In a distant future, humanity has spread to the stars, controlling a volume of space a thousand light years across. All is not well though, wars have been raging between the mighty Terran Federation and various rebellious, independence craving human factions developing for centuries at the fringes of human exploration. By far the most powerful of these rebellious factions is the Nordic Empire, with which a feeble peace is currently in place, a peace that isn’t expected to last for long. But then an unknown alien species invades the human sphere, inflicting death and destruction upon humanity on a totally incomprehensible scale. Soon it becomes clear that humanity will have to choose; either it unites and might survive, or remains divided and will fall.
Cautionary: romance, straight, long read, plenty of sex but be patient.
Setting: SciFi, Human Space, 3647 A.D.
Characters:
Lieutenant Helga “Helly” Korobitsyna, 23, Terran Federation Navy (TFN), call sign “Bunny”, from Khabarovsk/Earth/Terran Federation.
Lieutenant Commander Benjamin “Benjy” Arundel, 38, Royal Navy (RN), call sign “Scorpion”, from Exchester/Caledon/Nordic Empire.
Alfhild, 24, Benjamin’s deceased betrothed, from Bjorgin/Noregr/Nordic Empire.
Admiral Keith Fitzpatrick, 63, Task Force 66 TFN commander.
Captain Heinz Mölders, 52, Pacifica’s Fighter Group commander
Commander Brendon Mackay, 44, Call Sign ‘Viking’ Benjy’s Wing Commander
Lieutenant commander Tom Kershaw, 34, call sign ‘Hawker’, Bunny’s squadron leader
Lieutenant Elise Reeves, 28, call sign ‘Storm’, Bunny’s flight leader.
Lieutenant Jason Rodriguez, 25, call sign ‘Spark’ Bunny’s flight mate.
Lieutenant Samantha Bergfalk, 31, Benjy’s crew chief
Lieutenant Holgar Elbenson, 29, call sign ‘Snake’, Benjy’s senior flight leader
Info:
Battlestar: the largest size of capital ships.
FSS Pacifica: CB 243, Enterprise class battlestar, length 1,843 meter, Mass 23,186,000 ton, complement 18,674 souls
The Terran Federation: the mother empire of humanity, Capital New Berlin/Earth
The Nordic Empire: realm of the Nordicans, Capital Edinborg/Caledon
The Sha-Sheen: unknown alien race, reptilian, soon to be at war with humanity
The Scourge: alien race, arachnid, infesting the fringe, preying on the living
The Mark I eyeball: the oldest and most basic of sensors, the human eye
Check your six: look behind you
Abbreviations: 3dv = Holographic movies/television, TFN = Terran Federation Navy, TF = Task Force, FTL = Faster Than Light, CB = Carrier Battle, FSS = Federation Star Ship, CSP = Combat Space Patrol, Imps = Imperials, IFF = Identification Friend or Foe, M.A.M. = Matter Anti-Matter, HMSS = Her Majesties Space Ship, MIA = Missing In Action
Battlestar
Thoughts in the Void
The floor to ceiling armorplast window on the starboard observation deck is so large that its boundaries are beyond her peripheral vision. Combined with its utter clarity it creates the sensation of being outside the ship without a suit. Helga looks for, and finds, the Pleiades; the nine blue stars defining it blaze brightly at just over a hundred light years away. Somewhere beyond them lies Earth, another four hundred and fifty light years away.
Her mind drifts off to her far away home, to the cold winters and short balmy summers of Khabarovsk Krai. To fishing with her father on the Amur River. To hiking through the pristine forests further to the north and south with her teenage friends. To watching 3dv dramas with her mother and sister in the evenings. But adventure had called, and the easiest way to the stars had been through the military, especially during times of war. So after turning eighteen she had joined the naval academy, to do her bit for the federation, and to travel the universe.
At that time the third secession war had already been raging for seventeen years. It had been about yet another renegade star cluster on the core-ward fringe turning its back on the Terran Federation and joining the Nordic Empire, which itself had rebelled, and separated from the federation, over four centuries ago. The third secession war had ended in an uneasy truce two years after she joined the military, and just a year before she graduated from the academy.
After graduating she had left Earth for the first time as a freshly winged junior lieutenant on board the newly launched battlestar Constitution, for a six month shake down cruise patrolling the star systems near Sol. Constitution was a battle carrier; a hybrid battleship/carrier over a mile long. In addition to its battleship armament it also operated a fighter group consisting of eight wings of Hellcat fighters. One of these fighters had carried the call sign ‘Bunny’; that one had been hers.
With pirates and alien raiders seldom operating this close to the Terran Federation’s core, the cruise, much to her youthful disappointment, hadn’t brought much excitement. Constitution had returned to Earth after a pretty uneventful cruise, and had then gone into dock to rectify the problems that had surfaced during her shake down. This had seen the 647th Fighter Wing including her squadron disembark the ship, and all its personnel sent on six weeks leave.
She had spent most of it with her family in Khabarovsk: with hindsight, that had been a good decision. Near the end of her leave she had been informed that her wing was going to embark on the famous battlestar Enterprise, which had just come out of dock after a two year repair, refit, and upgrade. Enterprise’s new deployment had been secret, but everybody had known the ship would be heading out to the fringe again, most probably to the contested border with the Nordic Empire.
That had meant she wouldn’t see Earth again for at least two years, which had made both her mother and her younger sister cry. Her new ship had ended up at the frontier with the empire as expected, joining Task Force 66, guarding a delicate truce. Within the year the whole situation came close to boiling point again however, with everyone expecting a new war to erupt at any moment, when everything had changed for the worse.
A new war had come, but not the expected one. A formerly unknown alien species had come out of nowhere. They had invaded federation territory about a hundred light years to the galactic south east from the contested border with the Nordic Empire. The aliens had obliterated the local defense force, and then devastated any inhabited planets in their path; countless billions had died. Information coming back from the war zone had soon revealed the new enemy was a ruthless humanoid alien race of reptilian origin, with a tech level comparable to their own.
The aliens called themselves the Sha-Sheen, and in combat they displayed an emotionless coldness never encountered before. It had soon become clear Sha-Sheen resources were enormous and the Terran Federation would need all its might to defeat them. At that point a considerable portion of the fleet was deployed to the border with the Nordic Empire however, and leaving this border undefended wasn’t considered a real option.
***
About two months after the initial invasion two federation battlestars, both damaged in combat with the Sha-Sheen, had met up with their task force. One of them, the Pacifica, had only been lightly damaged, but the other one, the Atlantic, had been in a really bad shape. Helga had been among the crew members who had watched with horror from the observation deck, as the scarred hulk slowly maneuvered into position abeam of Enterprise.
Her hull had been blackened and breached in hundreds of places, complete decks had been ripped open, or didn’t even exist anymore, and her entire half mile long port launch bay was simply missing. It had really been beyond comprehension that the ship was still operational at all. In addition to the horrific damage to Atlantic both battlestars had also lost just over two thirds of their fighter complement; almost four hundred Hellcats, and their pilots, gone.
The task force had set course to the closest base, where Atlantic had transferred her remaining fighters to her sister Pacifica and then, after some emergency repairs, headed core-ward, probably to the Martian orbital docks. After absorbing Atlantic’s remaining fighters, Pacifica still had only six of her normal eight wings, so one of Enterprise’s eight wings had then been transferred to Pacifica also, leaving both battlestars only one wing short.
And so Helga had changed ship for a second time, because her squadron was part of the wing transferred to Pacifica, but not before she and all the other ‘rookies’ in her wing had been promoted to lieutenant. Normally this would have warranted some festivities, but in the light of the recent developments they had organized a memorial gathering for the many thousands of crew from Atlantic, including hundreds of their fellow pilots, that had so recently lost their lives in the service of the Terran Federation, instead.
With the transfer complete the Gneisenau, the battlestar that had, together with Enterprise made up the core of Task Force 66, had left for the new combat zone to fight the Sha-Sheen. Helga and her squadron mates had watched their former task force mates leave with heavy hearts. They were going into harm’s way, while they themselves stayed behind to babysit the damned Nordic Empire. Another month passed, and the news from the front hadn’t been good, but then another surprise had come.
