by David Brush
“That doesn’t explain why these people have to die.”
James sighed, running his hand down through his hair as his face softened a bit. “Because they know the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“They know that we caused the Plague.”
Her mouth dropped open. “That can’t…”
“It is,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment as another wave of pain washed through his chest. “Nightrick created it as a deterrent. I don’t know how it leaked, but once the sphinxes found out, we had no choice. If we let those people leave the system, mankind will be annihilated in the war to come. I know how to stop the outbreak now, but it won’t matter. Every species in the galaxy will unite against us, Katherine. This isn’t about bloodlust, or some grudge I hold against those beasts. It’s about survival.”
“I understand that, but what if they never leave the system?”
“What do you mean?”
“We could dump them on Dawn. The planet is huge. They’ll never be found by outsiders. Think of it as a massive prison complex.”
A small grin traced his lips. “I know how much it would piss off Nightrick if we turned his nature preserve into a prison.” He sighed. “Fine, unload them, strip them of all but the most basic equipment, and leave them somewhere where we can monitor them with the defense grid. If they become a problem, we’ll be going back to my method.”
The commander nodded.
“And be sure to destroy the frigates once they’re empty. I’m sure the Sphingian Empire will send a team here eventually to investigate after they’ve recovered from the pestilence. I don’t want them finding abandoned vessels.”
She gave a small bow. “As you say, Doctor. I’ll get to work immediately.”
James nodded, turning back towards the screen he’d been fidgeting with. “Send my team back in on your way out, please.”
“Yes, sir.” She walked back through the blast doors, past the scientists that were standing around in the corridor. “All yours.”
As she heard the blast doors seal again behind her, the datacuff wound around her wrist chirped. She pushed her finger against the display.
“Commander Denova,” came the voice of Turing. “We have a problem.”
“What is it?”
“The Warden has forced its way back into the network. I am detecting the presence throughout all systems.”
She paled. “Where is the Warden now?”
“Unknown, ma’am. It has broken free from the holding cell on Deck C and is vying for control of the ship. Based on level of permeation, there is a high probability that it heard your conversation with Dr. Mercer.”
“You mean…?”
“Its prime directive is to eradicate the Plague. It would appear that it now knows the source.”
Nightrick peered through the pane of glass, looking down on the purple world churning beneath him. Bolts of lightning continued to tear across the clouds as they swirled above the carnage of Dusk.
“We’re alone now,” said Dr. Karich, crossing his arms. “The last human ships just jumped.”
Nightrick sat back in his seat, turning his attention from the viewport. “Good. That means Admiral Halsey did her job. They never would have found us anyway. The transmitter was destroyed shortly after we ejected.”
“You used your last bit of luck getting into orbit.”
“It looks that way. At least the Plague is contained. If Dr. Mudaw was right, all of Francis’s Desolator stockpiles are buried in the wreckage of Dusk. He’s lost control.”
Dr. Karich dipped his head a touch. “And so have you. The Plague may be entering its twilight years, but you won’t be around to see them.”
“I’ve made peace with that,” said Nightrick, gazing back into space. All around the pod, the metallic skeletons of once mighty ships floated haplessly through the debris field left in the wake of the battle. “I wonder how many men and women died here.”
Dr. Karich frowned. “Hundreds, maybe even thousands.”
“They fought bravely. Do you think it makes me a coward if I don’t want to sit here and suffocate?”
“It doesn’t make you a coward, John; it makes you human. No one wants to suffer needlessly.”
Nightrick undid the safety strap that had been holding him into his seat. He pulled himself down the small aisle, weightless in the damaged pod. “These things come equipped with suicide tablets, just in case a crew gets stranded somewhere.”
Dr. Karich smiled. “Quick and painless, I’m sure.”
“Ideally,” said Nightrick, pulling open one of the metal lockboxes on the wall. He rifled through the first aid kit for a moment before grabbing a small pill bottle and floating back to his seat. “One capsule and the long night begins.”
“Of course, if you swallow that pill, you destroy whatever hope remains that you might be rescued.”
“There isn’t any hope left here,” said Nightrick, unscrewing the bottle’s cap. He pulled one of the tiny green tablets out.
“Look down at that graveyard. It’s the final resting place of the Plague. You have it all backwards, John. Hope is the only thing left here.”
Nightrick squeezed the capsule, rolling it gently in his fingers for a moment before setting it back into its container.
Dr. Karich eyed the pill bottle. “A little while longer then?”
Nightrick nodded. “A little while longer.”
James stood outside of Haley’s room in the medical center on the Eternity, pacing back and forth in short strides. “There has to be some other way.”
“There might be,” said the physician with a small frown. “But she’s fading fast. I’m not saying that there aren’t other possible solutions, I’m saying that there isn’t time for us to find them. Your initial idea is by far the best option. She’ll survive, she’ll heal, and then perhaps in time we can look for other alternatives.”
His teeth ground together a little bit tighter. “She deserves a chance to live.”
“I agree, so give her one. Induction will keep her with us at least.”
“Fine,” said James, dipping his head a touch. “If it’s for her own good.”
The physician nodded. “You’re making the right choice, Doctor. When you’re ready, we have the equipment on standby.”
“Let’s get this over with,” he replied, walking through the door. All around the room stood the medical team, ready to assist in whatever capacity they could. He barely noticed them as he looked down at Haley, watching her tremor lightly in the small bed at the center of the room.
“Should we restrain her?” asked one of the technicians.
James shook his head. “No, that won’t be necessary.”
He closed his eyes for a minute, trying to steady his hands, before reaching for the syringe, ready to induce anesthesia and begin the procedure. As he brought the needle towards her, he felt her hand reach out and lightly clutch his forearm, halting his advance. He looked up, finding the fractured glaze almost completely absent by that point. For the first time in decades, he saw Haley’s rich green eyes as he remembered them: a galaxy all their own.
“I have to,” he said. “I have to save you.”
“James… you never could. Please…”
In her eyes, he saw the flower that he had plucked from its stem trying desperately to bloom one last time. His heart broke as he set the syringe back down. Without another word, he gently scooped Haley up into his arms and walked with her to the bridge, deaf to the protests of the surgical team around him. Her chest beat shallowly against his, growing weaker with each passing salvo. They stood there together on the deck of the Eternity, looking out across the billions of stars laid bare before them. The light caught in her emerald eyes, shining as it had once, a lifetime ago. She gave a weak sigh, and the sparkle faded. James watched her final breath escape into the void, unable to halt her transition from immortal to ethereal. Collapsing to his knees, he rocked her slowly back and forth, a
s if to keep the stillness from swallowing them whole. He looked down at her for a long time before gazing back out across the boundless sea of his empire. The stars dimmed, the tide darkened, and for the first time in his life, he felt something that he had never truly felt until that moment. Alone.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
David Brush is a chemist living in Michigan. He received his bachelor’s degree in biochemistry from the University of Detroit Mercy in 2014 and has published peer-reviewed research on proton exchange membranes in the American Chemical Society (ACS) journal Macromolecules. While he currently works in the chemical industry, he hasn’t ruled out returning to school to continue his study of biochemistry.