Aquaria Burning

by Finn Gray

  Aquaria Burning

  Book Two of the Aquaria Series

  Finn Gray

  The Memnons have risen. Aquaria is burning. And things are about to get worse.

  Life on the remote Glavine 2 outpost fits fighter pilot Teddy Zartler like a glove. Cards, booze, girls, and not an enemy in sight. But when Glavine 2 is wiped out by the onslaught of the Memnon fleet, he and his squadron must find their way back home before it’s too late.

  Reeling from the fallout of the Memnon Uprising, Commander Dominic Graves and the Dragonfly crew lead the remnants of the Aquarian fleet against the invading force. Outnumbered, outgunned, and trapped by a secret Memnon weapon, can the remnants of Aquarian civilization survive?

  Trapped on an island of horrors, space marine recruit Rory Waring must find and infiltrate a hidden base in order to save the members of his squad and his sole ally is his worst enemy. Little does he know, the fate of the entire fleet rests on his shoulders.

  Battlestar Galactica meets Starship Troopers in this thrilling SciFi adventure series!

  Aquaria Burning

  Copyright 2020 by Finn Gray

  Published 2020 by GrayFinn

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons and places is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Glavine 2 Outpost

  Just beyond the Aquaria System

  Teddy Zartler sat bolt upright when his biowatch began to vibrate. Gods, was it that time already? He blinked, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and tried to recapture the dream. The details were fuzzy but it involved him and two very tall Norwinder blondes. He considered lying down and trying to recapture it, but he knew it was futile.

  He reached over and shook the blanket-covered lump beside him.

  “It’s about that time.”

  The blankets came down far enough to reveal a brown-eyed brunette gazing glassy-eyed up at him. “Zartler, what in the hells are you doing in my rack?”

  “Nothing, right now. A few hours ago I was…”

  “Stop!” Megan Mullins covered her face and let out a groan. “Oh my gods. I remember now.”

  “I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting much when I asked you to dance last night at the officer’s club, but you really impressed me.”

  “Please, shut your hole. My head is splitting and I have to be on the bridge at oh-eight-hundred.”

  “What’s the rush?” Teddy asked. “Nothing ever happens out here.”

  The Glavine 2 outpost was located at the edge of the Aquarian solar system. It served as a repair and refueling station for pioneer ships and the occasional science vessel or luxury cruiser. It was also a defensive outpost, but Teddy had been stationed here for nearly a full cycle and no bogies had come calling.

  “Unlike you, I actually care about my job.”

  Teddy pressed a hand to his heart. “You wound me. I care about being the best damn pilot in the fleet. What I don’t care about are other people’s schedules.” He flashed a grin. “Speaking of schedules, are you free later?”

  “You have got to be kidding me. I’m going to be hung over for a week.”

  “Suit yourself.” Teddy climbed out of the rack, flicked on the light, and began searching for his uniform.

  “Your skivvies are hanging from the lamp,” Mullins said.

  “Thanks. I don’t always wear them but last night was a special occasion.”

  “You are such a tool. Promise me you won’t tell anybody about this.”

  “I won’t,” Teddy said. “But it’s about oh-seven-thirty, which means the corridors will be hopping when I leave.”

  Mullins sat bolt upright, grabbed the pillow, and bashed him over the head with it. “Oh-seven-thirty? Gods, why didn’t you say?” She leapt out of bed and grabbed a fresh uniform. “I have to shower. You can see yourself out.”

  Teddy grinned.

  “Hate to see you go, love to watch you walk away.”

  Mullins paused halfway out the door, turned, and gave him a slow shake of her head.

  “And to think you and your Cobra jock pals are all that stand between us and the enemies at the gate.”

  “That’s right, sweetheart, and don’t you ever forget it.”

  The ready room was almost empty when Teddy wandered in at eleven minutes before the hour. He took the closest seat, directly behind a pair of drowsy-looking pilots. Neither acknowledged his presence.

