Dark Sea

By J Francis Collins

DARK SEA is a science-fiction drama/thriller about a broken female military commander who struggles with past failures, depleting oxygen and diminishing nutrition supply while leading a lambasted crew and an iniquitous dictator across galaxies; with an astonishing twist ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483562063

Book preview

43

CHAPTER 1

He was aware, no doubt, with each calculated step, the effect on the jury of the creaking floorboards beneath his gleaming wing-tip shoes. Below his obvious girth and compilation of military medals pinned to his impeccable uniform, the moaning of the agonized floor served as a reminder – his words were weightier. Second-Lieutenant Reeza, he bellowed, have you ever established any communication with any agents of the Azgarian regime - by any method, on any type of basis?

Reeza tilted her eyes toward the prosecutor. Forty-five minutes on the witness stand and it was the first time she’d really looked at him. Everything on this man was round; his nose, his ears, his chins. Only his questions were pointed. Her throat felt like an old forgotten gravel road and sounded same, Yes. The collective murmurs from the spectators droned like a beehive interrupted. The prospect of one of their soldiers, especially a war hero, comingling with their ruthless enemy was treason on the highest order. I killed them…any time I could.

A smattering of laughter caused Reeza to lift her shadowed eyes and scan the courtroom of onlookers; most of them officers, low ranking to high and retired. A contingent of media relaying reports into electronic wristband devices from behind the railing looked like a row of sunflowers peaking over a backyard fence. Other observers must have been just that, observers, who were lucky to get a seat. Whoever they were, wherever they came from – they were packed in tight. Beyond them, in the back of the courtroom, a row of video cameras and unrelenting spot-lights were banked.

Yes…very amusing. Bits and pieces of our president and chancellor spread all over Mt. Grebus…very amusing indeed. Looking over his spectacles resting on his ample cheeks, the interrogator measured the crowd absorbing his macabre picture of their mutilated leaders.

Reeza recognized, among the congregation, General Smyzen; her first commander when she enlisted at the age of 23 years. It was he who had convinced her to attend officer’s training when it was offered to her after she received the medal from the President. Even back then, Smyzen was prematurely gray which should have been a clue to refuse the tutelage. She hadn’t talked to him for several years, yet he’d been present at every one of these hearings, up to now, totaling eighteen.

Reeza combatted with one of those pounding ‘behind-the-eyeballs’ headaches from the monotonous questions the prosecutor cast out like a jungle net trying to catch a contradiction in her testimony. Would this farcical tribunal come to a screeching halt, she wondered, if she responded with some bullshit account he was trying to manufacture?

From the witness stand she could see beads of shifting sweat crowded on the upper lip of her defense attorney, Lieutenant Dimit. As he sat at the defense table in his dark-green military formals, he white-knuckled his pen to telepathically hold Reeza’s nerves together…or his own. The young, smallish lawyer had never been on a stage of this magnitude and the heat of the lights and cameras compounded the prominence of this historical moment. Demit was like a thermometer; one could easily see how hot the situation was, simply by observing the morphing shapes of red blotches on his face and neck.

Conversely, the prosecutor was an old pro; as comfortable as if he was home surrounded by his leather furniture and pretentious art, reclining with a brandy and a turkey leg. Besides fat, he was famous…and good. Captain Sunnaker clung to his captain status to try cases such as these; high profile. And, this one was sizzling and boiling over in his kitchen.

At what point, Second-Lieutenant, did you and Commander Raji realize your defense barrier had been compromised?

Tumbling through her mind as a garbled mess, Reeza labored to untangle each of the prosecutor’s queries. She had to concentrate. As she had done several times during missions and high-pressure situations, she would look to her commander and co-defendant, Briton Raji. She focused on his battle fatigued face next to her fidgety lawyer. She envied Raji’s indomitable presence. Whether learned or intrinsic, all great leaders have that ‘calm-under-pressure’ thing and Raji was a great leader. Her own ascension to the rank of second-lieutenant came, to be sure, without it. He was only ten, maybe twelve years older than she, but he was much wiser beyond his fifty-whatever years of life. Raji’s dark complexion under his brunette hair kept a steady tone during any situation.

We were radioed…an explosion had shaved off a section of the hill, her eyes darkening as she re-lived the radio call.

You realized then, President Morbus and Chancellor Gorstone-Peru had been assassinated? Reeza’s side-to-side shake of her head was barely visible. A verbal answer, Second Lieutenant, insisted the prosecutor.

We did not realize the president or chancellor had been…assassinated.

