by Drew Avera
The armory, she thought, shifting through the options on her com-unit as fast as her fingers could fly over the screen. “That’s more like it,” she said, fighting back the want for hope. The armory was two decks up, but it was closer than the transport, and if the Greshians were boarding, then she needed a way to kill them.
She ran up the nearest ladder leading to the next deck. A dim emergency beam was the only form of lighting in this area of the ship and her eyes took a moment to adjust. She could still hear the footsteps echoing through the passages. It was a good sign to still be able to hear them; it meant this part of the hull wasn’t open to vacuum. Despite the lower quality air growing stale as it filtered through her lungs, she could at least be thankful for not having to worry about being sucked into the vacuum yet. No need to count your blessings when a curse is right around the corner, she thought. She kept running.
Chapter 14: Brendle
Many thoughts go through a person’s head when they are being left behind. As Brendle watched the Telran take off, the dark gray steel disappearing behind clouds of exhaust and dust, he imagined the ship exploding, some cataclysmic defect finally rearing its head and bringing about the only justice the killer of worlds deserved. Of course, the fact that an explosion of the mighty Telran from his current position would ensure his demise as well came to mind, but he was dead anyway. He was just waiting for his body to catch up to the situation and comply with the actuality of known futures. Former Ensign Brendle Quin, traitor to the Greshian Empire, banished to a lonely moon in the Keshnarian sector, was a dead man.
Brendle pulled out the com-unit and tried to link up to the Telran, but his access was denied. He tried again and again, searching for a backdoor into the ship’s network, anything that would allow him to send a distress call. He knew before he even started that it was no moot point. That wasn’t a deterrent, though. He tried again with the same result: a black and red screen telling him it had failed to connect to a network. Brendle hissed in frustration, holding back the urge to slam the useless device to the ground and stomp it to pieces. He had known this would happen, but it didn’t alleviate the sting of being shut out. He tapped his jacket and felt the beacon patiently waiting for use. He knew the time would come where that would be his only hope, but he couldn’t afford to waste it now, not with the Telran floating above him, blotting out the sky. Ilium knew he had the com-unit and most likely closed off access to the network, but he had no idea about the beacon and the last thing Brendle needed was for his sole tool for at least trying to get off the rock to be muffled into uselessness by a vindictive son of a bitch like Ilium.
He shoved the com-unit back into his pocket and cussed under his breath. He was forced into waiting and his best chance was to wait until the Telran faded into the stars, just another dim discoloration of the darkness. He watched the massive mechanical city grow smaller as each second passed. The Telran floated under thrust, defying the laws of physics that said a mass of her size could not take flight despite the low gravitational pull of the rocky planetary body. Usually, ships of that magnitude were constructed on stations already in orbit. The dark was a suitable place for such construction, especially considering how few people would die if a catastrophe were to happen. The stations held less than thirty-thousand Greshians, a far lower number than Greshia boasted with her seventeen-trillion inhabitants. That was the world he had left behind, bloated and angry. I shouldn’t be surprised at how much anger fueled my people’s pride, he thought as the fading lights of the Telran became tiny dots against the dark expansive sky. It was pride that made the Greshians want to reach for the stars in the first place, and pride that made them seek to conquer them all. There was no real gain in any of it, though. Greshian was still close to bursting at the seams as the population exploded. For every citizen sent out into the dark there were five more to take their place. Perhaps they were fighting for a better place to die.
Brendle walked away from his past, leaving the longing for home behind. He had no home, not anymore; even if he made it off this rock, he could never return to Greshia. Ilium had killed him without ever needing to pull the trigger. What kind of society breeds an individual like that, Brendle wondered. His family had its problems, but no one looked for a way to destroy another person’s life, at least he didn’t think they did so purposefully. But isn’t that exactly what his father had done by leaving his wife and young child alone? Falling back into thoughts of his childhood made his head swim. He inhaled a quick whiff of stale atmosphere and sat back on a boulder, eyes to the stars from whence he came.
He wondered if the stars in the Keshnarian sector were the same stars he gazed upon as a child on Greshia. The keys that allowed intergalactic travel had shortened the distance between sectors, but it was also disorienting. It was hard to know where you were in the Alorian Galaxy after so many jumps, and the maps did little to orientate a person’s sense of direction. If he didn’t know he was in the Keshnarian sector, then the stars would be indistinguishable from any others. The only variable was placement and luminosity; everything else was relative. It was that kind of perspective that made Brendle feel like a speck of dust on the wind. The Greshians were no greater than any other specks of dust cast amongst the stars, so why did they have the innate drive to spring forth and conquer? Some questions have no real answers, Brendle thought.
Through the haze of the cloudy sky, Brendle saw what looked like a meteor arcing across the black canvas of the dark. The tail of it was scorching as it flew upward, the sheen of it reflecting light in a way that most meteors never did. He watched as the trajectory of it shifted upward and realized it wasn’t a meteor at all, but a torpedo being launched from what must have been the Telran. “What the―” Brendle started to say as he stood up and gazed at the spectacle above. He lifted his hand, using his thumb and index finger as a square to determine if he could identify the target. The torpedo was the brightest light in the sky for several seconds as he strained to see beyond it. A moment later the torpedo detonated, sending scattered light ricocheting like a miniature starburst. Whatever it had hit was solid, Brendle thought, and metallic.
