Imminent Destruction

Horace shined a subtle light on Destiny’s face when she awoke, allowing her eyes to adjust as the light slowly gained strength. She sat up and arched her stiff back only to realize she was naked. There wasn’t even a blanket, and Horace’s robotic instruments kept applying something warm and wet to her skin. One landed on her wrist, pressing it down before pulling back into the panel again. She felt the spot afterwards, but nothing was there, it didn’t even feel moist.

“Horse radish, what are you doing?”

“Applying medication that absorbs through the skin. You’ve three hours before the effects of the restriction device wear off. Your privacy has been assured by the force field screens around the bed, which can only be downed by orders of the captain or yourself. I know what you’re thinking, he didn’t watch or participate in the removal of your garments.”

“He didn’t?”

“You may sit if you like, but I must have full access to prevent tissue atrophy. Your situation was critical, and is still far from stable. After effects of restriction wave devices are unpredictable, without treatment, you could die at any moment.”

“I can’t lay still without my clothes. This is barbaric! Can’t I at least have a blanket or a sheet?”

“Sergeant Payson, the area is currently slightly warmer than room temperature. Also, I’m a computer. I assure you I have no interest in your anatomy.” Two small rectangular sheets no bigger than paper ejected from the panel above. “Use these to cover your reproductive areas if you’ll feel more comfortable. When I’m finished, a fresh uniform will be provided.”

“This is humiliating!” she yelled, kicking her legs in the air.

“I’ll be forced to anesthetize you if continue this dangerous behavior.”

She laid down and closed her eyes while using the towels to cover her midsection and her chest. A velvet streak formed across the center of her face, from ear to ear, even though the screened encasement around her bed was complete, a lowered wall.

“You better not lower that force field until I’m dressed Horace. I’ll scramble your system if you dare.”

“I cannot fear for my prospects. But you can always program me to not take action in the event this happens again, even though you might not survive.”

A faint headache resonated from Destiny’s lower neck like a light drumming on the top of her spine, forcing intense pain into her skull. She squeezed her temples. Something wet pushed the back of her neck. Horace chided her to remain still; when it withdrew, the pain was gone.

“Don’t worry. The medicine weakens the current without causing conflict in your nervous system. I won’t let your blood vessels restrict for long. You just have to cooperate.”

-----

Fade awoke. A clean bandage lined with cell restorative on the inside wrapped gently over his shoulder. The restorative had almost closed the wound. A repaired trench coat hung on a nearby wall, he checked to make sure his gun was properly holstered inside before pulling it on. Through the screen he saw only a slight shadow of the bed, until Destiny jumped upwards, revealing her silhouette and those of the little towels that flew into the air.

“You perverted machine! Get your probes off me!”

“I have to work over any location of poor blood flow Miss Payson. And I do not possess fingers, only mechanical probes.”

“You better let Horace finish,” Fade called, “He won’t bite, you should know that, you’re his new programmer, after all.”

Like a leaf in the wind, Destiny pulled the towels from the floor and jumped back in bed.

“I’ll make you pay for this. This is completely wrong.”

“Nobody’s watching. Think of it as taking a long bath. Haven’t you ever taken one before?”

“This machine won’t stop touching me. It feels weird.”

"You should have thought about that before you stuck your nose where it didn’t belong. I have to go now, so good luck for the next few hours. Horace will get you your clothes when he’s done.”

“You can’t leave me here alone!”

Fade smirked, “You’re not alone, you have Horace.”

-----

Winds from the north, powerful gusts, brought snowfall to the open tundra. The temperature plummeted to fifty three degrees below zero, and a layer of snow half a meter deep accumulated around the Cozy Tavern. Paul scraped frozen slush off his roof, which was applying tremendous pressure to the composite fiberboard beams and their insulation. When he finished, the shingles had only icy remains, but towards the steel ladder on the left side of the house it had already accumulated a full two centimeters. The ladder vibrated against the brown clay of the side walls as he descended.

With the last jump, his boots buried themselves in thick white powder. He walked into a small cold workroom, dumping his plush coat inside a plastic basket, ripping off his boots and throwing them on top of the pile before pounding loose the caked ice on his jeans. The green oval rug warmed his stocking feet as he felt a blast of warm air from the registers; the heater was working. The standard model phone with white monitor had a floating device and body chemistry sensors which allowed it to follow its owner during a call. He dialed the console. A young man appeared on the screen.

“Hakkut Fleet Control Center, please state your name, and the purpose of your call.”

