by Drew Avera
“If you are religious, I would suggest praying for her. The initial prognosis does not look good.”
Fourteen
Hespha
Hespha found sleep difficult. After her and Ka’Hor’al’s meeting with Edon, the only thing she wanted to do was go somewhere else and leave her life behind, but she knew it was a childish notion. Running away never solves anything. The only choice I have is to fight back. She rolled over in her bed and turned on the light, noticing the double zeroes on the clock. Every time I look at the clock it is at the top of the hour. Am I going crazy or just having an odd streak of coincidence? She hoped it was the latter, but feared it was the former. Fear was the only constant since T’anoi’s death, and she only had herself to blame.
Hespha crawled out of bed and walked slowly towards the bathroom, careful not to fall over because of the alcohol she tried using to get to sleep. All it did was make her clumsy. She grabbed the wall and steadied herself as she stood in front of the mirror, contemplating the mess her life was in. She never thought she would be wrapped in a scandalous situation and caught in the middle of a power struggle where murder came as easily to the people involved as breathing.
“Where did it all go wrong? I was supposed to have a happy life.”
You got greedy and sought power for yourself, a voice in the back of her mind said indignantly. She shook the thought out of her mind and turned on the water to rinse her face. The coolness of it was refreshing, the chill making her eyes feel heavier, sleepier. You did this to yourself.
“Shut up,” she said, looking up and seeing her reflection staring back at her, streaks of water looking like tears, or pity. She knew it was guilt gnawing at her, but the greater good was the only justification she could glean from the situation to satisfy her self-judgement. Tonight, it was insatiable.
Opening the mirror, she saw the pill bottles once belonging to T’anoi, yet another reminder of what she lost. Even after a few years of separation, she never found the will to toss them out. She couldn’t think of a reason to hold onto them, but disposing of them felt wrong somehow. Even now, with T’anoi dead, she could not bring herself to trash them. Instead, she stared at them as if answers were hidden inside a bottle for T’anoi’s chronic heartburn. It was a silly notion, but it was how her mind dealt with things she struggled to cope with.
But a thought came to mind as she gazed at the clear bottle, the two-part capsules staring back at her. One side red, the other white, both serving the same purpose, to contain chemicals to aid an ailment. What if the files in his office were not the only ones there?
Hespha turned abruptly and immediately felt the effects of the alcohol on her balance. She steadied herself for a moment and moved back towards the bed, collapsing on it as she pulled out a tablet to take notes. She quickly scribbled “find a file that is not a file” in the worst handwriting she had read, but legible nonetheless. Dropping the note back onto her nightstand, she smiled. I just hope I remember what this note means in the morning, she thought.
Hespha fell back onto her bed and spread her arms out, looking up at the ceiling. The cracks and deformations were cosmetic, but they spoke to her in a way. The fracturing of the paint, though not by design, mirrored the cracks in her fractured heart. She was caught between two worlds, two people. If she had it all to do over again, she wished she could change the last several years. It was when she had allowed herself to become dissatisfied with her station in life that she made the changes that damaged everything. Leaving T’anoi. A brief, but somehow lingering fling with Ka’Hor’al. A board blackmailing her in order to control the company that was rightfully hers. The secret worth containing that gave the board the ammunition to control her so easily. Everything felt stacked against her and thinking about it made her sick.
None of it was worth it, yet she continued the charade because she knew nothing else. She hated herself for it, but she hated the board as well. She just hoped one day, when the dust settled, she could look back at this time in her life and be content with where it brought her.
But she knew the truth.
Nothing was ever going to get better, and contentment came only to those who didn’t carry a guilty conscience. She was not one of those people, and it was too late to do anything about that. She could only move forward until her life was over.
Until then, the only thing she could hope for was to find the weapon and take back control of her company. Maybe that will rebalance the dynamic between me and the board, she thought. Perhaps when the weapon is in my control, they will see that they cannot control me. I will hold all the power.
And I will make them all pay.
Fifteen
Anki
The higher she climbed, the further the cliff rose from the surface. Her hands ached, sharp pain contorting her fingers as she hauled herself upward, each cramp threatening to make her lose her grip on the now jagged rocks. How the terrain kept changing was beyond her, but her mission was to save Carista, and she would do it come hell or high water.
Don’t look down, she reminded herself. Always look up. Her Marine training kicked in, stuffing down her fear in order to execute the mission.
Another shaky hand rose for a handhold, the rock greeting her with teeth cutting into her flesh. Anki pulled away, examining the wound, but her flesh was untouched. “What kind of world is this?” The answer came with a clap of distant thunder and a stiff breeze beating down on her from above. It was a world set on defeating her, holding her back.
She sucked in another gulp of air and continued her ascent, shoving aside the pain, the doubt, the fear. Nothing existed except the next handhold followed by another foothold. Inch by inch she scaled higher, resisting the urge to look down where death lay below. Her heart pounded, and her hands throbbed in pain. The longer it lasted, the more she felt fear weighing her down like an anchor in a sea of despair.
