by Trevor Wyatt
“Well, look at the location of that nebula.”
I don’t get it. “What about it?”
“Do you not recognize those coordinates?”
I scowl at my tablet, and glance up at the main screen as if the larger numbers will jog my memory. And then I see it, I understand her point. “Aw, hell,” I say. “That’s the Mariner Nebula. Goddammit, that’s where I, we, the Union, had First Contact with the Sonali.”
“Yes,” she says in a grim tone. She doesn’t need to say anything more. It’s where the Sonali said they claimed this space and that they didn’t destroy the Mariner.
It’s where the war started.
Well, fuck me.
She says, “If we had filed a different report, then 4 billion people might still be alive and we wouldn’t be at war.”
“I’m not going to argue that,” I mutter. She’s right. And it isn’t as if I haven’t thought about that report a thousand times or more over the past few years. When I walked away from the confrontation, it was like Chamberlain appeasing Hitler. I basically gave those blue-skinned bastards carte blanche to make bolder incursions into our space, because they knew we were there, and that we couldn’t outfight them. The whole thing is my fault.
“Everyone will be annihilated when we destroy that planet, Jeryl,” Ash says again.
“So what? It’s not as if they haven’t killed enough of us over the past five years.”
“Violence begets violence,” she says.
All I can do is stare at her. Where has this come from? Have I been so busy that I haven’t noticed my wife changing before my eyes?
Then I think about it. I’ve changed, too, and I know it. I’m a hell of a lot more cynical than I used to be. “Look, if you can’t do your job,” I say, trying to cover my confusion.
“I understand my job!” she barks. “And I’ll do it to the best of my ability... but I don’t have to be thrilled that it’s being made worse by more killing.”
I struggle to find something to say, but before I can she says, “The ship will be battle-ready within the next 10 hours, sir. I’ll see to it.”
And she turns and leaves the room.
Marriage. And command. The two don’t mix well.
Chapter 21
Jeryl
One thing that takes a lot of getting used to in the new fleet—for me, anyway—is the transformation of the ships and stations into what are essentially space-going cities. This, I know, has come about because we want to be seen by the Sonali as being every bit as capable as they are of lofting huge starships. So now our battle cruisers are almost as big as theirs. I personally find it rather wasteful of resources but I can’t deny that the results are impressive as hell.
Our stations? Well, those are now impressive fortresses with guns pointing outward. And filled with opportunities to separate you from your money the moment you walk in.
The Union has contracted with a number of corporations to provide services aboard our stations, which are now so big that they dwarf anything that would ever be conceived five years ago.
I’m standing on Edoris Station looking at the Promenade. There are 5,000 people on this station. Hell, that’s bigger than some global cities were at the end of World War III. Flashy logos and enticing odors meet my eyes as I walk along the station’s central promenade. The corporations have dialed back the level of interaction so that the 3D holos are a lot less “in your face” than their civilian versions, but even so none of this stuff really belongs aboard a space station, as far as I'm concerned.
But I’m older than most of the new blood that’s entered the service. They are a different generation, and used to different things. The military is catering to them, in my opinion, and I find it irksome. I mean, really, does there need to be a brothel on board this station? I pass by one owned and operated by Trinidec. The girls are pneumatic and hospitable; some of them are even human, as opposed to sexbots. I don’t think they belong here, but it isn’t my call.
I have a bit of downtime, when I don’t have to be in a meeting or reporting to the admiral or overseeing a battle plan. The battle plans are done. Tomorrow we’ll engage the Sonali. Again. But I can’t think about it anymore. I’m restless, dissatisfied.
I left my little cramped office, therefore, and went for a walk through the huge central atrium of the station, what would once have been called a utility core but which has been expanded and reshaped into a vast promenade.
It seems more like a marketplace than a military establishment. Sure, the rank and file of the Armada is happy with the changes that have come down, and it’s good to keep them motivated in the face of this war, but even so, I question the wisdom of it all.
I haven’t spoken to anyone about it, but I’ve done a lot of thinking. I take a seat next to a babbling fountain in a small pocket park off the main drag. Given Earth’s recent history, I suppose it isn’t surprising how we’ve ended up as we are. The corporations were the repositories of vast amounts of money, and during the reconstruction of the planet their surviving officers bought their way via venture capital into seats at the governing table. All the rules were rewritten to allow it, over the strenuous objection of the “old guard.”
So what we have now is a corporate republic, something new under the sun. There are five pillars holding up the society. The first pillar is the President. The second, the legislative body and the senate. The third pillar is the Armada. Then there are the institutions: the Diplomatic service, the courts, the universities, the government offices, and the science establishment. And the final pillar of society is upheld by the corporations, each with its own representative to a “Corporate Council” that advises the government. The corporate media is part of this, as well, monitoring the entire system.
