by John Davis
“Tell him the vampires fucked us. You tell him to be ready for war by the time we top the clouds.”
Sensing the urgency, the soldier began fumbling with his com system – finally reaching one of the soldiers who answered directly to Ortega.
“Launch squadron A.” a voice announced over the com system, each person taking note.
Moments later, the onlookers could see dozens of Swordfish fighters launching from their own ship. Each blazing for the coming horde.
Though it looked impressive, Dalton knew it would not be enough. He had seen the horde with his own eyes. There was simply no stopping it.
Even as the Swordfish began to stream down napalm, bringing death to anything it fell onto, there were just too many Priests coming. Having busted their way through the mighty colonial staggered defenses in the process.
“Legend of Stars is operational.” the com announced, bringing cheers to everyone on the observation deck. As their ships began to lift into the heavens, however, their excitement turned to horror as several engineering boxes on the Legend of Stars began sparking with fury.
Moments later, it had lost its altitude of just a dozen feet. Falling back to the surface in the process.
The survivors on the observation deck watched in horror as the horde began to overrun the fallen ship. Ripping metal sheeting from its hull while others smashed their way through otherwise-shatterproof windows.
Dalton just stood in place, watching the horror of mass murder as the colonial star finally broke into the clouds and welcomed its survivors to the black of space.
“Do not cry for them,” Dalton scolded, several people having broken down from such a horrific sight. “Unless you also grieve for the millions we've lost up till now. Their death was no less tragic.”
With his words, the smuggler began descending the catwalk steps which led back to C level, thrown a bit to the side as the massive ship shifted its bearing.
Always with these fucking ships!
-
Final Act
Dalton's gut had been right, just as it had been so many times before. The colonial stars had made the correct move by lifting to the sky – guns blazing.
The vampires awaited them in orbit doing the same.
Dalton clinched his lover tightly as she cried aloud, grieving both the young man gone missing and her fear of demise. The brown coated smuggler did what he could to console her, though he had also began to wonder the outcome.
He was military trained enough to know their ship was being hammered with gunfire. Dalton could hear explosions throughout the lower decks of his ship, which was consistent with approaching the end of the line. At least in a gunfight between sky galleons.
“You see Adam Michaels,” Sarah gestured, having led him to the bridge of a vampire-loyal ship under escort. “The mighty fleet is falling. So many innocent lives.”
“What do you want Sarah?” Adam demanded.
“For you to make a choice,” she grinned, waving her soldiers to the ready. Moments later, a woman of Sarah's race carried Adam's son out to him – sound asleep. “Tens of thousands of lives aboard the dying fleet. Many children just like this, you said so yourself.”
“What Sarah, what?” he angrily questioned.
“Either you leave with us as a vampire as you watch the fleet destroyed – or you watch your son leave with us, from the observation deck of a colonial ship which you helped save. Your choice.”
“Sarah, I can't.” he admitted.
“Either you make your choice, or I WILL have my soldiers execute you – at which time I will destroy the fleet anyway, keeping your son to boot.” she replied.
A broken mess, Adam began crying heavily – his lips trembling too hard to reply.
“Your friends are on those ships Adam Michaels. All of them. Are you ready to show your forgiveness to me by joining the nation of vampires and caring for your son? Or are you as committed as you claim to save the innocent? What will it be Adam Michaels, self or selfless?”
Yet the smuggler continued to cry heavily, offering no response to his former lover.
With the incentive of a gun barrel pressing to his forehead, Adam continued to cry, though holding his hands up and slowing enough to eventually speak.
“How do I know you'll keep your word? How do I know you'll look after my son – allow the fleet to go safely?”
“Adam Michaels, I hate you,” she replied, edging closer to him. “Even so, I loved you once. Because of that I promise you. You have my word as a former lover. As a queen to my people.”
“Alright,” he replied, calming his tears just a bit. “I'll go.”
“Very well,” she said, ordering her guards to remove Avery from his broken father's sight. “Now you will watch as your entire world pulls away in full-burn from the thick of glass windows.” she replied without emotion.
Leading Adam onto a small shuttle, the queen turned to those operating her capital ship.
“Hail the colonial fleet and let them know we intend to stand down. Tell them we are sending a colonial package to them by way of shuttle,” the queen said. “A broken one.” Sarah added, turning to look onto Adam with disgust.
“Sarah Blaine,” Adam said, doing his best to block the loss of his son from memory. “I will be back for my son,” he added with truth. “When I do. I will end you.”
Offering no reply aside from a look of annoyance, Sarah pressed a sequence of buttons which ejected a thick slate of shatterproof glass, jolting between them.
As his shuttle began to depart from the vampire's largest battleship, Adam stared at his former lover, signaling her death as he used hand motions to aim at her as if it were a gun.
“Jump our people to the designated coordinates.” the queen demanded.
“Right away.” a vampire clad in solid black replied, beginning to enter information into their computer systems.
Adam Michaels had never cried as hard as he did the moment the vampires began to fire their thrusters, leaving him helpless as his eyes watched them take his son away – breaking his heart in the process.
