Vox was stepping out of the Sandstorm when he heard the sound of gunfire.  Two loud blasts echoed in and out of the small inner chamber of the ship.  He paused briefly, then turned back and grabbed the heavy machine gun he'd placed down on one of the seats.  He had expected a quick and unencumbered evacuation; the gunfire changed his assessment of the situation.  Vox ran off in the direction that he'd seen Johnny eagerly rush towards.

***

Captain Armon looked up and turned to the officers on his bridge.  He cleared his throat and addressed them.  "Men, what happened last night, none of us could have anticipated.  The battle suddenly came to us.  Given our complete lack of preparation for such an event, I believe that our response was adequate.  We fought off the creatures, and we came out on top.  Now, I don't want to make any promises, but I feel that there will be some kind of commendation for the crew."  He punctuated this last point with a small chuckle and a wave of his hand.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew his handkerchief.  He dabbed at the sweat on his forehead and his temples before he continued with his harangue.  "Now gentlemen, I'm sure that we're all anxious to have some time off.  As most of you well know, we are set to head back to the yards in about five minutes.  Once we get there, I'll try to throw around some weight and get you guys your due leave."

He shuffled his feet and coughed.  "As for now, I'd like you to begin preparations for departure.  We will stick with the schedule that has been set forth for us."  With this, Armon turned and retired to his private quarters.  He locked the door behind him and slowly made his way to his bedroom. 

He sat down and put his elbows on his thighs and his chin in the palm of his right hand.  With his left hand, he reached over and pulled a bottle of scotch out of his nightstand.  It was one of the many little privileges afforded a man of his rank, and he cherished its flavor and quality.  Not tonight, though.  Tonight all he wanted was to drown his worries.  He drank straight from the bottle.

***

"I never meant to hurt you.  You must know that," said Cool Hand as he leaned down, staring blankly in Johnny's direction.

"I know.  It's alright," said Johnny.  He was clutching his stomach with one hand and nervously picking at the grass with his other hand.  His head was turned to the side, looking off towards the clearing, not at Cool Hand.

"Oh, no," came a voice from a short distance away.  Neither of the men responded.  Vox quickly made his way to them and knelt down beside Johnny.  "He's not hurt too bad, but we need to hurry.  The cruiser will be leaving soon, and if we're not there, I don't know what the captain will do.  Cool Hand, you grab his legs," said Vox as he bent down to grab at Johnny's shoulders.

Cool Hand didn't move.  He just kept staring.  Vox looked up and noticed this.  He loosed his grip on Johnny's shoulders and grabbed Cool Hand's instead.  Vox gave Cool Hand a sharp slap across the face.

"Now you listen to me, son," Vox said as he stared Cool Hand right in the eyes.  "We need to get back to the cruiser as quickly as possible.  That means you and I have to take Johnny to the Sandstorm as quickly as possible.  Johnny still has a chance to live, but if you just sit here on your ass, he will most certainly die."  Vox took a deep breath and gave Cool Hand a little shake before he let go of him.  "Now, grab Johnny's legs and we'll take him to the ship."

Cool Hand did as he was told, and he and Vox began to carry Johnny.  "Don't worry, it isn't far," reassured Vox.  In fact, he could see the dropship from where he was standing, and it was only a matter of seconds before they had reached it.  They placed Johnny on the floor of the ship, as the seats were not well suited for lying down.

Vox went to close the doors when suddenly something sparked inside of Cool Hand.  "Rodriguez!" he exclaimed as he ran out of the ship.  Before Vox could say anything, Cool Hand had already left.

"Hurry up!" Vox shouted as he turned to the ship's controls.  He didn't run out to help Cool Hand because he knew it was only half a body.  Instead, he began to prep the ship for launch.

Cool Hand returned shortly and placed Rodriguez's torso in the far corner of the ship.  "Leave no one behind," he said through hurried breaths.

"Yes, I know," said Vox.  "Now shut the door and strap yourself in."  Vox reached for the controls and set the ship in motion as he heard the characteristic scream of metal on metal that signaled the closing hatch.  Cool Hand was strapped in as the Sandstorm began its ascent.

