by Rick Partlow
“That was the hyperdrive,” Joon-Pah explained, calmer than I would have expected. “They must have had their capacitors charged in case they needed to jump. When the round hit, the energy went into the hyperdrive and caused an unstable wormhole.”
“Good to know,” Olivera said, just the slightest quaver in his voice, the hint of sweat on his forehead the only sign he was as scared as the rest of us.
“She’s just gone,” Baldwin said, as if the power of the weapon scared her. “I’m not picking up anything at all, nothing but hot gas.” She shook herself and her eyes seemed to refocus. “The other two cruisers are moving away. A thousand…no, four thousand kilometers now and still withdrawing.”
“Colonel Olivera, we have a message from Colonel Brooks on the other ship.”
That was a Space Force First Lieutenant, a baby-faced puppy who probably couldn’t have rented a car without his parents being listed as the primary driver. I couldn’t remember his name, but he’d been attached to the Helta Communications officer at some point during the trip when Olivera realized trying to get Baldwin to double down on Tactical and Comms wasn’t working.
“It’s text-only,” the young man clarified. “She says they’ve got the controls fixed, or at least fixed enough to get them moving. They’re separating from the docks and should be ready for the jump to hyperspace in less than half an hour.”
Half an hour seemed like forever on the ground with a gun in your hand. Out here, where everything moved with glacial slowness, it was as good as immediate and the tension went out of the bridge crew like the air hissing out of a balloon.
“We can stand them off for half an hour,” Baldwin assured Olivera. “All we have to do is keep them maneuvering out of the way of our line of fire. They don’t know long it takes the weapon to recycle, so they won’t take the chance.” She shrugged. “Or at least I wouldn’t.”
The Helta Communications officer began gabbling, still not good enough with English to try to use it in an emergency situation. We really should have set up a translation circuit on the bridge.
But no, that wouldn’t have worked either. In an emergency, when everyone is already talking over everyone else, having a time-delayed computer voice yapping at them wouldn’t have worked very well.
“One of the Tevynian vessels is sending a video signal,” Joon-Pah said, translating for the other Heltan. “He wants to talk to the ship’s captain.”
“Let me see it,” Olivera said. “But don’t let him see us, yet.”
The Heltan Comms officer touched a control and a section of the central display shimmered briefly before manifesting the view from the bridge of one of the Tevynian ships. It was nearly identical to our own, stolen from the Helta, but the Tevynians had added their own touches here and there.
“Are those…skulls?” Captain Cochrane asked, his face going pale.
“Quiet,” Olivera snapped, but the same awed horror was in his eyes. And maybe in mine.
The bleached white skulls were mounted along the bulkhead beneath the line of system monitors, not in a gaudy fashion, not as if they were there to inspire fear in us or any of the Tevynians’ enemies, but rather in a casual, matter-of-fact manner like the deer heads in a hunting cabin. Which made it so much worse. It took me a second to realize that not all the skulls were Helta. A few were clearly from some other species we hadn’t encountered yet, and more than one was human.
It was hard to pry my attention away from the skulls and back to the Tevynians. I didn’t want to call them humans, but they obviously were. Even with the strange, checkered patterns of their clothes, the odd hairstyles, the facial tattoos that would have seemed over the top at a heavy metal concert, and the golden torques most of them wore around their necks, they were human. Not so much as a bumpy forehead or a brow ridge to be seen.
The captain looked just like the owner of the tattoo parlor in Tampa where I got my only ink over twenty years ago, right after I made it through boot camp. The eagle, globe and anchor rested over my heart and they always would, but I had no desire to turn my skin into a canvas. This guy had different ideas, and the whorls and waves outlined in blue across his face told a story of his culture and his place in it, a story he believed was more important than the face he’d been born with.
His was a good face for a canvas, broad and flat with a high brow and cruel eyes. I’d seen eyes like his before, usually on the wrong end of an AK47. When he spoke, the computer translated it into English a second or two behind the words, but the words themselves seemed somehow familiar, though I couldn’t have told you what Earth language they reminded me of.
