The Fleet (11 page)

“You forgot
wearing a brown duster. Everywhere. Literally.” Adam mentioned.

“That is a
close fourth my friend. A very close fourth.” Dalton said with a
grin. Welcoming the life of adventure once more. After a few days
of relaxation with his lover, anyway.

Chapter
2

*Back to Business*

“Are you sure
about this?” Cambria asked.

“As sure as
I've ever been about anything in my life” Dalton replied. “Except
for loving you.”

It was the
first time in many months that Dalton James no longer wore the tag
of commander. Slipping into a life he once knew, beginning with his
boots. Thick and brown, they had covered his feet through many
adventures.

“I'm excited
about returning home,” Cambria replied. “As well as
frightened.”

“You don't
have to be frightened.” Dalton said. Grabbing the woman who'd
completed his life – pulling her close to him. Close enough to
whisper with ease. “I don't know what's waiting for us out there.
But I do know what's here when we get back.”

His words
drenched her soul with happiness. Knowing that Dalton had meant for
them to start a family after returning. Something Cambria had
always dreamed of.

“I know we
have work to do,” Cambria said. Remaining close to her lover. “But
we could practice now, if you wanted to?” she asked with a
giggle.

The next few
moments were silent, but passionate. Leading up to the sacred act
of lovemaking that both Dalton and Cambria treasured so dearly.

“Is this
normal?” one of the larger Husk asked as a small tactical group of
soldiers awaited Dalton and Cambria. Positioned on the outside of
their leader's door.

“Yes,” a human
soldier replied. “Sadly it is.”

His admission
brought strong silence. Not strong enough to overpower the screams
of pleasure, toppling of furniture and pet names exchanged loudly
between Dalton and Cambria. It was safe to assume the large Husk
warriors could never again look at Dalton James as the same
man.

Ever.

*

Adam stood
firm; his hands gripping a large wall of sandstone which overlooked
the rolling hills beyond their city. Breathing with conviction as
he did his best to savor every single moment.

“Think this
gig's for you?” Dalton asked. Approaching his friend with the loud
hammer of boots to the stone walkways below his feet.

“I believe
so.” Adam replied. Though he never turned to face his old friend.
Remaining focused on the beautiful landscape around them.

“Good,” Dalton
replied. “Because it sure as shit isn't for me.” he admitted with a
laugh.

Turning a bit
to watch Avery play with several other small children. Watched over
by a few parents of survivors, Adam understood he'd reached his
final destination.

“If it weren't
for Avery, I'd go.” Adam replied.

“I know you
would,” Dalton replied. “Probably get my ass shot off too. Always
falling in love with the ladies.”

They both
laughed for a moment, though Adam knew it to be true. He'd fallen
for so many along the way – now sentenced to a lifetime of missing
them. Both Sarah and Sasha the only two women he'd ever truly
loved.

“Besides. It's
better for your son here. A lot more normal than waking up in a
steel rack out in the black. Middle of nowhere.” Dalton added.

“I appreciate
you thinking about my son.” Adam replied.

“Well, don't
celebrate it too much. Cambria put me up to it. Even offered to
write down the words if I thought I'd forget 'em.” Dalton
confessed.

Adam laughed
harder that very moment than he had in a long time. Perhaps even
years.

“You remember
us all sitting around that table and swapping tales? That shit hole
bar?”

“Paulie's.”
Adam replied.

“That's the
place,” Dalton said. “I'll never forget it. Think about that night
all the time.”

Adam did as
well. Sitting with his close friends and true love as they prepared
to part ways. A celebration of those who'd fallen and the lives
that awaited each of them.

“I try not to
think about it much.” Adam replied.

“We've raised
a lot of hell though, haven't we?” Dalton asked.

“Yea,” Adam
said, turning to look directly at his longtime friend with
full-attention. “Yea we have.”

“I may not
come back from this.” Dalton said. Speaking of his adventure to
come in the drifts.

