Homebound Sector, Haven System, Ariea
Atmospheric entry was smooth with Don Jazmine at the helm. Despite his smuggling origins, he was one of the finest pilots in the fleet. He flirted with anything that moved, but tended to be harmless overall. The handsome pilot looked to Zarrey, who sat beside him in the copilot’s seat. “ETA is three minutes, sir.”
Zarrey nodded and made the announcement to the entire strike force. “Wake up, you lazy spacers! You’ve got three minutes to check your gear and your attitudes. We touch down and do this right. No hostile moves, but if they start shooting, shoot back.”
The Marines in the back of Zarrey’s Warhawk started checking their weapons and protective gear as the pilots tightened up their formation. Zarrey pounded on his chest to assure himself that his vest was still underneath his uniform, then absently checked the number of rounds in the magazine of his pistol.
Out the window, thick, gray clouds churned below them, hiding what he knew to be the flat, agricultural lands of Kansa. Galhino had been quick to brief them on the current conditions of the region before the strike team flew out. A storm was brewing in the atmosphere, and situated in the northern hemisphere, it was autumn.
The tallest of the Kansa National shipyards’ towers were poking through the gray mist, tattered flags still flying on the tips. Galhino had briefed them on that too, as a notable hazard to the pilots’ route. The shipyards were abandoned now, and had been for fifty years. The Singularity herself was the last vessel to have been launched from the facility. After her departure, Kansa’s secondary source of income, shipbuilding, had become extinct. The country had promptly fallen from the fourth-poorest on the planet to the poorest, where it had remained for the last five decades.
Galhino had warned them they might see deterioration in the local infrastructure, but it had been a useless warning. Beyond the needle-like spires of the shipyards, there was nothing to see, just the haze of clouds.
The same was true from the ground. The stratus clouds were thick and dismally gray. Colonel VanHubert assumed from the moment he heard the approaching engines that Reeter was coming for a surprise visit. It was annoying, but not unusual. He turned to smile at Ron Parker with bad intent. Reeter would be pleased to have caught that traitor.
Ron Parker did not dare move from where he’d fallen to his knees, hours before. The bruises on his cheeks ached when the wind hit them. From the way VanHubert was glaring at him, the father knew there was more to come. Tears slid down his face, their saltiness stung in the cut on his cheek.
Anabelle was draped across his arms, breathing shallowly. She had not opened her eyes again since that morning. Without medical treatment, she likely would never open them again.
He heard the sound of approaching engines, but he didn’t care. It was over. His daughter was dying. This was all for nothing.
The approaching spacecraft lowered themselves from the clouds. Tendrils of water vapor spiraled off the reconships’ black hulls. Ron blinked. Those aren’t Rhinos.
“Shit!” VanHubert shouted over the scream of the engines, pointing to the Marines on the perimeter, “Arms up! That’s the enemy!”
The men on the perimeter raised their rifles as the black ships landed. Ron saw them flick the safeties off. The enemy? He looked to the Marine whose rifle was trained at his head. “What’s going on?”
Zarrey’s strike team filed into place, surrounding the Olympia’s forces the way they had the cabin. They were light on their feet, alert, but they made no hostile move. The Marines took up an indomitable attention across their chests, helmets on, visors down. As rowdy as they often were on the ship, the Singularity’s forces always did their job, and they did it well.
Every Marine was in position before the heat of atmospheric entry had stopped sending vapors off the hulls of their ships. With the protective gear on, there was no way to differ the male and female Marines. Zarrey supposed it didn’t really matter.
He stepped forward, “Lower your weapons!”
Ron stared at the foreign officer. What the hell was going on? What had Amelia done to send the forces of not one, but two battleships after her?
He studied the Marines. Their uniforms were similar, standard issue for Marines: a black utility vest, cargo pants and black leather combat boots, with a holstered pistol on the belt and a rifle in their hands. The Olympia’s team wore the gray pants that denoted the fleet flagship’s forces, but the other squadron wore all black. Their uniforms lacked any color except the rank symbols and ship patches on the right shoulder of their vests.
