by J. J. Green
Inertia pushed Jas to the right as Kennewell swiftly maneuvered the ship. The Thylacine’s fighters were now visible on the holo, specks of light swirling around the ship, streaming out to meet the enemy’s oncoming ships.
“Drop force field power fifty percent. Divert to pulses. Direct all pulse fire at ship one,” Jas commanded, judging that the second ship wouldn’t fire through the ranks of their own fighters to attack the Thylacine. Temporarily diverting her ship’s force field power to pulses was worth the risk. They had to hit the first ship with everything they had.
The Thylacine’s bolts poured across space toward the first Shadow ship. The pulses the destroyer emitted were so intense they looked like one long chain of light leading from the Thylacine to its enemy. They swamped the enemy ship with energy.
Trimborn was intent on his scanner. “Their force field’s breaking down, Commander.”
“Fighter fire at our launch bay doors,” another officer said.
Jas’ gaze swept to the interplay of fighter ships. They were executing a macabre dance in the space between the Thylacine and the second Shadow ship. Some enemy fighters had slipped through her pilots’ defenses, and sprays of flickering sparks were springing out and onto the Thylacine. Her fighters had spotted the attack, however. Several peeled away from the rest and swept back toward the ship.
“We’re through,” exclaimed Trimborn.
Jas clicked her tongue. Her first officer’s speech always became vague when he was over-excited. “We’ve broken through ship one’s force field, Trimborn?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”
Then the bridge of the Thylacine shook so violently, Jas was almost thrown from her seat. “Force field one hundred percent,” she barked as she recovered her balance. “Damage report.”
“They’ve blasted our bay doors wide open,” an officer said. “But—”
Trimborn gave a whoop. “We’ve got them!”
Jas turned to the holo to see if Trimborn meant what she thought he meant. Sure enough, the first Shadow ship’s curved extensions on one side had been blown clean off and were spinning away into space. As she watched, another of the Thylacine’s pulses hit the ship, cleaving the central section in half.
“The Shadow fighters are returning to ship two,” said an officer.
As if in response to the first ship’s destruction, the specks of light from the second ship were speeding home. Jas frowned. The fighter ships had succeeded in hitting the Thylacine. Why were they giving up their attack? Their actions could mean only one thing, Jas realized. But surely it was too soon for that?
As the enemy fighters left the battle scene, the Thylacine’s did the same, clearing the path for pulses. Not for the first time, Jas was grateful for her smart squadron leader. Once the fighters were outside the ship, both sides’ comm dampeners made giving orders impossible. The pilots were trained in set responses to certain events during an engagement.
“Ship two’s building energy,” Trimborn said.
“Fire at will,” commanded Jas. They would make the best use of the remaining time.
Now that the pathway was clear, the Thylacine poured pulses onto the enemy ship. But their attack seemed to have little impact. Like its hull, the ship’s force field was formidable.
The Thylacine’s pulses were bathing the enemy ship in light, so that only its outline was visible above the slowly turning golden globe. Everyone on the bridge fixed their gaze on the starship. No one even seemed to breathe.
Then it was gone.
There was a sigh of exhaled breath. The second ship had jumped. Relieved exclamations sounded across the bridge.
“I want a full damage report,” Jas barked. “Begin repairs immediately, and scan the remaining ship’s debris for signs of life. Trimborn, assemble a team to sweep the planet.”
Her tone quietened the room, and heads turned to consoles as everyone went back to their tasks.
Jas frowned. The battle had been much too easy. Why hadn’t the second ship remained? Her fighters had penetrated the Thylacine’s defenses, and expended power made the ship additionally vulnerable.
The two new models of starships added to Jas’ suspicions. She would have to speak to Pacheco the next opportunity she had.
Jas’ expression turned grim. Her next task was a sad one. After briefly checking that everyone on the bridge was focused on their work, she opened the interface on her armrest.
The screen displayed a list of pilots’ names. As the fighter pilots returned to the ship, their embedded microchips would be recognized by the ship’s computer. A dot would appear next to each name as the pilots landed. The search for missing pilots would begin immediately. When it was completed, Jas would write to the families of those who hadn’t been found. She would tell them that their loved one was missing in action, presumed dead.
Pacheco had told her several times that she didn’t have to do this task, but she did it anyway. The reason was, each time that she did it, she was reminded of a pilot she had once known.
Jas performed this service for missing pilots’ families because she knew that she would have liked to have received that news rather than being left never really knowing what had happened to him.
Chapter Two
Jas’ office was bare and functional. She had a desk with an embedded interface and a seat. A couple more chairs stood against the wall in case she ever felt the need to invite anyone to sit, but the seats were rarely used. She wasn’t a commander who was in the habit of having long conversations with her crew.
With a sigh, Jas swept the screen of her interface, and it blinked to life. The damage report from the battle was in. She scanned it, her tired gaze moving down the screen. The Thylacine had sustained severe damage to the launch bay doors, but repair crews were already working on them. The area would be without an atmosphere until the doors were fixed.
