by Drew Avera
“I didn’t expect you to tag along on this trip.”
“How else might I get there? Besides, we try not to waste too many trips with these transports. They are terribly inefficient.”
“I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”
“I was only here for an hour or so,” she replied, her voice too polite to sound upset. Brendle, of course, didn’t buy it.
“Again, I apologize. It was a long night and the physical therapist was helping Anki out of bed before I left. It was a grueling, long process given her condition.”
“I understand. I’m assuming you have the list of supplies needed for your ship?”
Brendle gazed out the window of the transport as it moved away from the street. “Actually; I have two lists. The list you asked for, and another with food and non-military supplies.”
“I see,” Pedero said. “I’m certain Princess Herma will consider the additional list, but I make no guarantee she will approve of your last-minute change of plans.” The friendliness of her voice stretched thinner to Brendle’s ear, but he expected as much. He had thrown a kink in their chain and it appeared he held more power in their business relationship than Princess Herma wanted to let on.
“Don’t consider it a change in plans; consider it an amendment to better utilize my assets.”
Pedero’s eyes narrowed. “You can call it whatever you like, Mr. Quinn. But the fact remains, you made a change without asking in advance. It is rude to put Princess Herma in such a situation given the fact open protests in the streets has grown and nurtured an underground rebellion looking to forcibly remove her from power. If you see the situation as I and her loyalists do, then you would understand life on Pila for a Greshian is much more difficult than on any other world. She fears for her life.”
Brendle shifted in his seat, attempting to find something to say to ease the tension, but Pedero spoke again before he could find the words.
“When it comes to saving her life, I am sure she will concede to your demands. But I am also sure her respect for you will wane. Whether you identify as a Greshian now or not, she is still your princess.”
“I understand,” Brendle said, guilt drawing the blood from his face.
They sat in awkward silence for the remainder of the trip. Seeing the Replicade in the horizon reminded Brendle of why he agreed to do the job. He craved belonging to something greater than himself and he was tired of living in a tin can hurtling through space, dodging those who would do them harm. If it came down to it, he knew he would do the job regardless of the payout.
Anything to have a home that isn’t the tight confines of a ship, he thought as the transport slowed to a stop. Everything else is a means to an end.
Fifteen
Ilium
The device seems less threatening in the dark, Ilium thought as he wrapped his arms around himself. The temperature on the ship continued to plummet as he watched Stavis work to disable the machine turning them into celestial icicles. Her blueish fingers struggled to hold the light from Ilium’s com-unit.
“Let me take that for you,” the guard said over her shoulder.
Without looking, Stavis handed it off with one hand while keeping three wires taut on her fingers with the other. “Thank you, I think I have it down to these three. Do you have anything I can use to label these wires, sir?”
Ilium stood up and moved towards the desk in the corner of his room. Handwritten correspondence was not in high demand on the King Slayer, but he was relieved to find a roll of label tape. He held it up, “Will this work?”
Stavis looked up, squinting her eyes. “I can’t see it, but I hope so,” she replied from where she knelt in the darkness. Feeling stupid for asking in lowlight, Ilium moved back towards her and held it within the beam of the guard’s light. “It should work. Can you tear me off a few pieces so I can label them? Make each one a different length so I can tell them apart.”
“All right,” Ilium replied as his shaking hands struggled to pry the plastic container apart to get to the tape. With each move of his hand he either dropped it or fumbled with it until he had to start over. Each time the container failed to open.
“Try stomping it, sir,” the guard suggested.
Ilium looked up, confused. “What? Oh.” Ilium dropped the container purposefully and slammed his bootheel into the casing, shattering it into dozens of plastic splinters. The bounty for his work appeared as an unrolling iridescent tape moved away from him. Ilium snatched it up and began tearing at it before removing the backing to hand the strips to Stavis. “Good call. I’m not thinking straight.”
Stavis took the first strip and wrapped around a wire. Without looking up, she said, “That’s the lack of air and the cold. We don’t have long before we run out of time.”
“What about the EVA suits? That could buy us some time?” Ilium asked.
“Not everyone,” she said coldly.
Ilium swallowed hard. The idea of losing everyone on the ship didn’t sit well with him. Nor should it. He’d come too far to allow such a dastardly deed to happen. He swore under his breath and tried to think of another idea to buy more time. “Could we set a controlled fire in the hangar? We can have the crew huddled there to try and stay warm.”
“The fire would burn more oxygen than the crew is breathing,” the guard said. Ilium couldn’t tell if it was in a condescending tone or if just the chattering of the man’s teeth that made him sound that way.
“He’s right,” Stavis chimed in, holding her hand out for another label. Ilium handed one to her and watched as she applied it. He had one last label taped to the tip of his finger and all he could think about was that this wasn’t the way he thought he would die. She made short work of the second label and Ilium handed off the last to her expectant, open hand.
“Did the labels help?” Ilium asked.
Stavis stared at the mess of wires and nodded. “I think so. It looks like these two complete a loop. If I interrupt the loop then maybe the device will power down.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Ilium asked.
