Shadows of Liberation
This year, my challenge to myself was to finish another book. But, writing a book is hard, so to get the creative juices flowing, I committed to write one short story a week that expands the universe of the book I am writing. This short story is set many years before the events of the book. Enjoy.
Jens still had the afterimage of the explosion from StarKiller base in his eyes as the ashes of the station blew past his fighter. He could barely focus on what was left against the highlight of the sun outlining the asteroids in the distance. Yells echoed in his headset he had tossed to the floor. He pumped his fist and felt his knuckles rap against the top of the cabin. He felt the pain, but chose to ignore it. Escape pods from the station flitted past. He felt his face flush as he banked his fighter and sighted them in. His finger twitching from the pressure, he began to squeeze the trigger, but heard a squawk from his headset on the floor, cutting through the cheers. Letting the pressure on his hand relax, he picked up the headset and tossed it back over his head, pushing a few sweat soaked strands of hair out of his face. “Temporal 7, I read you.” “Two years of planning for two minutes of action,” the gruff older voice commanded. “Sounds a bit like Jens,” a younger female voice said over the comms to laughter. “Pipe down,” Eagle barked without real menace the laughter died down, “I’m getting reports of hotheads blowing pods out the sky. Leave them be, the command ships are able to make it in now, so we’ll be taking them in for questioning. All squads return back, grab a pod and bring it on home.” Flipping himself off to mute, Jens let himself groan. How many planets, bases, and people had this base annihilated in the name of the Grand Imperator? More than he could count. Tempted to fire anyways, he found his trigger locked. Flipping the tow beam on, he grabbed the nearest pod and banked toward the command ship, which was rapidly coming over the horizon of the nearby moon.
Tossing the prisoner over the threshold of the airlock, he prodded another with the butt of his rifle. Herding them into the converted storeroom, now prison block, he motioned them to the corner. The prisoners went reluctantly, but one remained in place, her eyes hard and wet. Do you even know what you’ve done? Jens thumbed the trigger of his rifle, “Destroyed the sword of the Imperator.” “Sword?” She cocked her head to the side, “You just annihilated the biggest shield humanity’s ever had.” Jens felt laughter escape him, “You think I would actually believe the weapon that’s hung over our neck’s like a guillotine since Pluto is a protecting force?” Her face tilted into a frown and her expression softened, “Pluto wasn’t necessary, it wasn’t what we signed up for.” She gestured to the other Imperials, “We signed up to protect others not,” she paused, “whatever this is.” “Not what you signed up for?” He slung his rifle deliberately and pushed her into a shelf, cans clattering to the floor. . As she cringed on the floor, he screamed, “Remember the Herodotus!” Her eyes wide he continued, “Remember those who died so we could live!” He kicked a can into a wall, where it exploded splattering red across the wall. The woman curled into a ball and Jens felt a hand on his shoulder pulling him back. He heard her mutter, “While the Emperor lives…” Jens shrugged the hand from his shoulder, ignoring the pleading voice, “The Emperor is dead. Your Imperator has fallen. There’s nothing left.” Jens took a step back, slipping on the spilled cans as the woman leapt from the floor to grab his stained shirt, “No one?” She stared into his eyes, hers wild. “You need to call the banners and be on alert.” Jens could hear the revelry beginning down the hall, the smell of alcohol and cheap tobacco already making its way to his nose. He guffawed and shoved her back, where she was caught by another Imperial prisoner, “The Empire is dead. You’re lucky we don’t give you the same treatment you gave our prisoners.” He stuck a finger out for emphasis, pointing at them. The woman fought against the prisoner nearest her, begging, “Please, summon your commanding officer. He needs to know.” Another prisoner tried to force her to stop, but she elbowed him hard, he fell to his knees. She took a step forward and Jens swung his rifle around. She stopped, but clasped her hands together, “Please, under the Imperial Accord of Rights, I demand the right to speak to the commanding officer.” In response, Jens turned and left the room, the hand on his shoulder departing with him. As he shut the door, he saw the woman stare back. He paused at her face - no anger, no hate, just sadness. The doors shut, but the look stayed with him.