It had been Helga’s own squadron, flying point during a sweep of the border, which had first intercepted the, presumed, empire liner entering federation space. The sleek civilian ship had been squawking triple zero, claiming it was on a diplomatic mission, and it had been escorted by what looked like two entire wings of Hurricane fighters from the Nordic Royal Navy. The latter wasn’t strange, but it was inconvenient never the less.
Her squadron had started escorting the liner, which was named the Britannica, to the nearest federation center of government; a water world aptly named Ocean. About a third of Task Force 66, including Pacifica, had joined them en-route. Once the ships of the task force had joined Britannica the TF’s commanding officer had requested the Royal Navy escort to stand down. The request had been honored, but to everyone’s amazement the fighters hadn’t retreated towards Empire space but landed on the liner instead.
When asked if all empire liners could accommodate fighter craft the answer had been, “No, empire liners generally don’t have the ability to handle fighters, but the royal yacht has.” That had been but the first of a number of further surprises. It would soon become clear that the ship was transporting Prince Edvard, heir to the Nordic Empire’s throne, and that he had been sent to offer not just peace but an alliance.
If the Terran Federation was willing to grand the worlds on the fringe the right for self-government the Nordic Royal Navy would join them in their fight against the Sha-Sheen. This was firmly beyond the local governor’s mandate, so the proposal went down the FTL net all the way to Earth. There it caused a heated senate battle which lasted for the better part of six days, but in the end, because of the Sha-Sheen invasion threat, the proposal was accepted.
On Pacifica the news had an impact like a bomb. After orbiting Ocean in formation with the empire’s royal yacht for a week everyone had known something was up, but no one had expected anything beyond a peace treaty with their arch enemy. An alliance with the Nordic Empire, their despised enemy for four centuries, was a concept so alien most of the crew simply couldn’t grasp it.
***
Within the hour Pacifica had headed back to the task force, accompanied by the royal yacht. During the transit, while Helga’s squadron was boarding their Hellcats for a CSP mission, an empire shuttle had landed in Pacifica’s starboard hangar bay and disgorged its cargo no hundred feet from them. Out had come half a dozen men and two women, no brass by the looks of it, as far as that was possible to determine regarding the unfamiliar uniforms and insignia.
Federation Navy personnel was dressed in blue, and their army colleagues in green, but these people were dressed in brown, in brown leather. They were also all light skinned and tall, but what caught the eye most was their hair. The men all had beards, in various forms, and all of them had long braids, the men as well as the women. To Helga they had looked like anachronisms, like warriors from some long ago barbaric time.
The patrol had been uneventful, but they had returned to a ship in turmoil. As soon as they rejoined the task force they were going to deploy to the front, but that had only been part of the news. An empire battle squadron had apparently joined the task force the day before, to escort Britannica home. But before doing so the royal yacht would transfer her two elite fighter wings to Enterprise and Pacifica, bringing the fighter groups of both battle carriers up to full strength.
The imperials they had watched arriving just before they went on patrol had been quartermasters and mechanics sent over to prepare for the transfer of their wing. Soon a steady stream of shuttles, both federation and imperial, had started to bring over people and materials, and as the missing wing’s bay space was located next to that of Helga’s wing she and her colleagues had been able to watch the entire operation up close.
An endless stream of parts and munitions had arrived first, to disappear into Pacifica’s vast magazines. Then the various fighter handling and maintenance equipment had started to arrive, with the tools for the mechanics. They had watched it all with mixed feelings, but it had been nothing compared to when the first of their Hurricane fighters started floating into the landing bay.
Helga had felt a shiver run down her back, and she hadn’t been the only one feeling that way; this was the enemy arriving within the protective walls of their castle. And the Hurricanes were very different beasts compared to their own Hellcats. They were of roughly the same size, but there every similarity ended. Their own Hellcats looked elegant and sleek, these craft looked angular and aggressive. Like axes compared to their own rapiers.
And where their Hellcats sported a light gray-blue coat adorned with colorful emblems and markings, the Hurricanes came in a spotty dark gray, covered in monochromatic emblems and markings in an even deeper dark gray. Soon pilots had started to emerge from cockpits, dressed in the same dark brown leather as they all were. It was then she had realized it couldn’t be real leather. These had to be vacuum suits, so the ‘leather’ was probably synthetic fabric.
Forty two fighters in total had arrived, three squadrons each twelve-strong and six spares. Two things had stood out: the professionalism, and the fact that all the pilots were male. Both of those were well known of course. Everyone who ever flew into combat against the Royal Navy knew their pilots were second to none. And these men, going by their deployment, were probably the proverbial ‘best of the best’ to boot.
Also well-known was the fact that the Empire didn’t deploy women at the sharp edge, either in their navy or their army, which Helga found backwards and ridiculous. Hundreds of Federation Navy personnel had been standing and sitting around watching the Nordicans arrive. The atmosphere hadn’t been hostile, but it hadn’t been exactly welcoming either. Helga herself had been one of the people closest to their new shipmates’ bay space.
Sitting on a spare parts crate she had watched a small group of the Imp pilots talking to each other maybe ten yards away, taking in their demeanor. Suddenly one of them had looked towards her and smiled, she had looked away, feeling caught. And then he started walking towards her, Shit, she had thought. She watched him approach; he was clearly older than the others, a lot older actually, late thirties by the looks of it.
He had also been a big man, even compared to the rest of them, and far from ugly, going by what was visible above his short and tight cut beard. What he also was, if their rank insignia resembled the Terran Federation’s, was a lieutenant commander, and thus a superior officer. This had meant she should have gotten up and saluted him, but something inside her had simply balked at the thought, and thus she hadn’t moved a finger.
He had come to a stop before her, forcing her to look up at him with his presence, his eyes had been a startling ice blue. He had clearly looked at her wings, then smiled at her, offered her his hand, “Hello beautiful,” he had said, his accent thick and strange, “Lieutenant Commander Benjamin Arundel, Benjy to my friends.”
She had slowly risen, accepted his hand, “Lieutenant Korobitsyna, pleased to meet you Lieutenant Commander Arundel, where are your female pilots if I may ask?”
Her voice had sounded even colder than she herself had expected, like liquid ice. To her surprise he had produced this loud bellowing laugh, drawing the attention of everyone within fifty yards who hadn’t been looking at them already. Then, to her utter horror, he had bent and kissed her hand, and she had known her face was turning beet red. He had straightened again, locked eyes with her, “I’m sorry, lady Korobitsyna, in the empire, angels like you are only allowed to fly out of harm’s way.”
He had said it loud enough inside the now silent bay for anyone within a hundred feet or so to hear. She had withdrawn her hand, “That’s Lieutenant Korobitsyna for you, Sir,” she had answered.
He had smiled, lowered his head, “I’m sorry Lieutenant, I shouldn’t have made fun of you. In my defense, I couldn’t help but notice the less than warm welcome your people are offering mine. Soon though, we will have to trust each other with our lives. I just tried to ‘break the ice’ a little.”
“Trust?” she had answered, “We will never forget you nuked Arasham, killing three billion innocent people.”
He had sighed, “Yes, that was an unfortunate affair, a black day in the Royal Navy’s history. Did you know the officer who ordered it had just been informed his entire family died in the virus bombing of Scandia?”
She had stepped back, “We didn’t…”
He had followed her, “Yes, your government said you didn’t, and neither did you nuke Grendel or Scotia.”
His voice had become harsh, deep down she had known he was right, everyone in the federation, deep down, knew the federal government had lied about the horrific attacks on those three planets. He had continued, his voice turning warm again, “In war, shit happens, Lieutenant, in the end no one keeps their hands clean. We are both soldiers, if we are to win this war against the Sha-Sheen we’ll have to stand together. We have to bury the past; that can start with you and me, here and now.”
She simply hadn’t been able to, he had seen it in her eyes, and his face had saddened. “I’m sorry,” was the last thing he had said before turning and rejoining what she now assumed were his squadron’s men. It wouldn’t be the last time he tried to befriend her.
***
Pacifica and her escort had rejoined the task force, the remaining wing on Britannica had transferred to Enterprise, and a supply ship, a battle cruiser, and a pair of heavy cruisers from the empire battle squadron had joined their formation too. Then both groups had gone their own way, Britannica and her escort returning towards the empire, and Task Force 66 setting course for the combat zone.
