From the Ashes

by A B Lucian

  “Drop us off?” Sabina said, her head snapping up from the console. “Have you gone space mad? A one-way trip to an arkanian heavy cruiser with a full nuclear arsenal that’s minutes away from destroying an entire world, and filled to the brim with genetically altered Enforcers, plus the most dangerous man in the known Galaxy on their side?” Her eyes grew larger and larger as she spoke, a sort of hunger glinting in them. “I wouldn’t miss it for the universe.”

  Alain stepped forward, trying to seem like his stiff, bandaged arm was nothing more than a nuisance. “Yosh Farmer, it is an honor.” He vaulted into the seat overlooking the engineering console. “The sooner we get there, the better.” He didn’t see Yosh’s face, but knew he was smiling. The boy had come into his manhood. Alain could not deny that. He still had the reckless boldness of youth, but Alain could keep him in check if need be.

  “Right, I didn’t have enough time to think it through, but we should be able to dock with the cruiser and board her before we’re spotted,” Yosh said. The view screen showed the land rolling under the ship.

  “I’ll find grandfather once we’re aboard,” Sabina pitched in.

  “We must find out if he is alive and where they are keeping him,” Alain said.

  Sabina smiled at him. “Finding people is my specialty, captain. Actually, it’s my second specialty, but I just need to get my hands on a live Enforcer and I’ll find out where grandfather is.”

  Yosh was busy tapping and swiping on the console. “I’ll try to get us as close as possible to their Engineering bay. I should be able to hack their systems from there and stop the nukes from launching.”

  “That’s a dead end,” Alain said, shaking his head. “No one has succeeded in decades. My crew tried a few times. It’s impossible without—”

  “The builder codes?” Yosh said and smiled wickedly. “Guess what I found in the Black Silence’s database? That’s right, every code from every starship built during the last two hundred years. And Mikail’s heavy cruiser was built in 2298, at Alarka Shipyards.”

  Yosh swiped his fingers across the console again and Alain felt the ship take a wide turn.

  “What happened?” he asked. “Aren’t we going up?”

  “We still have time until they launch the nukes,” Yosh said. “Just enough to pick up another surprise for our unsuspecting arkanian friends.”

  ◆◆◆

  Olexander had said his goodbyes three times over in his mind by now and was still working up the courage to clamp his teeth down on his tongue. He just couldn’t. Every time he applied pressure, his jaw clenched and refused to move. He was no closer to ending himself than when Mikail first brought him to this white-walled room. The chamber was bare apart from some research equipment stacked on the far wall from Olexander and a metallic table. Mikail had plucked the two daggers out of Olexander’s shoulders and seemed to expect applause or appreciation. Instead, Olexander spat in his face again. It didn’t feel as good as the first time though. The balding bastard seemed to mind it less and less.

  The pain in his shoulders faded, but didn’t go away. Olexander was used to bodily pain, and the wounds would heal given time. For now though, his arms were useless meat hanging from his shoulders. That’s why the strong metallic alloy rope binding his hands behind his back seemed overkill on Mikail’s part. He pulled and twisted his wrists to loosen the binding, but try as he might it held tight. His attempts had only gotten him a pulsing soreness and throbbing pain as his wrists were likely raw by now. There are no guards. Come on, old man. There are no guards. This is your chance!

  Mikail rummaged through the devices and equipment, checking screens, tapping in commands, his back turned to Olexander. He seemed to be analyzing a blood sample taken from one of the daggers he removed from Olexander’s shoulder. Olexander’s lifelong enemy and the bane of the Protectors was absorbed by his investigation, murmuring and chuckling now and then. This was the perfect time to strike, if he could only free his hands.

  He pulled on his wrists, gritting his teeth against the burn, for minutes that seemed to span an hour, but to no avail. The pain was fading and turning into a slight tingling, like something warm pulsating inside his wrists and up to his elbows. He stopped trying to break the binding by force when a warm sliver of liquid dripped into his tight fists. If he tried any harder, he’d lose the use of his hands altogether. His head sagged and his shoulders slumped, and that brought on another wave of pain. What use would freeing his hands now be, anyway? If he tore the rope, his wrists were as mangled as his shoulders and Mikail had put on the Protector suit—Olexander’s suit.

