by Drew Avera
Her stateroom was centered in a busy intersection of passageways. They ran through the ship like blood vessels reaching out to the outer portions of the Seratora, everything leading back to the center of the ship, the heartbeat. Sailors walked on quick feet, moving through the passages on missions to carry out some kind of order from some unseen face. They were all connected in some way, the Luthian Navy owned the sailors and marines onboard, but at the same time they felt like different entities. Their ties were superficial, something beyond a difference in color of their uniforms. Beneath the surface, they were trained to carry out different roles on the battlefield. The sailors fought in the dark, whereas the Marines were dropped into atmosphere and forced to fight their way through the hordes of enemy they came across. So far, the hordes of the enemy did more swarming than the Luthians did. Perhaps the Seratora would have better luck.
There was no day or night in the dark; neither was there a time when the passages were void of people. It was like a city that never slept. That is if cities could carry enough of a payload to wipe out civilization. The coming and going at all times made it difficult to know what time it was. Sometimes it seemed that time dragged slowly by. Other times it passed without much more than the blink of an eye. It was no wonder why so many people came back from the dark changed. If she thought about it too much she might notice a change in herself as well and she was only onboard for a few days or more. It was hard to tell anymore. Still, she craved some semblance of normalcy, but she doubted she would ever find it out here. She might not ever.
The silent drift of Seratora through the dark reminded her of what Surda must have been like before the wars, when the city was the epicenter of trade. History treated Surda as a mythical place, where God’s hand had touched the dirt and sprung forth a species of people to populate all of Luthia. Every world carried a similar tale, each more similar than the differences would imply when those passionate about religion would debate. But there was something that made her pause to question why such similarities could exist in an ever-expanding universe. Did God or something else touch the ground and breathe life into it? Somehow she doubted it, because in the end all of the races would snuff one another out and the gods of those dead worlds would be as dead as the dirt under Greshian feet.
Anki’s stateroom was shiny. It reflected light in a way that was more distracting than beautiful. The fact the light was artificial only made it worse. The bed was nice, though. Plush and large enough to support her body fully-stretched. She had seen the racks for the regular crew, stacked three high with the confining feel of coffins. She imagined falling from the top rack and cracking open her skull on the hard steel deck. Sailors live such confining lives, she thought as she wiped sweat from her face with her towel. Knowing how the sailors lived onboard made her glad she joined the Marines instead, but everything was subject to perspective. They spent several years onboard ships with lengthy careers that allowed some semblance of normalcy, many of them having families who deployed with them. Both officers and enlisted which made many marines envious. For two entities with the same military, the sailors at least had something to look forward to. She, on the other hand, might not live to see her next birthday. Her amenities were temporary because she was a marine combatant, a soldier was just another name for a pawn to those in power, and they didn’t expect her to survive. She imagined the last meal would be something extravagant and filling as well. The captain of the Seratora was known for going out of her way to make soldiers like Anki feel welcomed. Temporary hospitality is what Anki called it. It was easy to be hospitable when it didn’t have to last. Anki was sure Captain Lorec was a nice woman, but she thought the captain might also be a bit insincere as well. The mint on her pillow the day she checked onboard was her first clue. The stenciled smile every time she greeted the sailors and marines was another. If nothing else, it was a mask hiding something. What that something was Anki had no clue. But she was sure there was something turning behind those eyes when no one was looking.
She shook the dark thought out of her head and undressed, the cool air in her stateroom causing goosebumps to rise on her sweaty flesh. Water rations were the same on the Seratora as they were in Port Carreo, but the luxuriousness of the showers was a far cry from what she was used to. Still, she did have her own shower in her stateroom. At least she wasn’t required to stroll through the busy passages in her robe and towel. She was sure that was a show several of the young men might enjoy happening upon, hoping to catch a glimpse of what lay hidden behind her robe, but she wasn’t here for show and tell. Even if that were the case, she would have endured it in order to maintain her training regimen. She needed a consistent schedule, it might be monotonous, but it was something she could latch onto, depend on. It made this part of the trek easier to manage. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like when they reached their destination, where would they be? She could imagine having to invade a Greshian ship and take over in hopes of saving some other world from destruction. The firefight that ensued would be spectacular. She almost hoped for a low-gravity fight, weapons firing, Greshian blood dripping and floating around them. It would be a defining moment for the Luthian Navy, and for Luthia in general, to bring a Greshian warship to its knees, she thought.
