The Union: To The Brink

Prologue

My name is Nyeta-Kiret.

I’m a Ressian living among aliens that have occupied — no, more than that: conquered — my world.

And this is my nightmare.

Always the same. Sometimes the details change, rearrange themselves. But mostly, it’s always the same.

Merciless.

Nyeta-Kiret’s hands shook, her stomach twisting with fear. Whether this was just in the nightmare or real, because of the nightmare, she didn’t know.

Screams filled her ears, drowned out by blaster fire for seconds at a time. Things fell, thuds of bodies, the crashing of metal on metal.

Five years ago I worked in the Operations Command Center inside Union HQ on my home planet, Ressia Prime.

I was in there the day it happened – the unthinkable.

The day the Union fell.

She squeezed her arms around her knees pinching her eyes shut, wishing that simple action could make it all go away, like when she was a hatchling.

Just close your eyes and cover your ears until the scary part is over.

Mother’s voice sounded as near as the keepsake medallion Kiret wore around her neck, tucked under her duty shirt. Mother gave it to Kiret the day she graduated from the academy.

I’m so proud of you.

Even with her eyes closed she still saw the flashes, bright flares of light happening all around her. She started when something heavy hit the top of her shelter.

Tears raced down her cheeks, flowing quickly over the smooth skin around her eyes, nose, and mouth and tracing the lines in her scales.

She kept her tongue in her mouth, not wanting to taste the air in the room; her dull sense of smell told her more than she wanted to know already.

With every blaster bolt she recalled images only hours or minutes old. Faces full of pride –

The Telkian delegation is within the planetary shield.

– contorted with expressions confusion.

What happened to our ships?

They’re ablaze!

Who’s firing?

Finally ending in anger.

We’ve been deceived. The Supreme Chancellor stood before a satellite-provided holographic image. Two Union ships plummeted toward the planet, their hulls belching fire where the bridges used to be.

They’re opening FTL portals!

It’s an invasion!

Recall the fleet!

Blaster fire.

They’re everywhere!

The ground shook beneath her.

Chancellor, you must evacuate.

No. The passing of a blaster rifle. "This is my planet. My home. I will not run. I have no where to run."

Supreme Chancellor Bekla-Scret smiled at Kiret as he handed her the rolled, keepsake piece of parchment signifying her graduation less than a week before she started working in Ops.

He froze. His smiling visage melted into dead eyes and a blood-splattered face. His mouth hung open, his final breath lost as his head settled on the back of the Fleet Commander.

I watched as everyone died. I watched. And I hid.

Still under the desk, Kiret opened her eyes to an alien stare, dark teardrops in sunken sockets surrounded by pale skin. Thin lips moved over small, rounded teeth.

Peace, child. Be calm. Come with me. The voice was soft and murderous, sticky with the blood of millions. Worst, perhaps, because of its lie: I mean you no harm. He reached out a pale hand.

Shaking, Kiret took the proffered hand.

My name is Nyeta-Kiret.

Standing, the alien face became a mirror and she saw herself.

The lower half of her face pulsed, the skin bulging. Something unseen pressed in on her eyes. Her entire head erupted in agony.

I’m a Ressian living among aliens.

She gripped her skin with her hands . . . and the skin slid off. Underneath she saw a breathing mask over her mouth and nose, the sound of her breathing became mechanized. She tried to scream but her voice was gone.

I survived the fall of the Union.

Her skull shone white in the reflection; she saw it only a second before her eye sockets filled in and a greenish-yellow haze descended over her vision.

She was one of them.

And this is my nightmare.

Chapter One

The Tresera – Outskirts of the Veritas Asteroid Field.

Joe’s heart raced, his breathing heavy. The stale air of the cockpit laced with engine oil, coolant, and fear.

His hands sweated inside his gloves making them stick to the material. The darkness of space closed in around him.

He closed the canopy shield.

Pinching his eyes shut for a long moment he swooped away from the dogfight and muttered a calming mantra.

It didn’t work.

Phantom comms from his last dogfight echoed in his head.

