Oblivion: The Complete Series (Books 1-9)

by Joshua James

  Saito’s heart sank. If the bay was compromised, the launch tubes were gone. So were the armory and the Marines’ HQ.

  The Atlas violently shook from side to side. Chevenko did her best to keep the vessel under control, but was losing her grip a little more every second. A couple of the exterior cameras were shot, leaving large square black holes in the bridge screen. Crewmembers struggled not to fall out of their seats.

  Saito watched as the AIC dreadnoughts began their approach. He walked back over to his captain’s chair and sat down. He had no more options. It was time to flee.

  Thirteen

  Ada

  To Ada, the jump had felt like a rollercoaster drop. The contents of her stomach swirled around like clothes in a washing machine. Her head felt light, and it was hard to keep her eyes open. She blacked out.

  Ada found herself in a beautiful field of yellow flowers. They were dandelions. She would know; they’d been her favorite ever since she was a kid. Her mother had theorized it was because her hair shared a similar color.

  When she looked above herself, Ada saw a perfect blue sky. The occasional ship would fly over, but for the most part it was undisturbed, not even by a cloud.

  In the distance, Ada saw her boyfriend, Ivar. He stood still, not even blinking. A smile was plastered across his face, and he held out his arms as if to embrace her.

  Ada’s legs moved on their own as they moved her across the field of dandelions towards Ivar. Something compelled her to look down. She wasn’t wearing her boots, but instead was barefoot. Her toes squished on wet earth soaked with blood.

  Ada looked up and saw her boyfriend’s position and expression had changed. No longer was he smiling; he looked frozen in mid-yell. His head was turned, looking over his shoulder, running away from her.

  The field of flowers began to burn, but Ada didn’t feel the heat. Despite her growing fear and apprehension, her legs kept propelling her forward. She was forced to watch her boyfriend’s body burn; his skin bubbled and charred. Skin, muscle, tendons, and organs all slid off his skeleton, falling neatly into a gooey pile. His skeleton caught fire.

  Suddenly Ada was thrown off her feet, propelled backwards, momentum only stopped by something hard and metallic. She fell down to what was a carpeted floor instead of blood-soaked dirt.

  Ada pushed herself off the floor and looked around. She knew this place. She was in a funeral parlor in Stockholm. Her whole family, including herself, stood there dressed in black, looking at her, crying.

  Behind her, Ada heard the creaking sound of something slowly opening behind her. Ada turned around to see a casket stood up lengthwise against a wall. It was covered in dirt that fell off as the lid opened, revealing the partially decomposed corpse inside. That corpse belonged to her mother.

  In life, Ada’s mother could’ve passed for her sister. Both were tall and in great shape, with long blonde hair that went down to the smalls of their backs. Ada had had to cut hers in boot camp. In life her mother was beautiful, with defined cheekbones, sapphire-blue eyes, and a smile that could make a heart skip a beat.

  In death, the corpse that reached for Ada had flesh and muscle hanging off bone. There were no sapphire-blue eyes, only holes where they should’ve been. A centipede crawled out of one eye socket and into the other. Ada’s mother’s beautiful blonde hair was lifeless, dry, and grey. Lips shriveled and retracted revealed a mouth full of yellowing teeth, the bottom jaw just barely attached.

  Ada wanted to scream, but found herself with no voice. She fell backwards and tried to retreat on the floor, but something, someone warm grabbed her right under her arms and forced her up. It was her mother: not the corpse, but the woman that raised her, that she loved.

  “You need to get up, Ada. Wake up!” ordered Ada’s mother.

  “Get up!” Ada barely heard Martin’s voice over the sound of the Atlas’ sirens and the commotion of the other Marines.

  Ada’s eyes slowly opened. She looked up and saw Martin standing over her, holding out her hand. Her head throbbed.

  What…?

  Ada had no idea what had just happened. Last thing she knew, she was in her seat waiting for the fold jump. The next? She was out of the chair and across the room.

  “C’mon, we need to move!” shouted Martin. She looked around, clearly panicked, then looked back down at Ada. “C’mon!”

