by Drew Avera
“This Harager guy, why would he plant a mole on the King Slayer? Killing you doesn’t sound like a difficult task, and it surely isn’t a good enough excuse to risk being caught,” she said. Stavis crossed her arms over her chest, tucking a tuft of hair behind her ear in the process.
Ilium shrugged. “I don’t think killing me is the top priority this time.”
Stavis eased her stance and it gave Ilium hope that they could reconcile what he said with who he was now. “If killing you isn’t the primary objective, then what is?” The sound of legitimate concern painted her voice and Ilium knew exactly how she felt.
Ilium took a breath. “Taking this ship and using it against the Empire.”
Stavis scoffed, but Ilium kept a straight face. It only took a moment for her to notice before she responded. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, that,” Ilium replied.
Twenty-One
Brendle
“How’s your food?” Malikea asked as Brendle tore at the tube of preserved meat rations with his teeth.
He tried to smile during the process, but it took more effort than the salty tube deserved. Once his mouth was free to speak, he lied. “It’s good.” He continued chewing, gnawing at it like he was trying to eat through his arm.
“You’re not a good liar, Brendle,” Deis said.
Brendle placed the tube of meat onto the table and looked up. “I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful. Rations are low, and we’re making do with what we have. Complaining about it solves nothing.”
“How did the food taste on your Greshian ship?” Malikea asked.
Brendle leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms as he thought back to the time. “The rations were prepared more as a family meal, each serving six in the officer’s wardroom. We typically ate with the same people for each meal, so we would schedule those meals in advance. As far as what the meals constituted, they were primarily carbohydrates made to simulate meat. They came in tins and were unflavored, but there was an additive placed inside that activated while it cooked. It was very advanced compared to these protein tubes,” he said, chuckling.
“That does sound advanced,” Malikea replied. “How do we get our hands on some of those?”
Brendle shrugged. “I don’t know. It wasn’t my job to handle that sort of thing, and I guess I took it for granted.”
“Is there anything else about your time on that ship you feel you took for granted?” Deis asked.
“Aside from being able to send messages to my mother and not being on the run? Not really. Greshian Navy life is rough. The job sucks. The living accommodations suck. And you’re always beholden to someone else. It’s not a way I want to live my life. Especially now that I know what it’s like on the outside.”
“You prefer this kind of life?” Malikea asked.
Brendle shrugged. “I could do without the looming threats, but yeah.”
“I guess you do have the best crew in the galaxy,” Malikea retorted with a smirk.
Brendle made eye contact with Deis. “That I do.”
“Captain, I have an update regarding Anki’s condition.”
“What is it?” All their attention snapped to Pilot.
“Her core body temperature is increasing.”
“Is it a fever?”
“Negative. Anki’s body temperature is still a few degrees below normal, but it is moving in the right direction.”
“Do you have any recommendations for what to do from here?”
“I suggest continuing on our trek to Pila for proper medical evaluation.”
“Does she need to stay in the medically induced coma?” Deis asked.
“Indeed. Changing her condition at this time is ill-advised.”
“Thank you, Pilot,” Brendle said, feeling only slightly better about Anki’s condition. “I wish there was something more I could do.”
“We all feel like that,” Malikea said, placing his hand on Brendle’s. “But Anki is a fighter. She will pull through and be stronger for it.”
“I’m glad you think so. Brain tumors are one of the more severe conditions on my world.”
“I agree with Malikea. She is strong, and she will recover,” Deis said.
Their words settled over Brendle and gave him encouragement, but he could not fight the feeling of dread clamoring through his mind. He knew the prospect of recovery for Greshians, and it wasn’t positive. Anki might have a better chance, but it was difficult to grasp hope amid speculation. “Thank you. I’m hopeful as well,” he finally said, forcing himself to sound positive. “I just wish we could get to where we’re going faster. All this time being wasted isn’t helping Anki or her situation.”
“Have patience,” Deis replied.
Brendle looked up, a half-smirk on his face. “Do you know me?”
Deis smiled in return. “I do, but despite your shortcomings in this department, I think you can put up enough of a fight to pretend to be patient.”
Brendle laughed. “Well, if it all can be pretend, then I’m also a courageous, well-endowed, extravagantly handsome, billionaire.”
Deis folded his arms across his chest and stared at Brendle for a moment. “Sorry, but I don’t see that having the potential to be true.”
His words forced fluid from Malikea’s nose as he sipped his drink. “Oh, my! That hurt both of us, I think.”
The three of them shared a chuckle, disappearing into a burden-free reprieve from their situation. But an alarm sounded, unsettling the men.
“What the hell is that?” Brendle shouted, jumping from his seat.
“Collision alarm,” Pilot answered. “Someone fired a missile.”
Twenty-Two
Anki
A torrential wind scoured across the landscape as Anki walked. The grit kicked up, pelting her body like granular bullets, but she continued her trek, squinting her eyes and breathing through the fabric of her shirt. The light of the sun faded as clouds moved in, darkening the fearsome world in which she dwelt.