Frantic cries, pleas for help, ending in bursts of eternal silence.

On the targeting screen, glowing red enemy contacts moved to intercept. He couldn’t escape the fight.

With the touch of a finger he silenced the beep warning him that his shields were virtually gone, his weapons not far behind them.

He struggled to keep his ship from veering starboard, the damaged thruster on that side not keeping up with the one on the portside.

His opponent appeared on the contact screen. His shields were no better off than Joe’s but he didn’t have the thruster damage.

Nor did he have as many enemy contacts left.

Squad Leader Kutra-Retoy was good, no denying that. He was the youngest pilot in the history of the Union to be promoted to Squad Leader. But Joe was the First Officer of the Tresera and an ex-pilot himself, he had to be better.

The enemy fighters entered weapons range. Joe gritted his teeth and ignored the weapons lock warning blaring in his ear, the whispering ghost cries, impossible to block out. Alone with the voices Joe waited until just the right moment.

The lead enemy fighter (distinguished from the other fighters by the computer with a small red triangle) let loose a volley of fire and Joe cut his starboard thruster. The ship flipped into a barrel roll, only his crash webbing kept him from slamming into the side of the cockpit.

He split the enemy formation, the fighters veering away to avoid collision. As soon as they were past him, Joe cut the aft port thruster and ignited the forward thrusters. The ship leveled out and Joe had his pick of enemy fighters.

He chose the lead.

Before he could get a lock, one of the other fighters came around on him.

Pirates!

They’re everywhere!

Evassive manuevers!

Swearing, Joe diverted his weapons to the wingman, got a lock and squeezed the trigger. A moment later, the destroyed contact disappeared from the screen.

Joe swung his targeting computer back to the lead just as the weapons lock warning signal sounded again.

Commander, I can’t shake’em! Oh my god!

This time, there was no time to maneuver.

He’s got me! He’s got m--

Before Joe could react, his shields collapsed, his fighter shook, all the systems flashed off and on.

Then everything stopped and all was quiet.

Compressed air hissed as the canopy separated from the cockpit, letting in the light from the training room.

Whoa. Someone ain’t coming home tonight. Joe heard Retoy’s taunts and the flicker of his tongue before the simulator’s shell finished opening.

Cool air hit Joe’s face causing the streams of sweat to chill his skin. His hands rested in his lap, his head against the headrest, and he chewed his bottom lip. He never made it past that level, never got the kill on the lead fighter. Few pilots ever did.

So tell me, Commander, Retoy said. Joe rolled his head to look at him. Retoy sat on the edge of his opened simulator, one knee pulled up against his chest. His long tongue flicked out again, tasting the air. Since you’re gone, is it okay if I ask Doctor Sylar out?

Joe forced a smile despite the fading echoes still in his head. They were always there, the old Mercer Squadron, all fourteen of them, but they usually kept quiet as long as Joe wasn’t in a cockpit. Being with Doctor Amy Sylar helped keep them quiet.

Blinking to bring his focus back to the present, Joe nodded toward the point board ahead of the simulators. Don’t get too cocky. You’re dead too.

Retoy pointed a gloved finger at the board. But I scored higher.

Joe looked. Retoy’s score was higher — by three kills. Joe had lost to his best friend’s little brother. Again.

Lifting himself out of the cockpit Joe said, Yeah, well, you’re still dead. So no, you can’t ask her out.

"R’stet shuy’ju krees bosba’a, Komesdar, Retoy said in his native tongue. The language, full of long s" sounds made it sound like a long hiss.

Joe looked at him as he climbed down ths side. You know I don’t speak Ressian.

Retoy opened his mouth to translate but another voice beat him to it.

My own worst enemy, Commander Lieutenant Kutra-Cirroc said. The elder Ressian strode toward them from the doors, stopping between the two simulators, and leaned against Joe’s.

"Actually, what I said was that he was his own worst enemy," Retoy said.

No, you didn’t, said Cirroc sternly.

Retoy shrugged his shoulders. Eh, it’s a dying language anyway.

