by Drew Avera
“Ensign Quin, I have a signed document stating you wish to plead guilty of the charges set against you. Did you sign this declaration?”
Brendle stood, jaw slack, as he realized the ultimate purpose behind the deal Lieutenant Prable had issued from Captain Elastra. It was designed to emasculate him, to make him appear weak and unworthy for the uniform he wore. All of the realization in the world couldn’t take any of it back, though. It was too late. He had made his bed and now he had to lie in it. “Yes, Captain. That is my signature.”
Captain Elastra sneered at Brendle with enough contempt he thought he might catch fire. “Very well, Ensign Quin, I find you guilty of treason. These charges generally result in execution, but due to our previous arrangement, you will be held in the brig until the Telran can safely drop you onto an inhabitable planetary body. If during that time, you choose to violate the policies of my command then you will be tossed into darkness.”
Brendle stood in shame. Everything the captain had said was meant to destroy the man he had been. He looked away from Captain Elastra; the moment for not looking weak was long past mattering. He was a condemned man, a coward in the eyes of the crew. He looked over to see Lieutenant Prable standing in the first rank. A look of sadness was etched upon her face. Maybe it was regret, but at this point it really didn’t matter.
“Mr. Quin, you are relieved of service to the Greshian Navy. Enjoy your temporary stay on the Telran. I look forward to your disembarkment, traitor.” And with those words his career was officially over.
The guards behind Brendle cut his uniform from his body. The tattered shreds of fabric that represented his once-faithful service lay at his feet. The sound of his medals clanging against the deck echoed in his ears as he stared down at the mess that was his past. He didn’t remember confessing to treason in the way Captain Elastra proclaimed it. There must be some mistake, Brendle thought. He wanted to speak out, but when he looked up the captain was no longer there. He saw only the dead stare of Ensign Ilium looking back at him. Below those eyes was the wicked curl of grinning lips.
Rage began to burn inside Brendle’s chest where fear and anxiety once pressed against his heart. “What are you smiling at?” Brendle asked, bitterness etched in every word. He was no longer an officer in the Greshian Navy. His indignant attitude meant nothing now. Finally able to speak freely, he wanted to berate the man before him, knowing that the records had to have been altered and the only person with that kind of authority was the man gleaming at him as if it was the best day in his life.
“I’m just surprised to hear a dead man speak.”
“I’m not dead yet,” Brendle said sardonically.
Ensign Ilium only shrugged at first, not breaking eye contact. “Yet being the operative word,” he replied. “Chief Harling,” he said, looking behind Brendle to the guard poised to strike. Brendle didn’t see it coming, but his body registered the impact of something solid striking the back of his head, knocking him out like a light.
Chapter 9: Anki
If the bucket transport was the most body-wrenching ride Anki had ever experienced then walking the passageways of the Seratora was the most glamorous. Built for war, the Seratora didn’t pull any punches with fire power. But true to the society that made her, she boasted a luxurious decor clearly designed to send its inhabitants to heaven in a godly fashion. The honor bestowed upon the Luthian Navy came at the expense of its citizens. They made no attempt to disguise that truth. It made Anki wonder if it was worth it to send the elder’s children to die on such a magnificent machine which would be forever lost to those who had to live with the sacrifices. She knew what her father would say. He believed in God and looking at this vessel he would say that the loss of this ship and its crew would be a sacrifice to God for protection. She wished she could tell him that if there was a God then he shouldn’t need sacrifices to do the right thing. She didn’t understand how anyone could love a God who was the equivalent of a parent diseased enough to think abusing their children was a pronouncement of love. She couldn’t reconcile herself to believe that a God like that could even exist. Sadly, if her father knew how she felt then it would break his heart. Regardless, it seemed that being a child came with its own hardships to face.
