CHAPTER THREE
Aleina... the hull
By the time the Colonel returned to the bridge, Eu-meh had received the message: “We are the assault ship Firewood of the Ýdalir Militia. We are seeking to return a stranded scout pilot to your ship. Request permission to rendezvous and board your vessel. Please acknowledge.”
Eu-meh responded with an acknowledgment and nothing. The Colonel sent a command identification code in order to verify the integrity of the message… and nothing. Yet the Firewood continued its approach under power on a direct intercept course with the Independence.
Perhaps something had happened to their comms, she thought. Decades old tech and century old ships often broke down. But something was definitely out of place. The events of the past hours, days, even weeks, amounted to a strange convenience of circumstance. A lost pilot found somewhere in the deep of space by a friendly ship that wasn’t looking for her? Space was enormous and in constant motion, what were the odds someone just happened upon a tiny scout ship? They were on a classified mission… no one should be following them, least of all near enough to discover and rescue a spec in the solar system. It was too good to be true… too good to even be a miracle.
But the Colonel knew from personal experience that miracles did happen, that’s why she prayed when Gunna disappeared… but had God answered? As much as she wanted to believe it, the Colonel couldn’t ignore the growing roar of Aleina’s anxiety, an obstacle that also functioned as a gauge for assessing threats, and she knew it was important to listen to its warning. After all, hoping and praying was for civilians, but fear was a tool for survivors. She could feel that fear growing now, beginning to overwhelm, and she worried it would negatively affect the Colonel’s ability to make good decisions.
Whenever she felt a loss of control, Aleina utilized personal remedies to help gain back some focus; physical exercise helped; self injury was instinctual, painful, and quick to straighten her focus; breathing exercises worked as well. Since physical exercise and self-injury were not possible at the moment, she sucked in a deep breath… letting it out slowly, repeating the air-in-air-out treatment until she felt a twinge of calm. She then closed her eyes and continued until the feeling of anxiety and the sounds around her slowly drifted away… until a glint of calming light revealed itself at the foot of darkness.
For a moment, Aleina was no longer on the Independence, no longer the Colonel, her mind finding a once-safe place, deep in the meadow’s lake, young eyes alive to a new light, its distortion rippling, then sharpening, revealing sun-rays bending in water above. Aleina knew who waited there and kicked off the clay bottom, floating upward toward him. When she surfaced, Tommy was standing on the edge of the bank, stretching his thin frame left and right. He saw her, laughed, and shouted that she was beautiful. She moved toward him, reaching her arms out… his hand gently taking the offer, helping her out of their lake. They then held each other, wet and cold, the sun chasing water droplets sliding down her freshly tanned skin… as the voice within carved words upon her soul:
I am drowning of him
And he of me
We, two different
And colored strange,
Hearts, submerged in a tale.
Aleina emerged from the effort feeling unsafe… her anxiety stirred, not tempered. She hated how easily damaging memories were able to overwhelm good intentions. What she needed was something safe, calming… like the possibility of a miracle. She had once been a tiny thing in space rescued at the brink of death… her parents murdered… she, a small child sure-to-die… praying… hoping… never giving up… and then the Ravens came. God answered, and she believed because nothing else made more sense. Even if there were no Ravens to help now, God’s hand still guided--
“Colonel,” Skúli said, interrupting her thoughts, “we have visual on the Firewood. They are in retro-burn.”
“Are they talking yet?”
“Still silent,” Eu-meh answered.
The Colonel activated her personal comms device and hailed the XO, “Major, how’s your team looking?”
“We’re set. You got something for us to do?”
“Yeah, take your team and meet me in the cargo hold near airlock Gamma. I’ll be there in five.”
“Understood. Major out.”
The Colonel addressed those in her immediate area, “Bridge crew, command is leaving for cargo hold at Gamma. Pipe all information to my comms unit. Let me know if anything changes. The Firewood seems to want to dock, so we’re going to be prepared. I don’t think there is anything nefarious on their minds, but I’m not taking chances.” She then turned to Skúli and nodded, “You have the bridge.”
Skúli nodded but said nothing. That was unusual, she thought. She couldn’t think of a time when he wasn’t making bad jokes, even in terrible and tragic situations.
The Colonel pushed her feet hard off the hull, launching her body through to the alley toward the aft of the ship where Major’s team waited. She floated through the corridor in a hurry and, failing to adhere to her own rules about sticking to the right side, ended up crashing into one of the ship’s doctors who was exiting the medical-bay at that exact moment. The two tumbled several meters before the Colonel stopped their momentum by grabbing the doctor’s coveralls, then a hold-grip with the other hand.