Ron squinted at that patch. What ship commander was crazy enough to send his Marines to challenge the flagship’s? It took him just a moment to place the simplistic red and yellow insignia: the Singularity’s flaming sun – the most famous insignia in fleet history. These were the forces of the Fleet Admiral himself.
It was a standoff. Nobody moved. Zarrey ordered again, “Lay down your weapons!”
This time, the Olympia’s Marines recognized his rank. Slowly, they obeyed, much to VanHubert’s disgust. “What the hell are you doing!” He screamed at them, drawing his own sidearm.
“On the direct orders of the Fleet Admiral, stand down.” The Olympia’s Marines surrendered. Zarrey grinned. Damn, this was easier than getting the bridge crew to stop bickering. He nodded to his own team, “Corral them, you Sinners.”
“Aye, sir,” the Marines acknowledged. Quickly, they disarmed the Olympia’s forces and guided them into one area. They made no move on VanHubert or the two men at the door to the cabin, but took care of the rest.
They were well-trained. The Singularity’s crew, or the Sinners, as they occasionally referred to themselves, saw a lot of action. On a previous assignment, Zarrey would have ordered the Marines around as ‘men,’ but half the strike team was female, not that anyone could tell.
The Singularity had an above-average proportion of women on her crew – something to do with the fact that women were more often abused on other ships and assignments. If VanHubert knew that, he’d probably reconsider his loyalties. But then, VanHubert was a pig, an uglier version of Reeter himself.
The Olympia’s XO was red in the face, but he knew Zarrey’s reputation as well as Zarrey knew his. “Well, if it isn’t Colonel Flowers, the Steel Prince’s personal stress relief.” He smirked as Zarrey approached. “What’s he like in bed, faggot?”
“Fuck off, maggot.” Zarrey told him, all too used to the never-ending insults. That shit came with being an openly gay officer. “Just because I like men doesn’t mean I try to sleep with every one I meet.” Unlike VanHubert, his head was normally above the gutter. “I certainly wouldn’t fuck my commanding officer.” That insinuation was uncomfortable for a number of reasons.
Zarrey grinned, “Yours though, rewrite his personality, rid him of his god complex and put some actual brains in that thick skull of his, and he might be attractive.” Tolerable at least. The chances of that happening were still a hundred times that of Zarrey ever making a move on Admiral Gives. He was perfectly content to remain the man’s XO and nothing else, ever.
In all, Zarrey respected the Admiral too much for that. Admiral Gives had given a publicly gay officer the position of XO without ever commenting about it. By all appearances, Admiral Gives did not care about his second’s sexuality because it did not affect his ability to do the job. It did not seem a hard concept to grasp, but VanHubert’s insinuations indicated that was a very rare demeanor to be found in the fleet.
Proceeding to ignore VanHubert, Zarrey moved toward the cabin, surprised by how small the building was. He’d heard rumor of Admiral Gives’ humble roots, but never thought much of it. This put things in perspective.
Colonel Zarrey stepped up on the porch, hearing the wood creak beneath his weight. The cabin had seen better times, but that was hardly surprising. No one lived here. The Admiral himself hadn’t been here in years. The only reason he still owned the place was because he could not declare the Singularity to be his legal place of permanent residence.
Zarrey didn’t bother checking the situation behind him. He knew his Marines were taking care of it. He had been sure to tell them he had rank over VanHubert by seniority – not that it mattered. The Singularity’s crew had a bad habit of disregarding any authority that did not come from their ship. It would not have mattered if General Clarke himself was down here trying to redirect them.
That meant the last problem here was the two Marines at the door to the cabin. Neither of them had budged. They stood, blocking the door with rifles and muscle. “Stand aside,” Zarrey ordered them.
They hardly even blinked.
Zarrey lowered his voice, “I said, stand aside.”
Again, the blockade did not flinch.
Damn, Zarrey thought, Admiral Gives makes that look so easy. When the Admiral lowered his tone just a little, people leapt to follow his orders, even if they had been spitting in his face two seconds before.
