“Nothing,” Griffon barked suddenly, his almost-gentle demeanor from moments before gone. He pointed at his doorway. “Squad assignments are coming in tonight. You will be with your buddy Morales, and he’ll be your squad leader more than likely. I don’t know what ship you’re going to be assigned to, but I can guarantee you’re going to be the tip of the spear as soon as possible.”
“We’re striking back,” Gabriel breathed, his heart racing as he thought of finally getting some semblance of revenge for Sophie. A red haze drifted over his mind as he thought of his long-sought revenge, tasting the sweet nectar of his anger. “Finally.”
“In the meantime, maggot, get out of my office,” Griffon snarled and turned his back to the recruit. Gabriel snapped to attention.
“Yes sir,” he replied and turned on his heel. He walked quickly out of the training sergeant’s office and was soon walking down the long hall towards his barracks, where the thirty other remaining recruits were busy cleaning. Every last one looked up as he entered. Their eyes widened as they saw his grin, a maniacal smile which sent chills down their spines.
“Omelet, what is it?” Esau asked as he approached.
“We’re going to war,” he whispered savagely to his friend. “We’re going to kill us some blue-skinned freaks and there’s nothing in this universe that will stop us.”
“About damned time.”
#
“Assignments are as follow,” Griffon stated as he read from the large datapad in his hand. He scowled as he looked at the Imperfects gathered around him, seated on the cold tile floor. “Smith, Moretti, Singh, Chang, Vincento brothers, you’re being tasked to Dominion Vessel Morning Star, part of the Third Fleet. You will be under the command of Company Commander Jefferson. You understand these orders as I have read them to you?” Seeing their nods, he continued, “Omelet, Morales, Beeker, Twist, Fortier and...Wigen. You have been assigned to DV Eye of Solomon, part of the Fifth Fleet. There you will be under the command of Company Commander Malensek. Do you understand these orders as I have read them to you?”
“Yes sir!” Gabriel called out, along with the others. Joshua, warily looking from Esau to Gabriel, raised his hand tentatively into the air. Not his broken one, Gabriel noticed. Griffon looked at him for a moment before consulting his datapad.
“Yes, I read that correctly, Recruit Wigen,” Griffon deadpanned. Joshua’s face paled. “However, the squad leader will be Recruit Morales. I’m certain if you have any problems with...anyone, Morales can assist you.”
“Uh, thank you...sir,” Joshua muttered, rubbing the cast which encased his shattered hand. Gabriel looked at the other man stoically, his mind focused more on the upcoming transfer to the Eye of Solomon.
“Word has it the Fifth will be heading out into the fringe worlds within the week,” Griffon stated calmly. Gabriel perked up at this bit of information. “No other information is currently available at this time.”
Griffon continued to drone onwards, reading the assignments of the remaining Wraiths. Gabriel, however, heard none of it, his mind focused solely on the fact the Eye of Solomon would be heading out into the fringe worlds. The fringe worlds that consisted of quite a few newly-settled planets, including Ptolemy. Where Sophie was. Where he needed to be.
Everything comes down to finding her, Gabriel thought as he stared blankly through the training sergeant. When we get there, I’ll find her and save her.
Somehow.
Chapter Nine
“These quarters suck,” Esau complained as he pushed past Gabriel and threw his bag up onto the top bunk. Gabriel nodded and took the bunk below, leaving Joshua and Beeker to fight over who got stuck on which bottom two racks. The upper bunks on the other side had already been secured by Twist and Markus, who had claimed seniority. Gabriel still was not quite convinced which of the new Wraiths might possibly have “seniority”, but he had no room to complain. He had simply glared at Joshua when the taller man had tried to put his bags on the middle bunk beneath Esau. The look had been more than enough to chase Joshua away. The Avalonian was off somewhere, still terrified of the massive young man from Belleza Sutil.
“At least we have sheets and not blankets,” Gabriel reminded his friend as he lifted the top of his rack and began to organize his clothing beneath it. “This ship gets hot, apparently. I wonder if they’re unable to circulate enough cool air.”
“Yeah, isn’t this space?” Twist asked as he shifted his lithe body around on his bunk. The thin, pale man looked at the others in the lance with confusion in his clear blue eyes. “Space is cold, right?”