“Sorry Doctor Lo,” she said once she could see her victim’s face.
Doctor Tamara Lo’s eyes were wide with surprise, “What’s going on, Colonel?”
“Nothing for you to worry about,” the Colonel lied, though the look in Tam’s eyes suggested she did not believe it.
“Is it Gunna?” Tam asked.
“Maybe. I can’t talk about it right now. I have to get to the aft section.”
“You need me?” Tam asked while pulling her body slowly away from the Colonel, as if her actions were speaking a different language than her words.
“I’ll call you if I need you. Promise,” the Colonel said softly.
Doctor Lo nodded. “Yes, Colonel… of course.” She then kicked off the hull and shot down toward Officer’s Alley, disappearing around the corner.
The crash had rattled Aleina… and she floated in place for a few seconds trying to get back into character for the crew. There was no time to linger on negativity… they needed her. She pushed the intruding thoughts to the side, grabbed a hold-grip, and pulled toward the bulkhead door, her body floating again, but this time slower. Though the distance was short, the seconds allowed her mind to drift just enough… to be reminded of the time she went skydiving on Earth with Tommy, during time off from--Aleina’s anger interrupted: Enough! Stop thinking about this fuckin’ asshole from ten years ago! Dammit, take command of that brain! Reset! We don’t have time for this shit!
Instinctively, Aleina slapped the right side of her face hard, causing a momentum shift. The act caused her body to crash into the hull, tumbling until she hit the bulkhead at the end of the corridor. Stars flashed across her eyes, and the old thoughts were replaced by pain and feelings of stupidity. What would someone think if they saw the commander slapping herself in mid-flight, she wondered. They’d think you lost you fuckin’ mind, and they’d be right. Aleina looked back to make sure no one witnessed the idiocy. To her relief, it did not seem anyone had. The slap had been reckless, she knew, but the negative thoughts were gone, and she could feel the Colonel taking back control.
With command, she turned toward the section door. It was shut, but a twist of the locking mechanism opened it. Major Fjallhafsins stood inside, back to the Colonel, feet planted on the floor with her sticky-boots, polishing a silver and blue broadsword. The Major was in full reflective battle armor, and the Colonel knew there was a dragon painted across the chest and arms, down to both legs, in the ship’s colors of blue and white. All twelve of the XO’s combat troopers had their battle gear on, painted with specialized designs. They were noisily discussing something and none noticed her enter, but she observed them.
First in line was was the tallest trooper, Black Eagle. Next were the young and very short twins, Yellow Wolf and White Wolf, together called the Runningwolves. Then there were best friends Brown Bear and Golden Fox, standing arm-in-arm with the oldest of the troopers, Flaming Shark, who had the most terrifying painting of a shark on fire with pirates impaled upon its teeth emblazoned on her chest piece. There were the Three Ice Lions, Red, White, and Blue; though a trio, they were well known for their dislike for each other. Fallen Night was next, her armor depicting a famous painting of an Icelandic winter evening. Second-to-last was Aurora, the quiet one, who wore the brightest, loudest green armor anyone had ever seen. And last was Blood Knife, whose personality and armor design left nothing to the imagination. Though there were different dyes used for their respective animals or designs, the ship’s uniform color of blue and white was dominant.
Gunna, being the ship’s best artist, painted most of them… meaning some of these troopers owed their battle identity to her. Also, the Runningwolves, orphans, loved Gunna like a mother, making this either more delicate or heart-warming, depending on whether someone was bringing her home alive or dead… or at all.
The Major noticed the Colonel’s arrival and shouted, “Attention troopers! Ship commander is in the hold!” Those not already with their feet planted on the hull activated their sticky-boots and moved into a line abreast formation.
“At ease,” the Colonel said to the room, “I’m just here to receive our pilot. Our friend,” she stressed.
“Ofursti, er Mamma á lífi?” asked White Wolf. Both sisters, though not born on Ýdalir, disliked speaking English and thought Ýdalics should not use it unless absolutely necessary. They too had been rescued as children and adopted into the Militia, and Aleina felt a closeness to them because of it.
“We don’t know yet, trooper. All we were able to get from a message was that they were returning one of our pilots. So, we’re not certain, but it is most likely your Mamma.” There were smiles and nods around the room. The Runningwolves shared a still-worried look.
Fallen Night roared, “We have prayed for her safe return and God has answered!”