  Without knowing what exactly was going on, Ada knew that she needed to act fast, so she grabbed Martin’s hand and let her pull her up to her feet. On the way, she felt a sharp pain in her back: not the spine, in the ribs.

  “You okay?” asked Martin.

  In no way am I okay.

  Ada tried to regain her bearings. It was chaos. Her fellow Marines ran towards the exit, towards the docking bay. Others lay on the floor, unconscious or worse. Wires previously hidden behind the ceiling hung down, sparks threatening to kiss anyone who got too close. The emergency lighting was still on.

  “What happened—” Before Ada could finish her sentence, the whole ship shook. She was barely able to stop herself from falling over.

  “We’re under attack!” answered Martin. She pulled Ada by the hand towards the exit. “We need to get out of here! People are regrouping in the docking bay.”

  We’re under…by who?

  Ada didn’t fight it; she let her friend guide her out of Marine HQ. She stepped over her fellow Marines, some of whom needed help. She wrestled with stopping to give them aid as two medics ran past. Survival, something she’d never considered before, was all that mattered at the moment.

  Nothing could have prepared Ada for what she and Martin walked into in the docking bay.

  Pandemonium had taken hold in the Atlas’ docking bay. No one knew what to do. Pilots ran to their fighter ships, alongside flight engineers, in an attempt to scramble them to fight back, repel the attackers. Marines ran around like chickens with their heads cut off, looking for some semblance of direction. The sirens that signaled an attack blared, mixed with the sounds of hundreds of people yelling in a cavernous space.

  Martin led Ada through the throngs of people in the docking bay. They almost got run over by a fighter rolling towards the launch tubes, eager to participate in the battle. There was a loud boom, and parts of the ceiling fell down mere feet from them. Two Marines that had been standing there disappeared. Martin started to run, and Ada followed.

  Ada noticed blood splattered on Martin’s uniform. She looked down and saw it on hers, too.

  “Do you have any idea what we’re supposed be doing?” Martin asked a group of Marines huddled against a wall on the far side of the docking bay. It wasn’t that they were scared, just that they wanted to be out of the way. Whatever was happening, every fighter was being called upon to go out and engage their enemy.

  “I have no clue,” answered one of the Marines, a young man with a Texas accent. “All I know is that we can’t stay here.”

  A horrible feeling formed in Ada’s gut, like a storm of dread. Something terrible, more terrible, was about to happen. She knew it. Slowly she began to back up, towards some pipes on the wall.

  “Let’s leave,” insisted Ada as she tugged on Martin’s arm.

  “In just a second,” answered Martin. She continued to talk to the young Marine from Texas.

  We need to—

  Everything happened so fast, no one had anytime to really react. An enemy torpedo blew through the armored hull of the Atlas’ docking bay. In the blink of an eye, there was a large hole that sucked everyone and everything inside out into open space.

  Ada, purely on instinct, grabbed one of the pipes on the wall. She managed to pull herself towards it enough to wrap her arm around it, bearing the weight on the inside crook of her elbow. The rest of her body was lifted off the floor and pulled towards the hole in the hull.

  It was impossible to hear anything in those seconds before the ship’s automatic defenses against such an event were engaged. The change in air pressure was so great it burst one of Ada’s ear
drums. She felt the broken ribs in her back and chest being pulled and poking her organs. All she could do was scream.

  Please God, please don’t let me die here. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die.

  Ada’s arm felt like it was going to rip off. The pain and strain were indescribable. She knew at any moment she’d lose her grip, her hold, and would be sucked out to a guaranteed cold, brutal death.

  Then, as if her prayers were answered, it all stopped.

  A thick metal wall slammed down from the ceiling of the docking bay, bisecting it. On one side, the ship re-pressurized and returned to normal. On the other, well, anything on that side was now the property of the cosmos. Ships, supplies, and even people piled up against it as they were previously being sucked out.

  The lower half of Ada’s body fell to the floor hard, knees first. But she didn’t feel it. Instead, all she felt was an intense sense of relief as she’d barely just avoided death.

  Then she realized that Martin wasn’t holding on to the pipes next to her.

