Dear John - A Short Story by @kwesiwoode
Notice: Strong language used herein is a function of Military/Navy culture.
I wake up to a pounding in my head, the after effect of a rather dismal night with a bottle full of spirits and a soul full of sorrows. As I rule, I don't drink; one needs to keep a level head in my line of business. I had a very good reason though.
Over the side of my bed, my feet touch the solid plasteel of my ship's deck. My flagship actually, strictly speaking. The moans of the Golden Hind reverberate through my bones, reminding me of her aches and pains. I'm not worried in the slightest; she's just shamming.
The Hind is my good luck charm. She'll never leave me lonely, unlike someone I know. Oh she'll bitch and moan, like any good whore, but she'll get you through the battle.
I take a sip of the milky fluid the Hind synthesizes to put my brain at rights. Its effects are almost immediate. Too immediate actually. The first couple of words from her message flare up in my mind.
Dear John
This letter has been a long time coming.
You always know things are off to a fucking bad start when your wife starts a message like that.
A lump in sheets behind me moans. My First Officer peaks her head out from underneath said covers. Her usually gamine face is a terrible mess. She massages the sides of her closely shaven scalp and moans again.
Before you judge me, events warranted what happened between her and I. As a rule, I don't sleep with crew. I got drunk with Kemara and we somehow ended up dancing the horizontal tango (mostly horizontal; my memory is a bit hazy but I recall we went at it rather vigorously and in various positions... I think)
I hand her a disposal cup filled with hangover juice and leave the sleeping cubicle to get kitted up. We both know it was nothing serious. I got sad, we got drunk and then we had sex. Now, if our vast array of sensors was right, we would have a battle to survive in less than half and hour.
I stand in the cycling water shower, one of my more archaic luxuries, and try and excise 'her' from my memories. The metallic smell of the water is usually soothing. Not today.
The shower door slowly creaks open. Kemara's footsteps are barely audible as she enters and molds herself against me.
"Get out."
She remains. Silent but firm.
I repeat the command more clearly. I wish we were back at the beginning of the Hive War, when a subordinate wouldn't dare question her superior.
Somehow she manages to hold me even closer.
"Do you really want me to go?" I feel, more than hear, her raspy contralto as it pulses through my back and into my chest.
My father used to say, "Best way to get over one broad is to fuck another." The old man was wildly inappropriate. I've hardly ever taken his advice. Then again, a drowning man will clutch at straws (whatever those are).
I turn around and hold her arms firmly. Her breath catches audibly, a sudden indrawn breath.
I can't help noticing droplets of water slip and slide over her tiny body - liquid yet unhurried, drawing my eyes to follow their journey over the gentle contours of her body. The entire effect transforms her from the human I know into a lovingly painted depiction of some archaic, umber-skinned, water nymph.
Any hesitation I had is eroded away as her dark, liquid brown eyes wear me down. Her half-open, moist lips invite mine with an unspoken question. A stronger man would resist. I am not a stronger man.
We fuck like beasts within the cramped plasteel confines of the vintage unit. She's inviting, hungrier than I am, as if she wants to merge every inch of my body with hers.
At the very peak of pleasure, for just a split second, the memory of a familiar face caught in the throes of passion flits across my mind's eye.
#
Both you and I know how we stand, even if I dare to admit it whilst you choose to ignore it.
I stand before my principal officers. They lounge at various states of repose around the minimalistic brushed grey confines of command cabin. Other Admirals would be offended, I, on the other hand, gave up on maintaining the illusion of military discipline. We're far out in the dark, cold, monstrosity of space, fighting a war of attrition. These men don't need the additional reminder of the specter of death that hangs over us all.
The mind-meld cot beckons invitingly, detracting me from the task I've set myself. Its banged up metallic exterior still retains a few spots of the pristine glimmer it had when it was new. It's amazing how much I crave the aseptic odor of its confines when faced with the pressure of making a speech.
Who needs speeches anyway? I could say the same thing I always thought of saying, Today we may live, or we may die. The only thing we know for sure is that we will fight. If we're unlucky enough to live, we'll have to fight again. If we're lucky enough to die, it means the Hive gets to eat more souls. Either way, we're all unlucky sons of Proxellian whores.
Saying such negative words are never a good way to go. Even if the words are truth. That's the first thing you learn in Command School, Morale wins more wars than firepower. Unbidden, words from that letter come to mind.