For the first time in as long as she could remember, Anki Paro wanted to give up, to quit, to give in to the voice in her head telling her she would not make it. She contemplated letting go, letting her body fall backwards and having gravity do its deed. She closed her eyes and envisioned the fall, the brisk wind passing her by, cooling her skin until the world grew black. The tension in her hands eased as the muscles relaxed. The seemingly instant relief in such a small act beckoned her.
Why keep fighting when the target moves further away? Why keep living when all you know is pain? Why exist when your people are dead?
Why not fall?
“Anki?”
A voice called upon her, but it came from everywhere. She looked around her, looking for the source, but found none. That’s because no one is here and I’m alone. Devastatingly alone.
It was with that conclusion that the decision appeared to be made for her and she leaned back, releasing her grip on the jagged cliff, and watched the sky fall away. The light in the sky above grew brighter the faster she approached the ground below. Anki held her breath and waited for the end to finally come.
She was ready.
Now, more than ever.
She was at peace with dying.
Sixteen
Ilium
The bridge buzzed with activity as the arrival of the new Executive Officer neared. Ilium sat in the captain’s chair, reading over the message regarding the rendezvous with the GNN Opolus where Commander Natty Quino would board the King Slayer. The Commander’s record was an impressive tome of naval service. Quino climbed the ladder in much the same way as Ilium, but his trek took him eight years longer. He probably didn’t have a mutiny−and a disaster as the King Slayer experienced−under his belt. Certainly not from the same cloth as I am from, Ilium thought, turning off the screen and focusing on the activity taking place around him.
“How much longer until we dock with the Opolus?” He asked. The longer he waited, the more nervous he grew. The other ship appeared on screen, its massive hull reflecting the navigation lights of the King Slayer as they drew near each other.
>
“Just a few minutes more, Captain,” Stavis answered. “Their airlock is only fifty meters from ours, and it will take longer for the coupling than it will for us to line up with it. This was the perfect trajectory for this kind of rendezvous.”
Everything Stavis said went in one ear and out the other, not because Ilium was not interested in what she said, but because it was too much information for him to process in a realm of operations he was not familiar with. Intelligence was his forte, and not often did his strengths coincide with navigating a ship.
Ilium felt the ship settle, the sensation of not knowing you are moving, to not moving at all caused a peculiar shift in his orientation. Of course, if they truly were not moving, then he would be floating. The King Slayer merely succumbed to the Opolus’ thrust. He smiled, realizing he was catching on after all. He took a deep breath and waited for the all clear before heading down to meet the new XO.
On the screen, he watched the tunnel duct move towards the airlock of his ship, mating with it hydraulically, sealing in the atmosphere on the Opolus so the crew could board without the need for an EVA suit. The fact only a couple of centimeters of material separated a person from the vacuum of space was a lot scarier when he considered it. Good things he’s crossing over and not me, he thought selfishly.
“Airlock secured, sir. We are ready for boarding.”
Ilium nodded. “Very well. Lieutenant Stavis, would you come with me?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, following the captain off the bridge and down towards the airlock. When they were alone, she spoke again. “I know you haven’t looked forward to this moment.”
Ilium canted his eyes towards her, his eyebrow raised. “Oh, yeah? What gave you that idea?”
“The fact you’ve been moody the last few days and the scowl on your face now,” she answered with a smile. “And the fact you gave an order to not grant access without an investigation on your new XO. If Headquarters sent him to us, he has to be legitimate.”
“I’m not scowling,” he replied. “I just don’t like dealing with new people. And you’re right about the investigation. I’m just paranoid after the attack that a mole might try to infiltrate our ranks.”
“I can understand your concern. This entire crew is new to you, relatively, yet you’re doing fine.”
Her confidence in him was appreciated, more so than he could put into words. On some days, he felt like he was faking it more than he should. Being the captain of a warship wasn’t what he thought it would be, and the learning curve was steep. “I depend on better officers than I am to succeed,” he said, hoping she picked up on the compliment. Her blushed cheeks suggested she did.
“Attention on deck,” she called as they approached the airlock. Two sailors jumped to attention, their bodies rigid and faces looking forward.
“Carry on,” Ilium said, “let’s welcome our new XO.” And cross our fingers that he isn’t someone else.
“Yes, sir,” one of the men said, moving to the airlock panel and placing his hand on the screen to unlock it. “Security lock is deactivated,” the man said to his partner on the other side of the hatch.
“Decontamination in progress. Three. Two. One. Decontamination complete. Opening airlock.” The sailor’s motions were so fluid that Ilium thought he must have performed the procedure a few thousand times to be so efficient. That’s what makes this crew successful, he thought, experience.
When the airlock cycled open, fog formed as the two differential atmospheres of the ships came together, temporarily obscuring who was in the airlock. After a moment, the fog dissipated, and Commander Quino stepped onto the King Slayer. “Welcome aboard, sir,” the sailor nearest the airlock said as he snapped to attention.