“Helta ship, this is Captain Thanylaxia Ranalixia of the Confederation warship Sword Dancer. I have claimed this system in the name of the Tevynian Confederation and you will surrender your vessel to me immediately. You may think this weapon you have used to kill my brothers and sisters of the Longspear will save you, but we will stay out of its range and once you have left this system, we will have our vengeance on the citizens of the world you call Fairhome. We will execute ten of your people for every one of ours you’ve killed!”
Julie spat a curse and I agreed with the sentiment.
“You will respond immediately,” the Tevynian went on. “If there is any delay, I will signal my ground commander in your city to begin the executions with your civil administrators and shoot one of them every five minutes until you surrender.”
The image froze just after the last word and the wind went out of me like I’d been kicked in the gut. And not just me. Michael Olivera was a fighter pilot, the dictionary definition of decisive because hesitation could get him killed. Now, he hesitated, and I could see the indecision in his steely eyes.
“Joon-Pah…” He clearly didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t give up this ship, but these were Joon-Pah’s people and his ship and he couldn’t bring himself to give an order that would lead to the deaths of thousands of them. For once, he didn’t know what to do.
But I did.
“Get all the Helta off the bridge,” I said. It wasn’t a request. It was an order I had no right to give, but I gave it anyway. “Then put me on with this asshole.”
Olivera’s face went from doubt of his own judgment to doubt of mine, which, I suppose, was something of an improvement.
“You sure you know what you’re doing, Andy?” Julie asked, though not with the skepticism I’d expected.
“We can’t let him blame this on the Helta,” I said, shaking my head. “We can’t let them die for us.”
“I’m taking a hell of a lot on myself making this decision,” Olivera pointed out.
“That’s part of being the captain,” I said, then grinned lopsidedly. “Even if you Space Force yahoos call it a colonel.”
“Joon-Pah,” Olivera said, eyes still fixed on mine, as if making the decision while he spoke the words, “if you could please have your people leave the bridge, and tell Lt. Collins here….” He nodded toward the human Comms officer. “…how to get a live feed with the Tevynians.”
It took nearly a minute to get the Helta off the bridge, and I gritted my teeth at the delay, imagining Captain Inky giving the order to kill the first Heltan while we dragged our feet. But finally, Collins nodded to me and touched the control the Heltan had shown him.
It was the same bridge, the same man, but the image shifted to the left as if I was watching an old film roll and there’d been a spliced break in the reel. Captain Thanos…Thanos Anal Licker? I couldn’t remember the fucker’s name. Captain Inky would have to do. Captain Inky’s eyes went wide when he saw me, saw the other humans on the bridge.
“By the gods…” he breathed. “Who the hell are you?”
When I answered, the words came automatically, the way they did when I was writing a novel, dancing freely out of my thoughts as if laid there by the muse.
“I am Captain Andrew Clanton of the United Stars Space Fleet. This is my ship, the Wayfarer, seized from the weaklings you call the Helta and refit
ted with the mighty weapons of the Empire of the United Stars. We are taking the other ship and if you attempt to stop us, you will meet the same fate as your comrades on the Longspear.” I made a slashing gesture across my chest, something dramatic and theatrical that I’m not sure anyone has ever made in real life. “If you value your lives and your pitiful Confederation, do not seek us out. We have our own enemies and our own battles to fight. Be wise and do not become one of them.”
I made a slashing gesture across my throat to Collins, then remembered my science fiction movies and made myself clearer. “Cut the transmission.”
Collins signaled all clear and it seemed as if the whole bridge was holding its breath.
“They’re still moving away,” Baldwin said. “It doesn’t look like they’re going for the other ship. I think they’re standing down.”
“The TV show?” Olivera exploded, face red, eyes wide. “You used the United Stars Empire from your TV show?”
Julie was laughing and pretty soon, the rest of them were, as well. Joon-Pah and the other Helta stared at them as they reentered the bridge, though I couldn’t tell if they thought we were stupid or just crazy.
