by Drew Avera
Brendle was taken aback. There was so much flooding his mind all at once that it was hard to process. “I don’t know what to say,” Brendle stammered. He looked at Anki who was smiling back at him. “Do you agree to this?” he didn’t know why he asked the question out loud. But in his heart he knew he wanted her acceptance, whatever that might look like.
Anki nodded. “I do. It was something we discussed while you were getting us through Key Lourna. We would have asked you earlier, but we’ve all been kind of busy lately.” She laughed and it warmed his heart.
“If that’s something you all agree on, then I accept,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. He had to admit there was a thrill to piloting such an agile war vessel, though he hoped any kind of warring would be in the past. He had no desire to pull a trigger on someone else ever again.
“We are glad to hear it, Captain,” Malikea said, extending his hand to Brendle.
Brendle took it and pulled the other man into an embrace. “Thank you, but please don’t call me ‘captain’. With a crew this small I don’t think rank is really going to mean anything.”
Malikea and Anki laughed. “Whatever you say, Captain.” Malikea nudged him, smiling.
Brendle ran his hand through his hair sheepishly. This is one crazy day, he thought. “Well, I guess I have a lot of captain things to do. Maybe I can start by fixing the damage Anki here made with the interface in case we need the autopilot to save our asses or something,” Brendle joked. She smiled at the joke, another good sign in his eyes. “I’ll come back and check on you soon,” he said, leaning over to Anki, the thought of kissing her burning in his mind. Her eyes grew wide, but she didn’t say no. Something like electricity was charging between them, but it was all in his mind and he knew it. Why am I afraid, he asked himself. He took her hand in his and squeezed it instead. It was the safest move, but far from the one he felt inclined to do.
He smiled at her and she smiled back. That was where he hoped she knew how he was beginning to feel about her, but he was too confused to have the courage to leap just yet. Soon, he told himself, soon.
Deis entered the medical bay as Brendle turned to leave. “How are you, Captain?” he laughed.
Brendle stopped and looked confused for a moment.
Deis lifted his com-unit and nodded his head towards his husband. “Good news travels fast, Captain.”
The medical bay erupted with laughter, all of it at Brendle’s expense. His nervousness wasn’t a deterrent in their eyes, he realized. That was a sign that they had more of the makings for a family than just a crew, he thought as he left the medical bay behind and headed for the bridge. He had a lot of work to do.
Epilogue: Anki
The bridge of the Replicade was dark when Anki stepped in, barefoot and shivering. Her heart ached with loss, but there was also something like a smoldering fire warming her up when she thought about Brendle and the spark between the two of them. He was not her kind, nor was she his; but deep down she knew they belonged together, forever. It was the only thing she could believe in as she took a seat near the console and ran her fingers along the smooth glass screen.
The technology of the Replicade was beyond anything she had ever seen. Despite its outward appearance, and look of neglect as rust and grime caked the bulkheads, Anki could see the ship was designed for battle, but also designed with some aesthetics in mind. She could see it now, even feel it when she touched the contours. She imagined that if the ship had a gender it would be female, though she doubted the men onboard would agree. As she ran her fingers along the screen it began to illuminate. She found a circular button where the screen ended and felt the compulsion to press it, even though she had no idea what the outcome could be. Surly it isn’t dangerous, she thought, her finger growing heavy as it hovered above. The button made an audible click when she pressed it, followed by nothing at first, and then a voice.
“May I assist you, Anki?” the voice was feminine with a tinge of robotic cadence. It startled her at first, but she maintained her composure enough to not fall on her ass, at least. It was a rather impressive feat considering she was still recovering from being exposed to the dark. Her near-death experience made her appreciate the fact she was still breathing. It was more than she could say about the rest of Luthia, as far as she knew.
“Who are you?” she asked, fighting back the sound of fear threatening to reveal itself in her voice.
“I am Pilot, the artificial intelligence assigned to the Replicade. I am your assistant as per orders from Captain Brendle. How may I assist you?”
Awestruck, Anki stepped towards the console looking for a way to see where the voice was coming from. “Where are you?”
“I apologize. Do you require a visual simulation in order to communicate?” From the corner of her eye, Anki saw a hologram appear of a woman’s face. There was only the face, nothing above or below, but the representation wasn’t meant to fool the viewer that the person speaking to them was real.
Anki stared for a moment, unsure of what to say. “So your sole purpose is to fly the ship?” She settled for an easy question despite the harder ones already forming in her mind.
“Yes, and no. I was designed to run the entire ship in order to assist the captain. The responsibility of assistance has shifted to you as per Captain Brendle’s order. I suppose you could say my job is to fly the ship and to assist you, the Executive Officer of the Replicade. Do you require assistance?”
The words “executive officer” rang in her mind for a moment. The position sounded much larger than she thought she could fill, yet here she was, on a ship as the second in command. She let out a chortle at the fact she was in charge of something she didn’t even know how to control. Perhaps that was why Brendle assigned Pilot as her assistant. “I’m not sure,” she answered. It was the truth. She didn’t really know why she had found her way to the bridge. “I’m just lonely I guess and wanted someone to talk to, but everyone else is sleeping.”
