Remember the Starfighter (23 page)

It had been ages since she had last seen the image. That of herself staring back.

It came to her accidentally. Along the chrome of her armored hand, she saw the jagged reflection. Shining back was the vague outline of her uncovered face. Human. Female. This she had always known. But there was more. Much more. Her white skin, brown eyes, and black hair, every bit of it peering back. In fact, she could not only see it, but feel it — her body seemingly breathing at some pre-fixed beat.

Extend
, she thought, shunning the image before her. Her suit responded, rapidly expanding the armor to cover her face and hair. Arendi had seen enough. She looked down at her arm now, and saw herself as she wanted. A machine, sheathed in silver. Her existence entailed nothing more. Or so she wanted.

Surrounding her now were several armed guards, each one as opaque as the next. Uniformed in black body armor, the guards towered over her, carrying large mechanical rifles at their sides. They had said nothing since escorting her to another secluded room. But Arendi could speculate as to why. She had seen the destruction.

An attack had killed the very people she had only recently come to know. Alien scientists, Alliance officers, and a human, all among those she had been told were dead or seriously wounded.
She was not informed as to why, only that she had to be relocated immediately. It was to be done for her safety, the transition both smooth and uneventful. The guards, however, would say no more; their duty was solely made to protect, not to converse.

Analysis,
she demanded. As the scan came through, she registered the force fields outside the room walls. Motion trackers detected what she surmised were more guards patrolling the exterior. Protection, they had said, but clearly she was a prisoner. It did not help that Arendi was still damaged. Even as she was fully functioning, the power source inside her remained unstable. Its structure, rife with foreign energies, was barely under her control. For now, she simply siphoned off what she could, thinking it too much of a risk to do more. 

She had only one comfort. Gradually, the world around her was becoming clearer, and knowable. Days earlier, she had been provided with access to Alliance networks. Through it, she could view all knowledge residing within the public databases. What she found was libraries of information on the Alliance, its peoples and technology, along with the state of the ongoing war. Of most interest to her was the fate of humanity. A link had been granted, giving her direct access to the Terran Hegemony. Methodically, she recorded all the data available, storing what was hundreds of years of history into her own memory core. Amongst the data, was the one file she had specifically requested. It seemed of little importance, given her circumstances. Her curiosity, however, couldn't help but spur her on.

ACCESSING…..

ID: U-5031-8476-OU

NAME: JULIAN M. NVERSON

BIRTH: 4/36/285 A.F.

CURRENT RANK: SF CAPTAIN FIRST CLASS

STATUS: SUSPENDED ON MED LEAVE

The file was a summary, with its contents written in brevity. The details had been limited to years, locations, squadron groups, and campaign names. Any further depth was locked behind security codes and military confidentiality.

Still, it was enough. Enough to at least learn something of the human who had recovered her.

MILITARY EDUCATION:

- YR 297 INDUCTION INTO STANDARD TRAINING

- YR 301 LEGEON FLIGHT SCHOOL – GRADUATE WITH PRELIMINARY FLIGHT STATUS RECEIVED

- YR 303 HAVEN FLEET ACADEMY – GRADUATE WITH HONORS AS FLIGHT CADET

CAREER HISTORY (SUMMARY): 

YR 303-309 TS-X49 (AKA GRAY SQUADRON)

UNDER COMMAND OF SF SQUADRON COMMANDER LEE DRAYDEN

MAJOR CAMPAIGNS w/ NOTABLES:

-
        
TANGEA

-
        
LOMACINE-23

-
        
OPERATION HEARTBRINGER

-
        
ORION

• ACCOLADE AWARDED: MEDAL OF HAVEN
  

RANKS EARNED: FLIGHT OFFICER JUNIOR GRADE -->FLIGHT OFFICER SECOND CLASS -->FLIGHT OFFICER FIRST CLASS --> SQUADRON LIEUTENANT

And yet after viewing the file, there were questions. So many names, and operations all shrouded in secrecy. But most notable was evidence to the pilot’s previous failings.

