Eshel stared at it, shook it, felt the swirling of liquid. His thirst hit him hard, so hard he could almost taste the water. There had to be at least a day’s worth in that vessel. A full day’s worth.
“Why are you doing this?” Eshel said.
“We will all die in the next two days. You must take this water for strength. When we die, you must cover us and ensure our dignity in death.”
Eshel understood the man’s meaning. “Why me?”
“Because I trust you to do so. And it will give you another day, perhaps more, to find hope.”
Eshel stared at the vessel again, his thirst still acute, not sure whether he felt right taking it.
“Do not refuse me,” the Moshal said. “I will not drink it, and it will otherwise go to waste.” He turned to leave.
“Wait.”
The Moshal faced him again.
“What is your name?”
The Moshal hesitated for a moment. “Kalen. And you are Eshel.”
He turned and left.
* * *
Two days later, Eshel sat next to Mosel, who lay upon her cot in the dark-gray robe of the Moshal clan. Her face was pale, her eyes faded.
Eshel had witnessed seven of the others perish over the last couple of days, beginning with Kalen, whom he’d sat with in his final moments.
Now, Eshel would do the same for Mosel.
“You must take your therapy,” Mosel scolded, her voice gravelly and faint. “You are our only chance.”
“I will take it. When it is time.”
“Do not wait too long.” She glanced at the injector in her hand. “Survive, Shereb. Honor our people, and save them.”
“I will try,” Eshel said quietly.
Mosel injected herself with the drug. Eshel waited quietly as her eyes faded more, then closed. Soon, she was dead.
And within hours, the remaining two Osecal—the elder scientists—followed, both in the light-gray robes of their clan. One, the male, had told Eshel to leave him be. The other, the female, begrudgingly urged him to take the therapy and make himself “more useful than any Shereb who came before you.”
Afterward, Eshel rose to adjust the ship’s environmental settings, reducing both the temperature and humidity to preserve their bodies as long as possible. He ensured each body was covered and that their eyes were closed.
Then he drank what little remained of Kalen’s offering, and began trying once more to contact other ships. He spoke in every language he knew, tried binary, prime numbers, everything he could think of.
Nothing.
Eshel sensed a presence nearby. When he glanced over at the copilot’s seat, he found his father sitting in it.
“Cease this fruitless task, son,” he said. “Take the therapy, or you will die and dishonor these nine people… dishonor the Korvali.”
“I will die anyway. The therapy is untested. It is not our way to administer untested therapies.”
“Take it anyway. You cannot linger anymore.”
Eshel closed his eyes for a moment, not wanting to follow his father’s orders. He told himself it was because he believed that, with enough effort, he would make contact with the Sunai. But in truth, he delayed for a much simpler reason. One he didn’t want to admit.
He was afraid.
He was willing to die, and would not cower in the face of death. But he hated the idea of dying after coming so close to success, of having the Sunai eventually find them all dead, decayed, helpless.
That wasn’t who he was. Who they were.
But his father was right. He could avoid the inevitable no longer. So he went down below and changed into one of his blue robes. He dug out his vial and injected himself, then lay down upon the last empty cot. He held the drug, the one he had made, between his long fingers. Then he saw it all, every mental snapshot he had taken on his last day on Korvalis.
His father. His mother. Elan. His laboratory. The gardens of Fallal Hall. The great oceans of Korvalis.
All that he cherished.
Finally, he took the drug and closed his eyes, the visions still competing for attention in his mind.
Soon, they grew less vivid, then began to fade, then blur.
Finally, there was nothing.
11
Sounds.
Then, nothing.
Eshel heard it again. Sounds.
No, voices. People.
The voices were quiet. Somewhere in the far distance. It must be his imagination, a memory of some conversation he’d had with his father, or with Elan. When it faded away, he was convinced.
But then it returned once more. Louder this time. And that’s when he realized it.
The voices weren’t Korvali. They were speaking another language.
Then, something else. A hum, one he felt more than heard. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there. Like an engine.
And that’s when it hit him, finally. These weren’t figments of his imagination or memory. These were real sounds. He was alive, and waking from stasis.
He was alive.
He opened his eyes. Everything was blurry at first, and too bright. He shut his eyes once more, relying on his other senses to feed him information.
He felt the hum more clearly now. Most likely a ship’s engine, but not the Korvali ship he’d spent so long on. This one felt powerful, yet smooth. Perhaps there was more than one engine, if a Sunai starship.
The Sunai had found them. Had found their ship, realized he was still alive, and rescued him.
He’d lived. The therapy worked.
He heard the voices again, this time loud and clear. They were definitely not speaking Korvali, which meant they must be Sunai. He listened, hoping his practice with his father had been enough that he could understand them. But he recognized none of the familiar Sunai words. Nor did they sound the way his father had told him the Sunai sounded—deep, enthusiastic, guttural. And did he hear a woman’s voice?