We've had a nice journey and a lot of great memories but the road on which we started has become too narrow for two.
My wife is, (was?) the one with a way with words. The only thing I have a way with is war. A few of the words fit though, so, ignoring the sputtering burn at the base of my heart as I parrot her words, I begin.
"We've had a great journey ..."
Blip!
Miniature holo-heads of the thousands of other principals in my fleet suddenly flicker into being. Like all of us within the command cabin, their scalps are shaven. Even though they're intangible they crowd the already cramped confines of my command cabin. Their faces are engraved with varying degress of gravity. Like people about to attend their own funerals.
I smirk, trying to ease the tension that the new faces have imparted to the room. As I lean against the side of my control cot I push the suggestion as hard as I can, I'm the Unvanquished Admiral, The Golden Wolf. We'll win as we always do, no matter the costs.
In my most chipper tone I start again, "Well, it's about time you showed up. I was beginning to think we'd have to do this without you all."
Kemara leans over to whisper in my ear. She informs me that it's the Golden Hind's holo system that is glitchy. Her fragrance is the same as mine, yet different at the same time.
I have not taken another lover, not up till this moment. I'd like to make that clear. I know how your mind works John, and that's the first place it's likely to go and hide.
I idly wonder, at this very moment would she somehow sense that I had taken a lover? She has an almost supernatural instinct she does. I always thought she'd have made a stellar Star Admiral.
"Ahem"
My First Officer snaps me back to reality. My eyes flicker around the durasteel chamber, I hope no one thinks I'm losing myself. The again, even if they did, they show no sign, they clutch on to my legend. If I were to go kvat-scat mad, they'd probably still allow me to retain the command cot.
I try repurposing the words in the message again.
"We've had a great journey, a lot of losses on the way, but none of them have been lost battles. The Golden Cluster never loses does it?"
The bastards cheer half-heartedly.
"What are you? Spore-born, spineless driesels? I expect a better response from our fleet. The Golden Cluster never loses does it?!"
Their roar is a better pretense at hope. I mean, who am I kidding? We're perched at the business end of a scat-filled wormhole leading towards hell.
Deception is a necessary evil of the human condition is what my old man used to say. He was dead right.
"Our ships may be tired and limping, the Hind more so than the others, as usual."
A few tired smiles, good. The Golden Hind is the runt of the Cluster, even so, we all love her.
"Our brains may be tired and weary but, the Hive can't anticipate what we've got..."
The blaring of klaxons cuts in just as I begin to pick up momentum. The Hive swarm has arrived.
The holo heads blip out and officers scramble out of my chamber. My lips let a sigh slip between them without my permission. I can't help feeling disheartened. I was heading towards a bloody epic speech.
Kemara's tiny hands suddenly grip my body suit and pull my lips onto hers. I resist at first, one or two other officers are still in the room. Those tiny arms of hers though, they're far stronger than I've given them credit for. I finally surrender myself to the moment but by then, all too soon, it's over.
"Make sure we survive Johnny boy." She murmurs into my chest before she skips out with a smile and wink.
I'm beginning to think she's not so much broken up over the letter as she is elated.
I gaze into the cot, all the probes and pads awaiting my skin and scalp. It looks as horrendous as it did when I first saw it, never mind that this is the same one I used as a cadet. In order to defeat the Hive we've had to become so much like them.
I'm just tired. I'm tired of waiting for a husband that never comes home. I'm tired of hoping for your promises to come true. You're a hero, no; a super hero to a hundred worlds but our son needs a father more than he needs a hero.
Weariness assails me without warning, a typhoon of dismal emotions. Being in a Star Cluster is fucking tiring, battle after battle after battle with no end in sight. Being a genius Admiral is even worse. Battle after battle after battle without respite or break because the only respite this war can afford is death and when you're as good as I am, death eludes you like a cunning debtor.
The Klaxons change pitch and wail louder. The interior lighting of the chamber changes from pale blue to bright red. A cool trickle of liquid amno-gel brushes against my skin suit.
I take a deep breath and let out a fraction of my fears with the exhale. Let's get this done then.
I sink carefully into the cot. My skin and spine sizzle as the odds and ends shift themselves and start connecting to their access points.
Tactile sensation falls away first this time.. Smell and sound follow. The last thing to go is my sight, it fades to black within moments. When my real senses are finally tuned out, the Hind and I become one.