"It’s your native language, Cirroc said coldly. You should at least know how to speak it and still sound educated."

The two Ressians locked stares, tongues flicking in short, quick motions (typical of Ressians when tensions were high).

What are you doing here, Cog? This is for pilots. The spite in Retoy’s voice made the insult obvious. ‘Cog’ was a derogatory term long used by pilots to jab at officers that didn’t fly the Single Pilot Ships.

"Why don’t you watch your tongue, Lieutenant, before I have you written up Conduct Unbecoming."

Joe rolled his eyes and unzipped the blue flight suit. He hated getting in the middle of their constant feuding. Cirroc wasn’t just older than Retoy, he was from an earlier . . . litter. In Ressian society that made him higher in the family heirarchy and responsible for making sure those beneath him upheld the family honor.

Usually this wasn’t a big deal as Ressian families tended to spread out. But when his younger hatchling served aboard the same ship (and shared radically different views) it kept them constantly at each other.

Then there was the whole squabble over the same female thing. That really cranked up the tension. Even though she severed the relationship with both of them almost a year ago, neither had let it go.

And Joe wasn’t in the mood for it today. Why don’t you two just beat the crap outta each other and get over it already. This bickering is getting old. He sat on the grated metal step second to the deck working the zipper down his leg, his arms already free. His grey tee shirt was dark with sweat, the cooler air giving him chills.

How was it today? Cirroc asked after a moment. Joe saw him look at the board.

You see the scores.

Yes. You’ve improved. Cirroc stepped away from the side of the simulator, squatted next to the steps where Joe sat and lowered his voice. But how many battles were you fighting in there? One or two?

Joe worked the zipper but it was jammed midway down his shin. The harder he jerked it the more stuck it became. I don’t know, Cirroc, he said, staring at the zipper, how many battles do we ever fight at one time?

Whadda you know about it, Cog? Retoy said dropping from the similator, his boots thudding on the decking.

Joe heard the guttural growl from Cirroc, the hiss with the flick of his forked tongue. One day, Retoy would push too far and Cirroc would ignore his incredible self discipline. Joe just hoped he was close enough to keep the two from ripping each other apart when it happened.

I know plenty about losing people under my command in the line of duty, Lieutenant. Far more than you.

Would you two please shut up? Joe quit fighting the zipper, planted his elbows on his knees, and massaged his temples with his palms. He had that nauseated feeling he always got after being in the similator. And it had nothing to do with motion. His hands shook, just a little. I need to go see Amy.

Are you meeting her at the Resh-Ka ceremony? Cirroc asked.

Joe’s eyes snapped open and he looked at Cirroc. Oh hell, that’s tonight?

Starts in less than five.

Joe jerked on the zipper, cussing it. Like most things on the ship the flight suits were old, worn out, needing to be replaced. It was impossible to resupply when on an extended deep space mission.

I didn’t see your name on a duty roster report, Cirroc said to Retoy. Are you planning on attending the ceremony?

Are the bugs gonna be there? Retoy asked.

Joe gave up on the zipper and pressed the button to release his boots through the fabric. Once the air had seeped out enough that the boots weren’t so tight Joe kicked them off.

Don’t call them bugs, Cirroc said.

Why not?

Don’t call them bugs, Joe echoed wihtout looking at either of them.

That’s what they are.

It’s rude and offensive for one thing, Cirroc explained. And for another, I’m your superior and I’m ordering you not to.

Me too, Joe added, this time looking up at Retoy knowing even the brief glance would let Retoy know he was serious. Retoy gave his brother a lot of trouble even though Joe was pretty sure the younger hatchling didn’t mean it all. But Joe had Retoy’s respect because he used to be a pilot and Retoy listened to him.

Joe pulled the flight suit off his socked feet. Still in their conversation, both Ressians flicked their tongues then stared at Joe, their eyes narrowed and thin-lipped mouths pressed closed.

What? Joe asked. Then he smelled one of his underarms. Oh. I need a shower.

Yes, Cirroc said.

Try three of them, Retoy suggested.