Confused, Eshel ventured to open his eyes once more. Again he squinted at the bright lights, closing his lids for just a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust.
He lay on a narrow bed of some kind. He glanced around, realizing he was surrounded by what looked like medical equipment. He was in a ship’s medical bay, and an advanced one at that.
His eyes followed the voices, and at the far edge of his vision he saw two people. A male and a female, conversing. She sat at a computer, staring at the screen; he stood, watching. But the uniforms were odd, as were their appearances.
They weren’t Sunai. They were human.
Human! Was he on a human ship? How was that possible?
Eshel sat up, finding that he had a tiny intravenous device inserted into his hand. He got a better look at the humans.
He was large in size and hairy, she was slender and younger. But what captured Eshel’s eye was her hair: it was strangely long… and a most interesting color. What was the correct word in their language? Eshel could not recall. Purple? No, that was not it.
Eshel looked around again. The other medical beds lay empty. Then he remembered.
The others. What happened to them. They’d perished, but he’d managed to survive. The therapy, untested, had saved his life. But he’d lost the others.
He listened to the two humans. They were talking about him. Trying to understand what was happening, having no idea he was awake.
Then he took a closer look at their apparel. They wore uniforms. Familiar ones. They were Space Corps, the military organization that protected Earth’s borders and space.
And ensured that no Korvali ever set foot on their planet.
Eshel sorted through the many thoughts that rushed through his mind. The plan was always that they would go to Suna. Even with its many flaws, it was a known entity. The Sunai had made it clear they would welcome any Korvali who would choose to visit.
The humans, on the other hand, had done the opposite.
For a moment, doubt descended upon Eshel. The others were dead and he was
on a ship with a people who didn’t trust the Korvali. What would become of him? Would they imprison him? Torture him? Kill him?
Eshel pushed such thoughts away. The humans were untrusting and had a history of violence, but they were advanced. And if they’d wanted to hurt him, he’d be dead already, not sitting here unharmed and very much alive.
It was time. Time to make his presence known. And to do what he’d come to do. He would do it for his father, and for the nine who died, and most of all for his people.
Eshel waited for his opening, and he spoke.
Afterword
Thank you for reading The Escape! If you’re reading this, you enjoyed the story and are dying to know what happens next. Well, good news: you can do that by downloading The Refugee, Book One of the Korvali Chronicles trilogy. Yeah, our brave Eshel goes on quite the epic journey—making friends, clashing with enemies, exploring worlds, facing political hell and worse—and you don’t want to miss it. I would say more, but spoilers suck. Just go grab it, and enjoy.
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Are you on my email list? If not, join up and get access to great deals on awesome sci-fi books as well as other sci-fi and science news. I only email once a month (twice on special occasions), because we’re all busy people.
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So, The Escape. I wrote this long after finishing the KC trilogy. I wrote it because readers begged for more in this world, and because I knew there was a story to tell about how Eshel managed to escape the chilly, xenophobic grip of Korvalis.
* * *
But getting started wasn’t easy, as I’d forgotten some of the world details, and had to go hunt them down. Like were Elan’s apartments on the third or fourth floor of Fallal Hall? How many Osecal were in the escape party again? I had them all drawing straws and then dying one by one over time, then realized I couldn’t do that, that I’d made it clear they’d perished around the same time.
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You don’t think of these things when you’re in the idea stages. All you’re thinking is, “Let’s write a prequel about Eshel’s escape! It’ll be easy!” Yeah, it wasn’t. But I loved being back in this world. It’s a good world and I’m proud of it. So proud, in fact, that I’m writing more books in it.
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Anyway, that’s all for now. Cheers, and happy reading.
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Christie (The Rogue Scientist)
Also by C.A. Hartman
Korvali Chronicles series
(Space Opera)
The Escape (prequel short story)
The Refugee
The Operative
The Forbidden Planet
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Daughters of Anarchy series
(Dystopian Sci-Fi Thriller)
Book 1
Book 2
Book 3
Book 4
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Mindjacker series
(Dystopian Sci-Fi Thriller)
Mindjacker
Mind Thief
About the Author
C.A. Hartman specializes in writing science fiction with badass female leads. An academic scientist gone rogue, Hartman’s books have been praised for their great characters, intricate worlds, and their intriguing but understandable science.
A graduate of the University of Colorado, Hartman earned her PhD in Behavioral Genetics and worked as a scientist for 11 years. She lives in Denver with her husband, and has a special fondness for good TV, the desert, aviator sunglasses, and dark roast coffee (decaf, of course, because you DON'T want to be around her when she's caffeinated).
The Escape Page 5