| |
A LOT COULD HAPPEN in eighteen months. A year and a half. About five hundred and forty days.
Staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, Finn Radko sighed.
A lot could happen, but very little actually had happened – at least, very little that would move the Commonwealth toward its ultimate goal of liberating Earth from the ril-galas occupation. They still held Thor’s Hammer, the space station which had become the base of operations for the fight against the invaders. While the Commonwealth had also reclaimed a handful of colonies and installations, no attempt had been made to launch any kind of large-scale assault on the ril-galas defences surrounding humanity’s birthplace. The so-called "Hornet's Nest"—the fortified deployment station in Earth orbit—remained untouched and unchallenged.
Splashing some cool water onto his face, Radko simply stood for a moment, head hung low over the sink, letting the droplets roll down his skin and drop into the stainless steel bowl. After a moment of stillness, he reached out for a towel, wiping away the remaining dampness before hanging the towel once more and scowling at his reflection.
He looked tired.
He had two days' worth of stubble.
Too many late nights, too many meetings. Too many plans and too many angles to consider. Sooner or later, he knew, it was all going to catch up to him and he was going to crash.
Flexing his fingers twice, Radko slowly did up each of the six brass buttons on his crimson uniform jacket.
Briefly, the scowl turned to an almost-smile.
When he did finally crash, he was going to make damn sure he'd sown some chaos in his wake—chaos for the ril-galas invaders and, as his father would have said, "God willin' and the creek don't rise," a wake-up call to humanity.
Chuckling to himself, Radko headed into the main part of his quarters.
Had Radko set up quarters on Thor’s Hammer, like many senior officers in the Commonwealth Navy, he would have lived in much greater comfort and with much more personal space. Several people had tried to convince him that he should do so, that a senior officer should be seen to be living at a higher level – literally and figuratively – than the general masses, but Radko had, with increasingly lower levels of politeness, refused the offers. To begin with, the fact that they would all include him in the category of senior Commonwealth Naval officer just served to illustrate how desperate their situation had become. When the ril-galas invasion had hit, he’d been a Lieutenant Commander and had served as the executive officer of the HMCS Vimy Ridge for less than a year. Though he’d been promoted to full Commander immediately after spearheading the liberation of Thor’s Hammer, he would never have been called senior in the days before the ril-galas. In the days before the world ended. And while that reason alone would have been enough for him to refuse, Radko was also uncomfortable living off-ship for more practical reasons: living on-ship, in an emergency he could be on the command deck of the Vimy Ridge in thirty seconds. The airlocks on the docking pylons alone took twenty seconds to complete their cycle, and above that there was the time it would take him to traverse the station itself. If the ril-galas decided to launch an assault on Thor’s Hammer...
Radko carried enough guilt about his various decisions without adding the possibility of more deaths due to his decision to sleep in a softer bed.
A knock at the door derailed his train of thought – a train carrying precious little cargo, he could admit – and tapping the door controls, he forced a smile as Anna Cortez stepped into the room carrying a simple manila folder.
"Anna."
"Morning, Finn."
Like most of the Vimy Ridge crew, Cortez had grown older since the destruction of Echo Station. Radko himself was starting to see little streaks of grey at his temples and though Cortez had only just turned twenty-one, she bore the weight of her experiences as much as he.
"Are you ready?" she said.
He chuckled without a hint of humour.
"Yeah, not really," he said, then paused for a moment. "How are you feeling?"
"I’m good."
Radko didn’t believe her and evidently, it showed in his face. With a smile, Cortez reached out and gave him a big hug.
"Really, Finn, I’m good. The new meds are easier on me than the last – I’m not having any problems eating now."
"Okay," said Radko, sounding anything but okay. "Anything I should be aware of before I walk into this thing?"
Releasing him from the embrace, Cortez flipped open the folder. It was stamped with the crest of Commonwealth Naval Intelligence. Once upon a time, it had been Radko’s area of specialization – one of several reasons why a nineteen year old Cadet named Cortez had been assigned as his assistant during her field placement. But now, as the official Intel liason between all branches of the Commonwealth Armed Forces, Cortez was far exceeding what anyone had expected of her.
Radko was absurdly proud of her for it and made sure she knew.
Once upon a time, he’d been the kind of person who would keep a lot of what he was feeling tucked away, but he’d left that kind of approach behind. He’d left it back in the debris field that was once Echo Station, back where he’d left any expectation that he would ever again have anything resembling a normal life.
"Well," said Cortez, flipping through some pages. "We've confirmed that Mahoney will be there this time, so that's probably a good thing? Unfortunately, Bianca Upshaw will also be attending."
Radko swore under his breath as the pair exited his quarters and began heading through the corridors of the Vimy Ridge toward the airlock.
Upshaw. Ever since the ril-galas took Earth, the Commonwealth’s reliance upon ATC Castle had been increasing exponentially and, much to the displeasure of many, their political influence had grown proportionally. And it had done so in the person of Bianca Upshaw, former director of training with the private contractor, but now acting as their primary representative in all dealings with the Commonwealth.
To say she was not a fan of Finn Radko would be an understatement.
"This could be interesting."
"When is it not?" said Cortez.