1808/AC02-09CRYO ENTRY

Ω CHAPTER NINE: For Your New Tomorrow...

White hot...

Blinding light.

Why did it hurt?

He blinked until it began to fade... Just focus on blinking. When it didn't, he squeezed them shut.

"Major?" A voice called. It was familiar. Was the light talking to him? He opened his eyes, yet they still burned.

"Dad?" He asked, he could see a shape. A person. They had to have lost him. They must have...

That animal must have killed him.

"Easy Major. You're still with us." His dad died before he joined the COBRA Corps. Surely the voice was right. Surely it wasn't familiar.

"I can't see." He told it. He couldn't move his limbs. He couldn't even feel them. He couldn’t turn his head to look at them. The fear began to rise. He felt trapped, he felt imprisoned. Detached from all sensation other than sound and sight. Vulnerable...

Defenceless.

The light turned off, but he could still see the person.

"Don't panic, you were put into emergency cryosleep, you're lucky to be alive in fact, or as close as you could get." The voice explained. He saw it check his vitals. It raised his limp arm, it thudded back down without sensation. “I have never seen someone survive thirteen shatter rounds to the chest, your COBRA implants kept you going it seems.”

"Where have you taken me?" He asked. The shape moved from view. "Please don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere just yet, Major." They immediately came back into his field of vision. "You're at Antares station, Fleet Command. We recovered you quite a while ago now."

"Recovered? Didn't Dasher fly us back?" The shape stopped for a moment, it turned to face him.

"I'm so sorry Captain, but Dasher died approximately thirty six years ago..." What had he just said?

"...As did Leftenant Fougey and Sergeant Dev. Your ship, DCD406 Pegasus lost atmosphere during an SDE jump and emerged prematurely... You’ve been adrift since then on the edge of the Proxima system."

"They're all dead?" He whispered. He felt like he was just existing. He could feel nothing, and now he could think of nothing. "Thirty..."

"Thirty six years ago. You were recovered by a salvage operation.” The figure glanced beside him at a fuzzy shape. An image, it seemed, floating in the air beside him. “Have you any pain?"

"No I can't feel a thing..." he couldn't feel the tears starting to flow. "What about Mum? My Wife? My son?"

"I can't answer those questions, Major. I'm just a medic. I don't know any more than what I’ve been told. What I can tell you is your sensations will return in hours.” Skip could tell he wanted to have the answers, but he did try to offer up at least something. “The war is over. You won."

This cannot be real…

"Welcome to the Outer Space Fleet Command." The face smiled at him, looking down at him, much like an overlord. "I have duties to attend to but if you require me, please do call."

...and he did. He shouted. He screamed. The emotional pain belaboured. It struck every memory, it torched every want. That soldier wept until he nearly bled. He wept in his prison, helpless in a world he didn't even recognise.

Yet no one came. Not when he screamed. Not when he begged. When the sensations of his body slowly eked back to his waking world they still hadn't come for him...

Truly, Abandoned.

With a tremendous heave he rolled, crashing to the floor in a mess of loose limbs. His fall tore free the various tubes and needles embedded into his flesh. His eyes were blind with tears of the world lost. That is what he had lost: Absolutely everything...

He looked at his hands, they were all he had left.

He crawled across the metal floor, dragging himself with broken fingernails and shredded palms. He'd hoped to find company, It mattered not whom. He was alone. He was scared of being alone. He was always scared of being alone...

Instead he found a window.

His vision slowly sharpened as he stared into the world beyond. He saw the blackness of space. The one thing that had never changed. It was the truest maiden of all, never did it hide it’s mysteries, never did it’s forces act irrationally. It was the same stars he’d seen growing up, throughout his life up to its end, and now at its beginning. They were overlooked at times, hidden at others. Yet they ever remained.

They told him he had been reborn into the same world he’d left. Only now it was beyond recognition.

Yet closer than those distant heavens, across the massive station’s span, a door opened, ensnared in a great plume of smoke. It drew his attention immediately. He slumped against the glass, watching this place bring another life into the world. The huge blast doors crept into obscurity, revealing a hidden world within of blue sparks and the red heat of forged metal. Smoke and dust vented still from it, obscuring the foundry’s heart...

That was the crucible whence she came.

