by Will Crudge
“But what of the emptiness it left behind? It’s like a scar on my soul itself!” I ask.
“What you feel is a loss. It’s a construct of your own ego. You created it because your consciousness wasn’t evolved enough when the power flowed through you. Your egoist mind created a delusion that the Rage was a part of you… a part of your identity, or a possession whereby to project your persona. When it retreated, you felt an irreparable loss. Nobody can heal it but you. You have to choose to heal. There’s no magical pill I can give you.”
He’s right. I have no choice but to believe him. He merely reinforced what I was beginning to understand for myself. At this exact moment, I feel peace come over me. I still feel the pain and anguish within, but I am fortified with the knowledge that I can choose to heal myself. I even let a glimmer of hope trickle into my being. Several silent moments pass before I realize I’m smiling.
“I think that’s enough for one day!” Val says as he stands up.
“Thank you, father!” I shout and reach out with my arms to embrace him. This man... This glorious man has chosen to give me the tools I need to seek out peace. I am grateful. I am alive!
“You’re always welcome, dear!” He says before we end our embrace. “But next time I approach you, don’t try that terrible throw you tried pulling on me!” He laughs. I turn red. I almost forgot about the throw. Had I tried it on anyone else, then it would have worked flawlessly… But when I tried it on a five-thousand-year-old man who founded the War Master Guild… not so much!
He walks off. I stand in silence, and I watch him leave. I look over to Jimma and Marbles, and I find them staring back at me.
“It’s time I took you to meet my father,” Jimma says.
“Isn’t he busy fighting the war?” Marbles chimes in. I kinda was thinking the same thing, now that he mentioned it.
“Yes, but he flew from the UAHC flagship to get here. He didn’t come all this way for his health!” Jimma says as she points at the Death-Nail. Duh! Why else would it be aboard this ship?
“Ok, then. Let’s go!” I say.
“Shadow!” Jimma shouts. Who the fuck is Shadow?
“I’m awake! I’m awake.” I hear a raspy voice call back from somewhere in the distance.
“We’re heading to the CIC. Care to join us?” She asks.
“If we must!” He answers. We?
We walk together, but I keep a few paces back from Jimma. Grinder walks beside her, and Marbles keeps pace with me. We round a nearby shuttle, and another LRF-90 comes into focus. This one is olive green, and very shiny. It must be the Doom-Raptor, personal ship to the UAHC Fleet Marshal Darius.
At the base of the steps that lead into the LRF’s hull ware two massive Zodiacs. Panthers. Both are big, but one is even more so. Easily the biggest Zodiac I’ve ever seen. I’ve always been told that panther Zodiacs are the biggest, but I had no idea. They looked like a pair of black bears with green eyes staring back at me.
“Kat, this is Shadow and his wife, Sheba” Jimma introduces us.
“Pleasure to meet you, Shadow.” I nod and then look to the other panther. “You too, Sheba!”
“So this is the prodigal candidate, huh?” Shadow says with the feline equivalent of a half-smile. I’m not quite sure how to take him, but I’m guessing he’s an elite Zodiac, and thusly I hold my perverted tongue.
“Goodness! You’re so pretty!” Sheba says with a flirty feline wink. I feel warm all over. It’s the sweetest compliment I’ve received in decades.
“Thank you!” I say. Nobody has to point it out since I can feel myself blushing.
We continue to exchange small talk as we walk together. We all make our way past security checkpoints and a network of connector trains. I almost forgot how massive a juggernaut is.
But even as my mood is up on high, and my serotonin is on full blast, the worst shit always happens when I’m in a good mood.
The klaxon begins to sounds. Battle stations are announced. Mwargoths are coming out to say hello.
BREEN BASTARDS
Formal introductions will have to wait. I rush into the CIC after the others. I’m not entirely certain what’s going on, so I just act like I know what I’m doing.
The room is huge. It’s generally circular and has rows of command and control kiosks arranged in concentric circles facing a large holographic display that dominates the space. Military officers of every description are rushing around, or are seated while pecking away at their assigned workstations.
I see hundreds of blue icons fill the three-dimensional display, but I key in on a handful of red icons off to my left. I’m assuming that blue is good, and red is bad.
By the edge of the display I see my father looking up at the icons, His back is turned to me, but I can pick him out anywhere. The fact that he’s wearing ancient War Master Armor helps some too, of course.
Next to him is a taller man with UAHC standard issue powered armor. War Masters are tall by even modern standards, but this man is slightly taller than my father. I can only assume that it’s the legendary Fleet Marshal Darius since I’ve been told he one of our kind… but yet entirely different somehow.
