J Mauldin - Final Solution

“Twelve more months and I can go home,” I wheezed. “Focus on that.”

I was done with all of it. I’d served my time in the Brethren military. Two freakin’ years out here alone, and I was done. I mean, come on, open war between the Axis and us was over. Been over. Surely someone could take my place. I just hoped things back home had calmed down, hoped it was safe for me to return. What a mess.

I passed one of our three security officers standing guard by the bridge, his deep set eyes drilling into me. I nodded. From the look of his dour expression and crinkling of his forehead, he was having a damn fine day. His stun stick was held loose in his right hand. The tendons of his arm rippled. There must have just been a little trouble.

I reached Forward Observation, got a nice view out the cupola, and came back around. I sidled past a hand full of fresh faces shuffling into their new quarters, rotations no doubt, and wished once more that my time was up. Some lucky bastards had gotten to go home, like Henry Lane, despite the fact that he had nearly destroyed our crop of apples by bringing beetles on board in his footlocker.

When I looped back to the starboard hall, a clamor of voices echoed down the hall from the bridge. The hatches of the dim room were open. The glass windows in the hall unshaded, permitting anyone to look inside.

Against my better judgement I slowed to take a peek.

“Good work, Captain, another successful resupply mission,” our XO, Colonel Jarod Stone, said, his fists grasping one another at the small of his back. His intense gaze, however, was not focused on the Captain, but on the massive display before him showing a green wire model of our ship, its relative position in space, and “best guess” estimates of other craft, friend or foe, around the solar system. Stone was an average but well-built man, who wore his uniform clean and kept his brown hair high and tight, his face smooth as a baby’s bottom. Colors danced atop his stone carved features, making him appear vaguely nefarious in an over-dramatic, near theatrical sort of way in such lowlight.

“As always,” Captain William Mason Fryatt declared, his basso voice rattling in my chest. He was a large man of six foot five with shoulders so broad they forced him to turn sideways when stepping through hatches. Despite being forty or fifty pounds above ideal weight, he was dangerous like a bear and awe inspiring as a monolith. A crop of peppered scrub topped his thick crown and pronounced jawline, adding wisdom and quiet menace to his ebony character. His black and red lapel oblique coat was crisp, service marks neatly arranged, its single row of silver cross buttons polished beyond bright. He looked every bit the Brethren officer, and that scared the shit out of me. He was fair enough, yes, but as hard as poly alloy, and just as meteorite resistant.

He went on, “It would have taken two less hours if you’d followed my orders to the letter, Stone. Are the crew transfers complete? Or do I need to show you how to check on that?”

“Yes, sir. The docking craft is gone and we’re free.” XO gave a nod. “Three general maintenance members have been replaced. And yes, sadly, our talented weapons officer, Kenton, who destroyed three Axis vessels last year, is on his way back home. A well-deserved retirement, I’d say.”

“Captain,” the communications officer cut in, her sheepish tone carefully rehearsed, “I’m sorry to interrupt. Ten minutes for our orbit to be high enough to reach the extended sensor network.”

“Very good.” The Cap softly touched the platinum band around his left ring finger. His brows crinkled with unfamiliar worry.

I jogged in place from the hall, trying to look inconspicuous, just far enough behind the bulkhead as to hide myself from the view of security and the bridge. Engineers, masters or not, weren’t privy to these sorts of discussions; then again, they’d left the door wide open. Come on, they must not have wanted too much privacy.

I was curious.

“XO, did the new weapons officer arrive? I would very much like to…” the Captain’s words trailed off as an athletic girl, rather, a woman, stepped into the room from the port hallway, snapping him a crisp salute. She was wearing a starched black and red uniform, had raven hair twisted into a tight bun, and possessed the innate ability to make me reconsider any thought of ever leaving this ship.

“Reporting for duty, sir.” The room went silent but for the soft bleeps and sweeps of radar.

My feet twisted up and I nearly fell down, slamming shoulder first into the bulkhead. Everyone turned at the noise, but thankfully, I was hidden just out of sight. Captain Fryatt was a ball buster, and open door or not, I would get cited for this. Again. But how was it that when there are only twenty five people aboard this barreling space craft, they expected you not to be nosey? How’s that for fair? That was like asking spectators of a skimmer race not to gawk at wrecks. It was human nature to watch, mandatory in a primal way.

I peeked around the corner, sneaking a glance at the new arrival—and swallowed.

Captain Fryatt returned her salute. “Good to see you, Lieutenant. I trust your trip was satisfactory.”

“Um yes, sir, Russian contract freighters are always the most comfortable. If I never see another pierogi, I’ll be just fine.”

“Traveled coach, then?”

“I would have loved to have traveled coach, sir. I sent you a message two months ago. Why have I not received a reply?”

The Captain coughed into his fist, platinum wedding band gleaming in the light. “I ’em, I’m a very busy man. We are the last remaining warship of the Brethren, the only thing that stands between our way of life and total annihilation at the hands of the Axis. I thought you would understand such a simple notion by now.”

“I do, far too well, sir.” The officer’s tense posture sagged, but only slightly. I’d seen that sag before, as well as the smothering fires behind those irises.

“Yes, introductions,” the Captain turned to face his bridge crew. “XO, this is weapons officer Liberty Fryatt.”

“A pleasure,” the XO said, extending his hand in greeting. “No doubt your special training will serve the Brethren well. Too bad it hasn’t done much for this ol’ codger. Can’t even hit the damn toilet seat.”

“XO,” the Captain growled. “By God I swear, you’re pushing it.”

I sagged against the wall and sighed like a lovesick schoolboy. Holy shit—it was Lib Fryatt. I hadn’t seen her since grade school. What were the chances of her being stationed here? She was the old flame, the only girl I’d ever made a strong connection with. Weapons might have been her chosen profession, but she was damn near as good at engineering as I was back then. Not to mention, she enjoyed all the classic literature of the 20th century. But to top it all off, she was overwhelmed with passion for Rock and Roll—ROCK AND ROLL—and not that glitchy slap beat planet trash that goes around the Sol Net these days. I swear to God, The Axis leaks that trash just to encourage mass suicide by our faction.

“Oh God,” I mumbled. I was such an idiot, such a Godforsaken shithole of an idiot. Liberty Fryatt. William Mason Fryatt. She’s the ball busting Captain’s daughter, not just another officer. No just someone I used to know. How did this transfer even get approved? How had I not put this together until today? I guess sometimes you can’t see the big red mountain ahead for all the cracked roadway below.

“Think you can behave yourself?” the Captain asked his daughter. “Serving on a warship can be a challenge, you know, having all that time on your hands in certain company.”

Lib’s, I mean, Liberty’s, lips tightened. “It won’t be a problem, sir. If you recall, I went to school in a similar setting, and in fact, did not end up pregnant by the end.” The Comm, Brandi Smith, choked and quickly hid her face, burying it in work.