“Then it doesn’t, but I’ve been racking my brain over this for so long that it’s the only solution I can find. Either I do it or I don’t. It’s up to you, sir.”
Ilium trusted Stavis with his life, but the lack of confidence he felt was more as a result of his experiences in making command decisions. The burden seemed too great, especially now. But indecision would kill them just as much as making the wrong choice. “Do it.”
Stavis nodded, and tugged at the wires. The sound of soldered connections breaking free from their posts resounded louder than the throb of his heartbeat in his ears. But otherwise, nothing happened.
“I don’t understand, that should have worked,” Stavis said. The disheartened sound in her voice reflected Ilium’s own thoughts.
“What else can we do, jettison it?”
Stavis glanced up. “That’s it! Maybe the loop cannot be broken, but if we get the ship far enough away from it, the signal will lessen and we can restore power to the ship.”
“How can we jettison the device if nothing works on the ship?” The guard made an excellent point.
“Put someone in an EVA suit and have them toss it out into the ether,” Ilium suggested. So long as the mag boots hold, we should be able to recover them. If not, we can use line to reel them in.”
A smile stretched across Stavis’s face. “I guess the cold and oxygen deprivation aren’t affecting you too much. That’s a brilliant idea. I’ll do it.”
“No,” Ilium started to say, but stopped.
“Why?” Stavis asked, putting him on the spot. He didn’t have a good reason other than not wanting to potentially lose her, but he didn’t feel right saying so.
“You just spent so much time working on defusing it that I thought someone with more experience in a suit should do the work,” Ilium replied, hoping it sounded reasonable enough.
“Sir, I’ve probably spent more time in an EVA suit out in open
space than anyone on this ship. This is an easy day.” She looked to the guard. “Do you mind carrying this to the nearest airlock? I’ll suit up and handle this.”
“Yes, sir,” the guard replied, handing over the com-unit and lifting the device with both hands.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Ilium asked.
She looked up at him. “This ship is my family. You’re damned right I’m up for it. But please don’t play coy with me. If you have a legitimate reason for me to not do it, then fine. Otherwise, I would appreciate your confidence in me to do my job.”
Ilium sighed. “That’s not what I meant by that,” he replied, feeling less nervous without the guard in the room with them.
“Yeah? Well what did you mean?”
There were so many ways he thought this moment would happen, but it never went through his mind that the scene would play out in this way. Fear spread through him as he tried to find the words to reveal his feelings. “I care about you and I don’t want to lose you to a dangerous mission,” he said, barely above a whisper.
But the look in her eyes suggested she heard every word.
Sixteen
Crase
It only took Crase a few minutes to figure out the controls of the Pilatian ship. Despite hundreds of languages and designs, most spacecraft used the same principles for flight. With many years of stealing ships under his belt, he’s seen enough variations to work through the control with relative ease. Now all that was left was for his crew to prepare the Eruga for launch.
He ground his teeth as he waited impatiently. By compartmentalizing the situation, he was able to curb his anger and look at the mission for what it was; an opportunity to get back on top. Haranger might have a secret mission that would cause Crase to risk his life to serve him, but the man also exposed a weakness by laying his cards on the table in such a way. What would cause a man to be so desperate that he would threaten the life of someone to manipulate a man as dangerous as me, Crase wondered.
“The ship is ready for launch,” Esma said as he stepped onto the tiny bridge. It was only large enough for a crew of three, but in Crase’s mind, two was too many. Still, it required an additional set of hands to control the ship. A flaw in the design of a ship that made it inefficient.
Crase leaned forward and powered on the backlighting of the console, taking note of the engine sequence for starting the aircraft. It was essentially idiot proof. A master switch, a power switch, and a governor. It was low-tech enough to muster a chuckle from him. “Is everyone strapped in?”
Esma plopped into the seat next to Crase. “Yes, I have men seated by the airlocks in case we have a pressurization issue. The doors didn’t seal the first time we closed them.”
Crase nodded. “Good idea. All right, preparing for launch. Starting the primary engine.” He flipped the master switch and heard the high-pitched hum of power transformers sending juice to the engine ignitors. He half-expected to have to drown the ignitor in fuel to get it to start, but to his surprise, the power switch did its job the first time. The whine of the turbofan spinning at thousands of revolutions per minute caused a cascading of pressurized noise in his ears.
I hate this ship already.
Once the fan speed was nominal, he switched on the governor and the whining sound dulled but didn’t go away.
“I have navigation and communications online,” Esma said, sliding the fingers of one hand along the console as he donned a headset with the other. Crase worked quietly as Esma radioed the ground control center for clearance to takeoff. A few moments later, it was granted. “We’re good to go.”
Crase didn’t respond. Instead, he flipped up the launch switch and sent enough fuel to the combustion section to take off or send them into space in pieces.
The launch initiated with enough force to drive them back in their seats. The preprogramed flight sequence lifted them skyward at an eighty-degree angle, draining their blood from their faces as they watched the Faraxian horizon fade on the monitors.