The initial blast was followed by dozens of smaller flashes. Brendle could see the bright firings of countermeasures deploying as more torpedoes launched from the first vessel. The light from the deployed armament framed the hulls of the large ships making them look like gods battling in the sky above. Brendle couldn’t hear the concussions from the exploding warheads, but with each flash he felt the devastation being wrought on the foreign ship. He could feel the cold touch of the trigger he would have squeezed to launch the assault he was witnessing like a phantom limb. The death being delivered so violently could have been by my hand, he thought, as he kept his gaze centered on the trajectory of fire. From his vantage point it looked as if the other ship had been approaching the moon, meeting the Telran halfway, but orientation was different in the dark than it was on the ground, feet planted in defiance.
More explosions tore at the hull of the incoming ship, lighting the darkness with fire. Brendle pulled his com-unit out and used the lens to magnify the view of the battle. He could make out the definition of the ships better, but couldn’t assess the damage very well. He watched as the unknown ship listed to its portside and wondered if it was from sustaining damage or if the countermeasures being deployed was causing the ship to lean so heavily. It could have suspended thrust and is merely floating, he thought. That was when he noticed the rupture emanating from the belly of the ship, the tearing of steel accompanied by bursts of explosive material. He recognized the tactic. The Greshians had boarded the ship and were now scuttling it from the inside. The ship was as dead as Brendle was. They just didn’t know it yet.
Chapter 15: Anki
The armory was stocked for war, but for a ground war. Everywhere Anki looked was high-powered weaponry designed to cut through body armor. The problem was that if it made it through body armor then the hull of the Seratora could be compromised. It’
s hard to save a ship when you don’t take precautions to preserve it and Anki wasn’t looking forward to the air being sucked from her lungs by being thrust into vacuum. She needed something else at her disposal, something that could get the job done without risking the Seratora unnecessarily. Anki’s fingers ran along the cold steel weaponry, digesting each one’s makeup, use, and probability of being able to ward off the enemy in this constrictive environment. Nothing really jumped out at her as a viable option, so she settled for the high-charge kinetic weapon. It was convenient in the fact it didn’t need to be reloaded and was already fully charged. It discharged a blast of kinetic energy that, even though it was projected in orb form, wasn’t exactly a projectile. The discharge of the weapon came in the form of a force of energy passing through the atmosphere. It was enough to knock a person over, crippling them in some cases, while not running the risk of breaching the hull. It isn’t an ideal weapon to use in a combat situation ― it was more designed for policing― but it will have to do, she thought as she pulled it from its perch on the rack.
The Seratora was still listing to the port side which made walking through the ship a bit more interesting as it picked up thrust. An evasive maneuver, Anki thought, never mind the fact it was too late, with the enemy already on board. She made her way through the ship, hiding in the shadows provided by the emergency lighting. The dull glow made it easy to hide, but she was getting nervous about bumping into the enemy without seeing them. She held the gun in a tight grip, toying with the trigger was a nervous tap of her finger. Anki stayed low, hugging the bulkhead as she approached an intersection of passageways. She could hear voices, the distinct accent of Greshians, but they sounded far off, not as close as the dancing shadows along the overhead and bulkheads suggested. She peered out, careful not to reveal her location, and saw three Greshians blocking the passageway. There were bodies on the deck, blue uniforms of Luthian navy surrounded by a dark pool of what looked like blood.
Anki’s eyes narrowed in the dim light. There were only three men, easy to dispatch, but she felt weight holding her back causing her to withdraw. This isn’t how a Marine is trained, she thought, tightening her grip on the weapon and drawing it to a ready position. The next moment defined who she was and it happened in the blink of an eye. Anki rounded the corner, her body low until the men came into view. The sudden movement drew their attention, but that moment was all she needed. Inhale, exhale, fire, three times, three short bursts of kinetic energy lighting the space in electric blue light. The gravity of the dark played against the orbs of energy as they traveled the short distance between her weapon and where they struck the Greshians. She watched, eyes wide, as their bodies sprawled out, arms and legs flinging wide as they were driven back. The sizzling energy of the shots sent the men into the bulkhead and their bodies collapsed in a heap on the deck, mixing with the blood of her people. They deserved it, she thought as she wiped tears from her eyes. She had never killed anyone before and the weight of guilt was lighter than she had imagined it would be. She had faced a choice and took a leap of faith that she could do her part in saving the ship. As the sound of her heavy breathing faded, Anki heard another sound, that of footsteps running.
Without a second thought, Anki ran towards the next hatch, deeper into the Seratora but closer to the transport ship. The footsteps were behind her, but she knew they probably heard the tattering of her magnetic boots clanging against the deck as she ran. It didn’t matter, though, if they heard her or not. She was armed and she had already killed three of them. She almost welcomed the coming conflict, the anticipation fighting against the self-doubt that threatened to cripple her. Almost was the operative word.
