Into the Black: Odyssey One (26 page)

Not even him.

Shaking his head slowly, Weston walked back to his fighter to continue his work.

He wasn’t interrupted again until the airlock cycled the next shuttle craft through. At that point, he had completed his inspection of his fighter’s systems. Hefting himself out of the cockpit and drifting to the floor of the shuttle bay, he watched as the big shuttle was trundled into place, by the lumbering loader.

After the shuttle had been locked into place, Weston walked over to the lowering ramp to greet the occupants as they disembarked. Savoy and his tech team were the first ones off.

“Captain,” Savoy and his men saluted.

“At ease. How many on this trip?”

“Seventy, Sir. With the two heavy lifters and the three shuttles following us in, we managed to pack ‘em all aboard. They’ll be here in less than ten minutes,” Lieutenant Savoy replied, dropping his salute, as the Captain dropped his. “Colonel Brinks is in the last one.”

“Of course he is,” Weston smiled briefly, nodding to the men. “I’ve read his reports, and I believe that Doctor Palin was quite impressed with your alterations to his translation algorithms.”

Savoy shrugged, actually reddening slightly under his helmet, if Weston was right, “it wasn’t that hard. He has set up a fine system, Captain.”

“Very well,” Weston nodded. “As you were.”

Weston stood his ground as the men saluted again and moved off. He watched and greeted the survivors as they disembarked the shuttle, wondering that anything had survived the holocaust that had hit their world. The initial readings they were getting, both from the Odyssey’s main array and the relay signal from the atmospheric reports from the team and the Carnivore drones, indicated an event of biblical proportions.

He didn’t know how those monstrosities had managed the damage they had inflicted, but it was obscene.

Genocide on a scale that Weston could never imagine, even in his worst nightmares.

The Captain had to shake himself free of the creeping sensation that followed those thoughts, forcing himself to continue greeting the survivors, as they descended.

When they had all been guided off by the team that Commander Roberts had sent down, Weston turned away from the shuttle and moved back to his fighter. He looked at the sleek craft, and wondered if there was anything else he could do, while he waited. Since early on in his career he had learned to understand the systems he entrusted his life to, often working on his fighter when he felt the need to relax.

“Captain?”

Weston turned to see Commander Roberts standing a short distance away. “Commander, have you gotten everybody settled?”

“Yes Sir. I’ve assigned Lt McRaedy to act a liaison officer.”

“Good. Good. Do you have the latest ETA on the arrival of the last shuttles?”

“They’re already here, Sir. Just clearing the quarantine fields I should expect.”

Weston smiled, “Good. Have the helm take us one more orbital pass of this system. Make sure we intersect the battle coordinates on the way out.”

“Yes sir. Gave the order fifteen minutes ago.”

Weston looked at him in surprise, “you’ve been researching the Archangels?”

“Yes Sir.” Roberts replied evenly.

“Good,” Weston paused a long moment, then nodded. “That’s very good, Commander.”

Roberts turned his head as a low rumble echoed through the bay. “That’ll be the first shuttle through the lock now Sir.”

“All right Commander. Return to the bridge. I’ll be along shortly.”

“Yes Sir,” Commander Roberts pivoted on his heel and walked towards the exit while Weston slowly moved toward where the next shuttle would be docked.

Chapter 17

Milla found herself wandering the corridors of the Odyssey, after she had seen the survivors settled into their temporary quarters. The Captain had been had been very clear that the majority of the survivors were not to leave their designated areas, but she and Saraf had been given exemptions. Even so she wasn’t certain where she was going she had simply felt the need for a walk. She stopped at one of the vessels unobtrusive computer terminals and asked it a question.

“Computer, where may I find Commander Stephanus?”

“There is no Commander Stephanus listed in the ships directory.”

Milla stopped for a moment remembering her earlier conversation. “Then please direct me to the location of Commander Michaels.”

“Commander Michaels is currently on deck eight, second habitat. Training facility.”

It took her thirty minutes of wandering, but Milla finally found her way to the location the computer had specified. Standing outside the large doors of the training area, she pressed the buzzer on the wall.