“I hate flying in these things,” Esma said, spitting his words out over the strain of gravitational forces.
“Flying is fine, but flying this ship isn’t,” Crase replied.
The rumble of the Pilatian vessel settled the higher in altitude they went. The further away from Farax’s gravitational pull, the easier their blood flood, restoring some semblance of comfort in the tight confines of the bridge. Crase couldn’t help but wonder how miserable of a ride it was in other locations on the Eruga. He hoped a lot worse.
Breaking out of atmosphere felt like the moment of weightlessness before descending quickly from a high altitude. He felt it most in his groin and lower abdomen. “We’re free. I’m cutting the primary fuel and we’ll cruise on auxiliary power.”
“If we’re not under thrust, then we won’t be able to walk about the ship,” Esma said, his voice on the verge of whining.
“I know, but I want to conserve fuel. We don’t want to hit the Key under thrust in a ship of this size anyway.”
“How long before we transport to another sector?”
Crase looked at the navigation panel on his monitor and ran the calculation in his head. “About a day before we hit the last Key. That’s the one we need to get where we’re going.”
“Which is?”
“Ironically enough, Pila, or what remains of her,” Crase answered.
‘Well if this ship is the best their technology has to offer, then I don’t expect any problems getting past their security,” Esma replied.
“Good, because you need to worry about securing the Replicade.”
“That’s your concern, not mine.”
“I thought you were tagging along to help?” Crase asked, fighting the urge to make his question sound like an accusation.
“We are but succeeding isn’t my concern if you know what I mean.” Esma ran a finger along his throat as a reminder of Tesera’s fate if he was to fail.
“You do your part and we won’t have a problem getting back my ship and doing what Haranger needs done,” Crase replied, avoiding eye contact with the bastard next to him. If it wasn’t for the fact that killing him here and now would result in Tesera’s death, he would gut the fucker and toss him out an airlock.
“That’s why you’re the best in the business, Mr. Tuin. You’re an eternal optimist. It’s a wonder Haranger ever let you get away from him.”
Crase’s thought returned to his finals moments under Haranger’s employ. He would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t do it for selfish reasons, but there was some morality to it. After watching the Greshians destroy Lechushe’ he saw how far the secret war had gone. Everyone thought is was the Emperor’s doing, but seldom was life ever that simple. The slave trade was dying and the attack was planned. Better to destroy the evidence leading back to Haranger, even if it meant killing his own men.
That steered Crase away. He couldn’t work for someone who would toss him to the wind so easily. Of course, now he was back like a desperate ex, ready for the abuse.
And ready to put an end to it permanently when the time comes.
Seventeen
Gen-Taiku
The plan was supposed to be simple; get in with the crew of the ship and persuade them to help. How easy that was going to be was subjective and it kept Gen up most of the night. By the time she finally fell asleep, it was hardly worthwhile. She woke to the alarm with a start and crawled out of bed, silencing the droning sound with a hand that didn’t seem to be as coordinated as it should be due to her sleep-deprived state.
It was approaching midday, but it was impossible to tell in her windowless room inside the underground bunker. After a few weeks, one’s circadian rhythm could shift considerably. For Gen, it felt like the wee hours of the morning and not lunchtime.
“Let’s hope this day goes better than last night,” she said as she pulled her jacket on, leaving it unzipped as she continued getting ready. Wiping the sleep from her eyes helped wake her up; the col
d water flushing over her face did a better job, though. All in all, her ten-minute routine, which she had down to a science, took her from sleep-zombie to fully-functional soldier as it had over the course of a few years. Just like any other day, she thought.
Leaving the solitude of her room, a familiar voice caught her ear. “Are you ready to save the world?”
She turned to see Captain Tushia leaning against the wall, one foot propped above the baseboard. “I don’t know about that, but I’m ready to do what I can to keep that ship grounded if I have to.”
“Here’s hoping that’s not necessary,” Tushia replied, handing a hot cup of Caffue to her. she took it graciously. “Your support team is gearing up and will meet you at the hatch in ten minutes.”
“Excellent, just enough time to down this and think about all the ways today can go wrong,” Gen said with a smirk as she brought the cup to her lips.
“Listen, I know it’s a lot of stress, and you feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. Perhaps it is, but everyone down here has your back. If things go sideways, we’ll be there.”
“Thanks, but I was more looking for you to tell me this was a flawless plan and I had nothing to worry about.”
Beva stopped leaning against the wall and took a step closer to her. “I can tell you that if you want.”
Gen shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I don’t want to hear you regurgitate my own words to try and make me feel better.” She drew another sip of Caffue and let the warmth drip down her throat slowly. The leaves used to make the drink had a calming effect and promoted energy. She was going to need both to get through the day.
“Whatever you say.”
She smiled. “If only it was that easy,” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. Awkward silence followed as she finished her drink before handing the cup back to him. “Thank you for the pick-me-up. I’ll return the favor sometime.”