Stars of Blood and Glory

by Joe Vasicek

  “Rina,” he called out again, trying to picture her young, almost girlish face in his mind. An unseen force pulled him forward, as if to the center of a whirlpool, and he found himself speeding over a desert landscape far different from his own. Sharp, craggy mountains stretched across the horizon, while the rocky land below was a deep, dark red, like rust stained with blood. He passed over a forbidding mountain range and across a wide alluvial plain before flying over an expansive desert waste, heading toward a small mesa and a cluster of adobe huts around a rickety old windmill.

  Rina, he thought to himself, and knew that she was there.

  He was near enough now to see a shuttle, the engines still glowing as if it were about to take off. A small group of people had gathered nearby—a man in white flowing robes and several women dressed in brown and black. A feeling of tension filled the air, so thick he could almost taste it. She was here, all right—this was her nightmare.

  “Rina!” he called out, but none of the figures looked up at him. Overhead, the pink and yellow flares of nuclear explosions cast eerie shadows across the forbidding landscape, and he realized that the Hameji were moving into position, preparing to slag her world. Her despair swept over him, nearly drowning the sense of urgency that had driven him forward. But mustering his will, he fought back against the wall of her emotions and plunged downward.

  * * * * *

  The harsh desert wind whipped Rina’s face, making her pull her headscarf tighter as dust raked across her mouth and eyes. Her mother coughed next to her, while her father and sisters stood like solemn statues as the sky flashed white and yellow. Directly in front of them, the shuttle settled down to the ground without shutting off its engines. Her childish heart raced, even in her memories—time had come to an end, and the world was collapsing all around her.

  Jalil was the first to run to the ship. His princely white robes fluttered in the wind, and he stopped just as the hatchway opened and the off-world girl Michelle stepped out. He turned back to the family, his eyes burning with urgency and desperation.

  “Everybody in!” he shouted, beckoning for them to follow. “There’s no time to lose!”

  But no one moved.

  Rina looked to her older sister, Mira, who glanced nervously at the others. The tension was visible in her face, highlighted by the pink and white flare of another explosion.

  “Did you hear me?” Jalil shouted. “The world is ending—we have to leave!”

  “We’re not going anywhere in the devil’s caravaneer,” said Rina’s mother, putting her hands obstinately on her hips. Rina glanced from her to Jalil to Mira, torn with a fear made all the worse by the confusion all around her.

  “There’s no time to argue,” said her half-sister Tiera, running to the ship. “Come on, let’s go!”

  All eyes turned to their father, but he glanced sheepishly at his wife, as if looking for some direction. As he searched in vain for the words to express himself, Rina turned to Mira and saw her eyes widen.

  “What are you waiting for?” Jalil shouted again. “There’s no time—we’ve got less than ten minutes before—”

  “We’re staying right here,” said their mother. “This is our home, and no tricks from you are going to get us to abandon it. Right, girls?”

  Without warning, Mira took a step forward and broke into a run. Rina’s heart leaped. A part of her longed to run after her, but she hesitated, too scared to move.

  “Hey!” screamed their mother. “Mira! Come back here!”

  Mira and Jalil embraced, holding each other as if they would never let go.

  “Jalil! How dare you steal my daughter! Mira, come back at once!”

  “Mother!” Tiera shouted from the hatchway, ignoring the others. “Come on!”

  Tiera’s elderly mother Zayne looked from her daughter to the Sheikh and back again, as hesitant as Rina to be the next to run forward.

  “Zayne!” Jalil cried, letting go of Mira. “Mother, please! Let’s go!”

  With tears in her eyes, the old woman ran to the ship, stumbling over the rocky earth. Tiera ran forward and helped her to the shuttle, while Rina’s mother shook her head and clucked. “The old whore,” she muttered disapprovingly.

  “We don’t have any more time,” Jalil shouted, his voice growing hoarse. “Can’t you see? Everyone who stays behind is going to die!”