That had been three weeks and five jumps ago, and while command had certainly done its best to remedy the clear animosity between the federation crew and their new imperial allies it hadn’t had much effect. It also hadn’t been the federation crew alone who were less then happy to share a ship with their former arch enemies. The imperial Lieutenant Commander’s persistent attempts to get on her good side representing the proverbial exception to the rule.
After the first week command had even started to encourage the crew to study the empire’s origins and history and mingle with their new allies. Part of this mingling had been sharing their fitness facilities. She had picked up fencing at the academy, lots of students did, and had gotten pretty good at it. Clad in a flexsteel skin suit, and wearing a shielded helmet, she had been on the mat sparring with Jason, her flight mate, when he had suddenly stepped back and lowered his rapier, looking at something behind her.
People had stopped all around her, when she turned she had found out why. Half a dozen of the imperial pilots had come in, wearing what looked like archaic leather armor, carrying large swords across their backs. Four of them had formed two pairs on the empty mat next to hers. They had donned what she had assumed was protective leather head gear, saluted each other by putting their right fist into their open left hand in front of their chest and bowing, and then they had unsheathed these large, slightly curved, two handed swords.
They looked a bit like the Japanese Samurai swords of old, but bigger. They had also looked pretty deadly. Now the rapier she herself used was pretty deadly too, but she was wearing a flexsteel suit and a force helmet, while it looked like they were wearing just protective leathers. And then they had started fighting, it had been nothing like fencing, from the two against two to the pure brutishness of it. It hadn’t been about elegance, it had all been about efficiency.
She had quickly realized she wasn’t watching dueling but mock combat. Everyone around her had been looking on in awe, and that’s when she had first noticed one of the two Imps observing the fight from the sideline was Lieutenant Commander Arundel. The four men had fought for close to ten minutes, a whirlwind of feints, attacks and parries. Clashing steel, sparks flying, everyone present wondering why none of them were dead yet.
And then one of them had actually gone down. The padded leather on the outside of his thigh had been slashed open, revealing a glistening web of metal, and some blood, so there had been some inbuilt protection after all. The fighters had disengaged and the Imp standing next to the Lieutenant Commander had gotten onto the mat. She had watched him spray something onto the downed man’s wound, then help him get up again, and guide him off the mat.
While everyone watching had been a bit shocked, the Nordicans clearly hadn’t been impressed, the two men had actually been joking with each other while leaving the mat. Then the lieutenant Commander himself had stepped onto the mat. She had thought two young men facing off against one young man and one older man wouldn’t be entirely fair. Actually, she had already been looking forward a bit to watching him getting his butt whipped.
And then he had taken position in the center of the mat, with the three younger men taking position around him at equal distances. Is he really going to take on all three of them? she had thought, but that was before she noticed the worried looks on the faces of the three younger men. He had donned his protective headgear, unsheathed his sword, and started warming up. The whole fitness facility had become silent as he turned himself into this choreographed blur of whistling steel, it looked like nothing she had ever witnessed before.
Not old, she had realized, just well trained, holy fuck! And then something had stirred deep inside her, a strange but strong sense of déjà vu. The men had greeted each other, and then, for the next half an hour or so, he had gave them a lesson, or really, a couple of dozen lessons. In the end he had disarmed all three of them in a matter of seconds, and then he had greeted them and left the mat. The uninjured one had taken his place, two against two again, with him observing them intently from the sideline, the injured man sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him.
The main show clearly over people had started fencing again all around her, and so had she and Jason, after she had finally managed to peel her eyes away from him, feeling confused. Soon she got back into dueling mode though, forgetting all around her again. Maybe ten minutes later she had scored a solid hit on Jason, they had disengaged, and then his voice had sounded behind her, “You’re too impulsive, Lieutenant.”
She had swirled around in reflex. He had been very close behind her, and caught her steel in his gloved hand. She had moved back a bit, “Your technique is quite good,” he had said, “But you often leave yourself open to counter attack.”
His unasked for advice had annoyed her, “I won, didn’t I?” she had answered, not hiding her anger.
He had stepped back, “I’m sorry, just realize some day you might not be wearing that flexsteel suit, and your opponent might not be of inferior skill.”
“Yeah,” she had answered, “You would make really short work of me I bet.”
He had looked wounded, “I’m sorry,” he reacted, “I didn’t want to upset you Lieutenant, please excuse me.” And then he had turned and walked back to the sitting man. She looked after him, anger suddenly turning into confusion again, maybe even regret. She had reengaged Jason, and the next time she looked in his direction the injured man was alone and his commander had gone.
***
That had also been the last time he had said anything to her, she had stopped being what had felt like his personal conversion project, though somehow it hadn’t brought the feeling of relief expected. His truly awesome display of martial skill had, among other things, spiked her interest in imperial military history. To her surprise it had been an interesting subject, and so had the empire’s history in general. She had downloaded a lot of material, provided by their new ‘allies’ on her reader, mainly following the principle: ‘know your enemy’.
And so she had learned how this whole ‘Parliamentary Monarchy’ thing was supposed to work. About how Caledon had been colonized by people primarily hailing from the north-west of Europe, about how the Nordic Empire had grown from it, and about the role this warrior tradition of theirs had played in it all. It explained much about why the empire was militarily so much stronger than its relatively small size warranted.
As her interest was mainly focused on the military aspect, she had read much about the Nordic warrior cult too, which was apparently based on the customs, history, and mythology, of various tribes that once lived in north-west Europe during the first millennium, of which a people named the Vikings was the most prominent. What had surprised her, however, was that, in contrast to what she had assumed, these old tribes often produced fierce female warriors that fought side to side with the men.
So keeping women away from the more dangerous jobs in the military wasn’t based on their old history. Today she had finally found the time to look into the reasons behind this aspect of the empire. The answer she had found had shocked her a bit. The reason they kept their women away from the most dangerous activities wasn’t because the men didn’t consider them fit for those activities, as she had thought, but because the men couldn’t handle losing them.
Women actually played a big role in their society apparently, they were represented at all levels of science and government, often even in majority numbers, it was only the military where they were restricted in what they could do. It had placed an entirely different light on her previous view of their society, and she suddenly felt bad about the way in which she had handled the Lieutenant Commander.
She had rebuked his attempts at friendship not only because she was convinced he was an enemy, but also because she was convinced he didn’t consider her an equal, that he considered women inferior to men. The truth, however, was that he probably considered women simply too precious to do the really dangerous work in war.
Helga’s communicator beeps loudly, calling for her attention. She activates the display, thinking about how she doesn’t agree with him on that, but how she can hardly hate him for it either. She thinks back to their last ‘skirmish’ in the fitness facility, over a week ago now. With hindsight it hadn’t been one of her finer moments. Maybe she, and her shipmates, should indeed bury the past, like he had suggested they all should do that first time she had met him.
And maybe it could indeed start with him and her. Next time you run into him just be friendly, and see where he takes it from there. The imagery of him warming up before the sword fight replays in her mind – it isn’t the first time that has happened. He had looked so good, so masculine, it hadn’t just impressed her, it had aroused her too. Which was, with hindsight, probably the main reason she had rebuffed him so hard when he had interfered with her fencing.
He was an older man, he was the enemy, and yet he had invoked these feelings in her. It had felt like trickery, and she had reacted in defense. But it really hadn’t been, hadn’t it? And where does that leave her now? The display blinks, roll call for the 647th, her wing, and the imperial 37th, in ten minutes. The task force is currently cruising in deep space, recharging jump drives, but they are passing an uninhabited star system, located to port.
With only two of the Pacifica’s eight wings called to action there can’t be a real threat, but something is clearly up. Helga confirms reception, looks at the blue blazing ‘Six Sisters’ for a last time, her thoughts with the enigmatic Lieutenant Commander, then she turns and leaves the observation deck behind.
Into Action
Benjy had been close to the briefing room when his federation provided communicator went off. As a result he was one of the first to arrive, and is now watching the rest of the pilots from the 647th wing as well as his own 37th filling in. The contrast between his own people sitting themselves down to the left of the central aisle and the federation pilots sitting themselves down to its right is stark, both when it comes to their appearance as when it comes to their gender.
