Hunting in the Darkness
22 Apr 2016TheDarkLord
Assorted Locations (Classified). Fer-de-Lance “TDL PhotonFlinger”.February 3302.
As our beloved Emperor found herself beset upon all sides by weaponised expansions, so The 9th Legion went to war against those who would encroach upon Imperial space. I had been assigned a target system, and had made good speed to it on the Thursday night. I would not see home base for six days.
Six days marauding deep in enemy territory, carrying the burden of the Emperor’s expectation, and the honour of the 9th Legion Standard. I was not a standard-bearer in the traditional sense however. No, it was with me, but rolled up and stowed safely within one of the small stowage bins aboard my floating weapons platform. I was running undercover. No-one would see what I was doing.
I skulked around navigation beacons and enemy stations, picking off those who would try to wrest control of Imperial territory. Those who were attempting to bestow their bribery (or “Liberal Aid” as they would have it) were easy prey for PhotonFlinger’s many lasers.
Throughout the weekend, I worked alone. The 9th Legion was more publicly deployed in other systems, fighting the Emperor’s fight. I had food and a variety of beverages, only some of which were alcoholic. I had the ship’s computer to tell me if anything was awry, and I had some vids to watch. The Fer-de-Lance’s origins as an executive jet had not all been stripped out in the name of combat efficiency, so it was a reasonably comfortable place to hole up for a week. Certainly more lavish than the utilitarian cots fitted to my Lakon Spaceways mining vessels. And it was more efficient to just power everything down than it was to head home for a larger bed and beers with mates.
On and on it went. I migrated from system to system, putting enemies to the photonic sword. My word this Fer-de-Lance is a superb attack boat. Over the last two months we had bonded. My hands continued to play over the controls, and it responded admirably.
But I was alone out here in the darkness. Just me and the malevolent ghosts of my past, their apparitions in my subconscious coalescing into undesirable memories.
There was nothing else for it but to push that aside and keep on going.
As the ship’s clock indicated that day was turning to night back at home base, I was joined by two other members of The 9th Legion. It was apt timing as the battles became fiercer. I was tracking the targets, book-keeping the killing. Once the threshold was reached, I issued the marching cry, we jumped 25 light years to the next system, and recommenced operations. However, as the hours wore on, my comrades or their ships grew tired and moved off.
I was tired too. But I was still some way from my personal target, so I kept on going. Monday became Tuesday in Leopold Heckmann Ring, but time was an illusion aboard this harbinger of Federal death. All that mattered was awake or sleeping, and the inexorable approach of the deadline for mission completion.
Commander Ziva Tevar, from the Legion, joined up with me. We fought Feds and chatted over the comm link between our ships. I knew Ziva quite well, had chatted to her a lot. We swapped stories about life from before the days when we were the agents of Arissa’s wishes. My stories were stilted by the gaps in my memory. Flying was a separate life for me, and while I enjoyed the chat and the camaraderie, I struggled to judge what to share and what to retain. Hell, much of the time I struggled to reconcile what was truth and what was a figment of my distorted memories.
I tried to stay focussed on the battles, but it was apparent that Ziva wanted the company more than the combat. We dropped into normal space and chatted until fatigue overcame me, and I fell into PhotonFlinger’s bed.
It was after 02:30AM when I had gone to bed. I slept a sleep of the dead for the princely sum of 90 minutes. My eyes snapped open, and I looked around. There was adrenaline coursing through my veins, but I hadn’t been dreaming. I listened intently.
All this time aboard my ship, and I knew each hum, each creak, each bang, each whine and each thump. In conversion from executive jet to a warship, the Fer-de-Lance had lost some of its sound deadening. There was nothing untoward. The Power Plant thrummed its idle tune, and I could hear the air circulation running. I went back to sleep, but slept only fitfully. The dreams were trying to come back, but I was getting only snapshots.
The following day, I wrapped up the last target system, hit my personal milestone, and headed home. I was glad to be heading back to Malaikudi. There was much excitement over the comm as The 9th Legion had gone to war with a local faction in another system. We were expanding.
I got home and sorted out the admin, handing in my vouchers and picking up my 50m Cr salary. I headed to The 9th Legion Officers’ Mess. Friends, colleagues, comrades, all together, swapping war stories and tales of duelling Capitol Ships. Some asked where I’d been all week. My one-word mission summary caused their eyes to widen. In a cycle where the Emperor had been badly beaten, my attempt to overturn the result was appreciated by those around me, more so when they put themselves in my place. Not for them a week hunting alone in the black. Not for them the horror combination of solitude, terror and fatigue.
It was good to be home, if only briefly. Even as I enjoyed the recognition of my comrades, I knew that the job was not done, and this period of rest was as brief as it was illusory.