“It’s as good a name as any,” I said, feeling a bit defensive. “The key is whether he buys it.”
“I believe he will,” Joon-Pah said, putting a hand on my arm and squeezing firmly. I wasn’t sure whether it was a Helta gesture or if he was imitating a human one. “He may or may not accept your declaration of a far-away empire, but he will know it wasn’t us, and that’s enough. Thank you, Andy Clanton.”
I offered him a hand and he shook it, knowing what the gesture meant from his time on Earth.
“I hope he’s right,” I said softly to Olivera.
“We did all we could.” He gave me a sidelong look. “Shit, I think we did more than we should have. I hope we aren’t both court-martialed when we get back.”
“Let ’em.” Now that the crisis was over, I felt as if the air was going out of me, leaving me hollow and shrunken in on myself. “Either way,” I told him, “when we get back, I’m done with this. I’ve had enough.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
I tried to ignore the knocking. I wasn’t asleep, wasn’t even sure if I should have been. I didn’t know what time it was, or rather what the local day-night cycle was on the ship, and I didn’t much care. I hadn’t left my compartment since we’d jumped out of the Fairhome system and I fully intended to see just how long I could stay in here before hunger or thirst drove me out.
The knocking persisted, and I remembered Jambo waking me up for the jump to Alpha Centauri and my guts knotted yet again, trying to see his face and only managing a memory of blackened, seared flesh inside a broken helmet.
“Go away,” I murmured, not caring if whoever was on the other side of the door heard it.
“Major.” The voice was muffled through the door, but I recognized Pop’s voice. “Andy. Please let me in.”
I propped my head up and looked down at myself. I’d laid down in the bunk dressed in a T-shirt and shorts and I briefly considered pulling my fatigues back on, but rejected the notion. If it was that damned important, he’d have to take me as I was, hairy white legs and all.
I towered over Pops and outweighed the man by a good thirty pounds, but I felt small compared to him when I opened the hatch. I felt like an outsider.
“What is it, Pops?” I hung on the inside of the door as if I was using it as a shield against him, against the guilt he made me feel.
His eyes flickered down as if he were embarrassed to be here, or maybe embarrassed for me.
“Andy, I’m really sorry to bother you. But I know you and Jambo were pretty close and…well, that is,” he dithered, “the boys and I are having a little memoriam for him in one of the conference rooms in a few minutes and they all wanted me to ask and see if you’d come.” His lean, sharp-edged face brightened a bit. “We managed to scrounge up a couple bottles of tequila.”
I tried to smile, but it felt as if my face was frozen. I didn’t want to move, didn’t want to speak, and certainly didn’t want to sit around and bullshit with Delta operators after I’d let their leader get killed. But I wasn’t going to say that, so I played the alcoholic card.
“I don’t think I’d fit in, Pops,” I admitted. “I’m three years sober. I kind of lost it for a while after Venezuela.”
“Hey, didn’t we all?” Pops’ smile was tinged with bitterness. “Come on.” He jerked his head toward the passageway outside. “I swear on a stack of Bibles, I’ll make sure you don’t drink anything except Diet Coke.”
I laughed softly.
“Oh, God, I wish. I’m jonesing for one. But I didn’t have time to get any shipped up here before the Russians hit our base and we had to haul ass.”
“Jambo smuggled a 12-pack on board,” Pops told me. His smile broadened, the bitterness gone, replaced by a fond memory. “He swore us to secrecy. Said he was going to give ’em to you on the way back in, once we’d pulled it off.”
“That son of a bitch,” I said, shaking my head. I tried to laugh, I wanted to laugh, because it was such a Jambo thing to do.
And somehow, instead, I was crying. Not the stoic, single tear thing you see in movies when men cry, but the blubbering, sniffling, wailing that happens when real people deal with real death. It wasn’t the first time, but I had thought, I had hoped, I had dared to dream I’d never have to do it again. I was nearly bent over, sobs racking my shoulders, and I realized Pops was holding me, patting me on the back and murmuring comforting words until I’d let it out.