Roughly a third of the federation pilots are female, a fact that jars with his cultural background, but is also something he personally respects. Helga is one of the last to come in; she’s smiling, and for a second he thinks she’s actually smiling at him, which is nonsense of course. When his wing first arrived on the Pacifica, now some three weeks ago, it had been the clear animosity hanging in the air that had pushed him to reach out to the observing federation personnel.
For their own good, and for the war effort in general, their units needed to bond, and the longer it took for someone to start that process the more difficult that process would become. The reason he had approached her instead of one of the other federation pilots hanging around nearby had been purely based on the personal attraction to her he had felt. Lieutenant Korobitsyna was, simply put, a stunningly beautiful female.
She’s maybe a bit small compared to Nordic women, but very well shaped, and with the face of an angel. The exotic touch of her dark hair only adds to that. But what had touched him most that day in the hangar bay had been her eyes, she has the eyes of Alfhild, a grayish-brown with this golden shimmer in them. Looking into them he had felt sorry he wasn’t ten years younger. Unfortunately though, when it came to the bonding, she hadn’t been able to look past their nations history, as was the case for all of her comrades.
This wasn’t a problem unique to the federation personnel: to his sadness his own people had reacted much the same way. That will change, he thinks, It will change after the first time we bury our dead together. It will change after enough people unnecessarily die on both sides. It will change once we have learned to hate our new enemies more than our old ones. His thoughts end as Captain Mölders, Pacifica’s fighter group commander, ascends the podium and addresses them.
Apparently a garbled distress call has been received, emanating from a civilian ship inside the uninhabited star system they are currently passing, located just a short distance to port. The star is highly unstable, causing huge gravity shifts inside the system, the remains of its planets are all in relatively close orbit around it. The system has also been turned into an electromagnetic cauldron by it, making it impossible to exactly pinpoint the source of the transmission, meaning a relatively large area will have to be searched.
The unstable gravity, and all the floating debris, also renders the system much more dangerous for large ships than for small ones. Add the time constraints, there is still a war to fight, and the decision has been made not to divert the task force but send in a bunch of fighters instead. One of the federation pilots raises an arm, the captain nods at him, “Wouldn’t it be simpler to just send in some rescue shuttles Sir?” the young man asks.
The Captain shakes his head, “We are close to the fringe and just a week away from the last known enemy position, and the electromagnetic mess at the systems center could easily hide an entire battle-fleet from our sensors. There’s no way I’m going to send a bunch of defenseless shuttles in there. The shuttles will be on standby in case an actual rescue mission needs to be mounted. But that has to wait until the ship has been found and the actual situation assessed. Odds are they are all long dead.”
Next a 3d projection of the search area is brought up and all six squadrons involved are assigned call signs and a search area. His eyes drift across the aisle, to where Helga is sitting. It is her squadron’s turn to be assigned a sector, so she’s concentrating on the briefing. He feels his heart warm, it always does when he observes her. And then this feeling of dread suddenly descends on him. He frowns, it is only going to be a search and rescue mission. He shakes it off, ten minutes later they are all mounting their fighters.
***
The system proves to be a mess indeed. The star clearly ripped apart its planets long ago, and then pulled in much of the debris. Rogue asteroids and glowing gas clouds are everywhere. What the hell was that ship doing here in the first place, he thinks. Half an hour into their search one of his spread out flights calls in to report a faint contact. Five minutes later his own flight nears the three other fighters from his squadron that arrived at the wreck just before them.
The moment he has the first clear visual a proverb that would have shocked even a Filistian whore escapes him. They were hiding, that’s what they were doing here, he thinks.
“I’m registering twelve faint life signs inside,” one of his pilots reports.
“No,” he answers, “Those aren’t live signs, not really, keep your bloody distance, and stay alert.” He closes as far as needed to get a good internal reading, then he switches to the group frequency. “This is Lieutenant Commander Arundel speaking. Target found. Wreck is cocooned. Detecting a dozen infested inside. Scourge threat imminent. On my authority, all units retreat to Pacifica immediately. I repeat, Scourge threat imminent. All units retreat to Pacifica immediately. Get the hell out of here people.”
He switches back to the squadron frequency, “That goes for you boys too. Retreat immediately. Snake, you take command of the squadron. I’ll blow the wreck ten minutes from now, then follow you all out.”
The Hurricanes already on the scene start to turn immediately, the younger pilots might have never seen a cocooned ship up close before, but unlike the federation pilots they are all well familiar with the Scourge threat and know blowing the wreck will draw in any Scourge still around. And with their brood not having hatched yet they WILL still be around. He returns his attention to the wreck, the ship is dead, but the cocoon provides a warm and moist environment inside it.
The infested people aboard are paralyzed, but still conscious, and being eaten away from the inside by the larvae the Scourge have planted inside them. Getting them out, even if it were possible, is useless because the larvae will then kill them. It is the most painful and horrible way to die imaginable, the only thing he can do is end their suffering by blowing up the wreck. He starts charging the Hurricane’s short range plasma weapon, which is normally only used for attack runs on capital ships.
In his mind a distant memory keeps repeating. Three centuries ago the Scourge had still been an unknown phenomenon, so his group had entered the cocooned wreck and he had ended up eye to eye with one of the infested, a young woman. He had heard her barely audible pleading for him to kill her. They had tried to get them out of the wreck instead, which hadn’t ended well. The larvae had killed their hosts, and then attacked the rescuers. Six men had entered the wreck, he had been the only one to make it out again alive.
***
Helga’s squadron had started heading out the moment Lieutenant Commander Arundel reported in his findings and ordered everyone back to Pacifica. The Scourge had never manifested themselves inside the federation proper, their sparse sightings were localized to the core-ward fringe. You are at the core-ward fringe. But everyone knew what they were, everyone had seen the 3dv horror movies.
The squadron had dispersed for the search, and hadn’t yet formed up again, so it’s just the three Hellcats of her flight, with her herself taking up position slightly back and to starboard from Elise, call sign ‘Storm’, her flight leader. A shiver runs down her spine, she can feel the hairs in her neck rise, “Break to port!” Elise’s voice suddenly commands. The Hellcat at her ten o’clock breaks away violently, and she starts to follow, trying to maintain formation with both Elise and Jason on her port wing.
Within seconds a small group of dark organically shaped forms speed by to starboard. The IFF system recognizes them as Wraith fighters. The one bringing up the rear is damaged, streaming plasma from its hull. In a reflex she checks her six, arming her guns, then turns in on its tail. She’s only seconds away from a firing solution, “Stay in formation Bunny!” Elise’s voice, commanding. The plasma stream stops, and the sinister looking craft in her aiming rectangle suddenly accelerates hard.
“BREAK BREAK!” Jason’s voice, she swings the Hellcat back, towards her retreating flight, feeling nauseated; the next moment three blue spheres blossom around her. Her cockpit displays die, her drive follows half a second later. The blue light dies away, her Hellcat starts to tumble slowly, and she feels herself lift from her seat as the artificial gravity cuts out too. The two blue flames representing the other two Hellcat’s exhausts quickly get smaller as she watches, at least a dozen greenish exhaust flames following them, it feels like a bad dream.
The Hellcat stabilizes, she has been hit by some energy draining weapon. She looks at her instruments, hoping the stabilizing is a sign that power is returning. Everything stays black though, then three dark shapes emerge from the surrounding darkness, small jets of green flame erupting seemingly randomly from their maneuvering jets. The Wraiths surround her paralyzed fighter, and reddish beams erupt from them, starting to cocoon the Hellcat.
Helga panics for a moment as her fate dawns on her. She screams out loud, then a cold resolution sinks in. She unbuttons her holster, pulling out her needle gun; raising it she notices its display is as dead as her fighter. She swallows, she had often wondered these last weeks why those Royal Navy pilots were all toting ancient firearms in their holsters. Now she realizes: those don’t need electricity. You fucked up Helga, and now you’re going to die horribly. She re-holsters the useless weapon, then starts to cry silently.
Benjy is constantly checking his surroundings, one eye on the plasma weapon’s charging status, when the feeling of dread suddenly returns, with a vengeance. He immediately checks his threat screen, nothing shows, then a call on the group frequency shakes him up, “Red flight Blue squadron calling, we just got jumped by at least a dozen bogies, we are running and they don’t seem able to keep up with us.” He swallows, red flight blue squadron is Helga’s outfit, Run girl, he thinks, while his stomach clenches. “We are one ship down,” the voice continues, then the woman audibly loses it, “They got Red Two, they got Bunny.”
