by Z H Brown
She gave a forced chuckle at his attempt to lighten the mood, and he cleared his throat before continuing.
“Since this is hardly likely to be an isolated incident, I would like to assign you some hand-picked guards, for the time being, at least.”
Ansaria was far too tired to argue. “Whatever you feel is best, captain.”
Ranyor was silent for a few moments before continuing.
“Of course, this is just one part of the problem we currently have with our… wards. I dread to think how we are going to keep them properly contained on the voyage home.”
Ansaria started blearily at nothing, wanting more than anything to sleep forever and never wake up.
“Good luck solving that one, captain.”
Ranyor looked like he wanted to say something, but decided against it and left her alone in her dark room.
It was shortly before the evening meal the next day that Alvara came to see her. Ansaria was sitting in her dim quarters, wondering if it was worth the effort and energy to get up and make her way to the mess. The lump on the back of her head throbbed dully every time she adjusted her position in her chair; was one meal worth another potential literal headache?
Her door chimed, announcing a visitor and, thinking it was Ranyor come to deliver some other piece of news in person, absently called for them to enter.
Alvara slithered inside, hesitantly, as though she was rethinking her decision to come here. Ansaria shot up in her seat, causing her knot to give an extra-painful twinge. Ignoring the pain, Ansaria instead tried to think of something to say to her friend, but everything she had wanted or planned to say the next time she saw Alvara vanished from her mind like smoke on the wind; instead, she sat there, waiting with terrible hope and fear at what her second-in-command intended to say to her.
For a few moments of heavy tension, Alvara avoided looking at her commanding officer, before she finally gave in and looked her straight in the eyes. At first, her face was a mask of angry determination, but as she looked at her old friend, her harsh mood softened and she released the storm that had been raging within her with a heavy sigh.
“You know, I intended to really let you have it when I came in here,” she said, sounding as tired as Ansaria herself felt. “But from the looks of you, you’ve already said the same things to yourself a hundred times over by now.”
Ansaria laughed a little. “Yeah, but I’m sure you have some new, choice insults I hadn’t thought of yet.”
Alvara came over and placed a comforting arm around Ansaria and for some time, the two of them sat there in the low light, nothing more needing to be said.
It was the day after Alvara had come to see her that Ansaria really began to wonder what they should do next; recovery operations had completed and all the ships had been checked over and confirmed suitable for travel, so there was really no reason for them to linger here any longer. Knowing that what was to come next would have a major impact on many people besides herself, she decided to call one last meeting to hammer out a plan for going forward.
Ansaria and Alvara waited only somewhat anxiously for everyone else to show up. They were meeting in a small conference room, one of dozens aboard the Throneship; they could have met in one of Xandarius’ private chambers, or in the Royal Guard briefing room, but Ansaria had wanted a smaller and less formal gathering.
Tread was the first to arrive and as he entered, the dimness of his glowing eyes told Ansaria immediately that the android had been neglecting to recharge; Tread had an internal power supply that handled his basic functions, but running all that extra military hardware and computing power necessitated the sergeant to take in additional energy, which he clearly had not been doing. However, all thoughts to her mechanical friend’s well-being were driven from her mind as the android strode across the room and clapped his captain in a tight hug. Before Ansaria could say anything, Tread released her and went over and did the same thing to Alvara.
After he finished, he offered a brief explanation. “As I have found over these last few days, this gesture is helpful in aiding in recuperation after painful events.”
With some of the tension eased in the room, the three were able to wait in relatively comfortable silence before Slog arrived. His eyes were bleary and he stumbled somewhat as he entered; Ansaria couldn’t determine if he had been drinking since he had got up or was still drunk from before whenever he had passed out. Upon entering the room, he nearly face-planted after trying to place a steadying hand on the table and missing completely. Once he had a good grip, he sloppily saluted.
