When the Stars Fade (The Gray Wars)

by Korenman, Adam

  For a week after his arrival at the Cove, Cameron had plead with Fleet officers to reinstate his flight status. A few days later, the nightmares began. It was the same every time. He would come to in the blue void, trapped inside his ship. Alarms would sound as each system went offline, until finally the air snuffed out. Suffocating, he would scream and pound the glass. That’s usually when he would bolt awake.

  On bad days, the shakes would last long after breakfast. This was definitely a bad day.

  “You should talk to the shrink.”

  Cameron jerked away from his daydream, momentarily lost. He looked around the small room, catching his reflection in the wall of mirrors by the door. Thick mats covered the floor and the smell of sweat and disinfectant filled the air. He looked to his right and saw Kaileen staring at him, worry-lines marring her face.

  “Sorry,”he said.“Was I out there again?”

  She nodded.“You should talk to Dr. Chong. She’s not bad with this sort of thing.”

  “I’m fine. I just need to work some things out.”

  Kaileen stretched, her shirt pulling up enough so that Cameron could see her navel. His gaze lingered, until the bomber pilot’s palm smacked him at the temple.

  “No perving out, ace.”She smiled, though.“Look, when I first got here, I was kind of a bitch to everyone I met.”

  Cameron cocked his head to the side.“Wait, you were worse?”

  She hit him again.

  Kaileen got to her feet, picking up light weights and starting her lunges.“Dr. Chong told me that humans aren’t supposed to experience this level of stress. It breaks us at a primal level.”She went down to her right knee, wincing.“You’ve been through more than anyone I’ve ever met, Cam. There’s no need to try and pretend it will go away.”

  “Losing George hurt, but he wouldn’t want me to get declared section eight because of him.”

  Kaileen paused her workout, letting out a long breath.“It’s not George. I can see you’re mourning, but at least in a healthy way. I’m talking about the days you spent inside the void.”

  “It was only ten hours,”Cameron said.

  “Not for the rest of the world. Do you ever think about that? You travelled through time, although not very far.”She set down her weights, placing her fingertips on his arm.“Cameron, like it or not, you’ve become something of a friend to me. I’m not very likeable, so I appreciate that.”

  “No problem.”

  “But that also means that I care about you. I don’t want this PTSD thing to ruin your career. I don’t want to see you hurt anymore.”

  Cameron lowered his eyes, breathing out slowly through his nostrils. He looked back at Kaileen, admiring her. She seemed so different from the angry pilot he’d found a month before.“You care about me?”

  “Don’t make a big deal out of it, flyboy.”

  Cameron laughed, and was surprised at good it felt. Has it really been that long since I’ve been happy?“I’ll talk to the doc.”Kaileen smiled at that.“But only if you’ll come with me.”

  “I will,”Kaileen said.“Now stop jabbering, ace. You’re looking a little flabby.”

  * * * * *

  The holiday season brought new and unwelcome guests at Irwin Cove. Against all protests, alien ships had begun to dock for repairs. Groups of Nangolani pilots and soldiers wandered the halls of the station and lounged in the recreational areas. The issue of how to fix unknown technology notwithstanding, many Terrans had begun to take the position that the only good alien was a dead one. The gray-skinned creatures had brought nothing but pain and destruction, and their silent party line had run through its welcome very quickly. As far as the men and woman of the Cove were concerned, they weren’t worth the effort. A few fistfights had broken out so far, thankfully without creating a serious political incident.

  It was already the end of the lunch schedule when Cameron managed to work his way down to the dining room. Classes were taking more and more of his time, at least what hours he didn’t spend in the bays with the chief engineers. The physical therapy was over, at least. He’d managed to convince the doctors that he wasn’t going to fall to pieces any time soon. Every week still brought a mandatory briefing session with one agent or another from the FAID, though they’d started to figure out he really had no idea how he’d survived the trip to Blue Space. The head doctors, an army of them each week, were another issue. Even though Commodore Osaka continued to search for a Boxti presence in Eros, the rest of the Squadron seemed to think him nuts. Part of his rehab included almost daily sessions with one shrink or another.