  “Tanya!” yelled Ada, her own voice muffled in her head. In fact, the whole world was muffled, as if she was hearing it through a thick filter. “Tanya!”

  Ada couldn’t find her friend Martin anywhere. She couldn’t find any of the Marines from before. A horrible realization came to fruition in her mind. They’d been sucked out into space.

  They were dead.

  Fourteen

  Lee

  “Commander,” Saito called for Rollins.

  “Sir?”

  “Arm two stage four missiles. I’ll deploy them.” Saito kept his voice firm. Stage four missiles were space station or base killers, not usually used in ship-to-ship combat.

  “Sir, yes, sir, arming stage fours,” Rollins said. “Armed launcher four and five, sir.”

  Chevenko informed Saito of what he already knew. “Sir, we can’t take much more. One shot from one of those dreadnoughts and we’re done.”

  “Full retreat, Major. Get us as far away from them as possible.” Saito gave the order, and Chevenko didn’t waste any time following it.

  With only a few of the engines operational, it was a tall task to turn the Atlas fully in the other direction from the AIC fleet. Not to mention doing so would expose their rear, and those engines they had left.

  “Full speed ahead. Put everything we’ve got into getting out of here.” Saito kept his eyes on the screen. The cameras shifted to the rear of the ship, so he could see the AIC chasing after them.

  “Taking control of launchers four and five.” Through his HUD, Saito saw an aiming/bombardier reticule, meant to aim the armed stage-four missiles.

  “Sir, if we fire those we’re going to be caught in the blast,” pointed out Sousa.

  “That’s the idea.” Saito knew that they couldn’t outrun the AIC ships, not with their own ship lame and hobbling. But maybe they could get a boost from the stage-four missiles’ blasts.

  “Everyone hold on. Firing launcher four.” Saito pressed a holographically-projected button through his HUD. “Firing launcher five.”

  Saito watched as the two massive missiles made their way towards the AIC fleet, who didn’t appear to take any measures to avoid them. Just the opposite, in fact. One of the fighters, a T-34, flew directly towards one of them.

  “Shoot that fighter down!” yelled Saito as he pointed at the screen at the T-34. No one knew exactly what he was talking about, or who he was talking to. Maybe Saito didn’t either. Even if they did, there was no chance they’d be able to do anything about it.

  “Damn,” Saito whispered.

  When the T-34 hit the stage-four missile, it instantly detonated, engulfing the enemy fighters. There was a blinding white light, followed by a blast wave that hit the Atlas hard. It was thrown into a spin through space at such high speed that the barely-functional artificial gravity inside the dreadnought had trouble compensating.

  The power inside the Atlas flickered on and off. Crewmembers were thrown all around the bridge. The lucky just got scrapes and bruises; the most unfortunate broke bones or worse, and the ship wouldn’t stop spinning and shedding debris.

  In every rotation, Saito got closer to blacking out. He gripped the armrests on his captain’s chair so hard his knuckles turned white. As he approached the black abyss of unconsciousness, Saito remembered the day at the boardwalk with his wife and son.

  All that morning, before going to the beach, Saito and Beverly had had a huge fight. Despite how happy they’d looked in the picture, there was tension boiling beneath the surface. They’d fought about enrolling Ben, their son, in the Naval Academy. If desired, kids could start their life in the UEF military from elementary school on.

  Beverly had argued that Ben was far too young to start indoctrination in military culture. She wanted him to have a chance to choose for himself what he wanted to do with his life, which included keeping everything as an option and not a narrow focus on war. Saito had felt in his gut that his son would be a great soldier, and a greater leader than himself. In order to reach that destiny, he felt that learning as young as possible was extremely important.

  “Major! Get control of this ship!” yelled Saito.

  “I’m trying, sir,” Chevenko grunted. She’d had trouble piloting the Atlas when they’d simply lost a few engines; now it was nearly impossible.

  “I’m gonna …” Sousa struggled to keep his seat. “I’m gonna try something. Sir, please order everyone in the port compartments of the ship to put on their oxygen masks. I’m gonna use the exhaust systems to blow the air out, hopefully counteract this spinning.”

