by David Salvi
Lavik smiled and said, “One man protecting his home is more powerful…”
“...than ten hired soldiers. Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.” Chris said aloud. The first thing he said since Lavik arrived.
“That’s what I love about you, Sir Christopher! Always ready for a good, Earthly reference!”
“Hey, it was a fine movie.”
They had a plan. Not the best. But it was something that gave them a veneer of confidence.
***
That evening Chris went to bed assuming he’d casually help Riley with her new strategy any way he could. It was something to noodle over in bed, but it failed to deter him from his main objective. Nevertheless he needed rest.
About an hour into his sleep, a pounding knock on his door awoke him. His small quarters reverberated the thundering. At first, he thought he was dreaming until his eyes creeped open to a dim orange light. A candle on his night table was on the last smidge of its wick. He lit it before bed as ambient light, but never enough to keep him awake. The flickering was soothing. At times he’d read. Other times he’d stare at his wall, which he marked with chalk. Pictures, counting. Miscellaneous nonsense he told himself. It was something to do when he didn’t feel like reading.
He hopped out of bed and asked for whomever was on the other side to stop the racket. Enough already, he thought in his stupor. Trudging forward, half asleep, Chris opened the door. On the other side was a flaming torch and three people in hoods. Two figures in the back dressed as dignitary guards towered over the smaller person in front. Red hair dangled from beyond the hood in the torchlight.
“Riley?” Chris asked. His voice hoarse.
She tilted her head up to reveal her striking features. Judging her face, Chris sensed something was wrong. He began raise his hand to her in an affectionate manner, but she spoke first and he lowered it.
“Chris, we have to talk. You can come with us willingly or…not.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know what you’ve been doing. I can’t believe I let it all happen under my nose like that.”
“What are you talking about?” It was his last attempt. He didn’t like to lie to her either.
“Please don’t make it harder than it needs to be. We trusted you.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
She motioned to the two behind her to proceed. Something premeditated before they arrived at Chris’s door in case he did not immediately cooperate. Not much of a discussion either. The guard’s forceful grips yanked Chris from his quarters with ease. He did not fight back. No point right now.
Into the dark night, he went deep into the mountain toward the laboratory.
CHAPTER 23
THE DAY OF RECKONING for Chris was underway. He expected this kind of response from the protective species that was the Motus Society. He had heard of the dignitary court, but never heard of anyone who had actually endured the supposed wrath of what happened inside. It was more for Canaanite captives or crazy people on the island that couldn’t hold their shit together. Not exactly common occurrences since Chris arrived.
The dignitary court was also for treason. That’s what they told Chris he was there for. He surprised himself when the first reaction was anger, not fear or remorse.
Once Riley invaded Brody’s workspace for more boom powder, she uncovered the plot. All of it. In a few days, Chris, Brody, and several engineers would flee the planet on a spacecraft designed by Oscar Marian. This treasure left behind for those seeking the ultimate escape only needed two things to operate—exotic matter and Rob II. Apparently who needed an escape was Chris, right before the most important battle in Motus’s two-hundred and fifty Canaan-year history. And Riley helped Chris smuggle those things out of Canaanite City and back to Motus Island without knowing. When she arrived at the laboratory, she played dumb as if in cahoots with Chris. That’s when Brody revealed Aurora to her. Even Riley admitted the spacecraft was stunning. But when she returned, she brought guards and a summons by the dignitary court.
But, when Riley returned with the guards, Rob II had locked down the hangar, seizing several engineers inside, and changed the passwords.
Chris was finding this out for the first time as he stood in the court. Bound by iron shackles and handled by two bulky guards, Chris stood in front of the dignitaries with little to say. He gave one word responses to the questions as to why he’d go about this frivolous mission. Most of the information was kept secret. Brody held the same silence in his session only minutes before Chris’s take to the stand. They had both been burned, only Brody was burned almost thirty Canaanite-years ago.
Instead of intently listening, Chris looked around at yet another cavernous space in the mountain. The court was half the size of the library. Plenty of seats were carved out of the rock for the public to act as spectators. Two entrances: one for the public and dignitaries, one for the accused. Torches lined the periphery and lit the space. Other torches were pierced into the rocky ground and lit. All the torches on Motus were lit by fish oil, which lasted for a while and was bountiful in the Ocean of Antiquity and Motus Bay. One of the good byproducts of their successful fishing and geography.
The accused stood in the center where two large torches flanked the person or persons—in this case, persons. In front of the accused were the dignitaries, who preserved all rights for judgment above all on the island. The public would share their discontent in the form of boos and jeers, but now mostly they were quiet. A Menas was on at charge. Shocked dispositions were more fitting.
“You’ve been found guilty of high treason, Christopher Menas. I never thought I’d see the day that a Menas would betray Motus Society.”
“I wasn’t trying to make history here.” Chris’s first multi-word answer. Again the anger surfaced.
“Silence!”
Chris lowered his head with a grin. He felt like being a prick for just a moment. So close to what he wanted to accomplish and now this. More people telling him how to live his life. He hated the idea when he was younger. He hated it now. The shouting continued at his expense.
