by Drew Avera
“Absolutely. Your first meal as XO must be a good one. We all know it will be downhill from here,” Ilium joked, but a sliver of truth hung from his words. “At least the Mar will be cold, instead of that lukewarm piss a buddy of mine snuck into Officer Candidate School. I still don’t know how I downed it before the instructor showed up.” His comment elicited a laugh from Stavis, but Quino was strangely unfazed by it.
“Well, I guess I should look forward to the ride and the Mar. Thank you,” Quino replied with a grin. “And yes, Officer school was a drag.”
Ilium smiled at Stavis, her knowing eyes looking back into his. We got him, he thought. He doesn’t know it yet, but his ass is mine.
“Yes. Yes, it was,” Ilium said as a serviceman delivered three frosted glasses of Mar to the table.
“Good evening, Captain,” the man said, placing the cold beverage in front of Ilium.
The captain looked up, grasping the glass with his hand and nodding at the young man. “Yes, it is. Thank you.” He turned to Quino, lifting his glass. “To our new XO. May he not find himself lost on his own ship.”
“Here. Here.” Stavis replied, lifting her own glass.
Quino smiled dumbly and lifted his own. “At least not before I make it back to my stateroom tonight. My first day was a doozy.”
Ilium watched as the other man sipped his Mar. Indeed, it was, he thought.
Thirty-Three
Brendle
Entering atmosphere on a ship the size of the Replicade felt like coming to a complete stop, even when the planet was wholly artificial and nothing more than a disk orbiting a nearby star. According to Pilot, Pila served as a military base during the early period of the war. Named for the world in which it served, the orbiting disk was all that remained of the Pilatians. But knowing history did little for smoothing the ride. Because he was strapped to his chair, Brendle felt himself slamming forward, every bone in his body taking the strain of gravity yanking on him. It made his eyes bulge, so he closed them and hoped to not need vision before the sensation passed. The aggressive vibration emanating through the ship was accompanied by an incessant hum needling through his ears. Try as he might, it was difficult to ignore.
“Is everyone, all right?” He asked into the comm, knowing Deis and Malikea were strapped in elsewhere. It seemed no one liked being on the bridge for these landings, and Brendle could hardly blame them. When you’re that far forward on a ship plummeting towards the surface of a planet, you’re just the first to die when something goes wrong. Albeit, you win the race by mere fractions of a second, but psychologically it paints the bridge in a different light. The goal was to generate enough lift that a massive vessel like the Replicade could fly, because dying in a fiery crash was for amateurs and space pirates. At least that’s what he told himself for a pep talk. The decreasing numbers on the altimeter suggested something else as he gripped the manual control and pulled back, fighting to slow the ship enough to gain control.
“I hate this part,” Deis said, his voice strained.
Me too, Brendle thought. Flying ships was much easier when I had access to transport craft for surface landings. The Replicade is too much sometimes. “It will all be over soon.” His words were more hope than truth.
He moved his fingers along the console, monitoring engine parameters and fuel expenditures. The truth was there was no need to monitor them; the ship was in the best shape it had been since he took the helm, and spending most of their time coasting through the dark, they had almost a full tank of fuel. That was the only good thing, because being this heavy meant the engines had to fight harder to keep the ship aloft. It was a delicate balance where on one side there was living to see another day and on the other, everyone was going to die. The extra fuel just meant more devastation on top of an already shitty day.
Give and take.
“Captain, shall I set a course to the nearest landing pad at a medical facility for Anki’s condition?” Pilot asked.
“Yes, please do,” Brendle replied, thankful to not have to do all the navigating himself. But he did prefer flying the ship himself rather than trusting a computer to maneuver a craft in a situation much more suitable for feel rather than data. Most would think him crazy, but Brendle preferred to think of himself as practical, as in practically insane for doing this manually. If I’m not in control, then who is?
“Course plotted,” Pilot replied.
Brendle felt the gentle shift in heading. Too sharp of a correction could cause the ship to stall, which meant a fiery blaze for everyone on board. It was yet another convenience having an AI perform most of the navigation and flying with such a small crew. Brendle could keep his focus elsewhere, worrying about Anki and pushing the thought of their blazing demise from his mind. “Thank you. What is our ETA?”
“Fifteen minutes at current speed.”
“Are we flying within parameters for this world?”
“Affirmative. I see no need in bringing undue attention to us.”
“Good call,” Brendle replied before keying up the comms again. “All right, guys. We land in fifteen minutes. I’ll let you know when you can unstrap.”
“I suppose the fact you’re talking to us means we’re not dead, yet. Thank you for not killing us,” Deis said, but his voice was hard to read over the comm.
“Was that sarcasm?” Brendle asked as a smile stretched across his face. There was something about the stress of cheating death that brought out his wicked sense of humor. Most normal people would probably show more concern, but it wasn’t his style.