***

They had left on their way to the yards fifteen minutes ago.  Armon was still in his chamber, and the slight hum of the engines slowly began to hypnotize him.  There was no where in the ship that one could escape the noise completely, even with the heavy padding in the crew quarters.  The noise just seemed to travel through the whole structure of the ship, until it seemed that every wall, floor, and ceiling was emitting the noise.  It was just something that people had to get used to on the older model ships.  The TSA wasn't about to spend a pretty fortune upgrading ship engines just because of a little murmur.

The noise had never bothered Armon much, though.  Until now, that is.  He held in his hands a small, half-empty glass.  In the far corner of the room lay the bottle in pieces.  A small mark was left on the wall from where it had smashed, following the throw from where Armon sat.  He had drunk the half bottle that had been remaining, and now he quickly threw back the remaining drink in his hand.  He placed the glass on the nightstand and rolled over onto his bed.  He brought his knees to his chest and clasped them with his arms.

The hum of the engines seemed to grow louder.  Armon grabbed his pillow and placed it over his ears, but he could still hear it.  He could still hear it.

"Coward.  Coward.  Coward," it seemed to say.  It didn't stop.  It kept taunting him.

"Shutup. Shutup.  Shutup!" Armon cried as he grabbed the glass off the nightstand and threw it in the corner, seeing it smash against the wall near where the bottle had done the same.

Now, it seemed that the voice was laughing at him.  Armon could swear that it was mocking him.  And the worst part about it all was that he knew the voice was right.  Deep down, he knew the voice was speaking the truth.  This caused Armon a pain like no wound he had ever received, and he didn't know how to relieve it.

He swung his legs back over the side of the bed and began to cry into the palms of his hands.  One hand soon strayed from his face and reached over for the top drawer on the nightstand.  It slowly pulled the drawer out and grasped the cold, hard metal inside.  Armon stopped crying and looked at the object in his hand as he drew it near to his body.  The standard issue pistol gleamed in the light streaming from above.  He turned it over in his hands a number of times before he acted upon the impulse it was feeding him.

He stood and began to fire off a half-dozen bullets, one each for the four walls, the floor, and the ceiling of his personal sleeping chamber.  As he spun to reach the four walls, he stumbled over his own inebriated feet and fell.  He then found himself sitting on the floor, leaning against the door.

The pistol was still in his hand, and it still attracted his attention.  The voice coming through now seemed so distant, so insignificant.  Now that he was holding the power in his hand, he felt that he was in control, that no imaginary voice was going to tell him what to do.  He placed the barrel of the pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

***

"Did you hear that?" asked one of the officers walking past the captain's chambers.

"Hear what?" asked the other officer he was walking with.

"It almost sounded like gunshots," he said, puzzled.  He knew that the combat had ended long ago, and that the ship had been run through many times over checking for hiding critters.  "It sounded like they were coming from the captain's chambers."

Just then, the final shot sounded, and the two were certain of what they heard.  They both drew the pistols that they had holstered at their side.  Cautiously, they opened the door that led to the captain's chambers.  Slowly, they stepped inside, only to find nothing suspicious.

"Over there," said one of the men, motioning to the bedroom, where two slivers of light were shining out from opposite sides under the door.  They took opposite sides of the door to watch as one reached over and pressed the button to open it.  The door slid up and both men watched the captain's body slump lifelessly onto the floor.

***

"Shit!" exclaimed Vox as he surveyed the various panels and instruments in the cockpit of the Sandstorm.  He took a deep breath and turned to head back to the main chamber where his men were.

"Bad news," he sighed as he looked at the expression on their two faces, an expression that told him they already knew what he was going to say.  "The cruiser left," he said anyways.  "We'll have to try and work on Johnny ourselves for now, and just hope that someone comes along and picks us up."

Vox went towards the storage cabinet on the far wall and pulled out a medkit.  He was able to stop the bleeding in Johnny's leg, which wasn't very much.  The bullet had only really passed through the side of the leg, about an inch in from the outside.  The stomach, however, was a different story.  Vox did what he could, smiled nervously at Johnny, and then at Cool Hand.

"There's some internal bleeding that I'm going to be unable to stop," Vox said dejectedly.  "If someone doesn't come along soon, Johnny, you may die."  With this, Vox lowered his head.  Johnny turned his back to the side, and continued staring blankly.

"How long?" asked Cool Hand, fighting back the large lump traveling up his throat.

"I really don't know," replied Vox.  "It could be a few hours.  I could be a few days.  I really don't know."  Vox turned and went back to the cockpit to try and find some rescue, any rescue.

