by Finn Gray
In the cockpit, Sergeant Trent lay with her eyes closed, teeth gritted. Her tibia was broken, the bone protruding from flesh. When Rory reached her, Marson was already kneeling at her side, examining the injury with a reluctant wince.
“Sir, I don’t know if we can get this bone back the way it ought to be,” Marson said.
“Do what you can, then bandage it up,” Trent said. Only the unusual softness of her voice betrayed the intense pain from which she must be suffering. “If we can’t find help in time, you’ll have to cut it off.”
Rory grimaced at the thought, but Trent’s expression remained dispassionate. Such was life in the Aquaria Imperial Marine Corps.
He and Marson provided the best first aid they could to all the squad members, then distributed the limited medications available in their transport.
“Everyone use the pain meds sparingly,” Trent cautioned. “We don’t have much.”
Next, he and Marson scouted their surroundings. They had crashed in the middle of a rainforest; one filled with the most twisted and bizarre plant life he’d ever seen. Plants that normally grew knee-high swelled to five times the height, and were run through with pulsing veins of neon yellow and garish purple. Rainbow colored snakes slithered across the damp earth, paying no heed to the humans who intruded into their domain. All around, the high-pitched calls of birds blended with hollow clicks and rattles like nothing Rory had ever heard. Even Marson appeared unsettled by their new surroundings.
“What in the gods’ names is this place?” Rory marveled. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like we’re not even on Hyperion anymore.”
“Plowboy, I could fill a dictionary with all the things in this world you’ve never seen before,” Marson sneered.
“You’ve seen something like that?” Rory pointed at an enormous slug oozing its way across the clearing in which they stood. It was as large as his boot, and left an iridescent trail behind it.
“Yes, I’ve seen a slug before.” Marson prodded the giant gastropod with his rifle.
Big mistake. A tremor ran across the surface of its body and then a jet of neon green liquid burst from somewhere at its back end, just missing Rory’s foot. Where it sprayed, it left a smoking black line of scorched earth.
“Oh yeah, how stupid of me,” Rory deadpanned. “How could I forget the famous acid-ass slug?”
“Piss off.” Marson turned and stalked back in the direction of their crashed transport.
Letting out an annoyed huff of breath, Rory followed along. He kept his head on a swivel, certain that danger lurked just beyond the edge of his vision. This place was wrong, more so than anywhere he’d ever been in his life. Not that he’d ventured far from the farm prior to enlisting in the corps. Still, he trusted his gut, and it was telling him they were in danger.
When they reached the transport, Trent, her broken leg now splinted and bandaged, had worked her way down to the deck and dragged herself over to examine Jemma. The big sergeant looked down at the young redhead, pity in her eyes. Rory knew what that look meant.
“Sir, what’s wrong with her?”
“She suffered a severe blow to the head,” Trent said. “I can’t say for certain how bad it is, but it’s serious. She needs better care than I can give her.” She shifted her position on the deck, winced, and sucked in a breath between her teeth. “Gods, that hurts.”
“Sir, what do we need to do? Where do we take her?”
Trent gave a shake of her head. “It’s not that simple. We are a long way away from the base. Even if we could manage it, which most of us can’t, carrying her that far over difficult terrain could kill her.”
Trent grimaced. “The two of you will have to get to the base. Bring help—preferably a transport with a healthy pilot, and a medic or two. I hesitate to send anyone out into this clusterfuck of nightmares, but I can’t see any other way.”
Marson chewed his lip but didn’t object.
“I should stay with Jemma,” Rory said.
“What can you do for her? Did you become a surgeon when I wasn’t looking?”
Rory shook his head.
“I can go with them, Sir,” Snowman offered.
“Not with only one good arm, you can’t,” Trent said. “The terrain’s too challenging for that. It’s up to the two of you.” She paused, lowered her voice. “You need to get there and get back to us as fast as you can.”
