by David Ryker
I rolled over and faced the wall.
“Trust me… James.” I heard the bed squeak as she got up. “You’ve got to help yourself out here. You’ve got to put yourself first. If you don’t you’ll end up giving your life for one of them, and you’ll die knowing that they wouldn’t have done the same.” She moved to the door and paused for a second, sighing. “The truth sucks, but the lie hurts more. I can tell you that from experience.”
I heard her hobble out, one leg not her own, the original one taken by the Federation, along with everything else she had.
5
It’d been a restless night. The passage of time in hyperdrive was weird. The gnawing nausea in the pit of your stomach made it hard to get comfy and every time I started to drop off to sleep, I had the feeling that I was falling, and jolted awake.
When Alice came down to grab some sleep, I sat up. She walked into the room, and stopped, and then made to turn away.
“Don’t,” I said. “I’ll go. You get some rest.”
She didn’t say anything but stepped in and leaned against the wall, pinning her hands behind her lower back, so there was absolutely no way I could misinterpret an accidental finger brush against my hand.
I slowed a little as I neared, turning slightly in case she wanted to whisper something, but she moved her head away, her face carved in stone.
When I was across the threshold, I heard her slap the pad next to the door and it snapped shut with a low whoosh, the hydraulics ramming it into the frame. I sighed and buried my head in my hands. When I got to the cockpit, Everett was across the two chairs at the back, her feet up. She was reading a book — a real book. I’d only ever seen them in the display cases in the library on the Regent Falmouth. They were antiques now, used for show mostly — so we could remember where we came from.
Though the one that Everett was reading didn’t look like the gilded leather-bound tomes in the library. It was a small, tattered paperback with a colorful front. The title read ‘The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,’ though I didn’t know it. She seemed engrossed, turning the pages methodically and expertly so as not to tear them. I smirked at it, but didn’t interrupt her. She didn’t even look up, though I knew she knew I was there. Maybe this was a continuation of her lesson. Expect nothing and avoid disappointment. Her eyes just moved back and forth as she scanned the words. It seemed so antiquated. Modern pads tracked eye movement and scrolled the words along at the perfect speed and size. I couldn’t imagine how tiring it must be to have to follow them all across the page and then leap back to the start of a line.
Fish and Mac were sitting on the two rear pilots’ seats with a tray table on an extendable arm hovering between them. They were flicking playing cards from their hands into a pile in quick succession and then Fish looked up and hissed.
“You’re joking,” Mac snorted.
Fish hissed again.
Mac grumbled and handed over a couple of cards which Fish put in his hand and rearranged, and then they started tossing on the pile again. The cards were square and covered with weird symbols I didn’t recognize. I wasn’t really in the mood for games, either, so I slunk around the side and took the empty seat next to Volcech, who was sitting with one heel on the seat and the other folded under herself. She was scanning through pages of data on a pad, her face lit up in a pale blue. I could see the lines under her eyes. She looked tired.
I cracked my neck and leaned my head back. I couldn’t get comfy, and my stomach had started aching now. The gel was doing its work, but the flesh was still raw and I could feel it throbbing under the skin. I grimaced and exhaled, closing my eyes.
“Long day, huh?” Volchec’s voice was soft.
I nodded. “Could say that.”
She put the pad down and twisted toward me a little. “Heard you had a little run-in with the Eshellite.”
I sighed. “Yeah, if that’s what you want to call it.” I smirked a little and turned my head. She was staring at me with authority, trying to maintain that officer-subordinate balance, but in such close quarters, it was practically impossible.
“You know, I went to Eshell once.”
“Yeah?” I perked up a little.
