Thursday, September 20, 2012

War Angel: part seventy-four



“Impressive infirmary you have, Mr. T’reen,” Wilma said with genuine admiration. She walked deeper into the room, while the Drakes stayed just inside the door, her body spinning around slowly as she took in the wonders of the facility. “Advanced medicine development equipment, poly-resin for splints and sealing wounds together, full-body scanning beds…” The doctor clasped her hands together. “I’ve never seen its like. I’ll bet your crew never stays sick or injured for long.”

T’reen grunted. “We pride ourselves on our resistance to pain and injury.”

“Of course,” she replied.

An Omegan dressed in bright orange clothing walked into the room and nodded to T’reen. “How may I be of assistance?”

“The Supreme Commander has decreed that the Earther doctor be allowed to examine the old one for damage and to continue her care for the young one. See to it that she gets what she needs.”

“It will be done.” T’reen nodded and left. As he did, the Omegan doctor exhaled and gave the three of them a wan smile. “My name is L’ahl E’mito, and I am the chief medical officer of the Kan’Tar.” He waived them into the room and toward one of the scanning beds. “Shall we get started?”



F’ath M’isti’s office was not what Jack was expecting. In his imagination, Jack had pictured M’isti as a man of trophies, and he anticipated walls and cabinets filled with guns, knives, captured military insignia, and perhaps even a skull or two. Instead, the room that M’isti led him into was almost completely Spartan. There was a large desk at one end, a lone computer tablet laying on top, and there were two metal chairs without padding, both on the side of the desk closest to the door. The only “flair” to be seen was the window behind the desk. Through it, Jack could see B-class ships stationed off the Kan’Tar’s bow, a rough reminder of the corner the War Angel crew had willingly painted themselves into. Jack followed the Omegan across the room, and as M’isti walked to the back side of the desk, he pointed Jack to a chair.

He sat down. “Not what I was expecting from your office, Supreme Commander. Impressive view, though.”

The Omegan gave a slight sneer. “This is not my office,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “This is… a place for moments that need to be discrete.” He turned to face the window and stared at a passing ship. “What passes between us is not meant for the eyes and ears of others.”

“Worried about your own crew?” Jack smirked. “That’s rough.”

This time, F’ath M’isti growled. “Unlike your Captain Morrison, who apparently never saw it coming?” The contempt in M’isti’s voice was unmistakable. “Do not lecture me, boy. You are but one of many, and neither your life or your death are of any consequence to me.” Jack’s posture wilted slightly. “So let us cut to the heart of the matter. I am listening.”



Kate paced around the room, stalking an invisible foe across the floor. She continually flexed her fists, occasionally stopping to throw punches at the air. She unbuttoned the top buttons of her uniform and blew air down her front. As she fluttered the shirt against herself, she began pacing again. “I don’t like it,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.

“You don’t like it?” Sarah snorted. “Trust me – I like it a whole lot less than you. He’s who the hell knows where on this ship with a man… an alien… who could tear him apart limb from limb. I can’t… we can’t lose him, Kate. We need him. This is his stupid plan.”

Gina reached her hand across the table and took Sarah’s in hers and squeezed. “And he’s going to be just fine.”

Sarah swallowed her rising anxiety. “How can you be so damned sure?”

“Because no one is more completely full of it than Jack. He has a gift for this stuff, Sarah. He’s going to come back to us.” She paused and exhaled. “And he’s going to come back to you. But for now, we have a job to do. So: shall we ring for dessert?”



Jack sat back in his chair. “So if we can put the gate back together, we can put a stop to the intrusion into Erestia, and we can all go home happy. What do you say?”

M’isti’s face remained placid and unreadable, and he turned back to the window. “It’s an interesting theory, I’ll grant you that. Indeed, I’ll grant you this: my people did indeed come here centuries ago. We shared our culture with various tribes on your world, and we were happy to do so, including our legends of Erestia. What those tribes chose to take from us and add to their own lore was their doing. Your native North Americans certainly took more from us than most. However,” he said, suddenly beginning to smile, “Erestia is a place for the spirit, not the body, and we certainly never built any sort of gate to reach it. I’m afraid you’re quite wrong about our purpose here, Mr. Keys.” Before Jack could react, the Omegan jumped across the desk and lifted Jack out of his chair by the throat, picking him up and slamming him against the wall, his feet dangling below him.

