by Drew Avera
The surgeon placed a compassionate hand on his shoulder and spoke, “Sir, I’m Dr. Remes, and you sustained significant injuries during the attack. The head wound is a result of blunt-force trauma. When you were escorted to the med bay, you blacked out due to excessive swelling in your brain. We had to perform emergency surgery to relieve the pressure. The good news is the swelling has dissipated over the last three days since you were placed in a medically induced coma.” She paused and asked whether he understood what she was saying. At his nod, she continued. “The bad news is that during that time, Captain Crexon passed away due to his own injuries. Commander Murta has taken charge of the ship until you are well enough to resume command.”
Everything the woman had said evaporated except the part about Crexon being dead. Ilium struggled against his restraints, wanting to hide his face from the tears pouring from his eyes. Why? Why did he have to die? He tried to speak, but no words formed, just a muffled groan.
“I’m sorry to break this news to you, sir, but I thought you would want to know. Lieutenant Stavis mentioned your concern for the captain after the attack was the reason you found your way down here. That act may have resulted in our finding you as soon as we did. With the initial chaos on the bridge, who knows what might have happened. I am sorry about Captain Crexon. He was a good man, very compassionate.”
It was the understatement of the millennium in Ilium’s mind. In the briefest amount of time, Captain Crexon changed the way Ilium thought of his service and where his loyalty lay. The captain made Ilium want to be a better person, to overcome his past and forge a better future. He owed much to the man, and now he was gone. Such a waste.
“I also apologize that the tubes must remain for the next forty-eight hours. You need to be monitored closely after the procedure you endured.” Dr. Remes frowned, obviously noticing the pain Ilium felt, not just from the surgery, but from losing Captain Crexon as well. “If you need anything from me, please press this button here.” She pointed to a square device mounted to his med cart. “In the meantime, if you promise not to try to remove my equipment, or attempt to get up, I will take the restraints off. But if you so much as tug on one tube, you’re going to be sedated and secured. Do you understand?”
Ilium looked at her and nodded, wanting nothing more than to do the things she told him not to do, but knowing she was serious with her threats.
“All right, let’s see if we can’t get you a bit more comfortable.” Dr. Remes reached over him and unclasped the strap attached to his right wrist before moving her attention to the one on his left. Once the restraints were detached, Ilium grabbed her by the wrist and stared her in the eye. He did not speak, knowing his words would not be understood, but he had something to say that he could not let pass another moment.
His eyes felt puffy, and he knew he was crying, feeling the warm, salty tears streak down his face and drip onto the bedsheets. Dr. Remes stood there, gazing at him with as much emotion as he felt.
“I will miss the captain too, Commander. He was the best commanding officer I’ve served under in the eighteen years of my career. But,” she stopped speaking and took Ilium’s hand in hers. “I see that potential in you too, sir. Please don’t mess with the equipment. The crew needs you to make a full recovery. They’re counting on you.”
With those words hanging in the air, Dr. Remes left Ilium alone to reflect. Captain Crexon was at the forefront of his thoughts, but lingering in the back of his mind was another.
Revenge.
Nine
Brendle
Brendle leaped from the bed after hearing Anki crashing to the deck, the sound of her body striking the surface with a dull thud sending a chill down his spine. “Lights,” he said, the lighting of the room illuminating as he crawled over the bed to Anki’s side and peered over the edge where she lay, eyes rolled back in her head as she shook uncontrollably. “Anki!” He shouted, falling off the bed in his hustle to get to her. He landed hard on his knees, pain shooting up both legs and he winced, trying to ignore the pain to help her. “Pilot, Anki needs help,” he said before shouting. “Help! Deis. Malikea. One of you, help!”
He held her down, trying to keep her convulsions from slamming her head back onto the deck. “Help!” Brendle shouted again, his panic growing because no one arrived yet. “Guys, help! Anki, it’s going to be all right, I’m here with you.” He watched helplessly as her amber eyes fluttered.
Deis ran into the room, his robe flying behind him. “What happened?”
Brendle stammered as he tried to formulate a response. “I think it’s a seizure, but she’s never done this before.”
Deis looked around the room and grabbed Anki’s belt from the floor. “Have her bite down on this so she doesn’t hurt herself,” he ordered. Brendle complied, trying to slip the belt between her teeth, between convulsions.
“What now?” He asked.
Deis turned to his husband standing in the doorway. Brendle hadn’t noticed he was there, but the shock on Malikea’s face matched his own. “Get some warm water and rags.”
Malikea ran and Deis turned back around, placing the back of his hand on Anki’s forehead. “She cold as ice. We need to warm her up.” He jumped up and snatched a blanket from the bed and placed it around her body, tucking the edges underneath her. A pillow followed as he placed it gently under her head as the seizing continued.
“What do we do now?” Brendle asked, his voice shrill. He’d never experienced anything like this, especially with someone he cared about, and he could barely think straight.
“We make her as comfortable as possible and we wait it out,” Deis answered.
Unacceptable. “We have to stop this. What about the medical cart?”
Deis shook his head. “It isn’t going to help.”
“How do you know?” Brendle asked accusingly.