“We are indeed blessed on this voyage,” Red Lion said, subtly nodding as if it had been known.
To everyone’s surprise, Aurora spoke, “Fortune is our friend.” The troopers shouted in joy, perhaps simply happy the normally quiet warrior said anything. It even made Yellow Wolf smile and cheer.
White Wolf was not as easy to dissuade from worry and asked, “En þá hvers vegna erum við að undirbúa fyrir bardaga, Ofursti?”
The Colonel understood the young trooper’s worry. “Just as a precaution,” she assured, “we’re pretty sure they are one of ours and mean no harm,” she lied. “But if this is some kind of pirate trick, we’ll be ready. So, keep your swords ready, and I have my pistols just in case.” She patted her side-arms and the troopers chuckled and barked in response. Most were in positive spirits. That pleased her. She hoped it was for good reason.
“Colonel, we have visitors,” Eu-meh said in her ear.
“Still no comms?”
“Nothing.”
Skúli interrupted, “Their cargo doors and airlock are opening… wait one.” The wait seemed long before he said, “We have visual contact. I observe twenty-five, repeat, twenty-five assault troopers on two staging platforms… they are launching attach-cables… wait one.”
The fact Skúli identified them as assault troopers meant they were wearing Ýdalir Militia gear. Twenty-five? Pirates rarely operated in such numbers. The chance of this being a ruse was shrinking by the second. “Do you see our pilot?” the Colonel asked.
“I observe one individual in… Colonel, I can’t be 100% sure but… I think they have a prisoner.”
“A prisoner? Confirm.”
A few seconds later, Skúli replied, “Affirmative. There appear to be bindings on one. This individual is wearing a standard red and black assault spacesuit. I can’t tell who it is.” This worried the Colonel. That didn’t feel right at all. Why would they bind someone they rescued? “They’re at the airlock,” Skúli informed her.
“Open the door for them,” she ordered.
“Done, Colonel… they are entering… ten of them are inside. Pressurizing.”
The Colonel could hear muffled noises emanating from the airlock area; she waited impatiently to see the apparent rescuers. Would she know them? The Militia operating out this far away from Ýdalir were few. These might be friendly faces, she thought. After a bit, the turn-handle twisted and revealed ten red and black armored assault troopers. “Welcome to the Independence. I am Colonel Aleina Iravani, commander of this vessel. Please, enter,” she said, trying to be as inviting as possible. These troopers had also personalized their armor, but the art was uninspired. She saw several dragons and an eagle, a bear, perhaps, all poorly drawn or painted. She heard her troopers quietly snickering at them in judgment.
The last Firewood trooper entered, then shut the airlock door. None spoke. All stood at attention, waiting.
“Depressurizing again… opening outer door… nine troopers and the prisoner are entering,” Skúli said.
The Colonel looked around at the Firewood’s troopers. She surmised their commander must be in the second group or an introduction would have occurred. She waited. The airlock finally opened and nine more Firewood troopers walked into the room along with what she could now clearly tell was someone whose hands were bound. “Who is in command here?” a man’s voice asked from behind the helmet of a trooper with a black skull chest piece. The skull displayed smoke particles extending up to the trooper’s neck and helmet, giving the appearance of slowly turning black. The top of the helmet was blood red.
“I’m in command,” she announced to Black Skull, “Colonel Aleina Iravani, commander of the--“
“I am Sergeant Elti, and I am in command,” Black Skull interrupted before she could finish. “I have someone I think you know.” He twisted his left arm toward the prisoner. “We found her stranded. She was very combative so we had to restrain her.” There were angry growls from the Independence troopers. Black Skull barked at them, “Easy, friends!”
“Friends? Friends don’t do this,” the Colonel said, feeling uneasy; Firewood troopers outnumbered Independence troopers. “Take off your helmets so we can meet you as comrades. And take off my pilot’s helmet too, so I can verify she’s okay.”
“Oh, I’ll do that, Colonel,” Black Skull said with a sinister tone, then removed his helmet. The rest of Firewood’s troopers did the same. To her surprise, they were all men. She could hear her troopers murmuring from behind as they noticed it, too. That was unusual. These days the majority of Ýdalir Militia ships were operated and commanded by women. To have all men in an entire assault squad was something not seen in years. Not since the last war when many of them needlessly died or were taken prisoner. Not since mothers, farmers, teachers, and mine workers were forced to take the place of the fallen; after the First and Second Ravens were killed, along with most of the Viking Council, and the Huginn and Muninn loyalists who were always by their side.