As anyone could expect, with that much money and power floating around, several of the corporations have their own standing fleets of mercenaries and “career” soldiers, in essence private armies that do their masters’ bidding. The corpers have at times been reluctant to put these assets into play during the war with the Sonali. This has resulted in some recent talk of nationalizing those private fleets, absorbing them into the actual military, if the corpers don’t contribute more regularly to the war effort. In an effort to pour some oil on that troubled water, the corpers cut a lot of deals with the fleet to install supply outlets and what not into Armada installations at a far lower rate. They lost some money up front, as I understand it, but that’s why we now have brand-name fast foods aboard our vessels, and outfits like Trinidec doing hospitality on our station. And let’s not forget Pooz, the hologram giant, providing holodeck gaming services next to the subdued multi-denominational house of worship.
There’s another side of this as well. I pull out my tablet and tap into my e-mail program. There’s a communication there from MacroCode Stargazers LLC, an offer in fact. How they could possibly know that my current hitch is about up is beyond me, but they must—because the e-mail contains an offer to hire me at a salary that is far greater than what I take home as an officer in the Union military. They want to hire “the Avenger,” which is my nickname—the Avenger of the Mariner—to helm their corporate space fleet. These would be state-of-the-art vessels, and I’d have total control over battle plans, supply contractors, everything down to the choice of bands at company dances.
All I’d have to do is resign my commission.
And, may the great spirit of the galaxy help me, I have been considering it.
This is the third time some corporation has tried to pry me away from the Union. I’m under no illusions about it; I’m something of a celebrity, and the corpers trade off that sort of thing. There is no doubt that if I were to take the offer, Ashley and I could have a far better quality of life than we currently do. The new Seeker is a hell of a ship, but it’s not really military/exploration any longer. It’s all geared toward war. Like we said fuck you to exploring.
I look around the commercial playground. I know it’s been done to
keep the troops happy during this grinding war, but it doesn’t seem right to me. I know from what I've seen of the corper fleets that they are leaner and meaner in some ways than ours now is.
I have seen so many ships destroyed and so many people dying. I’ve done so much killing myself. Tomorrow I will see more, no doubt. I have had my fill of fighting and death. I see the statistics, I watch the numbers of dead tick up. I have become inured to it all. I’ve had to—otherwise I wouldn’t be able to do my job. But after years of it... if the casualties go from 9 to 10 digits of dead people, at what point does it even matter? I feel that I have lost my determination in the face of the endless struggle.
I have accomplished much in the name of the Union. If I could spend my sunset years aboard some sleek corper ship maintaining order in a mining colony or keeping shipping lanes secure, then who’d think the less of me?
As I say, I’m a celebrity.
Well, the answer is, I would think the less of me.
I trash the offer.
I get up from the bench and join the flow of people, walking with no destination in mind. I never used to question my place in all of this, this interlocking structure of our culture. I had my assignment, and I carried it out as best I could, and I took pride in it. I had Ashley, and her love.
But when did I ever have peace? When did I ever have a family?
To be honest, I never wanted one; neither did she. But now I’m older, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be a father. It feels as if my life has split into pieces, and I am left wondering how to put them together. What am I, who am I, without this war?
Do I love Ashley, or do I simply want comfort from her? Without the war to shape us, to give our lives purpose, what would we be? Would we still even be married?
So much has changed... it’s jarred loose unpleasant thoughts and doubts that now spin around inside my head.
My aimless wandering has brought me to the corridor in which we have our temporary quarters. I frown at the doorway. I didn’t mean to come here. I wanted to lose myself in the press of people, not hide away. I heave a huge sigh and enter.
Inside, Ashley is seated at the small table in our miniscule sitting room, having coffee. (Okay, it’s good coffee; one benefit the corpers have brought us.) She’s gorgeous. She looks at me and all my doubts drop away, to be replaced by sheer lust. I cannot get enough of her, I go to her, I put my hands on her shoulders and run them down the sides of her breasts. “Coffee and?” I murmur into her hair.
“Sir, yes sir,” she murmurs back.
Tomorrow we go into battle yet again. All my angst and frustration, though, is on hold now as she stands and presses herself against me. I slide my hands down her back and grip her ass. We kiss, and walk ourselves, still kissing, into the sleeping chamber. We tear our uniforms off and lose ourselves in each other.
I have found the solace I seek. Nothing else matters...
Chapter 22
Ashley
Nowadays, it's hard to find peace and solace. The war has ravaged so many worlds. Hundreds of millions have died – no, billions.
I think the number the government acknowledges is 4 billion.
Who knows if that’s the real number? Most of the damage is here, in the Edoris Sector. But it’s all across the border with the Sonali. The border we only learned about through five years of attacks. They’ve all come through the Edoris Sector.
But even if it’s 4 billion out of the 44 billion people that lived in the Terran Union, it’s still a lot. Real people. Real people with beating hearts, living hopes, and now dead dreams. Sometimes I can almost see them in my dreams. Entire family lines have been wiped away. Yet, we keep fighting. We keep moving. We have to; we are compelled by the unprecedented losses we have endured to fight on, for if we do not fight on…then those loses would have been in vain.