  The air was heavy with the thick scent of beef and gravy. Most of the food served this deep in space was frozen or dehydrated protein mix, but with the right spices it really could come alive. Sadly, Irwin Cove rarely had the right spices and they were still rated the best chow on any military outpost. A few of the higher ranking officers would fly over to Green River every day, picking up some choice civilian meals, but Cameron had yet to receive an invitation. After grabbing his tray, he dumped spoonfuls of meat and vegetables onto his plate and walked to an open table. He’d no more that sat down when two cadets leapt onto the bench opposite him.

  “Lieutenant Davis,”one said. She was young, much younger than he remembered being as a new cadet.“We had a question regarding the Gauss cannons on the Sparrow.”

  He sighed. He never got to just eat anymore.“The Sparrow doesn’t carry the Gauss, remember? Sparrows are song birds, so they carry...”He trailed off, waiting for them to finish the sentence.

  The second cadet, a chunky kid in his last year as a teenager, spoke up.“Tuners.”He looked to his friend, excited to have remembered something important.“They’re actually just standard DaVinci machine guns, but they mount two on each side, so they look like tuning forks.”

  “They jam religiously,”Cameron said, shoving a spoonful of broccoli mush into his mouth.“That’s why a Sparrow pilot who doesn’t maintain their weapons is one who‘can’t carry a tune.’Every time you start your maintenance checks, you need to begin with the guns, then the bird, then the comm equipment. Shoot, move, communicate.”He sipped his glass of water.“What really brought you guys here?”

  The girl blushed.“We’re nervous about tomorrow.”

  “First flight,”he said, remembering the moment he’d sat down in the command seat as a young cadet.“You know there will be an instructor literally a foot behind you. There is almost no way to mess up.”

  Chunk chewed on his tongue. Cameron stared at him until he spoke.“It’s just, I mean, we’ve never been out before.”

  “Of course you have.”Cameron had gone through the same motions with other pilots during his career. Even veterans could get the shakes sometimes.“I assume neither of you are space-born. You at least took a shuttle to get to this station. That means the hard part is over. You’ve done the boring bus ride. Now it’s time to really get into the hot seat.”

  The girl pulled on a lock of her red hair.“But we’ll be in such a small ship. If something goes wrong...”

  “Then you die.”There was no reason in beating around the bush. Fleet fighters had to decide early on whether or not they were cut out for being in a spacecraft. Cameron could tell he’d struck a chord.“Big bad Murphy has a mean streak with regards to pilots.”

  “Murphy?”Chunk asked.

  “Murphy’s Law,”Cameron said.“Anything that can go wrong will, and at the worst possible moment. Guns will jam with the enemy in your sights, control jets will fire off during a risky carrier landing, and gremlins will find their way into every single electronic toy inside the cockpit. You get in a fighter, it’s a suicide pact, just one you hope to walk away from. But without the nerve to risk it there isn’t a point in even getting behind the stick.”

  Chunk looked close to tears. Cameron couldn’t help but feel bad for these kids. They didn’t have anyone to turn to, no friend with years of experience. He’d been in their shoes not too long before, but he’d had an ac
e in the hole. An irascible vet with a knack for finding trouble. And he’d had a best friend. He couldn’t imagine what it would have been like going it alone through the academy.

  “Look,”Cameron said.“Think of this as your last trial run. If you get out there and it’s not the best feeling you’ve ever imagined, then I won’t make you go again. We’ll find you a branch that will suit your talents and you can make your career somewhere else. This doesn’t have to be your only choice. If you still love the birds then become engineers. Or maybe you need to work the logistical side.”He looked down at his food. It was already congealing.“Listen, I’ve been where you are. And my first flight was over Earth, the dirtiest skies in the whole universe. You guys get an easy little skip around a station in the middle of nowhere. I’d be surprised if the canopy gets smudged while we’re out here. And you’re not flying songbirds.”That seemed to cheer them up some.“Come early to the locker room tomorrow. I’ll take you guys to the flight deck and you can talk to the Chief some more. He can show you every little thing on the Phoenix that keeps it flying. You know why they call it the Phoenix?”They shook their heads.“Because no matter how many ways it seems to blow up, you still come out alive on the other end.”

