by Dean M. Cole
The markings confirmed that this was the command deck, but nothing happened. The door didn't open.
"Damnit!"
Holding onto a grab bar, he jabbed at the manual door controls.
Still nothing.
With mounting anger, he jabbed at them again. Then he remembered something from his military days.
"Godsdamnit!"
Shaking his head, Remulkin toggled the lift's controls. Returning to the previous room, he searched through the strewn uniforms. Finally finding what he needed, he returned to the lift. As he raised toward the bridge level, he studied the item.
From his years in the Galactic Defense Forces, he knew that the small, metallic badge contained a transponder. While the EON was the primary way to access most compartments, appropriately cleared individuals used these devices to access sensitive areas. They worked even if EON connectivity failed.
This time, the hatch opened as soon as he returned to the lift's bridge level. Waves of light and sound burst through the opening. Using the grab bars, he launched himself onto the bridge's command deck. He landed inelegantly and dropped to his hands and knees. During his days in the military, he'd done the maneuver hundreds of times without falling. Of course, back then he hadn't had the expansive mid-section.
Clambering to his feet, he stepped over another vacated uniform. Standing, he scanned the battlecruiser's bridge.
Hundreds of holographic ships filled its voluminous overhead space. Remulkin was thankful to see that all of them were green, although red combat lighting still painted the bridge in its night vision-preserving lambency. When the battle had ended, no one had been left to deactivate them.
Through the cacophony of bells and klaxons, he heard voices coming from a nearby control panel. "Liberator, this is Helm Warden. Please respond."
He stepped to the console. Remulkin remembered enough about its operation to recognize that the transmission was coming in on a private channel. So this ship must be the Liberator, and the Helm Warden was trying to raise it.
The communicator wouldn't respond to his EON. Remulkin's trembling hand pressed the manual override. "Hel-Helm Warden, th-this is the Liberator."
"Liberator!" the woman said with evident relief. "What is your status?"
Remulkin looked around the bridge. His eyes fell on the vacated uniform of the ship's apparently female captain draped across the command console. He shook his head. Angry and with a horrible sense of déjà vu, he said, "Everybody is dead!"
"Everybody?" the officer said in a confused tone.
"Yes!" he said, starting to grind his teeth. "Everybody aft of the forward airlock was vaporized!" The scientist felt something in him snap. He wanted to throttle the idiot. "They're all fucking gone!" he screamed. "I'm the only godsdamned survivor!"
After a long pause, the stupid woman's tentative voice returned. "Oh my Gods … Is this Remulkin Thramorus?"
"Got it in one!" he shouted. Slamming a fist into the communicator, Remulkin terminated the connection.
Turning from the console, he stared up into the field of holographic ships.
They should've left him on Chuvarti. Why hadn't they just let him die? Tears tried to burn their way into his eyes, but he brusquely wiped them away.
Remulkin glared at the wavering green rendering of the Helm Warden, Tekamah's flagship.
"Thanks for nothing, asshole!"
CHAPTER TWELVE
Heat waves shimmered like a silver lake levitating above the baking tarmac. On the eastern horizon, Sunrise Mountain buttressed an azure ocean of air. The image reminded Richard of his drive with Victor and Jake across the Area 51 tarmac.
Good God, that was just a day ago, he thought. After everything that had happened, it felt like a lifetime had passed. Lowering his face to study the gathering personnel, Richard realized his perception was correct. A lifetime had indeed passed. When a large chunk of the world's population had vanished, it had taken that previous life with it.
The odd mix of service members finished forming up. They regarded Richard silently. He smiled and nodded to the few he knew.
Each person had dropped off their equipment and bags. A chain of Air Force airmen had whisked the stuff into the Turtle's airlock. Once full, the lock would seal itself and lift the items to the vessel's main floor. On that deck, another chain of airmen would transfer it to the Turtle's top floor.