YR 309-311 TS-X49 (AKA GRAY SQUADRON)

ASSUMED COMMAND AS SF SQUADRON COMMANDER

MAJOR CAMPAIGNS w/NOTABLES:

-
        
OPERATION TECUMSEH

-
        
SECOND GAIA

• CHARGED WITH DERELICTION OF DUTY
  
• DEATH -- SENT TO REJUVENATION
  
• DECOMMISSIONED
  

Why she cared, she did not know. But Arendi was afraid. It was a thought she found ludicrous, the idea heretical to everything she had come to know. Logic dictated she follow the mission parameters, and seek out as much data as possible. There was no reason to hesitate or worry. Those concepts should not exist. Not for her, a machine hatched out of numbers, programs, and artificial conduits.

Arendi accessed the file once again. In another few hours, she would be escorted to meet the very man she was trying to understand. As before, Arendi would have no choice in the matter. She needed to only prepare for the worst.

The man screamed, the subsequent sobs shrieking through the confines of the tiny and remote habitat.

From a corner of the room, the figure watched, as the rod-like device burrowed into the man’s head, the green blood splattering out and onto the victim’s face. Bit by bit, the tiny interrogation machines dug in, scanning the man’s brain. And in turn, the man gave out another awful and almost deafening screech.

Glancing at the target’s extreme agony, the figure in the shadows cast back a dull stare.

“Hmph,” the agent said in whisper, as it stood draped in the darkness. “Is this all I’ve become?”

The agent found itself on an icy world, just outside of Alliance territory. It had been sent to the planet, and tasked with another dissent eliminating mission. This time, it centered on a Cyrathian columnist, an “organic” known for his controversial theories.

The agent didn’t even bother to read the target’s profile or background. There was no need. Not when it had done the same thing over and over again, in the last century. During this last cycle alone, the agent had eliminated three other targets, each a declared potential threat. But in reality, they were simply activists or politicians. All of whom had in some way, disturbed the Union and its plans.

Although the work had restored some of the agent’s previous status, still, there was no challenge in any of this. It was all devoid of any glory or even thrill. If anything, the line of work was far beneath the agent. A labor a drone could even perform.

No, the agent yearned for something greater. Something that it once had, but lost.

So as the victim continued to die in its midst, the agent focused on its true desire, and accessed the latest intel.

What the figure searched for had nothing to do with political plots or assassination. Instead, it was linked with the Great War, and the numerous battles that continued to rage on across the galaxy. Specifically, the agent was interested in the whereabouts of the rare vessel — a force that supposedly led the enemy’s charge, and been the origin of the figure’s disgrace. 

ENDERVAR SPECIFICATION: OVERLORD CLASS

The notorious ship had not been seen in over a decade. But mysteriously, it had reappeared, only weeks ago. At a system under control of a Terran group.

It was an unusually aggressive attack, the enemy sparing no one, and even going as far to destroy a moon. Only a handful had managed to survive the slaughter, the vessel’s unique capabilities making it almost invulnerable to the most advanced Alliance weaponry. The agent consumed the data, and came away amused. 

“So you return,” it said in a murmur. “If only I could as well.”

Closing the feed, the agent reluctantly resumed its current task. To the being’s displeasure, the man was still alive.

“Please! At least, tell me... what I’ve done wrong! Please...”

The man sobbed pathetically, the green blood dripping down from his thick chin. He was in tears, and on his knees, pounding the ground in pain with all four of his frail arms.

“Organics,” the agent said, bored, but with no pity. “Must you always die in fear?”

The man closed his eyes, his mouth open in a terrible wail.

“Please, I have a family...”

“Hmph,” the agent replied. “Please, don’t tell me I have to kill them as well. I already tire of this primitive planet.”

The dying man looked at the agent, shocked at the figure’s entire lack of empathy. So the agent acquiesced.

“If you must know. The Union is most offended by one of your conspiracy theories.”

“...which one? I will rescind!”

“I think you know which one. Because this one, is recent and happens to be true.”

“But... But I haven’t even published it yet.”

“Exactly. It ends with you.”

Finally, after two minutes of processing, the interrogation ended, the device from the man’s head popping out from its skull, and flying back into the agent’s hand.

The agent began the upload, the victim’s memories converted into digital data, and ready for the Union’s intake and analysis.

As the upload went, the figure looked down at the man, and found his head dropped in a pool of blood. Almost incredibly, the target had survived. He moaned, the scans showing his two hearts still beating.

“Impressive,” the agent said. “Begin disposal.”

With those two words, the drones went to work, and finished off the target, vaporizing the man’s body and all evidence of the agent’s presence. Meanwhile, the agent rose from the shadows and stepped out of the domed habitat into the frigid temperatures.