Were your orders specific to—

Lieutenant Commander Zed Cook received confirmation by radio from Vetter - Ensign Farb Vetter - who was further up the hill, that our leaders…our best hope had been killed, Reeza was trancelike as she walked on the prosecutor’s question. All of us, the whole company, were still paralyzed. Her widened eyes rolled toward Sunnaker. Sometimes, even now, when I’m lying in bed or sitting here with you, Captain, I can’t believe I’m not still up on Mt. Grebus frozen in that horror. I don’t know how I moved, how any of us moved. In fact, I don’t remember stepping off that hill.

Hearing a personal account of their history’s darkest event from a historical figure caused silence from the open-mouthed spectators, which jolted the rotund prosecutor from his courtroom swagger. Sunnaker moved quickly to regain his audience, "Shock, Second Lieutenant? Fortunate for you and your company, the protectors of the President and Chancellor, to be on the periphery of the explosions impact; was it not?

After everything she’d been through; a dandy-tongued military lawyer who’d never even seen a dehydrate shell or what it could do to a body wasn’t going to upset her. Twenty-four dead…I’d call that unfortunate, Captain.

Are we to understand; Azgarian guerrillas had infiltrated your line and planted the explosives? That is to say - did you—

Is my celebrated colleague aware of Second Lieutenant Reeza’s battlefield record? Lt. Demit nervously pounded his fist on the table-top. The White Star. Our military’s highest honor. The White Star - presented to her by the president of the Drenon Sodality, President Morbus, himself?!

The onlookers moaned. How can we forget the second-lieutenant’s White Star, Sunnaker grinned. Counsel will not let us forget it. The assembly roared at the prosecutor’s mocking of what had become Demit’s ‘go-to’ line.

Reeza’s discomfort caused her to run two fingers around her collar. Even she had heard enough of the White Star; from her lawyer or anyone else. It had become the bedsore that would not heal. That god-damned White Star…

Is that an objection, counselor? The stone-faced judge with the foundation and eyeliner for the cameras pulled the reigns.

Uhh…yeah. Didn’t I say that? The judge squint his eyes at the defending attorney’s lack of judicial couth and returned his attention to Sunnaker’s examination. Objection!

The startled magistrate gasped at Demit’s tardy retort, Over-ruled! This court recognizes the military contribution of the defendants. And, again, it is immaterial to this specific matter. And it will remain immaterial the next time you attempt to trumpet it.

Lt. Demit returned to his chair like an overmatched prize-fighter.

Reeza glanced upward at the courtroom judge. This asshole, she thought, and all these muckety-muck officers with their shiny trinkets lined up on their chests like high school super-jocks, unaware of all her sacrifices, especially the soul-grinding sacrifice…her husband. His mission was classified D-15. She doubted any of these brass-wearing clowns even had D-15 clearance. God dammit, would she ever see him again? Thirteen months gone and she didn’t know in which corner of the globe he was or if he was alive.

Sunnaker circled for the kill. Second-Lieutenant - were you at a distance so great, you did not see the explosion?

I did not see –

Louder, second-lieutenant, Sunnaker shrilled.

Reeza lifted her head. I did not see the explosion.

And the mangled corpses of the president and chancellor?

Reeza swallowed hard. No…I did not see.

The prosecuting captain paused over Reeza like an A-List thespian. She lowered her head. When he estimated the image of their dead leaders had lingered enough, Sunnaker looked up at the judge, No more quest –

But, we felt it, Reeza said.

No more questions, insisted Sunnaker.

The shaking earth sprouted terror up our legs like poisoned thorns on swirling vines. Reeza whispered from a trance.

Your honor, please. No more questions.

The rapt magistrate observed Reeza, opened mouthed.

You know, Captain, at that moment, you know exactly what’s happened. Your bones tell you. Your bones get the messages of death from the vibrations of the bombs and blasts. And it’s unmistakable. I wonder if you know what I mean. I wonder if you’ve ever had that sensation. It wasn’t the first time we’d felt it. And, as long as that mad man keeps marching, keeps wiping out homes, lands, and continents, it won’t be the last. Someday you’ll feel it too.

The courtroom fell silent.

Cross examination, counselor? whispered the magistrate. Demit was also engrossed in Reeza’s uttering. Lieutenant Demit – cross examination? the judge raised his voice.

Reeza’s attorney cleared his throat. No, your honor.

In spite of her howling joints, Reeza’s gait stayed steady as she strode to the defense table. Soldiers don’t let on about pain, especially when their every move is broadcast to a broken planet of billions.

