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.”

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.

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-20^th 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!”

War Angel: part seventy-one

2142 – The Kan’Tar

The War Angel’s landed in the Kan’Tar’s docking bay with a resounding clang that echoed throughout nearby corridors. The ship was never really built to land, so it lacked the requisite gear that most craft are equipped with. Instead, Gina used the ship’s control thrusters to “gently” slow the ship’s descent to the deck, finally letting them cut out once they were six inches above the pad they had been escorted to. It was, Jack thought, one of the more unusual problems this plan faced.

But it managed to work. The War Angel, a ship only he had seen the potential in at first, was now inside the belly of the beast. And an impressive beast it was.

Jack had read his ancestor’s journals, watched surviving historical footage, read accounts of those who had seen it during the first period, but it matched all of those accounts and more. As they entered the ship’s internal bay, he found himself slightly in awe of the real size of it. The Kan’Tar was the size of a major city, maybe larger than some of the ones the ship had destroyed with its rail gun bombardments. During the War Angel’s descent Jack imagined for a moment that they were being swallowed by a massive beast, and his literary imagination recalled classic stories where such a thing had occurred.

He smiled, remembering that most of those stories worked out well for the smaller creatures.

The ship shook and rattled for a moment, the impact of landing giving the old girl a quiver, then it stopped and settled into place. As it did, Gina muttered a silent prayer and then cut the engines, shutting them down.

“No running,” Sarah whispered.

Jack turned to her. “Not yet, at least.” He stood from his chair. “We’re all clear on what happens next, right?” The crew nodded assent. “Then let’s head for the shuttle bay. It’s the closest thing to a door we’ve got.” He tapped a comm. “Doctor? Please meet us in the shuttle bay. Time for dinner.”

“Aye, Captain,” came her reply.

Jack took appraisal of his crew. They stood in front of him, shoulder to shoulder, and he had to admit that they looked good. “The formal uniforms are a nice touch. I think they’ll be surprised by it,” he said, smiling.

As Jack described his plan, he added a new wrinkle that baffled the rest. “You’re all promoted, by the way.”

Ben leaned back away from the table. “Say what now? How is that even remotely important?”

“We’re going to be walking onto the decks of the most fearsome warship of all time. They think we’re ants to be stomped on. They think I’m a crazy murderer who stole his superior officer’s ship…”

“Which you –“ Sarah started, but he cut her off.

“Save it. They think you’re just a bunch of college students who don’t know anything about flying a boat like this. I want us going in looking the part. No cadet uniforms. Formal uniforms, with formal ranks.”

Sarah interjected. “And if they think we’re just kids playing dress up?”

“Then they’ll be underestimating us in another way, and that gives us another advantage.”

Kate tugged at her collar. “I still don’t like going in unarmed. At least let me take a knife, Captain.

He shook his head. “There are over two thousand Omegans on this ship. As good as you are, I don’t think you alone with a knife is going to do the trick. Besides, if they see a weapon, they might just open fire and shoot us all immediately.” He took a deep breath and then looked at each of them. “Besides, we aren’t exactly going in completely unarmed.” The five of them nodded slowly. “Okay. Deep breaths. Ready?”

Sarah spoke first. “Let’s do this thing.”

Jack turned and pulled the lever to manually open the docking bay. The upper and lower doors broke their seal and slowly began moving apart. As they did, Jack moved forward and the others fell in line behind him. Bright light began to fill the bay, but he refused to shield his eyes. Finally, as the doors finished moving, the War Angel’s captain could see the situation clearly.

Standing outside the ship was a platoon of Omegan soldiers, guns drawn and aimed at the War Angel crew. In front of them was an officer that Jack immediately recognized from the background from when he had spoken to F’ath M’isti. “Ahh,” he thought. “He doesn’t want me to feel important enough for his own presence, but he didn’t want to risk me doing something crazy and not have one of his best men here. Smart.” The Omegan held a small scanning device in his hands and was clearly using it on the crew. When he finished, he gave a small grunt and waived the soldiers away.

“I am M’aschi T’reen. I bid you welcome to the Kan’Tar, flagship of the Omegan Empire.”

The crew gave a slight nod and bow. “I’m Captain Jack Keys of the EAD ship War Angel. We are… delighted… to be your guests today.”

T’reen cocked an eyebrow and grunted. “Of course. Very well. Follow me, and stay close, please.” He sighed, something that Jack found himself surprised an Omegan would do. “Dinner,” T’reen said, beginning to walk quickly toward the landing bay’s exit, “awaits.”