“And my pilot, Sergeant,” the Colonel demanded.
Two red troopers moved to assist and removed the helmet. A cheer exploded from her troopers when they saw Gunna’s familiar pink and blond hair, though the joy died out as her hair moved away from her face and they noticed she had been gagged.
Black Skull looked proud, as if showing off captured prey. “Satisfied?”
“No. Take off her bindings. And that gag,” the Colonel demanded.
“No, Colonel. We’re the ones who will be making demands.”
The Colonel did not hide her surprise, “You will be what?”
“I’d like to believe you don’t know what I’m talking about… I really would, Colonel. Considering who you know, it would be best if you’re still one of us. But if you delay me, I will be forced to arrest you and your entire crew. And before you get any ideas, we have more swords, more guns, and more canons on our ship than you.”
The Colonel’s blood boiled, “Sergeant, what in your limp-dick are you talking about? You don’t make demands on my ship. I don’t care how many swords or guns you have--“ Black Skull didn’t wait for her to finish, reaching over to his left hip, retrieving a handgun, and pointing it at the back of Gunna’s head. Troopers on both sides flinched to action and put hands to sword hilts. The Colonel’s hands went to her pistols. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Sergeant?” she demanded.
Black Skull’s face contorted into a snarl, “I want the traitor you’re protecting,” he barked, “and I want what she stole. Now!”
The Colonel felt a surge of anger and panic, “Holster that weapon, Sergeant!”
“Like hell I will. Give me the spy!”
“I don’t have spies on my ship! And you are in direct violation of every code of conduct--“
Black Skull pressed the handgun’s barrel to Gunna’s head and barked, “Fuck the code of conduct! Your ship brought a spy to our station! That spy stole classified material and transported it out of sector. So, you’re either completely inept as a leader or a traitor. Either way, I’m getting what is ours, you stand-down.”
“Farðu til helvítis, ég mun drepa þig,” White Wolf hissed. She pulled her sword from its sheath and pointed it at Black Skull. Yellow Wolf followed her sister’s lead a half-second later. This had a domino effect, and soon most were brandishing weapons. The Colonel kept her pistols in their holsters. She didn’t want to escalate things further.
“Easy… easy,” Major Fjallhafsins said, both hands out, showing she had no weapon.
“Everyone, stand down!” the Colonel shouted. She could feel the atmosphere charging around her and needed to put an end to it before things became uncontrollable. “We all need to calm down and figure this out.”
“We figured it out for you, woman! Go back home to cook, clean, make babies… no more playing war!” one of the poorly painted dragon troopers shouted in a thick Ýdalic accent. Nervous laughs from some of the assault troopers followed… but not from Black Skull.
“You will surrender your swords!” another trooper, whose chest was painted with a half dozen violet roses, barked. “Or hang on to them… and die by the hands of the Dead--”
Black Skull snapped a look at Violet Rose and cut him off, “Shut the fuck up, Corporal!” The man tensed and complied.
Even if they were Ýdalir Militia, the Colonel decided, they were not on her side; she needed to prepare for the worst. Sword wise, her fighters inside the room were outnumbered 19 to 13. The enemy had at least one handgun, probably more. She had two pistols and could take out a few of them but was vulnerable without armor. They also held Gunna. If the Colonel counted the rest of her crew, they outnumbered the Firewood’s team, even with the handful still outside the airlock. But Black Skull had warned that more were on the Firewood… and their ship had cannons.
She opened up her personal comms channel and Skúli responded, “Colonel?”
The Colonel spoke softly so as not to be heard and, without moving her lips, mumbled, “Keep the aft airlock shut.”
“Already done,” Skúli replied. Good, she thought. He had been following the action and was thinking ahead.
“Let the rest of my men in and surrender the spy, I am already tired of this,” Black Skull demanded.
“I want to help you find what you are looking for,” she lied in an attempt to seem friendly, wanting to defuse him somehow. “Who is this… traitor?” the Colonel asked.
Black Skull growled, “So, you’re telling me you’re inept? Fine. Colonel inept-at-your-job, the traitor is one of your doctors, Tamara Lo. We have footage of her stealing classified information and weapons. She’s a--” he cut himself off. “Wait one,” he said, then began talking in a low voice. The Colonel was about to say something when Black Skull excitedly shouted, “What do you mean something hit the ship?” His head snapped up to look at the Colonel, then pointed his handgun at her, and barked, “What the hell are you up to?”
Before the Colonel could answer, there was a sudden, and impossible, sound of rain-drops showering the hull.
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