  Time slowed as the memory reached its awful climax. Mira’s eyes met her own, and shivers ran down her spine as she realized she’d reached one of those crucial moments of decision that can never be repeated or undone. In that instant, the entirety of her life flashed before her awareness. What had she accomplished that was truly worth living for? What friends did she have who looked forward to seeing her? A lump rose in her throat as she remembered Roman, covered in blood—bleeding from the wounds she’d inflicted on him. She was weak—too weak to love, too weak to be worth loving.

  As she watched, the child that had been her ran forward, into her sister’s arms. She was a ghost now, a bare wisp of consciousness in the wind, about to perish as the world came to an end around her.

  “So, these are the demons that haunt you,” came a low, familiar voice behind her. She turned and saw Roman in his crisp Tajji uniform, no sign of blood from their previous encounter. He put an arm around her shoulder, and though she was just a ghost, his touch was not insubstantial.

  “Yes,” she whispered, watching the terrible scene as it came to its inevitable close. “I—I shouldn’t have gone.”

  “That is not true. If you had stayed, you would have died.”

  “But did I really deserve to live?”

  He looked down and met her eyes, his expression so intense that even his mechanical eye radiated with fervency.

  “What makes you think you do not? The greatest tragedy is when one truly loses their will to live. I did not see this in my youth, but I see it now—yes, I see it perfectly.”

  “My life is a living nightmare,” she said, her emotions spilling out of her. “I have no home, no family—I’m nothing but a killing machine. No one knows how alone I’ve been.”

  “Your sister and brother-in-law, they are still alive, yes?”

  “They are,” Rina admitted. “But—but I do not deserve to be with them.”

  “You are wrong,” said the old cyborg. He turned to face her and squatted down to her level, clasping both of his heavy hands on her shoulders.

  “Listen,” he said, his voice firm but not harsh. “You are not yourself now. Your mind has been infiltrated by some malicious device, implanted by those who destroyed your world. They have made you slave, and turned you into killing machine. With your help, I can remove this device. You will be free to love, free to return to those who love you. But you must be willing—you must work with me to do it.”

  Rina took a deep breath, her heart pounding. Across from them, Tiera was boarding the shuttle with her mother.

  “You must have the will to live,” said Roman, his arms trembling. “I know it is difficult—more than you know, I know. But your life does not have to be nightmare any longer. I can free you—let me free you!”

  “But I almost killed you.”

  He grinned. “It will take more than small knife to kill this cyborg.”

  At his words, she couldn’t help but laugh—a laugh that brought tears to her eyes. She looked down and realized she was no longer a ghost, an insubstantial wisp—she was a young girl, the girl who had made that decision so many years ago to live.

  “Now go,” said Roman.

  Jalil was boarding the shuttle now, with Mira following close behind. She stopped at the hatch and gave one last, longing glance at Rina, and in that moment the chains of despair that held her captive all seemed to burst, and she ran forward with all the exuberance of a small child into her sister’s arms.

  “Mira!” she cried, tears streaking her face. “Mira, Jalil—don’t leave me!”

  “Never,” said Mira, holding her close. “We will always be there
for you.”

  As the long lost sisters hugged each other, the darkness clouding Rina’s soul gave way to a brilliant light—not the harsh light of an explosion, but the warm, peaceful light of a life-giving sun.

  Chapter 18

  The locks in the coffin door clicked loudly as they opened, vibrating through the gelled padding that held Hikaru in place. Outside, she heard the sound of quick footsteps and hastily spoken words. Her heart still raced in her chest, and she hesitated for a few uncertain moments before pressing her palm to the access pad in front of her.

  The door to the compartment unlatched and swung open, allowing her to step out. She found herself surrounded by soldiers, all running about in a strangely ordered chaos toward the doors. Several of them shot a glance at her as they ran past, but none of them stopped to help her.

  “Hey!” she cried after them. “What’s going on?”

