The Admiral’s voice cools. “I want the names of each and every one of the turncoats you’ve recruited, Sergeant Basmon.”
I barely hear him over the sound of my heart pounding. There’s no plan, no course of action. One thought bubbles to the surface, and that’s to stay silent. So I do.
The Admiral exhales slowly, irritated by the process taking longer than he’d hoped.
“Fine . . . we’ll do it my way then,” he says softly.
Before I can react, he grabs one of the guard’s guns from its holster, leveling it at Cass’s head. As strong as Cass is, the thought of death on this carpet starts becoming very real. She shakes under the barrel’s glare. I surge up, but my guards’ hands force me back down. Another gun clicks behind me. This isn’t how I imagined we’d die.
The Admiral smiles, enjoying his position of power. Something gnaws at him though.
He lowers his weapon, clucking his tongue. “My goodness, of all the places you could set Miss Dawson down, you choose to do it on the heirloom Corinthian carpet?”
Flustered, he turns to one of the Artemis marines standing by. “If you would be so kind as to fetch some plastic sheets, it would be truly appreciated.”
It takes a second for the command to sink in, but the marine finally snaps a salute. “Yessir!”
He disappears through the door as Admiral Khan ponders the other furniture in his execution chamber.
Khan strokes his chin. “Hmmm, that should provide sufficient protection.”, he mutters, tallying the totals in his head. “The chairs don’t need a veneer; their value is sentimental only.”
The other soldiers in the room nod their approval, voicing it in various ways. No one has the courage to address the absurdity of the situation. Satisfied his most valuable assets will be preserved, the Admiral strolls back to me.
“Here is the arrangement Sergeant,” he says, squatting so we’re face to face. “Once that plastic is laid down . . . I’m pulling the trigger.” He taps the barrel of the gun on my shoulder. “That is, unless I hear all of the names of everyone who has conspired against me.” He pauses, scratching his temple. “Then maybe I’ll consider providing her some sort of amnesty,” he offers.
Anyone caught in this trap knows that’s not a viable option. My knowledge of our loyal members is the only token keeping us alive.
Different paths play out in my head:
Bite captor’s leg, grapple for his gun . . . With my hands tied behind my back, I get shot.
Wait for the plastic to get here, say nothing, and Cass gets shot.
Rush the Admiral, tackle him, yell at Cass to run, and we both get shot.
Keep the Admiral interested with conversation until I can come up with a better plan.
A plausible option.
“Let’s talk, Admiral,” I say.
Cass’s head snaps up. “Noo-“, her disapproval is cut short by the butt of a rifle. She’s still conscious, but reeling. I try not to let her pain cloud my judgment.
Grimacing, I continue. “I believe I have an option that will result in neither of us having to be executed, and you not having a costly civil war on your hands.”
The Admiral folds his hands behind his back, arching out his medallioned chest. “I’m certainly listening.”
Readjusting my bruised knees, I try to see if a little less pain will help me keep my clarity. “The only reason these pacts were formed was purely in the event that the Ark turned out to be a real threat.” I clear my throat before adding, “You know just as well as I do that, at the very least, half of the rumors circulating trade towns carry no weight. The Ark could have easily been one of these fallacies.”
For the first time, I meet his eyes on my own terms. “The fact of the matter is, the Ark is very real. You saw for yourself what it did . . . what it can do.”
The Admiral considers this, shifting his weight. “The Ark is only one ship. It will be taken down with time.” He lets his gun drop to his side. “You cannot attack that many outposts without the international community taking notice. It will be destroyed soon, like every other pretender who tries to tip the scales in their favor,” he muses.
I inch closer, careful not to draw the ire of my guards. “But that’s just the thing Admiral. Everyone who’s witnessed The Ark has chosen to run, if they can. Those who stay and fight get buried underneath their own earth.”
I pause just long enough to give the Admiral a chance to retaliate, but he says nothing. I need him to believe he’s still in control of the conversation.
Shifting the weight of my knees, I inch forward once more. “Every time the Ark strikes, it fractures already fragile trading communities. You, yourself referenced our own ship as being an example of one of these communities,” I say.
The door creaks behind us, allowing footsteps to echo from the hallway. Never has the sound of dragging plastic caused so much fear.
I lurch forward. “Admiral! This isn’t the best way.”
He shoves me back. “Yes, I cite the fragility of our crew often!” Seething, he turns back to Cass as the guards lay down the plastic sheets. “You’ll make excellent examples for those who would consider a similar treason.”
Frantically, I look into Cass’s eyes. They brim with tears, but there’s no regret that I can see. She’s trying to make a decision: whether to fight and fall to a hail of bullets, or to wait and fall victim to just one. From what I know of Cass, I know I need to find another way to stall the process, and hurry; she won’t go quietly.
“Admiral listen!” I yell, jumping to my feet.
Catching both of my captors off guard, they rush to restrain me.
The Admiral ignores my plea. Instead, he supervises his guards as they pick up Cass and lay the sheet underneath her knees. I don’t get another word out before my legs sweep from under me. As I hit the ground, a boot jams into the side of my head. A white void blots out my vision. I fight to stay conscious.