“I’m Paul Payson, my daughter is stationed on the Imminent Destruction. Her name is Destiny Payson. Can I please talk to her?”

“Sir, if you can hold a moment, I’ll put you on with our personnel manager.”

Soft music played from the background while advertisements for chewing gum and life insurance crowded the telephone’s video screen. Paul sat in his big green arm chair, tapping his fingers on the worn rests as the screen hovered in front of him. The penned note he found on the refrigerator last morning was stuck on the right arm of his chair. She was off to make it big in the galaxy. He turned on the television set. It fired up at channel forty-nine. A debate about the war with two men arguing about how to best counter the Buldethian strength philosophy broadcast. He turned channels until he received a live war update. The media reported from a permanent studio inside the recently recommissioned Imperial mother ship, the Dorian.

“.....think hostilities will begin?” A woman from the studio asked questions of a field correspondent on the media observation deck of the Dorian. A boxy Rigor 5a fighter passed by the windows; its elongated snout shone in the mother ship’s light. The fighter’s primary wings created an X shape extending from the hull.

“Hostilities could literally begin at any moment. In fact, the fleet has already opened fire on Buldethian recon patrols. One enemy ship has already been destroyed. That has been confirmed by Spokesman Shou of the Dorian’s crew. As of now the Main fleets are keeping themselves safely out of cannon range, even the Dorian’s main gun could scarcely touch the enemy fleet at this range. We have not seen any missiles or torpedoes yet, either from Buldethian fleet or from the Dorian, but word from fleet command is that this battle will be finished quickly, and victoriously.”

“Are you sure no homing missiles have been used?” asked the studio woman.

“No, there are no reports of missile launches of any kind, at least not yet.”

“Is the Dorian well protected? How many other warships are in the fleet?”

"Most of the Independent battle corp. has arrived, with the exception of the Imminent Destruction. Though Reports received from Shou indicate the mercenary cruiser will arrive shortly. There was speculation that it was destroyed by a pirate raiding party, but those early reports have proven unreliable. The Imminent Destruction, though it has suffered a severe downgrade of its offensive capabilities, has not surrendered to the pirate fleet as we reported earlier; indeed, the outnumbered cruiser has shown tremendous fortitude in battle by eliminating a larger, more agile force after being caught in an ambush. Nobody knows if the pirates were conducting a routine raid, or if they were organized by the enemy, but this will be investigated after matters here settle down.”

A uniformed gentleman handed the military correspondent a paper. He examined it quickly.

“This just in. The Imminent Destruction has jumped in a few thousand kilometers behind the fleet and is currently joining formation. I have received word that the damage suffered while engaged with the renegade pirates is superficial in nature. This will make a total of five cruisers to support the mother ship.”

The music on the phone stopped; Paul muted the television leaving the questioning studio anchor to open her mouth in silence.

“Hello, this is Ed from personnel, who’s on the line?”

Ed spoke from a cubicle office among a jungle of them, many of which were empty. He had to type reports while listening to callers on his headphones.

“This is Paul Payson, my daughter is on the Imminent Destruction. I need to speak with her. She could be a crew member, but she could be unauthorized as of yet. I don’t know.”

“One second, I need to check the database,”

Paul heard typing over the phone.

“We’re having trouble with our Tachyon generator. If the Imminent Destruction has jumped from the region, it may not be plausible to send communications. However our receiver is still functional, we’ll check for incoming messages. How old is your daughter?”

“She’s only twenty years old, why?”

“Her service is not illegal; in case you wish to have her returned home. The minimum age of sixteen for military service also applies to mercenaries. There’s a communication from the Imminent Destruction, it’s a video log mailing. It’s already been wired to your phone. Don’t you know how to receive mailings?”

“I’m sorry, an oversight on my part,” Paul said, hanging up.

He scrolled through a short list of neglected messages until he found one from the Imminent Destruction. The coordinates indicated some empty region of space between Hakkut and the battle sector. He selected it. No video registered, simply a black screen with a white line across it and Fade’s voice.

“Paul, Destiny’s with me. She snuck aboard of her own free will and demonstrated some skill with our computer system. She insisted on being a part of the crew, and I had no choice but to comply or keep her locked up in a prison cell. I’ll try to convince her this was a mistake. On that note, she’s undergoing intensive combat training, nothing lethal. I’ll have her get in touch with you when she’s ready. Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen. Signing off.”

“You better not.”

Paul sunk into his arm chair as the line faded from the screen.