  The fire in his veins sputtered and died. He was tired. He shuffled on his haunches toward the back of the cot he sat on and propped himself against the wall. It was hard and cold, but he exhaled at the minor relief it brought him. I’m done, he thought as his tongue flopped back between his teeth. I’m sorry Yosh. There was so much he regretted. He owed Yosh a great many explanations, Sabina too. His thoughts flitted towards all the grandchildren he hadn’t found yet, the ones he lost, the ones he failed.

  He had failed as the last Protector of the Earth. He failed humanity in the last battle—that massacre—he fled. Every second of the past hundred years he’d told himself he ran away so humanity might have a chance at winning back freedom. Perhaps I am lying to myself and always have. Was I too scared? He couldn’t remember. He only remembered his friends dying, himself running, and the eyes of his crew—broken eyes—eyes that had lost everything. The only other thing in the universe sadder than his crew’s eyes he found everywhere in mirrors.

  He squeezed his teeth around his tongue again, felt them sink in and felt the sting. Salty blood spread through his mouth and he stopped. You’re so close. Damn you, do it. Do it, you useless relic. What good are you? Do it! His jaw trembled as he willed it to clamp harder and harder, but again he stopped. Hot tears of frustration slid down his cheeks and lost themselves inside his beard.

  Mikail sighed and his head drooped as he leaned on both arms over a console. “Are you done trying to kill yourself yet? Can’t you see how pathetic that is?”

  Olexander’s cheek twitched. He wanted to bash the bastard’s head in. It was all his fault. All of it! If he had never existed…

  “You won’t be able to kill yourself by biting off your tongue no matter how hard you try,” Mikail continued, and shook his head. “I know you don’t believe me, but if your son didn’t do it during his ten years of torture—horrible torture, I assure you—what chance have you?”

  Olexander swallowed the glob of blood-spit forming in his mouth and ground his teeth together. “Space take you, why do you keep bringing up my son? I’m not a fool to believe your stories. You killed him on Vera 9. Blew up the entire station!”

  Mikail turned around ever so slowly, as if enjoying every excruciating second. “Do you honestly believe I’d be so desperate? I blew up the station, of course, but I had plenty of time to grab Jack and seal the mercenaries inside.” He flipped a palm over and smiled. “One of my greater moments, I admit, but this one beats it.”

  Olexander shook his head. Mikail had to be lying. Jack alive all this time, and he hadn’t known? He hadn’t even searched for him. The muscles in his throat contracted spasmodically at the thought. Poor Jack. He must have thought everyone abandoned him. Poor Jack… “You lie,” Olexander said in a cracked voice. “That’s what you do. You misinform. You’re playing with my mind, trying to get me to—”

  “Olexander,” Mikail cut in, his voice soft. “My old friend, why would I lie to you now? I have you beaten and the progeny in which you place humanity’s hopes will die in a blaze of nuclear fire in less than thirty minutes. Why in the Great Void would I need to lie to you? What would I gain, eh?”

  Blood rushed to Olexander’s temples and his heartbeat quickened. “You don’t need to lie, you sick bastard. You’re doing it to see me suffer, to see me squirm under my guilt—the guilt of leaving my only child to suffer under your hands fo
r ten years.”

  A satisfied smile crept behind Mikail’s thick white mustache. “I admit it’s satisfying to see you torture yourself. It’s even more satisfying to know I didn’t have to lie for it. Keep denying it all you like, but your son is alive, somewhere. If you can still call the state he’s in ‘alive’ and if you can call him your son anymore.” Mikail’s smooth head shone in the omni-directional light coming from the walls. “I got a lot from him in ten years, you know? His own stubbornness and resilience worked against him. He wanted to bite off his tongue too. I guess it runs in the family. But you know what? He didn’t do it. He couldn’t! Not for all the pain and suffering I and my crack team of arkanian torturers could think to put him through.” He tilted his head to the right. “And you know, Olexander—you know I’m well versed in causing pain.”