Outside, the assembled formation consisted of personnel of all types. Fighter pilots represented more than half of the group currently staring at Richard. Various combat and support types filled the rest of the first flight's slots. Navy SEALs and Army Special Ops constituted the majority of the expedition's frontline forces. Everything else from cooks to doctors rounded out the tally of collected personnel.
Richard's deck-shuffling stunt had ensured the multinational face of the first wave of pilots. However, for logistical simplicity, American military personnel filled the rest of the positions.
Well at least we aren't taking any lawyers, he thought.
Finishing his scan of the group, Richard decided they were ready.
Receiving his nod, the senior sergeant snapped to attention and shouted, "Task Force, ATTENTION!"
The well-disciplined, highly motivated group followed his lead, snapping to attention in unison.
The sergeant did an about-face and saluted sharply. "Colonel, Wave One of Task Force Swift Vengeance present and ready for duty."
Standing at attention as well, Richard returned the salute. "Thank you, Chief."
The man lowered his arm and moved to his station behind and right of the colonel.
"At ease," Richard shouted, permitting the group an opportunity to relax while he gave them one last pre-flight briefing. "In a moment, the master sergeant is going to have you file into the Turtle. The airmen inside will show you to your positions for the transfer to space. Our plan is to have you stand in concentric arcing rows. They will follow the circular shape of the ship's interior. Hopefully, the computer will recognize our needs and provide seating of some sort, although we've never tried anything like this."
"Before we proceed, I just want to take this last moment to tell all of you how proud I am to have this opportunity to work with you. The command contingent will be here shortly, and once we arrive at the main ship, you'll be broken down into your individual units. Regardless of which command you fall under, best of luck, and Godspeed. That is all."
"Task Force, ATTENTION!" the chief master sergeant screamed over Richard's shoulder. Then he moved to stand in front of Richard again and saluted.
Lieutenant Colonel Richard Allison returned it. "Carry on, Chief."
The chief master sergeant issued his orders, and the task force began to board the ship. Some of the personnel were waving at their loved ones. Richard had decided to allow them access to the departure. Considering the entire world had seen the alien ships attacking the planet, the need for secrecy now seemed like an exercise in futility.
Movement near the tarmac's access gate caught Richard's attention. Turning to investigate, he saw General Pearson's Humvee driving toward the Turtle. Three more Hummers followed. The lead vehicle bore two flags: one on each side of the hood. The left one had the general's three-star rank insignia, while the right bore an admiral's rank insignia. Richard guessed it would be the Admiral that General Pearson had referred to during their meeting.
As the last of the task force disappeared into the Turtle, the lead Humvee slid to a stop in front of Richard. The driver jumped out to open the door, but the base commander opened it himself and stepped onto the tarmac.
Outside the Turtle, scattered personnel continued their work. Someone started to call them to attention. However, the general waved this away. "Carry on."
Richard saluted the base commander. "Good afternoon, General. Wave one of the task force is in place, sir. The personnel are assembled in the Turtle."
As the general returned the salute, Richard got his first glimpse of the admiral. He defin
itely looked the part: tan, lean face wrinkled as if weathered by years at sea—Richard supposed it may have been—hair almost as white as his uniform cut so close it was almost invisible in the area not covered by his headgear.
General Pearson patted Richard on the shoulder. "Good job, Colonel Allison." Gesturing to his right, he continued. "This is Admiral Johnston. He is now Supreme Commander, Space Operations. I will continue to work here to coordinate and oversee all activities between space-based and Earth-based operations." The general turned toward Admiral Johnston. "Bill, this is the officer I told you about."
Pouring from the Hummers that had been following the general's vehicle, a group of fellow Air Force Lieutenant Colonels and Navy Commanders streamed behind the men and into the Turtle.
Richard saluted again. "Pleased to meet you, sir."
Admiral Johnston returned it and then offered his hand. Richard shook it.
