Bringing Stella Home

by Joe Vasicek

  “Forward!” she shouted to her men, leading the charge.

  The interior of the Hameji transport was not very different from the Tajji Flame. Lights were dim, corridors worn and unpainted. If it weren’t for the battle raging around her, Danica might have been surprised.

  She rounded a bend and ran into the bodies of two Hameji technicians staring up in the air in their final death throes. Blood gushed from their unarmored chests and pooled in growing puddles on the floor. Further ahead, James had stopped screaming.

  Gunshots sounded—projectile guns, not plasma. Danica ran without stopping until she burst onto the bridge.

  Blood lay splattered against the controls. A dead body lay sprawled on top of the navigational computer, riddled with bullets. Sparks fell from a shattered monitor on the ceiling, while the displays flickered and died. James stood in the middle of it all, the only man still alive.

  My God, Danica thought as she surveyed the scene. He took the bridge all by himself. Only a week ago, she had still doubted whether he could hold his own in a battle. Now, through bravery or stupidity or both, he had seized the Hameji transport.

  But by Earth, he looked awful.

  His eyes were bloodshot and unfocused, his breathing short and quick. His skin was deathly pale, and trauma was written all over his face. He no longer looked like a sheltered little boy—he looked like a killer.

  “Got away,” said James. His voice sounded wooden and hollow.

  “Who?” Danica asked.

  “The—the man.” He pointed to an emergency escape pod hatch and said no more.

  Footsteps sounded behind them. Maria rushed onto the bridge, accompanied by three privates.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’ve taken the bridge,” said Danica, regaining her composure. “Have you secured the rest of the ship?”

  “More or less,” said Maria. “Most of the Hameji are dead—we’re just mopping up survivors at this point.”

  “Good.”

  An idea came to her mind. “Anya,” she said over her headset. “Get over here, double fast.”

  “Where?” her voice cackled.

  “The bridge of the Hameji ship. Their jump drive is still operational, and if we can—”

  “Got it. On my way.”

  Danica cut the connection and turned to James. He had collapsed to his knees in the middle of the floor.

  “Ensign?” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Ensign, what’s wrong?”

  “Ben,” he said. His eyes brimmed with tears, his face a picture of anguish.

  “Ben? What do you mean?”

  “He’s gone.”

  Chapter 18

  The courtship was very brief. Stella barely met with Qasar more than five times before the wedding. At first, she worried that he would draw a connection between her and Borta’s murder; Narju had been her servant, after all, and rumors had already begun to spread of a connection. If he suspected her, however, he never did anything about it. Tamu told her it was because he’d only married Borta for political reasons, and that they’d had a minor falling-out, which accounted for the surprisingly brief mourning period.

  Stella did not find this comforting.

  For the wedding, almost half the ships in the Hameji fleet joined together in a massive circle, linking their observation decks into one continuous ring. From her seat, Stella saw the three dozen Hameji ships spread out, nose to nose. Beyond them lay the stars of her childhood.

  Even through the silk veil that covered her face, she recognized the familiar constellations of home. After more than two months on board the Lion of Tenguri, the familiar sight threatened to break her down on the spot. She bit her lip and tried very hard not to cry.

  Hundreds of guests crowded the deck, gorging themselves on the feast that Qasar had set out for the occasion. Tables ringed the room, brimming with sweet meats, crispy pastries, plump hydroponic fruits, and dozens of other exotic dishes that Stella did not recognize. As the feast progressed, rhythmic music played over the deck’s speakers, and the guests began to sway and dance.

  Stella spoke to no one the entire evening. She sat on a jewel-studded chair on a raised platform. Servants brought her food, so that she never left her seat. For a little while, Qasar sat next to her, but soon he was mingling freely among the guests, leaving her feeling nervous and abandoned. Occasionally, someone came up to her and bowed, but beyond that no one gave any indication of noticing her. Sitting in plain view of everyone else, she felt like a trophy on display, something Qasar had won and now wanted to show off.

