by Trevor Wyatt
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 minuscule 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.
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 me 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.
Last night left me a little sore 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 forehead.
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 Fires 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.
There are about three dedicated security soldiers in the CNC, all of which are assigned to Jeryl. They are his personal protection detail and this is another point of contention between me and the higher-ups. Why protect a Captain from his crew? What kind of message does that send? If anything, it’s divisive; not exactly what’s 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. They were so unaccustomed to war – I mean, it was the first year.
They murdered the Captain but by then, Sonali fighters had targeted them and taken out their FTL drives. Sonali ships swarmed 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 agrees with me, and he has refused to succumb to the paranoia that has taken over the whole Armada. Despite that, The Seeker’s security personnel have about twenty highly trained, highly skilled, and terribly equipped men and women who don’t give a damn. I try as much as possible to stay out of their way. They don’t contribute anything to the culture and operations on The Seeker, so I just try and leave them be. You can’t fight Armada regulations, but you sure as hell can do your best to ignore them.
Jeryl takes his seat and beams at his CNC crew with pride. They don’t notice it because everyone is frantic over their controls checking off last minute details and conducting final scans and ensuring readiness. I smile at this and read through some of the reports waiting for me, my eyes going over the information cascading down my tablet screen. I'm critical about logistics, because it is my duty to ensure the ship runs smoothly so the Captain can focus on the more important decisions.
After what feels like three seconds (but really is three minutes), the Captain says, “Clear all docking.”
“Aye, captain,” replies Henry Docherty, our navigator. The ship thrums for a moment and there is a soft jerk as we are released from the station. Gently, we begin to put some distance between us and the last safe place we’ll see for quite some time. I don’t notice a roar in the engines. The inertia dampers were working well. Too well, in fact.
“First Officer Gavin. Take the ship to high alert,” the Captain says.
“High alert, sir,” I report right after tapping my fingers across the command panel holographic dashboard. The lights in the CNC and all over the ship take on a slight reddish tint. Defensive screens take over the main view screen with reports of every critical system - weapons, FTL drive, life support…it’s all there.
“Set course to Anderson Nebula,” Jeryl says at last, his voice somber. Still, there’s a deep solemnity to his words. The kind of solemnity that tells me what he’s thinking about – and it’s not pretty.
I feel a sharp jerk the moment the FTL drive kicks in and flings us into interstellar space.
“How long to The Mariner Nebula?” the Captain asks.
“Three days, Captain,” Docherty replies.
“It should give us enough time to complete whatever repairs are lagging,” the Captain says.
“Aye, Captain,” I reply.
This is it. No turning back now.
Admiral Flynn
The live slipstream feed projects a full holographic image of Admiral Walker into the center of my office. The image is blotchy in some areas and a lot of times it frazzles. The sound is good and crisp though.
“Walker,” I say by way of greeting. Even though he’s spearheading the war effort, we’ve dropped the formalities between us long ago.
Walker nods. He’s sitting on a chair in his office, and that’s where the slipstream captures him. The background isn’t part of the holographic image, and I know that it’s the same for me; Walker’s only able to see me standing by my desk, and not my entire office.
“Flynn,” Admiral says in response. “What’s your status?”
I heave a sigh when he asks me that. I've been thinking about the mission I just sent over four hundred ships on. What’s my status? Not a good one, that’s for sure. I have been posing that question over and over again since the captains departed.
If they succeed and wipe out a billion innocent Sonali in one swipe, will that make me one of the greatest mass murderers in the history of the universe? I come up with a no. Nature or the cosmos is the universe’s deadliest and most cruel mass murderer.
From dust we came, to dust we shall return.
I smile in spite of myself. How true that statement is. Does the universe even care about sentience? Or are we—humans and Sonali—playing the consciousness game while the cold universe treats us with the same insignificance it’d treat a speck of dust?
No, I am not the universe’s greatest mass murderer. That prize goes to the cosmos. But I know that when this is all over, I will come in second. I’m not sure if that’s how I want to be remembered, but I suppose that when it comes to war you don’t get to choose your legacy.
Snapping out of it, I look 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.”
The Admiral clears his throat and folds his hands before him. I see his hands float in the air, but I know he has them on his table, which the slipstream does not project. I begin to pace in front of my desk. I tether on the verge of telling Admiral Walker my fears.
Despite our seniority, we have a lot in common. He was my senior back at the academy, and I’ve 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, I’m serving with him. I’ve never thought I’d have the opportunity to determine the course of the universe. Now, I find myself saddled with that responsibility—and who else to help me carry it but Walker himself?
He must have noticed my discomfort because he says, “You know how important this mission is, Flynn. Do I need to remind you of that?”
There is some sort of unspoken tradition in the fleet—when your CO asks such a question you reply with a firm negative, even though you sure need reminding.
But I don’t.
Not because I need reminding, but because I’m not so sure this is the best course of action. It’s ruthless, vicious. It’s…inhumane.
After pacing for a while, I pause in front of the Admiral. Looking up to him, I purse my lips and muster the necessary courage to continue. “Do you know Armada Intelligence reports that this planet we are 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 looks at me as if he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. But I know he does. “Those ships will hit that planet, Flynn. This final attack will happen.” He stresses his voice and cocks his eyebrow when he says ‘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,” I say to him.
He stares at me.
I feel like a kid in class.
“Did you know?” I press. “Did you get the report?” Of course, he knows. He read the report long before Armada Intelligence sent it my way. I wonder why they sent it. To guilt trip me? To what end? Or maybe someone there is feeling guilty, and trying their possible best to stave off genocide. Maybe they b
elieve that there’s still someone in the Armada’s upper echelon with a heart. Someone whose conscience hasn’t been seared by the hot iron of war.
Admiral Walker sighs and closes 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 opens his eyes and I see his weary look. I know he expects my protest, so I just go ahead and give him.
“I have my misgivings, Walker,” I say, matter-of-factly. “A lot of people have been talking. A lot of our admirals, too.”
“They can talk all they want,” Admiral Walker replies. “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?” I ask. “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 snaps, and right then and there I hear the voice and anguish of all the death this war has caused. Walker is standing now and bristling with unbridled rage.
I'm rooted in the ground, and I don’t even dare to move or speak—not while Walker is this riled up. Still, I stare him down and refuse to back down. There’s enough white in my hair to give me that right.
Still maintaining his scowl and hardline voice, he says, “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, he runs one hand through his thinning hair and looks at me 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 sighs and sits back down. I continue to pace, my heart beating faster. I am angry now. Angry at Admiral Walker. Angry at the Wolf Offensive. Angry at myself for committing and supporting such an act. And yet, I’m also angry at myself for having second thoughts.
