The Fleet

by John M. Davis

  Sitting back in his chair a bit, Dalton held the com firmly and awaited a response. Though none come. The entire staff of the God of War's bridge could now see the large ships at a distance. Massive – each of them looking very odd in design.

  “These fuckers think I'm messing around,” Dalton announced, bringing his com back to the ready. “Again, this is Commander Dalton James. You are instructed to identify yourselves and your intentions, otherwise you run the risk of being shot down.”

  He was only a single ship against three, but didn't plan to blink. Dalton had no idea what was aboard the ships in front of him, but did know that his God of War was slammed packed with the firepower he needed to bring hurt to an enemy.

  “I'm getting something commander,” a crewman said. “Patching it through now.”

  Pushing several buttons on a console in front of him, the crewman remained calm. Although he'd be the very first human to hear words being uttered by this brand new race. All through a large set of earphones snugged to his head.

  The video screen near their ship's massive glass windshield began to light up. It was nearly ten feet in diameter, both in length and width, and had been designed so that ships within the fleet could communicate with ease. Of course, there was nothing easy about awaiting a transmission from an alien race.

  Dalton almost expected to see little green men in the transmission. He'd seen plenty before, usually at the bottom of a cheaper bottle of whiskey. But this time, he saw anything but little green men.

  A tall figure draped in white cloth. Its skin nearly as white as the color itself. Appearing to have no pigmentation whatsoever. It appeared humanoid, though it seemed to stand a bit taller. Nearly eight feet, if Dalton's calculations were correct.

  The room behind him seemed to be made of crystal, or at least designed in that fashion. Several others were also visible. All of them draped in white.

  As the being began to speak, Dalton noticed a few things.

  First, its eyes were completely white. He could make out the area where the pupils normally were, but it was as if his pupils were indeed there – only white.

  The being's face was smooth like plastic. Skin, no doubt; but completely white and pure. Shiny and smooth. Giving the impression of an artificial material.

  Finally, as the being began to speak a very sharp and foreign tongue, its teeth immediately caught Dalton's attention. Broken and pointed. Almost shard-like.

  Dalton had always made it a point to notice teeth. A pet peeve, really. If a dog had teeth that looked menacing, it wasn't worth owning. If a fellow smuggler had under-maintained teeth, they'd not be sharing Dalton's whiskey and, if it were a female with teeth of the same nature, she'd be going home by herself.

  They had always been his rules, for whatever reason, and immediately he found himself not trusting the race in front of him. Filling his com screen with downright ugliness.

  “Nothing commander,” a crewman said. “Its language is unlike anything we've encountered.”

  “Well that's fucking fabulous right there,” Dalton replied. “What am I supposed to use, sign language?”

  The being seemed to await Dalton's reply. Having no idea he'd stumbled upon a man famous for anything but words. Unless you frequented the local saloon, at which time, Dalton would be seen as a poet.

  “Look here,” Dalton said into his com. “I don't speak your language and you certainly don't speak mine. So run along now, before someone gets hurt.” he added, giving the illusion of an explosion with his hands.

  Watching the strange looking creature plug several wires into a small box which rested on its collar, Dalton found himself coming back to its teeth and eyes. Time and again. Until a bit of noise began to pipe from the box

  “Why are you shooting at my vessels?” the creature asked.

  It spoke Dalton's native tongue, though it sounded very much like an automated program. Some type of software which captured and translated a foreign language within a matter of seconds. At least that was best explanation among the crewmen.

  Everything about the creature's voice sounded eerie. Very slow sounds pieced together with a clicking of the tongue – then spoken into the small box which bracketed to its neck. Taking his words and translating them back into language that Commander Dalton James and crew could understand.

  He should have been scared. God knows everyone else witnessing the first encounter between races was. But Dalton feared no man, regardless of how bad his language was. In fact, he'd been infamous for broken language at times himself.