-
Accepting the lone shuttle, though they suspected a trap, the soldiers aboard the badly-damaged colonial star approached the shuttle with caution.
As they opened the door, each of the trained protectors of peace expected the worst. Instead, they found Adam laying in the corner – sobbing without reserve.
“Everybody out of the way,” Dalton growled. “I know this man.”
“Who is it?” a soldier asked, gun still locked onto the broken man.
“My brother.” Dalton replied, kneeling down to scoop his longtime friend from the shuttle.
Fitting, as Adam had did the same for him during the first Glimmerian war many years before.
“Cambria, we need to get him to the rack and let him rest for a bit.”
“Absolutely.” she replied.
Standing to his feet moments later, Adam felt weak – as if his body was just learning to function as an adult.
“Adam,” Cambria said, tearing up a bit.” I'm so, so sorry.” she added, feeling guilty of the entire event.
Staring at her for a moment, Adam wrapped his arms around her and began crying once more.
“Nothing you could have done. Nothing I could have done.” he responded.
“Alright, alright – damn. Break it up. My playground brother.” Dalton yelled with sarcasm.
Causing the broken man to grin just slightly, Adam finally turned to face his longtime friend, offering him the same embrace of a thick hug.
“Well this is uncomfortable.” Cambria jested.
“Yea, no kidding,” Dalton added. “Don't start dry-humping my leg or anything.”
Laughing through the pain, Adam finally broke away and smiled. Though everyone knew what was on his mind. Avery. Revenge.
-
Twenty-Three
As the primitive alarm sounded, waking Dalton from a world of dreams, he quietly cursed th
e Gods for not allowing a longer sleep.
“Already?” Cambria asked, turning to her lover as they both lay in bed.
“Fuck yea.” Dalton replied, his words loaded with regret.
“Speaking of.” she replied with a smile.
“If I had time,” Dalton said, grinning ear to ear. “I'd certainly do the crime.”
“Crime? Really?”
“Well, you know,” Dalton replied. “One of those upscale crimes. You know...high class.”
“Well in that case Dalton James,” Cambria replied, her best damsel in distress now in full swing. “I suppose I'll save myself for the next time.”
He chuckled a bit, but seemed to be distant from the conversation.
“What is it? Adam?” she asked.
“Well it is now!” he replied with a bark.
“Oh, yea, it's day twenty-three. Big day, huh?” Cambria said.
“Just another day,” Dalton replied as he stood from their bed and began to drape himself in colonial blue. “Except I'm without a bottle of scratch.”
“I think you can function without it.” Cambria said with a large grin.
He simply replied with a tough stare. The one-thousand yard variety.
“At least I guess you can.”
“We'll know soon enough me suppose.” he replied, though he did so with a bitching tone.
Taking a moment to brush his hands through his whiskers, Dalton stared at himself for what seemed like an eternity. Glaring into the mirror which hung above the steel sink of their quarters.
“You look nice.” Cambria remarked.
“That sucks,” he replied. “I was going for mean.”
“Well you're one mean hunk of cowboy. That work?” she playfully replied. Her body nude under the sheets of the large, overstuffed bed.
“You be sure you have your ass here when I get back. We have some things to,” he said, glancing to her lower body. “Work out.” he added.
“Oh Dalton James, you simply take my breath away.” Cambria replied in distress.
Punching several numbers into a keypad by the door, reinforced steel quickly opened to expose a large hallway, well-lit with the white of halogen.
“Commander.” one of the two stationed marines said, both men saluting.
“At ease boys, I ain't officially the commander until this afternoon,” Dalton replied. “As of now, I'm still just a guy they suckered into the job,” he added. “Take care of my girl.”
“Yes sir.” the marine replied, both men standing guard once more.
Just another sucker. He thought as everyone seemed to turn to him, his walk throughout the busy ship one of history. And a sober one at that.
During the final assault between the Hunters and colonials, Ortega had been gunned down.
Something that did not fade, however, was his commander's log. Mandatory entries, though the last was anything but. He has spoken of both the grit and compassion of Dalton James; even going far enough to name him the man in charge should he ever perish.
His entry was logged less than twenty-minutes before the Hunters began their final push, and those who survived looked to Ortega as an honorable man. His wishes for succession to go unchallenged.
As with colonial law, when a commander departed by resignation or death, the government would swear in a successor exactly twenty-three days following. Each day representing a major civilization under the colonial banner.
Though Dalton secretly admitted he knew nothing about leading such a proud people, he also believed that many commanders before him knew less than that, and they were able to pull it off. In fact, he was guilty of slugging one and bedding down the daughter of a second, though her looks fell way-short of her political standing.
Blame the whiskey.
Either way, he was about to lead the colonial people. At least from a military perspective. A civilian was to be sworn in as well, the wishes of Commander Ortega, and they would share power while working together.
So it was to be.
Dalton expected a pretty big ceremony – though he knew there would be a shortage of man-drink, but he was not prepared for the coming inauguration.
