by Drew Avera
So, instead of pity for the dead, she envied him his peace.
28
Brendle
He could have commanded the autopilot from anywhere on the ship; he could have delegated maintaining the flight path through the key to Pilot, but he was stalling. The Replicade slipped gently through the key and appeared instantaneously in another sector. According to the readout, they were in the Huro sector, still within the vast borders of the expanding Greshian Empire. Huro was a three planet system, each planet inhabited, each rotating around a young star. Their time was limited as the star aged, but it was no concern for now. Brendle visited this sector early in his Navy career, Huro being the first foreign port he ever stepped foot on. It was safe for Greshians; they were welcomed as heroes, but he knew it was only because Greshia conquered Huro politically that Huro feared Greshia militarily. He felt no qualms about that at the time, but looking back at it made him sick. He could only hope that returning would be a peaceful venture. That was all he craved now: peace.
The blue hue of the console lighting illuminated the tears flowing from Brendle’s eyes as he looked at himself in the reflection of the blank monitor. He looked away, not wanting to witness his inability to control his emotions. He did not feel strong, nor did he feel weak, he was just consumed by sadness. Death was inevitable, a part of life, just like eating and sleeping. But for Brendle, death had a finality to it that made his heart ache. It was the way death threatened to have little effect on him that pushed him away from the Greshia Navy in the first place. He tolerated his place on the Telran, telling himself the lives lost didn’t have souls, didn’t have love or intelligence or whatever it was that made them civilized. The lies he told himself eventually kept him awake at night.
He knew the truth, and he could not escape from it.
Brendle wiped a tear from his face as he remembered what led to him finally being free of that life. He was set up, branded a traitor, and dropped on a barren moon, all for wishing for a way to stop the senseless violence, for simply not agreeing with it. For months he had pushed the memory away because death no longer kept him awake at night. He knew this death wasn’t at his hand, but witnessing it made him feel just as guilty as if witnessing it made him culpable.
“Captain Brendle,” Pilot said, breaking Brendle’s silent contemplation.
“Yes?”
“The crew has been waiting at the airlock for close to an hour. I think they may begin to grumble about your whereabouts soon.”
Brendle stifled a laugh. He wondered if the AI recognized how easily some of its statements could resemble sarcasm. He knew it was not in the program and was only his mind drawing the comparison, though. Pilot was right, he had stalled long enough, avoiding having to deal with the ceremony Deis and Malikea insisted was necessary. Perhaps it was his reluctance to take part in the burial rites that pained him so. Was the contempt that had grown in his heart as a Greshian naval officer still blurring the lines of what was right and what was wrong? Do I lack empathy, Brendle wondered. He rose from his seat, finally at ease that the Replicade would survive traveling the long distance to Huro. It would be weeks before they arrived, having entered the sector from the opposite side of it, but it was the safest route. That was just what they needed after a day like this: safety. “Very well. I’m heading down now.”
He dried his face and cursed under his breath about how puffy his eyes looked. He did not want to come across as weak, which was ridiculous, everyone else in the crew shed tears in front of him with ease. Maybe it’s because I came from a home where men did not cry, he thought as he left the bridge, his footsteps clacking against the steel deck.
Despite everything that had happened, he could see the progress of a full day’s attack at repairing the ship. The passageway no longer appeared in disarray, it looked cleaner and like less of a hazard. He made a mental note to assign more of these repair tasks to the crew in the coming weeks. Maybe hard work will take some of our minds off what we’ve been through, he thought as he stepped down the ladder and into the cargo bay. He noticed it was cleaner than he had left it. Everyone had been busy in his absence, and he felt a tinge of guilt for it. He knew they would understand any excuse he gave, but that was all it was, an excuse, an escape from having to deal with the moment. They deserve better than that.
Brendle found the crew standing silently next to the airlock. Deis appeared to have a calm countenance, while Malikea stood with tears flowing from his eyes. Malikea had been through hell, having been abducted by the lunatic Crase. It wasn’t hard to imagine how much worse things could have gone had Crase not intended to use Malikea as a means to get aboard the Replicade. In all honesty, Malikea was not the only one at risk—all of them could have been killed if not for the unlikely intervention of Neular. Brendle once again felt guilty for thinking the man did not deserve to receive burial rites according to Lechun custom. He may have boarded the ship as an enemy but, if not for his change of heart, there would be more bodies being laid to rest. At that moment, Brendle understood why Malikea insisted on the proper burial. And he was right to do so, Brendle thought.
Neular’s body was draped in one of the other men’s robes, and his body lay in a shipping container. His face was painted in hues of blue and gold that shimmered as the light struck it. His hands were folded over his chest, and a small scroll was tucked between his hands and chest. Brendle did not know what the scroll contained, but assumed it was a letter or a prayer. Both were kind gestures and presumably part of the Lechun custom as well. Brendle looked over the body, placing his hand on Neular’s still shoulder and spoke. “Thank you for saving us,” he whispered.
Anki reached her hand out to him and he grasped it in a delicate grip as he took his place standing next to her. She smiled at him, her eyes revealing unspoken relief, and for a moment his thoughts drifted to the fact she might recognize the fact he’d been crying. He ushered the thought from his mind as quickly as it popped up. That didn’t matter.