To the left of Darius is another War Master. Judging by his slim physique and greying ponytail, he’s Jimma’s father, Jep Alba. I follow Jimma up to where they all stand, and the two Zodiacs beat me there. I get the sensation that both of the Panthers are somehow paired with the Fleet Marshal. Weird.
“I’m here, father. What’s going on?” Jimma asks. The man I believe is Jep turns around. He’s got a handsome face, but the lines beside his eyes are betraying his age. As slow as War Masters age, he’s got to be at least five hundred years old, by my reckoning.
“Mwargoths have become emboldened… Darius suspected as much... They must have tracked us somehow.” He says. Of course, I have no clue what that means. Jep glances at me give me a curt nod and then turns back to the display.
I slide up next to Jimma and initiate a private convo…
. But I’m still trying to wrap my head around it all.
“What did you say?” Darius asked. He’s even more handsome than I figured he would be. I didn’t know space messiahs could be so sexy.
“Um… I’m sorry, sir. I was just having a private conversation, and I didn’t know that you could hear me.” I say. Darius just maintains a serious face, and even though he’s hot as balls, I’m fearful that I’ve overstepped my bounds.
“You must be Katherine.” He says as a matter of fact. Once again, my reputation precedes me.
“Yes, sir,” I say sheepishly. He lets his face relax into a smile, and I release a nervous breath.
“Well, your private conversation is not so private when you’re standing next to our kind, now is it?” He chuckles. I blush.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I say. He waves it off.
“Not a problem. I’m pleased that you’re eager to jump into the situation at hand with your perspective.” He says.
“Perspective?” I ask.
“Yes.” He nods. “You’re only the second person I know that seems to believe the Mwargoths are acting out of fear. Many of us think it now, but only after careful scrutiny and analysis. You seemed to see it right away while being confident in your assessment at that!” He explains.
“Um, well… That’s just the first thing that came to mind, sir.” I say nervously.
“No more ‘sir,’ for you. I am one of your own kind. We maintain mutual respect at all times, understood?” He says. I get horny in response.
“Yes, Fleet Marshal,” I reply. He huffs out a laugh and then begins to turn back to the display.
“We’ll have to work on that, Kat!” He says over his shoulder.
“Psst!” Marbles says as he nudges me.
“What?” I whisper back.
“Get me an autograph!” He says. I just turn to glare at him. Marbles just goes into a half shrug, as if to ask me what my look means.
“The prize chicken has entered the henhouse!” My father chimes in. He seems oblivious to anything else around him, so knack for spouting random phrases doesn’t shock me. It’s his modus opertendi, as it were.
“And the wolf?” Darius asks him.
“The wolf is staring down the fox.” My father replies. I’m seriously confused right now. Obviously, they’re speaking in code, but I’m lost in the seemingly useless banter.
“Well, if the fox can see the wolf’s eyes… then let’s show it the fangs!” Darius says.
“Ghost Fleet, you are a go!” Some general guy nearby shouts into a console. I’m guessing he’s the UDF’s commander, General Garcia.
I look up to the screen, and I see the five red blips instantly become inundated with dozens of blue blips. It’s an ambush. Holy shit! Go, humans!
But my elation quickly fades. Two of the red blips become covered with red ‘x’s,’ but at least eight of the blue ones quickly appear the same way. The enemy ships have taken a beating, but at a heavy loss. Before too long, the remaining red blips disappear. Twelve blue blips are gone. Six humans’ ships were destroyed for each of the Mwargoth’s losses. But yet the atmosphere in the CIC is energized. Everyone is acting and chattering about a victory… All I see is carnage.
For the first time in my life, I am almost ashamed to be human. Thousands of men and women just died, but it was met with thundering applause.
I was lucky to make it to the toilet before I threw up.
WRECKING CREW
During his short visit on the juggernaut, Thermopylae, Val, and I met up several more times. He talked. I listened. Each time I felt better and better. He taught me exercises to help me embrace my inner world, and in doing so, I have noticed a huge improvement in my wellbeing. I have a long way to go before I feel truly whole, but I can push past the anguish that has been holding me back from healing. I can’t believe I’ve been suffering from this inner torment for so many years, just to find out that I was the cause of it.
He had to leave and go back to his own flagship, but he left me empowered. Jimma offered to take me to Unum when the combat zone stabilized, but I respectfully declined. I spent thirty years dreaming of the day I could resume my training, and take my place among the War Masters, but I feel the need to heal myself before I resume.
