The Alorian Wars Box Set

by Drew Avera

  8

  Brendle

  Mast was an awkward thing, standing in dress uniform, perspiration moistening the nooks and crannies of your body, and the anxiety that makes so you don’t know if you want to pass out or soil your pants. Brendle felt all of it as he was led to the bridge. Ensign Ilium Gyl led the way, a gleeful pep to his step that screamed his excitement for witnessing the downfall of one of his shipmates. Some people just lived for drama, fed from it. Some were comforted by its existence. Not Brendle, he could live a lifetime and not miss an ounce of sleep if he never experienced any drama. Now, thanks to Ilium’s report, Brendle wouldn’t have much left of his lifetime to live. There was an irony to it if you took the time to over think the situation, but mostly Brendle just wanted it all to go away.

  The brig was about as far from the bridge as the shipbuilders could make it. Brendle was sure it was designed to prevent a prisoner from escaping and commandeering the vessel, though it would take a lot of prisoners to overpower a crew as big as the Telran had. With more than three-thousand onboard, the Telran boasted one of the largest crews the Greshian fleet controlled. Brendle had once been ecstatic to receive orders to this command, but years adrift in the dark changed his mind. Perhaps those years changed more than that, but there was no way he was a traitor.

  “Halt,” Ilium ordered. Sweat was glistening on his upper lip and Brendle didn’t know if it was from the heat of the uniform or the long walk from the aft section of the ship where the brig was located. Ilium turned to look at his men standing behind the prisoner. “Guard him while I check and see if Captain Elastra is ready,” Ilium ordered. The man pivoted stiffly and marched towards the hatch leading into the bridge, leaving Brendle alone with men who thought him to be a traitor. He wondered if they recognized that trait in their leader walking through the hatch, a smug look of superiority on his face.

  Brendle wasn’t bound, but he didn’t need to be. The weapons trained on him were enough of a tether to keep him in line. He also knew that if he tried to run he would end up a splatter against the cold steel bulkhead. At least he would be a well-dressed splatter, Brendle thought as he looked down at his uniform, the crisp red fabric adorned with medals depicting the achievements he’d made in his short career. They meant nothing now. A promising career cut short by a misunderstanding that he was taking the fall for with his life. After this day it didn’t matter if they gave him a chance at life by not tossing him out into the dark. The future was already marred by how history would remember him, the traitor. For all intents and purposes he supposed he was a traitor, at least to his family. He betrayed the legacy of the elders who served Greshia by never buying into the idea of empirical governance. It was a mistake too late to rectify.

  Ilium returned, pulling Brendle from his thoughts. The man stepped close to whisper. “The captain is prepared to receive you. I will give the order to enter followed by a secondary command to report. You will salute and state your business. My men will be posted behind you, so don’t get any funny ideas. Do you understand?”

  Brendle nodded his head, a precursor to answering before he swallowed down the nervousness that threatened to make his voice squeak. “Yes, I understand.”

  “Very well,” Ilium said, returning to the bridge and disappearing behind the hatch. A moment later he shouted the order. “Ensign Brendle Quin, post.”

  Brendle took a deep breath and marched into the bridge. He started on his left foot, keeping the swing of his arms as neutral as possible, the act of marching in a military manner was so engrained in him that it was damn near autonomous. The bridge was well lit, the polished deck reflecting the bright, white lights to the point they were almost blinding. Captain Elastra was standing behind a dark-stained lectern. He was wearing the underway uniform, not bothering to dress for the occasion. Brendle wasn’t surprised, though. The captain had more things to worry about than deciding what uniform to wear for a mast. Besides, Brendle was the one being charged, the captain could wear his underwear and still be right according to regulations.

  “Report,” Ilium ordered as Brendle came to a stop at Captain Elastra’s podium.

  With a sharp salute Brendle said, “Ensign Brendle Quin, Combat Control Officer of the Telran, reporting as ordered.” He held the salute, waiting for the next command.