War Angel: part seventy

From the Journal of Steven Keys- May 27, 2024

I sometimes wonder what it would have been like if I were a man of faith.

When this all began, I was surrounded by men of faith, and it was (and this is horrible) fascinating to watch so many of them break down and completely lose that faith. Mind you, how could you blame them? If you believed in a loving, omnipotent God, then watching as our planet and our civilizations were so effectively and efficiently destroyed had to be unfathomable. Of course, those that placed their faith in the Old Testament God saw the Omegans as the Almighty’s wrath against people like me: educated, free-thinking believers in personal liberty who didn’t care which adults married which adults.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say I got a jolt of pleasure out of watching those types bite the dust under enemy fire. What can I say? I’m not always a good person.

What kind of person am I? That’s a question that’s plagued me for a long time now. Had I been a man of faith, maybe I could explain how I managed to survive the torture and loss of appendages. I could pin my rescue on divine intervention, smile brightly, and call it good. But that isn’t the kind of man I am. I survived precisely because my mind did break and it kept me from understanding the horror of what was happening.

It’s been three years now, but I still have the dreams. Not every night, but they come. Yumiko remains the most patient, wonderful partner that I could ever imagine having. A man of faith would say that God brought us together, that our finding each other was all part of the plan. But really, what a shitty plan! Millions had to die for me to find happiness? Yeah, I’m not buying that one. If that were true, it would truly put me over the edge. I’d take being a miserable, lonely bastard if it put our world right again and brought the dead back to life.

Oh! Anyway, what kind of person am I? I was a man of letters for most of my life, but that was just a thing that I did; I thought at the time that it defined me as a person, but in hindsight, I could not have been more wrong. I know I’m not alone in this; millions of people felt that way, that they could define themselves through their work. But when my work was taken away – vaporized into dust – I was still here, and I didn’t lack definition. At that point, I was partner to Nadine and tried to tend to her need, her wounds.

I failed. So then who was I?

A freedom fighter. Ahh, bullshit. I learned how to be a terrorist. For the first time, I took the life of another sentient creature. Did that change what kind of person I am? It had to, I think. That’s a line you cross and cannot come back from. And after that, my actions as a terrorist came back upon innocents as the Omegans retaliated. This has happened time and time again that civilians just trying to maintain their meager existence have died because something I was involved in angered our alien overlords. So am I a harbinger of death? Is that it? Am I an evil person?

I like to think I have balanced the scales through the positive actions I have taken as a member of this resistance cell. The projects, the reverse engineering, the dedication to saving our planet… everything we do here is aimed at the greater good. So am I a savior figure? Am I worthy of reverence?

These questions have plagued me. Oh, how they have plagued me!

But today, I think I found my answer. We were called into a meeting, and it wasn’t just those of us in the “brain trust.” There were extra military there, as well as some people we didn’t know, and everyone was pretty tense. I heard whispers of worries that the new guys were followed, but we were never interrupted, so that didn’t pan out. Anyway, the new guys had made their way to us from Antarctica, one of the last places the Omegans had left untouched. Hell, we don’t want to go there, so why should they? Anyway, these guys were engineers, architects, and builders, and for a couple of years it turns out they had been smuggling raw materials down there. Millions of tons of steel. To say we were all pretty impressed would be understating it. The possibilities began churning inside of all of us, but before any of us could speak, one of their architects rolled out a set of blueprints.

It looked like a brick, honestly.

But it was a spaceship design, a design that incorporated some tech ideas we had stolen from the Omegans along with some of the ideas that our little brain trust had come up with over the last couple of years. As the architect spoke about the designs, crude though they may be, I have to admit that at one point I had stopped breathing. I was picturing it in my head, this flying brick zooming through space and shooting the hell out of those Omegan bastards. It filled me with a childlike glee.

As the presentation ended, the plan was laid out to all of us: a small crew of us would be heading back with the new guys and joining the build team in Antarctica. I assumed that our serious tech guys from the brain trust would get the nod, so I was pretty stunned when they called my name and told me I would be going (Yumiko, too, thankfully). When I asked why, the Colonel gave me a slight smile and clapped me on the shoulder. “Doctor,” he said, “do you know what kind of man you are?” I shook my head no.

“You’re a survivor, Doctor.” He took his hand off my shoulder. “You’ve survived so much shit that I think you must be part cat. This project needs survivors, especially ones who have spent as much time as you have inside the enemy’s craft.”