“It’s done,” the figure said, relaying all the information back to the high collectives.

Hiding its disdain, the agent then waited for its masters’ next command, as the snow fell across its glowing body. “When will I battle again?” it asked.

Moments later, the Union sent the order, elevating the next mission to the highest priority.

“Interesting, and what does the Unity need with a forgotten enforcer such as I?”

The masters replied directly, bypassing the usual protocols.

--Your expertise, particularly your knowledge of organics, is requested.

The agent would first act as support in case of failure. But this would not be the typical “dissent crushing” it had become so accustomed to. 

The details came, the target and her image in the agent’s sights.

“Endervar technology,” the being said to itself. “How intriguing.”

Accepting the mission, the agent then began the transfer, sending its consciousness to an Ouryan ship based at Alliance Command.

As it quickly learned, the mission was already underway.

-
-Standby. Apprehension of the target is in progress.

The specialist insisted that he carry one, and so he did. Pulling the weapon from his holster, he gripped the laser pistol, daring to even slide his finger next to the trigger. Configured for human hands, it was a typical handgun and surprisingly light in its weight. Julian, however, knew how dangerous it could be. He did not want to hold it at all.

Loosening his grip, he felt the sweat surface from his palms. “Time?” he asked, tapping the comm set attached to his ear.
03:34,
messaged his computer. 

An hour ago, the plan had been put in motion. Specialist Alysdeon had left the Alliance station. Escorting her was an elite force of sentinel guards. Their destination: a Hegemony colony in another sector away. But none of it had been entered into the public databases. The mission was effectively off-the-record. That and eight other similar flights — all bound for New Terran space — had been kept confidential.

It was a precaution, the specialist had explained a day earlier. Each flight a decoy to hide the true escort from prying eyes.

“When will I see you again?”

<
I will meet with you as soon as I can at the New Terran fleet. But be careful. You’re not facing the Endervars, but a group far more covert. They will strike again.>

Julian took heed of those words. Reluctantly, he went for the laser pistol, and ignited its battery charge. In that moment, it shot off a chime and began to vibrate. The weapon was ready to fire.

Holstering the pistol at his side, Julian continued to wait inside the hanger bay. According to Alysdeon, the facility where he stood was a discrete freight room, one of hundreds found within the superstructure of the station.

It had been filled with oxygen and the appropriate gravity. And aside from Julian, there was no one else inside the large room. No one, but the Lightning — a ship that had been repaired almost two weeks ago.

It was now fully prepped and ready for take off. Julian just needed his passenger.

“They’re running late,” he said, growing impatient. “Where are they?”

There should have been no complications. Only a swift transfer, and a quick departure out from the Alliance station. But already, things felt off.

Emergency,
his computer signaled. An alarm echoed from within the confines.  Weapons fire had been detected in one of the section hallways.

Julian held his pistol tight. Something was wrong. He raced to the entrance door, and firmly planted his two feet. Reaching for his pistol, he felt the handle close to his fingers.

The entrance door to the hanger bay opened, the security clearance accepted. A masked figure, dressed in a military power suit, entered. Julian then saw the weapon pointed at his face.

“Halt!” the figure shouted, his voice booming from its armored mask. 

It was a two-handed rifle. A so-called “slicer.” The black barrel dwarfed the size of Julian’s own laser pistol. In one burst, the weapon could have obliterated Julian right there. Fortunately, the figure holding it quickly lowered the rifle.

“My apologies, captain,” the armored soldier said, scanning Julian’s face and body. “We’ve actually met before.”

Indeed, they had. It was the same Alliance sentinel. A D’altarian — an alien that was still as tall as ever. Julian held up his wrist, and sent off his own security credentials with his comm-band. The large-bodied sentinel relaxed its weighted stance, but only slightly.

Fitted in deep black hues, the giant in Julian’s midst had no distinguishing figures. All that Julian could see was a body wrapped in the towering shadow of its protective suit. Even so, he could smell the stench of burning flesh in the air. The side of the sentinel’s muscled left arm was visibly cut and riddled with scabs.

The sentinel quickly turned back to the door, gesturing for someone else to enter the room. From behind emerged a cloaked figure, dressed in a full robe that fell to the ground. It was the android, her hood falling back and revealing the signature armor that covered her entire body.

“Escort her to the spacecraft now!” the sentinel shouted to Julian. “A destroyer was right behind us and is closing in.”