  Towards the end of the evening, the room reeked of alcohol and vomit. Spilled food and drink covered the floors, and drunken guests lays sprawled out across the floor. With the stench of alcohol thick on his breath, Qasar took Stella by the hand and led her out of the room.

  Her knees felt weak as he led her down the now-familiar corridor to the bedroom chamber. Her mind raced as she tried desperately to think of a way to escape her wedding night, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to break free of Qasar’s grip. In his drunken state, she knew she wouldn’t be able to talk her way out, either.

  He led her into the bedroom, walls draped in crimson. They were alone together. Without a word, Qasar lifted her veil and gave her a sly, suggestive glance. Stella trembled as he took her by the waist and pulled her onto the bed.

  * * * * *

  Danica walked through the carefully scrubbed corridors of the Tajji Flame, staring numbly at the signs of destruction and death. Though the bodies had been cleared and the floors scrubbed clean of blood, grim reminders of the recent battle confronted her at every turn. The thick, pervasive smell of disinfectants and chemical cleansers, the gray resin masking the bullet holes and scorch marks in the walls—all of it reminded her of the men she had failed to keep alive.

  More than half her crew had been killed or critically wounded. Abu Kariym, their sole medical specialist, was working overtime to save as many as possible, but there was no way he could save all of them. Even among those he could treat, many needed prosthetics and rejuvenations—medical supplies that they simply didn’t have.

  In a few moments, Danica arrived at the ship’s medical facility. Abu Kariym was too busy with surgery to greet her, so she made her way to the patients’ quarters alone. When she reached the door to Roman’s room, she hesitated for a moment before keying the access panel. The door hissed open, and she forced herself to step inside.

  Roman lay shirtless on his bed, wires and tubes sticking out of his chest. A respirator covered his mouth and nose, connected by a long clear tube to an enormous oxygen tank in the corner of the room. Various IVs fed into his right arm—his only surviving arm. The left side of his torso had practically been blown away. His face was horribly disfigured, his cheek charred, with holes burned through the skin in places. A makeshift plastic graft covered the worst of it, but still revealed the teeth and jawbone underneath. Fearing infection, Abu Kariym had surgically removed his left eye; an ugly black patch covered the empty socket.

  God, he must be in pain, Danica thought in dismay. Why didn’t I stock up on medical supplies when we were at Kardunash IV? I should have at least bought some decent prosthetics.

  “Captain?” came Abu Kariym’s voice. Danica spun around quickly; the short old man had slipped in without her noticing. Despite the bags under his eyes, he had a kind, almost fatherly expression on his face.

  “Doctor,” she said in a low voice, soft enough that Roman couldn’t hear. “Are you sure your prognosis wasn’t too optimistic? He looks bad—real bad.”

  The old man smiled wearily. “Don’t worry; his situation is not critical. I expect he’ll make a satisfactory recovery.”

  Satisfactory? What kind of recovery was ‘satisfactory’ when half your body was blown away?

  The old man laid a hand on Danica’s shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself, Captain,” he said. “You didn’t pull the trigger.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s still my
fault he’s lying in that bed.”

  “Roman wouldn’t say so. He knew the risk he was taking. Praise God, he saved almost a dozen men with his sacrifice—it’s a miracle he’s still alive.”

  Some miracle, Danica thought, staring at her disfigured master sergeant.

  “Is there anything I can do for you, Captain?” Abu Kariym asked. “Anything at all?”

  “Nothing more than you already are, Doctor,” said Danica. “Keep trying to save my men. That’s all I ask.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Abu Kariym bowed and stepped out of the room, leaving her and Roman alone.

  Danica took a deep breath and walked to the side of her old friend’s bed. His good eye opened slightly, and with great effort, he glanced up at her. Slowly, painstakingly, he lifted his right arm to a salute and opened his mouth.

  “Good—day, Captain,” he croaked. “Good day to be alive.”

