by Dave Walsh
From the few communications that he had had in the two cycles since arrival, he had heard of “the sickness,” where crippling anxiety had taken hold of a good portion of the population. Living a life inside of confined quarters, stuffed inside of a ship, only to hit land and breathe the open air was simply too much for them. On the faces of the guards, there was a look of unease, either from fear of attack from the Krigans or general anxiety, he wasn’t sure.
This was clearly not what everyone expected of Omega. This was not the life that everyone expected to lead on their new home. Ingen could feel a deep sigh coming on, but he remained silent as they passed through the gates of the great settlement and onto the bustling street. There was a general feeling of chaos about, of disorder. Street vendors selling food, and haggard-looking men, women and children eying the food with lust in their eyes. Guards were standing every few feet, ready to defuse any situation.
The Earth military forces might have been powerful, but the people of the Omega Destiny who were all promised a new beginning were getting a rude awakening on Andlios. Ingen felt his heart break as they wandered the main street and headed toward a sign that said “Communications Array.” They could worry about finding a place to stay later or (if possible) head back to the Krigan caves.
Ingen already knew what Alva would say to that, knowing that it was dangerous to walk the wastelands alone at night. Both Ingen and Alva were, for better or worse, integral parts of the Krigan rebellion force. Tyr might have a difficult time admitting it, but Alva was what kept him going battle after battle. Tyr didn’t speak of Alva’s mother much, but it was very clear to everyone that the resistance existed with Tyr leading the charge, thanks to the strength that Alva granted him.
They entered the Communications Array, pushing past a few downtrodden people sitting around asking for money. They knew better than to bother Helgeans, with everyone quickly learning about Helgeans and their vow of poverty. Ingen slipped into a booth with a holoscanner uplink free and looked up at Alva who was standing guard.
“Just give me a few minutes, all right?”
“Okay, I’ll keep a look-out.”
“Thanks,” he said as he pulled out his holoscanner, fumbling with the controls. Before they left, he had modified his signal code, hoping that they had yet to change the range for these and that he’d be able to link up without alerting anyone. It was risky, though, but if things went wrong, he could always feign ignorance and claim that he acquired the holoscanner from a man who offered it to him in exchange for a meal.
Professor Cox remained a free man, albeit under tight scrutiny by the Earth forces. Admiral Navarro learned of Cox’s place in the conspiracy against the Ministry, which was what they had labeled the attempted blackmail against Levine and the Ministry as a whole. There was too little time to formally charge Professor Cox, and he had a good enough standing with the Ministry for them to let him remain free and unaffected. It only helped to bolster Cox’s conviction to hack through Ministry systems and relay intel down to Ingen on the surface.
Ingen plugged his holoscanner into the link, the tiny booth illuminating itself through the projection from the small machine. He entered the access code to link with Professor Cox and waited. The Omega Destiny was directly overhead, with their time aligning with this settlement for now, which meant that it was late afternoon aboard, and Professor Cox should be in his office.
An error code flashed on the screen. Ingen cursed under his breath before entering the code again. There was no way that Professor Cox had a new access code; he had always been so stuck in his ways. A blinking red error message appeared again. Ingen smashed his fist into the console, pulling the holoscanner from the link before flipping it over and blowing on it a few times.
“Damned thing,” he muttered.
“Ingen,” Alva called through the curtain.
“Just hold on,” he said under his breath. “I think it just had something obscuring the link.”
“Ingen.”
“I said hold on,” he blurted out, looking up to see two armed guards standing before them, guns pointed directly at them. “I guess not, though. Greetings, Earthers. We are but humble Helgean monks --”
“Using a stolen holoscanner access code to try to access a key figure on the Omega? Right.”
“You see, this is all just a misunderstanding. We are but humble servants of the Lords and --”
“Save it,” the guard interrupted. He pulled the holoscanner from Ingen’s hands before grabbing hold of his arm and yanking him out.
“Let’s get these two to the lockup,” the other guard said. He held Alva in his grasp.
They were quickly taken through the main street into one of the monstrosities of a metal building and brought into a back room with a lone metal bench against the wall and a flickering light overhead. Ingen immediately thought back to the holding cells on the Omega and sighed. His past would never let him go, he feared.
It had been two Earth years since Ingen had found himself inside of a Ministry prison cell, yet there he was again. Only this time, he had Alva with him. He knew that he was responsible for the girl’s safety, even if Alva would never admit to it. She was fiercely independent, which Ingen appreciated. In fact, that independence had rubbed off on him during the time that he had been on Andlios and undoubtedly helped him to grow.
Both sat in silence inside of the cell. Alva stared down at her robe, her lips moving, most likely reciting an ancient prayer to herself. Ingen had never delved too deeply into their belief system, considering he himself didn’t believe in much, but he let Alva have this time to herself.
Time dragged on for him, and his mind turned to what would happen if they took his DNA, if they realized who he really was. It would have ramifications for everyone whom he cared for aboard the Omega Destiny, and it could even possibly affect Captain O’Neil.
