Eshel peered out at the boundless dark space as Mosel and the elder Moshal took to searching the ship and testing all its systems to ensure they functioned properly and hadn’t sustained damage.
After time passed, the Moshal still not yet returned, the others rested and Eshel let himself settle into a relaxed state. As much as he could, given the circumstances.
A moment later, when Eshel looked up, he saw a figure in front of him.
His father.
We have done it, Father. We have escaped.
Just as Eshel let himself slip into his reverie, he heard something. Something that brought him back to the present.
He opened his eyes. His father no longer stood there.
But others stood now, concern on their faces as Mosel and the elder Moshal faced them. Both looked distinctly paler than before.
“What did you find?” someone said.
“We repaired the damage from the strike,” Mosel said coldly. “However, it impacted our water storage.”
Dread ran through Eshel. “Have we lost water?”
“Yes,” Mosel said.
Another tense silence settled upon the group. They could survive without food for an extended period. But water? No, not water.
“How much did we lose?” an Osecal scientist asked.
“A quarter of our supply.” Mosel frowned. “He could not catch us, and knew it, so he attempted to ensure we do not survive the journey to Suna.”
“No,” said the youngest of the Osecal. “That cannot be. He was merely lucky.”
“It was not luck!” cried another. “I have heard the stories of those who attempted escape or even attempted to plan one. Imprisonment is only for those who are favored. No, this is an insidious ploy to destroy us by giving us hope, only to watch it evaporate into the emptiness of space as we all perish.”
“You have no evidence that is the case,” said the young Osecal. “He merely aimed at us, assumed failure, and gave up, knowing he had no purchase.”
Eshel remained quiet. He did so because he knew, probably better than anyone, that Mosel was right. It was exactly the kind of thing the Shereb leadership would secretly instill in any Guard they had bribed or coerced, to force any successful escapees into difficult circumstances.
The leadership, and Elisan in particular, would want any absconder to pay for their traitorousness with a slow, painful death, one that only extreme luck, or extreme cleverness, could overcome.
Eshel knew this rogue Guardsman had been indoctrinated in this way. Who knew the real reason the man had been in the ship’s bay without authorization. Elisan had spies, willing or not, everywhere.
But he didn’t say so aloud. Doing so would put him in a precarious position, and would solve nothing. The others continued arguing, until Eshel interrupted.
“If we have less water now, then we must ration. I will perform the calculations, considering all the ways we can reduce usage, and create an allotment schedule. We will all adhere to it.”
“And why would we trust you, Shereb?” said the eldest female Osecal scientist.
“I do not care who performs the task,” Eshel said coldly. “Just get it done, and ensure it is accurate.”
Several of the others acknowledged that, and they got to work.
* * *
That night, or what they called night after they’d adjusted their clocks to Jula’s time (Suna’s capital city), they created a system of rotating sleep shifts. This was to divide up duties, but also to reduce the number of people awake during any given period. None were used to being in a confined space with strangers, especially for so long a period.
Eshel requested that he spend his waking time with the Moshal, and as few Osecal as possible. The Moshal didn’t like or trust the Shereb any more than any other clan, but they lacked the hatred of the Osecal, who still pined for power that was no longer theirs.
During a long sleep, Eshel awakened to unsettling sounds. He sat up and looked around, sensing that something was wrong.
Several of the others were awake as well. Mosel appeared, her face pale. Paler than he’d ever seen it.
“We discovered another leak in our water systems, one that sensors did not detect. We have lost more supply. Even with rationing, we do not have enough to survive the journey to Suna.”
9
Nobody spoke. There was only the hum of the ship’s engine as everyone pondered the unthinkable.
They had lost more water. They would not have enough to reach Suna, even with severe rationing. Not for all of them, anyway.
They could not continue on their path if they wanted to survive.
“What are our options?” one of the Osecal scientists asked. “List them all, no matter how absurd, no matter how improbable.”
“We can continue,” someone said. “Engage our beacon. The Sunai are explorers… they must patrol the area. They could find us.”
“We are quite far from Suna,” Mosel said quietly. “The probability of them picking up our signal out here is quite low.”
“How can that be?” said another. “They patrol the area near our space often, as if hoping for a spontaneous invitation.”
“Or a way to breach our net,” muttered someone else.
Eshel spoke. “As Mosel said, we are far from Suna. The territory the Sunai could explore, especially in FTL-capable ships, is vast. We do not grasp this vastness because we have not explored the outerworlds.”
“We can return to our homeworld,” said the young Moshal. The others turned to look at him. “It is not our preference, but it guarantees we all survive.”
“Does it?” said the older female Osecal scientist. “Elisan may save one of his own,” she glanced at Eshel, “but he will surely devise some method of punishment worse than we can imagine for the rest of us.”
“That cannot be,” the young Moshal said. “I have escorted an attempted escapee to Felebaseb myself.”