“No idea,” Gabriel answered as he looked at Twist. “Something about the metals of the hull trapping in the heat. The coolers cycle the air to cool it so we don’t die, but that doesn’t make it any more pleasant. Transference of energy or something, I forget. But no, space isn’t really ‘cold’ so much as our ship is just that hot.”
Since Gabriel had been assigned to Esau’s squad, the rest had started making it a habit to turn to him whenever there was a question to be answered. It was rare for any Imperfect to have any semblance of organized education, much less a university degree. It was surprising to find an Imperfect who could even master the art of reading. While Gabriel’s degree was not in any field of hard science, they had been an admittedly small part of his past curriculum, so he answered the technical questions of the others as best as he could.
“Well that sucks,” Twist muttered sourly as he turned onto his back. He folded his hands behind his head. “We didn’t have this problem on Ibliss.”
“That’s because there’s this little thing called ‘atmosphere’ on your planet, nitwit,” Beeker grunted sarcastically as he elbowed Joshua out of his way and took the bottom bunk beneath Esau and Gabriel. The Zulu was nearly insufferable, and Gabriel was uncertain as to how long it would be before he and the man would begin to butt heads.
“I know that, doos,” Twist grunted as he sat up in his bunk. He eyed the dark-skinned man. “At least my planet has an atmosphere still.”
“Not after the Abassi get done with it you won’t,” Beeker reminded him, ignoring the insult momentarily. “And at least I know who my father is, Boer. My blood is pure. My bloodline traces back to Shaka himself.”
“Whatever,” Twist sighed as he lay back down in his bunk. “The Zulus were wiped out a long time ago, stupid doos. Not likely you have any of their blood in your veins. You’re as related to Shaka Zulu as I am. Just another filthy doos.”
“I’ll kill you, Boer, if you say something like that again,” Beeker grumbled in a dangerous voice. Gabriel pushed Beeker back onto his bunk.
“Stow it, you racist bastard,” Gabriel ordered the muscular Zulu. He shot a look back at Twist. “You’re not helping matters.”
“So?” Twist muttered under his breath, low enough so Gabriel could pretend he hadn’t heard. He looked back at Beeker.
“You going to be a problem?” Gabriel asked quietly, his eyes boring into Beeker’s. “I fix problems, remember? Do you want to be another problem I get to fix?”
Beeker’s face turned an ashy gray as the blood drained from it. He looked away, nervous, as Gabriel stepped away from the bunk. It took almost a full minute for the man from Anvil to voice a proper response.
“No problems,” Beeker answered, his tone choked. He, like everyone else at MITC, remembered what Gabriel had done to Joshua and his cronies. Gabriel waited a moment longer before nodding. He glanced up at Esau, who was grinning from ear to ear at him. Gabriel raised his eyebrow questioningly. The squad leader raised a hand and chuckled softly.
“Just enjoying the ambience of the room,” Esau said as he leaned back on his bunk. He closed his eyes. “It’s quite lovely.”
“Hey Twist,” Gabriel asked as he looked back at the Boer from Ibliss. “What’s a doos?”
“Think dirty,” Twist replied with a shrug. “Then think your mother. It’s what they call Imperfects on my world.”
“Oh.”
/>
“I’m going to check out the mess area,” Markus announced suddenly, closing the door to his slim locker. He looked around at the others, his dark eyes excited. “Gabe, want to come?”
Gabriel thought about it for a moment before he nodded. “Sure.”
“There’s got to be more to this ship than small quarters for Wraiths and the launch bay,” Markus added for the benefit of the others. He looked at Esau and Twist before he asked “You guys coming too?”
“Nope, I’ve got some sleep to catch up on,” Esau said from the top bunk. “We’re scheduled to drop on Ibliss in about a week. If I were you, I’d get all the sleep I could. Once we get there, I doubt we’re going to get any rest at all.”
“Sleep is for the weak,” Markus said glibly. Gabriel smirked.
“And weakness is for pussies, and pussies aren’t Wraiths!” the rest of the squad chorused, reciting Sergeant Griffon’s favorite quote at the top of their lungs. A few personnel out in the corridor turned and looked at the small berthing area as they walked past, the noise echoing through the metallic hall. Esau chuckled softly.