  “Got it, Lieutenant! This is Saito. Everyone on port-side decks one through eight, put on your oxygen masks immediately!”

  There was no time to know if the message had gone throughout the ship. Saito nodded at Sousa. “Do it.”

  Sousa’s hands danced across his console. Instantly, the Atlas creaked and screeched as its extreme spinning was suddenly counteracted by a force pushing in the opposite direction. At first, it wasn’t clear if it worked as the last of the gas was exhausted. But the spinning slowed enough that the dampeners were able to regain control.

  The crew on the Atlas’ deck was in no shape to cheer even if they wanted to. Blood dripped from a long cut along Saito’s palm. It ran down the arm of the command chair. Dizzy, he almost fell over, but caught himself on his chair before dropping.

  This…What just happened?

  Saito, bracing himself by the back of the captain’s chair, looked out over his deck. It was in complete disarray.

  Some of the Atlas’ crew on the deck lay on the floor, on their backs or stomachs, out cold. Others were injured. Several weren’t moving. The injured were tended to by colleagues. People shouted back and forth, making it harder to hear the still-present groans and moans of the wounded. Sparks flew from consoles and wiring.

  “Commander?” asked Saito. “What’s our status?”

  There was no response.

  Fifteen

  Ben

  Ben Saito seethed as he sat in his wheelchair. He was dressed in a full suit, custom-tailored to accommodate his new arm and leg.

  It was a strange sensation. One of his hands could feel the grooves and grit of the wheels of his wheelchair. The other hand felt nothing but artificial electrical signals that ran up his metallic, artificial right arm.

  It hurt. Yes, most of Ben’s injuries had somewhat healed, but his new leg and arm burned. Remaining nerves in both stumps tried to cement their connection with the wires of the metallic limbs, forcing the young former lieutenant to be on a constant dose of painkillers. He’d be out of the chair in days. In truth, he could walk just fine right now, but the head doctors were at the funeral and there had been no point in fighting with them. But Ben vowed to throw the damn thing away the moment he was out of the church.

  At the end of the St. Lazarus Church aisle, fifty yards from the entrance where Ben sat, lay his mother Beverly Saito’s coffin. A long line of mourners
stood in a line, one by one paying their respects. Ben loved his mother and knew she was a great woman, but he was surprised by just how many people had turned out for her funeral.

  You got this. You’re not your father. She deserves a proper goodbye from her son.

  Ben reached into his suit. In the inside pocket was a flask full of rum. He took a couple of swigs, then put it away. After a deep breath, he started to wheel down the aisle. He took his time. His mother wasn’t going anywhere.

  Above him, Ben heard a buzzing noise. When he looked up, he saw a drone equipped with a camera. He knew exactly what it was. The bastard.

  Ben tore his attention away from the drone. His anger towards his father Lee Saito was substantial, but what he’d learned about the Atlas’ mission made him fear for his safety. The last thing he wanted was to go to two funerals.

  Ben only recognized a small portion of the attendees at his mother’s funeral. He hated the sympathetic stares of strangers as he wheeled by. Some of them must’ve been friends of his mother’s. Others were family he’d never met or had long forgotten. The majority, judging by their dress blues, were UEF military.

  “Hello, Ben,” said Father John Dent. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Would you like me to help you over to—?”

  “I got it,” Ben said.

  Father Dent politely smiled and got out of the way so Ben could say his last goodbyes to his mother. Ben stood easily.

  The bottom half of Beverly Saito’s coffin was covered by a funeral spray. There were bright flowers in happy colors that didn’t quite fit the situation, and their smell made him queasy. He placed both hands on the side of the coffin and forced himself to look inside the open casket at his mother.

  She didn’t look real. That was all Ben could think when he first saw his mother in her casket. Her skin was pale, very pale, but without blotches or any sign of decay, or the massive trauma she’d sustained in the terrorist attack that took her life. In life, her face had been full of energy and welcoming warmth. Now it was still, completely bereft of life. While quite well done, her makeup didn’t make her look any more alive.