“Are the others that bad off?” Rory asked, thinking of Jemma but not wanting to seem as though he didn’t care about the rest of the squad.
“It’s not just that,” Trent said. “You need to get back here with help before the Memnons find us.”
Chapter 7
Battlecruiser Dragonfly
One by one the faces of the surviving commanders appeared on the vidscreen until only Simon Vatcher remained absent. Was he pulling a power play by making the others wait, or did he perhaps plan on skipping this meeting as a way of saying he did not recognize her authority? Graves seemed to be thinking the same thing.
“If he ignores you, we could have a problem,” he said out of the side of his mouth in a voice so low that only she could hear.
“Where in the hells is Vatcher?” Fremantle asked the group.
“You mean the ‘admiral’?” Ed Begay, commander of the battlecruiser Kestrel deadpanned.
“We don’t have time for this,” Graves said. “The fleet is secure for the moment but we have to assume the Memnons will make a move against us. We need to be prepared.”
“It’s not our decision to make,” Gary Scott, commander of the Harrier, interjected. “At least, not without the admiral involved. I mean, without an admiral.”
“I think you said exactly what you meant,” Fremantle chided. “Your family owes Vatcher’s family quite a few favors, I believe?”
“Enough!” Lina snapped. “I am the empress, duly sworn to the throne. Does anyone here deny that?” She held her breath, heart in throat, waiting for the answer.
It didn’t come, because at that moment, Simon Vatcher’s face appeared on screen.
“My apologies for the delay. I had duties to attend to.” He flashed an insincere grin.
“Simon Vatcher,” Lina bean before anyone esle could interrupt, “are you fomenting insurrection?” She intentionally omitted his military title.
“Why, of course not,” he replied immediately, smiling. Apparently he, too, knew how to omit mention of rank when it suited him.
“Then why have you conspired with my sister to take control of the fleet?”
“Forgive me, but I have done no such thing. The empress…”
“I am the empress,” Lina said, keeping her tone firm.
Vatcher shrugged. “I am merely a soldier and not in a position to take sides in a dispute over an inherited position.”
Lina thought she heard a note of sarcasm in his voice. He’s trying to bait you. Don’t let him.
“There is no dispute.”
“Respectfully, your sister disagrees. In any event, she noted that you had not filled the position of admiral. Concerned that such an important post was left unattended, she appointed me. Naturally I had to accept.”
At the corner of the screen, she saw Scott nodding along.
“You could not refuse? Why not?”
“Because she is an imperial princess.” Vatcher suddenly frowned. His smile evaporated. She had led him into a trap of his own making. He knew what was coming next.
“So you accept the authority of the imperial family?” Lina pressed.
“I do,” he said quietly.
“That is good to know,” said Fremantle. “We were beginning to have our doubts.”
Vatcher managed to restore his smile. “May I suggest that we, meaning the commanders, keep our noses out of the imperial family’s business and get on with the matter of planning a defense for what remains of our fleet before the Memnons attack again? We need a leader. I was willing to stand in the gap but I don’t pretend to have the e
xperience that others among us have.”
Lina was about to reply when Janna Levin, commander of the Swallow, spoke up.
“If I may, and I mean no disrespect.” She flashed an apologetic smile that Lina assumed was intended for her. “Given that there is no longer any government, and that the empress is, forgive me, inexperienced, perhaps the appointment of the admiral should be made by this group?”
“I agree.” Lina’s reply surprised them all. “One such as myself should not have the power to appoint her personal favorite to such an important position.” She paused. Commander Scott grinned, but Vatcher frowned. Lina could be referring to herself or to Val. “This is why chain of command exists, is it not? So that politicians do not promote inexperienced officers above those who have earned their positions?”
Scott’s smile vanished as he finally caught up.
“Graves is next in line,” Begay said. “He doesn’t have as many gray hairs as Fremantle, but he’s got the years.”
