Asylonia

4. 3005

IV.

In the dead of space some 12,000 kilometres above the Earth's atmosphere, where neither night nor day existed and planets hung in the distance like sequins scattered across a midnight-blue gown, United Earth Force Patrol Sergeant Hogan Ferris sat bored out of his mind.

His F-19 Gen-X Thunder Fighter Security Ship hovered lazily at the entrance to The Olhsdorf, a dual-purpose base serving as both a huge intergalactic graveyard for destroyed Earth Force ships, and a mortuary for those who had once piloted them.

Inside the ship, Hogan reclined in his seat. His vigilance was fading, his enthusiasm had already departed some time ago. With four hours remaining on his shift, he was eager to return home. When he got there, he would creep quietly into bed beside his beautiful wife Lynn, with one arm across her waist, the other lazily combing through her hair. His lips would dance delicately on the back of her neck, and together they would fall into a soft, easy slumber. In the morning he would treat her to a lavish breakfast in bed. They would make love, then spend the day with their three beautiful daughters, Amber, Kendra and Amanda.

Together, they would gather around the breakfast table and strike another day off the calendar. Two months, twelve days, four hours until the end of his tenure as UEF night guard, unappreciated defender of the earth and unsung protector of The People. After that, the United Earth Force would suit him and boot him. They would stick him in some office where he could happily see out his days shuffling bits of paper from one place to the next.

Hogan finished rolling his cigarette, leaned back in the cramped cockpit and smiled at the very thought. Oh, how good life would be just two and a half months from now. No more would he spend the dark hours praying that his family were safe at home, while they knelt by their beds, praying that Daddy would return home unharmed. Working an office job, he could provide for them in the relative safety of daylight and be home to protect them by nightfall. Having guarded The Ohlsdorf for so long, he would, at last, be around to guard the people he truly cared about.

Hogan brought a flame to the hand-rolled cigarette resting between his lips and watched the paper curl in the heat. Ash fell against the control bank and sank into the tiny gap around the autopilot controls. A thin veil of smoke floated from his cracked lips and engulfed the cockpit as he savoured the rare moment of peace.

It had been a quiet night. Only the occasional arrival of a salvage crew had broken the monotony. He had carried out the necessary security procedures casually, and without the air of authority expected of his position. He joked over the radio with the salvage pilots and sent them through without fuss. They thanked him, descended into The Ohlsdorf to collect a fresh load of corpses, salvageable ship parts or weaponry, then bid Sergeant Ferris farewell and went on their way.

Hours had passed since the last ship came by and Hogan was sure that no more would. Not on that night, not when too much activity in this otherwise desolate bank of space would likely attract the wrong kind of attention.

Discarding the dying end of his cigarette in an empty coffee cup, Hogan slapped his restless hands against the control yoke and beat his heavy boot against a floor pedal, kicking the engines into action. The F-19 thrust forward. Hogan steered a course around the perimeter of the battleground. No movement. No sign of life. All calm. All good.

The radio scratched and fizzed. The radar flashed eagerly with signs of an approaching vessel. Hogan wove the fingers of his huge hands together, cracked his knuckles and stifled a yawn.

'This is United Earth Force Security Vehicle Three Zero Zero Five. Who goes there? Repeat. Who goes there? Over.'

An entirely unrecognisable voice, its accent a hybrid of Spanish and Italian, creaked through the speakers.