  “At ease,” Danica murmured.

  Roman lowered his arm. Something half resembling a grin spread across the good half of his face.

  “The men are safe, yes?”

  “Yes,” said Danica. She bit her lip.

  “Good.” He blinked, eye closed for a couple of seconds. “I think—I think the bastards got me.”

  Danica gently ran her hand along his bald forehead. His skin felt unnervingly warm. “I heard you saved the lives of a dozen men back there.”

  He grunted. “So many? I am glad to hear it.”

  “Don’t sacrifice yourself like that again,” she said without thinking. “The men need you, Roman—I need you.”

  The grin evaporated from his face. With his good arm, he reached out and took her hand.

  “Danica,” he said, squeezing her wrist with his rough, calloused fingers. “Do not blame yourself for this. You did good—damn good. Better than me.”

  She opened her mouth but caught herself before she could argue with him. That wasn’t what he needed right now.

  “Your father would be proud,” he continued. “Because of you, we are alive today. You are first captain to defeat the Hameji.”

  It wasn’t me, she wanted to say. I don’t deserve the credit. Why the Hameji had frozen in mid-battle like dead robots, Danica didn’t know. She didn’t think she ever would.

  “Even so,” said Danica, “I’m terminating our contract with the boy before any more of us get killed.”

  Roman’s eyes narrowed. “You are quitting the mission?”

  “I’m pulling out while we’re still ahead. We’ve got the captured Hameji transport—we can use that to pay off Balthazar. If we can arrange to meet—”

  “Captain,” Roman groaned. Danica grew silent.

  “Yes, Sergeant?”

  With titanic effort, he closed his eye and leaned back, letting go of her hand.

  “You are not thinking straight. Do not decide now. Sleep on it.”

  “I have to do what’s best for my crew,” she said. “This contract is no longer in our interest.”

  “Was it ever?” He opened his good eye again and stared at her. “It is not only about money, Captain. It never was. You are not mercenary at heart—you are too much like your father.”

  Danica’s face tightened. She stood up straight.

  “Thank you for your counsel, Roman,” she said. “Get well soon. That’s an order.”

  He nodded, his chin moving only a fraction of an inch. “Yes, Captain.”

  She left the room without another word.

  * * * * *

  James stood at attention, surrounded by the entire surviving crew of the Tajji Flame. Several of them wore the olive green fatigues of the now defunct Tajji rebels, while others wore dress uniforms unfamiliar to him. In his civilian clothes, James felt decidedly out of place, but no one seemed to notice or care. They stood as still as statues, as silent as ghosts.

  Ghosts, James thought to himself. That’s what he felt like—a ghost.

  The windows of the observation deck revealed a stunning view of the starfield, only a little dimmed by Karduna Prime in the distance. Set like an amber gemstone on a shimmering velvet pillow, the star of James’s home shone like an island of light, a pocket of humanity in the midst of a cold, empty abyss.

  Danica paced at the head of the room, in front of the window. The lights in the room had been dimmed so that James could only make out her silhouette. Even so, her presence was no less commanding.

  “Men,” she began, “We have gathered together to honor our comrades in arms who died in battle. Many of them were close friends, yours as well as mine. They may have died to save us, but that knowledge does little to dull the edge of our grief.

  “There are some who would say these men died for nothing—that they gambled with their lives and lost. After all, what cause does a mercenary fight for? For country? No. For freedom? No. For some grand idea or truth? No. Then why?”

  She paused. The tension in the room was electric.

  “Take a good, hard look at yourselves,” Danica continued, emotion rising in her voice. “Why are you here? Why did you put your lives in danger by joining this mercenary outfit? You there, soldier—you fought in the revolution, didn’t you? You had a cause back then—something to fight for. Why aren’t you fighting for it now?”

  Silence.

  “I’ll tell you why. You’re here because you have nowhere else to go. The occupation took everything you’d ever fought for—they would have killed you, too, but you ran away. And then, when you ran, you realized you had no place to go. Am I right?