“I can contact anyone you require, Anki,” Pilot said.
Her gaze at the hologram dropped and she blinked back tears. “Not this person,” she said. “My father was on Luthia when it was destroyed. Now I’ll never hear his voice again.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Pilot replied.
“Are you?” she asked in return.
“It is the appropriate response for loss of life, is it not?”
Anki smiled half-heartedly. She should have known a machine would only calculate probabilities for responses. It wasn’t designed for empathy. “You’re right, it is,” she answered.
“If you like, I can change my voice and appearance as a representation of your father provided that you have an image of him and a recording of him speaking.”
Part of Anki’s mind wanted to explode at the thought of replacing her father with an artificial representation. But the other part wanted it to happen, if for no other reason than because she never got to say goodbye in the way she wanted to. “I have that on my com-unit.”
“If you place the device over the screen then I can extract the data,” Pilot said.
Anki pulled out her com-unit and turned it over in hands. Inside it was memories of her life before she stepped foot on the ship that brought her out into the dark, before Luthia was engulfed in flames and destroyed. Those memories were all that was left of Luthia and she set them on the console as Pilot instructed and waited.
The console lit up with blue light which was almost blinding in the darkness of the bridge. The holographic image of the Pilot also changed; pixels collapsing and rebuilding themselves in the form of a full-bodied man, a Luthian man, her father. A moment later Pilot spoke, “Does this image serve your memory, Anki?”
She was shocked at how real her father’s image appeared, and the voice had taken the same slight twang of her Surda roots. If she closed her eyes she could almost believe he wasn’t dead, but that wouldn’t help her heal any faster. “The resemblance is astonishing,” she said.
> Her father’s voice answered, but it was not him, “I’m pleased you think so, Anki.”
She sat and looked at the hologram version of her father. Even the eyes looked the same, though the ones she peered into were not windows to a soul than existed any longer. Over the course of time that wouldn’t matter. For now all she had was the moment in order to say goodbye as her future waited patiently for her return from her personal memoriam. No words were exchanged, the silence spreading over long moments. Everything was internal for her, the heartache, the reminiscence, and the eulogy. Her father would be remembered and for her that would have to be enough.
Anki said goodbye in her own way as the Replicade burned its way out into the dark void of space. Danger lurked somewhere in the cosmos, but she had seen what the Greshian Empire could throw at them. She also saw a side to them she never knew existed. Perhaps Brendle was an anomaly, but the truth was that he was growing on her. Despite everything, he showed her compassion. He risked his life for her, and actions like that spoke louder than words. She also noticed how he looked at her, a look of longing in his eyes. Was it for acceptance or something more? She wasn’t ready for complications, but she was glad she hadn’t shot him when given the opportunity. Everything was changing drastically and she hadn’t had time to process it all. Maybe there was a future for them in one form or another. Time could only tell. But for now, she was content to lay back in her seat and let the Replicade carry her out into the dark, and hopefully towards peace.
DEADLY REFUGE
1
Crase
Farax was an ungodly world. The Greshian Empire had used it as an outlying territory for a generation, "used" being the operative word in place of "abused". It was a place not recognized as sovereign, not that anyone who frequented the dusty world ever held that against her. Farax was beneath the law, dirty and vile. It was just the kind of place that made smuggling seem routine. That's why Crase Tuin was here. He liked routine. He liked easy money. Hell, it didn't really have to be all that easy for him to be interested, but he wasn't much in the mood for obstacles with the shipment waiting to be offloaded on Farax today. It was better to drop it off, cash out, and skin the hell out of here, he thought as he stepped onto the wooden porch leading into Fro's Bar. Fro had been dead ten years, but the name was synonymous with come here and do your illegal bidding, so the name stuck. The new owner was Bac and he didn't talk much. Maybe it was out of fear, or maybe it was just Bac's nature. Either way it was a trait Crase liked about the people he allowed to know his business.
Crase stood outside Fro's Bar for a moment, watching the sun set behind the high rooftops across the dirty street. He was early, but then again, he was always early. His associate stepped beside him, looking out at the view, but not particularly the landscape. "You know the deal. You don't know me and you wait until I've had time to take a seat before you come in. If she's undercover, she'll most likely be here already. Good to go?" he asked his quiet partner, Nuelar.
The Lechen man nodded once, his yellow eyes a stark contrast to his dark gray skin. In another life Nuelar had been part of the priesthood. In another life he still had his tongue and the ability to speak. That other life was over.
Crase nodded once, turned his back to the street and stepped inside. His jacket hung low, a size too big when it came to length, especially in the arms, but he had gained a bit a weight since he had stolen it from the original owner. Now it didn't even button around his waist, not that he cared. It was symbolic, and it made hiding the sawed-off rifle he tucked under his left arm a lot easier. Crase wasn't afraid of violence, but today wasn't the day he particularly wanted to worship at the altar of murder. Then again, it was still early in the evening and, with enough drinks, anything was possible.