There's no true way to explain mind-melding to someone who hasn't experienced it. How can I even begin to explain how it feels to 'see' in four dimensions? To move a starship instead of limbs. To jump in and out of nSpace in evasive maneuvers. The sea-games we played in school are nothing like true war, the type we now fight in space.
I sense the presence of another, Kemara. I drop the link to the flagship and sense her snapping it up. I trust her to do what must be done. I move one level up in the Cluster hierarchy. For a moment there is nothingness and then... I become god.
If it's difficult explaining how it feels to be a an engine, or a ship or a weapons system, then it is pretty fucking impossible to explain the sensation of being the Core of a Cluster. I can see, feel, taste and sense on so many levels. Even the distortions of planetary fields and solar wind are visible at this level.
When I 'move' wrong, hundreds of starships could become billions of square meters of vaporized dust. I schlep parts of myself into n-space whilst other parts remain in real space. Thousands of ship-minds work the finer movements of the dance, but I give the commands.
The Hive swarm begins to wink into view. In my augmented 'vision' they're crimson diamonds of varying size whilst my own 'body' appears as an array of fiery gold globes.
I'm not a gentleman, I'm an admiral, I engage as soon as they begin to show. Sub-clusters throw themselves into firing range, taking advantage of the slingshot provided by the giant red sun behind us.
I've already forgotten what the sun is called, or whether or not life exists on the twin planets within its system. Laws of planetary conservation were one of the things that went out of the window when I begun winning my "impossible victories".
Even as the first crimson diamonds begin to disappear I begin to make my next movements. I've lost a couple of ships in the lightning strike but there's no time for grief. There'd be more where those came from anyway. Speaking of which, I could almost hear her voice as she chastised my vocation in her message,
Almost every other month, I hear of another narrow victory, another endless list of names that will never come home.
A shitload of heavy artillery Hive ships appear above and below us. From the look of it they're attempting to feint. They really don't know how feints should be done.
Gangs of my golden spheres shoot upward and slip into n-space. The destroyers quit their attack and rotate to catch my ships in their flanking maneuver. Their impulsive blasts only meet dud drones. My ships were feinting, the right way, they appear below the destroyers and blast through them.
The battle continues in that manner, a massive space waltz of feint and counter-feint. Our ships may be slower and less coordinated than the massed minds of the Hive but I'm not hindered by the chains of caution. That's the constant that allows the spheres of my Golden cluster to maintain the upper hand.
It's a bloody stupid game, and some people think I like playing it. They think I love throwing a thousand lives into deep space just to score a win. The Golden wolf will always win because that's all he cares about.
Every day I feel as if you're merely dodging death as you play your elaborate game. My heart remains the same but I must now force it to change, for both our sakes
"A heart filled with dark matter" they say. I thought she'd know better. I had hoped she'd understand that I'd put a million lives in the war-mill if it meant...
THOOMMMM!!
An antimatter beam lances through the wing in which the Hind resides. The vibration breaks through the sensory blinding and rattles me around in the command cot.
We were winning, massive losses nonetheless, we were winning! What the fuck just happened?! My sensors haven't registered any long range super-destroyers or cannon-ships...
Another Armada rises out of the dust of the first. They must have thrown the first wave of attacks just to mask the entrance of these reinforcements. They rapidly move out of the shadow of the planets in which they hid, almost as if they've read my thoughts. Planets can make very effective bombs.
The sensors feel the 'wind' that precedes the wave of another Hive Armada coming on the heels of the first. Our enemy now outnumbers us, one to a hundred. Bad odds, but not impossible.
I enter 'Mad Wolf' mode. Billions of free minds depend on every victory. Besides, I've got the Golden Hind underneath me. I can't lose.
I take pounding after pounding, but I try and make each feeble jab hurt. Flank and feint, schlepping in out of n-space. Our Alliance Fleet Cluster goes up against the Hive Armadas in the most beautiful dance I have ever had the horror of dancing.
Somehow the Hive has me figured out. Now, more often than not, they're predicting my moves. They're blazing through me. We're one hour into the engagement and I'm far too spent to continue with mad wolf tactics.
Broken and beaten I disperse my ships into 'wounded wolf' formation. There are hardly enough planetary bodies to play guerilla, but we do have enough power for extended stays in n-space and then furtive strikes.