  “Thanks, LT.”The girl stood, pulling her fellow cadet up by the arm and walking quickly away from the table. Cameron felt a little sad, having to lie to the kids. Truth was, the flight was a washout special, something to show the staff who had the stomach for taking control of a flying deathtrap and who didn’t. And the Phoenix hadn’t been named for its mythical durability. The first iteration of the Phoenix had been a spectacular failure, almost ridden right out of the Fleet. But after an amazing crash demonstrated the potential for it becoming a superiority-fighter, the program regained new support. Rising from the ashes, the project had been renamed Phoenix and the fighter constructed. But he’d let them have their fairy tales. Those helped.

  He picked up his tray and headed toward the trash line. There was still plenty left to do in the day. Eating would just have to take a backseat for now. His phone buzzed. Cameron pulled out the small device, reading the text message displayed on the screen. It was a note from Kaileen asking him to meet her near the arms room. He smiled as he dumped his food into the compactor and pocketed the comm device, walking off to meet his friend. He made a mental note to stop by the chapel later that night for a late mass and confession.

  Cameron intended on getting some sinning done.

  - V -

  Eruk knelt inside his quarters, face pressed against the cold, grated floor. He whispered to himself and closed his eyes tight. Each passage of prayer invigorated him. He knew he was a vessel of the King, born and bred to fight for the Great Conquest. Though he knew he was guilty of pride, at least chief among his sins, he felt himself worthy of the title Warlord. He never asked for movement toward a greater station, to become one of the holy warriors of the Hund Anai.

  His naked flesh pulsated with the movement of the Druuma. It responded to his prayers, releasing chemicals that eased the pain of the transformation. As a Cthanul, he’d never been particularly partial to his body. It had merely been an extension of his mind, a tool to be used for a single purpose. Throughout his long, uneventful life, Eruk had considered his journey toward death a pointless toil. To die in a way worthy of earning a totem on the glass fields of Khatan was the only wish of his people. With the arrival of the Boxti, he found his purpose. As one of the first converts to the new order, he had been awarded a position in the reclamation army, taking the fight to his own people in service of a new master. He’d felt nothing then, cutting down his own species. It had been his zealous approach to war that had earned him the right to bond with the Druuma.

  He remembered the ritual in detail. It had been seared into his memory by the most intense pain he had ever experienced. The Parasite was not a small creature, even at the young larval stage. The fist-sized wriggling mass of tendrils and teeth had been placed, ever so gently, onto a small cut on his back. Almost immediately, the creature had burrowed inside, nesting near his spinal column and latching on. It pumped chemicals into his body, enzymes that catalyzed a slow and excruciating metamorphosis within. Eruk’s limbs swelled and stretched, his fingers grew long and sharp. Even his face took on a more gaunt and haunting appearance. The Boxti priest had told him then that he was no longer a simple Cthanul, but was Xoktan Cthanulor“Improvement on the Cthanul.”The elder Cleric had been a pureblood, one of the native Boxti from the Homeworld. It was the only time Eruk had met a member of the master race.

  That was his first lesson about the Horde. Their home planet, Boxt, existed in a crevice between seven rival stars. Its very existence seemed to defy nature. Only a short distance away, the massive black hole of the Galactic Core beckoned. The Clerics said it was why their people grew up with a fascination for death and destruction. To live so close to the end of all things, too see into the abyss, had a lasting effect. Although a variety of life developed in this antithesis of creation, only two sentient forms emerged, separated on two broken planets: The Boxti, and the Druuma. They were cosmic neighbors, but were unaware of each other’s existence. Segregated from the rest of the universe for millennia, until chance found them a ride to a new home. Their symbiotic relationship was evident by the names they gave themselves. In the tongue of the Horde, Druuma meant“Parasite,”and Boxti meant“Host.”

