by Drew Avera
She nodded, seeming to understand the point he’d made numerous times since the decision days before. Brendle knew she was worried more about their being killed in a mob, but the truth was, only he was at risk, based on the fact he was Greshian. Luthians and Lechuns were considered refugees, the kind murdered by Greshians, the kind accepted by the melting pot of Faraxian culture. Sure, there was danger everywhere, but their plan was solid and would minimize exposure so long as he stayed on board. At least that was the major selling point of the plan when they made it.
“I still don’t have to like it,” she said, halfway smiling. He imagined she was forcing it. He could relate.
Brendle took her in his arms and squeezed. “We will only be here a few days. Malikea and Deis will get supplies while a small crew repairs the hull and replaces the air recyclers. After that, we’re gone. I promise.”
He felt her squeeze him back, the warmth of her body absorbed by his own, her long hair tickling the back of his hands as he rubbed her back. I could do this all day, he thought.
“Do we have enough to pay for these repairs?”
Brendle hesitated. “That’s something Malikea and Deis are going to take care of.”
“How?”
He frowned, the lines in his face revealing a bit of dread he carried in his heart. This was the part of the plan he didn’t really want her to know about, but he didn’t want to lie either. He knew she might be pissed, but he told her anyway. “There were a few crates full of tactical weapons hidden on the ship. They found them before they rescued us and didn’t know what to do with them. I suggested, months ago, that they could make a lot of money selling them at a place like this.”
“A place like this? You mean you planned on coming here long before now?”
Brendle took a step back, feeling her rage build. “Not really planned. It was a conversation I’d forgotten about until we discussed needing repairs. Deis reminded me about it when we were trying to find a port where we could make it happen. Farax isn’t the only place where arms like these would sell, but it was the closest and we needed the money for the repairs and supplies.”
“I feel like you’ve deceived me.”
“No, that’s not it at all. I just didn’t want you to worry unnecessarily about coming here,” Brendle said. He didn’t know if he should take her hand to try and comfort her or if she might snap the bones just to share the hurt he saw on her face.
“You didn’t want me to worry unnecessarily? You pitched this mission with the certainty that Greshians would be killed for landing here. If it was any other of your kind, I couldn’t care less. But it would kill me if that happened to you.”
Brendle watched as she turned away and stalked off, her shoulders rising and falling with her heavy breathing. He knew he should not have kept the plan from her, but that was hindsight. He couldn’t take it back even though he wanted to.
“Anki,” he said, hoping for her to stop. Hoping she would understand that he didn’t withhold the information to hurt her. Good intentions didn’t always lead to good outcomes, though, he thought as she moved further away from him.
“Not now,” she snapped, and disappeared around the corner, leaving Brendle alone and angry with himself.
13
Anki
Anki slammed her notes onto the console as silent rage coursed through her veins. She knew in some small part of her brain that she was unnecessarily angry, that her frustrations were a byproduct of being cooped up on the ship for months and never being able to come to terms with how out of control her life seemed to be. The loss of her world and the guilt she felt culminated into fury as she discovered what Brendle, Deis, and Malikea didn’t want her to know. And the childish justification for it being “for her protection” was all the more enraging. She felt the urge to lash out at something, but held back from punching the bulkhead, knowing she would break her knuckles. She was angrier than she’d been in a long time and the feeling of betrayal weighed heavily on her heart.
She understood Brendle’s point of view, but she didn’t appreciate being shielded from potentially useful information. Besides, why would Deis and Malikea take part in arms dealing? They knew nothing about weaponry and she knew nothing about ship repairs. That was when it came to her. Dis and Malikea took the arms job to protect her, and probably because Brendle asked them to. Maybe it wasn’t group protection after all, she thought. Maybe it was Brendle being a sap and trying to protect his girlfriend.
Stupid men.
“Is something troubling you, Captain?”
Startled, Anki looked up; half-expecting her deceased father by the sound of the voice, but quickly realizing it was Pilot. She took a moment to settle down before replying. “I just found out the guys’ plan to sell arms on Farax. I know we need the money for supplies and repairs, but I feel like their decision was made without me.” She didn’t know which was worse, not being part of the decision or not being considered for the part that made the most sense just because someone in the group was trying to play the role of protector.
“I remember the conversation. It was while you were conducting repairs outside the skin of the ship.”
“I knew it. So they made the decision to sell weapons and Brendle told the rest of the crew to keep quiet about it,” she said, pacing around the bridge as the picture of what happened slowly came together in her mind.
“That is not how it went at all,” Pilot said.
Anki stopped pacing. “What do you mean it’s not?” That was the only course that made any sense to her.
“No. Brendle suggested you take care of the weapons deal, but Deis insisted they take care of it.”
“Why?”
“If I may make an assumption, he seemed to suggest that two Lechuns, one being a priest, would not draw much attention on such an errand. Knowing what I do about the political landscape of Farax, I do not agree with the assessment, but Brendle relented shortly before you returned on board. I can only assume he felt it was an argument he would not win and did not want to drag you into it.”
“Did any of them ask your opinion?”