She had sent First Officer Trimborn planetside to sweep the population for Shadows. He and his defense units and troops would work through the government and other positions of influence in the local population, employing Shadow scanners to root out the aliens. Control of the planet would be returned to its sentient species, and Trimborn’s team would train key personnel in the Transgalactic Council’s Shadow protocol: rigorous, systematic testing for the Shadows’ presence in every area of their society.
How the locals dealt with the Shadows they discovered was up to them, providing they ensured the hostile aliens would no longer pose any threat to the galaxy. In Jas’ experience, most of the invaded populations chose to put an end to that threat once and for all.
Some armed resistance during the Shadow sweeping process was almost inevitable, but Trimborn had troops, weapons, and armored vehicles. The fighter ships could also operate in an atmosphere if needed. Trimborn was well-practiced at his task, and Jas had every confidence in her first officer, even if he was prone to getting a little over-excited at times.
As she finished reading the damage report, she frowned. The enhanced capabilities of the Shadow ship and its fighter pilots, and its surprise retreat, still bothered her. With a sinking heart, she pulled up the list of pilots. Where there should have been dots, many blanks remained next to the names. She lifted her comm button to her lips.
“Squadron Leader Correia, report on the missing pilots.”
“We’ve finished our search, ma’am. Everyone who’s coming back is aboard ship,” came the man’s reply.
Krat. The list on the display screen looked more than half empty. “We seem to have suffered higher than average losses.”
“Yes, we have, Commander. Thirty-three missing.”
Thirty-three of seventy-eight. “How do you account for those numbers, Squadron Leader?”
The man took a moment to answer. “If I’m honest, Commander, I’d say we were outclassed. If it weren’t for the fact that the second ship jumped, I don’t think we could have lasted much longer.”
“I see.”
“I’ve been a
part of this war for nearly three years, ma’am,” Correia went on, “and the Shadow fighter pilots just get better and better. At the same time, our recruits are younger every time we receive a new batch, and they’re worse-trained. When I joined up, I thought the caliber of our pilots was poor and we were scraping the barrel. Now, if it weren’t for the fact that we’ve got a war to win, I would send half of every new intake back to pilot school.” The man’s tone rose. “They simply aren’t ready, ma’am. And we send them out there like...like...”
“I understand, Squadron Leader,” Jas said. “I understand. Please let me know when we’ll hold the memorial service for the lost pilots.”
Correia had recovered his composure. He answered firmly, “Yes, ma’am.”
Jas closed the comm link and returned her attention to the screen. She prepared to write the first mail of thirty-eight. Pressing on a pilot’s name brought up his or her details, including the next-of-kin’s mail address and any last messages or requests from the pilot in the event of their death. She always read each entry carefully and crafted personal mails based on what the pilot had written. She pressed the first name:
If don’t make it, please send this message to my parents:
Dear Mom and Dad, don’t cry too long or too hard over me. Please don’t be mad over what has happened. I did what I had to do, and fighting the Shadows was it. Put on a brave face for those who need you, and celebrate my life.
Jas read the woman’s birth date. She’d been twenty-two when she died. Her eyes sad, Jas began to write.
She always referred to the lost pilot’s status as 'presumed dead’. If the searchers couldn’t find a signal from their chip, the person was almost certainly going to die if they weren’t already dead. Deep space was so vast, the chances of being accidentally found were just about impossible. Though Jas recalled a case where the pilot’s arm that held her chip had been blown way off into space, and it was only when she managed to comm her ship that anyone knew she was still alive.
Jas had only written two sentences of the first mail when her interface chirruped. The message wasn’t marked urgent, so she ignored it. Whatever it was, it could wait until she’d gotten at least one mail written. Almost immediately, however, there was a second chirrup. This time, she checked to see who was messaging her. It was Admiral Pacheco’s office requesting a vidcall.
She rolled her eyes. Vidcalls across space required excessive power. A simple mail should have sufficed if he wanted to discuss something, and whatever it was could probably have been handled by his office too.
She pressed her acceptance, and Pacheco’s familiar face appeared on her screen. She’d worked with Pacheco in one way or another ever since had volunteered to join the Shadow War and he was first officer aboard the Infineon, where she’d been posted. Jas had been commanding a team of defense units, and Pacheco had earned a quick promotion to commander when the Infineon’s commander had his head blown off by a Shadow.
Jas and Pacheco had both come a long way since then, and the admiral’s dark hair had silvered at his temples. Over the years, Jas had developed a comfortable acquaintance with the short-tempered man.
If only the admiral’s feelings about her had been similarly neutral.
“Commander Harrington, good to see you, as always.”
“Hello, Admiral. Is there something I can do for you?”
The man’s features clouded. “Ever efficient and straight to the point. Would it hurt to just chat for once, Jas? It isn’t like we’re strangers.”
Jas rubbed her brow. “I’m in the middle of something, Pacheco. So, if this is about the meeting, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. Now, I really need to—”
“You’re writing to the pilots’ families, aren’t you? I keep telling you—”
“And I keep telling you that I want to do it. Now, please, krat knows how much power this call is using, so...”