Hey, I didn’t make you guys do the tongue flick thing. Joe knew Ressians had a poor sense of smell but a very keen sense of taste, so advanced they could determine someone’s moods based off their smell. Maybe this is what I’ll do next time you two start arguing; just get all sweaty and smelly. Make you keep your tongues in your mouth.

Slipping a little on the smooth floor, Joe took off for the door leaving the flight suit on the steps.

Have fun, Commander, Cirroc called after him.

Joe waved over his back, almost slipping on the decking again.

He was at the door when he heard Retoy shout after him: Seriously, at least two showers!

Joe shook his head, giving the hatchlings one last look before entering the corridor.

#

The cork popped from the bottle of Chateau Pikardo and the crowd to cheered again. Liquid foamed out the top and wet the dais floor. Captain Loftren-Kajan laughed, holding the bottle away from her to keep it from splashing her boots. The crowd chanted for a speech.

She turned to Ambassador Sy’Qu’Prawl at her left. The Serty dignitary happily extended her glass, allowing Kajan to fill it. When Kajan looked at the ambassador she could see her reflection endlessly replicated in the two multifaceted eyes on either side of the Serty’s head.

The large oval eyes sat in relatively the same position as a Human’s but angled in toward a tiny nose. Positioned between them were three smaller eyes in a triangle. The Ambassador’s glass full to overflowing, Kajan turned to her right.

Commander Joe Morris — his short, dark blonde hair shining wet from a shower — still breathed heavily from his late entrance. He looked out over the crowd and Kajan didn’t need to taste the air to read his uneasiness.

For almost five years Joe had served as her First Officer. His service was excellent, if a bit emotionally spontaneous at times. But such were Humans.

She trusted Joe to lead every person onboard the Tresera, and he had at times. Many spoke of his great motivational words in times of hardship. But he still got nervous when he had to stand in front of large crowds for social functions.

I’m glad you made it, Commander, she said as she filled his glass.

He smiled a lopsided grin. Wouldn’t miss it. He raised his empty hand to indicate a high level. Been my top priority all day. Kajan returned the smile.

The rest of the senior staff — the ones who hadn’t volunteered for duty shifts — formed a line in front of the dais. They passed by letting Kajan fill their glasses as they passed.

The crowd continued their chant for the captain to give a speech. When the bottle of champagne ran dry, Captain Loftren raised her hands to quell their fervor. Throughout the crowd, members of the wait staff continued to fill champagne glasses.

I don’t know how the information got out, she said with an obvious, accusatory stare at Joe. Joe gave his typical sheepish grin.

But, she turned her attention back to the crowd. Since everybody seems to know about it, I would just like to say ‘thank you’ to all of you. A captain is only as good as her crew. Any recognition I have received that qualifies me to be promoted to admiral is as much a reflection on all of you as it is on me.

Her eyes slowly took in the entire crowd, she tasted the pride in the air.

She could feel her guard slipping.

It was a hard balance to keep at times like this, the firm hand of a captain and the soft hand of a friend.

After the five long years of this mission, Kajan felt very close to many in the room. She knew every one by name. They were more than just a crew to her; they were her surrogate family.

The past five years, this one last mission, she said leaning forward slightly to acknowledge Ambassador Prawl. Well, I couldn’t think of a better way to end my starship captain days. To have played a role in forging what I’m sure will be a very lasting and mutually beneficial relationship with the Serty Consortium is, well, more than I could have hoped for.

The captain raised her glass in a toast. "To Ambassador Prawl and the Serty Consortium delegation, for being the first of their race to make this journey to our home.

And to you, she said with a tilt of her glass at the gathered crowd, "the crew of the Tresera. Dare I say there’s no finer crew gathered on any ship in the fleet." Captain Loftren raised her glass to end the toast.

Ah, not just yet, Captain, Joe said, clearing his throat and not letting Kajan close the toast. He turned just slightly to face her almost full on. He dipped his head for a brief moment as though gathering his thoughts, or words. Or courage.