And then another Armada slips in. Today I pay the price for not remaining mediocre. 'John Nelson Drayke, irreplaceable hero of the Hive War' the info feeds had proclaimed. The Hive means to crush me today, even if they have to lose on all other fronts.
The Hundred World Alliance, The Hive and even my wife realized how 'irreplaceable' I was.
I am leaving you John. Not for a new love, because you remain irreplaceable.
Irreplaceable? It's over rated. All that tag has ever brought me is pain.
The suspensor system within the cot reminds me that the battle has dragged on for far too long. Some of the ship-minds are entering the deep, comatose fugue of exhaustion. My moves are becoming even more transparent than they were before. With uncanny precision the might of three Hive Armadas hammer each and every micro-cluster than peeks out from n-space.
The tides of war are turned against us and I need security in the few days we have left.
My own ship begins to list and act erratically. Kemara is holding on as bravely as she can, but our Reactor-mind is already gone.
A lance of buzzing antimatter narrowly misses the Golden Hind, her bloody luck coming into play again. If it weren't for her sluggish response we'd be our own equivalent mass of nothing.
The pleasant ping of a message tone somehow registers over all the warning aches, odours and sounds tearing through my brain. It's a Hive communication signal. I ignore it. If they want surrender, they'll have to get my dead body to agree first.
The Golden Wolf Admiral is limping but still standing. My Cluster is shattered and I've used up my two planet bombs to very little effect. The way The Hive has managed to predict my moves is uncanny, almost as if they are me... or at least someone who know me as well as I know myself.
The Golden Hind shudders as it limps into n-space. I can almost feel Kemara's pain as I force the flagship to respond. The First Officer finally succumbs to the exhaustion, and we drop out of n-space far quicker than we entered.
I don't want to give up. But sometimes surrender is its own strategy. I send out the appropriate orders, and everything comes to a standstill. This time when the Hive puts across a line for surrender. I receive their missive.
The voice at the other end chills my soul. Its bland soulless tone is alien, Hive. However everything else is about it is familiar.
If by any chance we do meet again in the future I will have moved on. This letter is my goodbye
Love...
"Janys?" My world falls to pieces, my heart with it.
"Yes, this is the body of the one who was once Janys, your... life mate? Her memories have been very useful. Indeed they are how We finally managed to break the famous Golden Wolf."
There is barely any malice in the words, just fact.
Three more Armada's schlep in. They must have been just at the edge of detection.
I play brave, "More than half of the Hive Armada to restrain me. I suppose I should be honored."
"We are the whole of the One Persona's Peace Forces. You are an impediment to our Evangelization Admiral Drake. Even more so than your Grandfather who proposed the Master-Slave mind chain of your clusters."
Grandpa was a far better role model than Pa. Fight fire with fire, he said. We make our own faux hive groups to fight this war. A war we could only barely win in space. Barely winning was better than losing wars planet-side when evangelization pods made landfall.
I barely hear the steady inhuman drone of Hive-Janys as she lays down the facts of why this has to be done. Of how this would damage morale in the hundred worlds and restore faith in the pursuit of a Single Galactic Persona. The Hive is terrible at subterfuge, but wickedly good at laying out fact.
My wife's voice repeats the Hive mantra of how we can only truly know peace when we are all one people, with one mind.
I barely hear the words. My heart screams over and over in anguish. Pietr, my Pietr is Hive now?!
My mind? It has gone deathly cold.
I sit up, my connectors releasing with liquid slurps and pops. The command chamber is drained of amno-gel. the Golden Hind is slaved to the orders of the Hive. Kemara is probably still passed out in her cot.
It's funny how in my final moments I ponder the silliest thing. Is it possible I am love with two women?
The Air-lock doors hiss open and two grey robed Hive Evangelists enter, followed by the beautiful willowy form of my Janys. The Hive Evangelists, faces devoid of expression, speak in concert.
"It is sometimes difficult to accept communion with Us. We know that having a familiar face helps."
"Can I say one last thing?" I ask
"Of course."
"The whole Hive has seen my surrender?"
"Yes, We are One."
Even though tears trickle down my cheeks, I give them a final feral grin.
"Well then, fuck you all. The Golden Wolf never loses!"
A micro-cluster of The Golden Cluster's last five Super-Destroyers schlep out of n-space and into the System's Sun, weapons firing and reactors running far above the green.
I never keep the suicide squad slaved to the Main Cluster. After all, Suns can be bombs too.