“What about you?” Julian asked.

“My two squad partners are holding the line, but I must go back.”

“Then get your men and return here now. We’ll take off once you arrive,” Julian said.

The sentinel nodded, leaving the hanger bay in haste, and shutting the entrance door. Julian grabbed the android’s arm. “We have to move now,” he said.

He failed to see any of her human features, only the layers of metal that covered every part of her body, including the face. The android seemingly agreed, and began running to the Lightning with him behind. Speaking to the ship through his comm-link, Julian ordered the vessel to ready take-off procedures. The door to the vessel automatically opened, as the Lightning’s engine systems sounded off a high-whine.

Julian had thought that time was still in their favor. That whatever was trailing them would never catch up. But soon, after completing the order, Julian could hear another sound echoing from behind. What started as a low rumble, magnified into a screech. Julian stumbled onto the floor, pushed down by a sudden force. The crash around him crackled and whistled, a fire erupting. Behind him, the heat and the thick fog seeped into the hanger bay room. The entire entrance had been blown apart. Julian looked to find the android, and found her crouched on the ground, facing the destruction.

“Keep moving,” Julian said. He pointed to the Lightning’s landing bay door, now only a stone’s throw away. “We’re almost there!” he yelled.

But before Julian could move on, he saw something standing in the shadows of the smoke behind him. Slowly, it was moving forward, trying to clear itself from the flames.

Julian wondered if it was the Alliance sentinel and squinted at the figure. He walked forward, thinking that the D’altarian soldier had been injured.

“No! Get down!” a voice said through the smoke.

Julian heard the warning. A single red light glowed from within the smoke. Then the light flashed, turning into a weapon. Julian ducked to the floor as the energy blast sliced right over him. He felt the heat, the beam burning whatever it touched, igniting a stack of cargo crates in a blaze of fire.

As the beam dissipated, the smoke began to clear. Julian could fully see the figure standing in the debris. The figure was no man, but a machine. Across its chest and two arms were metallic alloys and gray armored plates. At its head, a beam cannon vented exhaust.

Without hesitation, Julian took his laser pistol and fired. Bolts of concentrated particles exploded from his weapon. Holding down the trigger tight, Julian braced for the lasers to slam into the machine. He fired generously, dumping whatever rounds he had into the target. But still, it stood, unfazed by the oncoming blasts. The glow of an energy shield shined around the machine, the protective barrier brushing aside Julian’s attack.

Firing close to dozen rounds, his pistol jammed. The weapon’s power core had overheated. And yet still the machine was coming. Julian gritted his teeth. At the machine’s head, its beam canon began to glow red.

“Go!” a voice shouted.

From behind the machine, the sentinel rose. In its hand: a bladed weapon that glowed white. With a single motion, the giant alien struck down at the machine, forcing the knife into the machine’s defenses. Vibrating at high-velocities, the weapon pierced through the energy shield.

“The mission!” the sentinel shouted, plunging the knife into the machine’s chest plate.

Without looking back, Julian ran for the Lightning and grabbed the android by the hand. Behind him he could hear grunts and screams, as another blast from the energy beam went off.

“Weapons!” Julian yelled, gasping for air as he entered the ship. He lunged toward to the cockpit, seeking out the controls.

As the ship powered on its anti-gravity field, Julian looked to the scans.

He could see the battle unfolding, the sentinel fighting for its life. The D’altarian’s mask had been ripped off, streaks of blood coming down from its cratered face. The soldier was weaponless, but standing its ground with two fists clenched, as it crouched before the equally-large machine. The sentinel charged at the enemy, only to be backhanded to the head. Julian flinched as he heard the blow through the ship’s speakers, hard metal colliding into skin and bone.

Rising from the hanger bay floor, the Lightning turned, rotating inward toward the hanger bay. Weapons were charged; the ship’s computer was scanning for the target.

He turned to the images, and saw that the sentinel was down on the floor. For a moment, Julian could see directly at the alien’s face, anger boiling in the soldier’s green eyes as blue blood dripped from its grizzled mouth. A few more seconds and this would be over, the ship’s weapons system locking on to the enemy contact with its pulse canons.

“Just hang on,” he said, looking at the sentinel through the display screens. “We’re almost there.”

But before Julian could pull the trigger, he saw the D’altarian give one last scream. Not in defiance, but in death, its upper body set ablaze by the machine’s beam canon.