We’ll recess until tomorrow. Same time, barked the media-conscious magistrate.

Reeza, Commander Raji, and the defense attorney briskly made their way across a fenced-in parking lot to a military limousine. The ashy, gray sky which hung over the capital city of Vonne, served as a constant reminder of world war. Fifteen years of bombings had covered their planet, Zhonus, in stench-filled soot. Even heavily fortified cities, like Vonne, were not immune to the malodorous invasion. On rare occasions, a northwesterly wind would blow on a day of thinned smog and the sun would make an appearance. The appearance was always brief; however, and the golden ball would leave as if it didn’t have the intestinal fortitude for war.

The soldiers and their lawyer could see the gathering of people with their faces smooshed against the chain-linked fence. Most were there to get a glimpse of history, some to vent their frustrations.

Traitors! Assassins! Azgarian spies!

Among the throng were reporters carrying their recording devices and cameras. Can Sunnaker prove you’re agents of Perdition’s Bloc? a reporter blurted with his nose protruding through the fence.

Reeza, Raji, and the attorney continued their pace as they were well practiced in ignoring the press and foul-mouthed assholes.

Commander, the distinct, raspy voice of Lieutenant Zed Cook met the three at the awaiting car.

After serving in three campaigns with Cook, Reeza no longer noticed the scarred face of the burly soldier. What looks he had, had been left in battlefields around the globe. His anger, on the other hand, was not ignorable. It was interwoven into his psyche like a blood-cancer. In times of inactivity, she had never seen him relax, smile, laugh, or enjoy any moments. His eyes were caldrons of overflowing negative emotion; an inextinguishable, hell-fire hate for the Azgarians and their ruthless leader. He was not only well-known among his fellow Allied cavalrymen, but was infamous among the Azgarian enemy. She had heard the Azgarian soldiers had labeled Cook, Raji’s ‘beast-on-a- leash.’ After observing the two men, she knew better. They belonged to each other. They had a mutual respect. If it wasn’t war-time, she’d call it love. And, she was sure each had scars from taking enemy fire meant for the other.

He can’t ride in the car, Demit gestured to Cook.

He goes with me everywhere, Raji calmly directed.

The lawyer’s own constitution was no match for Raji’s authoritative presence. The foursome entered the large backseat of the military limo.

Every minute we’re wrapped up in this bullshit hearing, is a minute we’re not putting the enemy in the ground, Cook growled.

The lawyer had been around countless cutthroats and purveyors of punishment; from both sides, but he squirmed in the ubiety of this killing machine.

When does this all end? Cook pushed.

That’s up to others…including our distinguished counsel, offered Raji.

Cook’s piercing eyes compelled Lt. Demit to clear his throat and lay it out real. The war is not going well. We are outmanned and outgunned. Brass knows it. This hearing is a farcical showcase for the masses. The president and chancellor are dead; no fortification is one-hundred percent. They know that. We need numbers on the warfront, including you three…especially you three. The icy silence coerced the lawyer to continue. I’d say, in the next two days, they’ll come to a verdict. The most of which will be a demotion in rank. But, they will not remove you from the theatre.

Reeza glanced off toward the military courthouse as their vehicle pulled out of the gated parking lot. Standing on the walkway was General Smyzen; gnawing on cigar, focused on the big limo.

Raji noticed Cook tapping his foot anxiously. Try to calm yourself, Lieutenant. Patience will be our greatest weapon against that maniac, Raji assured. Reeza removed her eyes from Smyzen and followed Raji’s sightline to Cook’s revved-up foot.

I’ll calm when I feel the crunching bones of Governor Azgar’s neck under my bloody-muddies.

CHAPTER 2

Spears of pulsating light splitting through opaque clouds stabbed at Reeza’s mind. The color of death, she thought. She was open, even welcoming, to the next life or the end of the current one. Before she could contemplate further, she became aware of temperature – a chill on her face and arms. She could feel the electronic impulses tingling up her spinal cord and to her brain. Painfully aware of her joints, she tried to lift her arm. When it failed, her legs; same result.

She tried to remember, ‘How?’ A dehydrate…a sonar grenade? She tried to remember ‘Where?’ The Fortress of Shaneen…Kizwan Hill…or that old factory building that an Azgarian detail detonated atop her platoon.

The invading light was painful and blinding. When she gained control over her eyelids, she squeezed them to regulate the light which seemed to provide minimal relief. She could make a fist with her fingers – stiff…very stiff. Her neck, back, knees, all of it felt like ground rust.