  Captain Adam Sherr stood ramrod straight behind the podium, jaw set, eyes locked on the doorway. His posture was all that was needed to tell Teddy that this would be no ordinary briefing. A bear of a man with a shaved head and a booming voice, Sherr could dominate a room but seldom chose to do so. Ordinarily, the Commander of the Air Guard, CAG for short, would be hunched over the podium, reading a novel on his tablet.

  “Looks like you three are the only ones who will be on time today,” Sherr said. “If you’re not ten minutes early, you’re late.” He forced a tight smile and the pilots laughed as if this were some great joke. The tension in the air was palpable.

  The dull sound of distant laughter filtered through the door. The others were on their way.

  “About damn time,” Sherr snapped.

  George Schaefer, the pilot seated directly in front of Teddy, turned his head and whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “What’s up his ass? Nothing that happens at Glavine 2 makes a difference. Hell, the entire outpost could blow up and the empire would keep rolling on.”

  Teddy nodded. “My guess? They gave him three sugars in his coffee instead of four. He’s on the rag all day when that happens.”

  “I heard that, Teddy Bear,” Sherr said, eyes still on the door.

  The other pilot on the front row, a rookie pilot, or fledgling, named Stine, turned around. “Lieutenant, I’ve been meaning to ask. What kind of callsign is Teddy Bear?”

  “The kind you can never get rid of once someone’s stuck it to you,” a voice said. Erik Shapiro, callsign Spartan, led the remainder of the pilots into the room. He took the seat to Teddy’s left, and rocked back on two legs.

  “It’s because the ladies love to squeeze me,” Teddy said to Stine.

  “No, it’s because a teddy bear is the only thing you’ve ever squeezed,” Gwen Henry, callsign Battle Cat, said as she sauntered in.

  “You would love to give me a squeeze,” Teddy replied.

  “You wish.” Gwen was a curvy girl with dark skin and attitude. Teddy did wish!

  “Everybody quiet!” Sherr’s voice boomed, quieting the din, if not silencing it.

  “Uh oh. Are we on the verge of another famous Mount Sherr eruption?”

  The senior pilot’s occasional blowups were the stuff of legend, and had earned him the callsign Vesuvius, after the legendary volcano out of Sorian folklore.

  Shapiro made a sympathetic face. “I’m beginning to think there’s more to this than three sugars. They forgot the creamer, too, didn’t they, Captain?”

  Sherr glowered.

  Shapiro looked around. Only now was he picking up on the CAG’s tension. “Gods! Who died?”

  Sherr took a long, slow breath. “A lot of people.”

  Everyone sat bolt upright. A brief, shocked silence, and then they all spoke at once.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Here at the outpost?”

  “Is it a virus? Are we going to be quarantined?”

  Teddy, however, was paying close attention to Sherr. He knew the man well enough to understand that whatever he was referring to was much more serious.

  Sherr pounded his fist on the podium. Only one thunderous boom was required to silence the air group. Teddy almost pitied the podium.

  “Details are sketchy but there has been an uprisin
g on a massive scale. War has broken out on Hyperion and Thetis.” He paused. “And within the fleet.”

  The pilots exchanged nervous looks. The pilots in the room were almost equally divided between Hyperian and Thetan, and represented multiple nationalities, not all of which shared the friendliest of diplomatic relations even though they were part of the same empire.

  Steve Ferenchick, seated at the back of the room, cleared his throat. “Do we know who is on what side?”

  Sherr hesitated. “It’s all of us,” he began slowly, “fighting the Memnons.”

  The room erupted. Moments later, so did Sherr.

  “You will conduct yourselves as officers or I swear to all the gods I’ll put every one of you on queep duty until your postings end!” That shut them up. Queep was slang for useless tasks unrelated to one’s real responsibility.

  Everyone sat quietly for a few moments, contemplating what the captain had just told them.

  “But the Memnons said they just wanted to live peacefully among us,” Stine finally said.

  “They lied,” Sherr said flatly.

  Teddy’s thoughts went to his family and friends back on Thetis, not that he had many of either. Were they safe?