“Temporary punishment is prison until the dignitaries can decide your ultimate fate. Given the circumstances with the impending Canaanite attack, we will delay your definitive sentencing. You’re too dangerous to be free among Motus members.”
Brody, beside Chris, was silent. He’d peek over at his younger friend and grin. At the beginning of the session Brody remained silent, refusing to answer anything. They turned to Chris and got more than they had wished.
Riley’s father, Titus, spoke next with less cruelty in his voice, “How do you open the hangar?”
Chris was more receptive given Titus’s tone. He wanted to open up a dialogue so he did. “What will you do if it is open?”
“Dismantle the spacecraft.”
“Rob II locked it down. I have no control.”
“He said he’d open it for you.”
“It probably wasn’t envisioning me in chains though.”
Titus shook his head.
Chris spoke, “What good is dismantling the spacecraft?”
“Did you ever think you created the technology that Canaan has craved for years? You did their work.” Murmurs developed from the crowd.
He dipped his head in shame. No, Chris did not think of it that way. The perspective flipped and he did not want to believe he’d handed over powerful technology. He believed he did good. He always maintained that belief. What else did he really have?
Titus said, “For that reason, you’ve endangered us more than you know.”
To the prison, Brody and Chris went.
***
Two days passed. This was the day they were supposed to leave, but Chris and Brody were relegated to a cell cornered by rock and faced with black iron bars. You heard close to nothing but your own breath in the cells. The little conversation they had was centered around dreams and aspirations, not escape. Brody said he had designed the cells. Witho
ut the key, they weren’t getting out.
Only a faint light from a torch kept them company outside of themselves. It flickered and molded the shadows every second with the inner mountain draft.
“I wonder what space is like,” Brody asked aloud.
“Me too.”
“All the theory and calculation. We would have lived the work we did on the ground. I never would have felt more alive,” said the man who neared ninety Canaanite years.
“Sorry, I should have warned you or something.”
“Nah, no reason to worry.”
A moment brought silence. They thought about space together without knowing it. That collective thought was right there. But then Chris thought of something more important.
“Hey, do you have my knapsack?”
“It should be in the laboratory, assuming they didn’t confiscate it.”
“I wish I had that.”
“Important stuff in there.”
“You can say that again.”
Then a blast shook the whole of the mountain. Dust and broken rock fell from the ceiling of their cell. Another blast, and another. The two men erected from their seated positions and grabbed the bars with their hands, looking for any sign of what was going on.
Chris said, “Canaan is here.”
Imperium, Canaan Year 1 Entry -- Canaan Camp
I write these for future generations. Always make progress possible.
This will be my final entry. Struggling to eat on my deathbed, I do not have the strength to provide another scribble. Nor do I have much more to say. It is ironic I will be the first person to die on Canaan, only weeks after settling our new colony.
I feel queasy and unsettled. The constant nausea is taking a toll on my body. An unknown illness, most likely a foreign organism on Canaan, has struck me. I can’t eat without vomiting. I can’t sleep without sweating. My body will not endure the aftermath of our journey.
Through the trials and issues we faced, I have learned much about myself.
Nothing about my body, brain, heart, or soul has the courage, intelligence, or fortitude of the men and women who joined me on this journey to a new world. To surrender yourself to something greater than you. What greater courage is there?
It is within this vulnerability that I have casted myself aside and demanded exile. I am an outcast in my own world, one defined by me in every new known detail. But to be an outcast is okay. As long as you felt like you did something with your life. For future generations, I say something simple: never allow the difficulty of a moment to stop you and your goals. There’s always another world to inhabit. Another friend to be made. More work to be done. And within that purpose does the purpose of life become self-evident. Those trying to take that away from you only live in vanity.
Vanity is self-destructive. Don’t allow it in.
We have travelled farther than any human beings in history and colonized another giant rock of sustenance and elemental chemistry that provides us life. Our new camp will grow into a village. A village into a city. A city into a new global dominance. Earth was our past. This is our future.
I am nothing more than a dreamer surrounded by real heroes who did our great work, like a child. I’m forever indebted, as is our race. A vision or dream is not good without it becoming a reality. Thank you.
With that, I must tell you. With me, I brought my favorite films, video games, books, and music to Canaan. These were my inspiration. Despite all of the scientific progress in the name of discovery, I must resign genius to these men and women over the last century that have shaped my imagination. It was that imagination that allowed for such a leap for the sake of our species. From the time I was a boy, these things helped me survive, cope with the world, inject me with ideas, and live a little happier. I brought them for our future generations as a foundation for artistic works. Share them with the children of Canaan. Hopefully from there a spring of creativity will deliver the dawn of a new era—one where we keep our dreams alive.
I have one parting plea for all current and future Canaanites...
Love one another, please. Do not despair. We will get through this, as we have all other things. We always have the gift of hope, and we should ride that as a chariot to the greatest of victories, no matter the cause or the enemy or destination.
We are heroes. You are a hero.