The wardroom was by far the most enchanting space on the ship. It was expansive, adorned with metallic luster and shining lights. It looked like the kind of dining area a world leader would use, yet it was designed for a Navy, men and women sent to do the bidding of those in power. Subjugation looked nice when coupled with the sheen of polished wood and silvery metal. Seeing it all made Anki feel at least a little important. It was a sentiment she wasn’t used to; marines were expected to make use of poor things, to not require the best tools to do their job. So long as they had hands and feet then they were strategically placed weapons with the purpose of violent delivery to the enemy. Her purpose was to fight and die; an expendable breath to preserve life on her world. Historically, Luthia took pride in treating its warriors as people of honor, but all it did was bring the realization that she was in her final moments before she would be called upon to defend her home, to lay down her life. It was the calling she thought she wanted to answer, but now it was a lingering question.
The Seratora was her home away from home, a mansion drifting away from the world she had known, away from the comforting pull of gravity. She never realized how comfortable being on a world was until her feet were planted on the drifting decks of a warship as it careened into the expansive darkness. It was made to be comfortable, but it wasn’t, not to her at least. The bulkheads were a luster of white, almost pearl-like. Anki could see her reflection in the sheen. Her brown skin and long flowing hair pulled behind her ears were a stark contrast against the reflective surface. Her uniform, the dark gray of a Luthian Marine, was in contrast to the blue worn by the Navy sailors. She was something else on the ship, apart from it while also being a part of it. She was a grain of sand on a beach of strangers. It was overwhelming. She struggled to come to terms with her place onboard. Did it really matter how temporary or permanent the accommodations were? The Seratora was her ride into combat. It didn’t matter if she belonged, just as long as she was there to do her job.
Anki pulled a tray down from the pile and made her way through the chow line. There was a banquet of food, some preparations of dishes she had never seen before. She was nervous being on a ship for the first time, so she chose something familiar. There’s no need to stress out my stomach on foreign foods, she thought. Food was sustenance, what the ship was offering was liken to what people ate to pass the time. Her body was a machine, fine tuned for fighting, so she ignored the sugary stuff and opted for lean proteins and vegetables. She took her food to the first empty table she could find. All around her were naval officers, their blue uniforms looking crisp in a way that said they hardly had jobs requiring much labor. Life on a ship wasn’t much like she thought it would be.
Anki took only a few bites of food before someone interrupted her train of thought.
“Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?”
Anki looked up to see a woman in Luthian Navy blue standing with her own tray, balancing a buffet of food. “No, the seats aren’t taken,” she replied remembering to smile despite her nervousness.
The woman smiled in return and sat across from her. Anki took note of the close-cropped hair around her ears while a tuft of longer hair was brushed to the side. It looked easy to manage and she figured it was styled to save time. Most female marines kept long hair that could be tied up quickly while female sailors kept their hair short. It was one of the distinguishing things between branches that everyone seemed to recognize while never really discussing it. The short-haired look still suggested femininity, and it complimented her paler brown skin and soft contours. The woman was very attractive, almost especially because of the fit of the uniform, which was hard to accomplish. It made Anki wonder why she wasn’t sitting with the myriad of other naval officers in the wardroom. Sh
e definitely looked like the kind of woman who would have a magnetic attraction from the guys in the room.
Anki watched as the woman took a few bites of her own food. There was a kind of tension that suggested someone needed to break the ice between them. Anki felt a little relieved when the woman spoke first. “I’ve never met a female marine before,” she said. It was a matter-of-fact statement that didn’t really mean much of anything, just a casual observance. It was polite and that was all that mattered at the moment. Anki didn’t see much of a reason to turn down conversation when she didn’t know anyone onboard. The least she could do is make an attempt to form some friendships, or at least an acquaintance or two.
“I don’t imagine so, most women opt for Navy,” Anki said. She didn’t intend to make a generalized statement or to be offensive. The other woman didn’t seem fazed by it, though. “I was pretty active in sports and wanted to do something challenging, so I enlisted in the Marines,” she finished.