Ingen felt lower than dirt. He felt that he had come so far since he left, that he had become more patient and more careful, but he was wrong. Things were different, but not as different as he had wished or believed them to be. He was still Jonah Freeman, still making rash decisions that affected the people around him.
They sat for hours in the silence. He mulled over his past, the self-loathing growing by the minute. Then a sound came from the hallway. It was the groaning of the metal door, which was being opened slowly.
“Jonah Freeman,” a familiar voice said from the doorway. “I never thought that I’d see you again.”
014. The Tropes of War
Captain O’Neil
Captain O’Neil’s time was divided, to say the least. He shuffled through files while sitting in the chair in his office, knowing full well that Admiral Navarro was going to be upset with this latest loss on the surface.
Since arriving at Omega, the headaches had only been compounded. Navarro and the Fourth Fleet began hostilities before the Omega Destiny had even entered the planetary system. Now everyone aboard the ship was culpable for their actions and living in the nightmarish aftermath of them.
The latest report from the ground flashed across his screen. O’Neil pulled it up and let out an audible sigh. The Krigans had not only defeated Captain Slattery’s ground forces, but they had also killed Slattery. Slattery was Navarro’s right-hand man, the second-in-command of the Fourth Fleet. Slattery made a bold proclamation after his trusted adviser, Jensen, was slaughtered with his head placed on a pike by the entrance to city of Speera, which was their first real settlement on the planet that the locals had called Andlios, that they were now calling Omega.
Slattery’s assault had seemed like a bad idea; it was reactionary, based on his ego and getting revenge. The Krigans had the upper hand in the battle from the very beginning. The idea of laying siege to their network of underground tunnels with shock troops seemed like a bad idea to O’Neil, but Navarro had smiled a sly smile and shouted that there would be Krigan blood lining the walls of those caves before Slattery was through with them. They had thought that
Slattery might even wipe them out, although no one really knew how many Krigans there were.
O’Neil simply nodded and thought to himself how foolish it seemed. There had been teams of shock troops sent into the compound before, and none of them had returned. No scans had been able to get a good handle on how vast the network of caves really was or how many could be housed there. But Slattery was ready to take on the world.
O'Neil thumbed forward a few pages in the report, skimming in disbelief.
The reports read like the Krigans were well aware not only of the attack but of the formations that they’d take, the tactics that they’d use and where to find Slattery himself in the foray. Slattery was targeted almost immediately: He took a pulseaxe shot to the neck, which dislodged his head from his body. It was poetic, in a way, because they removed the head of the attack, leaving everything in disarray. The reports detailed the Krigan leader’s power, unrelenting will and pride.
“So you’ve heard.” Navarro’s voice came from behind him, cold and distant.
“Yes, I’m reading right now, Admiral,” O’Neil replied as he shifted to stand up and salute him, only for Navarro to wave him down.
“Fuck formality,” Navarro snapped, pacing in front of O’Neil while gently gnawing on his thumbnail. “They killed James! They fucking killed Slattery! Fucking savages.”
“I know, sir.” O’Neil tried to stay formal, motioning back toward the screen. “The attack did seem to be ill-advised, though. A frontal assault on the Krigan stronghold without further intel --”
“Ill-advised! Bah,” he said. “Slattery is dead, and that's all that you can say?”
“No offense meant, sir,” he said before clearing his throat. “It’s just not the move that I would have made. They were expecting the assault.”
“Why didn’t you oppose it during the war council meeting then?”
“It wasn’t my place, sir, to question Captain Slattery when he had your full support.”
“So we didn’t have enough intel. Maybe there was too much hubris and anger going into the fight.”
“I tend to agree with that, sir,” O’Neil replied. He stood up, straightening out his uniform. “We know that their cave systems reach out almost as far as Speera, but we have no real knowledge about what their movements could be and what they're planning, while it seems that they have intimate knowledge of our war machine.”
“Why is that?” he asked as he looked at O’Neil, although it felt like he was looking right through him. “Do they have a man on the inside?”
“Well,” O’Neil said. “It’s possible that someone from Speera was recruited and might be in contact with someone here aboard the Omega Destiny, but it’s hard to really keep track of everyone in the city thus far. It’s a mess down there in Speera, sir.”
“Ah, yes,” Navarro said. “That’s what I’m here to talk to you about, O’Neil. While we have no real doubts of your strategic knowledge, we feel that you might be better served among the people in Speera. We need an administrator there, and who better than the heroic Captain Peter O’Neil of the Starship Omega?”
“I thought that we were looking into appointing a Ministry official to Speera? To steer clear of having it under direct military control?” This was what he had been fearing all along. Not only that he didn’t want the post, but that the military’s power would continue to grow on Omega.
“That's still the plan -- don’t worry, O’Neil,” he said as he waved his hand in the air dismissively. “But for right now, Speera needs to be the staging ground for our assault on the Krigans, and it needs to be defended. Right now, there are defenses, but how easily could a Krigan just walk into the city?