“I’m afraid you and your crew won’t be leaving here alive.”



The light from the body scanner finished drifting down Patrick Drake’s body. L’ahl E’mito watched the readout carefully, pointing out bumps, bruises, and cracks to Wilma as they registered on a nearby screen. “He is in decent health,” L’ahl noted, “no broken bones, a few nasty lacerations. In all, surprisingly healthy for someone who has spent time as one of our prisoners.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Well. That’s a relief,” he said, helping his father out of the scanner and to a nearby table where the older man’s clothing was waiting for him to get re-dressed.

“We are not a race known for its kindness,” L’ahl replied, not registering the insult or sarcasm. “Typically, we just kill.” The Omegan beckoned to Ben to get undressed. “Let’s have a look at you.” The younger Drake dropped his clothes to the floor and walked over to the machine, stepping in. As he did, it leaned back and he found himself staring at the ceiling.

The older Drake coughed. “No worries, son. Totally painless.” In response to that, ben shot Wilma a look. “Just let the man or whatever he is do his job.”

L’ahl wiped a large amount of sweat from his forehead, then started the scanner at the top of Ben’s body. “Ah, yes, I see,” he said as the light moved slowly downward, “throat trauma.” Wilma nodded. “No treatment here for that, I’m afraid. Only time will heal that.”

She shrugged. “It was a longshot.”

The scanner continued downward, and L’ahl began to furrow his brow, then coughed. “Interesting. Interesting. Doctor, it appears as though…” He looked up sharply and coughed again, then refocused on his screen. “It appears as though this man has an unusually virulent disease coursing through… oh, no. Oh, no.” The Omegan doctor coughed louder. “We must establish quarantine immed-“

Wilma grimaced as she shoved the scalpel through the back of L’ahl’s neck and through his throat in the front. The Omegan doctor collapsed to the ground, beginning to drown in his own blood as he aspirated it into his lungs, as well as spilled it across the infirmary floor. As she watched him die, she looked down to see that her hands were covered in his blood. They began shaking uncontrollably, and the elder Drake came up behind her and pulled her away. She looked at the corpse and a tear made a slow journey down her cheek “I’m sorry, L’ahl, but I can’t allow you to do that.” Wilma wiped the tear away. “I’m sorry.”

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

War Angel: part seventy-three



Ben leapt out of his chair and ran to his father. The older man looked up as he heard the shout and immediately warmed upon seeing his son. Ben threw his arms around the elder Drake and hugged him tight, tears beginning to gently fall down his cheeks. “Dad…” he whispered.

Patrick Drake responded with a quick “Oww! Easy, boy. Easy. You’re putting the hurt on your old man!” He broke the hug with his son and placed his hands on his shoulders, eyeballing him from head to toe. “You alright son? Your voice sounds funny and you’re awfully bruised up. Bad accident?”

Spying Kate out of the corner of his eye, he replied “Something like that, yeah.”

F’ath M’isti cleared his throat. “A lovely reunion. But now we dine. Idvall loses its flavor if not eaten quickly. You will have plenty of time to catch up after we’re done, I assure you.” Jack and Sarah shot glances at one another. “Please sit,” he said, pointing at the two empty chairs.

Jack nodded at Ben. “Yes. Let’s remember that we’re all civilized here and follow the host’s lead.” He turned to M’isti. “Is it customary for the host to try the food first or the guests?” The Omegan reached for his knife and sliced off a slice of the meat, then shoved it into his mouth. He chewed for a moment, then began to smile. Taking this as a cue, the rest of the table began digging into their dinner.



As they ate, the crew of the War Angel navigated the etiquette of the situation. Most attempts at small talk were waived off by M’isti and T’reen, but Sarah posed a question that finally engaged the enemy commander. “Tell us, Supreme Commander, what do you think of the War Angel? She looks pretty good for her age, don’t you think?”