“If it makes you feel better, then yes.” This time Brendle heard it and stifled a laugh, knowing Deis would be offended to hear Brendle making a joke of his fear of flying. Never mind the fact the crew lived on a space craft hurtling through the dark in an environment where any mishap could claim their lives. It was landing on other worlds that brought the man’s fears to the surface.
“It was sarcasm, Captain,” Malikea interjected. Brendle could hear the other Lechun man fussing at his husband about the inevitably snide comment, but it didn’t bother Brendle. It was just part of the dynamic of a surface landing with a crew that hated surface landings. He wished he could make it easier, but wishing was just laziness talking, so he pushed the thought away.
“I’ll let it slide,” Brendle replied with a grin, cutting off the comm to not have to listen in on the quarrel. “Pilot, can you contact the medical facility to have a transport in place when we touch down?”
“Already done, Captain.”
“Excellent. Is there any change in her condition from the strain of entering atmosphere?”
“Negative. Her stats have not altered in any significant way.”
“I suppose I can take solace in the fact we made it and she’s no worse for it.”
“You can. I’m confident that doctors will be able to help her.”
“Are you just saying that because it would make me feel better?”
“Not at all. But that’s not license to assume I wouldn’t if it was necessary.”
“Fair enough,” Brendle said as the landing area came into view. For an advanced world, the air traffic was minimal. It was a good thing considering he was trying to park a vessel larger than most land hoppers and transports on a landing area smaller than his ship. This is a far cry from the major port on Farax, he thought. “Pilot, can you handle the landing?”
“Of course.”
“Great, take her in, I’m going to prepare the cargo bay for the medical crew.”
When Brendle entered the cargo hold, he found the space fully secured and clear. He knew Malikea and Deis worked towards cleaning it during the transit, but he expected to find a few loose ends needing sorting. The last time he entered the space, there were empty supply stores scattered everywhere, most not tied down, and the deck was covered in trash. It wasn’t the kind of ship cleanliness he experienced in the Greshian Navy, but this was not a naval ship. It was a ship of refugees, and he found himself being
more lax with things than he should be. He hated to admit it, but he almost expected to find the same scene from days ago. Instead, everything was done for him, and all that was needed was the cargo bay doors opened to facilitate the boarding medical crew awaiting them.
As he looked over the cargo bay, he felt the ship descend, the sensation floating up through his body and giving him a momentary sense of weightlessness. Within minutes, the Replicade touched down, the landing gear shrugging under the weight of the massive hull. They had arrived.
“Captain, we have landed. The medical transport is just outside the cargo bay.”
“Thank you,” Brendle said as he reached to the console and pressed it. The cargo bay door cycled open, letting in the bright, pinkish light from Pila’s sun. Brendle lifted his hand in front of his face to guard his eyes, squinting to see four men enter the ship with a levitating gurney.
“We are here to secure the patient,” one of them said, his voice loud enough to speak over the sound of the dying engine.
Brendle nodded. “Follow me,” he said, leading the men to the med bay. Now that they were on Pila, he allowed himself to take a breath of relief. Anki wasn’t out of the woods yet, but at least she was on her way to getting the help she needed. If that wasn’t a relief in its own way, he didn’t know what was.
Thirty-Four
Anki
She stood before Carista, her reason for being there more of a mystery than before. If I’m not here to save her, then why am I here? “What can you tell me?”
The girl looked away, turning her back on Anki as she looked out over the horizon. Dark clouds parted and revealed the glow of a distant, pinkish star. Anki knew the color was due to the atmospheric gases on the planet she was on, but she still thought it was beautiful, a far cry from Luthia, obscured beneath thick clouds most of the year. “Do you feel it?”
“Feel what?” Anki asked, her voice just above a whisper. She stared over the landscape as warm light danced across the surface.
“The war growing nearer.”
A frown formed on Anki’s face as she crossed her arms. “The war has raged for four decades, Carista. Since before I was born.” Talking about it reminded her of all she lost, of her father.
“Not the Empire’s war, but the one on the horizon,” Carista answered.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t follow,” she replied.
Carista turned to her. “They will wage war against the Empire and enslave the galaxy. You can’t let them win.”
Anki nodded, feeling as if she understood her purpose finally. “You want us to stop CERCO?”
Carista shook her head. “No, they must enter the war, but they cannot be allowed to win.”
Anki stood in silence, listening to the girl whose wisdom rivaled that of someone twice her age. In practical terms, Anki knew Carista was dead and that she was speaking with a ghost or some other kind of apparition, but the girl’s words rang true to her. “To do that, I would have to side with the people who destroyed my world,” she said finally. Her words stung as she said them, her heart beating faster, in time with her heavier breathing.
“What if I told you there was another way, but you would have to side with an enemy?”
“That’s what I’m saying, Greshia is my enemy.”
“No, the enemy would not be yours.”
“Then whose?” Anki asked, puzzled.
Carista turned her back again, her hair flowing in a gentle breeze unfelt by Anki. “That, unfortunately, has yet to be revealed.”
Anki stepped forward, fighting the urge to touch Carista’s shoulder. “Why am I here, Carista? Why bring me to this place?”