  “I’ll tell you why you’re here, men,” she said, addressing the whole room. “You’re here because the rest of civilized society has thrown you out. You don’t belong with them. They fear you because of what you can do—because of what you’ve done. You’ll never have a home with them.

  “So where is our home? Where do we belong? Right here on this ship, that’s where.”

  James felt a thrill go down his spine. Even though he couldn’t see her eyes, he felt as if she were looking him square in the face.

  “When we fight,” Danica continued, “we fight to defend each other. This ship is our society now, and we share a bond deeper than death. Those who died at the hands of the Hameji died so that you could live. Never forget that, men—never forget it.”

  Danica stood for a second, framed by the stars, before joining the ranks with the others to face the window. Sergeant Maria stepped forward.

  “I will read out the names as their bodies are released,” Maria said. “We will hold salute until the reading of the names is complete.”

  She paused and took in a deep breath. “Company, salute!”

  All the men and woman on the deck brought up their hands in one perfectly unified motion.

  “Private Brian Esteb.”

  The floor rocked slightly under James’s feet, and a black shape flew out of the mass accelerator cannon, hurtling towards Karduna Prime. The hum of the engines reverberated through the floor and walls.

  “Private Agripina Dutko.” The floor rocked again, and another body bag shot out towards the distant star.

  “Private Dane Moldonado.”

  “Private Sadye Mermis.”

  “Private Kendrick Kilchner.”

  “Private Madalene Grandin.”

  “Private Bassilia Zadroga.”

  “Private Clarinda Yeubanks.”

  “Corporal Cyrus Virani.”

  “Corporal Aaron Venture.”

  “Corporal Lincoln Oherron.”

  “Corporal Erin Dubyk.”

  “Corporal Meda Ardry.”

  “Sergeant Artyom Romonov.”

  One by one, their bodies fell toward the star, vanishing into the void of eternal night.

  “Ben McCoy,” Maria read. One last body shot outward.

  James felt his eyes burn with tears. He squinted to keep his vision clear, struggling to keep sight of the black body bag for a few more seconds. All too soon, it disappeared from his view.

  Ben’s physical remains
were gone now, tumbling through the infinite vacuum of space. One day, hundreds of years in the future, his body would reach Karduna Prime and plunge into its fiery surface. The star would consume his mortal tabernacle, purging his remains with its nuclear fire until every atom in his body was reduced to formless plasma. The hydrogen would gradually migrate to the stellar core, fueling the reaction that dispensed life-giving warmth throughout the system. The denser elements, however—carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, phosphorous, and other trace elements—would churn about the fiery sphere for over a billion years, until the last of the star’s fuel was spent and the once-proud sun collapsed in on itself.

  There, long after the end of human history, Ben’s remains would finally come to rest. A neutron star would make a fitting tombstone, lasting almost to eternity.

  But before all of that, Ben’s body would spend the next few centuries falling through the icy cold depths of space. James would live out his entire mortal life long before his brother reached his final destination.

  The soldiers let down their salutes and silently left the room one by one. James stayed behind, however, still staring out the window. When he was finally alone, he pressed his face against the glass and mentally traced the orbits of the planets, with Kardunash III on the opposite side of Karduna Prime from Kardunash IV. There, on the K-4 side, the main Hameji fleet sat at the third Lagrangian point.

  And Stella was with them.

  He brought his hand up to the window as if to reach out to her. Ben might be gone, but Stella was still out there. No matter what it took, he would find her and bring her home.

  Part III: Stella

  Chapter 19

  Stella closed her eyes as the hot pressurized water ran over her skin, washing away the stench of her marriage night. Almost immediately, she picked up the shower sponge and started scrubbing herself. The wedding night was over, but her body still remembered it vividly. She felt as if her own flesh was rebelling against her, swooning with sensations that she didn’t fully understand. In some ways, the scrubbing was a punishment for that—punishment for allowing Qasar to violate her.