Val gave me insights into the training I would receive, and he said the exercises he taught me would prepare me for it. So my goal is simple. Heal myself while trying to adjust to the horrors of war. I can’t explain why I want to do it that way. There’s no rational way to explain it. I just feel that it’s the right thing to do. And trusting my feelings is a huge part of what I have to do in order to heal myself. That, and make routine trips to the CIC in order to learn the ins-and-outs of modern strategic operations.
What better way to master warfare, than experience it first-hand, right? Sure, I’ve killed before, but I’ve yet to witness carnage on such a scale. Even though one may feel detached from the horrors of war when you stare at a screen all day. The human condition causes us to take comfort in relative distance from the thing you fear. And perhaps, that’s why the command crew seemed so elated to have lost a dozen ships to the enemy.
They’re not on the front lines. They only look at statistics and analysis. Besides the War Masters or the more experienced UAHC Soldiers on staff, most have never taken a life or have even been shot at.
The UAHC Soldiers handle themselves with more restraint when a perceived victory occurs. They seem to understand the sacrifices that are being made as if they’re watching it unfold in real-time. I’ve developed a profound respect for them in that regard.
The occasional Crimson Officer comes and goes, and the Alliance Fleet maintains a few workstations in the juggernaut. They’re liaison officers that are present to coordinate with their home fleet. They’re everything I expected them to be. Arrogant, and spiteful.
The Unum Officers all seem to be out of their element. They were only recently nationalized into a formal military force, and prior to that, they were merely highly paid security guards. They have a steep learning curve and are the main culprits when it comes to cheering for costly victories.
Speaking of victories, there aren’t too many of those. The more I visit the CIC, the more I begin to realize that humanity is not doing quite as well against our foes as the civilians are being told. There’s a high risk of mass-hysteria that could occur if they learned the truth.
The citizens of all the Crimson Alliance worlds are not too much of a worry. Their totalitarianism has ensured a robust propaganda machine is constantly controlling the narrative. But rather, the UAHC and the GBE are having the most difficult time controlling the release of information. It’s sad that a free press has to be lied to in order to prevent all-out anarchy… But it’s necessary… Sad, but necessary.
The GBE is the Greater British Empire, and they’ve only recently joined the fight. They’ve always been close trade partners with Unum and the UAHC, but they rarely go to war outside their own corner of space. But don’t let that fool you. The GBE military is well trained and well-equipped. They may not be as wealthy as the UAHC, but they’re at least on par with Unum.
Other smaller human factions have joined the fight as well, but few have any substantial combat power. Pirate factions have banded together, and have secured supply lines for the combined fleet. Independent, single, and multiple star system nations have sent combat support vessels and help to keep millions of human warriors fed with agricultural ships.
All told, about sixty percent of humanity is contributing thus far. It’s a tenuous truce for many, but it seems to be holding for now. I can only pray it lasts long enough to make a dent in the Mwargoth incursions.
Incursions… More like, cowardly raids, if you ask me. They have deadlier weapons that we have no countermeasures for, and our nuclear weapons are the only things that h
ave done any real damage so far. In fact, it’s not even the nuclear explosions that make the killing blow.
It’s theorized that the nukes only trigger some kind of safeguard system onboard the Mwargoth vessels. In order to maintain their technological edge, they basically rig their own ships to vaporize once enough catastrophic damage is detected… or so we believe.
The LRF-90’s are another issue. In the earliest victories, LRF’s have been a major factor. Their unique hull composition seems to be resistant to the Mwargoth close quarters weapons. Plus, the superior speed makes them difficult to match in normal space flight… difficult for either Mwargoth or humans vessels alike… However, the LRF’s have become so important for maintaining morale that they’re seldom ordered into action any more.
Losing an LRF-90 would be a catastrophic blow for the human psyche. They just can’t be replaced.
I’m strolling in silence in the CIC. The juggernaut is in slip-space, and we’re safe from being attacked. Well, theoretically safe. We don’t know for sure, but so far so good. The cavernous CIC is quiet now. Only a skeleton crew is on shift, and the coffee maker is on full burn. I make my own schedule, so I don’t mind coming out when it’s late, and just sleeping in a little bit.
The atmosphere helps me think. I receive the occasional nod from the staff officers, and even the Crimson major on this shift isn’t a complete ass-clown. The UAHC Soldiers keep to themselves but occasionally speak to their Unum or GBE counterparts. I’ve seen a few even talk to the Crimson guy on shift, but it’s seldom the other way around. The Crimson officers hang out with their flight suits or sub armor, but the UAHC Soldiers are armored up all the time.
Even without the armor, they likely look like bronze gods or porn stars. If only I could work up the nerve to ask for a peek!