  Mikail stood quiet for a moment, obviously waiting for Olexander to imagine all the things his son might have suffered throughout his imprisonment. Olexander did his best to keep his face still, a mask of determination. He wouldn’t give Mikail the satisfaction.

  Mikail’s eyes narrowed, and he shrugged. “It’s your own fault, you know? It’s those Protector genes keeping you from killing yourself. They just refuse to let you believe there’s no hope. After all, there are no guards in this chamber. There is only me,” he spread his arms and gestured around, “and I’m not armed, am I? Even though your hands are bound with rope you can’t possibly break—it might look flimsy, but I tested it on your son—it’ll take hours merely to loosen it. Your hands are bound, your shoulders mangled, but Mikail is here, in this room, alone and unarmed. How could the mighty Olexander Farmer, the last Protector of the Earth, not escape? It’s inconceivable to you isn’t it?” Mikail held a hand against his stomach and chuckled.

  “Enough,” Olexander said and his voice echoed through the room. He was sick of Mikail’s ranting, sick of his whiny voice. “Just be quiet!” He slouched against the wall again.

  Mikail grinned like a hardcore gambler on a winning streak at the roulette table. He hardly seemed able to contain his joy at his total victory. He opened his mouth, likely to gloat some more, when a rough voice buzzed over the comm. The speaker was arkanian. “Lord Munov, a ship has forcefully docked with us.”

  Surprise and confusion flashed across Mikail’s face, but anger quickly replaced it. “A ship? What do you mean a ship? How could a ship dock with us forcefully? How did it get so close in the first place? Were your gunners sleeping, Kagos?”

  Olexander suppressed a smile. He knew how. It was a dangerous and foolish and brave thing to do—precisely the kind of plan Yosh would think of—the kind of plan a Protector of the Earth would think of! Olexander’s back straightened as he shifted himself away from the wall. He sat on the edge of the cot, hope pulsing through his veins again. His blood ran hot, as hot as in the old days.

  “Lord Munov,” Kagos continued. “Our scanners didn’t pick up anything. We only found out when reports from Engineering started coming in. The men noticed the ship through the portholes by accident but it was too late. It docked.”

  The skin on Mikail’s skull turned fury red. He threw Olexander a killing look. “Get security teams down there. All the security teams! Blast anyone coming out of the ship.”

  “Already sent them, Lord Munov,” Kagos answered. “I have sealed off Engineering as we have received no further updates from those stationed there.”

  Mikail’s mustache twitched. “How many were in Engineering?”

  Kagos took a few seconds. “Twenty-eight, Lord Munov. We presume them all dead.”

  Olexander smiled. The smugglers had taken a hard beating in Shacktown. Were they still able to take out twenty-eight genetically enhanced arkanians?

  “All dead?” Mikail said, his eyes vaulting around the room. “Vent the atmosphere. Do it now! Vent the atmosphere from the Engineering bay.”

  Kagos hesitated. “Lord Munov… some might still be—”

  “Don’t argue with me, you overgrown fish. Vent the atmosphere, now.”

  There was a short silence followed by a flicker of light. After that, only static came from the communicator.

  “Kagos. Kagos!” Mikail said, squeezing the communicator in both hands as if trying to force the radio waves to carry his voice. “To space with you then!” He threw the communicator on the floor and stomped his heavy foot on it. The plastic cracked, and the static died out. Mikail stood heaving in the middle of the room. “It always comes down to this,” he said as he straightened his back. “If you want something done right, see to it yourself.”

  Now, old man, Olexander thought. It’s time you did something. You’re needed now more than ever. Be useful! He vaulted off the cot and placed himself between Mikail and the exit. “You’re only leaving this room over my dead body, old friend.”

  Mikail’s nostrils flared. He groaned, stomped his foot on the floor in frustration, but seemed to get himself under control. He nodded, smiled, and stepped forward.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Yosh turned his head from the gruesome aftermath of their boarding, but it didn’t stop his bile from rising. His bowels and his conscience were working together to put him out of action. The engineering bay had swarmed with over three dozen arkanian crew members. Most of them had been engineers and maintenance staff, not soldiers, at least from what Yosh could discern from their remains. They weren’t the ones standing between himself and his grandfather, but they were still arkanians and they were heavily armed.