What did matter was that they were still alive and were there to console one another as they drifted in the dark away from the deadly refuge they had sought on Farax. Brendle learned something about risk, about stepping over the line and not taking the necessary precautions to prevent unnecessary risks from endangering himself and the crew. They only had had only each other. He was no longer part of a massive crew of mostly nameless faces. He had a responsibility to protect them and in so doing, he had to make the right calls, not the ones that seemed right because they were convenient.
“Are you ready?” Deis asked, his voice low and somber as he looked around the room of nodding heads giving their consent.
“Yes,” Brendle whispered, not knowing whether he should speak during the burial rites, but feeling as though he was expected to say something.
Deis nodded and began, “Neular was one of us. Perhaps he was not part of our crew, but still one of us. Neular was created from the stars, born of cosmic dirt, and reveled in life. He was Lechun, married to a priest, a part of the community that Malikea and I were a part of, but his husband’s life was cut short when they were abducted by pirates and forced into bondage. Malikea and I were abducted by the same group, but Neular had been in captivity for months before we met him. He had already lost much, but he still had faith. He still believed in love when we encountered him. Malikea and I never speak of the evil we saw in those horrific corridors, but it hides in the darkest reaches of our hearts.
“I’m reminded of that darkness as I look at Neular and what he became. In the life where I knew him, there was a need for peace, a need for hope. If you told me he would eventually lose that need, I would have doubted you. Neular was there for me during my own struggles, his comforting words echoing those of my beloved husband, but eventually those words were cut away from him during the Silencing.
“It was during that time that Malikea and I were able to escape. Most of the Lechun we knew were dead as we ran through the corridors, each a martyr for our faith becaus
e we all refused to praise the Greshian Empire and we refused to praise our captors. It was during that time that the Lechun faith was breached, at least for Neular, and I think he thought of himself as a monster because he fell into the trap of that man Crase and allowed it to consume him.
“I remember Crase as well. It was his face my eyes recalled seeing when I woke up, bound to a chair as the screams of my people echoed all around me. He told me my tongue would be severed from my mouth and my body sold to the highest bidder—that I would lose everything. I asked him why he was doing this, why he was helping Greshia destroy us. He said he did nothing for Greshia, but his reason for defiling us was simply because he could.
“If not for the attack on the world where we were captive, Malikea and I would have been ripped from each other’s lives and thrown into who knows what. I can only hope we would have survived to not become a killer like Neular was forced to become, but I am not sure it could have been avoided.”
Deis’ words cut into Brendle’s heart. For a moment he imagined that he and Neular had more in common than he might have ever known. He too felt that he was a manufactured killer. Crase was not Greshian, but the same attitude that turned peaceful people into murderers pumped through him and the Empire. He looked at Neular, finally at peace, and the warmth of tears running down his cheeks did not make him feel embarrassed. It made him feel accepted.
“I am blessed to have the life I have now. I am with my husband and with my friends, free from captivity. I hope Neular realized that, in his final moments, he was friends as well. I hope he was comforted by that fact and can enjoy an eternity in peace, until we see him again on the other side.”
With the closing words of Deis’ eulogy, Malikea closed the crate containing Neular’s body. He pressed the airlock control as Brendle helped Anki usher the makeshift casket into the airlock. Once clear, Malikea closed the airlock and jettisoned Neular’s body into the dark.
“Be free,” Malikea said before bursting into tears.
Brendle watched as Anki took hold of Malikea and wrapped her arms around him. Malikea’s face fell into her shoulder as he let go of his grief. Deis wrapped his arms around Malikea, too, and soon Brendle found himself doing the same.
They were a family, not just a crew.
They stood in the passageway as the Replicade drifted through dark expanse, away from Farax and the dangers that world contained. They were no better off in terms of supplies or repairs than they had been when they first entered the Faraxian sector, but Brendle knew they were now closer, more trusting of one another than they had been. That closeness came at a cost and would not be forgotten.
“I love you all,” Brendle said, not realizing the words fell from his lips until after the fact.
“I love you too,” was returned by three distinct voices, and he believed those words defined who he was more than any other title he had ever carried. He was loved—not a traitor, not a Greshian—but loved.
That was more than enough.
Epilogue: Ilium
The slow, silent churn of twin-drive engines through vacuum propelled the Hamæråté closer to the Greshian sector. The scout ship was smaller than any other naval ship Lieutenant Commander Ilium Gyl had been on, but it was a promotion from his days in Combat Control on the GSS Telran. The speed with which he was promoted was unprecedented in Greshian naval history, and he knew, just as he always suspected, that his destiny was for greatness. For now, he was just glad to no longer be aboard the Telran. That ship was a void where time ticked so slowly you had to find other ways to occupy your mind; and sometimes your mind schemed in dark ways, he thought, reflecting on his last few weeks aboard the massive warship. He’d seen things he never imagined he’d witness when he first joined the Greshian Navy, but there was no going back. He found he was being ushered up the chain of command much faster than he could have anticipated. It wasn’t that he disliked the promotions, but it did taint how he felt about the first several years of serving and how he never seemed to get ahead until he found a surefire way to gain recognition.