He feels his stomach churn, and calls up the deployment plan. Blue squadron had been the unit deployed deepest into this fucking mess, Storm is Bunny’s flight leader. He taps his mike, “Scorpion calling Storm, what was Bunny’s last position and vector?” It takes long seconds for her reply to come in, he quickly feeds the information into the navcomp. It looks hopeless, it is hopeless, for pilots living by the rules, luckily he got his wings before they invented those rules.
He switches to the group frequency next, “Lieutenant Commander Arundel here, she’s too far inside, there’s nothing anyone of you can do, retreat at full speed as ordered. I’m going to blow the wreck now.” The plasma weapon’s display blinks ‘armed’, and he fires up the Hurricane’s short range hyperdrive, it’s charged and ready. Then he does what every pilot nowadays learns NOT to do, he starts plotting an FTL course inside the system, way inside the local star’s hyper limit.
It’s the only way to get to Helga before it’s too late though, so fuck the rules. Plotting a course soon proves near impossible though, due to the complex ever shifting gravity and debris puzzle the system is. He ends up overriding the system, putting in some ‘best guess’ data here and there. You’re crazy, he thinks, you should accept she’s gone, take the slow route, make fucking sure you finish her by blowing up her fighter, and then try to save your own ass.
Her face appears before his mind’s eye, and he feels tears form in the corners of his eyes. Helga’s face morphs into that of Alfhild, the former love of his live smiling reassuringly. Looking at the plot he realizes that if this goes wrong his re-entry is bound to cause an explosion so large it will take out anything within a considerable distance, including any disabled Hellcat fighters that might be floating nearby. His mind eases; if he miscalculates the three of them will be drinking beer in Valhalla together.
He engages the manual override of the hyper drive, which will enable him to correct the plotted course on the fly, then takes aim at the wrecks dormant M.A.M. reactor and fires. The plasma bolt digs deep into the wreck, vaporizing the reactors containment field generators. He watches the chain reaction start, then whips the Hurricane around to the plotted course, Here goes nothing, he thinks, engaging the hyperdrive. Behind him the wreck silently blossoms into a growing ball of super-heated plasma as all the anti-matter remaining inside its reactor converts its mass into energy.
***
The Scourge fighters had stopped following them as soon as they neared the edge of the system. Elise had felt awful leaving the system behind, they hadn’t just lost a squadron mate, their squadron mate was going to be infested, and then experience a slow and agonizing death. Forming up with the rest of the squadron again a Royal Navy pilot with the call sign ‘Snake’ contacts her. “Don’t worry,” he says on the private channel, “Scorpion didn’t ask you for her last position and vector for nothing. He’s going to take care of her.”
“He’ll never get there in time to save her,” she replies.
“I never said he would,” the answer comes.
She feels like lashing out at him, even starts too, then the tone of his voice registers, it tells her Bunny’s fate hurts him too, she just swallows the rest of her reply. So an Imp with the call sign Scorpion is going to try to help Helga out of her misery, risking his own hide in the process, that means something, doesn’t it? In the privacy of her cockpit tears start running from her eyes, she really really liked Lieutenant Korobitsyna.
***
Helga watches the cocooning process that had started at the tail of her fighter slowly crawl forward towards her cockpit. Once the cocooning is completed the larva will be sent into the Hellcat. It’ll find her, paralyze her, penetrate her lower body through her anus, then the long suffering will start. She’s half in shock by now, then her eyes are drawn towards a bright red spot blossoming a short distance away over her port bow.
She knows what she’s looking at, yet can’t believe it. A re-entry point is forming, way inside the local star’s hyper limit, its reddish color indicating huge gravitational imbalances. You’re going insane, it only takes a fraction of a second before a small craft explodes from its center, its surfaces shedding clouds of super-heated plasma. It curves towards her position in a mind boggling tight turn, the three Wraiths surrounding her disengage, but they are too late. She recognizes the craft’s familiar shape a fraction of a second before its’ cannon totally shred one of the Scourge fighters trying to get away, it’s a Hurricane!
The Royal Navy fighter blazes past, the remaining two Wraiths start to accelerate hard in its wake, their green exhausts blazing. She watches them move away, in the distance three additional green exhausts light up. She releases her harness, floats further up in her cockpit, checks the surroundings for more activating Scourge craft, there are none, at least not within her field of vision, the Mark I eyeball can’t look through the Hellcat’s belly.
The two Wraiths that had been cocooning her fighter break off their hopeless pursuit and now move to join up with the other three. It’s still an impossible five to one, but before they manage to actually join up a pair of missiles rush in and turn them into expanding debris clouds. Three remaining! She feels hope, the other Scourge fighters release half a dozen missiles in return. With her heart in her throat she watches them converge on the lone Hurricane, which breaks away hard at the last moment, spitting countermeasures.
Half a dozen blue spheres blossom, grabbing at the speeding Hurricane, but failing. As she watches the Hurricane launches another four missiles, emptying its weapons bay. The Wraiths start to evade in turn, but still two of the four missiles find their targets, and another two Scourge fighters are turned into blossoming clouds of fire and debris. The Hurricane closes on the last one remaining now, which in response launches two missiles down its throat.
The range is close, the Hurricane doesn’t evade, it accelerates instead, the missiles reaching it just seconds after launch. She flinches, but the missiles don’t explode. She watches them pass the imperial fighter awfully close by, then explode harmlessly in its wake. They didn’t arm in time! The Hurricane spews return fire; its cannon bolts don’t need time to arm themselves, they leave their barrels primed and ready. She watches the salvo shred the last remaining Wraith to bits.
The Hurricane sways for a moment, then stabilizes, comes around and starts to close fast on her position. Flipping around at the last moment it comes to a blazing stop just meters above her cockpit. She now wonders how its pilot is planning to get her dead Hellcat out of here, as far as she knows Hurricane’s don’t come equipped with a tractor beam projector. Even if they did, towing is a slow process; they would never make it out of the system without the Scourge catching up with them.
Still he must have a plan to get her out somehow: why else come back for her. As she watches the scorched belly of the Hurricane its weapons bay opens, and out comes this small disc shaped remote repair drone. It moves down towards her cockpit, and ends up hovering next to it. It takes her a second or two to grasp what it’s doing, but once she does, she quickly buckles up again and checks her suit. The damn thing is activating the outside emergency hood release mechanism, which will still work, because it’s mechanical.
The cockpit roof first lifts out of its seals, air escaping, turning into a white cloud of freezing moisture. The clamps holding down the cockpit roof next disengage entirely and it starts to float slowly away. The drone appears above her, and extends its main manipulating arm. By now she’s grasped the plan: she’s to move inside the Hurricane’s weapons bay, but does he know her emergency air supply will never last for the entire trip back to Pacifica? And even if he’s mad enough to hyper out of here, his drive will still need more time to recharge than she has left.
The drone wiggles nervously, clearly urging her. It’s right of course, more Scourge could arrive at any moment. She unbuckles, uncouples her helmet umbilical first, then her air hose, grabs the drone’s extended arm, and slowly pushes herself up out of the cockpit. The drone’s little thrusters work hard, moving her over to the gaping bay above them. As she comes close she notices the Hurricane’s scorched skin still radiates heat. As soon as she can reach them she grabs one of the now empty missile clamps.
The drone circles around her, and she watches its arm reach out and flip open a small panel located in the roof of the weapons bay, revealing a small compartment. It puzzles her for a moment, until she notices the triangular yellow warning symbol next to it. The drone lights the inside of the small compartment, revealing a familiar looking valve connector that probably got standardized on Earth a zillion years ago, long before man reached for the stars. She pulls herself up inside the weapons bay, and the doors start to close behind her immediately, the last thing she sees are some faint green specks against the black of space.
Once the doors are fully closed the locking mechanism engages, and by that time she has managed to couple up her air hose. There’s a barely audible click in the back of her helmet, with its electronics dead it is the only indication she has that she’s now connected to the Hurricane’s air supply. The drone has nested itself again; its electronic eye seems to be locked on her faceplate. The next thing she notices is acceleration, and lots of it, as her feet slam against the bay’s aft bulkhead. Either the acceleration compensators are out, or he’s really hauling ass – she suspects the latter.