"Colonel Allison, you've done our nation … no, our planet a great service. It's a pleasure to meet you. You and your team demonstrated the initiative and drive that will be required of us all in the days, weeks, and God willing, months to come. I'm proud to have you and Giard on my team."
"The honor is mine, sir," Richard said.
They watched as the last of their command staff disappeared into the Turtle's airlock.
"Hopefully, none of this will be necessary," Richard added.
"From your lips to God's ears, son," the admiral said with a nod.
They began to walk toward the Turtle. The chief master sergeant gave Richard a quick thumbs-up.
Turning to Admiral Johnston, Richard said, "Sir, the airmen loaded your baggage and equipment when it was sent over. It looks like everything is ready for us in the Turtle. So, unless there is other business needing your attention, I believe we are ready to depart."
"I'm ready, Colonel," the admiral said and then nodded to General Pearson. "John, I'll be in touch. We'll get things up and running in short order. Then God help those sons of bitches if they decide to show their scaly mugs again."
"Go get 'em, Bill. I know you'll give them what for."
Salutes were exchanged, and the officers parted ways. Reaching the opening, Richard gestured for the admiral to enter the airlock, then followed him in. When the opposite door opened, he heard the chief call the Task Force to attention. The admiral quickly told them to carry on. The chief led the admiral to a seat just behind the control panel. Stepping to the console, Richard scanned the seated personnel.
The chief master sergeant stepped next to him and spoke into his ear. "It was the damnedest thing, sir. As soon as the ship saw how we were filing in, these raised rows of seats just grew right out of the floor. It even adjusted the height of each row, so they all have an unobstructed view of the main display."
"Couldn't have asked for anything more," Richard said. Then he turned and addressed the seated service members. "We'll be departing momentarily. This will be a relatively short flight. As I described in the briefing, the Argonian drive has acceleration that can be visually impressive. However, you won't feel a thing. It can be quite disorienting, though."
They all nodded. Richard smiled inwardly. There really were no words to prepare them for what they were about to experience.
He turned to the control console and toggled the radio panel. "Nellis Tower, this is Turtle One. Ready for departure."
"Turtle One, this is Nellis Tower. You are clear to depart as filed. Good luck up there. We're counting on you."
"Roger, Nellis Tower. Turtle One, cleared as filed."
Richard brought the Turtle's drive online and lifted the ship to a hover. While the ship's systems held it stationary, Richard pulled his hand out of the flight controller and activated the hologram. Using hand gestures, he panned the display and zoomed in on the rendered Argonian formation. It still hovered over the Atlantic. Behind him, some of the personnel whispered excitedly.
Selecting a point just aft of the largest ship, Richard made a quick poking motion. The now familiar oilcan pop echoed through the Turtle's cabin, and concentric green rings radiated out from the tip of his finger. He toggled a command on the flight console's curved display, activating the autopilot's flight plan.
Trying not to be too obvious, he watched the crowd, grinning knowingly as the ship blasted into the sky, and the entire group twitched and then laughed self-consciously. Even the admiral looked duly impressed.
The ship continued to rocket straight up, its supersonic climb unheard by anyone on the ground. Scientists at Area 51 still didn't know how it did that, why the ship's extreme speed didn't generate a shockwave or a sonic boom. Through the view-wall, he could already see Earth's curvature. The sky rapidly shifted from blue to black.
A welcome familiar voice emanated from the Turtle's radio. "Turtle One, this is the Galactic Guardian, over."
"Galactic Guardian, this is Turtle One. Good to hear your voice, sir. I hear you have the red carpet out for us."
"It's good to hear your voice, too. Yes, I do. Just park the Turtle a couple of hundred yards aft of the carrier. I'll have the tractor beam bring you in from there."
"Tractor beam?"
"Oh yeah, buddy. There's plenty I need to tell you," Jake said.