Unfortunately, Zarrey did not possess the Admiral’s terrifying gift – something akin to the threat of pure abyssal hell. He considered his options.
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“Ah, fuck it.” Colonel Zarrey had never been the patient type. He grabbed the rifle of the man standing on the right and jerked it upwards into his chin, sending half the blockade crumpling to the ground, unconscious. Yanking the rifle’s strap over the limp Marine’s head, he didn’t hesitate to thrust the butt of the weapon into the other half of the blockade.
Both the Marines were sprawled on the splintering wooden boards before they could react. Neither had expected such decisive action from an opposing officer. “Bum-fucking nitwits,” Zarrey cursed. These two were exactly the type of soldiers that made him hate his job: oblivious mountains of muscle without a single brain cell shared between them.
He flicked the safety on the rifle and tossed it away, stepping over them to push open the door to the cabin.
Ron Parker watched the Singularity’s executive officer disappear into the cabin. What was he doing here? It was clear Reeter had wanted something from Amelia, but Ron had no idea where the Singularity fit into the situation. This situation had gone from miserable to exceptionally confusing in the span of a minute.
“What’re you doing ‘ere?”
Ron looked up to see an older Marine standing above him. His vest had the Singularity’s sun insignia and denoted the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. He held a rifle, but kept the muzzle aimed carefully away.
Noting that VanHubert was out of earshot, unable to reveal his identity as an AWOL solider, he answered, “I came for medical help. The next thing I knew, I was forced to my knees with guns pointed at my head.”
“Ah, you stumbled into something you probably should’nta, mate.” The Lieutenant Colonel carried a thick Arcadian accent, and slung his rifle strap over his shoulder, clearly deciding that Ron wasn’t a threat. “Let me ‘elp you up,”
Taking the Marine officer’s hand, Ron struggled to his feet, careful not to drop Anabelle. His legs were weak after hours of sitting on his knees, but that was of no concern. The only thing he could worry about right now was Anabelle, who was limp and feverish.
The Marine observed the young girl’s pale color, “Ay, is she alright?”
“No,” Ron answered, the word scratching at his throat. “She needs medical attention.”
“Doctor Macintosh can take a look once we ‘ead back to the ship. Hang in there, mate.” He patted the civilian’s shoulder. “We can’t leave without Miss Amelia and ‘er son.”
Disregarding the last half of that, Ron echoed, “Back to the ship?”
“We can’t leave ya ‘ere,” the old Marine said, “Reeter will come for the witnesses. It wouldn’t be safe.”
Ron knew that was true, but he had never heard anyone in the fleet say something like that. No one spoke against Reeter – at least no one he had come across. “Thank you.”
Inside the cabin, Amelia cowered under the bed. She had registered the arrival of more ships, which could only mean one thing: the return of her tormentor. She had no intentions of leaving this hiding spot. Reeter would have to drag her out by her hair – again.
She shuddered within her dusty hideaway when she heard the door of the cabin creak open. She waited for the dreaded sound of it closing again. Reeter always shut the door to hide the terrible way he treated her from the worlds. But this time… that sound didn’t come.
Maybe, this was it then. Maybe, this was the last time. He’d kill her and her son and be done.
Her son… stars, she didn’t even know where he was.
“Miss Amelia,” the visitor called, his voice unfamiliar, “I’m here on the Admiral’s orders!”
She bit her lip. Another of Reeter’s cronies. They came to visit her on occasion, none any more hospitable than Reeter himself. She tensed as she heard the latest man move through the house, the aging floorboards creaking as he stirred up dust.
Moving through the tiny living room of the cabin, Zarrey had drawn his pistol, unsure what traps VanHubert had left behind. So far, only silence and plumes of dust answered his every step.
Ah-choo. It was a tiny noise, a sneeze. Zarrey traced it to the tiny broom closet in the kitchen. Uncertain who had made the noise, Zarrey shifted his weight to move quickly and quietly. He flung the narrow door open and whirled into position to check the contents of the closet. A frightened cry answered the sight of his handgun, and Zarrey immediately lowered it.