  Once the Black Silence had latched to the hull and cut its way into the engineering bay, it took the arkanians a few minutes to figure out what was happening. Once they organized themselves, they swarmed like flies near the round opening in the hull, service weapons armed and ready. Yosh watched the scene unfold through a viewscreen and opened the airlock doors of the boarding module with a simple tap. The confused and frightened faces of the arkanian crew flashed before his eyes and their screams echoed in his ears. Clearly, a hoard of large hungry hounds was the last thing they expected. They opened desperate fire at the feral dogs pouring out of the Black Silence, but it hadn’t taken long for the hundreds of dogs to overrun them.

  Yosh walked straight through the mobs of dogs huddling over the bodies of arkanians. The dogs wouldn’t hurt him. They were his friends, and they knew Yosh since they were pups. Most of the hormonally fattened dogs would have been slaughtered as arkanian delicatessen in less than a month. The two dozen breeders among them were over five years old and knew Yosh the longest. They looked up with gore covered snouts and whinnied and wagged their tails as Yosh walked passed them. He counted twenty-seven arkanians in total.

  “You sure they won’t attack us?” Sabina said from behind, poking her head through the circular hole the Black Silence had made. She and Captain Dupont waited behind the airlock doors, weapons barred.

  “It’s safe,” Yosh told her. “They… I think they knew why I needed them and came along willingly. They’re friends.”

  Confusion flashed across both their faces, but it didn’t matter. He trusted the dogs, and Sabina and Captain Dupont trusted him, so they’d eventually come out. They didn’t have much time anyway. They lowered their weapons and walked out of the airlock.

  A robotic voice rang through the large room: “Nuclear warheads will launch in fifteen minutes. All hands to battle stations!”

  “No time to waste,” Yosh said, scouring the engineering bay. It was one big hall, four storeys high, built around the battlecruiser’s engine core. The square-shaped core stood in the middle of the hall, dwarfing everything around it. Tubes and fluorescent pipes ran along its sides, and control panels blinked on each of the three upper levels. The arkanians incorporated the hyperdrive inside the massive steel casing, but one stray shot, or wrong move with the controls and they would all turn into little wobbly lights in space.

  The time for considerate, planned-out action was gone. Yosh pushed through the herd of dogs as they gorged themselves. He reached t
he main console and started poking his nose into everything he could. It wasn’t long before he realized hacking into the systems of a battlecruiser wasn’t like hacking into the Archibald’s systems. The military vessel had more encryptions, more firewalls, and pathways that were vastly more intricate than the small smuggler freighter.

  “They’ve sealed us in,” Sabina said. She had waded through the sea of pudgy dogs and reached the engineering bay doors. The small control panel next to the door felt the sharp bludgeon of Sabina’s armored fist twice, then thrice, but still did not relinquish control of the door. “It’s no use, I can’t get it open.”

  “Yes, punching the control panel doesn’t open doors,” Yosh barked.

  “Well asking it nicely didn’t seem to work. Can’t you get it open from your end?”

  “Time is running out,” Captain Dupont said. He had raided a weapons locker and single-handedly picked up an arkanian heavy pulse rifle. “The doors aren’t our main concern right now. Hurry Yosh, get the nuclear weapons offline. We have to scuttle this ship or detonate the hyperdrive—there’s no other way.”

  “No,” Yosh said without looking at him. He was already working on the nuclear weapons. “We need to save grandfather.”

  “I hear something on the other side,” Sabina told them, her ear pressed against the heavy doors. “Their security teams must have gotten here. I think six or seven of them so far. Hurry Yosh!”

  “I am, I am,” he muttered. “It’s not that simple...” Firewall after firewall fell and encryptions melted before him, but there were more, always more. “It’ll take a little longer. Can you buy me five minutes?”

  “Five minutes? The warheads will launch in five minutes,” Captain Dupont said, positioning himself behind a crate of burned out wires and circuit boards and positioned his rifle to face the bay doors.