I have had to adapt. Five years of war between us and the Sonali – I had to grow. I have watched the Terran Armada turn me into an instrument of deadly force. I have developed a military mind, one that has become far too comfortable with some of the atrocities of war.
Nevertheless, I have somehow managed to retain my humanity. I can’t say this for the rest of the crew of The Seeker. Not because I have witnessed any flagrant misdemeanor, but simply because…I don’t know. War changes you in ways that are beyond recognition in the heat of the moment. You just might be shocked at the things you are willing to do.
I'm not the same First Officer Commander Ashley Gavin that served aboard The Seeker, five years back when we made First Contact (well… Second Contact) with the Sonali. Now, I’m Captain Jeryl’s First Officer in The Seeker, now a Battle Cruiser.
I am also his wife, which I think is the one good thing that came off our time serving together aboard the frigate.
We’re docked with Edoris Station, but we’re getting ready to move out. Final system checks are being run by the engineering department in conjunction with some of the station’s technical crew and engineers. The repairs have been tested and flexed as much as they can be while on the station. I trust the crew to conduct these tests and final checks without my breathing down their necks. By now they’ve already been briefed about where we’re headed next and what’s expected of us. They know what is at stake here. This is humanity’s last stand. If we lose it here, it’ll only be a matter of time until humans became a footnote in the universe’s history. If we win it here, though, humanity may finally have a hope at survival.
The stakes are high and everyone knows it. Everyone is doing their best. I just hope that’ll be enough.
“This is good, being here with you,” I whisper, looking at Jeryl while a smile dawns on my lips. We’re still in our temporary quarters, and I’m locked in his arms, enjoying his hot breath in my hair and feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. I close my eyes for a moment and let the memories of happiness that we’ve known through constant sadness flood me.
The fun.
The love making.
The many nights I spent in his arms looking at the stars.
Then I focus in on last night. Jeryl was rough, but I liked it. Most times he was delicate. I supposed it had something to do with the war. I could tell he was frustrated and angry and nervous. I would be too, if I were Captain. Yes, I am First Officer, but the way I feel about the mission is nowhere compared to how he does. The weight of over three hundred personnel upon this ship isn’t upon my shoulders but his. If I do something wrong I can easily report to him. He has no one to report to save himself, especially during the heat of battle. I try to always be there for him, whenever he needs me…but the burden of command is a solitary one.
“Do you sometimes feel that we don’t get enough time together?” Jeryl whispers to me.
I’m not sure why, but his cool, lucid voice arouses me. “All the time,” I reply, my voice nothing but a faint whisper. “It’s never enough. Even if we had every night for ourselves, it wouldn’t be enough.”
I hear him chuckle, and that makes me smile. At least I still can bring some semblance of happiness to the man who is known across the Terran Union as the Avenger of the Mariner.
Yesterday night left me a little sour in so many places, and that’s a good thing. I probably will not be seeing my husband until the end of this mission. From now on, he’ll just be the Captain. At least now I have something to think about for the duration of this final mission.
I try 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.”
This time Jeryl cracks up, his chuckle turning into generous laughter, and he grabs my body tighter in his arm. I feel a resurgence of last night’s desire, and I struggle to keep it together. One thing’s for sure: if I start kissing Jeryl, we won’t leave this station's quarters for another thirty minutes…and we’re scheduled to depart in ten minutes.
“I love you,” he mutters to me, then lays his lips on my fo
rehead.
I retract myself from his embrace and look him in the eyes. He’s smiling at me with a kindness he has never displayed to anybody before, at least not in my presence. And I am always present, being his wife and First Officer. I'm smiling too, but deep down there’s a shadow inside of me: we may not make it out of this alive. As I remember that, my mind’s clouded with a strong sense of pain and anguish.
Tears come to my eyes and I don’t know what to say. I see Jeryl’s eyes grow darker, a sadness taking over him, and I realize how deeply he cares for me. Despite all the tension, the anguish, and the fights…this man loves me. Truly loves me.
“Captain Montgomery and First Officer Gaines to the CNC!” says a voice over the intercom.
We both look up for the moment the intercom is active.
Without saying anything, I stand and get dressed, the First Officer uniform becoming my second skin. As I head for the door, Jeryl catches me before I command it to be opened. “I swear this to you, Ashely, 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 forces itself on my face. “I’ve always known that, Captain.”
We walk out of the quarters and through the station and board the fast shuttle to the Seeker and make our way to the CNC. Every step I take toward the CNC is a step out of the fantasy world I built around my marriage to Jeryl, a safe place away from the cold indifference of an unforgiving universe.
“Captain on deck!” yells a bulky man standing by the entrance into the CNC. He is wielding a rifle and sporting the blue and black uniform of ship security. This is one of the several changes that have occurred in the fleet that I’ve never felt comfortable with. I take my stand by my station, wondering about the frailty of the Terran Armada personnel. When a ship has to have special security staff to prevent mutinies, you know the fabric of the military is tearing. This puts too much power in the hands of security, even though they report directly to the Captain, and it breeds an unsavory and poisonous air of uncertainty and dread.