A boy no more than ten stared up at him with wide eyes from where he’d crammed himself into the closet. Zarrey recognized him from the school picture Lieutenant Galhino had pulled off the cortex: Harrison Kleinfelter, Amelia’s son.
Zarrey backed off, not wanting to panic the kid. “Harrison, right?” He asked, turning to show the boy the ship patch on the sleeve of his jacket. “My name is Colonel Zarrey. I’m going to get you out of here and take you somewhere safe, okay?”
Harrison nodded.
“Can you tell me where your mom is?”
Harrison said nothing, but pointed to the main bedroom.
Zarrey led him over there, and rapped on the wood, “Miss Kleinfelter-Gives, I’m coming in.”
Amelia felt empty. She knew they had found Harrison. She heard his frightened yelp, but she didn’t have it in her to go save him. She was too scared. All she wanted was for this intruder to just go away.
Colonel Zarrey entered the room slowly, not wanting to alarm the frightened woman. He didn’t want to think about whatever Reeter had been doing to her, but as he looked around the empty room, he realized the woman was hiding. “Miss Kleinfelter-Gives, you can come out now.”
There it was again. This man was using both her surnames. Usually, Reeter’s men left the Gives half off, uncomfortable with assaulting an Admiral’s family member.
Zarrey’s call was met again with silence. “I’m not here to hurt you, miss. The Admiral sent me.” Abruptly, Zarrey realized his mistake. There were two exceptionally different Admirals in play here. “That is, Admiral Gives sent me. I’ve come to get you out of here.”
Amelia let her ears ring. Had she heard that right? This intruder was here on the orders of her uncle? She banned the thought almost immediately. This was a new form of torture concocted by Reeter’s men. Gives and his crew were dead. Reeter had been sure to reminder of that daily. There was no hope.
Besides, if her uncle was sending help, why wouldn’t he just come himself? A single world from him would have the Olympia’s men running for the hills. Why would he send his own subordinate to get her?
This was nothing but a sick, sick game.
“Mom, come on,” Harrison begged, slicing though her emotional barriers. Surely this new game would have involved separating the son and mother? “This is our chance to go.”
Colonel Zarrey watched the frightened woman emerge, dust smeared into her hair and onto her clothes, careful to keep a neutral face. “Miss, my name is Colonel Zarrey. I’ll be escorting you back to the ship.
Amelia stared up at the intruder. Harrison stood unharmed behind him. This new man was blond, tall and muscled, like Reeter, but held a very different demeanor. He was alert, but not out to use his size as intimidation. The right side of his chin carried a thin pink scar, giving him a rough edge, but there were a few shallow laugh lines on his face.
Yet, he was a stranger, and this was not the first time the Olympia’s men had tried to fool her by wearing another uniform or outfit. She had stopped believing in miracles days ago. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“Well, miss,” he answered honestly, “that would be a leap of faith. But I can promise that Reeter will not be able to reach you. Anything other than that is up to the Admiral.”
That mention of the Singularity’s commander brought another doubt to her mind. “How do you expect me to believe that?” She shook her head, “Reeter destroyed the Singularity with a nuke. Admiral Gives is dead.”
“Well, Reeter tried. He tried really hard, but he’ll have to do better than a nuke.” Truly, Reeter would need a little more creativity. They were referring to the most unpredictable crew in the fleet, not to mention a ship that was rumored to be possessed by the occasional demon.
Amelia stared at him, confused, “Reeter missed?”
“Not exactly.”
Amelia didn’t understand, but a piece of her didn’t care. “Whatever.” It wasn’t like it mattered. There was no escape. This man was undoubtedly strong enough to force her to his whims. She might as well cooperate. Her desire to struggle was gone. “Let’s go.” She would probably only end up locked in this damned cabin again.
She would have liked to believe this Colonel was present on Admiral Gives’ behalf, but she did not know the Admiral well enough to be certain he would send help if she needed it. He had never been the closest member of the family.