The dark bar made it hard to see, but his eyes adjusted as he made his way to the back of the bar where his favorite table sat empty. He collapsed his heavy body into a chair, feeling the groan of the wood settle into place as he found a comfortable position. Farax had a higher gravity than he was used to, and it made breathing a little more of a pant than he'd like, but it was something he knew he would grow accustomed to over time. He just didn't have that kind of time, at least not today.
His eyes shifted up towards the woman moving in his direction. She had been sitting in a dark corner of the room, nursing a half-empty glass of something already at room temperature, if Crase had to guess. An obvious attempt at disguising herself as part of the new criminal cliental, he thought as she took a seat across from him, but he didn't let her know he was onto her with his eyes. He just smiled greedily as she set the bounty on the table. The box was small, reflecting the sunlight piercing through the slits in the door. Size didn't matter. It was the contents within that held the value to Crase. Encased was enough data to keep him monetarily satisfied for the rest of his life. Well at least that was what was supposed to be in the case, but his doubts about the contents were significant enough to make him think he would probably be walking out the door empty handed.
"You're late," she said with no hint of a smile on her ruby lips. She sat down, the effect of gravity not as harsh on her body as it had been on his. Another clue that she is not who she claims to be, he thought as he stared at her through narrow slits of eyes. Despite the dim light of the bar, Crase could tell she was wearing contacts to alter her eye color. Her hair had a distinct tinge of dye when the light hit it just right as well.
"No, I'm never late. I was just making my rounds to ensure my delivery would not be hindered by those who want to uphold something as tragic as the law," he replied with a coy smile. "Buy you a drink?" The small talk was a ruse to prolong the contact, to get a real feel for the situation, but Crase was confident now that she was an undercover agent of the Greshian Empire. She might have the altered skin color and enough acting ability to pretend to be someone else, but Crase spent his life running from the law. Part of his success was detecting this kind of bullshit. The smell of it was thick in the air now, but he continued the charade. "The root liquor is my favorite here. It has a lot of bite," he said, snapping his teeth together after saying "bite".
The woman turned back her own glass and finished its contents. When she pulled it away she made a face that confirmed his suspicion that it was warm. "Maybe something clear," she said, wiping her hand across her lips.
Crase lifted a hand to the bartender, signaling his desire for two drinks. The bartender nodded, but didn't make any attempt at expediting the order.
"How about we cut to the chase," she said, leaning forward, her voice slightly louder than a whisper.
"I don't like to conduct business on an empty stomach," Crase answered, his lips curling with anticipation. This wasn't going to be business and she was too quick to jump at the opportunity to accost him. In his experience it was the sign of an amateur, but sometimes those with too much confidence gave the same signals. It always ended the same way: bloody.
The woman cleared her throat. "I know who you are. Your attempt at masking your transponder codes failed and I have already signaled for a platoon of Greshian Marines to come arrest you."
He fought the urge to smile, to give away the thoughts lingering in his mind. He always hated having to explain ignorance to the weak minded. In cases like this, though, it was nice to reveal a bit about the art of piracy. Words were a much gentler way to lead a person to death, and threats were nothing more than trashy advertising. Crase saw Nuelar take a seat a few tables away, his dark skin obscuring him from view of the woman as she continued to talk. It was a shake down; he was under arrest for smuggling arms and slave running. It was always the same thing, different world, different undercover agent spewing the lingo with more confidence than their life could purchase. One would think this situation would grow old and tiresome, but for Crase it was refreshing. He blinked twice and rested his palms on the table before focusing on the woman speaking. He didn't even know her name.
"Not only do I have you dead to rights, but I also have you
r ship," she said, the smirk widening on her pale face. "I thought you never lost ships," she finished. He hadn't been paying much attention to her until she mentioned losing ships. It was a bit of a sore spot, a semi-fresh wound that still festered when touched the wrong way.
Crase leaned forward, his hands flat against the table except for his finger swirling the condensation left over from her drink nonchalantly. "I never started the myth about not losing ships," he said flatly.
"Then I wonder where that myth came from, if not from you." Her smile was a mask of false confidence. She just wasn't aware of it yet.
He smiled now, leaning close to whisper. "Because the people who can tell the tale of a ship I've lost never live to speak it. I want to let you in on a little secret, though. My transponder wasn't masking the signal, at least not in a way that would allow me to land undetected. Do you see this tiny rock world for what it really is? Farax is the filth that Greshia uses to hide its own dirty deeds. Those disposable people sent to toil in slavery are far more loyal to monetary bribery than they are to militant threats." He watched her look around at the silent people ignoring the tension growing in the back of the bar. He wondered if she realized it was all an act. "Your message to the Greshian Marines was intercepted. There is no platoon coming to arrest me, and there are no heroes coming to rescue you, either. You, my dear, are another disposable pawn in the hands of an empire that loathes you." His words were brash and cutting. He could see in her eyes that she believed him. It was wise, because a lying pirate is a sloppy pirate. It is always better to deal in truths.