviously weren’t prepared to launch had failed to reach those missiles before they unleashed their payloads. An executive officer that obviously couldn’t handle the burden of command had botched the entire intercept mission. There was more than enough blame to go around his ship several times, and none of it could be expected to land on his desk.
But thinking on his second, Petron wondered why it was Lieutenant Commander Martinez rising from his chair to surrender the watch. “Where’s Commander Sadiq?”
Every eyeball returned to the station ahead of them intending to deliver a silent slight to the calm, yet derisive tone of their captain. Even Martinez tried to avert his eyes and race back to his former station, but Petron had captured those eyes and wouldn’t let them go. As the ranking officer, he might have expected he could not deflect the question anyway.
“Commander Sadiq is in his quarters taking statements.”
And suddenly, all the blood drained from Petron’s otherwise cool appearance. “Taking statements” was one of the codes indicating an investigation. The admiralty barely had a new base of operations established and they already sought blame for Earth’s fall. As the ship tasked with stopping that death ship, Legacy naturally was the first target for their inquiries. Petron was certain he had done nothing wrong in carrying out his duties, but the admirals might hold him responsible nonetheless.
Interfering with the testimony Sadiq collected would bring a charge far worse than any he might face. Failure of command was bad enough, but lying and pressuring the supposed witnesses was viewed as treason.
If he spoke with his officers before they visited the Commander, he might “remind” them to tell the “truth.” It wouldn’t be the first time he pointed out the danger to careers if accusations were made that couldn’t be supported. The key though was speaking with his officers one-on-one. They might “misunderstand” his advice. If there were witnesses, they might be inclined to spin it to their advantage; but alone, these disloyal officers would have no one to back up any story they might wish to “invent” against him.
But the whole thing was too much trouble. With the testimony already underway, his time was better spent preparing his own and making sure his side of events was straight in his head so he didn’t stammer when the questions flew. Still, it would have been nice to know what was being said in the XO’s quarters so he could prepare against the lies his crew no doubt spun against him.
* * *
Commander Sadiq, with his feet resting shoulder width apart and his hands clasped behind his back, stared out his window at the new world Legacy orbited. It was a rocky world, larger than Earth, but covered with a thick methane atmosphere. The surface temperature was far too hot for work, even with their strongest environmental suits. Like the rest of the system, there was nothing terribly special about this world.
The star had never been named, still holding its ancient alphanumeric designation. The four planets in orbit contained nothing of value that couldn’t be found throughout more convenient star systems. It was chosen as the EDF’s base of operations because there was no reason for the Vandals to take interest in the system.
After those monsters released their poison, they lost interest in the Earth fleet altogether. The death
ship seemed too valuable in their eyes to risk in further conflict, so the bulk of their forces shifted focus to covering its retreat.
And the EDF was too happy to oblige. The magnitude of the situation hadn’t yet fallen on the rank and file, so the desire for unbridled revenge hadn’t yet clouded their operations. The bigger priority had been on protecting the ships climbing from the surface. Their main concern was protecting the survivors and ensuring the righteous half of humanity carried on.
Their ships now were tasked with escorting the tiny civilian craft to new homes on viable planets believed to be out of the Vandals’ operational range.
Meanwhile, the admiralty was anxious to get to the bottom of what happened during the battle. They desired to report the failure to the civilians as soon as possible. There was far too much emotion going around for a smooth investigation, but the sooner they uncovered the mistakes, the sooner they could assign the proper blame.
The Legacy sat out escort duty so that its senior staff might be interviewed. They didn’t yet have times for their interviews, but Sadiq knew they were coming. He also knew the junior officers and enlisted wouldn’t receive the opportunity to speak out, so he wanted to give them the chance before his meeting.
One-by-one, they showed up to his cabin. The Commander had a camera rolling so there was no doubt their statements were on record. Nor could anyone claim the statements were forced or fed to their mouths.
“Come in and take a seat.” He turned from the window to greet the newest arrival.
The cabin was much like the captain’s suite. A formal office greeted the entrants - a public space that could be used to conduct business or entertain. The private living space lay beyond the second door.
The office itself was large, with a desk and a separate meeting table, both of which folded flat into the floor. This particular task utilized the table. Sadiq felt, being a little less formal, it might put the men and women at some sort of ease. Unfortunately, he had more tears come through his door than there were drops of methane raining down onto the world outside.
The officer at the table was virtually indistinguishable from the rest. Each one of these survivors shared the same story with little variation for the camera.
“I was strapped in the second transport.”
“I sat in my fighter.”
“I was on the way to the armory.”
Each one had their assignment and wanted nothing more than to do their duty.
“Captain Petron called me right from the flight deck.”
“He wanted to see me in my quarters.”
“I asked him to confirm. After all, we were under a red alert. We were about to head into battle.”
“My CO…”
“My unit leader…”
“Ensign Munroe shrugged and told me to go.”
“Right away he started whining about my bed.”
“…dirty underwear on the floor.”
“…breakfast I didn’t have time to finish. The alert sounded while I was getting ready for my shift.”
“What was I supposed to do? Tell the Vandals to hold off the attack until my room was clean?”
“Isn’t the Captain supposed to be on the bridge during a red alert?”
“I know the standards, but it’s not like the Admiral’s gonna conduct an inspection in the heat of battle.”
Commander Sadiq called down the line, interviewing everyone from the bridge crew to the medical staff to the cooks. There wasn’t a single department unaffected by Petron’s inspections and insistences. Every leader throughout the ship reported their departments were handicapped. Even waste reclamation ground to a halt because staff disappeared.