She emerged into the night-light alongside him. His feet pressed firmly upon the ground as she too entered her realm.

From parts of old, together, they were born into a new life. Siblings in the cradle of rebirth.

She was graceful in form, and pure in function. Her hull tapered like the archaic aircraft of old. Sleek and crisp lines made up her form, running from her nose down a central spine to her aft. Her hull expanded into two bulky wings, their purpose wasn’t one of aerodynamics. Over midway her hull swelled again into the columns of mighty engines, working aft beyond her hull into four large baffle plates. She was raw, she was beautiful.

“Well you have the strength to move. That is unfortunate.” A voice spoke with a sickly authority. Skip’s eyes never left her form. The glass fogged every few seconds. “They said you can speak. So I would speak if I was you.”

“What’s her name?” He didn't look. He was fixated upon the vessel.

“It is not my job to know until it is under my command.” The voice was moving closer. “Look at me.”

“No.”

“No?” The man’s forward march halted very quickly. “I will order you again.”

“No.”

“You do not get to decide which orders you follow, Major.”

“Pegasus is gone, I don't have a squad anymore. The war is over...” Skip sniffled, the tears ran down the glass like rain. He watched her get surrounded by scaffolding once more, dragged off out of sight. Only now did he turn. “Ain’t a Major any more now am I?”

The man looked young. The trials of cryosleep made him look hollow. His uniform was perfect, down to the angles on his ribbons. He bore the classic stripes of admiralty, plus an unknown crest sat proud on his breast. The man noticed his locked gaze.

“Outer. Space. Fleet. Command.” He pointed at each letter in turn. “I am Admiral Wulf.” He began pointing proudly at his medals. “Commendation of Excellence in Leadership. Honor of Valour. Planetary Medal of Courage and Stellar Class Recognition of Service. Only three others have that last one, the others are too common to be worth mentioning.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Skip’s eyes narrowed. “Have you ever looked in the eye of a man you’re about to kill?”

“No, but I have decimated an entire enemy capital fleet with a single destroyer.” He was vain. Skip hated him already. “So you could refer to me as a master tactician.”

“So am I.” Skip gave him a very evident sweep. “I could tactically kill you with that thing, it's very pointy… and I would stare into your eyes as I did it.”

“I doubt that very much at the moment, you look very pathetic. Why are you breathing, COBRA?” Wulf was smirking, he leaned forward. “You do not need to. Are you regretting what the UPC did to make you into a ‘war hero’?"

"Excuse me?" Skip was shocked, he felt his confusion very slowly turn to rage.

"Sad fact is that we cannot make you human, the amount the Bureaucrats of the UPC spent on you and your fellow COBRAs is beyond reasoning to throw away." He had an agenda. "So I am going to offer you a new life, once."

"I've just found out everything I've known has changed. Can't you fraggin’ wait before recruiting me back to OpCom?" He couldn't muster the fury he once had. The fire was out.

"OSFC, Major." Wulf gestured to the proud emblem once more. "I need to know if you are on our side. Or..." He frowned. "If I am going to need to make people forget they found you."

"Come back tomorrow."

"I will need to find out now." He drew out a dulled and heavily tarnished hand cannon. Skip recognised it instantly, it told him this wasn’t some dream or even nightmare. It had been cleaned mere hours ago now, yet in reality it had weathered space for decades.

Wulf's voice became assuredly firm. The weapon raised and his aim was still. "Major?"

Skip swallowed his rising fear. He took a still and steady breath. His eyes drifted to the stars.

What he would give…

"I'm yours." He muttered. He felt almost shameful. The man smiled, the weapon lowered.

"Good, welcome back." Wulf tossed the sidearm back onto a counter close to the door. He made to leave. "I will see you again in a week."

He looked at his hands… Once again, they were someone else's…

___________________________

In the days that followed Skip rarely saw anyone else. He watched in that corner as the various ships went back and forth. He knew he was on a planet, probably a moon given its lack of atmosphere. He could feel it in the gravity. He always could, it was sickening. Whilst on those ships that drifted by it would be almost tranquil, and delicate.

