by Trevor Wyatt
Yes, she was First Officer, but the way she felt about the mission was nowhere compared to how he did. The weight of over three hundred personnel upon the ship wasn’t upon her shoulders but his. If she did something wrong, she could easily report to him. She had no one to report to save himself, especially during the heat of battle. She tried to always be there for him, whenever he needed her…but the burden of command was a solitary one.
“Do you sometimes feel that we don’t get enough time together?” Jeryl whispered to her.
Ashley wasn’t sure why, but his cool, lucid voice aroused her.
“All the time,” she replied, her voice nothing but a faint whisper. “It’s never enough. Even if we had every night for ourselves, it wouldn’t be enough.”
She heard him chuckle, and that made her smile. At least she still could still bring some semblance of happiness to the man who was known across the Terran Union as the Avenger of The Mariner.
The previous night had left her a little sore in so many places, and that was a good thing. She probably wouldn’t be seeing her husband until the end of this mission. From now on, he would just be the Captain. At least now she had something to think about for the duration of this final mission.
She tried one last joke. “You know, Captain, for someone who’s taking his crew to war it should’ve been your responsibility to ensure that I can walk this morning.”
Jeryl cracked up, his chuckle turning into generous laughter, and he grabbed her body tighter in his arm. Ashley felt a resurgence of last night’s desire, and she struggled to keep it together. One thing was sure: if she started kissing Jeryl, they wouldn’t leave this station's quarters for another thirty minutes…and they were scheduled to depart in ten.
“I love you,” he muttered to her, then lay his lips on her forehead.
Ashley retracted herself from his embrace and looked him in the eyes. He was smiling at her with a kindness he had never displayed towards anybody before, at least not in her presence.
And I’m always present, she thought, being his wife and First Officer.
Ashley was smiling too, but deep down she felt a shadow inside of her: they might not make it out of this alive. As she remembered that, her mind’s clouded with a strong sense of pain and anguish.
Tears came to her eyes and she didn’t know what to say. She saw Jeryl’s eyes grow darker, a sadness taking over him, and Ashley realized how deeply he cared for me.
Despite all the tension, the anguish, and the fights…this man loves me. Truly loves me.
“Captain Montgomery and First Officer Gavin to the CNC!” said a voice over the intercom.
They both looked up for the moment the intercom was active.
Without saying anything, Ashley stood up and got dressed, the First Officer uniform becoming her second skin. As she headed for the door, Jeryl caught her before she commanded it open.
“I swear this to you, Ashley, I will do everything within my power to…make sure we come back. Because we will make it out of this. Whatever it takes.”
A smile slipped helplessly onto face. “I’ve always known that, Captain.”
They walked out of the quarters and through the station and boarded the fast shuttle to The Seeker and made their way to the CNC. Every step she took toward the CNC was a step out of the fantasy world she built around her marriage with Jeryl, a safe place away from the cold indifference of an unforgiving universe.
“Captain on deck!” yelled a bulky man standing by the entrance into the CNC. He wielded a rifle and sported the blue and black uniform of ship security. This was one of the several changes that had occurred in the fleet that Ashley had never felt comfortable with. She took her stand by her station, wondering about the frailty of the Terran Armada personnel.
When a ship had to have special security staff to prevent mutinies, the fabric of the military was tearing. This put too much power in the hands of security, even though they reported directly to the Captain. It bred an unsavory and poisonous air of uncertainty and dread.
There were about three dedicated security soldiers in the CNC, all of which were assigned to Jeryl. They were his personal protection detail and this was another point of contention between Ashley and the higher-ups.
Why protect a Captain from his crew? What kind of message did that send? If anything, it was divisive; not exactly what was needed at this pivotal moment in the history of humanity.
They became standard issue on all starships after the encounter at Azukene Colony in which the crew went through a mutiny on the TUS Terror—unheard of at that point on any Armada vessel. The Captain had given orders for ramming speed. The crew didn’t think that the frigate they were in was going to do a damn thing against the Sonali dreadnaught. They refused to throw away their lives. Ashley knew they were unaccustomed to war—it had been the first year.
They murdered the Captain but by then, Sonali fighters had targeted them and taken out their FTL drives. Sonali ships swarmed around them and destroyed them along with the colony. But the automated last log that the ship sent out through slipstream captured those final moments on the CNC of that vessel.
And the Armada began to post security officers to protect their Captains.
Thankfully, Jeryl agreed with her, and he had refused to succumb to the paranoia that took over the entire Armada. Despite that, The Seeker’s security personnel had about twenty highly trained, highly skilled, and terribly equipped men and women who didn’t give a damn.
Ashley tried as much as possible to stay out of their way. They didn’t contribute anything to the culture and operations on The Seeker, so she just tried and let them be. She couldn’t fight Armada regulations, but she sure as hell could do her best to ignore them.
Jeryl took his seat and beamed at his CNC crew with pride. They didn’t notice it because everyone was frantic over their controls checking off last minute details and conducting final scans and ensuring readiness.