She nodded. “The Eshellites are a pretty intelligent race, but their way of living isn’t exactly advanced. They’ve got a really rich history, and they’re pretty culturally bound. The males grow up fighting each other for territory, for food, for females — those who win make it, and those who don’t…” She trailed off and shrugged. “They live on the water, in the water, mostly. Their world is turbulent — stormy and violent. There’s no vegetation above the surface, just rocky outcroppings and volcanoes poking out of the oceans. Underneath, though, is a thriving world of columns made out of hollowed out anchorock, a super calcium-rich mineral that can be molded under pressure. Their cities are huge, like ours, except they’re under the sea. They oxygenate constructed air pockets with algae and other green plant life, living in the air and the sea at the same time. Their architecture isn’t really bound by the same tolerances as ours, so their buildings and tunnels are huge, intricate, and beautiful. The anchorock has this sheen to it, like a glow, almost — it’s really a sight to see.”
“So how the hell does an Eshellite get into the Federation?” It was a question I’d been meaning to ask someone who knew the answer for a while. Mac had given me an explanation that was both brief and uninformative in equal measure. I hoped Volchec would know better.
“Same way anyone does — they sign up. When they reach maturity, they head out into the ocean to find a mate — to find somewhere else to live. The males leave their families and go off in search of a new city. Other males head to theirs. It keeps the population diverse, but it doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Their life cycle isn’t short — a good few hundred years — about four times what ours is, and they’ll spend the entire time building and fighting and spawning. They work with an antiquated monarchical system, and any deviation from their way of life results in lynching, basically.” She shrugged. “Not much there for the ambitious Eshellite.”
“That still doesn’t explain how he got here.” I cast an eye back at Fish and he looked at me for a second before going back to his cards.
“He decided he didn’t want to live like his people. There are Federation outposts all over the planet — we have to keep good relations where we can — so he just walked into one of them, signed his name on the dotted line, and that was it.”
“That was it?” I raised my eyebrows.
She shrugged and sighed. “How the hell should I know, kid? I wasn’t the one who signed him up. We’ve got tens of thousands in the corps. It’s not a rare thing — lots of Federation planets aren’t as advanced as they could be, rebuffing change and progress in favor of tradition. We don’t force technology on them. All we do is keep them safe — make sure no one comes in and fucks them up.”
I pursed my lips. “For a modest share of their resources, right?”
She smirked for a second. “No flies on you, are there?”
I shook my head and turned back to the black screen, seeing Volchec settle back out of the corner of my eye.
There was another pad harnessed to the console and I lifted it out, thinking about what Volchec had said. What Everett had said. No one in the Federation does anything for free. Everyone wants something in return. Everyone’s looking for their own leg-up.
I turned the pad on and pulled up as much information as I could on Eshell and its inhabitants, specifically on the Eshellites themselves. I scanned the moving words on the screen, gently rubbing the ridges of gel under my shirt.
“You sure you want to do this, Red?” Mac asked from the catwalk half a day later. He was leaning forward, looking down at me over the top of Fish’s bald head. He was alone. Volchec, Everett, and Alice had stayed in the cockpit.
I was standing opposite the Eshellite, fists clasped loosely in front of me. “Yeah, I do.”
Mac shook his head and lau
ghed. “You know that he doesn’t need to fight you again, right? You sparred, you lost, there’s no shame in admitting defeat.”
“Well, it’s a long way to go yet until we reach the station. What else are we going to do?” I tried to keep my voice light, but my heart was starting to pump pretty hard.
“Literally anything else. He’s not going to go easy on you. You’re going to get yourself hurt, Red, and for what?” Mac sounded genuinely concerned.
I’d spent the night reading up on Fish’s kind and their culture, their anatomy, their fighting styles. Turned out that they were a hardy race, but not without their weaknesses. Their hips were narrow and built for up and down movements — great for swimming, not so great for strafing. Their legs, similarly, were developed for movement, but not combat. All I had to do was stay wide, anticipate the spins rather than the sidesteps, and strike low and hard. Challenging an Eshellite to a rematch was a pretty big deal in their culture — a way of saying you didn’t get me good enough last time, so let’s take off the kid gloves — but I didn’t really care.