“It’s not sealed!” The voice was muffled, but audible.

Milla walked in tentatively, not certain what to expect. She had half thought to see rows of workout equipment and other physical training devices. Instead she was greeted by a long empty room that seemed to stretch an immense distance for a shipboard area. Stephanus was standing idle a few meters away, with a chunky black rifle cradled casually in his arms.

“I… I didn’t realize you were…” Milla stammered handheld weaponry was quite foreign to her despite her experience with shipboard batteries. The concept seemed so much more personal…, and final.

“No worries. Just working off some steam,” Stephanus looked relaxed, sheen of sweat on his brow, but the smile she had become accustomed to, was no longer present.

“With a weapon?” Milla shivered.

Milla saw a slight expression cross his face, annoyance perhaps, but maybe not.

“For some people, shooting is the ultimate form of therapy. A lot of aggressions can be worked off, in a very short while. Stay if you wish, I’ll be here for a while, yet.”

Milla nodded slightly, watching in fascination as Stephanus turned back to his ‘therapy’.

Stephanus turned his attention back to the weapon in his hands; it was identical to the ones carried by the Special Forces troops, when they went down to the planet. Comparatively short for a rifle, the weapon was built with versatility in mind. Stephanus thumbed the clip ejection switch and the hefty clip dropped to the deck, with a solid clang. Moving over to a small work bench, Stephanus slapped open the rifles grips and exposed two long blue-green cylinders, which he also ejected from the weapon. After examining the cylinders carefully, he reinserted them into the rifle and closed the breech. Pulling a full clip from the bench, he slapped it solidly into place and flipped off the safety.

Milla, watching his motions with ill-disguised horror, found her voice again. “You actually enjoy this?”

Stephanus turned his head sharply after hearing the note of censure in her voice. “Enjoy? I suppose. Firing a rifle requires focus. It’s almost meditative in its own way.”

“But…, you like being a soldier?”

His eyes narrowed at the tone in her voice, when she said the word ‘soldier’. He stopped for a long moment, considering, “yes, I suppose I do. I’ve accomplished a lot of good in my life. Saved a lot of lives.”

Milla digested this for a moment before trying another tack, her voice not quite being able to avoid becoming dry and sarcastic. “I suppose you see yourself as a warrior for peace then?”

Stephanus felt his face harden, as many times as he had heard that fallacy, he could never understand the people who uttered it. Taking a deep breath, he called to mind all the patience he could muster before replying. “No soldier worth the title would ever make that claim, Milla. Peace is the one thing we don’t fight for.”

A look of shock slapped across Milla’s face, “then why?”

Stephanus smiled slowly, “freedom. That’s the core of why we do, what we do. Peace is a fallacy in itself. Personally, I only know of two forms of peace. Peace in death, and the peace of slavery.” He snorted in amusement, “and I’m not certain about death.”

“If you make peace your only goal, then you lose sight of reality. Obviously fighting for peace is stupid, that’s why we don’t do it,” the man said flatly. “We fight to be free, we fight to defend ourselves and others, and we fight to win.”

Stephanus paused for a long moment, letting his words sink in. “let me ask you something Milla. What do you believe is a soldier’s primary function?”

Her answer was as fast and a wrong, as Stephanus had expected. “To fight.”

“Wrong.” Steph shook his head firmly, his face an iron mask.

Milla looked startled, what else was a soldier for?

He looked at her calmly, considering his answer for a moment, but only for a moment. It was something he had often thought about himself, wondering if killing was what he existed to do, or if there was something more.

He had decided that it was something more, formulating his response to this very question when it was flung at him, likes some accusation by someone who had never worn a uniform, never made the commitment that Steph had.

“A soldier’s first duty, his reason for being, is not to fight. Fighting is the final recourse for any civilized people. His duty is not even to preserve the peace, that is a police officer’s job,” Commander Steven Michaels of the NAC Military said by rote, remembering the many long nights of arguments and discussions that had brought this to his mind. “A soldier’s first duty is simply to stand between his nation and any who might wish it harm.”

Milla blinked at the simplicity of the statement, as Stephanus went on.