“With you overseeing things, it will add both a sense of gravity and show how important Speera is to those living there. They know your...” He paused, shaking his head, before looking back at O’Neil and smiling. “Humanitarian stances, so they won’t think too poorly of this assignment.
“You see,” he began as he grabbed O’Neil by both shoulders, roughly massaging them and intensely staring into his eyes. “We need you, O’Neil. The people need you. You are much more than just a starship captain. You are Peter O’Neil -- you led them to Omega.”
“I guess so, sir,” he said, trying to obscure the disappointment in the tone of his voice. “If you believe that this is what’s best, I’ll gladly take the assignment.”
“I knew that you would,” he said as he wagged his finger at O’Neil, smiling. “We are going to need you to be tough but fair down there. Due to fears of some sort of mole, we are restricting communication channels from the planet to the fleet and vice versa. For now, only certified channels and those with access to public, monitored channels at the CommArrays will be able to get through. I’m sorry to throw you right into this, but it’s the right move for right now, and you are the right man for the job.”
“I understand, Admiral.”
“Good. I knew that you would.” He paused, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small metal disc. “Although we’ll need you to take one of these,” he added as he tossed it at O’Neil, who barely caught it.
“What is this?” He held it in his hand, staring down at it.
“It’s a Transporter Module, see?” He pointed to one on his jacket’s lapel. “We are going to need you for matters of the war as well as matters on the ground, so you having the ability to move back and forth quickly is an absolute necessity. We’ll make more of these available to your most trusted advisers as well, of course.”
“You know,” O’Neil laughed. “I’ve never been quite comfortable with the idea of having my particles broken down, rearranged, then beamed into place and re-assembled.”
“You get used to it.” Navarro’s response was rigid. “Well, I leave you to it. We expect you in Speera at 08:00 hours.” Then, in the blink of an eye, he dematerialized before the captain’s eyes and was gone.
O’Neil let out a loud sigh; it felt like the life was escaping through his mouth. He clasped his hand around the Transporter Module, feeling its cold metal against his palm. Retirement was always his endgame, but it looked like he would just have to keep waiting. He was no closer to being done than he was when they first encountered the Fourth Fleet.
As much as he didn’t want to do it, he knew that he could rely on Dumas to come with him to Speera. He had already been down to the surface multiple times, and there really wasn’t much left for them to do aboard the ship. Plus, if he looked on the bright side, he didn’t have to deal with Jeanette and their very messy, very private divorce that had eaten up much of his time of late.
* * *
Omega had its own distinct scent to it. It was almost like sulfur but not quite as strong. It hit O’Neil hard after he finished transporting to his new office in the Speera Tower. He considered that it might be from the transportation process, but he knew well enough that he just disliked the process of transporting like that.
The office was cold metal, much like most of the ship. Mostly likely because it was from the ship, he supposed, but in contrast, he could see a landscape outside of the window.
The planet had definitely seen its share of problems in the past few thousand years, and the wastelands to the west were indeed depressing to look at, but his window faced south, toward the mountains. He chuckled to himself. Finally getting a view of mountains, trees, streams and something tangible seemed odd to him after all of those years -- a lifetime -- aboard the Omega Destiny.
Omega, or Andlios as the locals called it, was a beautiful planet if you looked at the parts that remained relatively untouched. It was made up of two major continents and large oceans that covered most of the planet. The continent that they were located on was home to what was left of the Krigan Empire and the Helgeans. The Krigans kept mostly to the shores, with only Krigar, their capital, remaining inland. There were smaller populations spread throughout, but much of the continent was a mess from their wars.
The other continent was home
to the mysterious Cydonians, which the locals had called Cymages. O’Neil himself had only seen a handful of Cydonians since they first made contact with Omega. They were a strange and secretive race, and it was clear that they were the more advanced people on the planet. They had made a pact with the Fourth Fleet to avoid hostilities and to remain out of each other’s business, but the prevailing thought was always that eventually the transplants from Earth would spread out into their territory, and there would have to be swift action against them.
The planet itself -- at least the parts that weren’t destroyed -- was breathtaking, filled with mountains, trees and large expanses of grasslands. What wildlife they saw was different than what Earth had, but not vastly different. The large predators had been wiped out thousands of years before, leaving mostly smaller animals and the ecosystems adjusting to this new way of life.
This assignment wouldn’t be easy, but it also gave him a chance to spend more time planetside, to get a taste for what life was like outside of the great hulking mass that was the Omega Destiny. Omega was to be their home, after all, so O’Neil might as well get better acquainted with how life on the planet worked.
He stepped out of his office, still trying to get over that strange tingling sensation that lingered after being transported through time and space, only to see a vid crew setting up equipment outside of his office, near the balcony that overlooked the common area of Speera.
“What is this?” he asked, fearing the answer.
“Sir,” one of them replied, nodding nervously. “We were told that, um, that you would be making a speech to everyone in Speera.”
“I wasn’t told about this,” O’Neil said as he shook his head.
“Well, um,” the man said as he looked around nervously. “We had orders from Admiral Navarro and --”