The thoughts were comforting, but also posed more questions. If they defeated the Greshians, what would happen? Would everything change all at once? Or would it be gradual like a stone rippling the water after dropping it? Would the war stretching across the galaxy finally come to an end, or would it elicit other worlds to step in, trying to fill the void left by a waning Greshian Empire? Anki fought the urge to keep thinking about it. In her heart she knew she would find out soon enough and that finding out would only be the beginning of the end. The end of what, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
12
Brendle
Everything was white. It was odd to Brendle that he was just now noticing the starkness of living on the Telran. The overheads and bulkheads were all white, the only splash of color coming from the deck in different shades of blue and gray depending on which level they were on. The simple fact that the decks were color-coded was another thing he found odd to only now pay attention to. It made him wonder what else he had been ignorant to during his time on the ship. Now the vessel was scheduled to leave him stranded on a moon, probably no more than a rock in the inhabitable zone of the nearest star, and he was concerned about how white everything was.
“Keep moving,” Ilium said behind him. The man was armed with a cannon and it struck Brendle odd that such a weapon was necessary to escort an unarmed prisoner off the ship. Sure, Brendle would be armed before being dropped, but right now his arms were bound and two other men flanked him. Both just as well armed as the Security Officer was.
“I’m walking the same pace I was the last time you said something,” Brendle said under his breath. “Are you in a hurry to drop me off or something? I mean, because I can wait. I’ve got all the time in the world. Maybe grab some chow, or―”.
A hand grabbed the back of his collar and shoved him face-first into the white bulkhead, making him stop talking and leaving a bit of spittle where his lips made contact. It was a rough landing, but not one that resulted in a busted lip. Ilium was apparently holding back, not wanting to abuse the prisoner while the video feed followed him. It was smart, but not original, Brendle thought. Ilium kept him pressed against the bulkhead; probably shifting the weight of his cannon to keep from dropping it, or grinning about how much fun he was having playing the tough guy.
“I didn’t ask for you backtalk, traitor,” the word had the inflection of too much tongue being used to annunciate the second “t”, Ilium’s hot breath warming the back of Brendle’s neck in a way that would have been erotic if the man had been a woman instead. Brendle shook the image from his mind and shrugged his shoulder against the bulkhead to relieve some of the pressure from his face. “You have one more time to talk back to me and I will shoot you in the
back. Do you understand?”
Brendle only nodded his head, holding back the retaliatory words on the tip of his tongue. The fact Ilium would shoot another man in the back yet considered Brendle a traitor was the biggest piece of hypocrisy Brendle had witnessed in a long while. Never mind the fact Ilium would be disobeying a lawful order from Captain Elastra. Brendle was sure the death of a civilian at the hands of the Telran’s Security Officer, regardless of previous charges, wouldn’t do too well for his promotion to Admiral. But it was better not to say so, at least for now. Ilium was still in control and there was no need to let on that Brendle was smarter than he was. There was still time for that, Brendle thought.
Another shove and Brendle was again walking towards the elevator. The door sat open like welcoming arms as he entered it, his face to the back reflecting off the dull sheen of the metallic surface. Maybe not everything was white after all. The reflection revealed minor details about Ilium and his security detail. The biggest one being that Ilium was the only one with his face exposed to the prisoner. It was as if he was trying to make a point of letting Brendle know who was tossing him onto the rock and to his death. It showed Brendle what kind of man Ilium was, one who made a point of being recognized for everything he did in hopes that the recognition would advance his career somehow. What better way to bring that kind of recognition than by setting someone up to be a traitor and also being the one responsible for carrying out the sentencing? The sneer on the man’s face did little to convince Brendle that the Security Officer wasn’t actually enjoying this part of his job immensely.
Brendle hadn’t even noticed the elevator had been moving until it stopped and with it the thoughts going through Brendle’s mind ended.
“Let’s go, traitor,” Ilium said, grabbing Brendle’s arm with a tight grip and dragging him backwards out of the elevator.
Brendle turned on his heels to walk forward. No need to trip on the metal plating of the deck and get dumped off with a bloody chin. The elevator had dropped them off at the forward most point in the cargo bay, leaving the long walk of shame to be displayed to his former shipmates as they watched from the comfort of their offices and dorms. It was a slight relief he didn’t have to face them as he was hurled to his certain death. It would’ve been nice to say goodbye to some of the people he had grown close to while onboard, maybe to shake Arender’s hand and tell him it wasn’t his fault, though it partly was. But Brendle wasn’t one for holding grudges; at least he didn’t think he was. Ilium might be the one to change his policy on that. When it came to goodbyes, he guessed that opportunity had slipped by already and the past was nowhere to live when your future was so uncertain.
“You know, I have a real nice position that presented itself recently,” Ilium whispered.
“Yeah, what position would that be?” Brendle asked, knowing he was being baited, but not caring. He just wanted to fill the time it would take to get from where he was to the surface of the moon without being confined to the horrific thoughts going through his head.
“Yeah, it seemed a position in Combat Control needed filling. The captain tasked me to take the job. Said he needed a real Greshian he could trust to rain hell on the enemy. Apparently the last guy went soft and turned on his own people.” Ilium racked the cannon as an audible warning that the weapon was pointed at the back of Brendle’s head. The sound of metal grating against metal rang in Brendle’s ear. He kind of wished he could hold the cannon, examine it. Maybe test its accuracy against Ilium’s face.