Reeza reassessed. Dead? she thought. No such luck. She tried to roll from what she now could tell was a supine position. Her introspections continued to ricochet, Where the hell am--

Time to exit the darkness and move into the light, a gravelly, upbeat voice interrupted her thoughts. Welcome to this ship of mystery.

Through her squinting eyes, Reeza could make a fuzzy silhouette of a person. She shifted her torso toward it as she waited for her eyes to catch up to her thoughts.

Careful. Don’t be afraid, the man’s mellow voice encouraged.

To manage the light, her eyelids flapped like the wings of a frantic butterfly. The silhouette’s color was reddish; his clothes most likely. She tried to speak, but her arid throat wouldn’t allow. She felt the man’s hand on her arm guide her upright with gentleness.

That’s it. You’re coming out of a deep sleep. It’ll take a minute to acclimate.

Whatever comfort Reeza felt from the soothing, accented voice of kindness washed away with the vacating blood from her head as she lifted to a sitting position. Dizzy, she instinctively reached for her head to steady herself. Her fingertips ran through her gnarled hair and over a crusty bandage.

She could feel the red-dressed man rotate her by the shoulders as he inspected her. Yes. It seems you have a head wound which has been dressed, his smooth voice reported. We’ll keep an eye on that.

Her vision still blurred; she didn’t dare stand. She could feel her internal organs worm downward in response to gravity and her upright posit.

We are on a vessel of sort, travelling through space, the man went on, although, I have no recollection of boarding this ship.

Ship? Son-of-a-bitch…space-ship. We must be out of cryo -- holy hell, we’re nearly home. But, who is the confused crewman with the familiar accent? Reeza’s thoughts spun as her memory brought her up to speed.

More stressing, I can’t remember who the hell I am. Your name must be ‘Reeza’, if the embroidery on your uniform is correct, said the benevolent voice rubbing his hand over his blank right chest. I, on the other hand, do not have the fortune of having my name on my uniform.

Reeza’s cognition formed allowing her to focus on the man. The red blur crystallized. His silhouette coalesced. God, no! her mind screamed. Run! Run quickly…the weapons armory! Find a weapon…any weapon! Holy god, it’s him! She opened her mouth to scream for anyone who may have not been killed by him yet. Her throat, larynx, lungs, and any other sound inducing instruments were dried and useless.

Easy there - I know you’re frightened. Take it easy. Shhh. Easy now, he tried to calm her like a trainer calms a wild animal. I know. You’re scared. You don’t know who you are, am I right? he asked softly while holding her shoulders.

Reeza pushed past him and tried to run. Her first step was her last before smacking the ship’s gridded deck. Her legs felt full of sand. He guided her to her feet, the way a father teaches his toddler to walk.

I won’t hurt you. Please, try to calm yourself.

Reeza’s quick, shallow breaths corralled her wildly beating heart. She looked into the man’s eyes, like looking down a lighted well of pure water; deep set and clear, appeared gentle and caring. But, this was not possible. This man is the personification of evil. This man is Governor Azgar. The lines that once made his face appear devilish didn’t seem as dark and deep as they once had. It must be the dim lighting of the ship, she thought. Her eyes grazed his hair; more black than grey, and very little recession for a man in his middle fifties.

Can you speak? Do you know who you are…who we are? Azgar caressed the shoulders of the distressed soldier. She noticed and remembered the cast on his left arm. His accent was heavy with the influence of his home country, Gromondi Vi’Tor.

Reeza lowered her head and swallowed hard. No, she managed.

You mean ‘no’ you can’t speak or ‘no’ you don’t know who we are’?

Reeza examined Azgar with wide-eyed trepidation. History books, journalistic accounts, and government dossiers were filled with descriptions of Azgar’s mastery of manipulation. It was required reading and she had read most. Now, she wondered if she was currently experiencing this mastery. I mean, I don’t recall who I am or how I got here, Reeza went along.

Same as me, he assured looking around the ship’s hull.

You don’t know who you are or what you’ve—, Reeza corrected, how you got here?

As I said…same as you.

Reeza peeled her eyes off Azgar and looked down an aisle of twenty-four sleep chambers; twelve on each side of the aisle, stacked in threes, and constructed like bunk beds. Each tube was made up of thick glass and metallic supports. Five chambers pulsed with flashing lights and high-tech gadgetry; gauges indicating heart rate, oxygen intake, pulse, blood pressure, and more. A slight glow emitted through the occupied glass domes.