Carista canted her head, looking up at Anki with clouded, amber eyes. “I did not bring you here, Anki.”
She shook her head, her brow furrowed with frustration. “Then who did?”
Carista shrugged. “I thought you brought me to this world,” she replied.
Confused, Anki stared at the young girl, an apparition in her own mind. “Is this a dream?”
Carista stood silent, staring out as the sky grew dim. “I don’t know what this is, Anki. Sometimes the answers we seek turn out to be more questions. In the end, the answer is inside you all along.”
Carista’s response reminded Anki of something someone else said to her long ago. As she thought about it, she remembered the voice of her father speaking to her as a child. It was after her mother left and she felt alone. For years she thought the “answer inside herself” was telling her it was her own fault that her mother left. It was a burden too heavy for a child to bear, yet those words reverberated through Carista’s lips with the same impact as they did from her father. “If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up. The pain is much too real when I’m awake.”
A tear fell down Carista’s face. “You mourn for us all, Anki, but you need to live for yourself.”
“And if I don’t have the strength to carry on?”
The girl looked out over the horizon as clouds rolled in, billowing forth like a raging army. “Then do it for your family.”
Thirty-Five
Hespha
She met Ka’Hor’al at the transport. The entire trip she contemplated whether to include him or not, but she knew asking him to stay would prompt more questions she had no desire to answer. Instead, she wiped her tears away, pushing down the thoughts forcing their way to the surface. The reminder of what her family lost before she felt she lost everything. With the sensation of hopelessness came the sting of betrayal. The files she read on her way to the transport broke her heart, and all that was T’anoi’s doing. She sucked in cold air while she walked towards the entrance. Her lungs burned as the icy air flooded into her body, but she no longer cared about pain; she welcomed the distraction.
“You’re late,” Ka’Hor’al said nonchalantly. He stood with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. It made the man look boyish to her, immature.
“I had things to do, but we’ll make the transport,” she replied coldly.
“Like what?”
Like none of your goddamned business, she thought dismissively. “I visited T’anoi’s grave to say goodbye.” Ka’Hor’al gawked at her, speechless just as she knew he would be. His lips moved to speak, but nothing came out. “Spending all this time rummaging through his files has kept him on my mind. I felt I needed to let him go if I was going to move forward,” she said, watching the muscles in his face loosen as he seemed to accept her response.
“Do you think it worked?”
“I don’t know, and I really don’t feel like talking about him if I’m trying to forget him,” she spat. “I just want to drop off my bags and take a nap on the long flight.”
“Of course,” Ka’Hor’al replied. “Let me take that for you.” He grabbed her luggage and walked towards the drop-off, scanning her ticket in the machine and retrieving the printed shipment voucher to accompany the luggage. She watched as he adhered the voucher to the outside of her luggage and sent it down the chute where it was conveyed towards the terminal whence their transport would depart. “Let’s go check in.”
Hespha followed Ka’Hor’al, tucking her arms beneath the folds of her robe, not because of cold, but because of shame. The truth was she could never forget T’anoi, especially after what she saw in the crystal file. But she did not trust Ka’Hor’al with the information she discovered. In truth, she didn’t trust anyone with it.
“You’re being very quiet, Hespha. Are you sure everything is all right?”
She shrugged. “It just hit me hard being at his grave alone. At the memorial I thought I could forget him, but being there, alone with my thoughts, so many happy memories that I didn’t dwell on while he was alive.” There was a bit of truth to her words and she caught herself off-guard as she said them.
“You just need to create new happy memories. I think he would want that,” Ka’Hor’al replied.
Hespha hesitated to speak, knowing what would escape her lips would be scathing. What ma
kes you think that? She would ask. Is it the look of a dying man as he realizes he was betrayed and killed by his brother and ex-wife? She knew those words would do more damage than good, so she buried them inside her, biting her tongue and biding her time. “Perhaps one day I can accept that,” she said as they stepped into the terminal, scanning their tickets to board the transport. “Until then, I’ll mourn in my own way.”
Thirty-Six
Ilium
The passageway echoed with their steps as Ilium and Stavis strode towards Stavis’s stateroom. Her quarters nestled two levels below Quino’s, giving them an opportunity to discuss the man’s presence without being in his earshot, but neither spoke out loud; not with the bustling activity of the nightly turnover taking place around them. Instead, irritatingly dull small talk accompanied them, Ilium’s drone about himself displacing the most oxygen in the space.
“I never thought I was going to make it off that ship, to be honest. The Telran stayed deployed for more than two years, and we hit one port, which we later destroyed as communications broke down between our people and theirs. By the gods, I can’t even remember what that planet was called.”
“Sir, we’re at my room,” Stavis said politely, stopping abruptly.
Ilium followed suit, “Ah, yes,” he replied, placing his hands behind his back, trying to look professional when gossip about Quino’s supposed purpose on the King Slayer burned a hole in his tongue.
“Would you like to come in and discuss tomorrow’s schedule?”