“All right then, I’ll come too,” Esau grinned as he pulled himself down. His booted feet hit the solid metal deck with a solid thud! “Besides, someone has to keep you morons out of trouble.”
“Si jefe, si,” Gabriel bowed mockingly to his friend. Esau rewarded him with a solid fist to the shoulder. Gabriel rubbed his arm where Esau had punched him and winced. “Ow boss, I promise to behave. Don’t beat me no more, boss.”
“Pendejo,” Esau mumbled as he and Gabriel followed Markus out of their quarters and into the passageway, where Imperfects from the other four lances assigned to the Eye of Solomon milled about.
Gabriel pushed his way through the crowd, earning more than his fair share of dirty looks as he struggled to lead the way forward. Most of their fellow Wraiths, assigned to the nearby berthing bays, were simply trying to reach their bunks before the Eye of Solomon skipped through the Jericho Gate. They were tired, experienced men who had a haunted look in their eyes. Gabriel nodded to a few respectfully and the level of hostility dropped considerably.
These are men who have been at war for at least five years, Gabriel thought as he slid against the bulkhead. Esau followed him as they both tried to keep up with Markus, who seemed to have a knack for moving through crowds. These Imperfects have retaken New Israel, defended the borders at both Battles of Anvil, and have never had a break. It’s no wonder they resent us; we have yet to be in a real battle. They’ve seen death; we’ve only been teased with a glimpse of it.
Gabriel moved aside as a grizzled Imperfect, his face a mass of scars and age, pushed past them. The singular eye of the older vet locked onto Gabriel’s for the briefest of moments. The other Imperfect gave him a slight, almost imperceptible nod as he moved on.
Sophie was right, he thought as he continued forward, trying to keep up with Markus as Esau trailed right behind him. The only thing stopping Imperfects like me from being worth anything are the laws. We have respect and honor for ourselves, though nobody would know it listening to Sergeant Griffon.
“What time’s chow?” Markus asked as they passed the last of the Wraiths assigned to the Eye of Solomon. The long passageway led to the main parts of the ship, which included the mess hall where the Wraiths had their meals with the Navy enlisted. Gabriel wasn’t sure that was a good idea, given the natural rivalries which existed between the two respective branches. He was in no position to argue with the command decisions of the captain of the ship, though.
“Sixteen hundred,” Esau replied calmly as they moved forward, following yellow lines on the bulkheads. “We’ve got about half an hour or so.”
“Man, I’m starving,” the dark-skinned man from Avalon grumbled, his dark eyes scanning the length of the passage. He frowned as he spotted a group of Navy personnel walking down the hallway. “Trouble.”
“Huh?” Gabriel grunted before he spotted the group as well. He glanced at the others warily. “Remember, don’t start anything. We’re Wraiths. We don’t want any trouble with the guys who are giving us a ride.”
“Says the guy who permanently disabled three recruits at MITC,” Esau muttered as the approaching sailors slowed down as they spotted the Wraiths looking at them.
“Aw, fuck me,” Markus muttered as the sailors blocked their paths.
“Well, what do we have here? A couple of fuckups. Welcome aboard our ship, fuckups,” the leader of the small group said, a vicious smile upon his face. “You’re blocking our way.”
“Sorry,” Esau said and moved to the left to open a path. The sailors simply stood still.
“Still in our way,” he grunted. Esau pressed himself up against the bulkhead, but the sailor shook his head. “Worthless Imperfect. I should have you flogged for disrespecting your better.”
“Look, he’s out of the way. We all are. Just let us through, please,” Gabriel said, exasperated. The muscular sailor shifted his gaze from Esau to Gabriel.
“Oh, really? Who do you think you are, talking to me, fuckup?” the sailor pushed Gabriel back – or tried to, at least. Like many, he was unprepared for the pure strength of a born and bred Sutillian. His attempt merely made him look foolish, which in turn made him angry. “Think you’re bad, huh? Tough guy?”
“I’m just trying to get to the chow hall,” Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t want any problems.”
“Mess deck, you retard. Stay out of my way,” the sailor growled. Gabriel nodded in ascent and moved aside. The sailor sniffed and began to walk past, muttering under his breath. “Worthless. Glad you fuckups can’t breed. Talk about a taint.”