Scott cleared his throat. “Perhaps, given present circumstances, we should take a second look at the way we do things.”
“Why is that?” Lina asked.
“The admiralty has never been held by a Thetan.”
Sasaki jumped in. “That is true. The people should be led by someone they’re comfortable with. A familiar face from a well-known family. It has always been that way. It inspires them.”
“Dazzling the civilians with titles and nobility is my job,” Lina said. “In any case, there might not be any people left to be inspired if we don’t choose a proper leader.”
“And Sasaki, you’ve been a commander for what, five minutes?” Levin made a show of consulting her biowatch. “And let us not forget that you got that position through the same chain of command you now want to abandon.”
“That’s not fair,” Sasaki said. “I just want what’s best for the fleet. And the worlds,” she added.
“Give it to Laws,” Graves said. “She’s a Hyperian and highly qualified. If something were to happen to me, she’d be next in line anyway.”
The others considered this.
“If we make this decision, what happens in the long run?” Lina asked. “Do we completely abandon military chain of command? Do we have one of these little gatherings every time an important position must be filled?”
“And are we suggesting that a Thetan is capable of commanding a battlecruiser but not the fleet?” Laws added. “Because that’s bullshit. Thetans serve side by side with Hyperians, have for ages. This sort of elitism has no place in the fleet.”
“In short,” Lina said, “are we suggesting that the fleet should operate in the same way as the civilian government? Popularity contests, wealth and status above talent, fretting over the will of the people instead of making what we know is the proper military decision?”
She had them now. She could see it in their eyes. And they didn’t like it.
“I quite agree,” Vatcher piped up. “We should follow chain of command, which means Commander Graves takes the lead.”
There was something in his tone that Lina didn’t trust. What was he up to?
“Unfortunately,” Vatcher continued, “there’s the small matter of Commander Graves no longer being in service to the imperial fleet.”
“What’s that?” Fremantle asked.
Vatcher smiled. “Didn’t you know? Commander Graves retired. He submitted his papers shortly before the uprising.”
Chapter 8
Soria, Hyperion
The jungle enveloped them, countless shades of green interspersed with splashes of color, hues that had no business in nature. Twisting vines of brilliant orange, crimson veins pulsing along their surface. Bulbous purple gourds that spat neon yellow goo when you stepped on one, as Marson had discovered through a careless footfall. Silvery shrubs with spiky blue thorns barred their path. Rory didn’t know if they might be poison, and he had no interest in finding out.
“This is just brilliant,” Marson muttered, smacking an insect that had landed on his neck. He crushed it, leaving a red-pink smear.
“Get yourself a straw,” Rory said, using the vernacular for “suck it up.” It was one of the many new things he’d learned since leaving his family’s farm on lower Koruza.
“I can’t believe you’ve got me out here in the middle of this shit, Plowboy.” They’d traveled for most of the day, making slow but steady progress.
“Trust me. I didn’t want you coming along. It was Trent’s orders.”
“You want to make a go of it yourself? Be my guest.” Marson whipped his head to the side as an unearthly shriek pierced the air.
“Fine by me,” Rory said, also looking around for the source of the cry. “Go back and tell Trent that you refused her order.”
Marson cleared his throat and spat a wad of phlegm onto a large, five-pointed leaf. He let out a gasp and took a step back as the leaf closed, fist-like, around the globule. It opened again a few seconds later, its surface clean.
“That’s…different,” Rory said, his stomach twisting.
“I dare you to whip out your tackle and lay it on there,” Marson said, recovering his composure.
“You go ahead. It’s the only rub-and-tug you’re likely to get out here.”
Surprisingly, Marson actually grinned at the joke. “We should probably find a place to camp. It’ll be dark soon.”
Rory’s first impulse was to keep moving, using their night vision goggles to aid their progress, but he knew that, at their current pace, they wouldn’t reach the base any time soon. With the many dangers lurking about, it wouldn’t do to deprive themselves of sleep. He looked around, wondering where they’d be safest.