Lieutenant Stavis stepped forward with an extended hand. “Welcome to the King Slayer, Commander. My name is Lieutenant Stavis,”
Quino took her hand in his and shook as he looked up at Ilium. “It’s odd seeing females on these ships nowadays. I’ve spent most of my career on smaller vessels. I hope you will forgive my shock, Lieutenant.”
“Of course, sir. I understand,” she replied with a smirk back to Ilium. He remembered feeling the same way when he first boarded the ship, but he quickly adapted. He preferred it.
“And you must be Captain Gyl,” Quino said, his emerald green eyes looking deep into Ilium as if he was trying to look through him.
“I am,” Ilium replied, extending his hand to his new second in command. “Welcome aboard.”
The two men’s hands clasped together, one hand over a balled fist in greeting. Ilium’s hand was on top as a sign of his position. “It’s great to be here. It’s unfortunate about Captain Crexon. I hear he was a well-received captain.”
“He was the best I’ve ever worked for,” Ilium said.
Quino looked around the small passageway before looking back at Ilium. “Well, let’s hope some of that rubbed off on you.”
Ilium smiled outwardly, but inside he thought the new Executive Officer may have tried to be condescending. He held his breath for a beat and resisted the urge to say anything back, not wanting to come across as petty. It was with difficulty that he said, “I agree.”
Seventeen
Brendle
The bridge was the only place Brendle felt comfortable. It was where he felt most in control, but he wasn’t attempting to control anything other than the trajectory of a rubber ball as he bounced it off the bulkhead, causing it to rebound once from the deck as it returned to him. He made a mind-numbing game of it, aiming for the same spot on the bulkhead and deck to see how consistent he could be. After a while, he no longer paid attention and just continued the game to spend his nervous energy. The blue orb flashed in and out of his line of sight autonomously. He was stalling, asking the same question time and again, but soon he grew too anxious to keep his mouth shut about it.
“Pilot, how much longer until we get to Pila?” Hearing himself ask the question felt like an out of body experience. His voice sounded weak, frail, frightened.
“Four days, Captain.” Pilot answered the question without the least bit of sarcasm or annoyance. If the AI was an organic lifeform, Brendle knew he would receive a scolding for asking so often. It was his sense of powerlessness that made him like this, and it wasn’t the first time. It was just there was more at stake this time around.
“Shit. Any changes in Anki’s condition?” This question was the second most asked question in his vocabulary in the last thirty-some-odd hours only because he obsessively asked it every other time he asked the first question. It was enough to drive himself mad. He bounced the blue ball again, catching it without looking as he listened to Pilot’s response.
“Only moderate changes in heartrate, and her eyes are moving behind her eyelids as if she is dreaming. Otherwise, no.”
“Keep me updated, will you?” That should be obvious, Brendle thought despite himself. He sighed loudly, more at the annoyance he felt for himself than anything else. All this waiting is making me go nuts.
“As you wish.” Brendle imagined sarcasm in Pilot’s response because he knew he deserved it. The ball left his hand and returned without his thinking about it.
“You know, you can always get an update by going down to see her,” Deis said as he stepped onto the bridge.
Brendle looked up, startled, as he missed catching the returning ball and it bounced off the opposite bulkhead before rolling on the deck towards Deis. The gray man picked it up and stepped towards Brendle. His crimson robe was synched tightly around his torso but danced around his ankles as he walked. He reminded Brendle of the legendary warriors on his home planet from centuries ago. Each time he saw reenactments of them, the actors were dressed similarly to Deis. The commonality of such attire was one of the greatest sources of questions in the galaxy. How could worlds separated by thousands of lightyears contain lifeforms and cultures so similar to one another? The debates raged, just as the wars raged.
“I’m not really feeling like a
chat,” Brendle said.
“I know,” Deis replied as he knelt next to Brendle. “You’re in here sulking because you don’t know what to do to help her, and you feel guilty about your joke from earlier. You’re embarrassed and don’t want to interact with anyone. Am I right?”
Brendle shrugged. “More or less.”
“And what makes you think running away from the situation is going to help?”
Brendle looked down at the deck. “I knew what I said was wrong when it escaped my lips, but when you told me you would punch me if I said something like that again, my guilt increased. I felt like I betrayed you with my words when I didn’t mean to. I just don’t know how to deal with that feeling.” It’s like one step forward and two steps back. Something keeps happening in our lives that sets us back and I don’t know how to stop it, he thought, but didn’t want to say it.
Deis nodded, switching his position to sit on the deck next to Brendle. “You’re upset because you thought your words hurt us?”
“Yeah.”
Deis sighed. “You need to get over it.” His voice was low, and not condescending.
Brendle did a double-take, looking at Deis with his eyes wide. “What?”
Deis returned the gaze. “You held me at gunpoint on our first day’s meeting. I shot at you. We’ve scrapped before. At our worst moments, we came together as a crew. If not for the fact Malikea and I felt a connection with you, you and Anki would have died in the dark when she flew out of the airlock. The fact you acted to save someone who was meant to be your enemy showed us you were someone worth giving another chance to. You’re redeemable, Brendle. Saying something wrong is part of life as a fallible being. That’s all.”