* * *
Corbitt remained numb in the seat of his fighter, believing the complaints of his fellow pilots. Had he launched with them instead of disappearing to his cabin, they would have had a stronger hand against the Vandals. They would have taken out the enemy fighters without the frustration and anger toward the Captain hanging over their heads. If they could have done their job, the fighters would have returned home sooner. Legacy would have reached Earth and they would have redeployed in time to blast those missiles to dust before they released their payload into the atmosphere. It would have been funny how his attitude toward the situation with Petron turned after the fact, had the consequences not been so dire.
“It’s not your fault.” Amber hung over the open canopy trying to lift his spirits. Her own were so far down in the darkness, she wasn’t very convincing. “Petron has no business commanding any ship, let alone a full carrier. How that horse’s ass got his commission in the first place is a mystery no one’s been able to solve.”
Corbitt couldn’t pull his eyes from the instruments directly ahead of him. No matter what Amber or the rest of the pilots told him, it was his fault. He should have pretended he had already launched. He should have ignored Petron altogether. He should have told the Captain off; everyone under his command wanted to at some point. No matter how many kills he racked up or how valiantly they might have saved the planet, Corbitt knew he would still receive an Article 13 for insubordination. Hell, Petron might have referred him to a full court-martial even if he had single-handedly saved the world.
At least Earth would have been safe.
“Who did you lose?” He had to get the subject away from himself. He knew it was selfish stewing on his own guilt when there was enough pain to fill the squad bay an infinite number of times. How Amber managed to hold it together as well as she seemed was something he desperately needed to learn.
“Honestly, no one,” she admitted. “My parents were killed when I was fourteen. My sister and I were split up and placed in separate foster homes and I hadn’t seen her since.”
“What about the foster parents? They weren’t anybody you missed?”
She thought about it for a moment, probably for the first time since she had been placed in the home. The experience wasn’t bad enough to form her opinion, nor was it so great as to create an emotional attachment.
“They weren’t bad people, but I think they cared more about helping kids than they cared about the kids themselves. I think though if they took my sister in with me, I might feel worse about their deaths.”
“They wanted to help kids, but they wouldn’t take in your sister?” Corbitt pulled his gaze from his instruments for the first time.
“It wasn’t like that. The state split us up and didn’t tell them. Me, being a moody teen and bitter over losing my parents, never said anything about it. Honestly, they never knew.”
“Now they never will.”
“And I’ll never get to see my sister again to find out what she made of her life. What about you? Who did you leave behind?”
Corbitt’s gaze returned to his instruments. Like his friends, he should have been thinking about the two older sisters, his parents, or his grandmother. Instead, it was those damned instruments reminding him of his damned Captain. No matter what they talked about or who Amber tried to focus his sorrow on, the only thought occupying his head was the regret over following that man.
And yet, no matter how much anyone tried to put the bureaucratic bullshit of their superiors out of their minds, there was always the jarring reminder of their presence over their careers. A message played throughout the bay announcing the arrival of a shuttle. Corbitt and Amber awaited for the follow-up message to vacate the area, but it never came.
A massive inner door divided the hangar bay. During normal operations, the outer bay would act like a giant airlock to minimize the space they needed to pressurize or depressurize when launching a single ship. Only when they planned to launch all the fighters was the entire area depressurized for rapid deployment. In such an instance, warnings were issued and time given for the evacuation of anyone not properly suited for the change of environment.
Since no warning was issued, the pair remained waiting silently for arrival procedures
to run their course so they might see who stepped off the shuttle. Whoever it was must have been important. The shuttle touched down dead center on the flight deck rather than in one of the available berths. Had it been a typical flight officer at the helm, it would have been a sign of contempt for procedure; but knowing the high-ranking personnel in orbit with them, it was far more likely the landing was a message that no one would be permitted to leave while these guests were aboard.
Another message overhead announced the Captain on deck. Corbitt turned slightly to watch Petron rushing to greet the shuttle, still adjusting his dress uniform and straightening his ribbons. They noticed the man sweating profusely from their distance. However many layers he wore, they weren’t enough to hide his discomfort. Sweat stains embarrassed his appearance.
“You’d think he just found out his hooker has VD,” Corbitt sneered.
“And he’s figuring how to tell his wife,” Amber added with her own disdain.
Petron finished fussing with his uniform long enough to take in the crowd around him – lack of a crowd was more accurate. He noticed the pair hovering over Corbitt’s fighter and regarded them with disdain before turning toward the control center overlooking the entire bay.
“Do we not call formation when admiralty arrives?” he called up. He knew the crew couldn’t hear them in that sealed room, but he expected the protocol nonetheless.
Corbitt rolled his eyes to his partner. “Is it too late to pretend I was killed in battle?”
“You can always try. If it works, let me know.”
Finally the order came over the speakers driving the pair from the fighter and into formation behind their captain with the other pilots and members of the flight crew spilling out from their hiding spots for this asinine show of respect.
There were no more countries, no more planet, no more leaders to fight for. Amidst the sorrow building behind Petron’s back was a feeling that all this formality was useless for their survival. Maybe it was the lack of a mourning period that kept morale low, but with the Vandals stronger than ever, the few survivors didn’t have the luxury of fleet-wide sorrow to sit through before their new homes were found and their settlements protected. Still, the rank-and-file would rather have stayed busy with relevant work than to continue stroking the egos of some admiral who kept distant from the fight while now looking for scapegoats to blame.