Cool Hand simply stared at Johnny.

***

Though the cruiser had arrived at the Yards a short while ago, the investigation into the alien ambush and Armon's death had already begun.  Each member of the crew was to be interrogated, while all of the details of the ship were examined.  Crew lists were to be compared with corpses and living persons, the captain's actions were to be determined, and reasons needed to be found.

Comms officer Bradley was being debriefed.  He told the men on the other side of the table his version of the events that transpired during the assault.  The entire procedure was being recorded.  Nevertheless, special note was given to the orders that the captain issued at the start of the battle.  Bradley continued his tale without interruption.  At long last, he came to the point where Vox and Armon began their discussion.  He paused.

"Yes, please continue," came a voice after a short time had passed.

"The commander was explaining to the captain that one of his men had been accidentally ejected in an escape pod during the combat.  Vox wanted to send out a small search and rescue party to find him, but the captain would not hear of it.  He claimed that the missing soldier had left of his own accord, that he was a coward, and that he deserved nothing more than to die as the traitor that he was."

"And, what do you think on this matter?" interjected one of the men as he leaned forward.

"I cannot say for certain.  I was not there to witness the soldier's departure, and I know very little of the commander and even less of the soldier in question.  Though, I am more inclined to believe the commander."  Bradley took a sip of water from a glass set before him on the table.

"Why is that?" asked the same man.

"Because the commander would know his men much better than the captain of the ship they were stationed on."  To this, the men nodded and Bradley was allowed to continue telling his story.

When he again came to the name Vox, he paused briefly.  "Commander Vox took a ship and left without permission.  He went to try and find his man.  Only," Bradley stopped.

"Only what?"

"Only, there was not enough time for him to return before we left."

"What do you mean, exactly?"

"What I mean is, we left them behind.  We left before they could return.  They're probably still out there now for all I know."

Bradley took another sip of water and then shut his eyes.  He wanted to be someplace sunny and warm.  He wanted desperately to be gone.  The men at the other end of the table, meanwhile, were conversing in hushed whispers.  One of them was making violent hand gestures towards the bare emptiness of the table, while the other simply nodded in agreement.

Shortly, they stood up.  Bradley heard the sound of their chairs scraping on the floor and stood up as well.  "Thank you.  You are free to go now," one of the men said.  Bradley promptly exited the room.

***

Cool Hand stepped into the cockpit.  It had been almost a dozen hours since they had left the planet.  The ship was drifting.  They all knew that there was no chance that they'd ever make it to any inhabited or inhabitable area before they all died.  Johnny was slowly slipping away, and they were certain that he would be dead before the next hour came to pass.  There was no food on board, so it wouldn't be long afterwards before Cool Hand and Vox joined Johnny.  Still, for some impossible reason, the two in the cockpit still had hope.

They sat in silence, however, neither of them daring to utter a word.  No one had spoken for hours.  Vox continued to stare through the window into the hypnotizingly magnificent emptiness of space.  Cool Hand decided it would be best to join him.

Suddenly one of the control panels or view screens in front of them emitted a slight beep.  Vox was in too much of a trance to notice, but the sound drew Cool Hand's attention.  He noticed something on the radar display.  It was coming closer, and quickly at that.

He nudged Vox with his elbow and motioned to the screen.  Vox turned his head slightly, and then froze.  It beeped again, startling Vox.  He quickly checked as many of the other instruments as he could.

"It's one of ours!  It's a cruiser heading right for us!" he exclaimed as he began to send out the hailing signals.

"Hey Johnny!" yelled Cool Hand as he jumped back into the main chamber.  "We're getting you out of here!  You're going to be alright!"  Cool Hand felt as close to tears now as he had back on the planet's surface.

Vox continued to send signals to the ship.  He wasn't sure why he wasn't getting any response.  Out the window, he could see the ship coming closer.  He saw it in all its magnificent.  It looked like it was just commissioned into service, a brand new vessel patrolling the high seas for danger.

He could also see one of the cannons on the ship's starboard side slowly rotating.  It seemed to be pointing right at him, and he watched as it fired.  Before he could react, the entire ship shook violently from the force of the nearby explosion.  Cool Hand was knocked to the ground, and Vox hit his head hard against the window in front of him.

He rubbed his head and looked back out at the ship.  "What the hell?  Did they just fire a warning shot?"