Lightning flashed across the deck, nipping at her heels. The magnetic properties of the boots was waning and her control as she ran across the deck and bulkhead was losing its effectiveness. The burning of her shins caused her to lose speed, but the sounds of gunfire and the hissing of electrical emissions made her push harder. Anki rounded the next corner and stopped, fighting to breathe. She jutted out and returned fire, quickly disappearing behind the corner again as more shots rang out in her direction. The Greshians were using a different kind of weapon, the arc of electricity jutting out like tendrils biting at her. The burn of the arc reminded her of the pain she would feel if she didn’t stop them. A direct hit would be crippling and then they would kill her.
She poised herself to return fire, but somewhere an explosion erupted beneath them. The deck cracked and fire shot through the gaping holes, searing the atmosphere. All around her the ship was ablaze, cutting her off from the Greshian forces, but also preventing her from escaping. The only way out is through the flames, she thought. She turned and ran from the carnage, the smoke and heat making it hard for her to breathe. There was no stopping. She could only run harder as the cracks running along the deck began to expand. The ship was tearing itself apart. Is it a self destruct sequence, Anki asked herself. Did the Luthians give up? Where’s the fight?
Anger devoured her questions as she pushed herself harder. She was covered in darkness, blanketing her fear as her heart beat rapidly, pulsing blood through enlarged hyper-oxygenated veins. Panting, she found her way to the transports and was horrified to see the devastation awaiting her. She had found the area where the Greshians must have breached their way onto the Seratora. The transports were still there, aligned in long rows along the bulkheads, but the corridors of the bay were filled with dead bodies, mostly Luthian. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, and panic rose in her throat as a scream. She couldn’t hold it back even though it did nothing to help her situation. Just the horror of seeing so much death before her eyes needed a release and she found it through the expression of coarse vocal cords. The pain was stabbing, but it didn’t silence her. Only the lack of air muted her scream until she felt empty. She looked around and took it in. Why so many, she wondered. How could this happen? Her mind moved immediately to the fact that these people must have been trying to escape and were murdered for doing the only thing that made sense at the time: trying to survive. None of them seemed to be armed, she noticed. They were executed by a heartless enemy. This is my fate if I stay, she thought, urging herself to take the first step through the grotesque display and towards her transport.
Anki walked through the swarm of bodies, her brothers and sisters in uniform, Luthians who were the only ones standing between the Greshian Empire and the freedom her homeland wanted to preserve. She wondered if that dream had died with these sailors scattered across the deck. She desecrated their bodies by walking over them, upon them, in hopes of finding the transport assigned to her. Thrust began to fall away as the ship collapsed on itself. She ran now, the horrid crunch of flesh and bone as each heavy boot fell to the organic deck of the dead. It echoed in her mind with each footfall, each solitary step driving her to tears as she realized she was living a nightmare she didn’t know could exist. She knew death was a reality, but here and now it seemed so much harsher. This was more than murder, more than defeat. This is genocide, she thought as her throat burned from the bile rising in her throat. Nauseated, she made her way to the transport and scanned her com-unit for access. The airlock cycled and welcomed her longingly as she collapsed into the cockpit, away from horrors of the Seratora. Anki had nowhere to run, nowhere to flee to, but she had to escape. Her mind sought out some kind of distraction from what she was experiencing. She needed to find that happy place that made her numb to pain, but all she could think of was how many people had died around her without her even knowing it. Hundreds of Luthians she had never met had been killed by their enemy and she could do nothing to avenge them. Instead, she was running for her life. Her mind struggled to focus on something else, and kept flashing images of the people she had met, people like Wella. She was most likely dead now, Anki thought, the cold reality bringing her to realize she was in the transport, but she still wasn’t safe yet. She had to get out of the Seratora before it was destroyed.
Anki jum
ped forward into the cockpit, crawling over protruding surfaces trying to get situated. It was dark except for the dim light coming through the airlock. The fires were suffocating any breathable air as it spread out into the bay so she cycled the airlock closed as her fingers found their way to the control console where her helmet waited. I need breathable air if I’m going to get out of this, she thought. Anki flipped the switches into manual operation and started the drive, watching as the transport sprung to life and illuminated the dark confines of its small cockpit. Anki had little experience, even in simulations, with flying transports or any type of spacecraft. Yet that didn’t matter. The only thing on her mind was survival.
The drive came online, the dull hum of metal vibrating against other metal. Anki tried to shift the thrust to escape, but the transport was stuck, still strapped into the Seratora and she had no way of knowing how to release it from its prison. She increased thrust again, the drive whining under the strain, the pilot’s chair vibrating nauseatingly. Thoughts of the transport being ripped apart or the hull fracturing and suffocating her as all the air escaped crossed her mind. A lack of experience and the pressure of trying to survive were getting to her and she could feel every bad decision threatening to loom in her mind. She was questioning everything and second guessing herself. There were sounds echoing through the transport that made her think death was imminent, never mind the fact she had been shot at, almost burned, and the Seratora was being torn apart by the Greshian Empire.