Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet (52 page)

As Winslow turned a
corridor guarded by Martian Marines, he saw the entrance to the
room where Wakinyan was. His gate slowed even more to a lagging
stroll.

There were many good things
to report to the commander, such as the total annihilation of the
enemy fleet, that the casualties were less than projected, and that
Captain Gagarin had been found alive. There were also the bonuses
of the logs and computer data that could be salvaged from some of
the derelict Earth ships as well as technology waiting to be
reversed engineered. These were all good things, but they had to
keep until a moment of sadness had well passed.

Finally, John came upon
the room and stopped. He felt a dark veil surrounding the chamber,
and the mystery of death waiting inside. It was a heavy and
enigmatic sensation, which was very unsettling. Still, he had to go
in, duty required it. Steeling himself for what lay beyond; John
entered to the overpowering smell of alcohol and disinfectant, and
joined the
deathwatch
within.

As the
hatch closed behind him, his uneasiness grew. John saw the
Ariana’s
Chaplain
administering last rites to Wakinyan’s friend, Captain James
Randall. Next to the dying man stood Wakinyan, his swelled and
discolored right arm lashed to a splint. Wakinyan had spurned
treatment and forsook his throbbing pain, refusing to leave his
friend for even a scant second.

Hovering
close on the other side, were the
Mariner’s
chief surgeon and the
Ariana’s
ship’s doctor.
Captain Tara Nargis and General Franks were on hand as well,
rendering their respect and what support they could give as they
stood half way between Randall’s gurney and the
hatchway.

Jim seemed to be having a
disturbed sleep. He mumbled under his breath, while his head
sometimes made small movements and jerks that pulled against the
oxygen tubes that were stuck up his nostrils.

Richard’s face was painted
with grief at watching his friend’s life slip away. Not even the
IV’s; which flowed saline solution, painkillers, and other
medicines into Jim’s veins; were able to stem the ebbing tide of
his life.

John moved closer to Franks
and whispered in his ear, “How is he doing?”

Franks slightly shook his
head. “He’s pretty bad! They stabilized him and made him
comfortable—but that’s all they really could do.” Franks paused for
a moment. “I think it will be over soon,” he added
dolefully.

John frowned. The sight was
heart wrenching and he wished he had never walked in.

The Catholic priest finally
finished and stepped back just as Randall awoke. Jim looked up and
smiled weakly at Wakinyan. “You wearing that long face for me,
Rich?” he asked.

“No,” Wakinyan said as he
looked down at the floor. “I’ve kind of broke my arm—and it’s a
little painful.”

“Yeah, I bet it is,” Jim
knew he was lying. “I was just talking to Paladin about you,” he
continued.

“What did he say?” Wakinyan
asked sadly, humoring the man while forcing out his words in hushed
tones.

“He’s very proud of you!”
Jim beamed. “He knew you would stop them!”

“It was his fleet that
stopped them—not me!” Wakinyan thought of the many brave mariners
and marines who gave their lives.

“That’s not what he
thinks,” James was insistent. “He said you’ve done so well that
he’s giving you another assignment.”

“Is he now,” Richard played
along.

“It’s transporting
something—or someone—and it’s really very important!” James was
unsure of the cargo. “He also said, you knew the way.”

For a moment, Richard
paused. “I always do,” he said as a tear leaked out from an
eye.

James rational mind and
memory then began to fade. “He’s having Boosy fly escort. That’s
queer, I didn’t know our fighters could do that?”

Wakinyan bit his lip.
“They’ve been modified,” Richard’s voice quivered. “Boosy can fly
anywhere she wants to now!” his words breaking up at the
end.

Winslow wiped away a few
tears that unexpectedly rolled down his own cheeks.

James eyes slowly began to
close. “Mr. Edwards wants to know the course, Captain,” his speech
began to slur.

Wakinyan took a breath as
more tears coated his face. “Tell him, Mars! We’re going back to
Mars!”

“We’re going home?” James
questioned happily.

“Yeah. We’re all going
home!” Richard cried a little as spoke to his friend.

Tara
covered her face with her hands and turned away. She began a quiet
weeping that was irrepressible. The sacrifices made by Jim and
Boosy that she saw earlier in the
Mariner’s
hanger bay still did not
prepare her for this. Yet, their deaths like the others had to be
if this new world was to be born and the race of the Valamar was to
be given a chance to allow the descendents of humanity to prosper
among the stars. Although neither Colette Boussard nor James
Randall would be recognized for it, their rolls in the battle were
preeminent to the beginning of this destiny.

Still she grieved because
it was seemed so unjust, so unfair. But the forfeiture of their
lives was always to be taken to heart by Richard Wakinyan and
reflected in his deeds so as never to be in vain. As always, the
greatest worth was placed only upon things earned by the most
difficult struggle and sacrifice it took to pay for
them.

“That’s great!” Jim’s
smile broadened. “Home again—I can’t wait!”

Richard’s left hand took
hold of Jim’s and squeezed it gently while the ache in his heart
increased.

“Orders, captain?” James
asked obediently to the officer he long served.

Richard took another deep
breath and swallowed hard. “Shields up. Set the maneuvering watch
and have Smitty start all outboard engines,” he
sniffled.

“Shields
up. Maneuvering watch now set, Sir,” Jim brought the ghost of
the
Crazy Horse
to
a state of readiness. “All outboard motors started and at nominal
power.”

“Weigh anchor and castoff.
Have Smitty move her forward,” Richard painfully visualized his
dead bridge crew manning their positions and getting the spectral
ship underway. He then cried a little more.

“Anchor weighed and moving
forward, Sir.”