“Corporal-for-the-time-being Krunkle, reporting for duty,” slurred her comrade. Ansaria was overcome with pity and went over, dropped to one knee and, ignoring the smell, embraced her short squad mate in a tight hug. Slog halfheartedly returned the gesture with his artificial arm.
“Careful, cap'n, or your royal boyfriend will get the wrong idea about us,” he said, before wrapping both arms tightly around Ansaria. When he finally loosened his grip, they found him a chair to sit in, and situated him at the table, where he sat with his head in his hands while Tread placed a comforting hand on his back.
Eberius and Ranyor arrived together, the captain having personally met the prince in the hangar with a hand-picked set of guards lest anyone try to ambush the dignitary of the Ebon Empire. Eberius once again wore his featureless helmet, but his gaze quite clearly locked on to Ansaria as they entered the room, and he made a pollenus-line toward her.
“Ansaria, are you-” he reached out to take her hands in his, before catching himself, worried that he was overstepping his bounds. Instead, Ansaria reached out and took him into a tighter, more personal embrace, just happy to see him.
Ranyor allowed this for a moment before getting back to business. “And what of our last participant?”
Tread inspected his TIG before answering. “Comm. Chief Diamond is patching him in now.”
On one of the walls, a screen activated, and Prince Gamesh-Gil of the Starlite Imperium appeared from his ship, the Golden Rebirth. He bowed in greeting to everyone before all eyes turned expectantly toward Ansaria. She swallowed a couple of times before beginning.
“Basically, I’ve asked you all here to answer a single question: where do we go from here? We can’t hang above an empty planet forever, so what do we do next?”
The Imperium Prince was the first to answer. “I must return home to inform my people of these developments. The loss of the Flame once more will no doubt be a new wound in the hearts of the faithful, but it will also bring closure to many; better the Flame lost than in the hands of what many still perceive to be the enemy.”
Ranyor spoke up. “Forgive me, Prince Gamesh, but the situation is not as cut and dry as that,” he hesitated before continuing. “One of our ships detected an energy blip while on patrol, and a scan of the planet shows a familiar energy signature; the Flame is still smoldering down on that dirtball.”
“What should we do about it?” asked Alvara.
“Nothing.”
Prince Gamesh had spoken with such dangerous intensity that it seemed to take even himself back. He cleared his throat before clarifying.
“Forgive me, but I believe it would be best for everyone if the Flame was allowed to remain undisturbed for the rest of our histories; more ill than good has come from it has I have seen, and I truly think that simply leaving it is the best thing we can do.”
“I for one agree with Prince Gamesh," said Eberius. "If he wishes to relinquish what is technically his birthright and heirloom, then I will not oppose his decision.”
Captain Ranyor was clearly holding something back. He was standing with his lower hands on his hips, and his upper arms tightly crossed across his chest, while his scaly brow was deeply furrowed.
“If you have a counterargument, captain, please share it,” said Ansaria, gently.
The reptilian officer composed his thoughts carefully before answering. “I don’t think you understand what this system m
eans to the Empire; it isn’t some unimportant spot on a map anymore, but the place where the soldiers of Xenlong stood firm and defeated a terror the likes of which has never before seen by our galaxy. What’s more Queen – that is, Empress – Zira just lost her husband, even if she doesn’t come here personally to hold a memorial, it won’t be long before she sends someone to investigate where His Majesty fell.”
“Do you believe she would try to claim the Flame for herself?” asked Eberius.
Ranyor spread all of his hands out. “Honestly, who can say? My gut tells me ‘no’: I can’t see Her Grace acquiring such power and then just sitting on it back in Xenxing; nor does she share our Lord’s desire for personal combat, unless the Flame imparted such a drive upon her. But even if she doesn’t take the Flame for herself, it wouldn’t be out of the question for her to collect it for others to study.”
“That would be a very grave mistake,” said Gamesh, and the dangerous edge was back in his voice. Unfortunately, Ranyor was neither taken aback nor cowed by the veiled threat, and answered with a sharp edge in his own voice.