“Negative. I merely observed the exchange.”
Anki felt a little better about the perceived deception. At least Brendle didn’t bully Deis and Malikea into the mission to protect her, she thought. But why would he agree to let them put themselves out there in a situation neither of them would truly be prepared for?
“Do you think they will be able to sell the arms and get out of the area before things go south?” Anki asked, her worry for the safety of the crew taking the place of her anger. She liked Deis and Malikea. They were good people, kind and helpful around the ship. Her growing concern dulled her anger.
“I see no reason to not be cautiously hopeful.”
“Cautiously hopeful? Thank you so much for setting my mind at ease, Pilot,” she said sarcastically.
“You are very welcome, Captain. I am glad I was able to assist you.”
Anki rolled her eyes. For all the capabilities computer-based intelligence afforded, you’d think they would be able to detect sarcasm. She left it alone, though. She had enough information to not be as angry anymore, at least not towards Brendle. Though, she was frustrated to have been left out of the decision making process. They needed to value her opinion as well if this was going to be a healthy relationship. She was not the kind of person to sit back and let her decisions be made without her. That was something they were going to have to work on. It was still ridiculous to think she wouldn’t be able to handle the arms dealings, but she imagined her military background might be easy to distinguish in a crowd if anyone was looking for it. Maybe it isn’t a terrible idea, but it isn’t the one I would have made.
“How long before we land?”
“I have not detected the presence of any other threats, and we are not currently being tracked. Surprisingly, no Faraxian controllers have hailed us since our original request for landing. It is my guess that proper protocol is not used
here. Taking that into consideration, I have implemented the landing sequence and we should land in approximately twenty-seven minutes.”
“Good. I’ll ask Brendle about the controllers, but hopefully we should be fine. Keep me updated. I have something I need to go take care of,” Anki said.
“As you wish, Captain.”
Anki left the bridge behind and decided now was the time to have words with the crew. She might not be the real captain of the Replicade, but if she was going to sell the act then she needed to know exactly what was going on. They couldn’t afford a lapse in judgement to make her end up looking the fool when it mattered most.
No time like the present, she thought, tapping her fingers anxiously on the handle of her gun as it hugged against her right thigh in its holster. She was nervous about landing on Farax, but maybe having an idea of how everything was going to play out could help her to focus on doing her part without questioning everything else. The questions shook her confidence and it wasn’t wise to go into battle that way, even if the battle didn’t require anyone to fight for their lives.
She descended the ladder well leading into the cargo bay and made her way through the narrow passageway where saw Brendle standing with Deis and Malikea. They were engaged in some kind of conversation; most likely Brendle was telling them about how angry she was about the plan to sell the weapons. Her anger had gone deeper than that. It was more personal than their not telling her the plan. It had to do with trust. She questioned whether or not they trusted her, or if she should trust them. That was no way to be part of a team. For a while she had thought it was done because Brendle was trying to protect her instead of recognizing her strength and ability to do what was necessary. She was a marine, not a child, after all. That assumption had made her blood boil, but she discovered it was unfounded when Pilot told her what had happened. She regretted getting angry over a misunderstanding, but she would apologize later. First, she needed information.
As she stepped closer and into the light, they stopped talking and looked up at her, quietly waiting for whatever it was she had to say. She hadn’t thought about whether she would mention what Pilot had said about their decision taking place without her. That had the potential to start a fight, which wasn’t a good idea before stepping into dangerous territory. She decided to play her hand closer to her chest, to maintain her role as captain. For that, she needed information.
“We will be landing in twenty-seven minutes,” she said, her hands resting on her hips, her head held high. “I know everyone is eager to get this mission over with, but we need to maintain a sense of calm. We are stepping into a world none of us are very familiar with. There is danger lurking outside this ship. We saw first-hand with our welcoming committee once we entered Faraxian airspace. So, in twenty-five minutes we will land and three of us will depart this ship on a foreign world. In the meantime, we need to talk.”
14
Crase
Crase’s pass through Belstar proved unfruitful. He had hoped to find a Lechun walking among the ever-growing crowd, to see just one of them to take back and save Neular’s life, but he found none, and the waste of his time made the walk back to the transport a frustrated stalk through now-crowded streets. Everywhere he looked, unknown faces stared at him in the harsh, glaring light of the Faraxian sunrise. The winds were calm, kicking up brief, light breezes instead of the bitter, battering winds typical this time of year. The temperature was warm, but chills still ran down his spine as glaring eyes cut in his direction from the passing crowd. He knew what they were gaping at; the scar running along his jawline leading up to where his implant used to be. Many surgeries could not remove what was once done, and though the scars had faded, they were still visible as pink lines crawling up the right side of his pale face. The scars were a reminder of where he’d come from and what he had to do to get to where he was now. He did not wear them proudly, but he wore them nonetheless. They were just another reminder of why he favored the shadows. The darkness hides everything, especially the things you don’t want to see, he thought, closing his mind to that part of his past that he did not want to revisit.