To Captain Loftren, he said raising his glass at her again. "Whose guidance, encouragement, and leadership made this crew into the finest one. A murmur of agreement rumbled through the crowd. To one, to all; good journey."

To one, to all; good journey! the crowd roared back in unison.

Kajan kept her eyes on Joe as they all took a sip of their drinks. It was hard to believe this was the same person that had been assigned to her ship just before departing on this mission. He had been handed to her a troubled and broken young man and now he stood before her an officer – ready for his own command if he could just gain a little more self-confidence. Of all the rewards that came with being a starship captain, it was the growth of those under her command that rewarded her the most.

If indeed this crew were her surrogate family, then Joe Morris was her Prime Hatchling and star pupil.

She looked out among the crowd at the smiling, happy faces; Tullan, Human, and Ressian with a sprinkle of Serty. All so different and yet all standing together.

A familiar and unwelcome feeling formed in the pit of her secondary stomach. Her mind took a mental snapshot of the moment. She pushed the feeling away, decided to ignore it. She didn’t want to be right, couldn’t see how she could be.

It was distant, like an alarm carrying into a dream while you slept.

No, she decided to slap the snooze and savor this moment. She would worry about the alarm when it sounded again later.

This moment was a dream, a happy dream come true, that Kajan never wanted to wake from. And though she denied it. . .

. . . she felt the nightmare coming.

Chapter Two

Ressia Prime – New Order Capital Building

Nyeta-Kiret walked the same hallways and corridors she had for the past five and a half years, not even the paint had changed.

But everything else had.

Her fingers squeezed and released the smooth plastic edges of the datapad she held.

The mornings after a nightmare were always the hardest.

Vuy’Lar soldiers stood guard in every hallway, the next one always visible. They never spoke, at least Kiret had never heard one speak. Just the constant, deep wheeze of their breathing, their faces forever masked.

They all looked almost exactly the same; same thick form, same uniform, same masked face. The most notable variation in any of them was the swirl of their two skin pigmentations, mostly noticeable in their necks and at the edges of their faces. Deep purple mingled with dark green on what looked to be very thick skin.

A metallic composite covered the space where their eye sockets should have been. No indentations, just yellow-green slits.

Just seeing the soldiers, even in passing, caused Kiret to shiver. They brought to mind the memory of the first day she ever saw them which, of course, was the source of her nightmares.

And last night’s episode had been particularly rough.

It always started the same way. And ended the same.

She shook her head to dispel the images of death, the images of her with swirled skin, her face hidden behind a mask.

Taking a deep breath of the stale air (teaching herself not to taste it had taken the better part of two years) she continued past the posted soldiers. But when she turned the corner toward the Central Command Room, her breath caught in her chest.

Both of her stomachs tightened and for a moment she worried she might get sick.

It had been a long time since she’d seen this windowless corridor, the one that led to her former place of employment.

Royal crimson paint still clung to the walls, marred with black scorch marks and runny blots of long dried fluid — grim reminders of the brutal overthrow of the Union government.

She turned her eyes away from the walls, to the tiled floor beneath her feet. But the web-like cracks reaching across the deep green marble tiles only served to also remind her of that dark day. Images flooded her mind, memories, every bit as clear as the nightmares that plagued her.

Kiret remembered walking this same hallway five and a half years ago, fresh out of the academy and reporting for her first day of work in the Union Central Command Room. It was a highly coveted post, one she had only managed due to her close friendship with Fleet Commander Fropa’s tertiary hatchling — Kiret’s closest friend — Fropa-Jucell.

Like a ghost, an image of Jucell appeared in Kiret’s peripheral vision; laughing, smiling, and excited—Jucell from their first day. When Kiret turned her head the image was gone.

The metal door at the end of the hall loomed ahead of her, ominous in its unchanging appearance. The door didn’t care who was in charge of the city, of the planet, or the galaxy. The door didn’t care about the murders that that had occurred on both sides of it, it simply opened and closed when required.

Kiret remembered the excitement she had felt the first time she saw the door. But now that feeling was too distant to feel, she could only remember that she had felt it.

Perhaps not knowing why she had been summoned also had her