The Fleet (8 page)

Pushing
several buttons on a console in front of him, the crewman remained
calm. Although he'd be the very first human to hear words being
uttered by this brand new race. All through a large set of
earphones snugged to his head.

The video
screen near their ship's massive glass windshield began to light
up. It was nearly ten feet in diameter, both in length and width,
and had been designed so that ships within the fleet could
communicate with ease. Of course, there was nothing easy about
awaiting a transmission from an alien race.

Dalton almost
expected to see little green men in the transmission. He'd seen
plenty before, usually at the bottom of a cheaper bottle of
whiskey. But this time, he saw anything but little green men.

A tall figure
draped in white cloth. Its skin nearly as white as the color
itself. Appearing to have no pigmentation whatsoever. It appeared
humanoid, though it seemed to stand a bit taller. Nearly eight
feet, if Dalton's calculations were correct.

The room
behind him seemed to be made of crystal, or at least designed in
that fashion. Several others were also visible. All of them draped
in white.

As the being
began to speak, Dalton noticed a few things.

First, its
eyes were completely white. He could make out the area where the
pupils normally were, but it was as if his pupils were indeed there
– only white.

The being's
face was smooth like plastic. Skin, no doubt; but completely white
and pure. Shiny and smooth. Giving the impression of an artificial
material.

Finally, as
the being began to speak a very sharp and foreign tongue, its teeth
immediately caught Dalton's attention. Broken and pointed. Almost
shard-like.

Dalton had
always made it a point to notice teeth. A pet peeve, really. If a
dog had teeth that looked menacing, it wasn't worth owning. If a
fellow smuggler had under-maintained teeth, they'd not be sharing
Dalton's whiskey and, if it were a female with teeth of the same
nature, she'd be going home by herself.

They had
always been his rules, for whatever reason, and immediately he
found himself not trusting the race in front of him. Filling his
com screen with downright ugliness.

“Nothing
commander,” a crewman said. “Its language is unlike anything we've
encountered.”

“Well that's
fucking fabulous right there,” Dalton replied. “What am I supposed
to use, sign language?”

The being
seemed to await Dalton's reply. Having no idea he'd stumbled upon a
man famous for anything but words. Unless you frequented the local
saloon, at which time, Dalton would be seen as a poet.

“Look here,”
Dalton said into his com. “I don't speak your language and you
certainly don't speak mine. So run along now, before someone gets
hurt.” he added, giving the illusion of an explosion with his
hands.

Watching the
strange looking creature plug several wires into a small box which
rested on its collar, Dalton found himself coming back to its teeth
and eyes. Time and again. Until a bit of noise began to pipe from
the box

“Why are you
shooting at my vessels?” the creature asked.

It spoke
Dalton's native tongue, though it sounded very much like an
automated program. Some type of software which captured and
translated a foreign language within a matter of seconds. At least
that was best explanation among the crewmen.

Everything
about the creature's voice sounded eerie. Very slow sounds pieced
together with a clicking of the tongue – then spoken into the small
box which bracketed to its neck. Taking his words and translating
them back into language that Commander Dalton James and crew could
understand.

He should have
been scared. God knows everyone else witnessing the first encounter
between races was. But Dalton feared no man, regardless of how bad
his language was. In fact, he'd been infamous for broken language
at times himself.

“You threaten
one of my birds, you are getting your ass shot at. That's how it
works.” Dalton barked firmly.

Giving the
strange being a moment to compute his words; the translation box
once again cleaning them up for consumption by his ears, the being
seemed to quickly inherit a look of frustration and irritation.

“My craft
never fired on your vessel.” the commander of an alien race
replied.

“How about I
ask the questions,” Dalton said, though it were a statement. Not a
question. “Starting with you sitting in my damn backyard.
Unannounced. You're lucky I tried to communicate with you, rather
than start blowing shit out of the sky.”

Cambria wanted
to warn her lover off. Feeling as though he were being harsh on the
new race. Perhaps stirring things up. But she remained still.
Trusting Dalton's judgment and experience when it came to military
situations.

“You would be
wise to calm yourself,” the strange being replied. Its tongue
snapping a bit as broken words went into the translation box and
left understandable to human ears. “I hardly believe your warship
is capable.”

“If you want
to test that belief, you say the words,” Dalton said, standing
firm. “I can riddle that heap of horse shit full of holes or you
can answer my question. Who are you and why are you in my
backyard,” he added. “I won't ask again.”

It was
Dalton's way of doing things. He'd learned throughout life that,
unless you're staring at one of the best, intimidation usually
leads to an average participant backing down in a fighting
situation.

Being so
aggressive in negotiations had actually gotten him out of more
fights than in, which the smuggler turned commander had bet on this
time around. He didn't want anyone to die, but wasn't about to let
a race of beings waltz in and have their way. And he had no problem
announcing it.

Dalton figured
if this new race of beings were that badass, they'd attack
regardless.

“My people are
called the Viscion,” the strange being said. “I'm one of their
commanders, of course, and we picked your small craft up at a
distance. We did not recognize its marking and were hoping to make
contact with another race. Nothing of a violent nature, though, if
pressed,” it added. “We can be.”

Dalton knew
enough about the anatomy of a fight to understand the Viscion had
no intentions of blasting his ship from the sky. That said, they
would also back down no further. Evident by the tone of the
commander's voice.

“Very well,”
Dalton said. “I'll have my people stand down. You've made contact,”
he added. “Now. What can I do you for?”

“I would much
like to talk details with you in person.” the Viscion replied.

“It's won't be
on this ship,” Dalton replied firmly. “Aside from that I'm open to
suggestions.”

He'd rather
eat nails and shit galvanized spaghetti than to bring an alien race
onto his ship and reveal the layout of their home in the sky.