He felt his strength return throughout his time in that lone room. He could workout, he could pull off impressive feats of acrobatics in little time. He didn't know how long since it was that they actually recovered him, but his body must've had plenty of time to heal already. The scars on his chest felt tight. He’d had plenty of encounters with the rounds that had taken his old life. He knew already it would never fully heal.

There was something else missing as well. Not quite of strength or skill. Something hadn't woken with him. It's absence was felt, even if the knowledge of what was lost hadn't been. He’d spend hours almost in meditation, trying to find it within him. Yet nothing ever came no matter how hard he searched. Those hours, after a while, moved from self searching to looking out at those stars he held so dear. He named some of them after his friends and his family. He had become like his enemies.

He’d seen the large vessel approach for a few days now, having left shortly after his awakening. It started as what seemed as a dull star, eventually growing to its gargantuan hull. He couldn't fathom its reason, yet as the behemoth loomed over the base and came in for landing not far away, he couldn't help but think they were here for him.

Given the circumstances, he never imagined how right he would be...

"Frag me the dead walk... Excuse me love, sorry. Am I here to become a patient… Because I’m seein’ a dead man… again!" Skip started laughing the moment he heard that voice. He looked up to see someone who he last saw, at least before that damned mission, no more than a few weeks ago. Yet the change had been absolute.

French beamed at him, quickly dragging Skip to his feet and into a bear hug. He sounded as though he was holding back tears. "I've fraggin’ missed you man!"

"Hey big guy." Skip's voice was rather muffled. "You've gotten a lot older."

"Yeah and you, you lucky shiv... you haven't aged a day." Their bearhug finally broke. "I knew you had to have survived that shiv storm somehow. Takes a lot more than being vacced into the depths of the void to kill ye! You can breathe in space after all."

Skip cringed, he to this day tried to remain blissfully unaware of the years he had wasted trying to get the man to understand what they’d done to him. It was like they'd never parted, just as it always was. Nevermind the new decades between them. Time never mattered.

"How long has it been for you?" He asked. French stopped, thinking hard for a little while.

"Only twenty nine years, although they say it's actually thirty five." He shrugged. Then his eyes drifted upwards as the gears of his brain turned. "Thirty five? No thirty six… I think… Cryo time is a pain in the ass. But guess I'm the old guy now, aye!" His voice donned a layer of faux irritation. “Can’t say I’m best pleased with that.”

"What's going on, Frenchie? Everything is just a stir at the moment." Skip held his head. “Wulf said the Pegasus-”

"You met Wulf? No way! I was just on his ship and I saw nothing more than a cryo bay." French rocked Skip's head as he slapped his shoulder. His excitement was distracting. "Lucky bastard, special treatment! How come I don't get that?"

"You were on his ship?" Skip glanced out the window at the distant Dreadnaught. Even at distance it dwarfed every other landmark, haulage rovers were ants in comparison, barely noticeable as headlights in the distance. When the sun set on this barren moon all fell into its shadow.

"Picked me up a few days ago. Seamed pretty keen to get me out here." The man's smile faded for a moment. He was hiding something, very poorly. "Glad he was so persistent."

"And where is here?" Skip could've shattered from frustration in that moment.

"Proxima. Fourth moon of Centauri. Some people call it Antares station, others Centauri. But I know it as Fleet Command." He pointed out the window to a distant red twinkle in the darkness. "I live there. Hyades, next planet over."

“Hyades… Centauri?” It clicked. “Why has this… whatever Fleet Command moved their base of operation into Dangiri territory? Thats askin’ for trouble.”

"Because no one would dare fight the OSFC, no ones that stupid mate.” French checked the door, thanking his lucky stars it was still shut. “Shiv hit the fan not long after you died mate. Everythin’ changed…

“A week or two after you went missin’ the war ended. It was a fraggin’ slaughter, man. The entire fleet, some eight hundred battleships and countless escorts versus a few small freighters in orbit of Tychon, and then a few days later Dagnir. They pushed opposition away like dust in the wind, and the planets? Well, bombarded until the earthquakes began tearin’ them apart. Only when they surrendered did the UPC step in and assist them. But people loved it. We were told to leave every vessel not under Admiralty control as debris… Escape pods and civvies included… Then it got…" French sighed. "Worse. Admiralty rolled up to the parliament on Gaia, marched through the entire complex and rounded up every one of those useless bureaucrats. People were cheering again, even when heads rolled down the causeway."