  “Sir, any details you can share about the uprising?” he asked.

  Sherr nodded. “It was a coordinated attack across the entire Aquarian system. Terrorist attacks everywhere. Nukes set off in the capital and all the major cities. As far as I know, the imperial family, the senate, pretty much all the high-level civilian authorities are dead.”

  “You mentioned infiltration into the military.” Shapiro was no longer in a joking mood.

  “Mutinies all over. Onboard ships, in marine bases, outposts. Sabotage. It’s a Charlie Foxtrot out there. Total and complete.”

  “Have there been any problems at this outpost?” Teddy asked.

  “None so far. It might be that we’re small enough that by sheer luck of the draw, no Memnons were posted here.”

  “Or we aren’t important enough to rate a sleeper agent or two,” Schafer chimed in.

  “Be that as it may, it’s possible there are Memnons among us, biding their time. Be vigilant.”

  Teddy decided to broach the subject that was on all of their minds. “Sir, our families and friends back home…”

  “We don’t know a damned thing,” Sherr said, his voice cracking. “The largest cities were hit hardest, but it’s a worldwide uprising. And with so many nukes deployed, even those who survive…”

  “…might not make it,” Teddy finished

  Sherr returned to his briefing and laid out the mission for the day.

  “We’re doubling up the patrol,” he said. “That’s right, today you’ll have three playmates instead of only one. And when you’re not in the air, I want you resting. No alcohol, no pharms, nothing. Got me?

  “Sir, yes sir!” they replied as one.

  “All right. Remain vigilant,” Sherr said. “And remember to trust one another. Especially now. Dismissed.”

  Chapter 2

  Transport Shuttle

  Soria, Hyperion

  Aquaria was burning. No matter which direction Rory Waring looked he saw mushroom clouds on the horizon. The skies filled with smoke, the ground glowing fiery golden orange. He wondered if any hope remained for humankind.

  “Gods damned Memnons. I still can’t believe it.” Eric “Snowman” Jones, a big, blond Marine recruit from Norwind shook his head as he stared out the window of the transport as it winged its way across the ocean.

  No one spoke. But a few eyes flitted in the direction of Jemma Wade, the red-haired young woman who sat with her head resting against Rory's shoulder.

  The Memnons were a religious sect who believed humankind’s future lay in the melding of human and machine. Most had enhanced their bodies in some way, adding cybernetic limbs, eyes, ears, or other implants. Eventually, a war broke out between the Memnons and the other races of Aquaria. Defeated, the remaining Memnons had left on generation ships in search of a new home. Or so everyone had believed. Shortly after Rory had arrived at Camp Maddux to begin his training as an Imperial Marine, Aquaria had been rocked by the revelation that Memnons remained among them, and that they were present at every level of society. Today, as he and his squad were completing their final training course, the uprising had begun.

  Information was sparse, but it seemed the Memnons had planned a massive revolt, along with coordinated bombings, including nuclear detonations. Their adherents within the ranks of the Imperial Marines and the Imperial Fleet had staged mutinies. It seemed the Second Memnon War was well underway. And Jemma, the woman he loved, was a Memnon.

  She sat beside him, head resting against his shoulder. “What am I going to do?” she whispered softly.

  “It’ll be fine. You aren’t one of them.”

  Jemma claimed that she was only a Memnon by birth, that she didn’t adhere to their beliefs. But only hours before, she had taken a shot at him. At least, she’d fired a shot at close distance that had missed his head by a millimeter. She said she had been firing at a drone. Rory believed her, but the other squad members now had mixed feelings about Jemma.

  “Do you see the way everyone looks at me now?” she said. “I might as well be a Memnon as far as they’re concerned.”

  “Don’t say that. You saved us,” he said. You blew that traitor Sergeant Clancy out of the sky when he was trying to kill us.” He hoped that would count for something among the surviving recruits.

  “What about Trent?” Jemma glanced toward the cockpit, where Sergeant Trent, the instructor who had rescued them from their aborted training mission, piloted the transport. Her face was a mask of concentration.