M’isti tossed his napkin onto the table and leaned back in his chair. “I think you’ve done a remarkable job, Commander Matto. Remarkable.” A far away look crossed his face. “Remarkable. She hasn’t aged a day since I sent her crashing into your Earth’s moon.”

Gina coughed up the bite of salad she was chewing. “I’m sorry, what? You –“

“I was the commander of the ship – well a pair of ships – that fought your ship and sent her toward her final destination.” He frowned. “Or so I thought.”

Kate, eschewing tact, jumped in. “She take anybody with her?”

“Oh, yes. Both of my ships. I watched the War Angel crash from the window of my escape pod.”

“A glorious and honorable victory, then,” Jack chimed in.

F’ath M’isti leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “Yes. And an honorable defeat as well. Many warriors made their way to Erestia that day. But I lived on.” He paused. “I live on.”

“As befits a Supreme Commander,” Sarah said, raising her glass.

His eyes narrowed. “Yes. And now she is risen from the dead, your precious War Angel. Imagine my surprise when I began reading the EAD files and discovered the ship was spaceworthy once more. Then I read about the improvements you’ve been working on, including the tachyon scoop. A fascinating piece of technology.” All movement in the room stopped. “Which is, of course, missing from the ship, along with your main computer core. Bold gambit, Captain Keys.”

“You obviously know that I cannot allow that kind of technology to fall into your hands, flag of truce or no flag of truce, Supreme Commander.” He shrugged his shoulder. “But I give your warriors full marks for the speed with which they have obviously scoured my ship.”

“The absence of medical supplies and food and water is interesting as well, Captain. You aren’t very trusting.”

“Would you be if our positions were reversed?”

The Omegan grunted. “Of course not. But I would have never suggested a meeting of this nature, either.”

Jack coughed and wiped sweat away from his forehead. “Desperate times, sir. Desperate times.”

M’isti stood and backed away from the table. “Well. It is certainly shaping up to be a fascinating evening. Captain Keys, I believe that you and I are due for a private discussion. As to the rest of you…”

Wilma raised her hand. “My apologies, Supreme Commander. May I take Mr. Drake and his son to your infirmary and check them over? Lieutenant Drake was already under care before we came, and it certainly appears as though Mr. Drake could use a once-over.”

The Omegan snorted. “Very well. T’reen will escort you there. As for the rest of you,” Sarah, Kate, and Gina looked up, “I am tempted to hold you in the brig while Captain Keys and I chat. But it would be… rude. Instead, you will remain here under guard. Feel free to have more food and drink.”

From around the table, the faces of the War Angel crew turned to Jack. “Okay,” he said, calmly, “you heard him. We’ll meet back here after out chat.” They all nodded. “Where to, Supreme Commander?” Jack stood from the table.

“Follow me,” M’isti replied, and turned to leave the room.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

War Angel: part seventy-two



The doors parted swiftly, and T’reen wasted no time leading the War Angel crew into the room. Sarah’s eyes darted around quickly, taking inventory of where they were: the walls were a bright shade of white, and they tapered to a point around twenty-five feet above their heads. At the far end of the room was another door, barely perceptible in the wall. A long table stretched down the middle of the room, covered in ornate fabrics and place settings. She took note that each plate was accompanied by a knife that was certainly sharp enough to be deadly to either species in the room, wondering just how confident the Omegans were that the crew was of no threat or consequence. There were nine chairs around the table, each with a high back and thick padding. “Luxurious,” she thought. “Strangely so.” A chair sat at each end of the table, and she realized that T’reen was going to be sticking around. “Jack, you lucky bastard,” she thought, exhaling heavily.

T’reen waived the group to their seats, Jack going first and taking one next to where he assumed M’isti would sit. Sarah sat across from him, eyeing him carefully, and the rest fell in quickly: Kate and Gina, then Wilma next to the empty chair, and Ben across from her. If the Omegans kept their end of the bargain, Drake’s father would be joining them soon. But the main event was the Supreme Commander, and he did not disappoint.