“I guess one place is as good as another,” Marson said, reading the expression on Rory’s face. “How about we climb one of those trees?” He pointed to the east. On the other side of a narrow gorge, at the top of a hill stood a cluster of what looked like oak trees, giant things with massive trunks and broad limbs sweeping out like open arms. “We could tie our hammocks up there. More comfortable than the ground.”
Rory replied with a noncommittal bob of his head. He couldn’t help but wonder what sorts of dangers might lurk there, but he supposed they would be fewer than down on the ground. “We need to cross this first.” He moved to the edge of the gorge and looked down. To slip here would mean a fall of a hundred meters or more, down into churning white water. A wave of dizziness passed over him as he remembered the fall his sister, Caren, had taken. How he’d been unable to save her.
“I forgot you were afraid of heights,” Marson said. “Don’t worry. I won’t push you over unless you give me a reason.”
Smirking, Rory scanned the ravine, looking for a way across, a fallen tree perhaps. He didn’t see anything. They worked their way along the edge in silence until they came to a narrow spot.
“I think we can make the jump,” Rory said. “We have to cross somewhere and this is probably as good a place as any.”
“You first,” Marson said, taking a step back.
Rory took off his pack and laid it on the ground, then handed his rifle to Marson. “Give me room to get a running start.” He took several steps back, eyeballing the gap. He’d competed in track and field at academy and knew this jump was well within his capabilities, particularly after the training he’d just completed. He was leaner and stronger than ever, well-conditioned. But the fact that it was not a sand pit that lay before him, but a plunge to certain death, sapped him of his confidence. His stomach fluttered and his heart raced. This is crazy. There’s got to be another way across.
“Having second thoughts already?” Marson sneered.
That did it. The surge of anger flowing through him quelled his uneasy nerves.
“Here goes.” He took a running start and leaped. He felt a brief moment of panic as his feet left solid ground and he passed the point of no return. He seemed to slow, as though the air had turned to molasses. He had a moment to think, I’m not going to mak
e it, and then he hit the ground on the other side. He stumbled and slammed into a tree, raining a shower of jaundiced-looking acorns down on his head.
“Smooth, Plowboy.”
Rory ignored Marson’s laughter. The back of his neck stung where one of the acorns had struck his exposed flesh. He rubbed the spot and his hand came away bloody.
“Gods! What happened?”
“Problem?” Marson asked.
“The acorn stung me.” He realized how odd that sounded. He rubbed the spot again, but the bleeding had already stopped, leaving a lump like an insect bite. “Never mind. Let’s get you across.”
Marson tossed him a rope and they worked together to get their packs and weapons across before Marson tried the jump. When they had finished, Marson waved him back from the ledge.
“Give me room.”
Rory took a few steps back and watched as Marson made ready. The youthful marine appeared even paler than usual. Maybe he wasn’t as confident as he made out to be. Marson sprinted toward the ravine, but just as he made his jump, something shot up from a cluster of low-growing weeds and snapped at his booted foot. At first glance, Rory thought it was a snake, sinuous and impossibly green, but the tiny head was bulbous, vaguely human in appearance, and horrible.
Marson cried out in alarm at the sight of this abomination nipping at his heel. He jerked his foot up, windmilled his arms.
Rory could tell his companion was not going to bridge the gap. He’d lost too much momentum. Rory dived forward just as Marson’s fingers caught the ledge. He snatched Marson’s wrist and felt his shoulder nearly yanked out of its socket as Marson lost his grip.
“Rory! Don’t let me fall!”
“I’ve got you, but you need to help.” He held on with everything he had while Marson recovered enough of his wits to clamber to safety.
Marson rolled over onto his back and took a few seconds to catch his breath. Finally, he sat up and looked side-eyed at Rory.
“Thanks.” From the sour grimace that twisted the corners of his mouth, that single word had cost him a great deal.