  “You threaten one of my birds, you are getting your ass shot at. That's how it works.” Dalton barked firmly.

  Giving the strange being a moment to compute his words; the translation box once again cleaning them up for consumption by his ears, the being seemed to quickly inherit a look of frustration and irritation.

  “My craft never fired on your vessel.” the commander of an alien race replied.

  “How about I ask the questions,” Dalton said, though it were a statement. Not a question. “Starting with you sitting in my damn backyard. Unannounced. You're lucky I tried to communicate with you, rather than start blowing shit out of the sky.”

  Cambria wanted to warn her lover off. Feeling as though he were being harsh on the new race. Perhaps stirring things up. But she remained still. Trusting Dalton's judgment and experience when it came to military situations.

  “You would be wise to calm yourself,” the strange being replied. Its tongue snapping a bit as broken words went into the translation box and left understandable to human ears. “I hardly believe your warship is capable.”

  “If you want to test that belief, you say the words,” Dalton said, standing firm. “I can riddle that heap of horse shit full of holes or you can answer my question. Who are you and why are you in my backyard,” he added. “I won't ask again.”

  It was Dalton's way of doing things. He'd learned throughout life that, unless you're staring at one of the best, intimidation usually leads to an average participant backing down in a fighting situation.

  Being so aggressive in negotiations had actually gotten him out of more fights than in, which the smuggler turned commander had bet on this time around. He didn't want anyone to die, but wasn't about to let a race of beings waltz in and have their way. And he had no problem announcing it.

  Dalton figured if this new race of beings were that badass, they'd attack regardless.

  “My people are called the Viscion,” the strange being said. “I'm one of their commanders, of course, and we picked your small craft up at a distance. We did not recognize its marking and were hoping to make contact with another race. Nothing of a violent nature, though, if pressed,” it added. “We can be.”

  Dalton knew enough about the anatomy of a fight to understand the Viscion had no intentions of blasting his ship from the sky. That said, they would also back down no further. Evident by the tone of the commander's voice.

  “Very well,” Dalton said. “I'll have my people stand down. You've made contact,” he added. “Now. What can I do you for?”

  “I would much like to talk details with you in person.” the Viscion replied.

  “It's won't be on this ship,” Dalton replied firmly. “Aside from that I'm open to suggestions.”

  He'd rather eat nails and shit galvanized spaghetti than to bring an alien race onto his ship and reveal the layout of their home in the sky.

  “I see,” the commander replied. “Perhaps you would be willing to meet in person aboard my ship.”

  “Dalton, no.” Cambria pleaded with a whisper.

  “Damn straight.” Dalton replied.

  “I do not understand?” the commander said with confusion.

  “That means yes in my language.” Dalton replied.

  His reply brought great joy to the Viscion, although Cambria's heart sank to the floor.

  “Good.” the commander of the Viscion warship replied. “I await your arrival.”

  *
>
  “I can't believe my eyes.” one of the soldiers aboard the aluminum colored shuttle said.

  The rest of the crew, including Adam, shared his thoughts of New Glimmeria.

  It was literally a city brimming with people. A very old city, granted, but still a very welcomed sight. It had long been abandoned by the Husk race, though it remained intact for the most part. Towers of stone and smaller buildings of the same. Many of them etched with the language of the Husk – announcing their function among a society that once thrived within its walls.

  Second Glimmeria had been chosen because of its glaring advantage. So little room to live comfortably against extreme temperatures. An advantage as very few infected roamed the lands surrounding the small city. The population of the planet very low around the time that universal infection set in.

  Adam wasn't sure what to say as their shuttle descended from the clouds above the city. Welcomed by com traffic and the sight of dozens of large capital ships and very close to a hundred smaller craft just like his. Many having maintenance performed on them at the same moment.

  Giving the survivors among the fleet a chance to finally give their ships a once over. Performing much needed maintenance and check for anything faulty. Allowing their machines of might a chance to rest.