The Imperial’s words echoed through his mind as he watched the ship come through the viewport. Larger than anything the Imperials had besides StarKiller, it came swathed in tentacle like fixtures that seemed to writhe. Space around it seemed to melt, light fell into it like water down a deep well hole. His feet stood planted as the first beam from a ship cut through the nearest Rebel cruiser, sundering it in two before it even had time to spool up its drive. The next cruiser beside it met a similar fate before he saw their laser burn bright and shut off. Thousands of smaller craft left from the alien vessel, streaming towards fellow Rebel vessels on the outer line. He watched them dock to the side of the ships like ticks. Each burrowing itself in its side before unleashing hordes of writhing squid-like Scurge. He closed his eyes and could practically imagine the combat inside. This cannot be happening. The Scurge was gone. Dead. A boogeyman made up to frighten small children. He heard the comms on the deck go off as more hands were called to action, felt the cargo belle turned capital ship beneath him shift and groan as tight maneuvers forced its inertial dampeners to work overtime. The scene lurched in front of him and now he saw the remnants of the fleet. Smoke from somewhere on the ship began to fill the room and a the scent of burnt wire filled his nostrils. Many of them were left crumbling. He saw drives light up blue in front of him, fleeing the scene before turning green as they entered hyperspace. Only one ship struggled towards the Scurge vessel. Missiles streamed from it that impacted off of the Scurge ship like pebbles thrown at a tree. He saw the laser on the Scurge vessel charge and the Rebel Cruiser was no more. He finally found his feet as he stumbled backward as he watched the Scurge vessel turn towards them. Only, the laser did not light up, instead he saw the Mosquito Tubes fire off, hundreds more smaller boarding vessels launch toward the ship he stood on. As he ran through the decks, order had fallen apart on the ship. Rebels raced towards escape pods. Lights flashed on and off as the ship shudder under impacts. Order had broken. His feet led him to the prison cell of the Imperials. His hand hesitated for a moment outside the door. Another Rebel pushed past him and he grabbed onto the wall for support. Casting his eyes back, he saw through the viewport the ship shudder once more as the Scurge boarders slammed into the ship. Still his hand hovered above the door release latch. He closed his eyes and could see the burning of Pluto, the screams of the people as they melted into the very earth. How many times had he watched the same videos over and over in the recruitment camps? The ship rocked once more. How many times had he heard the stories of the Scurge? At least when they died on Pluto, they were still people - not cattle. Exhaling, he flipped the door’s lock open and saw the Imperials. They had gathered into a small semi-circle around the door. Jens instinctively went for the gun at his shoulder as they moved towards him, but they stopped and the woman from earlier approached. She looked him up or down, no malice. Extending her hand forward, she said, “Yara.” Jens took her hand in his. His rough, dirty calluses hard on her soft, clean hands. She spoke, “We need to get to the bridge now.”
The bridge was nearly abandoned when they entered, except for one tired ensign working the controls to cut off various parts of the ship from the Scurge boarders. As Jens entered he looked up and at the sight of Imperials his eyebrows shot up. He looked at Jens who shrugged. Yara and the Imperials moved with brutal efficiency, taking the controls of the Rebel ship. “Can’t believe I’m going to die on a transport barge.” Yara muttered, the only frustration she had expressed since being released. Jens felt the ship turn again as they worked at the controls. He moved to the back and signaled the ensign to take a break. The man still wore the trucker patch on his jacket and evidently had taken offense at Yara’s statement, probably part of the original crew. Nearly all the pods had been sent off the ship and though he could not have possibly known, he felt the ship was lighter. He turned to the monitors and watched the Scurge stalk down halls. There wasn’t many Rebels left to counter the Scurge, where there were they had been swiftly annihilated. It was an extermination. Videos showed the rebels firing anything they had on hand as the Scurge pushed through the hallways. Their spindly, long bodies absorbing fire from the weapons, as they returned with their own cutting beams and sharpened blades. Desperation over-rode reason as one Rebel managed to splash purple Scurge blood against a wall with a mechanic’s wrench before being take to the floor. They had all heard the stories of the Scurge since they were children. They had assumed the mythos of the Imperator banishing them had been just that - a myth. Within moments, he watched as the corridor shooting galleries turned into airlocks. He nearly jumped over the console to rush Yara. Two Imperials held him back. “What are you doing?” He exclaimed, spittle flying from his mouth. “Saving this ship,” Yara muttered. Was she doing calculus? He watched as the shields pushed themselves forwards, a blue bubble surrounding the front of the ship. Jens eyes widened as he felt the ship accelerate. Yara muttered calculations beneath her breath as the Imperials took their seats. Jens grabbed the stunned ensign and threw him into a crash chair as he took the one beside him. His knuckles turned white as he braced for the impact. The ship ripped through the Scurge vessel like it was wet tissue paper, barely groaning. From the three-hundred-sixty degree cameras, he saw purple Scurge fly past the ship as it passed through the ship. The ship banked and he watched as the cargo bay was ejected, each of the containers flying and ripping into the Scurge ship until nearly nothing was left. He watched Yara deflate as she set the point defense turrets to mop up the remaining Scurge. Jens’ feet felt like lead. “Welcome to the Imperial Navy,” Yara said as she extended a hand to lift him out of the chair.