Those days were over and he was somewhere else now. Ilium was no longer subject to the oppression he’d once experienced on the Telran. He could wish things had been different, that he could have succeeded on his own merits, but he would have been lying if he said he didn’t find that the ends justified the means. He was free to command as he pleased, and that command came with certain benefits he still hadn’t counted as he fell into place onboard the Hamæråté. If nothing else, the scout ship was faster, especially considering its capabilities with passing through the keys, jumping from sector to sector within seconds across the Alorian Galaxy.
That capability would have come in handy months ago as the Telran struggled to keep up with a much smaller warship called the Replicade. That ship disappeared in an uncharted key and proved an embarrassment to the captain. Ilium found his place as Captain Elastra’s right-hand man in the moments that followed, though. It was Ilium’s idea to use the recorded transmissions from the fallen Luthian vessel, Seratora, to triangulate the exact coordinates for Luthia. The result was another planet destroyed in Greshia’s expansion across the galaxy. That quick thinking propelled Ilium towards his current promotion.
It was a lucky week, he thought as his fingers drifted over the tablet on his desk. He monitored the engines from the lush office, checking to ensure nothing was out of limits. The small crew of the Hamæråté meant more of the burden of responsibility fell on him, but it also meant he was able to control the environment around him. All in all, the Hamæråté was his world now and he vowed to use it to shape his success, regardless of what it took to ensure his future was as bright as he desired it to be. I will no longer be in the shadow of someone else; someone like Brendle Quin, he vowed through a deep breath. That was a name he hadn’t said since that fateful day. He remembered dropping Brendle onto the moon, the other man’s defiant attack towards Ilium resulting in a short standoff before the Telran left the man to die alone. The hours that passed brought them to the Seratora. The battle lasted mere minutes, but it was a solid victory. The only scar lingering from that day was losing the runaway Replicade.
He tapped his fingers lightly on his desk. If only he’d been at the helm of this ship instead of the Telran when they chased the rebel craft after destroying one of the Luthian vessels. Everything happens for a reason, he mused, but there was no way in hell a rickety old ship could outrun him now, a scattered debris field or otherwise.
Ilium reclined in his seat, the plush fabric warming to his body as he pressed into the cushions. This was his life now as Commanding Officer of the Hamæråté. He scanned the room, his cabin; the four walls surrounding him were his home, his office, his life. Taking command of such a vessel presented challenges, but most of them were easy to pawn off on junior officers willing to prove their worth to their new Commanding Officer. That was the way it was for many officers in the Greshian Navy. Promotions were scarce, and one had to prove themselves time and time again in order to stand out. That was precisely the line of thinking that led to him exposing Brendle as a traitor. It mattered not that Ilium fabricated some of the evidence. It was clear to the captain of the Telran that Ilium was a more valuable asset. That confidence extended to the higher chain of command as Ilium seized more opportunities. His rapid ascension to command was both a blessing and a curse, but he didn’t feel he had to know the rules to play the game he was playing. Rulebooks don’t apply when your agenda is to seize whatever power you can. His destiny was to become a legendary fighter in Greshian military history, much like Admiral Hollinsy when he lured the Ontorian Prime Minister to giving Greshia the rights to the keys. That single moment cemented Hollinsy into history. That was the moment the blooming Greshian Empire gained a foothold in the ever-expanding galaxy, and it hungered for more.
A knock at his door tore him away from his thoughts.
“Enter,” he ordered, careful not to let the irritation in his voice come across too strong.
He hated being disturbed, and he hadn’t yet acclimated to his position in command, or instilled enough trust from his subordinates to warrant a lapse in “kinder” judgement. He chose to play his hand close to his chest, to find out who he could trust before relaxing in his mannerisms. I play the role of hard ass pretty well, he thought.
The door slid open and his Intel Officer entered with a com-unit in his hand. “Sir, we have picked up a distress beacon from the Faraxian Sector.” The urgency in the man’s voice grated on Ilium’s nerves. “I’ve downloaded the message to show you.”
This was of little interest to Ilium, but he had a role to play. He nodded his acceptance to Vesna and asked, “What kind a distress?” He straightened in his seat, hoping to give the perception he cared.
The Intel Officer placed the device on the corner of Ilium’s desk and tapped the screen, bringing the message to the queue. “It’s from a decommissioned warship carrying a civilian crew, sir. They are being boarded by suspected pirates.” Vesna tapped the screen again and the static-filled audio file played.
“We need help. Our ship is under attack by a pirate craft. They docked to our ship after our drive was secured. We are without power and are about to be boarded by hostiles. My name is Brendle Quin, Captain of the Replicade. We are in the Faraxian Sector, five-hundred clicks from Farax, heading starward. I have onboard three civilian crewmembers and we need your help. Our ship is…”
Slightly shocked, Ilium leaned forward as the playback began again. Brendle Quin? He fought a fiendish smile from curling his lips. That clever bastard made it off the moon and onto that ship, he thought. I should have known.