“And where is he or she now?” the scientist challenged.
They argued some more, until Eshel spoke.
“She is correct about Elisan,” Eshel said to them, his eyes on the female scientist. “Never underestimate what he will do with any of us. We have collaborated to violate one of Korvalis’s strictest edicts, and one even more strongly supported by this leadership. This does not just violate Doctrine, they will see it as a betrayal of the worse kind. I have seen people killed for far less, my father included.”
That silenced them for a moment. And it did so because, deep down, they all knew it was true.
“Who does not agree with the Shereb?” Mosel asked them.
None spoke.
Then, the elder Moshal said, “Each of us knew the risks when we agreed to this mission. I would rather die free of the leadership’s tyranny than return to it and live.”
Again, no one disagreed.
“Then that leaves us two choices,” Mosel said. “We continue rationing until we run out, or we sacrifice some so others may reach Suna and seek asylum.”
“How do we decide whom to sacrifice?” an Osecal said.
“And how many must die, assuming the Sunai do not find us?” said another.
“That is for us to decide together,” Mosel said.
More silence, and Eshel felt a shroud of pain settle over the group. Over himself. All that effort and preparation, to have such a choice foisted upon them.
Then, he remembered. His therapy. It was time to speak, and tell the truth.
“I volunteer to abstain from water,” Eshel said.
They stared at him in puzzlement.
“Why would you do this?” Mosel asked.
“Because I have a genetic therapy that may allow me to survive long periods without food or water.”
“Where did you obtain such a therapy?” one of the scientists asked him.
“I created it.”
Several moments passed as they considered that.
“Why did you not speak of this before, Shereb?” said the scient
ist.
“I believed we would succeed.”
“Did you bring enough of this therapy for all?” someone else said.
“I did not…”
“These Shereb,” the older female scientist snapped. “They are all the same.”
“Let me continue,” Eshel said, hoping to finish before they killed him then and there. “I only learned of your departure date three days before it occurred. I barely had time to finish the therapy, much less create more. Also, the therapy is untested.” He glanced at the scientists. “You know as well as I do that an untested therapy is dangerous, and I may very well perish.”
“Do not believe him,” the female scientist said. “He thought only of himself and his own survival.”
“Your resentment is growing tiresome,” Eshel said to her. “I hoped never to use the therapy. Instead, I hoped it would serve as a bargaining tool with the outsiders.”
“A bargaining tool?” said the elder Moshal.
“Yes. I did not leave Korvalis merely as an act of rebellion against the leadership, or to escape that which I found unjust. I would hope the same applies to all of you. If we are to restore Korvalis to its previous greatness, we will need the help of the outsiders.”
“And you propose to give them our genetic technology in exchange?” cried the elder Osecal scientist. “You cannot! That will be our ruin!”
“I will share the result, not the methodology,” Eshel replied. “That will be sufficient. This therapy, if adapted to alien genomes, will be highly valuable to all. Particularly the Sunai, who will desire it even more if they can access it before the humans.”
“And do you support joining their alliance?” said the elder Moshal.
“I do.”
“Impossible,” the older female scientist said.
“Imperative,” Eshel replied.
The others continued to argue with him, until Mosel spoke up.
“No more of this! The Shereb has made his choice.” She stood up. “First, we will engage the beacon and strategize ways to maximize its reach. Then, we will decide what must be done.”
* * *
Eshel tried to sleep. But his mind was restless, too many disturbing thoughts haunting him.
He hadn’t taken the therapy yet. He wanted time to consider their situation and whether there was a solution, or at least some way he could help increase the odds of their survival or their encountering the Sunai.
The others had not yet decided which way they would do things. The desire to place value on all their lives warred with the desire to ensure some could reach Suna and serve as ambassadors for the rest.
Suddenly, someone appeared next to Eshel’s cot. One of the Moshal, the elder. It was the first time any of them had approached Eshel to talk. He stood and faced him.
“You must take my place,” the man said.
Eshel stared. “I do not understand.”
“When we decide how we will distribute water, you must take my place and forgo your genetic treatment. You must prolong your life as long as possible.”
“They have not yet decided—”
“If it comes to that. You will take mine. You must.”
Eshel could not believe what he heard. “No. My genetic therapy—”
“It is untested, as you say. You must remain alive. To help the others survive as long as possible. To reach Suna.”
“Why would you offer this, and to me?”
His blue eyes bore into Eshel’s. “Because of what you said. About what you will achieve when you reach the outerworlds. If other Shereb had such vision—if the Osecal had such vision—Korvalis would not be in the situation it faces now.”
Eshel went silent at the man’s confession. He wanted to take the offer; how could he not? But he couldn’t. “It is a generous offer, but—”
“There is no but,” the Moshal hissed at him. “You are young, with grand plans. I am old. I have no one. I lack your education, and… I am not well. I sought only to use my position in the Guard to aid in getting this band of escapees off our planet, and I have succeeded in that goal.” He paused for a moment. “You are one of the Spirited. We need the Spirited more than ever now.”