“And what exactly do you mean by that, Prince Gamesh-Gil, sire?”
Prince Gamesh took a steadying breath before answering. “If word reached my people that the Flame was being dissected in a Xenlongian lab, I would be unable to hold back the blind fury that would overcome my subjects. Undoubtedly, the most devoted commanders would depart with their forces immediately to begin a devastating crusade to reclaim the burning soul of our people. The war our governments have waged these last thirty-eight years will seem like minor border clashes compared to the horror that would be rained down upon your worlds. Who would ultimately win is inconsequential; both of our civilizations would be left burnt husks of what they once were, and that thought haunts me worst of all.”
Ranyor digested this answer for a few silent moments before his posture and face softened. “You raise a…compelling point, Prince Gamesh. I shall impress upon Her Majesty your belief that it would be best for all parties that the Flame remains unclaimed.” As if trying to put the last topic behind them, Ranyor addressed Eberius.
“And you, Prince Eberius? Back home for you as well, I expect?”
“Indeed; my troops have gone above and beyond what was expected of them in this voyage, and because of that, we have lost some of our brothers and sisters. As such, I have ordered all preparations to be made so that we can depart as soon as I return to my ship…”
A new wave of pain washed over Ansaria; she knew the two of them would have to say goodbye at some point - but so soon?
“…but not before I ask if Ansaria would do me the honor and privilege of accompanying me to my homeworld.”
It took Ansaria a moment for the full weight of Eberius statement to hit her, and when it did, it completely threw her through a loop.
Ansaria’s silence also seemed to trip up the prince as well, as he quickly added: “My invitation extends to your friends as well, of course; I would be happy to introduce the heroes who helped save our entire civilization to my father and everyone else.”
This addendum caused a rapid flurry of surprised and confused looks to pass between the four soldiers. After a few moments contemplation, Ansaria said the first thing that came to her mind.
“I don’t think a captain in the Imperial Army can just take a leave of absence at the drop of a helmet. We’ve got to get back to Xenlong so we can--” she faltered, the immensity of her situation suddenly returning to her. “— stand trial for treason.”
The room was deathly quiet, everyone present understanding what that meant for them. Ansaria jumped a little as she felt a comforting hand on her shoulder, and was surprised to see Ranyor standing behind her.
“Two-thirds of this fleet is guilty of treason at this point, Ansaria,” said Ranyor, gently. “I don’t know what will happen to us when we get home, but whatever it is, I doubt putting it off for a little while will make matters worse.”
Ansaria was briefly overcome by a flood of relief and gratitude for the old soldier. She nodded in appreciation and swallowed hard so her voice wouldn’t croak the next time she spoke. However, Tread beat her to it.
“I’m sorry, your highness; while the idea of visiting your home is extremely tempting, I must decline. I will not allow Critter’s name to be vilified by the nobility and military leadership; I shall return home and ensure that everyone knows that our friend gave his life to stop a madman, even if that madman was our emperor.”
“What he said,” said Slog, blearily. “Besides, I promised a girl a date back when I had two matching arms, and, good-looking hero or not, I doubt she’s gonna be very forgiving if I disappear from the face of the galaxy for who knows how long….assuming we don’t have a date with a firing squad first.”
Ansaria was very saddened to hear that they would not be joining her, but she couldn’t fault their reasons. With apprehension, she looked at Alvara.
“Well…I guess I can’t let you go all by yourself; besides, you’ll probably take all the credit for killing that big, ugly beasty after your third or fourth drink at the first big party.”
Ansaria was so overcome with gratitude for her friend that she could do nothing else but go over and embrace her in a tight hug.
Not long after, they were all assembled once more in the hangar that held Eberius’ transport, this time accompanied by a small contingent of Imperial soldiers. Ansaria and Alvara, along with their meager belongings, stood next to Eberius at the foot of the ship, while Ranyor, Tread and Slog stood opposite them. After Alvara had exchanged hugs and goodbyes, it was Ansaria’s turn.