"What are you-"

"I hear you are giving him the relevant information he requires, Engineer?" French started bouncing with excitement as the Admiral returned. He remained stoic, his eyes saw everything. "How are you finding our new world?"

"I fought and nearly died so you could become no different from our enemies…" Skip stood.

"You fought because the inhabitants of Dagnir did not want to be taxed for the gases needed to maintain the terraforming on their world." The man explained with a perverse understanding. "The OSFC was born for security, assurance, discovery and defence."

"As well as exploitation… imprisonment… malice." French murmured, Skip frowned.

"Whatever the price may be to give those that matter a prosperous life." His voice was slick like a snake. He leered at French. "Kneel."

Skip watched dumbstruck as he did. His movements were jerky, like he wanted to resist. But kneel he did.

"I am here to offer you the new life I mentioned last week. The chance to pay off your debts to the people as a war criminal…"

"He's a fragging hero." French insisted. Wulf stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowed again at the kneeling man. “How fraggin’ dare ye’ take away his hon-”

"You will not speak again." He ordered. His attention returned to Skip. "You have not told him yet about your last mission have you, Major?"

He chuckled. "I wish to offer you a position in the OSFC Home Fleet. Specifically as a Spacer. You will have no right to live planetside except when we allow it, and you will get commissioned by the OSFC to complete certain duties in the defence of our interests. You will be freelance, under our oversight, and when you have paid your dues, you will be rehabilitated into a life planet side. Although I must say, for your crimes you will never be free. You will spend the rest of your life protecting the perfect world."

"Frag you." Skip hissed. "I killed children for your ‘perfect’ world."

"Engineer zero-zero-three-eight, Preferred name of ‘French’ of Hyades. For the crimes as follows: Twelve counts of mass battery, fourth counts of damage to possessions, five counts of disfigurement and six counts of assault on an OSFC official." French cringed as Skip looked at him stunned. Wulf drew his own sidearm, the weapon looked top of the line. It hummed with power at the flick of a switch. The black liquid contained within barely moved as he drew it."I sentence you to Execution by Asphyxiating Toxin… You know it as the sting of a COBRA."

That missing fire burst into life in an inferno that came forth as a roar.

He raised the weapon in a flash in preparation for the kill shot, only to have it grabbed and shoved back down to the floor. He didn't flinch as Skip grabbed his neck firmly. The soldier was enraged, he stared into the man’s eyes and he growled: "Don't even fragging try it, you fragging poncey shiv."

"You have lost everything… Do you want me to do the same to him? Maybe it would be better to have him made a scrubber, and then maybe do the same to his family..." Wulf smirked, French’s eyes pleaded at that point. Death didn’t phase him, but something about being a scrubber, that put the fear of the stars in him. Wulf noticed this. He used it. “Speak zero-zero-three-eight.”

“Skip mate, please don’t… Let him go.” Hearing his oldest friend beg was chilling. Even being choked Wulf was still in control. “Don’t let them turn me kids into one of them… Please!”

Wulf thought the soldier was going to actually kill him at that moment. His finger hovered over an obscure button upon his wrist computer. It might be his last act in this life. How fitting.

"He comes with me." Skip insisted. He loosened his hold slightly. "I won't have you hold him as a bartering chip all his life."

"You do not set the terms." The Admiral gagged as the grip strengthened once again.

"Yes... I... Do."

The Admiral felt the effects of asphyxiation take hold. His grip on the world was loose, his vision had shifted like his perception of reality hung on the abyss' edge. He used what grey matter still worked to assess the situation. The losses and gains, the price to pay. It was an easy one. It just required cooperation.

"You can have him." The admiral croaked, Skip threw the admiral back as he spoke, he landed heavily on the cold floor. He helped his friend up, and they both watched Wulf quickly recover, almost like a special effect his uniform remained perfect.

"Welcome to the Home Fleet, Spacers." He nodded to the door. "Habitats are down the hall."

They left wordlessly. Wulf looked beyond into the darkness of space. He had much to think about, and little time to tie this mess up. He heard the bulkhead clang shut, and French's still booming voice:

"Dude, apart from the whole nearly dying thing, that was fraggin’ awesome."

–––‹›––––––‹»