  “Didn’t you hear the orders?” said a thirty-something woman in an olive-green uniform, probably some kind of sergeant. “We’re evacuating to the shuttles. If you have anything stowed in your quarters, Princess, better get it now.”

  Hikaru frowned. “Evacuating? What—”

  “Those are the orders. Now let’s move!”

  What’s going on? Hikaru wondered as she hurried out into the hallway. Were they in danger? Where were they going, and why were they leaving the ship this far into deep space? She’d always thought that combat would be flashy and exciting, not dark and full of hurried confusion like this.

  “The captain,” she said, breaking away from the main group of soldiers. “Where is she?”

  The sergeant clenched her teeth and shrugged before hurrying on her way.

  “Try the bridge!”

  The bridge, Hikaru thought to herself, setting off at a run down the dimly lit corridor.

  * * * * *

  Roman groaned as he gradually returned to his physical consciousness. The wounds in his stomach and shoulder throbbed with pain, but he opened his eyes and slowly regained his bearings. He was kneeling on the floor in Rina’s private quarters, with Danica and Abaqa standing over him. Someone had dressed his wounds, so that he wasn’t bleeding as badly as he had when he’d gone under. The girl Rina was unconscious in his arms, a little stiff but breathing normally. A smile crept across his face—even if she didn’t wake for a while, he knew she’d be all right.

  “Krikoryan,” said Danica, kneeling next to him. “Roman, how are you feeling?”

  “Exhausted,” he said, rising to his feet. His wounds stung something awful, but that didn’t prevent his prosthetics from functioning properly.

  “You’re going to need more than a field dressing for those wounds,” she said, rising with him. “Fortunately, nothing vital was injured. How is the girl?”

  “She will recover,” he said, laying Rina gently on the cot. “Her implant is neutralized. She will not be Hameji slave any longer.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I’m so sorry for this,” Abaqa said softly, shaking his head. “To think that Tagatai—I never knew.”

  Danica nodded and took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, we have no time for apologies. The Tajji Flame is in no condition to fight, and we have nowhere to run except the surface of the planet. While you were recovering Al-Najmi, I cave the general evacuation order.”

  “Evacuate?”

  “Yes. The shuttles aren’t equipped with jump drives, so you’ll have to wait for a Federation starship to come back and pick you up. The chances of that probably aren’t too good, but if you and the men can get out of this alive, then that’s all that matters.”

  “And the Tajji Flame?”

  She paused, her expression grim. “In order to draw off the strike team, one of us will have to stay behind and draw them off.”

  Roman frowned. “Stay behind?”

  Realization struck him like a hard blow to the stomach. A lump rose in his throat, and his natural leg went weak, forcing him to lean on his prosthetic.

  “Don’t do this, Captain. Please—”

  “It’s a good plan, but it won’t work,” said Abaqa, stepping between them. “In a situation like this, the strike team would comb the area for survivors, even if the target went down without discharging any escape pods. If you want to throw them off, you’re going to need something else.”

  “Such as?” Danica asked.

  He glanced from her to Roman and back again, with the nervous excitement so often displayed by the youth when they recognize a good idea. “The escape pods are equipped with shortwave transceivers, aren’t they?”

  “Yes,” said Roman. “Why?”

  “If I stay behind with the ship, I can escape in one of the pods and contact the strike team using the shortwave. Once they’ve picked me up, I’ll tell them that the ship went down with all hands, and that there were no survivors.”

  “Interesting,” said Danica, folding her arms. “But how do we know we can trust you?”

  Abaqa turned to her and drew himself up like a man. “I know that we’re enemies,” he said softly, “but you are friends of my mother, and—and men of true honor. I give you my word, I will not betray you.”

  Danica looked at him long and hard, as if she could read his entire life story in one determined glance. The young prince shrunk a little under her unrelenting gaze, but held his own. After several tense moments, she nodded.