***
The whole flight back has been awful, Elise can’t stop criticizing herself for not keeping Helga on a tighter reign. The girl had been too eager, she should have been stricter with her, Fuck! Their flight is the last to land, when she gets out of the cockpit the atmosphere is bad, everyone is depressed. She walks over towards where the Royal Navy pilots are huddling together, something neither she, nor anyone else from her wing, has ever done before. They seem as depressed as her own people are, “Which of you is Snake?” she asks.
One of them turns towards her, “That would be me.”
He’s a bit short for a Nordican, but still taller than she herself is, “I’m Storm,” she says, “I’m sorry I started taking it out on you.”
He shrugs, “You’re excused, it isn’t easy losing a mate that way.”
She nods, “Thank you. Any news from Scorpion yet?”
He shakes his head, “No, maybe he’s experiencing comm problems, or maybe…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, Elise swallows, “Whatever the outcome, we owe you guys one.”
He seems to think for a moment, “No,” he says, “Not after what happened today, we all knew her, we are one unit now, no one owes anyone anything anymore.”
She doesn’t know what to answer, an alarm blares, someone comes running up to them. “Benjy’s coming in,” he shouts, “He reported damage, a medical emergency, and has asked for a complete detox.”
She watches the emergency teams deploy, six men in haz-mat suits quickly set up their field projectors in the center of the wing’s landing area. A half sphere of shimmering green light rises from the projectors, big enough to hold a fighter. Only seconds later he comes in, way faster than the automated landing system would allow for, “Fuck, he’s on manual,” one of the nearby Royal Navy pilots half whispers.
The Hurricane looks badly scorched, primarily bare metal and composites covered in soot. All of its external antenna are missing, burnt off by the looks of it. That explains him coming in on manual, and also the comm silence: only his local comm will still be working. The Hurricane looks like it has gone to hell and back, it slows down at the last moment, slides smoothly inside the force field and touches down. She can hear its power-core spooling down, the cockpit opens and out climbs the pilot with the call sign ‘Scorpion’, all limbs still firmly attached by the looks of it.
Around her the Royal Navy pilots sigh, relieved, she envies them, and it seems to make her own loss register even more painfully. She watches Scorpion drop down on the deck, then move underneath his scorched Hurricane, pulling levers. A moment later the fighter’s weapons bay doors slowly slide open, and out rolls this large bundle he catches in his arms. He steps back and turns, she can’t believe her eyes as he lowers his catch onto her feet, a stunned silence descends on the bay.
The haz-mat team moves in through the force field, checks both pilots with their sensor prods. A minute later the force field blinks out, declaring to everyone that nothing unwanted has been detected. They both remove their flight helmets, and she watches Helga simply drop hers on the deck, then move up against Scorpion, and close her arms around him, visibly crying. He reacts by dropping his helmet too, and closing his arms around her too, the whole bay erupts with loud cheering.
The haz-mat team moves away, picking up the field projectors. Everyone else closes in now, but the med team reaches them first, their presence keeping the crowd at bay. They are finished quickly with the large Imp, though take somewhat longer with Helga. By the time they are finished with her Elise has elbowed herself to the front. “You’re both okay,” she hears the head medic declare. That’s when Helga turns pale, starts to shake, then collapses as her slender legs give out.
Scorpion clearly was ready for it, and scoops her up before she has the chance to drop. She immediately clings to him, burying her face against his chest, “It’s alright Helga,” she hears him say, “You’re safe now.”
One of the medics gets out an injector, pushes it against her exposed neck and injects her, then turns towards the gathered crowd, “Give them some room please, she’s suffering from psychological shock. It’ll go away, but she needs rest and a bit of time.” He then turns towards the lieutenant commander holding Helga, “Shall we get her on a stretcher, or are you going to carry her to sickbay?” he jests.
She watches as Helga clamps herself onto her rescuer; the big man grins, “The lady prefers to be carried.”
Elise watches him move off with Helga in his arms, suddenly feeling faint herself as the terrible dread she had felt from the moment Helga’s fighter got disabled evaporates. A strong arm closes around her slim waist, “I got you,” a soft voice she recognizes as ‘Snake’ whispers.
The Warrior
The sedative works fast, and she’s asleep in his arms long before he reaches sickbay. Two female medics are waiting there for him, and lead the way to one of the many rooms. There are three beds inside, the medics point him towards the middle one. He starts to explain what happened to Helga while walking over to the bed. The older one, a commander, stops him, “The med team logged her file already. She’s suffering from post-traumatic shock. They gave her something to relax her: she’ll probably sleep for a day.”
He tries to put Helga down on the bed, but she clings to him, even in her sleep. The medics smile, each taking one of her hands, and gently prying her fingers loose. The girl mewls softly in her sleep, “She sure likes you..,” the younger medic whispers with a smile.
He feels himself blush, “I was just the one closest by.”
The older medic lifts an eyebrow, “That still doesn’t explain you carrying her in, and her clinging to you like this.”
They start hooking her up to the console next to the bed, “Something wrong?” he asks, the anxiety in his voice even surprising himself.”
The older medic smiles, “No, it’s just a precaution, standard procedure, we just don’t take any chances.”
He stands back, Fuck, you’re acting like an enamored teenager.
The older medic grins, “You’re a bit of an open book, Lieutenant Commander.” He doesn’t know what to answer, “You two an item?” she asks.
He feels himself stiffen, “No.., why.., I’m much to old for her.”
The younger medic, who looks to be about Helga’s age, throws him a surprised look from across the bed, “You aren’t Sir, just take my word for it.”
The older Medic standing next to him takes him by an arm and turns him towards the door, “Well, we’re going to get the Lieutenant out of her suit now, and with the two of you not being an item that means you’ll now have to leave.”
***
Benjy walks out of the room on auto-pilot, the hatch closing with a soft whoosh behind him. His thoughts are a mess. Yes, he likes her. Yes, he’s attracted to her. But that wasn’t why he risked his hide to save her. Wasn’t it, Benjy? He swallows, anyway, she made perfectly clear she isn’t even interested in talking to him these past weeks. She didn’t cling to you, she clung to the man who saved her life. Once the shock has passed she’ll be embarrassed as hell, and half the fighter group witnessed what happened.
He doesn’t really expect for the euphoria he just witnessed in the hangar bay to last, and once the earlier animosity between his people and hers returns she’ll be the girl that got cozy with ‘the enemy’. Then there’s still the shock, he has to help her get through it, make sure she gets back on her feet again. If she doesn’t get back inside a cockpit soon she might never fly again, he has seen it happen before. So he finds himself walking over to the 647th wing’s pilot quarters, where he receives a warm welcome from a small group of federation pilots.
After having accepted their thanks, and having been pumped for information about how he managed to save Bunny, he asks them where he can find the commander of Bunny’s flight. One of them, a young guy named Jason, offers to show him the way. Following him through the corridors he learns he’s the third man in Helga’s flight, and what exactly happened to them when the Scourge attacked. He curses inside, she had acted impulsively, and nearly gotten herself killed.
When they arrive at her flight leader’s quarters Jason announces him through the com panel, “Lieutenant Reeves? There’s a visitor for you.”
The hatch opens almost immediately, Helga’s flight leader looks to be in her late twenties, so she’s just a couple years older than Helga herself. The young woman is still suited up too, she blinks surprised, “Lieutenant Commander..,” she steps aside, “Please come in Sir.”
He does as asked, and the hatch whooshes close behind him. “Is everything okay with Helly?” she asks before he can say anything.
“Yes,” he answers, she sighs relieved, then her face darkens. “You’re angry,” he notes.
She shrugs, “Yes, I’m angry with myself.” He raises his eyebrows, “Helga was too inexperienced, and too eager. I should have kept a better eye on her. And then I failed to get her out of there. I failed her badly.”
The young woman looks close to crying. He realizes she has never lost, or thought she lost, a subordinate before. He reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder, “Now listen to me Lieutenant, you had at least a dozen Wraith fighters on your tail, if you had engaged them they would just have turned the boy and you into larval food too. And if that had happened there would have been no one to provide me with her last known position and vector. You did the right thing, and you saved her life as much as I did.”
She shakes her head, “You took them all out just on your own.”