He lifted the hood of his coat to cover himself. Not because of shame, but because the distinguishable marks made him easier to identify; he didn’t need matters further complicated by standing out in a crowd. “Keep your fucking eyes to yourself,” he seethed; his throat a scratchy growl of condemnation. Normally he wouldn’t be self-conscious about his scars, or even being noticed, but the last two days were wearing him down. Being found by the now-silenced Greshian mole perturbed him more than he thought. Was he surprised to see her? No, it was an arrangement made over time; one he manipulated to make her confident that she would apprehend him; confident enough to not request backup.
That was her fatal mistake, but that was not what disturbed him. It was the fact that he was always careful to cover his tracks, but somehow he had led her here to Farax. He was able to use it to his advantage, but the truth was that it never should have come to that point. His cool demeanor betrayed the anxiety that threatened his composure.
Perhaps he was losing his taste for murder. Maybe that was why, more often recently, the act of killing fell to other hands. Maybe he was lying to himself, in denial that his aging body was being met by a waning resolve. Or maybe, simply, his mind had spun without rest for too many hours, and that was why he was having trouble discerning what was most important.
Two sides of his mind battled for attention. Each seemed important on its own, but neither complimented the other in any meaningful way. He was on a mission to find a Lechun to save Neular’s life, but his thoughts kept drifting to Tesera. His dark, sordid past was paved with mistakes, and she was one of them, yet he could not seem to escape it. No matter what he did, Crase always seemed to find his way back into her life like a virus she could never cure herself of, and he felt it every time she looked at him. “You did this to yourself. Now stop feeding the regret,” he whispered, not intending to say the words out loud. Frustrated, he cursed under his breath, a guttural groan. His lack of control seemed to make things worse.
After several minutes, Crase found his transport waiting for him. The drive was already online and the craft was ready for takeoff as Crase boarded it. “Take me to Pera,” he ordered the autopilot as he took a seat in the aft section of the transport. Pera was the largest port on Farax and boasted the best ship repair services in the sector. If he could find the Replicade, then he knew the possibility of finding a Lechun would be higher. Where else would they go on Farax? Being two hours away, traveling to Pera would give him an opportunity to rest, to regain his strength, and hopefully his sanity. All he knew now was how bad his body ached from carrying Nuelar through the streets of Belstar. That pain carried over to his heart when his thoughts drifted to Tesera. His brow furrowed, angry he allowed the thoughts back into his mind. “Let’s go,” he said, strapping himself in for the ride. Crase reclined his seat back as the transport lifted from the ground. His eyes felt heavy, sagging as the cool, recycled air blew against his face; a welcomed relief to the world outside. Content, he didn’t even remember taking off.
Crase woke to the jostling movement of the transport landing in Pera. Luckily, the autopilot was capable of handling the busy airspace without needing his interference. The transport touched down more lightly than Crase expected as it listed port to starboard due to the higher winds in the area. He expected to be groggy, but his much needed nap gave him a keener eye and clearer mind. That’s better, he thought as he stood from his seat to depart the transport. He stretched the tight muscles in his back and legs and grabbed a weapon from the bulkhead to hide under his coat. It was a baton used to shock or strike an opponent. It won’t do to kill the man if he needs to be alive in order to save Neular, he thought. “Keep the drive on. I won’t be long,” he said, closing the hatch.
Pera was the nicest port on Farax in that it was organized like most metropolitan areas on other worlds. It was designed for ship r
epairs of Greshian mining craft and haulers, but over time it expanded to general shipbuilding and repairs as its economy grew. It was still a slum, just like the rest of the planet; it was just a well-organized slum.
Crase cut down a street and found a sign that indicated parking for each type of ship. The Replicade was military grade and would be forced to land in that section, regardless of how it was used now. He walked in that direction, keeping an eye out as the bustling crowd of strangers swarmed the area, buzzing about their own business and leaving him to his.
The end of the street opened up, tarmac widening before him, with dozens of ships sitting in various states of repair. Some were nothing but skeletons of once great warships, stripped of their useful parts and left to decay in public humiliation. Others gleamed under the sunlight, silent destroyers of foreign worlds. The Greshian ships were easiest to distinguish, but there were others in the crowd, intermingling with one-time enemy ships until their failed militaries crumbled under the strain of the Greshian Empire’s aggression.
The Replicade was surprisingly easy to find. What was horrifying was how badly damaged she appeared since the last time he laid eyes on her. Even from across the tarmac he could see her wounds, the scarring of low-altitude maneuvering that didn’t go as planned by unqualified pilots. He knew in his heart this damage was caused by the Lechuns who presumably stole his ship. No, not presumed, I’ve seen the security footage, he thought as the hatred in his heart grew.
A part of him wanted to go to the ship, access the cargo bay, and seize control of his ship before anyone on board realized what was happening. There were two problems with that plan. First, he was outnumbered. Second, he wasn’t a stupid kid anymore and had a higher priority. Instead, he simply watched the ship for activity. The drive was still on, which meant they were either onboard, or they would be returning soon. Either way, now was not the time to act. Now was the time to practice patience, no matter how painful it would be, and ensure he didn’t miss his opportunity to save Neular’s life. To his surprise, he didn’t have to wait long.