“Set jump points,” Wakinyan
ordained his second in command of the otherworldly destroyer.
“Activate main drives and ready jump engines,”

For a moment, Jim paused and then made a few
indiscernible mutterings as though he was talking to someone else.
But then his voice came back and rose in continuance. “Main drives
activated and jump engine online, Captain. We should be there
pretty quick. Listen? Do you hear them? Do you hear those engines?
Marcus has got them really purring!”

“I hear them!” Wakinyan
lied again. “Bring her up slowly—and go to sub-light flank,”
Richard commanded his phantom ship.

“Aye, Sir. She’s coming up
now, Captain—going to flank. Wow! She’s really moving! I’ve never
seen her traveling this fast before!” Jim observed the ship’s
departure in his mind. “Approaching jump point.”

Richard hesitated, as the
room seemed to darken and collapse around them. It was as though a
black hole had formed and was sucking the last of Jim’s life force
away. Wakinyan was absolutely sure about what was going to happen
next, and his heart pounded in timorous apprehension. But it was
not to be forestalled any longer, for Randall’s fate was
fixed.

“On my command.
“Five—four—three—two—one.”

Suddenly, a numbing shiver
took Wakinyan as his voice totally broke up, his head noticeable
trembling as tears began to course unhindered from his eyes. The
last word stuck in Richard’s throat, as though a nail had been
driven into it to hold it there.

Jim abruptly let out a
short, but painful moan.

Richard then shut his eyes
tightly, dreading the next word he would have to speak. He realized
the moment of their parting was now at hand. With his face twisted
in anguish, he had to find the courage to give the dying man one
final order.

A deathly silence fell over
the room in a held interlude of despair. It was as though the
chamber was its own, sad universe, quite separate from everything
else that existed. And it fell to Wakinyan to end it, regardless
that the two men had been closer than brothers. In this instant,
the last of Wakinyan’s hope failed, knowing that nothing could be
done to save the life of his best friend.

“Jump!” a forceful whisper
at last emerged from Richard’s mouth.

Jim then let out a small
wheeze and went silent. His head fell limply to the
side.

Both doctors swiftly began
checking Jim for signs of life. But as their medical scanners ran
through each routine, they all came back with a single word:
“negative”.

“That’s it,” one of them
announced teary-eyed and with finality.

For a moment, Wakinyan
stood disbelieving. Then he suddenly fell to his knees and began
loudly sobbing uncontrollably. Richard buried his face in Jim’s
body, as he mourned. Still, Rich’s left hand tightly, but shakily
gripped his friend’s like a vice as though to hold Jim’s spirit
there.

The chaplain took a short
pace forward to Jim once more. Gently his hands began caressing
Jim’s head. “Accept the soul of Captain James Andrew Randall into
Thy Kingdom, O’Lord, Thy heroic—and most loving servant!” he asked
God humbly in sorrow.

It was then that Winslow
lost it and quickly left the room.

* * * * *

Epilogue

Tara held
Wakinyan tightly by the waist, drawing him into her as they walked
slowly down a corridor of the
Ariana
. His left arm was wrapped
closely around her neck for more support as her taught grip pulled
at his wrist. The top of Richard’s flight suit dangled loosely from
his shoulders, revealing new bruises and old scars. The warrior’s
right arm was encased in a hollow plastic cast that bubbled in a
healing fluid, but yet rigidly kept his broken arm immobile with
the aid of a sling that was fastened around his neck. His eyes were
dark and sunken while his face was cast in a long and disorientated
expression that was pale of color. To transient crewmen of chance
encounter, his demeanor was evidence of how brutally climactic the
previous battle really was.

Wakinyan was exhausted
physically, mentally, and emotionally. Sometimes faltering as he
stepped, passing mariners occasionally reached out to steady him.
They knew from the dazed, unblinking stare in his eyes that the man
had succumbed to a mixture of bodily trauma, painkillers, battle
fatigue, and grief. Yet, Richard fought to stay on his feet as a
semblance of pride in him refused any help.

As the woman gently guided
“her knight” passed Martian Marine guards, immense respect swelled
in their hearts while pity moistened their eyes and a sniffle or
two was heard. Brisk salutes offered their devotion in willful
speed, precision, and execution. They were extremely proud of the
man who had led them.

Wakinyan, however, did not
see their tokens of military courtesy and personal esteem. Adrift
in the waters of an unthinking mental haze, the strain of command
and battle had taken its toll upon him. Regardless of the great
inner strength that he still wielded, the man was in dire need of
the necessity of rest. And as Tara conducted Wakinyan to her cabin,
she was completely determined that he would have it.

The mutant woman had appointed herself as Richard’s
nurse and guardian to the surprise of all, especially General
Franks and Deputy Commander Winslow. By the resolute expression on
her face, they had realized that Tara would not have it any other
way. She had even gotten nose-to-nose with Winslow at one point,
terrifying the officer with a steadfast gaze from her penetrating
black eyes and overwhelming presence.

“You will let him rest!”
she had ordered John. “No one is going to disturb him until he’s
fully recovered!” she intimidated Winslow with an implied threat of
her intervention. Somewhat promptly after that, all then agreed to
Tara’s demands.

After finally reaching her
cabin, the two entered. Tara quickly directed Wakinyan to her bunk,
and sat him down. She then removed the old war knife that was
hastily tucked into his belt.

As she took the sheathed
blade by its handle, a sudden jolt of tingling and surging energy
shocked her hand into releasing her grip. The knife fell away and
banged hard on the deck before coming to halt several feet
beyond.

To the psychic woman, the
strong and unusual energy the knife contained not only had
temporarily incapacitated her arm, but also reached beyond her
great powers of perception. It touched an infinite plane of
existence that she was totally blind to, and this frightened
her.

As she looked down upon the
knife, Tara became reluctant to grip it again. Only after her
initial hesitation and overcoming her own fear, did she slowly
reached for the weapon once more.