When Eshel tried to argue, the Moshal cut him off again.
“You will take my place.” He walked away.
Eshel sat back down. He couldn’t take the man’s place. But still, the Moshal’s speech intrigued him. It reminded him of his father.
There had to be some way they could all remain alive: Increase their velocity. Find a water source. Broaden the area to which their beacon could reach, increasing their odds of contacting the Sunai.
But if any of those ideas were viable, Mosel would have said so.
At that moment, neither of Eshel’s options felt right. Not taking the therapy, not taking the Moshal’s place. There had to be a better way.
Fatigue overcame him, and Eshel closed his eyes.
* * *
Eshel stood upon the edge of a tall cliff, his blue robe whipping in the wind and the dark sea below crashing against the rocks. Then he heard something.
A voice.
He looked down. His father stood on the shoreline in his blue robe, the water lapping at his ankles. He was calling up to Eshel, but Eshel couldn’t hear him with the noise of the wind and the ocean.
Then, the waves stilled and the wind drew a breath, offering a mere moment of silence. He heard two words from his father.
Black hole.
Black hole?
Then it came to Eshel. Before Elisan had prevented Othniel from leaving Korvalis, Othniel had spoken of the long journey to Suna on the fast Sunai ships. He’d overheard two Sunai pilots bragging about the speed of their ships and their extensive exploration of the space that separated Suna from Korvalis, and how they were the ones who discovered that the most direct route between the two planets meant encountering a black hole that needed avoiding.
Eshel’s eyes flew open.
He got up and went to wake Mosel.
10
Weeks had passed. So far, despite their dwindling water stores, all ten escapees remained alive.
After his realization, Eshel had spoken with Mosel, revealing what he recalled of his father’s comments. He wished he’d paid closer attention to his father’s musings, as Othniel had been more talkative than most Korvali.
Mosel had charted their course to Suna like any space pilot doing so without guidance. The course charted by the Sunai, who volunteered to transport the Korvali back and forth on the rare occasions they left their homeworld, was unknown to Mosel and the other Guard.
Eshel knew that was by design, another way to reduce the odds of any escapees succeeding. But the combination of Sunai bragging and Othniel’s keen listening had revealed just enough. And between Eshel, Mosel, and a couple others who’d heard things, they’d pieced together that avoiding the black hole by going a counterintuitive way would slice weeks off their journey.
That meant reaching Sunai patrol territory sooner and greatly increasing the probability that the Sunai would pick up their signal.
It also meant the pressing nature of their water crisis had changed.
As a result, everyone came to a consensus: they would all remain living, they would all share the rationed water equally, and they would continue finding ways to conserve water or make contact with the Sunai.
And, if the worst happened and they didn’t make it, they would face that together.
It was the elder Moshal man who put it best:
“We all joined this mission and took the risk together. I say we survive together, and if we must, we die together.”
Not everybody agreed with this egalitarian philosophy, but even the dissenters offered no argument in the end. Eshel knew it was because nobody, even those believing themselves most deserving, wanted to face the prospect of randomly sending people to their deaths. And because they believed the curious, well-equipped Sunai would find them.
However, as more tim
e passed and they finally arrived in an area of space that was easily within the path of Sunai patrol, they saw no sign of the Sunai.
No sign at all.
They redoubled their efforts to contact the otherworlders—anyone who would listen. Upon seeing their water stores shrink to dangerously low levels, they began conserving even more, to the point where Eshel felt fatigued and not as clearheaded as usual.
But as even more time passed, their call for aid went unanswered.
And the water finally ran out.
* * *
The pall cast over the ten of them was palpable. It was silent as everyone faced what they’d most feared but hoped would never come.
That, and everyone was too fatigued from having conserved water for so long. The Korvali were water people. They needed water to function even more than humans did.
Eshel in particular was in a morose state. All that planning. All that discussion with his father. All their hopes, their plans, their thinking far into the future and considering every angle. All of it would come to nothing, and Korvalis would have to wait until someone else attempted escape, while facing even steeper odds.
It could be too late by then. Civil war was imminent, and would ruin them.
How could this be happening? Othniel had been so sure. So had Eshel, once committed.
The only sliver of hope he had now was his genetic therapy, untried and untested. Even if it worked, which was unlikely, it had its own time limit. He would go into stasis, but could only linger there so long before he too succumbed to dehydration.
He was so tired. Tired from not enough water, tired from spending so much mental energy trying to find a solution, only to fail again and again.
Someone approached him. When he looked up, he found the elder Moshal standing before him again. He looked drawn and weak.
“Follow me,” he said.
Eshel stood, following the older man to the ship’s engine room. The man handed over a vessel with a cap on it.
Eshel took it. “What is this?”
“Water. I saved some of mine.”
The Escape Page 4