I must keep moving. There’s nowhere to hide from the wind and it’s getting dark, she thought, shoving one foot in front of the other. All around her, the storm caused small funnel clouds whipping against each other in a devastating dance, tearing at the ground. She bit down, gritting her teeth as she forged ahead.
“Anki!”
A voice shouted, sounding like it came from the clouds above. She looked up, hoping to see someone, anyone. Her thoughts moved to the Replicade and her crew. Brendle, her lover. Malikea and Deis, their friends. Each one of them important to her in a different way.
“Anki!”
The voice reminded her of someone else. Carista. And she needed her help. Anki had no idea how she knew this, but it felt like a truth beyond any other, so she took another step, forcing her way ahead.
As she looked in front of her, the first raindrop struck her face before a monsoon appeared from nowhere. The sky merely opened and dumped a cascade of water onto her.
“Great, as if this shit isn’t hard enough already.”
Icy rain engulfed her, droplets running down her face before her clothing absorbed it. It wasn’t long before the chill got to her, causing her to shiver as she walked, her teeth chattering. But nothing would stop her from finding Carista. Realization struck as she came to understand the game. Every time she wanted to give up, an opportunity presented itself, with the alternative harder than the original objective. Each time she decided to quit, she started one again at the beginning. How she knew this was beyond her, but as the thought ran through her mind, it made sense.
“Finish the game, Anki,” She said, talking through her teeth. “I’m not going to let this world stop me. Not now. Not ever.”
With resolve she scanned the horizon. Her new understanding of the experience empowered her. Lightning flashed in the distance, silhouetting a figure not far from Anki’s position. Whoever it was stood facing away from her, still as a monument to perished gods.
“Carista!” Anki called, b
ut there was no answer. She doubted she could be heard over the sound of the howling wind and pouring rain. Instead, she ran, using everything she had to close the distance between her and the person she saw. She just hoped she could run fast enough before the landscape shifted again.
Twenty-Three
Hespha
A stiff, bitter wind chilled her skin as she closed the door to her home. Her cheeks flushed, bordering on numbing as she walked, her heels a clacking percussion on the sidewalk in beat with her heart. As she rounded the corner, Hespha startled at the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned abruptly, clutching the knife in her pocket when she saw his face.
“Good morning, Hespha. I’ve tried to call you several times, but you never answered. I decided to swing by to check on you,” Ka’Hor’al said with a painted-on smile stretched across his face. The more she looked at him, the more convinced she was that Ka’Hor’al was up to something.
“Yes, sorry about that, I had a migraine last night and turned off all notification,” she said, releasing her grip on the knife.
“I’m guessing it was one the wine didn’t help with?”
She knew from his tone that it was a joke, but she couldn’t find it in herself to fake a smile, much less laugh. “It was one of the worst ones I’ve experienced.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ka’Hor’al said, taking her hand in his without asking, dragging her with him as he led her to the car. “Do you think you need to see a doctor this morning?”
“No,” Hespha croaked as she stutter-stepped next to him. Her heart raced at his manic disposition. He often crossed the line with her, lately more than ever, but this felt akin to an abduction with how tightly he gripped her hand. “Are you in a hurry, Ka’Hor’al?”
He slowed to a stop and paused to look in her direction, his eyes frantically darting side to side. “They know something,” he answered.
“They know what?” his cryptic message caused her to pull back, not wanting to be bound to him.
“I don’t know,” he confessed, “but I think it has to do with the location of the weapon. I only heard bits and pieces last night. It was part of the reason I called.”
Hespha shook her head, trying to come up with the words to say as she struggled to put together was Ka’Hor’al was insinuating. “Take this back to the beginning. What did you hear exactly?”
Ka’Hor’al looked around, canting his head as he peered across the horizon. His actions reeked of paranoia, and anyone who might be watching would recognize it. “Not here. Let’s get to the car and I’ll tell you everything.”
He darted off, neglecting to take her hand. She followed less reluctantly than before, curiosity gnawing at her. If Edon knew something, then they were ahead of the game and in a position to overthrow any claim of leading Hespha’s company. I can’t let that happen, she thought as she fell into step beside Ka’Hor’al, her stride long, aggravating the muscles in her legs from the exertion. He opened the door for her and she climbed into the dark maroon vehicle without looking, disappearing into the shadowy compartment, but she was not alone.
“Good morning, Hespha,” Edon said, giving her pause as she looked forward, her eyes wide and her heart beating faster.
She looked over to Ka’Hor’al as he climbed in behind her. “What is this?” Hespha asked, desperately trying to mask the betrayal in her voice. Ka’Hor’al made no attempt to answer. Instead, he looked down at his feet.
“It’s quite simple,” Edon said. “The board is losing patience with you. When you promised to have access to the weapon, they took you at your word. But your recent failures cause them to question whether you have the ability to lead a corporation on the brink of war. The escalating violence in other sectors as the Greshians draw near us requires a more adept individual to maintain our small but devastating force. If we are to allow you to be part of the effort, then you need to come through with your promise.”