  The Boxti language proved easier to learn, with the Druuma serving as both teacher and companion. It enhanced Eruk’s mental faculties, even if only to better serve its purpose. Other members of his clan received Parasites of their own. But these unions were not symbiotic. The Druuma completely took over his brethren, turning them to myuk, or empty vessels. Myuk made up the majority of the Horde’s army, cannon fodder for the fighting to come. The leadership were entirely comprised of Ruall, the“joined.”Each of the Blood Guards, Legionnaires and Warlords had bonded with a Druuma to better serve the Great King.

  He finished his prayers by striking his chest with each arm, his fists hitting hard enough to rattle his jaw. Eruk rose and dressed. The Druuma had enjoyed the session and would give him a peaceful day, at least he hoped. It seemed that the long wait in the Drova Wastes had wracked its nerves as well. Not that the Parasite would ever speak ill of the Clerics’word, but Eruk could sense it. They shared a common mind.

  The Warlord left his quarters and walked down the black metal halls, boots clanging with each step. He used his longer lower arms to move forward faster, his knuckles acting as extra feet along the way. Soldiers passed by, mainly myuk of one brood or another, or simple slaves. As Eruk shouldered by a fellow Cthanul, the creature bowed its head respectfully.

  “Honor of the Horde,”it said.

  Eruk nodded.“The King’s will be done.”He continued toward the bridge. Something stirred in his gut, a feeling that persisted as he entered the dimly lit room and greeted his crew with bone-chilling stares. Today was different. Perhaps the Druuma sensed it as well, for it started to churn.

  Soon, Eruk thought, we shall officially greet the new thralls of the Horde.

  - VI -

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”

  A glass flew across the room and exploded next to a large flat screen TV. Images of New York City, narrated by a news anchor for one of the local channels, sent a blue glow around the room. The Galactic Media Tower stood forefront in the picture, and enormous banners were unfurling down the sides of the buildings. The blue cloth bore a white circle in the center, and a red fist punching outward. Alexander, sitting on his bed, groaned.

  Jerry winced. It had been like this for the last few weeks. Alexander’s mood had turned darker and darker as the siege in New York deteriorated to almost asinine levels. The crowd of supporters had grown steadily at first, pushing the military blockade further and further back lest they accidentally injure a bystander. Now, only two months after the attack, the Red Hammer was being hailed as slandered warriors seeking atonement. Jonah ha
d somehow convinced the entirety of the Americas to side with the rebels of Mars. It was ten years too late to help the red planet, but it could have a profound impact on the big blue.

  Alexander had made a dozen press conferences, each one more sternly demonizing the terrorist and war criminal known as Jonah Blightman. The rebel leader, for his part, hadn’t made a single public appearance, allowing the puppet Kent to speak for the group. The anchor had lost his nervous tics after only a few days. Now it looked like he enjoyed running his own show, even if it was just baseless propaganda. The hostages had almost all been released, but there was no way to bring in ground troops to try and seize the tower. The ring of human shields grew larger every day. Already it pushed the general’s line back nearly six blocks. What was worse, Red Hammer had allowed those who wished to stay, or even come into the building, courteous passage. Business at GMT had resumed once the damaged floors had been cleared. To most of Earth, the incident was over. There were more pressing issues to worry over, such as which celebrity scandal would ruin a career this year. Even the Boxti had fallen to the back burner, given their absence after the burning of Tallus. Admiral Walker and Commodore Osaka were constantly fighting over whether or not to redeploy Seventh Fleet back to Earth.

  The High Chancellor sat in his room, still wearing his robe from waking an hour before. His face wasn’t yet shaven, and gray stubble covered his cheeks. He’d lost weight, which would have been considered something to celebrate only months before. Now Jerry just worried his friend was losing his grip. Staffers and advisors crowded the space, all trying very hard not to be noticed. Adeline hung back by the Chief of Staff, her vibrant green eyes wide in alarm.