“Careful now!” the Admiral’s voice interrupts. “I want to make sure he’s awake to see this.”
Battling the white lights, I keep my focus on the Admirals; all four of them, as they swirl around one another. All four raise their guns to the side of Cass’s head. I take one last deep breath. They all become one.
“I know you don’t think there’s profit in keeping us alive, but I can assure you that you’re wrong,” I say with as much calm as I can muster. Begging hasn’t worked; it’s time to take a position of authority. A hard thing to do when you’re literally under the heel of a boot.
“If Cass or I die, the insurgents on this ship have been trained to act on their orders.” It’s bullshit, but it’s the last card I have. “You said yourself that you don’t know who they are.” I look up at the guards. “They could be here in this very room, waiting for you to pull the trigger.”
Admiral Khan’s finger takes up slack in the trigger guard.
Stay calm.
I fight to keep my voice steady. “The entire reason the insurgency was formed was to make sure we addressed the threat presented by the Ark if you didn’t. If you address the threat, then there’s no reason for us to mutiny.”
Khan says nothing, but keeps the tension on the trigger. An odd euphoria blossoms in my chest as I flip my last card in hopes of a straight flush. We’re all in.
“Admiral, I saw how many planes were missing in that hangar. Saw how many pilots didn’t make the boat,” I say quietly, licking my dry lips. “How many soldiers didn’t make it back on board before you ran? How many of those who did are still loyal to you after seeing what they saw? The deck’s been shuffled. So the real question is: which half is still on this ship?”
I’ve breached the Admiral’s calculating territory now, but it’s all I’ve got.
“That would be quite the gamble,” I say slowly, “to have spent the last thirty years creating your dream, only to lose everything on one bet.”
The Admiral exhales, his eyes narrowing. “What did you say the name of the leade
r of this outfit was?” he asks.
“I didn’t,” I reply. A pearl of sweat drips down the side of my face.
“What is it?” the Admiral asks.
“His name is Garon Tesarik,” I say.
The Admiral’s eyes widen for just a second. Maybe I imagined it.
“Do you know his na-?”
“And what color did you say the light from his ship was?” the Admiral asks, stepping over my question.
“Blue,” I respond, confused.
We all wait in silence as he mulls over the new information, his face downturned.
I have one last blow to try to finish this. “The Ark collects a material called Neodymium Magnetite. It’s never been found in an organic state before this, and it possesses the chemical properties to create super light armor plating,” I state.
Cass picks her head up just enough to look down the barrel of the Admiral’s gun.
Keep still Cass.
“If we take down that ship, the first right to scavenge will be ours,” I say. Careful now. “Do you think you might be able to find a market for a material like that?” I ask.
Silence.
We all wait, frozen in time. Heartbeats race up and down my neck.
The Admiral clicks his pistol up in the air. “I knew there was a reason that I kept my eye on you,” he smiles.
Cass doubles over, stifling a sob. She shakes her head, collecting herself.
The Admiral walks over, gesturing for the guard to take his foot off my head. “If I let you both go, you must give me your word that there will be no insurrection,” he says.
Adrenaline floods my veins. “In exchange, you’ll give me your word that we’ll work together to address the Ark threat,” I say.
The Admiral pauses, grinding his teeth for a moment. His eyes snap up to my gruff captor. “Silva, cut Sergeant Basmon’s bindings please.”
Concealing my smirk, I watch Silva’s face drop as he comprehends the Admiral’s order. Eventually, his knife cuts through the ropes. Standing back up, I try rubbing the feeling back into my wrists.
The Admiral extends his hand. “If we’re going to do this, it will be like any other business venture,” he offers.
Taking my still numb hand, I force it into his as convincingly as possible.
“Done.”
Somewhere nearby, the smell of Burley tobacco hangs heavily in the air.
15
The guards escort us out of the Bridge and down to the Outer Rim. I’m trying my best not to faint. The day has drained everything emotionally and physically, and the stress of near execution almost overpowers me, but I won’t let myself appear drained in this company. An awkward hand-off occurs as Cass and I leave their sight. The Admiral gave us both side arms as a sign of sovereignty, and as a down payment for our agreement. The gun weighs heavily against my thigh. I didn’t care to look at the make and model when they were turned over to us. Did I see a revolver casting? It looks like polished silver. If so, it appears the Admiral will spare no expense trying to repurchase the loyalty of his crew.
Once I’m confident no other guards are in the vicinity, I stop and wrap Cass up in my arms. She does nothing at first, but then slowly returns the embrace.
I pull her closer. “I . . . I’m sorry about all of this,” I say.
She shushes me. “We worked together. We wouldn’t have made it otherwise,” she replies, brushing back her matted, oily hair. “There’s going to be a time where we sit down and talk about all of this, but it’s not going to be tonight.”
She runs her hands through her hair until her fingers get caught. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to go see if we still have running water. I want to wash as much of this day off of me as I can,” she says.
I nod. “As much as I’d like to join you, I’m gonna check on Olan. There are a lot of people missing and I want to make sure he’s not one of them.”