Malikea entered the room with a large bowl of water and rags. “Here,” he said, kneeling next to Deis. Together they dipped the rags into the water and placed them around her face and neck.
“Because I’ve seen someone go through this before and the medical cart didn’t help,” Deis replied. “When the seizure subsides, then we will take her to the med cart. Until then, we wait for it to subside. If we move her now, we could cause more harm.”
Brendle watched helplessly. No amount of training in the Greshian Navy prepared him for this kind of emergency. Her seizure came out of nowhere. If not for the sound startling him from his sleep, he might not have known she needed help. Dark thoughts of what could have happened flooded into his mind, yet they still were not sure if she would be all right. He just needed a glimmer of hope to keep his sanity in check.
“I’m here, Anki. We’re all here. Pilot, can you scan her to see if there’s anything obvious causing this?”
“Everything looks normal from my initial scans, but the medical cart will provide more information about her neurologically. I am detecting a decrease in heartrate and her core body temperature is four degrees below normal for a Luthian. That is peculiar considering the perspiration on her forehead and the back of her neck,” Pilot replied.
“What could cause that?” Malikea asked. “A tumor?”
Deis frowned. “I’m not sure. For Lechuns, I would say a tumor or traumatic brain injury. But I don’t know her medical history or the biological makeup of a Luthian comparatively. I can only assume they are similar to us based on anatomy, but that is pure speculation.”
“Pilot, do you have any ideas?” Brendle asked.
“Negative, Captain. As Deis suggested, my best hypothesis would be a tumor or neurological disorder barring any signs of trauma.”
Fuck, Brendle thought as he tightened his fists. “Pilot, please do as much research as you can to find a solution to any possible results. If we have a means to help her, then we’re doing it. In the meantime, set a course to the nearest planet with appropriate medical facilities.”
“Roger that, Captain.”
“Is there any
thing you want me to do?” Malikea asked, tears in his eyes as he looked at Anki. He held Deis’ hand in his, his shoulders slumped.
“Yes, please don’t leave. I don’t think I can handle this alone.”
“We would never leave, brother,” Deis said solemnly. “Family is everything to us.”
Ten
Hespha
“We’ve gone over this, Hespha. Without access to T’anoi’s assets, we cannot turn the company over to you. This leaves us in limbo with a rather large cloud over our heads,” Edon said as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared at her with a smug look. His condescending attitude wasn’t the only reason Hespha wanted to put a knife into his heart.
“You told me that if we removed him, then the transition would be simple,” she replied bitterly. She glanced out the window at the scientists bustling through the building, on their way to work on the next project on CERCO’s agenda. Wars weren’t fought without weapons, and money wasn’t made without selling them to the highest bidder. Apart from the fact the actual face of the company was now dead, it was business as usual and it made her queasy. It’s like they don’t even remember him, she thought.
He shrugged. “That was before you two came to me with zero evidence of the secret project he was part of and claiming there was more we might not know. The responsible thing is to have the board run the company until we know there is no chance of discoverability of what he was really doing. The last thing we need is Greshia catching wind of us. Besides, how lenient do I need to be, considering you could not retrieve a body of the girl after what happened to the Yeopa? The retrieval should have been completed within days before T’anoi’s passing.”
The nonchalant way he mentioned T’anoi’s death made her skin crawl. Her ambition had blinded her to the conspiracy leading to his eventual murder, and the realization nauseated her. If they wanted him out of the way, then I should have known what kind of people I was dealing with.
“We assumed it would be simple to find the location, but we found nothing in his secured files, electronic or otherwise. We combed through everything, some multiple times, and we are left with two options: either it never existed, or he closed the doors on the project after developing Carista. T’anoi was not one to spin his wheels on something which took time away from his ultimate goals.” Ka’Hor’al interjected, breaking Hespha from her thoughts. He was different since his brother’s death, more assertive, but also colder. It reminded Hespha of the disguise she also wore. Hers was a brutally cold persona to mask the feeling of shame and regret. It’s easier to pretend you feel nothing than to face your emotions. Especially when guilt follows you.
Edon rubbed at his temples with both hands. “The board does not operate on speculation, Ka’Hor’al. You of all people should understand this. Otherwise, your brother would have been silenced years ago.”
The man’s last statement hit Hespha where it hurt. “Enough,” she spat, her voice dismissive. “We turned over every piece of information we have. Instead of focusing on the unknown, let’s move forward with what we know. Carista is missing, we have no proof others like her exist, and we are planning an assault on the largest military threat in our galaxy. Where do we go from here?”
The sarcasm in her voice did not appear lost on Ka’Hor’al or Edon, but she didn’t care. Now was not the time to fuck around with politics. She glared at Edon, choking down her nervousness—a mixture of frustration and anxiety—as her heart raced. She wanted to run out of the room and never return, but she was in too deep for that. She had seen on more than one occasion what those actions brought on. T’anoi was only the latest notch on the corrupted board’s belt, albeit the most significant to her.
Edon smiled nervously. “The board has not decided yet, but I assure you we are working on it.”
Bullshit.