“You know it didn’t happen like that,” Brendle replied. He fought back the urge to plead his case, especially since it wouldn’t do him any good. He was getting off on that moon whether he liked it or not.
Ilium chuckled softly, “It might not have, but that’s the story going round the ship. Brendle Quin is as much a traitor as there ever was. In fact, I look the hero because I was the one who turned you in and you want to know a secret? I didn’t have to edit the video as much as you might think to make everyone think you’re a traitor either. It seems if anyone on the Telran was to turn on their people, then you were the most likely suspect.” The guards next to Brendle stifled laughter. It was obvious they were in on it as well.
Brendle spun around and faced Ilium. Despite the fact his arms were bound, he still made Ilium nervous as he glowered down at him. Ilium stiffened, the look in his eyes a threat that made Brendle nervous, which wasn’t hard to pull off with the cannon in Ilium’s hands. That kind of weapon was overkill, but then again so was framing someone just to advance your own career.
“Why would you frame me?” The question sounded more like an accusation. Brendle was finally starting to wear his emotion on his sleeve, too angry to fight it any longer. Ilium gave him nothing more than a raised eyebrow, but it was enough. “I see, to further your career. You weren’t man enough to stand on your own, so you needed to drop me off on a rock to make yourself look better, is that it?” The look in Ilium’s eyes revealed what Brendle already knew.
Ilium’s snide grin looked more sinister in the dim lighting of the cargo bay. “Toss his weapon overboard, Svere. Let’s hope the fall doesn’t damage it too badly.” Both men glared at each other, the ship settling to the ground as the sound of Brendle’s gun striking against rock echoed below. “You see, Brendle, you always thought you were so smart. You thought you could come on the Telran and pretend your superior attitude about promoting peace would convince the rest of us we were wrong about our purpose out here in the dark. What you failed to realize is our purpose doesn’t need justification. The Greshian Empire will expand with or without your spineless willingness to promote nonviolence. That is how we win wars. Hence the reason you’re about to get tossed to the wayside and left to die. I’d wish you a long life, but we both know you’ll be eating a bullet within a few days. That’s my gift to you.”
“You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?” Brendle said; his voice full of contempt. Make a man angry enough and you might make him slip. Make him too angry and things might get a little out of hand. Brendle felt his hold on his own emotions starting to slip.
Ilium laughed, but it wasn’t joyful. “I guess I have you to thank for my promotion and how good I feel about it.” Ilium pulled out Brendle’s com-unit and toyed with it in his hands. “Maybe I’ll send a message to your mother and tell her how weak of a man you were when you ate the bullet. It won’t matter that it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe the grief of losing her son will drive her to the same conclusion. That is, if the dishonor of you being a traitor hasn’t done that already.” He tapped Brendle on the top of the head with the com-unit and winked at him.
The anger in Brendle’s chest was starting to burn and there was only one way to let it out, with violence. Brendle drove his head into Ilium’s face with enough impact to knock the other man on his ass, breaking his pointy nose in the process. He looked at one of the guards and said, “I’m ready to go now,” extending his wrists to be released from his bonds.
The guard, Svere, laughed as he unbound him, but said nothing.
Brendle turned back to Ilium, who sat wiping the blood from his face, and picked up his com-unit. “Thanks for reminding me, I didn’t want to forget this,” he said, waving the com-unit tauntingly. “Oh, and don’t forget that it only takes a little more pressure to drive the cartilage of your nose into your brain and kill you. Maybe you can think of this as mercy.” Brendle stood up and stepped down the cargo bay door, the steep decline making him realize how much falling would hurt. “That’s my gift to you, asshole.”
Behind him, Ilium scrambled to his feet and lifted the cannon. He followed Brendle to the cargo bay door where he looked down and saw the traitor looking back at him. Brendle was armed now as well. Brendle could see the rage in the other man’s eyes. He could see how badly the man wanted to pull the trigger and end Brendle’s life right there. A part of Brendle wanted to do the same, but for other reasons. Instead, as the cargo bay door slowly closed the men off from one another,
he settled on the only thing he knew would get under the other man’s skin and last a long time. He winked.
13
Anki
It wasn’t like Anki to wake up from a dead sleep, but since reporting to the Seratora she had hardly had a full-night’s sleep. She was sure that most of it had to do with the anxiety of being in such a different environment, drifting towards the enemy presence for battle. Even understanding the justification for her restlessness was unnerving as she lay quietly in her rack, adjusting the sheets because the room suddenly felt too warm. She couldn’t help but think she was going crazy. Maybe, it was the confinement, the lack of pure air flowing in and out of her lungs. She had heard of people having allergic reactions to recycled air, but all of those reports were from decades-old ships made of materials with carcinogenic properties. The Seratora was not that kind of ship.