“Okay, okay,” the admiral grumbled. “Yes, it was about the meeting. But not only that, you’ll collect your new intake of personnel while you’re here and jump back to your ship with them. You have some newly trained pilots, a team of defense units, a chief engineer, and relief maintenance crew as your current set are at the end of their duty tour, some medics, and—”
“Fine. I’ll make sure to collect them. I’ll see you at the meeting.”
“Wait,” Pacheco said. “There’s one more thing I thought you might be interested to know.”
“What’s that?” Jas asked, wondering what else the man would think up to prolong the call. She lifted her hand, ready to close the connection.
“As your intake were talking among themselves, I overheard something I thought you might find interesting. One of them already knows you, someone said. From way back before the Shadow War began.”
Jas’ hand halted on its downward trajectory to end the call. “Someone who knows me?” Her voice quivered.
Pacheco’s eyes narrowed as he studied her reaction. “Yes, that’s right. That was all I heard, though.”
Someone who knew her. For a brief moment, Jas forgot where she was and who she was talking to. But she didn’t dare to hope.
She returned to the present and saw that Pacheco had been watching her silently during her moment of distraction.
“Okay,” she said, with some effort. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll see you soon.”
She closed the call without waiting for an answer from Pacheco. Her heart was racing and her blood was rushing through her ears, making her light-headed. Could it really be him? It was hardly possible that he’d survived five years as a pilot in the Shadow War. The attrition rate was too high. Jas hadn’t met a single pilot who had been in the war since the beginning.
Her stomach was so tight, she felt sick. It was strange. She thought she’d given up hope of ever seeing Carl again years ago, when she’d accepted the remoteness of the chances of him still being alive. Yet this small remark passed on by Pacheco had thrown her back into a state of ridiculous, stupid hope. A hope she’d tried hard to give up.
Chapter Three
Jas had a few minutes before the Transgalactic Council gateway would open to take her to the Unity Alliance meeting. She checked her reflection in her cabin’s mirror, smoothing down the creases on her uniform pants. She preferred the flexibility of a combat suit to the stiff, black material of a commander’s uniform. Hers always looked crumpled and untidy.
She had managed to slow her racing heart a little by telling herself over and over again that it was impossible that this person who knew her from long ago could be Carl. She had met and worked with many people over her career as a security officer. Hundreds of crew members aboard the prospecting starships where she used to work, in fact. This person could be any of them. There was no reason for her to suppose that it was Carl.
She checked the time and turned to face the spot in the corner of her office where the gateway would open. The technology was highly confidential. The Council insisted that it was used well away from lower-ranking military.
Minute green specks appeared in midair and were soon lazily swirling around. Jas had gotten used to traveling by gateway since she’d been promoted to commander six months ago, but she took deep breaths this time as the green spots coalesced.
At just the right moment, she stepped through.
She was in the entrance way of a tall building, standing in the bright light of twin suns. Jas stepped quickly away from the gateway to make room for other commanders and captains who would be appearing behind her. Looking up, she saw that her initial impression of the building hadn’t been correct. It would have been more accurate to describe the place as a kind of mound. Way above, the massive insectoid Transgalactic Council officials were flying on translucent wings, emerging from and landing at holes in the sides of the mound.
The entrance way she stood at was apparently only for species who went around on legs. Jas took a moment to enjoy the feeling of sunlight on her face for the first time in months before
entering the edifice.
Inside, she was greeted by a Council administrator—a smaller, less colorful version of the higher officials—who led her and the other military officers through smooth, ceramic tunnels to the meeting room.
Accommodating the range of galactic species who had allied with the Unity, the military arm of the Transgalactic Council, could not have been easy, but the Council managers had clearly grown adept at the practice during the hundreds of Earth years that they’d been organizing the galaxy’s affairs. Jas settled down in a seat designed for humanoids and waited for the rest of the UA officers to arrive.
She’d been eager to attend the meeting after her most recent battle, to discuss what had happened with the new Shadow ships. She’d wanted to find out if anyone had had a similar experience and what they thought of it. But Pacheco’s news had distracted her a little. She was looking forward to the meeting being over so she could meet this mysterious person from the past who knew her.
The Unity Alliance officers entered the room in dribs and drabs, walking, hopping, floating, and sliding. Jas knew many of them by sight, some by name. During her brief time as a commander, some of the officers she’d gotten to know had died in the course of performing their duty.
She chewed the edge of her thumb, wondering how much longer she had to wait until the meeting would start.
Finally, when the room was bursting with the assorted UA upper echelons, Admiral Pacheco arrived. As he came in, his eyes caught Jas’. His black uniform was in a far better state than hers. Not a crease or piece of lint was in sight. He was wearing his admiral’s hat, which he took off and tucked under his arm.
Only an extra star on the breast of his jacket signified Pacheco’s rank, but his dignified composure was enough to tell any onlooker of his status. His gaze, as it swept the room, was quiet and serious. The hum of various languages that had started up as the officers waited was quickly silenced.