I nodded my assent. I had my answer, too. I’m not a good person who has had shitty luck. I’m not a bad person who has repeatedly gotten his just desserts. I’m just a guy who has managed to survive. And you know what? I find that I can live with that. I can wrap my mind around it and I can conceptualize it. It makes sense to me. It even takes me back to my old life: “Angels and ministers of grace defend us! Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned…”

Steven Keys is both, yet neither, Hamlet.

Now, on to my to-do list. I think I’m going to need a jacket at my next destination. Too bad the nearest store is rubble.

War Angel: part sixty-nine

2142 – Halfway Between the Earth and the Moon

Drake’s voice trembled. “They are sending us a homing signal to follow in order to land us in their internal docking bay.”

“The belly of the beast,” Sarah said in a flat tone. She walked to the captain’s chair. “What do you think, Jack?”

He exhaled. “So far, so good. He’s probably feeling smug that he kept us out of running position. Classic military tactics.” Jack leaned forward. “Helm, lock onto the signal and follow it at docking speed. Nothing alarming, strictly by the book.”

“Aye, aye.”

Kate sighed loudly from the weapons and targeting system. “All these targets and nothing to shoot at.”

“How accurate do you think you could be without the computer?” Sarah turned and asked her. In response, Kate raised an eyebrow and gave Sarah a disappointed look. “Oh. Right,” Sarah said, turning back to Jack. “Alright, back to business. We land. We walk out. Assuming they don’t immediately shoot us –“

“Which they won’t.”

“Assuming they don’t, then what?”

Jack shrugged. “This guy wants to meet me face to face and get a read on me. I’m sure of it. He wants to know if I’m talking out of my ass, that much is for sure, but his curiosity is piqued in other ways, too. I think we’ll have that dinner, and he and I will have our meeting.” He rubbed his head with both hands. “The rest is timing. We have to buy enough time to put the rest of the plan into motion.”

Ben interjected. “And my father?”

“He is supposed to be at dinner. Give him what he needs – quietly – and make sure he is ready to run at the drop of a hat. When we get the signal, we’re going to have about ten minutes, maybe less. And then…” he stopped visualizing what the final stage of the plan was supposed to look like. “And then Kate will have all the targets she could ever ask for, and hopefully she’ll shoot every last one of them.” He smiled. “While Gina does some fancy flying to get us out of here, of course. Come on, guys… we have gone over this a lot in the past few hours. We can do this. We can. Stage one went perfectly, didn’t it?”

A look passed between the rest of the bridge crew. Stage one had taken a miracle to succeed. Miracles, like lightning, weren’t exactly known for striking twice in the same place.

Richard felt a rumble pass through the shuttle. “What the hell?” he dropped his tools and raced to the pilot’s seat. A quick look through the window told him that his worst fear was coming true.

“Nononononono! You’re supposed to land with us! You’re supposed to land with us you stupid alien bastards! Nonononono!” Droplets of sweat appeared on his forehead and began dripping down his face, and against everything he knew was useful, he began to panic. Richard’s breathing became heavy and labored, and his vision started to blur. Ity was at that moment that he realized just how much trouble he was really in.

“Hyperventilating. Not good. On low oxygen in the shuttle, not good. Pass out and I have no chance. They all die if I pass out. They all die if…” he held his breath for a moment, “they all die if I don’t figure this out right now. Come on, Richard, think!”

He looked through the window again and saw the path the Rea’Cerb was taking. It took a long five seconds, then “Yes!” echoed through the shuttle. He made some mental calculations, offered a silent prayer to the universe that they were correct, and then made his move.

Flicking off the life support system so that the shuttle was little more than dead metal, Richard placed his helmet back on. He gripped the manual release and counted silently to himself. As he neared the end, he wondered what the odds were that he, the unluckiest man on planet Earth, could benefit from a miracle twice in one day.

“Not very damned good,” he whispered.

War Angel: part sixty-eight

2142 – Halfway Between the Earth and the Moon

F’ath M’isti strode confidently to the large window that spanned the length of his quarters. From there he could look over much of the fleet he commanded, as well as cast his gaze upon the small blue planet that had caused his people so much grief and loss. He shook his head, appalled that he was still dealing with these Earthmen, when in a just universe the mission would have been completed a long time ago and he would have conquered many other worlds by now. But no, this was not the existence he had dreamed of as a young warrior.

It was, however, the existence he had been granted, and in his heart, he knew that complete and utter glory was to be his if he were to finally solve the problem of the mudball below.