“I know.” Adam
replied.

“Just want you
to know, that um,” Dalton said with hesitation. “You've been like a
brother to me.”

“Touché.” Adam
said.

“Always with
these big ass words,” Dalton growled. “Making me lose my damn
buzz.”

Adam began to
laugh heavily. So did his longtime brother in the art of smuggling
and staying alive.

A hug would
follow their conversation. An unspoken agreement. Adam wanted his
friend to return in one piece and Dalton wanted to oblige him.

*

“Commander,” a
well-armed Viscion soldier said. “We've arrived.”

“Good,”
Commander Ryalk replied. “Unleash our dogs of war and fill our
freezers. For tonight we feast on flesh.”

“Yes sir.”

They had made
the short trip to the large world of Juvenitis. Though larger than
Ronica, it had fallen under Ronican control long ago. Prior to the
infection, at least.

It had been
home to hundreds of thousands of citizens. Now hundreds of
thousands of infected, which sat just fine with the Viscion. To
them, it meant ample food for the harvesting.

Ryalk turned
once more to look across their freezing chambers. Large metal hooks
in line as far as the eye could see. Each of them awaiting the
carcass of humans.

The Viscion
would exterminate the infected, as promised, allowing them feast
like kings. But they had no intentions of leaving perfectly good
meat behind. They had planned to harvest the infected first, at
which time they would crush the fleet of uninfected. Giving them a
bit more food for their travels in deep space.

Rylak smiled
wide, exposing vicious teeth as he watched large ships purge
themselves from his warship. Filled with Viscion soldiers and
plenty of room to package human flesh, at which time they'd be
transported back to the warship.

He'd not
demanded Dalton's group be disarmed out of fear. He'd done so in
order to give his people time to study the human weaponry. Having
done so, Rylak knew his species was the most dominant. Their
technology far more advanced.

Unlike the
human weaponry, the Viscion powered their weapons with a crystal.
One that was as transparent as the clearest of diamonds, though it
emitted a charge which allowed their technology to function.

Better, even,
was the fact that the crystals would recharge over time. Meaning
their rifles were limitless in ammunition when used sparingly and
their ships, which functioned by way of several very large
crystals, would fly indefinitely.

The Viscion
could produce their own crystals, though it took massive amounts of
time and energy to do so. Depending on the size of the crystal.

They could
mass-produce smaller ones, which they used in combat weaponry. But
larger crystals took time. The wait certainly worth it in the
end.

One of the two
ships which accompanied their warship was a processing facility
which churned out the technology regularly. If a ship became
damaged, for whatever reason, they could literally produce a new
piece to replace the damaged one. Replacing the translucent beams
and structuring within the ships. Nothing more than ships made from
crystal.

Powering
themselves.

The infected
could be captured and purified on board the ship as well, which had
been the plan of the Viscion. Bringing them to a large chamber on
board the processing ship and cleansing them back to human form
with only the touch of a button.

Their
commander had failed to tell Dalton of this technology, however, as
the humans would have pleaded for the Viscion's help in eliminating
the plagued horde of priests while saving so many people under the
virus' influence.

The race of
chalk white knights among the stars cared not for rescuing anyone,
nor did they come to lend a hand.

The Viscion
had arrived with a single purpose. Stock their freezers and be on
their way, as they'd done so many times before with other races
throughout the sands of time.

They'd have
their fill of meat, one way or another. And that fact alone, led to
Rylak’s smile lasting a bit longer than usual. Knowing his stomach
would soon be digesting the pure protein that was human flesh.

*

As Dalton sat
down in the shuttle, its walls crafted of thick plated steel and
strong rivets; he began to remember what it was like. The
excitement which accompanied such a rush of emotion as possible
death awaited.

Reaching over,
Dalton began strapping in the woman he loved. Double checking her
harness for safety.

“Now you get
to find out what a true military jump is like.” he said with a
grin.

“The same kind
you've bitched about countless times?” Cambria asked.