“I’m Wella by the way,” she smiled. “I think I forgot to introduce myself.” She extended her closed fist towards Anki while stifling a laugh.
Anki reached out her open hand and grasped Wella’s fist in greeting. “I’m sorry. My name is Anki, pleased to meet you.”
They both laughed off the awkwardness of the situation and continued to eat.
“How long have you been on the Seratora?” Anki asked.
Wella set down her fork and took a sip of Tratchea tea. “I’ve only been on the Sera for half a year, but this is my second boat. The Flunech went to Port Hinnah for an extended repair cycle and I had no intention of enduring that mess.” She laughed, but Anki didn’t really know what the joke was.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what’s funny,” Anki said, the slight curl of a smile on her lips in anticipation.
Wella winked as she put her tea back down. “Oh, Port Hinnah is the worst place to go for repairs. Sometimes ships go in and never come out, at least not fully functional. Besides, a sailor belongs in the dark, not holed up in some industrial complex avoiding the harassing gazes of welders and pipe-fitters.” She held back another laugh in hopes Anki understood what she meant.
Anki nodded as she contemplated what Wella had meant. “I understand what you mean. Port Carreo is the marine equivalent. Sometimes you get shipped in and never get out. I guess I’m lucky to have received orders here,” she said, the irony of saying she felt lucky weighing on her mind.
Wella winked at her again, but this time Anki realized it wasn’t really a wink, but a tick of some sort. It wasn’t as obvious, but each time her eye closed there was a gentle pull at the muscles next to her lips. Anki looked away, not wanting to be rude. “See there, the Navy and Marines aren’t so different.”
“I guess not,” she replied, and both women shared in the moment with laughter. Anki’s anxiety was lessening some now that she had met Wella. It felt good to have someone to talk to instead of the isolation she was used to on Port Carreo.
Wella stacked the remnants of her meal on the tray. “I’m sorry to leave you alone, but I have a navigational brief with the captain in a few minutes and its bad form to be late. I hope you enjoy your stay on the Sera. She’s an old boat, but one of the best in the fleet.” A wink followed, but it wasn’t a wink at all. “Maybe I will see you around the ship. Take care.” Wella scurried off towards the scullery, her tray in hand. Her gait caught the attention of a few male officers which made Anki smile. She wondered how long those boys had been underway to stare so wholeheartedly. Based on the gawking they were doing, she thought it had to at least been a full cycle, but it was hard to tell only a day into her first ride. The hormones of the opposite gender sparked more wars than history could tell, she thought, smiling again.
Anki sat alone, jostling remnants of her food with her fork. She wasn’t very hungry and had nowhere to go, but she was feeling much better after talking with Wella than she had before, as the Seratora overwhelmed her when she first arrived onboard. At least the people were friendly, she thought as the newsfeed changed on the screen next to her. She hadn’t noticed it before, but this time there was sound with the transmission.
“…was hiding in the debris field of Keshnara, a colony planet recently destroyed by the Greshians. It is highly improbable there are any survivors from the Furo, but scout and support ships have been sent in, including the Seratora. Luthian officials have not said whether or not the Seratora will launch a counterattack, but they did say that the situation is being closely monitored. When asked if the attack on the Furo was a declaration of war I was told that the declaration had been made the moment a Greshian war vessel entered the Luthian sector. We do not know the identity of the attack ship at this moment, but an investigation using sector probes has revealed the presence of a Greshian vessel in the Keshnarian territory. That vessel is sending out transponder signals which may be an indication that the Greshians may be planning an attack of Luthia. We will continue to monitor the situation and will update the public on any developments we may find.”
The screen went blank and Anki realized she was standing, as was everyone in the wardroom. Keshnara had been a small colony before it was destroyed. It held no military purpose and the Keshnarians was a separate people from Luthia. They had chosen to not unify with Greshia and paid the price for that choice. Luthia would soon be facing a similar decision and it seemed the answer was a resounding no. Anki should have felt comforted by that thought, but instead all she felt was fear.