At least two-thousand people, all seated and awaiting the ceremony. A large podium, with several ranking officers sitting close by, both civilian and military. Everyone awaiting a man who was minutes late for his own swearing in.
Ah shit. He thought, knowing it wasn't possible to slip in unseen to the witness of thousands who sat quietly.
The sound of his boots seemed to echo throughout the landing bay as they clicked to the cement floor. He would have cursed the floor and the people for listening so damn hard, if the military branch of their government hadn't stood up in salute.
It brought a smile to the man's face, continuing his walk proudly. Though he noticed something odd. A harsh look from the politician in which he would share power. Even a whisper by the man to another high-ranking politician.
“Doctor Arness has delivered his speech,” a man said, his role of organizing the event pretty obvious. “Everyone awaits yours.”
Speech? You've got to be shitting me! Nobody mentioned a speech!
Stepping to the podium, Dalton cleared his throat a bit, looking onto the crowd and trying to imagine them naked. Quickly realizing a majority of them were male, however, he began to think of his lover naked instead.
“The truth is,” Dalton said, adjusting the microphone a bit as the crowd remained silent. “I don't have a prepared speech.” he admitted.
The crowd began to whisper a bit, in disbelief of his statement.
“Anyone who knows me, knows it wouldn't be my style,” he said. “I speak from the heart unless cheap whiskey is involved.”
His statement brought laughs and cheers from most of the military branch, while the civilian branch seemed mixed in their reaction.
“Please, I appreciate it, but don't cheer me. I'm just a man. No different than the millions who perished during this war,” Dalton said, hushing the crowd in an instant. “I'm being honest when I say I've worked beneath a variety of men in power. Some that I respected, some that I scratched my head in wondering how they even got into power to begin with,” he added. “What I've learned is that I want, more than anything else, the respect of those who work for me. I plan to do anything I ask someone else to do and lead by example.”
Heavy cheers began to roll in from the crowd, bringing the new commander a moment unlike any he'd ever experienced.
“So with that, let me just say this,” Dalton said, giving the crowd a moment to settle down. “I'm not a commander that believes in delegating my job. You ever have a problem, any of you,” he added, speaking to them with truth. “You come and see me personally.”
The entire group began to erupt with cheering, although his political equals wanted none of it.
“Just because you were Ortega's lapdog, doesn't mean you belong here. Just play your part and stay out of my way.” Doctor Arness whispered as the roar of cheers continued.
As Dalton looked onto the man, fresh-cut hair of solid black and the face of a young buck, Dalton raised his hand to acknowledge the crowd's growing cheer.
Lead by example. Fuck it. Commander James thought.
Moments later, he decked Doctor Arness in front of thousands of eyes which turned cheers into shock. With it, the military began to scuffle with the political – on stage and in front of those who represented the entire fleet.
“In fact,” Dalton said loudly into the microphone. “As you can see, anyone who speaks for his own benefit and not that of the innocent voices of this fleet,” he added. “Really pisses me off.”
Knowing someone would most likely be killed if he didn't, Dalton exited the podium area and began a walk from the ceremony. This time under guard for his own protection.
“Sir, that was one hell of a shot.” one of the marines boasted.
“Think so?” Dalton asked. “I think I knocked two of the son of a bitch's teeth out.”
“He has plenty more.” the marine replied.
“Hated to put you guys in this position son, I just...” Dalton began to explain.
“It's alright sir, several of us heard his words toward you. I've been wanting to deck the bastard for nearly a year now.”
“Either way, it will most-likely cause tension within the fleet.” Dalton admitted.
“Within the ranks of the political parties’ maybe, but not to those who matter. I think that shot to his chin earned you the respect of a lot of civilians, sir.”
“I'm hoping with the military as well. If it comes down to a battle of books and guns, I'd love to know you guys have my back.” Dalton said with a grin.
“Sir, you had that before you decked him. You've proven yourself time and time again on the battlefield.”
At that moment, Dalton James – in this case Commander James, realized that the marine's statement rang true. All of the shit he'd been through as a military grunt; a glorified fetch boy, had finally paid off.
As Commander James entered the ship's CIC for the very first time, its staff stood to their feet, clapping loudly and even whistling. They had heard his speech over the com system, as well as the report of him loosening the teeth of a certain politician. Making him a hero in their eyes.
“Thank you, thank you,” Dalton said with a grin, calming the CIC crowd down a bit. “Now, can someone please walk me through what the hell I'm supposed to be doing exactly?”
His words erupted laughter as most went back to their workstations.
“I can help you with that, if you promise not to slug me?” a well-dressed soldier replied.
“Alright son, you have my word.” Dalton said with a grin.
“Com Officer Paul Anthony, sir,” the man stated. “A privilege to have someone like you leading our CIC.”
Dalton nodded his appreciation to the man, who was clean shaven and not a day over twenty-five years of age. Several medals pinned snugly to his chest.
“Sir, we've mapped out several locations that our fleet may able to survive a journey. I've marked a couple of routes into deep space that our scouts have confirmed may be rich in resources.” the com officer said.