“Typical Navy. Talk a lot of shit, then back off when faced with someone who might hit back,” Markus stated suddenly. The Navy men stopped and stared at the diminutive Wraith.
“What did you say, boy?”
Oh damn it, Gabriel thought as he realized Markus had seriously pissed off the sailors.
The sailor stopped when his nose was inches away from Markus’. He pushed the Wraith back with his chest.
“I asked you a question, boy,” the sailor snarled.
“I said, talk shit much?” Markus fired back. “Coward.”
The sailor spit on Markus’ Wraith patch and sneered.
“Pussy Wraiths, thinking you’re so bad when all–” the sailor’s speech cut off when Gabriel fist connected solidly with his jaw.
The entire hallway was dead silent as the sailor dropped to one knee, blood trickling from a cut on his lip. Sailors and Wraiths alike stood in shock as Gabriel loomed over the man, fists balled.
Gabriel tensed every muscle in his body and prepared himself.
“Fight!” someone screamed, and bedlam erupted.
Someone drove Gabriel into bulkhead with surprising force, his head slamming against the steel wall. Bright light flashed as his head was smashed again, then he felt his attacker pulled off. Gabriel turned and swung blindly, his vision swimming. He felt his fist drive into flesh and hoped he had hit the right man.
Another sailor grabbed Gabriel’s arm and tried to wrench his shoulder. Gabriel twisted and wrapped his hands around his new attacker’s neck. Still spinning, Gabriel threw the man into the bulkhead he himself had been recently introduced to. The sailor’s head smacked the wall and he fell, unconscious. Gabriel moved in swiftly and delivered a few well-aimed kicks to the man’s knee.
Head pounding painfully, he took stock of the scene around him. Esau was being pummeled by two sailors, but it appeared he had gotten a few good shots in by the damage done to their faces. Markus had dropped three men already and was working on a fourth, the antagonist well-built and looking ready for a brawl. A few Wraiths he didn’t recognize were mixing it up with more sailors, and the one who had spit on Markus was beginning to pick himself up off the floor.
“I’ll kill you!” he screamed and ran at Gabriel, his head down as he closed. He tried to tackle Gabriel and drag him down, but was unabl
e to. Gabriel dropped his elbow onto the back of the man’s head. The sailor stumbled and Gabriel used that against him, grabbing the man by the back of his shirt and pulling him up off the deck. Grunting from exertion and a nagging pain in the back of his head, Gabriel turned the sailor around and began to repeatedly punch him in the face. Dazed, the sailor’s head lolled back. Gabriel gave him a shake and slugged him again.
“Enough!” a shrill voice shouted. Whistles pierced the air as the fight was broken up by the ship’s master-at-arms and his men. Gabriel released the sailor and stepped back, hands raised in the air. One of the men, armed with a baton, pressed it against his chest and moved him to the bulkhead. Gabriel didn’t resist and the man didn’t press further, instead simply holding him there.
“Captain on deck!” a sudden cry, and every man braced to attention. A tall, thin man slowly made his way into the center of the mass of Wraiths and sailors until he stopped near Gabriel.
“Who started this?” the captain asked.
“He did, Captain Reukauf,” Gabriel’s opponent spat through bloodied lips. He pointed at Gabriel. “He attacked me.”
“I see,” the captain said, his voice deceptively calm. He glanced around. “Where’s Company Commander Malensek?”
“Here, sir,” the Wraith commander said as he arrived, flanked by three Wraiths. Captain Reukauf frowned.
“It appears your man there attacked one of my men,” the captain stated, directing a nod at Gabriel. “Deal with this.”
The Wraith commander turned and approached Gabriel. “Did you strike a Perfect?” Commander Malensek thundered, his face contorted in rage.
Gabriel swallowed nervously, the realization of what he had done slamming into him with violent force. He had not fought with Navy personnel; He had struck a Perfect. He, an Imperfect, had dared to strike one of his betters. He paled, blood draining from his face. Malensek nodded, the anger dissipating rapidly as he glared at the Wraith. “I’m glad you finally see just why I’m so pissed off right now, Wraith.”
Wraithkin (The Kin Wars Saga Book 1) Page 13