  It seemed as though society had been plucked from dozens of planets throughout the Skyla System, thrown into a mixing bowl and then jam-packed into a small cup, or, in this case, a small city of archaic design.

  A large mass of supplies had been taken near the center of the city, from what they could see, and was being redistributed. A chance for people with too many items of clothing to exchange what they could spare for supplies they were in desperate need of the most.

  A spot for friends to reunite and tell stories of life aboard their specific ships. Share cigars, lager and other items of comfort. While others were alone and just in need of some rest. A wanting for true sunlight to fall onto their skin after having survived nearly an entire year inside of metal squares with a bunk.

  As a longtime military trained man, Adam began scouting from the shuttle above. Doing his best to check the defenses of the city thoroughly.

  There were no underground mack cannons to help defend against airborne threats, as was the case on the original planet of Glimmeria.

  The mack cannons were mighty enough to punch holes through the toughest of ships, but that hadn't helped during the downfall of Glimmeria as the infection spread. Their greatest cities overrun in a matter of days.

  What the city did seem to have in place were gun towers. Armed military snipers in each of the city's largest towers, which were plentiful. Giving them a bit of defense against any infected who may try to approach the city. Aside from that, Adam saw a handful of combat shuttles patrolling the outskirts. Capable of taking down small groups of infected, if needed be.

  He wasn't sure who was behind the plan to move the survivors here, but Adam thanked them. Truly. Praying he would be able to raise his son with a natural breeze blowing at their backs, rather than air manufactured by a ship's purification system.

  The planet was safe enough to rest with his son. That was his assessment and Adam would gladly take it. He was in serious need of a few hours of sleep. It didn't matter where, just as long as he was with his son and they were safe.

  As the shuttle touched down with a bit of rough thud onto the large courtyard built of stone, Adam thanked each of the soldiers for their help in rescuing Avery.

  Taking a few extra moments to encourage the young soldier with them to stay after his dream of owning a ship and moving freight. Letting him know that their society would be back on track soon enough, and sometimes a dream to chase was all that a man needed to be happy.

  He would try to track down his old friend soon enough. At the moment though, Adam felt the extreme of fatigue and hurt of a lover taken down by his own hand. He needed sleep in the worst of ways, though he feared...very little sleep was to be had.

  *

  “I'm going to ask you not to go.” Cambria said. Pleading with her brown coat laden lover to stay within the safe confines of their ship.

  “I've been playing too nice for too long. I've got to get out and live a little, you know?” Dalton replied.

  Cambria found the exchange odd. It seemed as though two married lovers were disputing something normal, like a man's night out to the local pub with friends. Although she would say nothing of it to her lover.

  “Anything can happen over there,” she pleaded. “Anything.”

  “I was born ready for anything,” he replied with a grin. “You're talking to the old hound dog here.”

  “Dalton. I'm serious.” Cambria insisted.

  Old hound dog or not, she understood the Viscion could very well be a peaceful race. That said, they could also spring a trap onto Dalton and his group the moment his shuttle touched down. Stripping the man she loved from her arms. Forever.

  “I know,” he replied. His tone becoming one of truth. “Trust me Cambria, I'll be fine. I'm just going long enough to find out what we're up against.”

  “Be careful.” she said. Draping her arms around him for a moment and exchanging a very passionate kiss.

  Her arms clinched him tightly. Almost knowing he would never come back to her. Cambria wanted to beg him once more. Scream it at the top of her lungs, if that's what it took. But she didn't. She simply kissed him as she'd never done before. Taking her time and loving him completely.

  “Well, this is awkward.” one of the soldiers commented.

  A party of six of them altogether, four human and two Husk, had gathered and awaited the commander. Preparing to fly along with him.

  “I've pulled a few posts outside of the commander's bunk,” another soldier replied. “Trust me. They don't care who is around. They just get to it.”

  “Get to what?” one of the Husk warriors asked.