A comm. signal chirped, and M’isti sighed gently before acknowledging it. “Speak,” he said in unusually quiet fashion.

“They are within visual range, Supreme Commander. Your orders?”

He rubbed his chin and closed his eyes, taking a moment to think about what he truly wanted. After a long pause, he responded “Give them a guidance signal to land in the internal bay. I don’t want them in the external bay where they might try and run.”

“Yes, Supreme Commander!”

“Oh! And redirect the Rea’Cerb to a scouting expedition around this system’s innermost planet. Make sure they are there for a long period of time.” He paused. “A very long period.”

The voice on the other end of the comm. gave a slight snort of derisive glee upon hearing the punishment the wayward commander had been given. “It will be done.”

M’isti crossed the room to his desk and activated his main set of controls for the Kan’Tar. As the machinery came to life, he placed the incoming feed of the War Angel’s arrival on his viewscreen. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Remarkable.” He magnified the image and looked at the damage that had occurred as the trip began and he shook his head. The commander of the Rea’Cerb did not understand. But F’ath M’isti understood all too well.

“The enemy ship is on fire!” the tactical officer yelled out. M’isti wiped blood from his brow and charged toward the front of the bridge. He let out a primal scream of rage aimed at the viewscreen and spun around to face his gunner.

“Target the fire with everything we-“

The screen behind him flared red as all four cannons on the Earth vessel fired at once, striking the B-class cruiser in its engines, weapons systems, and, to M’isti’s immediate dismay, bridge. The bulkhead behind the gunner gave way to the cold, stark depths of space, sucking the warrior out to his death. The crew did their best to hang on, but two more met the vacuum before the emergency bulkhead dropped into place and saved the rest of them.

M’isti started righting himself, but as he did he saw the enemy ship – still burning and beginning to list – fire again, this time on the Omegans’ companion vessel. This time the results were far more spectacular. The ship, named the T’Brion, exploded into millions of pieces. F’ath stood transfixed for a moment, stunned at what he had just seen. He felt a swell of rage boil up within him, a strong desire to avenge those he had just seen begin their journey to Erestia.

It allowed him to forget himself for a moment, as he screamed “Gunner! Fire everything we have left! I want that ship destroyed!”

A beat passed, and only when F’ath M’isti realized he had no acknowledgment of his order did he turn around and remember that his gunner, as well as all targeting controls, was gone. And regardless of the enemy ship being on fire, it was still armed and capable of blasting the Omegans to atoms. The crew left on the bridge eyed him carefully, some with an honest bit of fear in their eyes. The Earthmen were supposed to be sniveling cowards, creatures unable to match the savage ferocity of even the lowliest Omegan warrior. This was a lie that they had been fed. They all knew this now. What would their fate be?

“That ship,” M’isti said slowly, “is classed by the enemy as a ‘Revenge-class’ vessel. While we have not won this battle today, I assure you of this: we will have revenge of our own upon them.” The rest nodded in agreement, and he saluted them. Then he activated the ship-wide comm. “All warriors, this is your commander: abandon ship. Repeat: abandon ship.”

Five minutes later, the last escape pod, containing only F’ath M’isti, separated from the ship. As it drifted away, he watched as the Earth ship fired again and finished destroying his vessel. Suddenly, all of his rage and anger drained away.

He couldn’t explain it, but a peaceful sense of calm came over him. He watched as pieces of his command flew past him, and he listed as they bounced off the hull of his pod. But he knew in that moment that he would have another chance, and it buoyed him. But even better, he watched the enemy ship. It was still on fire, and as he studied it, the fire grew. Suddenly, it lurched and tumbled on its axis. Clearly, it was far more damaged than they had been able to determine during the battle. M’isti watched intently as it faded closer and closer to the surface of the Earth’s moon, and he felt a smile cross his face. After a couple of minutes he could no longer see it with his eyes and had to switch to using the systems aboard the pod. As he did, he watched as the ship leveled out above the surface but continued downward, finally crashing to the surface, sending an enormous dust cloud into the sky.

It wasn’t, M’isti remembered, a complete loss that day. They had removed an enemy piece from the board.

But he also remembered that no matter how wounded that ship was, it had managed to destroy both Omegan vessels first. He had no intent at all of letting that happen again. The impetuous young commander of the Rea’Cerb lacked the proper understanding of just what the enemy could do, even when outmatched and outgunned. But as soon as that ship was inside the Kan’Tar? It was never going to be a threat again.