  “We’ll tell her when the time is right. I’ll explain it.”

  “I really did see a drone,” Jemma said, her voice choked with emotion. “It veered away after I fired on it. I’m not lying.”

  “I know. We’ll get it all figured out. I promise.” How he planned on keeping that promise he had no idea.

  Nearby, a tall, pale recruit with hair so blond it was almost white, scowled at them. Tom Marson had hated Rory from the first day of training, and not even the shared experience of surviving their nightmare final training exercise had brought them any closer together. Marson, like the other recruits, knew the truth about Jemma. Rory wondered when the young man might let the information slip. It would be fully in character for him to do so. Likely he would hold off on making the revelation, knowing what waiting for the other shoe to drop would do to Rory.

  Rory’s gaze flicked to his friend Cassidy Vaz. At least, she had been his friend until Rory had suffered a flashback and had frozen at a critical moment, leaving both Cassidy and Jemma dangling from a cliff’s edge. By the time he’d recovered his wits, Marson had come to Cassidy’s rescue. She’d therefore concluded that Rory had chosen Jemma, a Memnon, over her. That was another fence that needed mending. Cassidy met his gaze with a cold, level stare, her big brown eyes filled with loathing.

  “Hang in there,” the dark-skinned young man seated next to him whispered. “We got to stick together now. They’ll see that.”

  Sid Crane had been his friend since day one, and Rory breathed a sigh of relief to know that at least one recruit was still on his side.

  “Monk thinks so too, don’t you?” Crane continued.

  Samira Monk, who could have been Crane’s sister with her dark skin and brown eyes, made a noncommittal gesture.

  Crane elbowed her gently in the ribs. “Come on, Monk. It’s Jemma and Rory we’re talking about. Plowboy and Ginger.”

  Monk let out a long breath like a slowly deflating balloon. Finally, she turned and looked at them.

  “I know. I just wish the rest of us had seen the drone.”

  “Believe me, so do I.” Jemma sat up straight. “I caught a glimpse of it in the distance coming our way and I fired. Maybe I managed to hit it.”

  “Jemma took out Clancy,” Rory said. “Never forget tha
t.” He put a bit too much volume into the statement and all eyes turned in his direction. Marson and Cassidy simply glared, but Snowman managed a curt nod.

  “Yeah, thanks for that,” Snowman said. “We were about to be cornholed.”

  “What in the gods’ names does that mean?” Monk asked.

  “You know. You get it right in the cornhole?”

  “The same thing Snowman does to sheep,” Crane prompted. “Or is it polar bears?”

  Monk turned to Rory. “How about you, Plowboy? You cornhole anything back on the farm?”

  Rory had to laugh. It was a relief to share in a bit of their usual banter.

  “I’ll show you once we get to Soria.”

  “The hells you will,” Monk and Jemma said in unison. Their eyes met, a brief, hesitant silence, and then they both laughed.

  Marson shook his head and then turned to Sergeant Trent. Rory’s heart was in his stomach, wondering if Jemma’s secret was about to be revealed.

  “Sergeant, you said we’re going to Soria,” Marson said. “Can you tell us what, exactly, is there? I thought it was nothing but radioactive jungle.”

  The Memnon war had laid waste to what had once been the island nation of Soria. Or so everyone had believed. Trent, though annoyingly inexplicit, had hinted that this might not be the case.

  “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you,” Trent said. She bit her lip and frowned, as if deciding what, exactly, she should say. “It’s true that Soria was left a radioactive mess after the Memnon War. The First Memnon War, I suppose I should call it. But it’s not entirely uninhabitable. The area at the center, remote, higher elevation, was spared the worst of the fighting. The Imperial armed forces built a hidden base there.”

  “And you don’t think the Memnons have taken it over?”

  “I hope not. Last I heard from my contact there, things were situation normal.”

  “As opposed to out here,” Snowman said, “which is one hundred percent SNAFU.”