For just a split second, I see the hint of a coy smile on Cass’s face. “Even if we didn’t just survive an Armageddon and an execution, I wouldn’t let you join me anyways. No offense, but I’ve spent about as much time with you as I’d ever want to today,” she says, brushing past me.
I let myself smile too. “Seems fair to me.”
The wind blows her thick locks over her shoulder as she disappears into the darkness. The chill seeps through my jacket as I turn towards the Living Quarters bulkhead. My head hangs, thinking about my cot. I’m sure I could even get a hold of an extra blanket and just burrow into it.
No.
Olan first, then rest.
My feet trip over each other as I approach my floor. The same ugly, molding, red carpeting glares back up at me, and the cold windy chill’s still there. I pause. A dim light seeps up from the corner of the corridor, casting eerie shadows. Something’s changed here; a cold blast of wind accosts me.
“Just turn around kid.”
I ignore The Voice as the smell of a freshly lit cigarette wafts through the air. I’m not going to let it control my life.
Rounding the corner, I find the source of the draft: a thirty-foot hole blasted into the middle of our little neighborhood. Our cabin wasn’t far from the source of the explosion. There’s nothing left.
“Olan!”
I can’t hold back the panic in my voice. “Olan!” I shout, running quickly.
Next to the hole, shapes move from side to side. A blow torch illuminates the workers as they attempt to patch the Artemis’s hull. My hurried steps catch their attention.
A burly welder steps in my way, catching me. “Whoa, hey. Where d’ya think you’re going?”
I can’t catch up to my breath. “That’s my apartment!” I shout.
The welder looks over his shoulder, slowly pushing me away. “I’m sorry sir, that was your apartment.”
Reality sets in. Nausea creeps up from inside. I let the worker lead me to the corridor wall. I think he can tell my legs are about to give out. Everything I’ve ever owned was in that room: the last photo of my mother, model plane collections from when I was a kid, everything I held dear. They’re all gone.
Aoife. Olan.
I grab the welder’s shoulders. “Where are the other occupants of this block?”
The welder pushes me off as consternation overtakes his face. He scratches his stubbled chin. “There’s a small collection of them by the scaffolding over there.”
He points to the one solitary lamp in the area, under which I can make out a few hunched forms. Thanking him quietly, I begin hobbling toward the light, using my very last vestige of energy. Now there’s no bed for me to hide from the world. There’s nothing left.
Breaking into the small circle of light, I see the hunched forms are the displaced residents covered with blankets and other scraps of cloth to help keep the night’s chill at bay. I step silently over the various prone bodies. The cold, damp floor of the Artemis becomes more appealing with every step. Perhaps I can find a blanket for myself.
No.
I need to focus. Aoife and Olan have to be here.
I search for the next few minutes, using the flickering bulb to identify each face. There are too few people here to account for everyone from the block. I can only hope the others have found shelter with their other family or with some kind strangers. Logic tells me this isn’t the case, reinforced by the knowledge that I can’t find either Olan or Aoife anywhere in the whole group.
I begin panicking, frantically searching each of the faces once again, even though I know I’ve already checked them. I recognize a couple pressed up against one another as our elderly neighbors. Very kind people. I frequently run into the husband when I leave for my early morning trainings. He’s not especially chatty, but somehow always optimistic. I never did catch his name. After so much time, I was too embarrassed to ask.
I kneel down beside them; they’re my only option. The Husband seems to realize this, as one of his wrinkled eyes flashes open. A washed-out blue searches me intently.
&nb
sp; “It’s good to see that you are alive Mr. Basmon,” he says softly.
I falter, ashamed that I still don’t know his name. “I’m glad to see that you and your wife are also ok, sir.”
Sensing there’s more to this conversation, the Husband tenderly disengages himself from his wife. He’s careful not to wake her as he folds her arm back to her side. If I didn’t know any better, her sleepy expression would have persuaded me that this plate-metal floor was every bit as comfortable as the down bed they lost. Just as long as her husband’s arms were around her. For one moment, my heart warms, just a little.
The Husband puts the blanket back over his wife, running a hand through his white hair. He looks ghostly in this harsh light.
We stand in silence. I’m afraid to ask the question.
“Sir, have you seen my two cabinmates?” I ask.
He looks over at the hole in the side of the ship, pausing for a moment.
I feel the need to clarify. “One was a very large man. And his daughter Aoife. About five?”
He says nothing.
“She’s a little girl. Red hair. You must at least know her by sight,” I plead with him.
The Husband shifts his weight before sighing, “I know Aoife and Olan, Sage.”
A lump forms in the back of my throat. “Oh good,” I choke, “Then you must know where they are.”
The Husband takes me by the shoulder, guiding me away from the light.
“They both made it back onto the ship,”, he says. “Olan went to go help with the defense, and told Aoife to go hide under your bed. There wasn’t any time for her to find a better spot further inside the ship.” He takes a deep breath. “Then Olan ran to the Outer Rim to help coordinate the launch and fend off the attackers.”
I need to get away. I don’t want to talk any more.
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