As long as she could remember, her uncle had been stationed abroad. She had met him only once that she distinctly remembered. She had been eleven, maybe twelve, clutching behind her father’s knee at a family reunion. The Admiral had been one face among many strangers, though perhaps one of few that bothered speaking to her directly.
Amelia did not remember much from that encounter, just a calm voice and calm demeanor. He had been wearing a military uniform even then, black like his hair, with the silver rank stripe on his sleeve. She imagined he was older now. More than twenty years had passed since that day.
She shoved the thought aside as Zarrey led them out of the cabin. Squinting into the daylight, Amelia could see the Olympia’s men all corralled in a circle, now unarmed, while another team of Marines stood watch over them, rifles in hand. For a moment, she considered breaking down into tears of joy. It was true. Help had come. Someone had come to rescue them.
A sprinkling of rain was starting to fall from the heavy gray clouds above as Colonel Zarrey guided them to the ship he’d ridden in on.
At his signal, the Singularity’s Marines began packing up their work, confiscating the ammunition from the weapons of their rival group. They retreated from their positions and loaded up their Warhawks while keeping the Olympia’s Marines under watch by at least one of them at all times.
Zarrey stepped aboard the Warhawk Amelia was riding in, thinking it best to stay with her until they reached the ship. The strike team’s spare pilot greeted him, “XO, we had to pick up another ship to clear orbit safely. We’ve got a few extra passengers.” He jerked a thumb over to Ron and Anabelle. “Jazz volunteered to fly it up.”
Colonel Zarrey didn’t question it. With all the Marines’ combat equipment, plus the combat launch they’d loaded on the Warhawks, they had to watch the weight of the little ships. If they had too much mass, the engines couldn’t generate enough thrust to break free of the gravity well. He stuck his head back outside, calling to VanHubert, “We’re borrowing one of your Rhinos. Hail Base in a day or two and we’ll have it back to you in tip-top shape!”
“Fuck you!” VanHubert screamed.
Zarrey just smiled and sealed the airlock. “What a nice fellow.”
He made his way back to the copilot’s seat and slipped the headset on while his new pilot began priming the engines. From the visible engine ignitions, the other three Warhawks were simultaneously prepping for launch. “Jazz, are you sure you know how to fly that thing?” He looked warily over to the Rhino the helmsman was powering up.
“Piece of cake, Colonel,” Lieutenant Jazmine assured him. “I’ve stolen more than one of these in my time.” The sound of switches clicking came over the radio band, immediately followed by the scream of alarms. Jazmine cursed, “Why the hell would you put stabilizers next to the damn life support controls?”
Zarrey’s confidence was not bolstered by that display. “You’re sure you can fly it?”
“Hey, I’m Jumpin’ Jazmine. I was the fastest smuggler on this side of Killimontro. I can fly anything.” He was just a bit out of practice. “This is Rhino Five-Eight-Three, ready for departure from Ariean atmosphere.”
The other three ships quickly sounded off, and the quartet of transports left the dusty Kansa soil behind in a burst of orange flame from their engines.
There was only one Marine in the back of the ship, clearly a woman now that she’d taken her helmet off. She had helped strap Amelia and Harrison in. The other seats in the back of the craft were occupied by Ron and Anabelle.
Amelia was more than surprised to find them here. “What are you doing here?” Looking closer at Anabelle, she was pale, scarily so. The blond kid did not stir as they bobbed through the atmospheric turbulence. “Is Anabelle okay?”
“No,” he fought to keep his voice steady, “she’s ill. The Singualrity’s Marines offered to get her treated aboard ship.”
Ron was more than grateful. It seemed the two respective crews, much like their ships, could not be more different. They hailed from different eras and different backgrounds. The Olympia as a whole hungered for power, and in that starvation had become merciless. The Singularity had been to every sector of known space, seen the worst of what humanity had to offer, and had committed enough sins to be fed up with cruelty and offer mercy backed with a steel fist.