  “Very well,” she said. “Return to the bridge. I’ll join you shortly.”

  “Yes, Captain,” he said, nodding. He turned awkwardly to Roman, as if unsure whether to salute, but spun around quickly and left the room.

  “Captain,” said Roman, his right eye blurring with tears, “Captain, please—let it be me.”

  “I can’t do that,” said Danica, failing to meet his eyes. “As captain, it’s my duty to go down with the ship. See to the men—make sure they’re safe.”

  “But Captain—”

  “That’s an order,” she said, looking up at him. A sigh escaped her lips, and the impassive mask of command fell away, revealing a face that was surprisingly old and careworn. And yet, the vitality and emotion in her eyes was unchanged, even after all these years. She stepped forward and put a hand on his arm, and it was all he could do to keep from breaking down right there.

  “You always say that cyborgs never die,” she said softly, “but when I look at you, I see a man who hasn’t really lived. I want you to live, Roman—I want you to stop fading and truly live before you die. Understand?”

  He nodded, trembling uncontrollably as tears began to spill from his eye. “Captain,” he stammered, then wrapped his arms around her like a little boy.

  “It’s been an honor serving with you, Roman.”

  He tried to respond, but was too choked up to say anything.

  As they let go of each other, he became dimly aware of hurried footsteps outside the edge of his vision. “Captain!” came the voice of a young girl—the princess, his digital mind registered. “Captain, what’s—” she gasped and drew silent, standing off in the doorway.

  “See to the princess,” said Danica. “Use the money from that job to buy a new ship. And Sergeant—take care of my men.”

  “I will,” said Roman, his lip still quivering. He turned and picked up Rina from the cot, his movements stiff and automatic. More than ever, he felt as if he were trapped in a mechanical body, watching like a spectator while someone else controlled his actions.

  “… and be sure to see to your wounds,” Danica was saying. “That’s an order, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  He paused in the doorway, turning to look at her one last time before leaving. She stood with her hands clasped comfortably behind her back, her uniform crisp and her expression full of grace.

  “Live, Roman,” she said simply. “That’s an order.”

  “I will.”

  She saluted him, her thumb tucked tightly under her palm in the traditional Tajji fashion. Still holding Rina with his prosthetic, h
e lifted his right arm and returned the salute. His breath came in short, erratic gasps, but before he could recover, she turned and left for the bridge.

  Live, Roman, her words echoed in his mind. But inwardly, he felt as if he had died.

  * * * * *

  The bridge of the Tajji Flame seemed eerily empty. The chairs were all conspicuously vacant, some turned around almost backward in the men’s haste to leave. Out the forward window, the looming mass of the lifeless planet seemed almost like an ominous black hole in an otherwise brilliant starfield. Indicators still blinked on the various displays, abandoned in mid-function by men whose time was quickly running out.

  Abaqa settled down in the old cyborg’s chair, bringing up a map of the area on the scanners. The radar traced alien landforms on the surface of the world below: cracks and crevices split from the rock as the planet had slowly cooled in the star-filled void. No bases or outposts, however—and nothing on the horizon, though a series of intersecting lines ahead in their trajectory showed where the Hameji strike team would soon intercept them.

  The door hissed open, and Danica stepped inside. “What’s our status?” she asked as she took the pilot’s chair.

  “No sign of our attackers,” said Abaqa. “We’re coming up on them, though—about five minutes to intercept.”

  A distant groan announced the departure of the shuttles. On the scanners, they appeared as a pair of twin dots, dropping speed and altitude as they descended to make planetfall.

  “Shuttles away,” said Danica. “How long until they’re off the scanners?”

  “A few minutes,” said Abaqa. “They don’t have much time.”

  “Then we’ll have to give them more.” She engaged the sublight engines, filling the room with a distant rushing noise as they came to life. The floors and bulkheads vibrated ever so slightly, and the scanners showed them accelerating to a higher orbit.