End of Entry.
Oscar Marian
CHAPTER 24
“SO THIS IS WHERE THE SCUM HAVE BEEN HIDING,” the Lioness said from the helm of the command ship. Beyond the glass shield, she saw a red-rock mountain surrounded by a sandy and tree-laden atoll. Wrapping itself around the mountain was a forest of tropical trees. Far in the distance, angry charcoal clouds ballooned. Cracks of thunder and lightning rippled the area. Small drops of water and weaker clouds were right above them. Outskirts of the ‘cane had reached Motus Island.
In her immediate view, to her left and her right, were Canaanite warships, loaded with cannons, swarms of bi-copters, and hundreds of brutish infantry housed below deck.
Beside her was Chris’s old friend, Jack.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. After three days, they arrived.
“Believe it. Arch Canaanites kept the Canaanite Navy a secret for years for this very invasion. It was just a matter of when, thanks to your ambitious little friend.”
The Lioness pulled a microphone to her mouth. After brush of static, the signal cleared. She mouthed her order into the mic, so close her lips rubbed against the perforated metallic material. The order readied the gunships captains, bi-copter pilots, and infantry units. Time approximation. Brief description of the terrain. Pep talk. Give them Apollo’s wrath! she barked several times into the mic.
Jack acknowledged her previous comment, “Right. The device.”
“Tracked all the way here.”
“They kept it secret for protection from…” Jack said.
“Sabotage. Destruction. Theft. Yes,” she scowled. She squinted her eyes and whispered “Scum.”
***
As Canaan attacked the island, they brought the fight from the air, where Motus was overmatched. Riley hoped bi-copters wouldn’t make the journey.
Riley and Lavik tried directing their forces from the pier through a network of boats flagging other boats, but the communications lagged. Most of the boats and crew members were concerned about the oncoming attackers. Bi-copters seemed to swarm in endless waves. No matter what maneuver they called, Canaan overpowered them.
Her worst fears realized.
Outside the mountain, a squadron of bi-copters, equipped with larger cannons, pulverized the periphery of boats around the Motus Island atoll. Shards of wood exploded outward. Bodies of men, women, and children jumped overboard for survival. The scene intensified with every passing moment. The aircraft would make pass after pass, decimating the boats. Cannon and gun fire from Riley’s plan wasn’t enough. They had picked off one or two bi-copters, but the sheer number of incoming copters overwhelmed green fighters on fortified fishing boats.
Mammoth metal ships, twice the size of Armada and totaling six, had stretched across nearly the entire horizon. They were outfitted with heavy artillery cannons, fortified shielding across the bow, and hangars at the back of the ship for soldiers and aircraft. Instead of the line, they were motorized and powerful. A parting wake disrupted the Ocean at their sterns. Humming from the engine started to bounce off of Motus Mountain as they approached.
“How did they know where we were? Antiquity is too big!” Lavik shouted to Riley. She did not know. They both continued to deliver their signals.
Around them, though, people were dying. Civilians-turned-soldiers on the boats drowned. They were just kids, women, and old men after all. People around the atoll and on the island were shot and blasted by harsh gunfire from bi-copters. Bomb blasts peppered the island like an array of deadly spices over tigrus fish.
The charade was over, and Riley knew as such. With a ‘cane approaching from
behind and Canaan staring her in the face, her hand was forced to call the day. She signaled the retreat, but it did not matter. No lives were to be spared by the Canaanite thugs. They kept coming. And the wind and rain picked up with a different type of fury.
As the warships approached the atoll, they circled the island, creating a steel perimeter. Even the waves of Antiquity’s smashing water were no match for what Canaan had crafted. The ship in the middle of the fleet burst through the gate, grinding its way over the edges of the sandy atoll and penetrating Motus Bay in an unrelenting surge. Cheers of victory erupted from the warships. Seething at the teeth were brutish men, donning black military gear and weapons at the hip, including stunners and wide-barreled guns. Their bellowing shouts could be heard from the pier, where Riley rushed whatever fishing ships from the Bay were making birth.
“Go, go, go! Into the mountain!”
Then came the blankets of cannon fire. The five warships on the perimeter blasted large rocky projectiles toward the square and mountain. Jagged, hard edges collided into the dirt floor and mountain edges. Motus ran for their lives. Bits of rock jumped, rolled, and bashed into anything in their path.
Riley was struck on the hip by a rock and fell. Lavik rushed to her aid.
“Are you hurt, ma’am?” Lavik asked.
She was bleeding and rocks crashing around her made her duck for cover. She urged Lavik on with the rest of the Motus members into the mountain.
Rain descended down in heavier doses, obstructing their view. Apollo was off in Canaan’s eastern horizon, blocked by the mighty ‘cane.
A child, a young girl screaming in terror, ducked behind a tree right in Riley’s line of sight. Ignoring her own pain, Riley dashed over to the child, slipping as she erected herself. More rocks and fire flew forward. Riley put her arms around the child, who was younger than ten, and propped her up on her hip while looking for an escape.