Free The Fleet by John Davis Page B

building 4-1-6-A.” one of his soldiers announced. Having stopped
to deliver the news to Adam and the rest of his crew.
    Adam offered
no reply, but had already noticed each building being tagged with a
combination of numbers and letters. Red spray paint easily visible
against the sandstone color of the buildings which stood across the
city.
    He would have
his son to their quarters soon enough. Even though Adam was
exhausted, he'd spend a bit of time looking around their new home.
Feeling guilty about his lack of knowledge when it came to the
city's history, while feeling blessed enough to have made it here
alive – his son in his arms.
    Several larger
tower-shaped buildings cascaded up to the heavens. Nearly touching
the low-laying clouds above. Meanwhile, hundreds of smaller,
square-shaped buildings spread across the rocky terrain within the
city. And they appeared to be built just as sturdy. The husk having
taken their time building this jewel of a city many centuries
before.
    Adam looked
across the reaches of landscape. Vibrant green hills rolling in the
backdrop of his sight, while large rocks lay in many of the open
areas. Giving the area a mountainous feel.
    It looked
almost like a medieval setting, if not for the piles of travel
weary spaceships which had landed and were undergoing repairs.
    Adam still
hadn't learned the city's name. He knew nothing of New Glimmeria's
staying power, or even where his designated building was. But he
knew one thing from beginning to end when it came to both him and
his son.
    They were
home.
     
    *
     
    As Dalton and
his group of very-reserved soldiers eased their shuttle into the
large warship of the Viscion, immediately they began to notice
differences.
    Much of the
ship's interior looked transparent. Made of crystal, almost, though
it held together like steel. Complete with the rivet of bolts.
    Several
computer screens were integrated within the ship's walls, each of
them seeming a bit milky as bright led light flashed across in
vivid coloring. A language written – though none of Dalton's crew
understood a bit of it.
    Several of the
Viscion stood tall, rifles of some sort resting in their arms as
another similar to them awaited the shuttle's landing. This one
appearing to be in charge – his outfit a little less combative and
trimmed more properly.
    “Well boys,”
Dalton said as he threw the smoldering cigar stump to the floor of
their shuttle. Stomping it out with the thick of his boot bottom.
“It's go time.”
    Though none of
the crew understood his words, each syllable brought with it fame.
A phrase uttered by Dalton James when the shit was about to hit the
fan, so to speak. It was his admission that the cuffs were off, the
whiskey had ran dry and hell was about to be raised. If need
be.
    “Commander
James,” the Viscion said. Lowering himself a bit. “My people are
honored by your visit.”
    The snapping
of tongue made Dalton and his men feel a bit awkward. The Viscion
speaking a very slow and direct language. As the translation boxes
mounted to their shoulders processed and cleaned up the language
for human ears, however, Dalton seemed to ease up. Just a
little.
    That ease
quickly vanished as the Viscion soldiers aimed down on them. Rifles
of a strange design sighting them up as a precautionary
measure.
    Small red
triangles flashed onto their chests. A warning by any language that
one wrong move would be the last.
    “What the hell
is this about?” Dalton angrily asked.
    “My apologies.
It is standard procedure to disarm any boarding party that lands on
this ship.”
    Dalton glanced
hard at the beast, knowing nothing about their race or intentions.
Fighting back the urge to slap teeth from its mouth with as little
as a shady blink of the eye.
    “You have my
word. No harm will come to you or any among your boarding
party.”
    Whipping his
shotgun around quickly and bringing the entire confrontation to an
alarming moment; Dalton spun it a bit to hand it over to