“Yep,” he
replied. “That's the one.”

It was a
twelve man shuttle which would be filled to the max. A pilot and
twelve swinging dicks ready to punish anything that stood in the
way.

Well, eleven
swinging dicks.

One by one,
Husk began to file into the shuttle. Their tall stature nearly
touching the top of the shuttle cabin. For them, the ride would be
particularly unpleasant. For a smuggler draped in brown leather,
his lover by his side and a flask of scratch in his hand; not so
much.

The plan was
rather simple. The shuttle would make its way the drifts – a very
remote string of worlds on the fringe of charted space. The exact
opposite corner of the last known Viscion position, by design. They
would soon be followed by a larger ship, a freighter. The Lucky
Lady would be filled with weapons and supplies, as well as nearly
twenty Husk and a reserve shuttle. In case the shit got thick.

Dalton's team
would land and search out survivors, at which time his pilot would
ferry them back to the freighter in orbit. As the team became
fatigued, they would platoon out with other husk on standby aboard
the Lucky Lady. Though Dalton didn't see himself resting. It was
his last hurrah. His one chance to get outside of the comfort zone
and raise some hell. It'd been a long time coming, and he planned
to savor every last moment of it.

“Whiskey-One,
your team is cleared for takeoff.” a voice announced over the com.
Stinging each and every one of those aboard the shuttle – knowing
the time had come.

“Copy that...”
the pilot replied, turning to his XO. “I'm not sure what to call
them sir?”

Dalton
understood. In all of the planning, he'd forgotten to do one thing
as commander. Name their city. While it was a struggle to do sober,
he mulled the decision.

“Resilience.”

“Copy that
Resilience Actual.”

His words took
a moment to register with those within the control center of the
city. Finally answered by the man in charge of their rebuilding
efforts.

“You take care
of yourself, buddy,” Adam said. His voice crackling over the radio
com as the shuttle began pushing up into the stars. “Resilience
Command out.”

It was the
first time Cambria had been on a planned military flight. She'd
been aboard shuttles before, but usually in panic mode. Thinking
nothing of a swift rescue.

This time
seemed different. Her brain seemed to journey to a thousand
different places within only the span of a few seconds. Cambria had
always imagined elaborate planning on board such a flight into
combat, but that wasn't the case. Each soldier remained unnervingly
silent. Each of them broadcasting a look of ready on their
face.

It frightened
her. Wondering if this were in a fact a one way trip, knowing they
were flying into the heart of it all. The place where the infection
first began.

The
drifts.

It had been
Cambria's home growing up. She'd worked here and there, scraping up
enough money to lease a small airship and begin working. Smuggling.
None of it legal, but all of it local. Those jobs led to money,
which eventually led to the purchase of her very first ship. The
Outer Heaven.

Cambria's
ambitions to be wealthy by way of underground trading led her and a
small crew into a bar looking for work. Instead, she found a man
who looked beaten down and homeless. From there, Dalton James
became a friend – which led to a lot more. Complete and total
love.

For what he
lacked in etiquette and fine clothing, Dalton more than made up for
in experience and honesty.

*

“All quiet.”
one of the armed men said. Wearing a look of fatigue and starvation
as if it were a rental tuxedo.

“Good,” Johnny
replied. “Been a few nights since I had any kind of decent
sleep.”

The Revolver.
A nickname Johnny had earned around the area. Until the infection
began to spread, at least. Quicker with a six-shooter than anyone
could imagine. Just as mean-spirited too. Unless he considered you
a friend.

“Getting tired
of living on shitty beans and,” one of the cowboys added. “Well,
more shitty beans.”

A group of
eleven of them. Armed to the teeth, though each carried the most
basic of weaponry. A revolver – perhaps a shotgun.

“It'll pass
with time. Just got to keep surviving.” Johnny replied with a
nod.

“Hell, we
still don't even know where the infection came from.” the cowboy
replied. Several within the group agreeing.