Five others…four men, one woman, Azgar answered Reeza’s puzzled look.

Alive?

I believe so. He continued, By the looks of it, we’ve been involved in an accident of some kind. We all have injuries which appear to have been tended. His eyes scanned the large bay. This ship, with hanging wires, conduits, and open cavities, must have been in some kind of mishap.

Reeza scanned the interior of the vessel. The urgency of blast-off had not allowed her the opportunity to examine it closely before it launched from Zhonus or, again, re-boarding it on the alien planet with their newly captured prisoner. The sleep chambers, navigation bay, and the small sickbay were encompassed in the primary hull in the belly of the ship which, from deck to ceiling measured, in her estimation, 20-feet - give or take. Since submarines and sea-ships were her only point of reference; the height of the framework appeared expansive.

Two other sections were set off by portals; a weapons armory and a shower room. She was familiar with the armory where she and the crew dressed in battle-gear before storming the foreign world in pursuit of Azgar. Since it was designed as a twenty-four soldier transport, there was space to move about. Although, she remembered in the pre-flight briefing, the science team indicating they would be sleeping the entire journey, both ways, so there would be no need for moving around or showering. It was merely constructed this way because the stolen schematics, from which it was built, indicated as such.

Can you walk? I’d like to show you what I’ve found, Azgar invited.

Their boots echoed throughout the large hull as Reeza followed Azgar, occasionally dropping her eyes to watch her legs as if relearning to walk.

It was over here, I discovered where we are, Azgar reflected.

How long have you—

A couple of hours…that is approximately.

He reached up and adjusted a control dial. A stratum slid, revealing the breadth of outer-space through an eight-foot view screen. Some distant twinkles of burning suns speckled the velvet black. The two looked for a moment in awe at the immeasurable nothingness.

So vast, endless, Azgar marveled. It induces fear through its very presence. The blackness -interminable and unpredictable - can cause such colossal dread. Yet, with its mystery, it pales in comparison to the mind. No matter its size or treacherous unknowns - our minds can make these things bigger. Reeza studied Azgar in his stupefied reverence. He continued, trancelike, The mind and its fragility…that coma we just came out of and our travelling companions are currently in, Azgar looked over at the sleep tubes, this is where real terror lies. Not knowing who you are…what you are.

If Azgar had lost his memory, he hadn’t lost his predilection for poetic oratory.

Reeza was rapt like a student. His look of sincerity took her back to the war’s nascent. From his capitol city of Pajia on the banks of the Dark Sea, she remembered his earnest discussions with the world through the nightly video reports. He seemed passionate in his desire to find alternative food sources. Maybe, then, he was. His support of the scientific community was not only encouraging, but exhilarating. For a while, his collaboration with agronomists, biotechnologists, and agro-ecologists, to name a few, was an example the world over to engage. It brought nations together who, otherwise, may have remained isolated. His appearance was stoic. He would orate from a decorated platform from his palatial headquarters, in his flawless formal uniform. She remembered his country’s red & black flag - the Sea Serpent Rising from the Dark Sea - furled on display in the background. His people were like the serpent, he would say, no matter how many times they were driven to the bottom, they would rise…always. It would be only a matter of time before the serpent and Dark Sea symbol would come to represent unleashed evil; like Azgar himself.

Azgar led Reeza to a portal hatch off to the side of navigation. Without discernment, he manipulated controls anticipating the hatch to slide open. As you can see, he summarized. These doors are frozen. Possibly malfunctioning.

They moved on to what Reeza knew as the Navigation Bay; a fifteen-foot port of intricate technology. With its rolling digitalization, panels of flickering knobs, and row of smaller monitors; it was completely out of Reeza’s métier. It took her back to her youth when she watched a kid’s show on tele-video –‘Captain 7’. An actor decked-out in a gaudy, futuristic space-suit was known to his audience of children as Captain 7. He stood in front of a panel with multi-colored wavering lights of a simulated spaceship and introduced animated shows by punching make-believe controls. Innumerable were the times of war - in foxholes, burnt out shelters, and firebombed ditches – Reeza would recall memories from her childhood and wished she could return that very moment. This was one of those moments; back home, warm and safe; watching Captain 7.

Azgar reached for a control. Reeza snatched his hand mid-reach. He spun toward her with surprise. You know what this is? he asked suspiciously.

Uh, no. But, she started slowly, "if this ship is on a predetermined course and we are the only conscious beings on board