He grins, “There were only six still around when I came in, and I have a lot more experience fighting these bastards than you and your flight mate have. I also had surprise on my side.., and I got lucky.” She clearly isn’t entirely convinced, but going by her softening expression she also isn’t entirely convinced it was all her fault anymore. “It’s all part of the job,” he says, she nods slowly. He looks down at the name tag on her chest, “Listen Elise,” he says, “What I came over for is to ask you to make sure Bunny gets back in the saddle again as soon as possible.”
She blinks, looks down at his chest in return, then smiles, “Aren’t you operating a bit outside of your jurisdiction here, Benjamin?”
He grimaces, “Yes, I am – guilty as charged. It’s really none of my business. Let’s just say I wouldn’t like for us all to lose a good pilot.”
Her eyes twinkle, “You really like her, don’t you, Lieutenant Commander.”
He feels himself blush again, “Yes, in a fatherly way, of course.”
She nods somberly, but her eyes still twinkle, “Of course…”
He swallows, “She’s way too young for me…” That excuse is getting stale quickly mate.
The Lieutenant laughs brightly, “I’m fond of Helga too Benjamin, in an older sister kind of way…” Her face gets serious, “You’re afraid she’ll balk at flying again?”
He nods, “It was close Elise, the fuckers were already cocooning her fighter. She looked death straight in the face, and it wasn’t a pretty face.”
Elise nods, “I’ll take it up with the squadron leader, make sure she gets inside a cockpit again as soon as the medics clear her for flight.”
He sighs relieved, then his communicator goes off. He raises his wrist and activates the display, it’s a message from his wing commander, asking him to join him at his quarters asap, ‘as you are’. He’s still in his flight gear, and wonders what the hurry is. “That was my boss calling,” he tells Elise, “he needs me in a real hurry apparently.”
She nods, “Yeah, bosses…” He grins, starts moving to the door. When he’s about to open the hatch he turns around to say goodbye, only to find she’s on his heels. She hugs him, “Thanks for saving my girl Benjamin.”
She lets go; he smiles at her, “My pleasure ma’am.”
***
When Benjy arrives at Wing Commander Mackay’s quarters his superior officer is already waiting for him in the corridor. He raises his eyebrows, “Sir?”
The commander grins, “Meeting with the brass, and I think we might profit from your expertise.” He looks down at his flight suit, raises his eyebrows questioningly. “No time,” Mackay simply states, then starts walking towards the closest transporter.
He follows him, “What’s it about Sir?”
Mackay throws him a look, “What do you think it’s about?”
Benjy grins, “We’re going after the Scourge.”
Mackay nods, “Yep, we’re going after the fuckers who just tried to turn your federation girlfriend into larval food. Good call by the way, ordering everyone back to the ship.”
He almost stumbles, “She isn’t my girlfriend Sir!”
Mackay shakes his head smiling, “I was there Benjy, in the bay, when you carried her away. It was all over your face, everyone saw it.”
Shit, and there’s me thinking the girl’s in trouble. He sighs, “I just like her Sir, we haven’t…, hell…, she doesn’t even like me.” Mackay throws him this incredulous look, then shakes his head, grinning. “What?” he exclaims following his commander inside the transporter, which is really a sort of tube transport system. Mackay just grins at him. He watches him punch in their destination: the command deck located at the core of the ship. The transporter pod covers the roughly half a mile distance in less than a minute with barely a hint of acceleration.
“You’re my introducé,” Mackay says just before they enter the conference room, “Just follow my lead.”
Entering, he feels his eyes widen, it’s a meeting with ‘the brass’ indeed. Just about anyone above his pay-grade on Pacifica is present, as are their colleagues from Enterprise. Also present are the commanders of most of the capital ships in the task force, and the admiral himself with his command staff. He notices Fisher, Campbell, and McGregor among them, the commanders of HMSS Warspite, HMSS Repulse, and HMSS Revenge, respectively, they nod approvingly at him.
He’s the only one in a sweaty flight suit, it’s dress uniforms wall to wall, Fuck! he thinks. Silence descends and he’s very aware Admiral Fitzpatrick is looking him over. He salutes, starts assembling an excuse for his less than splendid attire, then remembers Mackay’s words, ‘Just follow my lead’. So he keeps his mouth shut, Mackay salutes next to him, “I decided to bring Lieutenant Commander Arundel along admiral, he alone probably has more experience with the Scourge than the rest of us put together.”
The admiral had turned his attention to Mackay when he started speaking, now his eyes dart back to him, “Ah, you’re the maverick pilot with the fancy moves who just, to everyone’s delight, saved his girlfriend in a way that would give even the best 3dv space opera a run for its money.”
He stands rooted, tries not to blush, failing miserably, “Sir.., she isn’t, she’s just…”
The admiral looks at him sternly, “So you go into suicide mode for anything in a skirt? I’m starting to understand why you imperials keep your women from flying…” He feels he’s turning beet red, the admiral produces this wide grin, “At ease, Lieutenant Commander, I’m just pulling your leg, thank you for saving one of my precious pilots.”
One of the staffers has pulled up an extra chair, Mackay gestures at it and he sits himself down. The admiral addresses the room, “When the Mayday came in we decided, based on time constraints and the navigational hazards the system represents, not to deviate the fleet but send in some fighters instead.” The admiral takes a deep breath, “The situation has changed though, there’s a Scourge presence in the system and it represents a horrific danger to local shipping at least. So we have now decided to change our original plan and eradicate this danger.”
His eyes find his again, “Lieutenant Commander Arundel, we basically plan to move the fleet close to the system, use the lighter units to block all exits, and then send in every fighter we’ve got to clean out this nest. How does that sound to you?”
All eyes focus on him, again. Benjy swallows, “That wouldn’t be a good idea, Sir,” he says.
To his relief the admiral just nods, “Explain, Lieutenant Commander.”
He hesitates, this is way above his pay grade, “There’s going to be a hive ship in there, admiral. That means many hundreds of Wraith fighters at least, probably even more than a thousand. And sending ships in with the fighters, or after them if things go wrong, will be very risky considering the mess this system is. We might end up feeding a lot of larvae…”
The admiral just nods, “Suggestions?”
He swallows again, “Split the fleet, close on the system in a pincer move, and then launch all the fighters, but don’t let them enter the system. The Scourge are opportunists, there’s a good chance we’ll flush the hive ship. Once it makes a run for the systems hyper limit, send the cruisers after it, and destroy it with long range fire. Those things are carriers, not battle carriers.”
The Admiral nods again, “And what do we do if they don’t make a run for it?”
He hesitates, “Then we turn around and come back later, with at least double the current number of battlestars.”
The admiral frowns, “You think them this dangerous?”
He nods, “Yes Sir, we’ll need at least parity in numbers, and we don’t know how many fighters they have. It’s that frigging energy drain weapon of theirs Sir, we have no real defense against it. And any pilot we can’t recover within an hour at most will be larval food.” He hesitates again, “I have been aboard a cocooned ship once, Sir, on a rescue mission, at a time when we didn’t know that infested couldn’t be saved. I saw them up close Sir, at arms length, heard their agonized moaning, heard their whispers, begging for death.”
He hasn’t been able to keep the emotion out of his voice. A deep silence has fallen, the admiral cocks his head, “That’s why you pulled all the stops to save the girl. I understand now. I’m sorry I made fun of you earlier, Lieutenant Commander.” The admiral thinks for a moment, “We’ll do as you suggest, if it doesn’t work we’ll leave behind a bunch of stealth drones warning shipping off and file a report, including the information you just provided. We can leave it to High Command to decide if and when they rout out this nest.”
Benjy sighs, relieved, “That would work great Sir. And I do like the girl Sir.” Fuck, why did you say that.
The admiral chuckles, “You’re dismissed Lieutenant Commander, your superiors have some work to do.” He stands, salutes, then heads for the hatch, “Oh, Lieutenant Commander,” the voice of the admiral sounds behind him. He stops and turns around, the admiral winks, “Good hunting, Lieutenant Commander Arundel.”
Going by their grins, even from the female officers present, everyone knows the admiral isn’t talking about the Scourge, he blushes anew, “Thank you Sir.”