Hespha swallowed the lump in her throat and inhaled sharply. “I’ve worked tirelessly trying to find the weapon,” she said.
“We know. Ka’Hor’al said the same. But as you know, sometimes the best isn’t good enough when the board demands excellence.”
“Do you have any leads you’re willing to share to aid us in tracking down the weapon?” Hespha asked. Her stomach turned asking such a question, but she had little choice. The clock ticked closer to imminent war.
“The board cannot disclose such things,” Edon answered, but based on his tone, Hespha knew he was lying.
“What do you know?” She shifted the question enough to tickle his ego.
Edon smiled. “Now you’re asking the right question. I gave Ka’Hor’al the coordinates of a suspicious transmission. It is not on our world, but three sectors away in a place we have no claim to. I could send a ship to seek it out, but I think it would be best if the face of CERCO made an appearance. Perhaps your investigation can turn something up?”
“What world is it?”
Edon scratched his head. “Unnamed. Ironic, isn’t it? It gives the illusion that you are going nowhere.” He grinned as if his joke was funny though it sounded more threatening.
“I’ll go,” Hespha said, not knowing if it was a legitimate lead or a trap. Either way, I must do something if I’m going to take control of CERCO.
“I thought you might,” Edon said, opening the car door and climbing out as the sound of vinyl-wrapped cushions reforming into place accompanied him. He turned and considered the compartment. “A transport vessel is departing tonight for that sector. It might be a good idea to flash your badge and gain passage.”
“What?”
Edon pulled a badge from his pocket, handing it to her. “This is a restricted pass, but you will have more access than you currently do within the CERCO database. Try not to abuse it.”
She took the badge and watched the pale morning light reflect off the holographic watermark under her personal information. When she looked back up at Edon, he was gone. “What the hell?”
“I told you they knew something,” Ka’Hor’al said behind her. Hespha moved to exit the car. “Where are you going?”
Without looking back, Hespha answered, “I’m going to pack. I have a transport to catch.”
Twenty-Four
Ilium
Ilium’s footsteps echoed down the long passageway as Stavis struggled to keep up. His sense of urgency rivaled any similar sensation he experienced previously. Even under mutiny on his previous ship, he felt he still had control. There was something about how Quino obtained orders to the King Slayer that made chills run down his spine.
“I still don’t know what you expect to find, sir,” Stavis said as they rounded another corner, descending to the next level.
“I want his belongings scanned for communication devices, for one,” he said without looking back. His agitation with the looming situation took its toll on his demeanor. He hated to admit it, but genuine fear drove his decision-making in his current situation.
“Everyone on this ship has a comm device, sir. I’m not sure that constitutes espionage.” The skepticism in her voice gnawed at him, but she was right.
“Just humor me,” he replied, a weak argument, but one he hoped his most trusted officer would relent on. The fact she didn’t arrest him on the spot following his confession gave him hope, but he wondered how much of that hope was her giving him enough rope to hang himself.
They arrived at the hangar where Commander Quino’s personal gear sat in a tri-wall container, banded with heavy, metal straps. The fact no one opened it after the new XO came on board puzzled Ilium, but not enough to dwell on it.
Ilium grabbed a pair of cutters from a work bench near the bulkhead and clipped the banding. The sound of metal springing apart and striking the deck reminded Ilium of the tiny bells he wore on his wrists during the Solstice celebrations in his youth. “Do you have the scanner?”
Stavis pulled a device from her pocket, handing it to him.
�
��You do it,” Ilium said.
She shrugged. “All right.” Without skipping a beat, she opened the top of the tri-wall and ran the device over the top. As the sensor moved silently along the side of the container, Ilium felt his stomach churn. “Nothing,” she said.
Ilium sighed, grabbing one bag and hauling it out of the tri-wall, placing it on the deck next to them. “What about now?”
Stavis scanned the next layer, but nothing alarmed the scanner. She shook her head as she moved it slowly from one side to the next.
“Goddammit,” Ilium seethed, feeling himself losing his argument for investigating Quino fading with each breath. He yanked the next piece of gear from the tri-wall, but paused when he saw what sat beneath it. “What the hell is that?”
Stavis peered into the tri-wall, looking down with her eyes wide. “It looks like an electromagnetic pulsar.”
“What is that?”
“It’s used to temporarily disable electrical devices without permanently damaging any equipment. Imagine everything within a certain distance suddenly stops working while this device is operational, but once the device is turned off, all systems fully restore.”
“If everything shuts down on this ship, then everyone would die. Without power, the life support systems go. There’s not enough air in the ship to last the crew more than a few hours,” Ilium said.
“Unless you had an EVA suit, then you could survive long enough to bring the ship back online after everyone else is dead.”
“It makes sense, but you can’t operate a ship of this size with one person. You would need at least a couple hundred personnel to keep it operating,” Ilium said. He scratched his head, staring at the device. “Can we disable this and buy us some time without giving away the fact we found it?”