I’d been stewing on everyone’s words all night, on Alice’s silence, on Mac’s condescension. I was sick of it all. Volchec was being aloof, trying to keep our relationship strictly professional, lapsing into moments of familiarity before going stony again. That was tiring in itself. I figured that it was probably because she was about to march us into a fight we probably wouldn’t come back from and getting close would only make it harder, or at least that’s the rationalization I couldn’t shake. Alice was just being straight-up cold — either because she’d come to the conclusion that she needed to be if she was going to get ahead — or because she was just that petty.
Either way, I wasn’t going to get walked all over by her anymore. Everett was the closest thing I had to a friend, but even she’d expressed in pretty definitive terms that there was no such thing as friends out here.
So why the hell not, huh? Why shouldn’t I try and throw Fish a beating? I’d been goaded and basically tricked into getting my stomach cut up by Mac, when if he’d really have wanted to, he could have probably talked Fish out of it, and definitely talked me out of it. I’d found that out in my reading, that if one of the fighters submits, then the fight doesn’t have to go ahead. But I’d get him back for that eventually.
I also found out that if challenged to a rematch an Eshellite can’t refuse — and that if bested, the victor earns the respect of the one he beats. And Eshellite respect was a big deal. They didn’t do much in the way of friendship, and like everyone in the Federation, lived for themselves. It’s probably why the lifestyle appealed. But earn their respect and they’re likely to vouch for you, on and off the field. And if no one else was going to, I could at least do with one person having my back.
I beckoned him forward and his fins flickered. He sank into his feet and crept forward, hands raised, claws sharp and curled.
I swallowed and tried to remember my plan. I did have one, didn’t I? The Federation kept a vast archive of cultural information and footage so that the cultures of the colonized worlds would be preserved. Luckily enough, combat was a big part of the Eshellite culture, so there was plenty of footage on that. The move he’d used last time was known as the ‘hastilass’ which roughly translated to head-breaker. It was one of their most common opening moves. The top portion of the Eshellite skull was flat and hard, and it was a show of dominance in a fight to intentionally not parry, and instead meet the blow with the skull and attack back. It was dangerous and often resulted in serious injury for the person on the receiving end, but doing it showed you had balls — or whatever the Eshellite equivalent was — and that’s what they were all about. Bravado and showing no weakness. I didn’t think he’d use it again, which left the other common opener, a vicious lunge attack with outstretched claws that’d take a chunk out of my chest or throat depending on where it struck. I kept my hands low and watched his dark eyes settle on my collarbone before moving back to mine. I did it intentionally, baiting him, hoping he wouldn’t figure it out.
He didn’t.
He took another step toward me and turned slightly. I watched him do it, exhaling and tensing my body as I did. He lunged, and I twisted low. His hands sailed across my body, and I fired a tight right hook into his gut. His gills flickered, and he leaped sideways, flopping through the air and landing a few feet away in a defensive stance.
This was it, I was in. I couldn’t let him attack again — I knew it would be a flurry of slashes with those claws and I’d not be able to do shit about it. I sucked in a hard breath, ignored my hammering heart and jumped forward, heel outstretched. He parried downward, and I spun in, thrusting my elbow toward the side of his head. He parried high and I reached out, grabbing his wrist.
My hips connected with his and I felt the sting of his claws on my back as I jerked and pulled him over my shoulder, flipping him onto the ground. He landed hard and hissed as I staggered backward and reached up behind me, feeling the warmth of blood on my fingers. Pain pulsed black in my vision and my breath was tight in my chest. Fish raised himself to his hands and narrowed his black eyes at me, fins shuddering. He couldn’t express much with a distinct lack of facial muscles, but I could see anger there.
I had to get close — distance was the enemy. If he had enough space to slash, then he’d slash. I had to keep within arm’s reach.
We moved simultaneously, adrenaline surging, meeting in the middle, him with claws and me with fists. I felt pain on my arm, and then my neck, and I felt the soft thud of flesh under my knuckles. I drove my knee upwards into his gut and he stumbled, raking his nails down my leg. Fire burst across my skin and I staggered sideways, breathing hard.