“I see,” the
commander replied. “Perhaps you would be willing to meet in person
aboard my ship.”

“Dalton, no.”
Cambria pleaded with a whisper.

“Damn
straight.” Dalton replied.

“I do not
understand?” the commander said with confusion.

“That means
yes in my language.” Dalton replied.

His reply
brought great joy to the Viscion, although Cambria's heart sank to
the floor.

“Good.” the
commander of the Viscion warship replied. “I await your
arrival.”

*

“I can't
believe my eyes.” one of the soldiers aboard the aluminum colored
shuttle said.

The rest of
the crew, including Adam, shared his thoughts of New Glimmeria.

It was
literally a city brimming with people. A very old city, granted,
but still a very welcomed sight. It had long been abandoned by the
Husk race, though it remained intact for the most part. Towers of
stone and smaller buildings of the same. Many of them etched with
the language of the Husk – announcing their function among a
society that once thrived within its walls.

Second
Glimmeria had been chosen because of its glaring advantage. So
little room to live comfortably against extreme temperatures. An
advantage as very few infected roamed the lands surrounding the
small city. The population of the planet very low around the time
that universal infection set in.

Adam wasn't
sure what to say as their shuttle descended from the clouds above
the city. Welcomed by com traffic and the sight of dozens of large
capital ships and very close to a hundred smaller craft just like
his. Many having maintenance performed on them at the same
moment.

Giving the
survivors among the fleet a chance to finally give their ships a
once over. Performing much needed maintenance and check for
anything faulty. Allowing their machines of might a chance to
rest.

It seemed as
though society had been plucked from dozens of planets throughout
the Skyla System, thrown into a mixing bowl and then jam-packed
into a small cup, or, in this case, a small city of archaic
design.

A large mass
of supplies had been taken near the center of the city, from what
they could see, and was being redistributed. A chance for people
with too many items of clothing to exchange what they could spare
for supplies they were in desperate need of the most.

A spot for
friends to reunite and tell stories of life aboard their specific
ships. Share cigars, lager and other items of comfort. While others
were alone and just in need of some rest. A wanting for true
sunlight to fall onto their skin after having survived nearly an
entire year inside of metal squares with a bunk.

As a longtime
military trained man, Adam began scouting from the shuttle above.
Doing his best to check the defenses of the city thoroughly.

There were no
underground mack cannons to help defend against airborne threats,
as was the case on the original planet of Glimmeria.

The mack
cannons were mighty enough to punch holes through the toughest of
ships, but that hadn't helped during the downfall of Glimmeria as
the infection spread. Their greatest cities overrun in a matter of
days.

What the city
did seem to have in place were gun towers. Armed military snipers
in each of the city's largest towers, which were plentiful. Giving
them a bit of defense against any infected who may try to approach
the city. Aside from that, Adam saw a handful of combat shuttles
patrolling the outskirts. Capable of taking down small groups of
infected, if needed be.

He wasn't sure
who was behind the plan to move the survivors here, but Adam
thanked them. Truly. Praying he would be able to raise his son with
a natural breeze blowing at their backs, rather than air
manufactured by a ship's purification system.

The planet was
safe enough to rest with his son. That was his assessment and Adam
would gladly take it. He was in serious need of a few hours of
sleep. It didn't matter where, just as long as he was with his son
and they were safe.

As the shuttle
touched down with a bit of rough thud onto the large courtyard
built of stone, Adam thanked each of the soldiers for their help in
rescuing Avery.

Taking a few
extra moments to encourage the young soldier with them to stay
after his dream of owning a ship and moving freight. Letting him
know that their society would be back on track soon enough, and
sometimes a dream to chase was all that a man needed to be
happy.

He would try
to track down his old friend soon enough. At the moment though,
Adam felt the extreme of fatigue and hurt of a lover taken down by
his own hand. He needed sleep in the worst of ways, though he
feared...very little sleep was to be had.

*

“I'm going to
ask you not to go.” Cambria said. Pleading with her brown coat
laden lover to stay within the safe confines of their ship.

“I've been
playing too nice for too long. I've got to get out and live a
little, you know?” Dalton replied.

Cambria found
the exchange odd. It seemed as though two married lovers were
disputing something normal, like a man's night out to the local pub
with friends. Although she would say nothing of it to her
lover.

“Anything can
happen over there,” she pleaded. “Anything.”

“I was born
ready for anything,” he replied with a grin. “You're talking to the
old hound dog here.”

“Dalton. I'm
serious.” Cambria insisted.

Old hound dog
or not, she understood the Viscion could very well be a peaceful
race. That said, they could also spring a trap onto Dalton and his
group the moment his shuttle touched down. Stripping the man she
loved from her arms. Forever.

“I know,” he
replied. His tone becoming one of truth. “Trust me Cambria, I'll be
fine. I'm just going long enough to find out what we're up
against.”

“Be careful.”
she said. Draping her arms around him for a moment and exchanging a
very passionate kiss.

Her arms
clinched him tightly. Almost knowing he would never come back to
her. Cambria wanted to beg him once more. Scream it at the top of
her lungs, if that's what it took. But she didn't. She simply
kissed him as she'd never done before. Taking her time and loving
him completely.

“Well, this is
awkward.” one of the soldiers commented.

A party of six
of them altogether, four human and two Husk, had gathered and
awaited the commander. Preparing to fly along with him.

“I've pulled a
few posts outside of the commander's bunk,” another soldier
replied. “Trust me. They don't care who is around. They just get to
it.”

“Get to what?”
one of the Husk warriors asked.

The human
soldier glanced to him.

“Oh my.”

The Husk
understood that what his own race did in the privacy of stone built
dwellings, Dalton was capable of doing in public with no regret. A
scary thought indeed.