“Oh, Jesus,” I said, wiping my arm across my face, sucking in a labored breath. I couldn’t meet his eyes. I tried to joke my way out of it. “A few years as a civilian and I’ve turned into a little bitch.”
“Andy,” Pops said, a knowing tilt to his head, “you know better than that. You ain’t hardly the first operator I’ve had to watch cry. Why, you know we had this dog, sweet little mutt that hung around our FOB in downtown Caracas. We called him Pedro, gave him bits of our MREs. Jambo was always giving us shit about feeding him. Then one day after a mortar attack, someone found Pedro’s body and we buried him out behind the bunker. And that night, I found Jambo by the grave, bawling like a fucking baby.”
“No shit? I guess he always was a big softy…”
Pops laughed long and hard, and I soon, I was laughing as well.
“Come on, Andy,” he said. “Throw some clothes on. Trust me…you’ll fit right in.”
***
I wasn’t officially invited to the bridge for the jump back to Earth, but I showed up anyway, and no one told me to leave.
“Hey Andy,” Julie called to me, turning in her seat as I came up the ramp from the hatchway. “Looking forward to getting home?”
I wanted to say yes, just for conversational politeness, but the word caught in my throat. What the hell did I have to go home to?
“I’m just looking forward to being a civilian again,” I said, and that was a lie, too. I wondered if she knew it. I hadn’t felt as complete or alive in years as I had wearing the uniform again.
“I doubt there’ll be any problem with you getting out after this,” she said, and her tone was cheerful, if maybe a bit wistful. “I mean, it’s not like there’ll be any secrets that need keeping after this. You can go back to being a famous science fiction writer.”
“I’ll be famous, but not for being a science fiction writer.” I sighed. “I’ll just be one of those assholes I always despised who uses being a celebrity to make millions of dollars.”
“Oh, that sounds like a fate worse than death,” she said, putting a hand to her chest in mock sympathy. “I’m sure you’ll donate all the money to charity.”
“Let’s not get carried away!” I laughed sharply. “I full intend to become as big of an asshole as any other millionaire celebrity!”
“Well, you’re going to have to wait until we get back to our own dimension, Major Clanton,” Oliver
a said. “Which will be in one minute and thirty-six seconds.”
“I’m just glad we didn’t run into any Tevynians at Alpha Centauri.” Julie laughed, the sound rough but somehow also sweet. “And there’s a sentence I didn’t think I’d ever find myself saying.”
“I wonder what’s been going on since we left?” Cochrane said. The Engineering officer hadn’t spoken more than two words to me the whole time I’d been on the ship and I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me now, but I answered anyway.
“I’m sure it’s been a bit tense, considering Russia sent troops onto US soil. But they probably used officially retired Spetsnaz who were already on record as mercenaries. They bought their shit surplus on the black market, so it can’t be traced back. That means plausible deniability.” I shrugged. “Popov will probably claim it was ‘hardliners’ in his government or some such bullshit. And then there’ll be yelling and investigations and sanctions and I’m sure the UN will have some very entertaining debates.” I barked a laugh. “And that’s not even considering the three-ring clown circus going on in Congress. I can’t wait to scroll through the videos.”
“Jumping in twenty,” Julie reminded us. “Clench your stomachs, folks. No puking on the deck.”
Joon-Pah had been silent while we bantered, which wasn’t entirely unlike him, but I thought I noticed a difference in his demeanor, something in the eyes. I expected Olivera to say something to him, since they were theoretically equal in rank, but the Space Force Colonel was busy having a conversation with the Comms officer.
“You okay, Joon-Pah?” I asked, going over to his command station. “Sorry your Fairhome system got taken, but this’ll be the first step to getting them all back, right?”
“The mission was successful, to a degree,” the Heltan agreed. “But I have a strange feeling, that no matter who wins this war, nothing will ever be the same for us. And if we Helta wish to survive, we shall have to become less what we have been and more what you are.”