Chapter 10: Brendle
Sleeping on the cold deck of the Telran’s brig was unforgiving. There was no such thing as getting comfortable, just comfortable enough. Brendle awoke with a crick in his neck and lay there for a while, bleary eyes open just enough to see the quiet visitor sitting outside of his cell. The man had his back to Brendle and for a while he thought it might just be the Chief of the Guard or a sentry, but the low-slumped shoulders and lack of weapon was evidence that wasn’t true. If it was Ilium, he’d be watching me with a smile chiseled into his stupid- looking face, Brendle thought as he sat up.
Brendle’s stirring cause the other man to look up. It was Arender.
“Hey,” Brendle said sheepishly, trying to rub the stiffness out of his neck to no avail.
“Hey,” Arender replied. His voice was low and melancholy, not the typical flavor Brendle was used to from the other man.
Brendle groaned as he stood up. The crick in his neck still hurt, but just standing vertical took some of the tension off his back. He walked closer to the cell door, the shimmering of electrons bouncing around, waiting from something to grab hold to, perhaps something fleshy to make a path of least resistance to the steel deck. He stopped before getting too close. Even the sound of sizzling electricity could evoke fear in man. Brendle preferred to look at it as respect, but respect wouldn’t make you piss your pants when it grabbed hold of you.
“Are you all right?” Brendle asked. It felt weird feeling the need to try and console someone from his position inside the brig. But he could tell Arender had a heavy heart. The brushing away of tears in his eyes had left a little discoloration on his cheeks. When the light hit him just right, Brendle could see the next tear forming in the other man’s eyes.
Arender shook his head and brought his fingers up to press against his eyes, fighting back the onslaught of tears seeping past his fingertips. His body shuddered; the rhythm of his shoulders rising and falling matched the sound of choked back sobs. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Brendle felt uncomfortable. Emotions weren’t something he grew up dealing with very much, at least not the important ones. He dug his hands into his pockets just so he had something to do with them. “It’s all right,” he said, not knowing what else to say. “Captain Elastra is going to drop me on some moon and let me live out my days. It’ll be a peaceful way to go.” He left out the part about how discomfiting the thought of starving to death would be, and that was the best situation he could predict. For all Brendle knew, this moon could s
eep poisonous gases that would make him go crazy and start eating his own flesh from the bone. What’s eating you, Brendle? A voice in his mind would ask. Me. He would reply with laughter. The scenario was unlikely, but he had a lot of time cooped up in his cell to think about it.
Arender just shook his head. “No. I’m not sorry because of your situation. I’m sorry because I was the one who put you there.”
Brendle‘s eyes grew wide. “Wait, what do you mean you put me here? I thought it was Ensign Ilium.”
Arender nodded. “I felt bad for you after we talked. I knew you had a lot on your mind and was feeling homesick. I saw Ilium in the wardroom and we started talking about it. I told him I was concerned for you. He asked if you had been getting enough sleep because a lack of sleep can cause depression. I told him I thought you were and that maybe you just wished you were home. He seemed to understand the situation and took some notes. He asked me when the last time you had called home was and I said you were making the call as I left. He just smiled and said that was a good thing before he walked off. I promise, I had no idea he would go behind you and take the things I said out of context to bring you up on these charges. I’m so sorry,” he finished, his face falling back into his tear-soaked hands.
Brendle fought back the urge to be mad at him. On one hand, he had betrayed Brendle’s trust by going and discussing his personal business with someone else. On the other hand he had gone to confide in someone else because he was worried about Brendle. That was something that would be commendable if not for the fact that concern ended with Brendle being framed for treason. Regardless of who did what, Brendle was already sentenced; his punishment was already in the process of being implemented. In short, there was no going back. Worst-case scenario, Arender could be charged for be complicit. Knowing Ilium, Brendle didn’t doubt that possibility in the least.