Ashley smiled at this and read through some of the reports waiting for her, her eyes going over the information cascading down her tablet screen. She was critical about logistics, because it was her duty to ensure the ship ran smoothly so the Captain could focus on the more important decisions.
After what felt like three seconds (but really was three minutes), the Captain said, “Clear all docking.”
“Aye, captain,” replied Henry Docherty, the navigator. The ship thrummed for a moment and there was a soft jerk as they were released from the station. Gently, they began to put some distance between them and the last safe place they would see for quite some time. Ashley didn’t notice a roar in the engines. The inertia dampers were working well. Too well, she noted.
“First Officer Gavin. Take the ship to high alert,” the Captain said.
“High alert, sir,” Ashley reported right after tapping her fingers across the command panel holographic dashboard. The lights in the CNC and all over the ship took on a slight reddish tint. Defensive screens took over the main view screen with reports of every critical system - weapons, FTL drive, life support…it was all there.
“Set course to Anderson Nebula,” Jeryl said at last, his voice somber. Still, there was a deep solemnity to his words. The kind of solemnity that told her what he was thinking about—and it was not pretty.
She felt a sharp jerk the moment the FTL drive kicked in and flung them into interstellar space.
“How long to The Mariner Nebula?” the Captain asked.
“Three days, Captain,” Docherty replied.
“It should give us enough time to complete whatever repairs are lagging,” the Captain said.
“Aye, Captain,” she replied.
This is it, thought Ashley. No turning back now.
Admiral Flynn
The live slipstream feed projected a full holographic image of Admiral Walker into the center of Flynn’s office. The image was blotchy in some areas and a lot of times it frazzled. The sound, however, was good and crisp.
“Walker,”
Flynn said by way of greeting. Even though he was spearheading the war effort, they had dropped the formalities between each other long ago.
Walker nodded. He was seated on a chair in his office, and that was where the slipstream captured him. The background wasn’t part of the holographic image, and Flynn knew that it was the same for him; Walker was only able to see him standing by his desk, and not his entire office.
“Flynn,” Admiral said in response. “What’s your status?”
Flynn heaved a sigh. He had been thinking about the mission he just sent over four hundred ships on.
What’s my status? Not a good one, that’s for sure.
He had been posing that question over and over again since the captains departed.
If they succeed and wiped out a billion innocent Sonali in one swipe, would that make him one of the greatest mass murderers in the history of the universe?
Flynn came up with a no. Nature or the cosmos was the universe’s deadliest and cruelest mass murderer.
From dust we came, to dust we shall return.
He smiled in spite of himself. How true that statement was. Did the universe even care about consequences? Or were they—humans and Sonali—playing the consciousness game while the cold universe treated them with the same insignificance it would to a speck of dust?
No, he wasn’t the universe’s greatest mass murderer. That prize went to the cosmos. But he knew that when this was all over, he would come in second. He wasn’t sure if that was how he wanted to be remembered, but he supposed that when it came to war no one got to choose their own legacy.
Snapping out of it, he looked up at the life-sized image of Admiral Walker.
“The captains departed two days ago, sir. The last of them will arrive at The Mariner nebula by tomorrow. No problems so far. The mission is still on course.”
Admiral Walker cleared his throat and folded his hands before him. He saw his hands float in the air, but he knew he had them on his table, which the slipstream didn’t project. He began to pace in front of his desk. He tethered on the verge of telling Admiral Walker his fears.
Despite their seniority, they had a lot in common. Walker was his senior back at the academy, and he had served under his command twice. Once as a First Officer, and another time as a Captain within his jurisdiction. Now, at this crucial moment in the galaxy’s history, he was serving with him. Not for him.
He had never thought to have the opportunity to determine the course of the universe. Now, he found himself saddled with that responsibility—and who else to help him carry it but Walker himself?
The Admiral must have had noticed Flynn’s discomfort,
“You know how important this mission is, Flynn. Do I need to remind you of that?”
There was some sort of unspoken tradition in the fleet—when a CO asked such a question anyone should reply with a firm negative, even though Flynn sure needed reminding.
But Flynn didn’t.
Not because he needed reminding, but because he wasn’t so sure this was the best course of action. It was ruthless, vicious. It was…inhumane.
After pacing for a while, Flynn paused in front of the Admiral Walker. Looking up at him, he pursed his lips and mustered the necessary courage to continue.
“Do you know Armada Intelligence reports that this planet we’re going to hit, this Sonali planet in the Beta Hydra III quadrant, is one of the most populated and densest planets belonging to the Sonali people in this sector?”
Admiral Walker looked at him as if he couldn’t understand what he was saying. But Flynn knew he did.
“Those ships will hit that planet, Flynn. This final attack will happen.”
He stressed his voice and cocked an eyebrow when he said ‘will’.
“There are a billion people on that planet and Intelligence believes it holds a mythic status for most of the Sonali. Like if someone came and destroyed Earth,” said Flynn to him.
Walker stared at him, and Flynn felt like a child in a class
“Did you know?” pressed Flynn. “Did you get the report?”
Of course, he knew. Walker read the report long before Armada Intelligence sent his way. Flynn wondered why they sent it.
To guilt trip me? To what end?