“To stand there, with crossed arms, and say to the universe, ‘You are not getting past me. ’” Stephanus said wryly, then stopped for another brief moment before finally he continued, a little more subdued. “The fighting happens when the universe decides to test him. A soldier doesn’t seek conflict, Milla, even if he often seems to find it.”

Stephanus couldn’t tell if she had listened to him, or simply heard him, but it didn’t matter much, anyway. It was a lesson she and her people, would have to learn, one way or another. After a moment’s consideration, he made a decision. “Here, don’t knock something that you don’t understand.”

With that he turned his attention back to the rifle and the range, this time taking care to include Milla in the exercise by describing as best he could, what was happening and why.

“This is an MX-112 infantry support rifle. It has been standard issue for the NAC military and most of our allies, for the past eight years. This one’s an Mk-A7 model, so it’s been refitted a few times, since the original weapon was put into service,” Stephanus was speaking clearly as he thumbed a control on a spindly pedestal.

“Active program will begin in thirty seconds.” The computers voice startled Milla as the lights dimmed and a glow showed up at the far end of the room.

“This one has been configured to fire ‘virtual ammo’ to give a realistic training experience without blowing holes through the hull.” Stephanus pulled the rifle up to his shoulder and gazed down the long length of the room, looking for a target. “It’s what we call a hybrid model, designed to maximize both old and new technology, into a single…,”

The weapon roared, causing Milla to jump and swing her head away from Stephanus to the end of the room. For a moment she saw nothing, and then an armored form materialized and swung a similar weapon in Stephanus’ direction.

“… seamless…,”

The gun barked a second time, the armored form vanishing into the ether, from whence it came.

“… design.”

This time two soldiers appeared, their weapons already pointed at Stephanus. Milla heard a motion and looked back at Stephanus who was on the move, ducking under the ‘enemies’ fire and returning fire in kind. The black rifle stuttering out a loud, steady, beat as shots left it with a flash of blue white light. In short order, the two soldiers had vanished and Stephanus straightened from his crouched position.

“Pause.”

“Simulation Paused.” The computers drone was punctuated by the lights returning to their former level.

“It uses a hybrid chemical/electromagnetic propellant system. The result is a peculiar mix of technologies.” Stephanus walked over to Milla, offering the weapon to her.

Taking it gingerly Milla almost dropped it, as Stephanus let its entire weight fall into her hands. “It’s heavy.”

“Yeah, the clips are a partially reconstructed uranium alloy. Non-radioactive, but still quite solid. It’s built that way to isolate the power cells in each clip from the chemical propellants in the shells,” Stephanus reached over Milla’s hand and hit the ejection button, dropping the heavy clip into his other hand. “Here, see? The clip is separated into two compartments; the first one holds the physical shells and propellant, while this smaller section contains a small power cell and enough hydrocarbons to power the electromagnetic accelerators, for eighty shots. Since a clip only holds sixty, it gives the soldier a nice margin of error, in the field.”

Steph smiled slightly, “and, off the record, it also gives us another source for energy, if our equipment runs dry…, and I’ve heard more than a few stories about guys using them as field expedient demolition packs.”

Milla tentatively twisted the stocky weapon around, examining it from different angles. “It is uncomfortable to hold. Our lasers are much smaller, easier to manipulate,”
and they have other uses than slaughter.
Milla thought to herself as she hefted the weapon.

Stephanus shrugged. “It takes a bit of getting used to, that’s all. It’s very well balanced, and exceptionally accurate. It feels a bit big, because it’s designed to be used by soldiers in light power armor.”

Milla nodded as Stephanus showed her the workings of the rifle, but her attention waned rapidly, as she glanced at his face. The man’s normally jovial visage was hard, chiselled, and very stern, in spite of the lilting tone that he spoke with. Without forethought, Milla reached up a hand, almost touching his face, before Stephanus turned away. In the last glimpse, she had of him, before his face moved away; Milla saw a sheen across his eyes.

“Steph?” Milla was confused for a moment; she was at a loss to understand the emotions she saw flit across his face. She took a halting step forward, her hand reaching for his shoulder.