Richard glanced over his shoulder. "Roger, Galactic Guardian. We've got a couple of surprises for you as well."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jake turned to see two armed men step onto the bridge followed by a lone, sharply dressed Navy Commander. He wasn't surprised by their sudden appearance. Through his EON interface, he'd watched the command group's progress from the hangar to his location. Following Jake's trail of neon bread crumbs and bracketed by a team of surly, gun-toting Special Ops types, Richard had led the group through the ship. Following the command staff, a gaggle of support personnel loaded down with gear had tried to keep up as another contingent of armed escorts covered their six.
Along the way, they had paused and stared into several of the expansive halls and massive terrariums. Each of the latter contained unique alien biospheres. Accessing information on them, Jake had been surprised to discover some of those micro-environments could be dangerous. He'd been ready to wave them off; however, none of the group members had strayed off of the path.
Colonel Newcastle had instructed Jake to hand over command of the Galactic Guardian and its fleet to the party's senior officer. An order with which Jake was more than happy to comply. The man was exhausted. This had been the longest day of his life. He needed sleep, but first he wanted a hot shower. The odor rising from the neck collar of his spacesuit was making his eyes water. Jake had been very happy to discover that showers did exist on the ship and couldn't wait to climb into one.
Not wanting the command group to find him floating godlike on the transparent force field floor, he had moved to the lower level of the bridge to greet them properly. Presently, he stood beneath the command deck at the center of the room.
As the armed men scrutinized the large chamber for hidden threats, Captain Giard and the Naval officer exchanged salutes. The woman scanned the bridge with unbridled awe, her mouth agape.
Jake heard the rest of the group approaching.
Recovering from her astonishment, the naval commander collected herself and shouted, "Attention on the bridge!" Then Colonel Newcastle and a fresh-looking Captain Allison along with a senior naval officer in a crisp, white uniform stepped onto the bridge. Behind them, the rest of the command contingent stood beneath the entrance's sixty-foot-tall pointed arch and stared in wide-eyed amazement.
Jake recognized the senior officer's rank insignia as fleet admiral. Already standing at attention, Jake saluted. "Welcome aboard the Galactic Guardian, sir. The bridge is yours."
The admiral returned the salute and lowered his arm. "No, Captain, I believe you can keep it for just a few more moments."
Hesitantly, Jake dropped his salute. Concerned he'd muffed the handoff, he stood at silent attention. Catching a glimpse of Richard in his periphe
ral vision, he saw the son of a bitch smirking.
Recovering, Jake said, "Excuse me, sir—"
The admiral held up a hand, cutting Jake off. "The name is Admiral Johnston, but you can just call me Admiral for short." His eyes gleamed humorously.
I'm going to like this guy, Jake thought. He nodded. "Yes, Admiral."
"I know you have plenty to tell us, and believe me, I can't wait to hear it, but there is something I want to take care of first." He turned to the commander on his right and held out a hand.
At rigid attention, still looking straight ahead, Jake couldn't tell what the Navy commander placed in the admiral's hand.
Johnston stepped closer to Jake. "Son, it's not every day that you get promoted two levels in one day, especially when you can say that it happened while you were in command of Earth's largest ship." Opening his palm, he showed Jake a pair of burnished Lieutenant Colonel rank insignia: silver oak leaves.
The admiral looked at Jake's form-fitting metallic suit. "I guess there's nowhere to pin this to your spacesuit without compromising its integrity." He placed the insignia in Giard's hand.
Jake noticed that one of the officers had begun to video him and the admiral.
"Colonel Giard," Johnston said, emphasizing the new rank. "In consideration of you and your team's heroic victory over the last of these Zoxyth, and due to your knowledge of Argonian technology," he paused and looked significantly at their surroundings, "coupled with your success here, you and Colonel Allison will each command an Argonian fighter wing."
Jake stole a quick glance at Richard. Sure enough, his old wingman was sporting Lieutenant Colonel rank insignia.
He turned forward to see the admiral looking at him expectantly. Jake nodded. "Thank you, sir, it's an honor."
The admiral shook his hand. "The honor is mine, Colonel."