Or maybe someone there felt guilty, and tried their possible best to stave off genocide. Maybe they believed that there was still someone in the Armada’s upper echelon with a heart. Someone whose conscience hadn’t been seared by the hot iron of war.
Admiral Walker sighed and closed his eyes.
“Yes, Flynn. I read the report. I read it five months ago. In fact, that’s the report that shaped this offensive. Why?”
He opened his eyes and Flynn saw his weary look. Walker expected his protest, so he just went ahead and gave it to him.
“I have my misgivings, Walker,” said Flynn, matter-of-factly. “A lot of people have been talking. A lot of our admirals, too.”
“They can talk all they want,” Admiral Walker replied. “They can debate all they want. This attack will happen. We are far down the line to begin to second guess our decisions.”
“I know, I know, but don’t you empathize with their misgivings?” he asked. “It doesn’t matter if these guys are humans or not. There are laws in war. There are certain things that are just inhumane and shouldn’t be tolerated during war.”
“These laws are the reason why four billion people are dead!” Admiral Walker snapped and right then and there Flynn heard the voice and anguish of all the death the war had caused. Walker was standing now and bristling with unbridled rage.
Flynn was rooted in the ground; he didn’t even dare move or speak—not while Walker was this riled up. Still, Flynn stared him down and refused to back down.
There’s enough white in my hair to give me that right.
Still maintaining his scowl and hardline voice, he spoke:
“Four billion people are dead because of laws, Flynn! Do you think a bureaucrat in New Washington or Earth knows how to win a war? They tell us what to do, and what not to do. Meanwhile, people are dying.”
With that, the Admiral ran one hand through his thinning hair and looked at him with a tired expression.
“I don’t need my point Admiral having second thoughts, going soft on me, and giving himself to the prejudices of what is right and proper.”
Admiral Walker sighed and sat back down.
Flynn continued to pace, his heart beating faster.
He was angry now. Angry at Admiral Walker. Angry at the Wolf Offensive. Angry at himself for committing and supporting such an act. And yet, he was also angry at himself for having second thoughts.
He heard Walker’s exhalation before he heard his voice:
“Well, Flynn, it really doesn’t matter what misgivings you or any other person within the Armada or the Union think. We’re at the point of no return…You are at the point of no return. You’re under obligation to see this mission through, after which I can take point if you wish. Just let me know.”
That did it for Flynn. He stopped pacing and stood at attention before the Admiral.
“How can you even say that, sir?” asked Flynn. “The Armada is my life. How can I trade up my life?” Flynn continued. “I have no problem with my current orders. I’ll carry them out to the letter.”
“Good. For a moment there you had me worried. Look,” Admiral Walker replied. “There are many who can sit in a room and begin to pick our decisions apart. I find that these office types are the ones who end up costing us more in war. When they’re exposed to the horrors of war, when they’ve lost captains, friends, confidants, family…that’s when they realize that, when it comes to protecting all that you love and care for, boundaries must be crossed.”
Flynn found that he had been holding his breath. He let it out slowly.
“So, you agree we’re crossing a boundary?”
He made a face.
“Are you serious, Flynn? What do you think I am, a mindless beast? Of co
urse. But make no mistake. This isn’t just a war for territory or dominance. This is a war for survival. We’re fighting for more than just the Union…we’re fighting for the human race. And I’ll be damned if I don’t cross every single line in the sand to see to it that we survive.”
“Get your mind and heart right, Flynn,” Walker continued. “Your captains don’t need you giving voice to all that tension.”
“Yes, sir.”
He gave Flynn a final nod.
“Walker out,” he muttered, more to himself than to Flynn, and then vanished from his office.
Admiral Flynn exhaled aloud.
He had his orders, and they had to be carried out. And that was the end of it.
And still…
Jeryl
Jeryl was in the Captain’s Office, looking at the ceiling. He felt the steady hum of the FTL drive, a constant presence whenever it was engaged.
Most of the repairs on the ship had been done. All systems were nominal. All weapons were ready. All officers were ready to engage. This was as ready as they would ever be. Hell, he didn’t think he would ever be this ready for a battle, even counting those five years of war.
Yet, the closer they got to The Mariner Nebula, the closer they got to annihilating the Sonali planet…and the more restless Jeryl felt.
I better get it together, he thought. We have barely a day left.
Jeryl hadn’t spoken about it to anybody. Well, that wasn’t exactly true; he had once gone to the sick bay to see his chief medical officer, Dr. Mahesh Rigsang. He suspected he was having a heart problem of some sort. Perhaps he had ruptured a vein or something.
After a thorough check, the CMO cleared him and told him he was perfectly healthy. He gave him some sleeping pills and told him to rest.
He was just stressed, the CMO said. Jeryl thought he was putting it lightly.
He took the pills, but still no respite.
This went way beyond stress; he was just afraid to admit it.
A little crack. This was what the enemy needed to win the war. Just a tiny little crack. He couldn’t allow for any cracks. He couldn’t second-guess himself. He couldn’t give in to doubt, even though it might wrap itself around his heart, squeezing it tight.
