by Scott Rhine
Then there was Veronika. If Omar had hoped that their reunion would mark a change in their relationship, he was sorely mistaken. She was as elusive as ever, her moments of weakness either forgotten or deliberately obscured. Time had done Omar some good though. Her emotional distance did not cause him despair as it had in the past. Instead he wrote her a poem late one night and sent it to her.
Veronika replied to his first poem with a one word question. Really? Omar laughed aloud when he saw the reply. It perfectly captured her spirit in a single word. After the second poem, she sent him a longer reply: So is this going to be a thing now? She did not tell him to stop though, which Omar took as a good sign.
Over the next weeks, new poems would each elicit a reply. She would tell him how his words reminded her of some event from her past, giving him a glimpse behind the wall she had built. Other poems she would deride as too melodramatic or absurd. In truth, Omar held her answers as a litmus test of how well his mind was readjusting to emotions. He found that as his own feelings came closer to the surface his empathy increased as well.
Omar began to realize that Veronika might never be what he wanted her to be. Even at her most vulnerable moments she was guarded, wary. As his mental picture of her grew, he despaired of ever truly reaching her. He was stunned when she showed up at his door late one night. She did not speak a word as he let her in.
In the morning, as she dressed, Veronika turned away from him. When she spoke it sounded as though she was far away. “I’m leaving the Damascus. I’ve taken the XO post on the Sikorsky.” The words hung in the air as Omar struggled to reply. Before he could find the right words, she spoke again. “I want to thank you, Omar Khayyam Hadi. It’s been a long time since a man has made me feel so…” She choked on the words. “I’ll miss you, damn it. I haven’t missed anyone in years.”
“I’ll transfer as well.” He offered.
“No. As XO I’ll be responsible for the entire ship, including the flight crew. I can’t be involved with someone under my command. It’s not meant to be. Just let it go, Omar.”
Omar had no intention of letting it go. However, the Fleet entered a new system that day and before he could formulate a plan she was gone. Omar continued to send her poems but her replies began to get shorter and more curt. Sensing he was doing more harm than good, Omar began to lose hope. Perhaps, he thought to himself late at night, it is for the best.
The next months were quiet. Omar tried to find another purpose to put his passion into, some reason to keep moving. As the Fleet moved into yet another system in which they were not welcome, he prepared to fly his small fighter. The Fleet had not seen combat since the reversal of his treatments and he was surprised at the adrenaline rush he felt. As they engaged the local defense ships, he flew better than ever before. Omar felt an instinct for how his opponents would move before they did.
He took out three ships in short order and his squad was ordered to disable an orbital platform so that the Fleet could take up positions around the planet. He was given the lead and managed to hit the weapon’s systems on the first run. He swung around for a second run at the large space station when his wing commander ordered him to veer off. Curious, he pulled up the station just in time to see a large explosion rip through the structure, tearing it apart.
In a flash, Omar thought about the last such structure he had been in, most of a year earlier in a much friendlier system. Stations like that one housed more than military personnel. Researchers, mechanics, engineers and their families had all lived aboard it. Innocents. Children.
In the years that Omar had been a pilot, he had never thought about the civilians caught between the firing lines. It had simply not mattered. As he brought his fighter back to the Damascus, Omar’s mind was filled with memories from the past few years, vivid in a way they had not been at the time. Cities bombed, stations destroyed, civilizations brought low by the might of the Fleet. In a flash he realized that he had been a partner in all of that death, both as a pilot and even before. As a mechanic he repaired machines used for wholesale murder. He felt culpable for each and every death as though they had been committed by his own hand. He was numb by the time he exited his fighter to the cheers of his fellow pilots who applauded him for the station’s destruction.
Omar returned to his quarters, his body lifeless. There was no way to tally the numbers of the dead. There was no way to repair the damage he had done. What was worse was that he was stuck. The people below, their homes being razed, would not welcome him. He would find no solace there, only a quick death. Yet the thought of staying onboard the Damascus seemed a living nightmare, a hell where he was both the damned and the torturing demon.
When his next mission came, Omar found he could not fly. He begged off claiming illness. In this way he avoided the remaining engagements with the local populace. No new deaths to add to his tally this week. He breathed a sigh of relief when the Fleet finished looting the planet and set out for the next world. Omar hoped that he might find refuge there.
The Fulton system showed him some glimmer of hope. Highly advanced, the Fleet would not take aggressive action against them. They were also quite willing to trade with the roaming Fleet. Omar managed to acquire shore leave quietly. As he looked around at his belongings, he decided that it was all best left behind, save only for the book which had brought him back his heart, albeit too late to save his soul.
Chapter 18
Omar stepped out of the shuttle quite ready for it to be his last contact with the Fleet, save only a parting messages to Eliot and Veronika. He walked slowly to the edge of the landing field to stand in darkness and looked up at the night sky.
His implants warned him of the woman’s approach long before he saw her. She was a little on the small side though she walked with confidence. When she spoke he barely heard her words, so lost in thought was he. Another poor soul thinking that the Fleet held some glorious future for her. Omar tried to warn her away from that course, knowing the disillusionment that would follow.