Fish circled. I clenched my jaw and ignored the voice in my head that said I’d bitten off more than I could chew. And then, a split second before he lunged again, this time with enough ferocity and speed to put me down, Volchec’s voice thundered in the hold and we froze where we stood.
The only sound that broke the silence was the quiet dripping of blood off my forearm.
“What in the fuck is going on here?” she yelled from the catwalk.
I turned to see her standing there, face like iron. Mac was on her right, looking stoic. Alice on the left, eyes narrowed and a faint grimace of disdain on her lips. She met my gaze with a cold stare for the first time since the meeting with Greenway and a jolt of shame rippled through me. I looked away. Everett was visible in the doorway over Volchec, a thin grin on her face. She nodded slowly, minutely, even. I didn’t know if it was approval, or maybe just a little bit of something else — maybe she was impressed with my balls, even if I’d elected not to try to headbutt any of Fish’s attacks. Maybe she just thought it was all pretty funny. I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t have time to make a guess before Volchec blew up again.
“I asked you a goddamn question, Airman!” Her eyes burned into me like pokers.
I swallowed, suddenly sheepish, all the adrenaline and anger gone. Fish had loosened too, but stared indifferently at the catwalk, as was his way.
“Just some friendly sparring, Major,” I said as flatly as I could muster. The pain throbbed heavier with every slowing beat of my heart. Fish had gotten me good a few times. I’d been smart enough to keep a jacket on this time, for the extra protection it afforded, but he’d still drawn blood.
“Friendly sparring?” she scoffed. “Jesus Christ. If you’ve got fight in you, that’s great, but save it for the people we’re going up against, alright? Now get yourselves cleaned up. We’re here.”
She turned and stormed into the cockpit, followed by Mac and Everett. Alice stayed still, arms folded, face devoid of any emotion at all now. She took a deep breath, and pressed her lips together until they disappeared.
And then she stepped in after them and closed the door.
Fish was gone a second later, and then it was just me in the cargo bay, bruised and bleeding, alone — as I’d always been, and as I always would be.
&
nbsp; 6
When we dropped out of hyperdrive, the stars gleamed on the black curtain of space.
Fish had scratched me a couple times, but the jacket had been a sound move. I bandaged my shoulder, which was the worst offender, and then headed up to the cockpit.
I was the last there and slipped into the seat next to Fish at the back. I eyed him cautiously as I did, but he didn’t seem to care that I was there — at least not in any way that suggested he was looking for round three. It was his usual indifference and I had to commend the guy for his compartmentalization skills — or maybe he just honestly didn’t give a shit.
My stomach gave a little twist as Volchec took us back to cruising speed. FSS 63-40 loomed upward from below as we crested and then dipped toward it. It looked like a huge coffin. It was an onyx blue and hung weightless, an interminable and unbroken chunk of metal. It was a cuboid, easily ten kilometers long, and about five wide. On one end there were a series of huge mouths that cut back into the structure. Inside them I could see Federation ships under construction. Destroyers, carriers, dropships — they all looked tiny in the gaping bays.
I swallowed and strained against my harness to see a little better. Lights twinkled all down the sides and construction droids moved like flies in the space around it, carrying or repairing things. Sparks fluttered from welding torches all over it like tiny fountains of light winding into space.
Volchec reached up and flicked a couple of switches overhead. Static crackled in the cabin and she spoke into the ether. “This is Major Annelise Volchec, on approach — authorization code niner-niner-victor-charlie-bravo-x-ray.”
A robotic voice spoke back after a second or two. “Major Volchec, welcome. You’re authorized to dock. Please proceed to airlock eight-four-echo. Telemetry transmitted.”
The voice faded, and on the windscreen appeared a green reticle, pulsing slowly, hovering over the station. Next to it was a little label reading 84-E, and leading to it in a wide arc was a translucent line accompanied by angles and vectors for us to follow.