“Make sure you keep up with your arm’s maintenance, Slog,” she said from one knee, having to crouch to say farewell to her squad mate. “I don’t want you to crush my hand the next time I see you.”
“I’m sure this hunk of junk will remind me often enough,” said Slog, giving Tread a playful shove, before throwing both arms around Ansaria. “Be careful out there, cap'n; don’t you go coming back with any robot parts!”
Ansaria laughed before moving to Tread. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I hate to ask, Tread, but could you do me a favor when you get back?”
“Name it, Captain.”
“I’m worried my parents might be caught in the fallout of this. Do you think you could…?”
“I’ll make sure they are looked after, Ansaria,” he assured her, before also wrapping her in a hug, which she returned.
“Don’t be gone for too long, Captain; I may have the patience of a machine, but even I’d start to miss you after a while.”
Ansaria laughed again and gave the android anther brief squeeze. Finally, she reached Captain Ranyor. After much prior consideration, she undid the memento tied to her sword before unclasping the sheath from her belt and presenting it to the helmsman. Ranyor took it in his upper hands and examined it for a moment before passing it back to her.
“Keep it. Until a tribunal or Her Grace, the Empress strips you of your rank, you still have the right to carry that weapon; it's served you well through all of this, and may it continue to do so.”
With that, he saluted, and so did all of the soldiers that he brought. Ansaria (feeling more than a little red in the face), reaffixed the weapon and securely tied the cloth back on. With nothing else seemingly left to be said, Eberius motioned for some of his troops to collect the baggage and they entered the ship. Ansaria and Alvara turned one last time as the entrance slowly closed, and saw Tread and Slog had joined in the salute, before the door sealed and they were out of view.
The ever-present blue light washed over them as they strapped themselves in, Ansaria in the middle and Alvara and Eberius on either side of her. Alvara reached down and gave her hand a comforting squeeze and Ansaria did the same to Eberius’ hand. Moments later, the rumble and hum of an active transport told them that they were about to take off, and sure enough, the next moment they felt the rush of acceleration as they left the hangar.
Their
trip was brief, and when the ship landed in the hangar of the Cerulean Spear, they found a dozen black-clad Ebon soldiers awaiting them. To her surprise, Eberius reached up and removed his helmet.
With a broad smile, he gestured to the nearest soldiers. “Take our guests' belongings to a cabin near mine, then everyone get to their stations... so we can depart for home.”
A cheer emerged from the blank-masked troops, and they moved quickly to enact their prince’s instructions. Eberius gestured for Ansaria and Alvara to follow him and after a short jaunt through the ship they found themselves on the bridge. The command center for Eberius’ flagship was far more occupied and busy than the bridge of the Throneship, and reminded her of her time aboard the Stormfront; over a dozen individuals in elegant and stylish black-and blue outfits worked feverishly in preparation for their departure. Eberius approached a figure standing next to an empty central chair.
“Are we ready to leave, captain?” asked the Prince as he settled in the chair.
“All of our ships are infused with the Grace, my lord,” replied the black-helmeted captain reverently.
“Good, then on my signal.”
Ansaria and Alvara moved closer to the large, central viewscreen. In the upper right corner, a massive burst of golden light signaled the departure of the Imperium fleet. After a few moments of adjusting its trajectory, the Throneship fired up its FTL and gaping purplish-black void appeared at the bow of the vessel, which it and the surrounding ships dived into; the tear in reality lingered for a few moments before disappearing without a trace. Turning back to Eberius, Ansaria nodded.
Another smile crossing his face, Eberius nodded back. “Take us home, captain,” instructed the Prince with finality.
The officer bowed before hastening to carry out his leader’s orders.
A few seconds later, the starscape before Ansaria and Alvara was replaced by a blindingly bright wave of blue as their ship carried them off to whatever awaited them.