Her replies spoke to his heart in a way he could never have anticipated. She spoke of facing life head first and finding new challenges. He realized that he was running away from his life, away from the guilt. Where was the honor in leaving the Fleet behind, in letting them continue their savage travels across the cosmos?
When the woman, Bella, told him she could buy them a ship of their own the seed of a new future formed in his mind. Perhaps the only true path to redemption was to try to reform the Fleet. A pilot was a cog in a greater machine, but a captain had a real voice. Perhaps the only way he could expiate his sins was to find a way to curb the violence of the Fleet, to show them that there was a better way. It would not bring back the countless dead but it might prevent countless more from dying at the Fleet’s hands. Perhaps that would be enough.
Omar quickly found that Bella was a perfect match for him, her age and experience giving her an inner calm that brought him comfort. Her idealism and eagerness was more than a match for his cynicism and despair. In some strange way she completed him as Veronika never could. They fell quickly into a comfortable synergy that was as close as it was platonic.
The ship she purchased was a good one, better than many in the Fleet. The quality of their ships was one reason that Fulton had been spared the usual attentions the Fleet gave to the systems it passed through. Its pristine hull made him think of it as clean, unsullied by the Fleet. He felt as thought his life had brought him to this point for a reason, that this ship would determine his fate. He named it the Moving Finger to honor his past as well as whatever the future would bring. The Finger was faster and sturdier than many ships twice its size. The idea that it was his gave Omar a warm feeling, a feeling of home that he had not felt in years.
That feeling evaporated when the messages started rolling in from the other captains. Many were condescending but others were threatening. They all wanted one thing though, his proxy. His refusal to submit turned some of the former into the latter. In
the midst of the mess he found two messages which he saved.
The first was from Eliot Nasi, now Captain Nasi of the Westinghouse. The message was short but it carried a hefty weight for Omar. It read:
Captain Hadi… Omar, it pleases me that you have found a new path. The Westinghouse will be happy to assist you in outfitting your new ship. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help you. Because of you, I have regained my faith in humanity and optimism for what the future brings. Maybe one day I can return the favor.
Eliot
Omar smiled at the man’s words and made a note to visit his host at some point. It would take at least a full system jump for the Finger to be refitted in the hold of the Westinghouse. The personal nature of the note reminded him that the Fleet was not monolithic, that there were at least some who could see another way. It made his fantasy of reforming the Fleet seem almost like a possible future.
The second message was from Veronika. The note read as a formal notice but Omar could hear her voice behind the words:
Captain Hadi,
As executive officer of the Sikorsky I would like to welcome you and your ship to the Fleet. It has come to our attention that your vessel lacks a star drive and will require transport between systems. We would like to extend to you an offer of transport at standard Fleet rates. Our contracts include living quarters for your crew onboard the Sikorsky, a benefit which has obvious advantages.
Sincerely,
Commander Kharzin
Executive Officer of the Sikorsky
Omar considered Veronika’s words carefully. Seen through the filter of her inability to express herself, Omar found it surprisingly warm. He could not decide if her offer held other motives but at the least it held opportunity. Omar sent a reply accepting her offer, pending the completion of work on the Westinghouse. He debated adding a poetic line or two to the end but knew she could never forgive him including such a thing in a formal notice. Any attempts to romance the distinguished XO of the Sikorsky would have to wait for a more opportune time.
The arrival of the third crewman for their ship, Pulan, was a godsend for Omar. He had worried that he would have to take in several crewmen from the Fleet and, knowing the character of most of the Fleet personnel, what that influx would mean. The alien was odd but his calm demeanor allowed him to mesh perfectly with the crew, adding content without adding strife.
The Moving Finger left the Westinghouse refitted and ready for action. The three who crewed her each brought something unique to offer the Fleet. He was sure that they would quickly find work. However, life is rarely so simple.
Omar found that his presence in the Fleet captain’s meetings was unwelcome. Even his one potential ally, Captain Nasi, kept silent as Omar’s suggestions were sidelined and dismissed. His attempts at finding more peaceful solutions to the Fleet’s activities were seen as unnecessary and disruptive. The Fleet had run well enough without such ideas and many of the captains saw his potential compromises as weakness. Some, especially the influential Captain Conrad of the Damascus, openly ridiculed him.
As such, the Moving Finger was relegated to the back of the Fleet during engagements. Omar saw that he needed to do something to establish himself. His years as a pilot meant nothing. He needed to show them that he could make command decisions if he was to be taken seriously.
Omar might have been unhappier with his lack of progress if not for Veronika. His position as captain of the Moving Finger had changed their relationship in ways he could never have anticipated. He found her receptive once more to his advances, though she remained private to an almost fanatical degree. Omar found himself spending much of his spare time at the quarters of the new Captain of the Sikorsky, discussing strategy.
Omar waited until after meeting with the rebels to tell Bella the truth. He just didn’t trust her to keep her emotions from giving them away. She did not take the news well, but surprised Omar by becoming an even more useful ally than before once she adjusted. He was amazed by how she was able to predict the actions of the other Captains, men and women she had never met. Her advice helped him to make small changes to Fleet actions. While they seemed innocuous, the changes saved lives, both Fleet and whatever local populace stood against them. Omar felt his burden lighten a little each day, becoming more bearable.