***
Benjamin returns to his quarters and hits the shower, one of the little perks that comes with rank, in the Federation Navy as well as the Royal Navy apparently. Once the hot water starts loosening his muscles he starts to really relax, enabling him to think clearly about this whole situation that has developed with Helga for the first time. He realizes that, subconsciously, he must have denied his true feelings for the girl. His reaction upon receiving the news of her mishap, and his resulting actions, have proven that beyond any doubt.
And then there had been those strong feelings of premonition, and the morphing of her face into that of Alfhild in his mind. The latter had happened twice before, with other women, but on those earlier occasions the face of Alfhild hadn’t smiled. And this time it had been so much stronger, he had actually smelled her he realizes. What does it all mean? Does it simply mean his subconscious accepts her as a replacement for his former betrothed, and it hadn’t accepted the other two before? Or is there more to it?
He has never believed in all that mystic mumbo jumbo, shakes his head, Those three centuries in the freezer damaged your brain Benjy. When he came out of cryo, over ten years ago, he had this memory of Alfhild sleeping with him for most of his long slumber, which was ridiculous. And the doctors had confirmed it, you weren’t supposed to dream in cryo, but they had added they really didn’t have any experience with people who had been in cryo as long as he had.
And then he had discovered she had been in cryo too. Alfhild had loved him so much that, with him reported MIA, and later even declared death, she had still put herself in cryo, to wait for his return. And it had almost worked, almost… She had died only seven months before his own awakening. After his rescue it had never happened again, he had never dreamed of her sleeping with him again. He often wondered if this was due to her being dead now, and him knowing she was dead.
Those first years, after coming out of cryo, he simply hadn’t been able to have something with a woman again. After all that had happened, starting something anew with another woman had felt like betrayal. It had taken him four years to realize how happy he would have been had he learned Alfhild found a new love and lived a happy live after he got declared dead. On the heels of that thought, the realization had come that Alfhild would never have wanted for him to stay alone after her death either.
That had been six years ago, but he never had found someone who could compare with her, not really, until now. But does she love him too? Will she even be able to distinguish between love and gratitude for saving her life; probably not. And how fair would it be anyway? She deserves someone better than him, someone her own age, someone with less emotional baggage. It might not feel like betraying Alfhild anymore, but it does feel like he would be taking advantage of her, and that just won’t fly, that isn’t who he is, that’s not behavior befitting a warrior of the realm.
The Maiden
Helga wakes slowly, everything is white around her, and she panics for a moment, then realizes she’s in sick bay. “About time you returned to the land of the living,” a female voice remarks next to her. She turns her head, and her eyes meet those of a medic.
The woman is wearing the rank insignia of a commander, “What happened ma’am,” she hears herself ask, then she remembers what happened.
The whole thing replays before her mind’s eye at breakneck speed, she shivers, hardly notices the medic taking her hand. “You’re okay,” the woman says, “he got to you in time.”
She looks at her hand the medic is holding, then up into her eyes, “He came back for me,” she says, her voice trembling. “He risked his life for me. No, he risked way more than his life for me.” She feels tears starting to run down her cheeks, “And I have treated him so badly.”
The medic produces a soft cloth and wipes the tears from her cheeks, “Why did you treat him badly?” She asks.
Helga closes her eyes, “He has been trying to turn me from the moment he came aboard.”
The medic frowns, “Turn you?”
Helga nods, “Convince me he and those other Nordicans were now our new best friends. I didn’t believe him. Couldn’t believe him. And now he has proven himself truthful, hasn’t he? No one takes the risk he took just to prove a lie. I still don’t know about the rest of them, but he really does want to be our friend.” The medic chuckles softly, Helga frowns, “What?”
The older woman shakes her head, smiles, “You think this is just about a former ‘enemy’ trying to become your friend? I have news for you girl, the ‘enemy’ loves you.”
Helga shakes her head, “No…, he can’t…, what makes you say that?”
The older woman grins, “I saw his face when he brought you in, the way he held you.”
Helga’s mind is in turmoil, she never even considered he could have amorous feelings for her, he’s so much older than she is. She also never noticed anything in his behavior, he never ‘hit’ on her, it was always only about the Imperials becoming their friends. But what if the medic is right? Since the sword fight she has felt a physical attraction towards him, but love? Oh fuck, and after what he did for me, I don’t want to hurt him! She focuses on the woman again, who by the looks of it has three times the years of experience with men at least. “What do I do now?” she asks, her voice sounding a bit desperate.
The woman’s smile only deepens, “You just follow your heart honey.” She doesn’t understand. “Why do you think I told you he loves you? It’s reciprocal,” the medic says.
Helga is short for words for a moment, “No.., I don’t love him!”
The woman laughs, “When he brought you in and tried to put you down on the bed we had to pry you from him.”
She remembers him carrying her away, his strength, his smell, blushes, “I.., I was in shock, I just clung to the nearest person.”
The medic shakes her head, laughs again, “You didn’t simply give the man who saved you a hug girl, you melted into him. And when you half fainted, after the medics checked you, and he picked you up, you clung to him like your life depended on it. The 3dvid of it has been all over the ship net, hell, I doubt there’s anyone in the entire Task Force who hasn’t seen it by now.”
Helga feels faint, “How embarrassing,” she whispers.
The woman chuckles, “Embarrassing? Mesmerizing you mean. With one hug you accomplished what three weeks of integration efforts failed to do, you made everyone realize that we are all humans first, and empire or federation second.”
Helga swallows, “I’m not sure about my feelings for him, and he’s so much older than I am.”
Another chuckle, “There’s the age difference, there’s the nationality issue, and you’re from two entirely different cultures, but the chemistry is there. You both acted subconsciously, all those ‘conscious’ issues weren’t a factor.” Helga feels uncertain, “He thinks he’s too old for you too,” the medic adds. She looks at her questioningly, “We teased him a bit when he brought you in,” the woman explains, “I asked him if the two of you were an item, the reaction on his face was priceless. That’s when he said he was much too old for you anyway.”
Fuck, Helga thinks, Half the crew probably thinks you and Benjamin are an item. The medic smiles, “You do realize what this age problem you both put forward means?” She shakes her head, “It means both of you look at this as a long term thing. This isn’t just a fling, for either of you.” She swallows, she hasn’t even had a steady boyfriend yet, and now she is supposed to be looking for a mate for life?
“Your ages don’t matter that much anyway,” the medic continues. “People get twice as old as they used too nowadays. You’re just twenty three now, and these fifteen years or so he has on you feel huge, but fifty years from now it’ll be insignificant. And biologically speaking it’s insignificant already. Even if he had thirty years on you he would still be able to father children long after you stopped producing eggs.”
Helga blushes again, “On average, in a relationship, men are older anyway.” the medic continues, “that’s because women grow up faster than men do.” The woman laughs, “Hell, most men never really grow up at all, they only get a bit closer to adulthood with age.” That last remark doesn’t fail to bring a smile to Helga’s face.
***
Arriving back at her quarters to a warm welcome, Helga learns the task force has only just gone to hyper, because it first made a small deviation, to destroy the Scourge. “So I missed all the fun?” she asks her fellow pilots.
Lieutenant Commander Tom Kershaw, her squadron leader, shakes his head, “Nah, you missed nothing,” he says. “When we closed on the system this large Scourge hive ship made a run for it, the cruisers ran it down and nailed it just before it got to the hyper boundary.”
Jason chimes in, “Yeah, what you did miss was seeing that empire battle squadron tear at it like a pack of fucking hellhounds. Those guys sure have a bone to pick with them Scourge.”
Kershaw grins, “It sure was a spectacle to behold. But anyway, we had strict orders not to engage them, we weren’t even allowed to enter the system. The brass decided to grant the big guns the honor I guess.” He winks, “Don’t worry though, I put your lazy butt on scramble alert duty for re-entry, you’ll be among the first ones out of the bays once we’re out of hyper again.”
She smiles happily, “That’s great.”
“Oh, and you’re officially off duty until then,” he adds with another wink.
She frowns, “There’s nothing wrong with me, Sir.”
He smiles, “You had a close call Helga, and I’ll need you fit for action again, just take the rest, okay?”
She nods, “Okay boss,” then a question surfaces, “did they recover my Hellcat?”
He shakes his head again, “No, with all its electronics fried, and half covered in that Scourge shit, it was declared a write-off not worth the time and risk trying to recover. You’re going to get a new bird.”