As the crew got comfortable, the other door opened and F’ath M’isti strode into the room. M’aschi T’reen stood, and the War Angel crew absently did the same, greeting the leader of the Omegan forces as he entered. Seeing him up close for the first time, Jack had to admit to himself that he was more than a little impressed. Much as he had ordered the War Angel crew to wear dress uniforms, M’isti had gone all out, donning his own formal garb. The purple-hued alien was wearing a combination of black pants and short black boots, along with a dark red tunic that was bordered with black stripes and symbols that Jack had never seen before. Draped off of his shoulders was a full cape, reminiscent of leaders from mid-20th century Earthen lore. He stood almost seven and a half feet tall, and as he walked to the table, he seemed to just get bigger.

For the first time, Jack had serious doubts about his plan.

“I present F’ath M’isti, Supreme Commander of the Omegan fleet!” T’reen bellowed, and then bowed to his commander. “Supreme Commander, I present the crew of the War Angel.”

M’isti stood and looked around at the humans in his midst, his face frozen in concentration. After the first few seconds, Gina felt a drop of sweat trickle down her cheek, followed by another. She turned her gaze slightly downward, suddenly wondering if they were allowed to actually look at the man.

Jack merely smiled. “Nice cape, Supreme Commander.”

M’isti turned slowly on his heel, and cocked an eyebrow. “I’d offer you one, but I doubt we have one in your size, Captain.” That burst the dam, and Jack let out a belly laugh. M’isti joined him, stopping his laugh to waive at the rest. “Please, sit. You’ve come a long way for dinner. And dinner we shall have!” He snapped his fingers loudly, and two smaller Omegans appeared from the door where the crew had entered.

The first Omegan, Kate noticed, was a woman, the first female of the species she had seen. Though shorter in stature than either T’reen or M’aschi, she was still an imposing figure. Given the chance, Kate was certain that the Omegan was plenty strong enough to kill a human in unarmed combat without working up a sweat.  The Omegan woman poured water into glasses around the table, and as she finished, a male Omegan stepped in behind and placed covered dishes in front of each member of the dining party. As they backed away, F’ath M’isti stood and placed his hands on his hips.

“Captain Keys,” he said, nodding in Jack’s direction. “I see you have treated this crew honorably. You won a great victory and rewarded them properly with battlefield promotions.” Jack looked up at his Omegan counterpart and gave a slight nod. “I see that you are now… Commander Matto, Lieutenant Commander Stinson, Lieutenant Almond, and Lieutenant Drake.” He grabbed his glass of water and raised it to the War Angel crew. “Impressive.”

Jack toasted him back. “Thank you, Supreme Commander.”

“Pity about your accident, though,” M’isti replied with a slight snarl.

“Yes. Lieutenant Commander Park was a good man. He’ll be missed,” Jack said, cutting him off.

“Where is my father!?” Ben blurted, no longer able to contain himself.

M’isti sat back down. “On his way, young Drake. Patience. Now,” he said, his voice taking on a soothing tone, “you’re probably wondering what we’re having this evening.” He lifted the cover off of his own dinner, and on the plate was a hunk of some meat that none of the crew could immediately recognize, accompanied by some leafy greens. “This is Idvall, and Omegan delicacy. The human equivalent would be something like your beloved cow. I believe you have a dish called prime rib?”

“I’m a fan,” Jack said with a smile.

“Then you should enjoy this very much. Idvall is a rarity here of course; we had to bring a supply with us and it is difficult to keep fresh.”

Sarah gave M’isti a gentle smile. “It is very generous of you to share it, then. Thank you.” He seemed surprised by her speaking up, but he caught himself and nodded in her direction.

“It is my pleasure.”

At that moment, the door opened again, and an Omegan warrior stepped into the room. “The prisoner, Supreme Commander.” He stepped aside, and Patrick Drake stepped into the room. The older man had been cleaned up, but it was clear that he had many bruises and contusions, and he was having difficulty walking on his own. He was staring at the ground, watching his feet move as he walked, oblivious to what was going on or where he was, but that ended quickly with a loud shout.

“Dad!”