Hespha clenched her jaw and stared him down with irreverence. “So, you get together to discuss what needs to be done to secure our survival, but you leave the meeting accomplishing nothing? That’s not the way an efficient corporation works, yet you have the goddamned audacity to sit here with a smug expression painted on your face and tell us we have not met some unseen mark which allows you to withhold the company from us? Is this the situation? Because I feel that’s the circle you’re jerking us around in, Edon.”
“I−” Edon began.
“Furthermore, you haven’t shared a fucking piece of evidence to support your claims T’anoi worked on a secret project. The video presented to our assistant after the funeral could easily have been doctored. So, this leads me to believe you and your board are conspiring to seize the company using loopholes in our contracts.” She didn’t mean to go so far over the edge, but once she started, there was no going back. Based on Ka’Hor’al’s heavy breathing, she thought she might have crossed the line, but when she looked over to him she saw anger and not fear. Maybe I’m onto something.
Edon’s expression changed from one of power to meekness. “That’s not…”
“That’s not what, Edon?” Hespha asked, her voice raised in anger. She felt the urge to jump across the table and claw his eyes from his face and shove them down his throat.
“We’ve been forthcoming with our evidence. The only things we don’t share openly are those not having to do with CERCO’s current mission which have not been declassified.” It was the blanket answer given to the media. The fact he spouted it off with two members high on the food chain suggested he was in fact hiding something. If not him, then someone on the board did not want them to know it. What “it” was, Hespha did not know, but she was certain it would shift the power balance of the company if she could find out.
“Really?” Ka’Hor’al interjected, obviously feeding off Hespha’s rage for the courage to speak up. “Where is the high-resolution footage? Perhaps we could obtain answers if we could get a good look at the facilities.”
Edon stared, his jaw slack and his eyes wide. “This meeting is over. The board expects you to comply with their demands or you will forfeit your share of the company. That is all I am privileged enough to say at this time.” The words fell from his lips as if he read them from a script. He stood to leave, not making eye contact with Hespha or Ka’Hor’al as he gathered his things.
“That’s it? We ask a few questions and suddenly you don’t have the time for us?” Hespha asked. She stood from her seat, prompting Ka’Hor’al to do likewise. Edon looked startled. “You said we had an hour to discuss the future of the company and our place in it. Your leaving things unsettled does not sit well with me. Nor does your threat we will forfeit our share. That will happen over my cold, dead body,” Hespha warned. She hated the fact she immediately felt self-conscious after her last comment. These are the people who kill for what they want, and I basically invited them to target me.
Edon glanced in her direction and shook his head. “Do as the board asks. If you want the promises made to you to be kept, then this is the only way it will happen. I cannot divulge more than that, but know I am serious,” he replied, before turning to leave the room.
Left alone, Ka’Hor’al asked, “What the hell was that?”
Hespha watched Edon leave through the dark windows looking out into the main offices. “It was a threat and proof the board is lying to us. The loophole they’re using is our noncompliance of their demands. If we can’t pull off our end of the deal, then we breached the contract and they can drop us.”
“How do you know that’s their angle?”
“Because that’s what I would do if I wanted to remove the person next in line to take over. That, or kill them.”
“Neither will happen,” Ka’Hor’al said as he placed his arm around her. She wanted to shake it off but didn’t have the energy to start another fight.
“All I have to say on the matter is we need to find something to buy us some time. We might not be able to find this facility, but if we can find a record to support its existence, then maybe the board will relent
and give us control.”
“And if we can’t find anything?”
Hespha stepped out from under his arm and grabbed her things from the far end of the table. “I’m not sure that’s an option.”
Eleven
Anki
The wind subsided and Anki found herself alone. All around her, the terrain looked like a wasteland, landscape causing her to think about Luthia. She could not tell what long-ago event caused such desolation, but the evidence of once intelligent life rose on the distant horizon in the direction Anki last saw Carista. They were as extinct as her own people, and the bitter reminder pained her as visions of her father filled her mind. She shook her head, forcing the memories away with vigor. The longer she pushed thoughts of home from her mind, the harder the memories tore at her, ravishing her thoughts and filling her with guilt. Survivors remorse was the most honest emotion she had recently.
“Carista!” She called as loud as she could, trying to focus her attention on something she could control, or hoped she could. The strange, deathlike silence on the world made her feel abandoned as her voice dissipated the moment it left her lips. She tried again, forcing herself to scream, but she could hear only the first murmur of what she said before it disappeared. What is happening here? Where am I?
Fear clawed its way into her mind and instinct made her claw for the weapon always strapped to her leg, but it was gone, or was never there to begin with. She could not remember.
Anxiety overtook her, causing her heart to beat rapidly, and she feared another crippling seizure. Anki held her breath, hoping to fight it off, but this time she felt different. The wave of anxiety did not strike at her with the same magnitude that thrust her to the ground and shook her uncontrollably. She realized why when she noticed a shimmer above her. It gave her the feeling she was inside a bubble. Without thinking, she stretched her hand out for it. Static clung to her, making the hairs on her arm rise, tickling her as it coursed over her body like millions of invisible insects wrapping around her.