  The human soldier glanced to him.

  “Oh my.”

  The Husk understood that what his own race did in the privacy of stone built dwellings, Dalton was capable of doing in public with no regret. A scary thought indeed.

  “Alright men. Let's get your hands out of your pockets and get to it.” Dalton ordered. Passing by the group with purpose as they prepared to board the fleet's most solid shuttle.

  But you were the one holding US up?

  As the shuttle began to lift from the firm push of thick steel flooring, Dalton felt nerves. It was only natural. He'd seen a lot in his time. He'd survived wars – even walked away from two different crash landings. Both times promising himself and anyone else who would listen, that he'd never again set foot on anything that pulled his feet from the ground.

  Lies, of course, but he always was slow to learn his lesson.

  This was different. He didn't fear having to survive a third crashed ship, though another go around with that would have been a bitch.

  Dalton thought of a brand new race awaiting his presence. A race that could have presented humanity with futuristic technology. Perhaps even a cure for diseases which they'd been unable to find. In particular, the disease which had maddened so many infected below and turned them into a zombie-like state.

  “When we get there. Nobody starts shooting unless I start shooting.” Dalton said.

  “Do you really think there will be shooting, sir?” one of the human soldiers asked.

  “We'll, there's sure to be drinks. That's usually what happens at a sit down like this,” Dalton replied. “Whenever there's drinks, that leads to shooting. Be it shot glasses or gunfire,” he added. “And like I said. Nobody starts shooting until I do.”

  As he grinned a bit, sitting back in the chair built for durability – not comfort, Dalton felt like a proud poppa among such men. Their youthful eyes stargazing at a man who'd walked the walk many times before.

  “Are we to follow you?” one of the two Husk asked.

  “Stay with the shuttle. Both of you,” Dalton replied. “You hear gunfire
, you get on that damn radio and let the good folks on the God of War know. They'll tear the Viscion a new asshole.”

  “Understood.” the mighty Husk replied.

  They were monstrous in appearance. The Husk had always been viewed as such, resembling Orc of mythology. Large, abundant in muscles and gleaming a set of large, wiry teeth that only a mother could love.

  Their appearance was enough to force many in the human race to walk the other way. Not Dalton James. He'd fought shoulder to shoulder with Husk for many years. Losing the first war of Glimmeria and winning the second.

  Lighting a badly wrapped cigar, Dalton grinned a bit. Quickly filling the shuttle's cabin with smoke. Irritating every soldier with him, while never giving a damn.

  *

  Nearly a year aboard ships in the black nearly brought Adam down. Especially while frantically searching for his son. It made the moment all that much sweeter as Adam carried Avery from the shuttle. The rest of their group walking ahead as fresh air swooped in and brushed across Adam's face.

  It felt like paradise. A bit cold, certainly nothing of the sandy beach lifestyle – but manageable. Enough to live year round wearing no coat, though he'd already started picturing Dalton draped in brown leather and cigar smoke.

  As expected, Adam had gotten almost no sleep while flying to Second Glimmeria. Thinking of a love that once was – and the moment he ended it with a single bullet.

  Sarah Blaine had been his soul mate. Sure, he'd married Sasha and fit in well with the Benzans around her. Their simple and remote lifestyle very satisfying to Adam. But never, not once, did the man of so many walks ever forget about Sarah Blaine. Ever stop longing for her presence. Her touch.

  Seeing her nearly killed his inner soul. The queen of vampires with no intentions of walking away. Adam had understood that their love, no matter how explosive, was not meant to be. There was too much history there. Including the theft of his son.

  It was an act that Adam considered over the line. His love for Avery far greater than a love for any woman could ever be. He had not pushed Sarah into the life of the undead, and he certainly wasn't going to walk away without getting his son back.

  It had to be done. Though Adam regretted the fact that her blood was on his hands, she had to fall. Not that it would lead to sleep-filled nights for him anytime soon.