When the Fleet encountered the warring factions in the Preci system, Omar found himself at the center of the action, much to his detractor’s chagrin. By sparing the lives of his captives, Omar was able to convert they entire system into a resource for the Fleet in a single day. His only concern was allowing the two remaining captives to remain with the Finger when they left.
Omar had troubled dreams about the two men, Franklin and Zane. In truth, he did not trust either man, if men was what they were. Franklin seemed more like a poorly made caricature than a man, his oversized head straining his frail frame. Omar found the man’s features crossing from human into the uncanny valley, especially his eyes, from which the man’s intellect shone like burning coals.
The other man was more innocuous, his features human enough, even attractive. Omar feared what he saw in the man’s eyes though. They were dead, much like they eyes of the worst of the Fleet. Omar feared that the man was capable of anything, with the possible exception of real human feeling. There was a part of Omar though, that felt a kinship with him. It was not so many years before that he had been much the same way. So Omar tempered his fear with pity and hoped that taking on the young men would not prove to be a mistake.
One thing was certain, the two men filled roles under his command that had been vacant before. He had not felt the weak spots before he was confronted with their presence. Franklin’s aptitude with computer systems dwarfed his own. In truth, he had left most of the technical matters of running the ship to Pulan. That the alien had no experience with computers was not something he had concerned himself with. Soon enough, Franklin had streamlined the functions of the Moving Finger to such an extent that Omar found it hard to believe the ship had managed without him before then.
If Franklin was a boon to the ship’s computers, Zane was a godsend to its weapon’s systems. The young man seemed to have an intuitive grasp of all things violent, no doubt a result of his programming. While Omar was opposed to such violence, he had to admit that it was a part of Fleet life. As Omar’s influence grew among the captains, his detractors maneuvered him and the Finger into ever more dangerous positions. He doubted that they would have survived without Zane’s careful management of the ship’s defensive and offensive capabilities. Omar was forced to admit that, though Zane may not be fully human, he was an asset to the crew.
To the extent that Omar was aware of the relationship that formed between Bella and Franklin, he approved. There was a synergy in the crew that made Omar believe that fate was on their side. Even Pulan agreed, informing him one night that he believed the ship organism was healthy and nearing consensus.
So when the ships of the Fleet entered the Unity system, he was in high spirits. Though the Fleet would likely gain little from interacting with the locals, he gladly accepted the ambassadorial role he was given. The resulting catastrophe came as a shock. As the Fleet sat, vulnerable, Omar finally saw the nobility in Franklin’s character which Bella had seen all along. Omar met him in the medbay where Pulan was examining the body of their erstwhile guest, Ambassador Price.
“So, have you figured out how to reverse whatever he has done to the Fleet’s systems?” Omar asked.
“Yes and no.” Franklin replied. “We believe that breaking the lockdown will require the use of the advanced tech Price had in his head. The trouble is, Pulan thinks attempting to use it will kill whoever tries.”
“Then I will be your guinea pig. That way if something goes wrong, you may be able figure it out and try again.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that, Captain.”
“Excuse me?”
“Captain… Omar, I know you never really trusted me or Zane. I un
derstand your reluctance and even agree to some extent. You question our motives and even our humanity. I, however, have no such reservations about you. I trust Annabella completely and she trusts you implicitly. She’s told me how hard you’ve tried to redeem yourself from years of killing. That is a struggle I understand. That’s why I am going to be the one who puts this goo in my head, not you. The Fleet needs more men like you to keep it honest. It doesn’t need me.”
“Bella does.”
“Bella will go on without me. She is stronger than both of us in that way. If we want to speak of how much our lovers need us, Veronika needs you more. She has no one else. Without you, she may lose herself to the Fleet.” Omar started at the mention of his love. He had not known his affair was common knowledge.
“I miss very little, Captain. I have given this some thought. Without you, the Fleet will suffer and grow more violent. As a result, the suffering in the galaxy will increase. The loss of one little mutant is nothing compared to that.”
“Perhaps we should let it end here then. If we do nothing, the Fleet will die here and now. We can let this system be our tomb.”
“I might agree with you, Captain, except I will not let Bella die here if I can save her.”
“That’s a noble sentiment, Franklin. I won’t order you to do this thing, but I will allow it. Bella may hate me forever for allowing it but in the end it is your choice.”
“Thank you, Captain. Pulan, the injection please.” Omar watched in silence as the man injected the extracted nanocytes into his temple. Though it was an almost invisible amount of material, the effect was nearly instantaneous.
Franklin’s body began to seize and his eyes rolled back into his head. Omar feared the worst but after a moment his body relaxed. Franklin’s eyes rolled back and centered on Omar.
“I can feel them, in my head.”
“Can you control them?”
“I think so. It’s like they are screaming for my attention but not in any language I know. Oh god!” The small man began to convulse again. “They’re tearing me apart!” Franklin began to scream but his throat choked off the cry. Omar looked to Pulan.