  “Ready, two,” Ilium said, the order meant for Brendle to drop the salute not reciprocated by the captain. A traitor deserved no military courtesy.

  Brendle’s right hand fell to his side and the bridge was filled with silence. All around the bridge were other officers, leaders of their departments throughout the ship. Their eyes watched Brendle, boring holes into him with their gazes. Captain Elastra just stared stoically, the tufts of gray hair brushed behind his ears, the cold hard gaze of emerald eyes seeming to glow with unhindered rage. Brendle wasn’t standing before the old man for a good reason, but the impact of seeing the fury in his captain’s eyes made him feel weak in the knees, the anxiety building like a pressure ballooning inside of his chest. This day wasn’t shaping up in any way like he thought it would. Fear was soaking through his uniform, radiating like a thousand stars.

  A long silence followed and Brendle felt every inch of his body begin to trickle with sweat. He realized he was holding his breath and fought to maintain composure as he inhaled deeply. “Shipmates, we are here today to prosecute one of our own. Ensign Quin, Combat Control Officer, has been a member of our family onboard the Telran for almost two cycles. Despite his pay grade, his tenure here has made him one of the most senior officers on this ship. For almost two cycles he has held our lives in his hands. Hands, I might add, that belonged to a man who did not wish to conform to the standards of ethics everyone in this room swore to uphold when they were commissioned in our military.

  “Ensign Quin spit on the oath he took to serve Greshia honorably. Ensign Quin took it upon himself to send a message back to Greshia rebuking our cause. War is not for the faint of heart, nor is upholding an oath you swore to uphold with your life. For that reason, Ensign Quin has agreed to confess his guilt in exchange for his life. He has revealed in the form of a written statement his discontent with Greshian policies. He has revealed his disdain for the murderous acts of our society that are in place to protect Greshia from the growing conflict of intergalactic traveling and the sure destruction that would befall our world if we were not to act. He thinks us animals because we dare to stand against civilizations who would defy our way of life. Yes, he has admitted his guilt of treason in exchange for his pitiful existence and it is the coward’s way out. I have no respect for a man unwilling to face his mistakes and own up to the punishment due him. But I am a man of honor. I will uphold my end of the obligation. No harm will come to this young man whose unwillingness to conform to our mission has made him a weak link in our chain of command. No harm will be brought to him because to do so might make him a martyr for his ungodly cause. A traitor is not a man and Ensign Brendle Quin is not a man in my eyes.”

  Somehow, standing before Captain Elastra, knowing that his world was about to come crashing down, Brendle was in a state that resembled peace. A better word for it would probably be shock, but he wasn’t aware of that. Everything seemed to move slowly, as if he were dreaming he was running through sand. It only made sense to him and he had to remember to close his mouth when he realized his tongue was rubbing against dry teeth. If the worst day of his life had a soundtrack it would be the muted thud of his heart beating rapidly, filtered through the congested ears of a hyperactive imagination. He wasn’t at peace at all. The resemblance was just a facet of his mind mulling over the news of his imminent death and trying to come to terms with it in a way that didn’t make him shut down. If it were up to him, he would have preferred the mental breakdown over whatever this was. Still, he was cognizant of the fact that the words Captain Elastra used to quote him were dead wrong. They were a fabrication, but he couldn’t find the strength to speak up about it. Instead, he stood there and took the punishme
nt, the marring of who he once was to his shipmates on the Telran. There was no coming back from this so he just rode the experience to its bitter conclusion.

  “Ensign Quin, I have a signed document stating you wish to plead guilty of the charges set against you. Did you sign this declaration?”

  Brendle stood, jaw slack, as he realized the ultimate purpose behind the deal Lieutenant Prable had issued from Captain Elastra. It was designed to emasculate him, to make him appear weak and unworthy for the uniform he wore. All of the realization in the world couldn’t take any of it back, though. It was too late. He had made his bed and now he had to lie in it. “Yes, Captain. That is my signature.”

  Captain Elastra sneered at Brendle with enough contempt he thought he might catch fire. “Very well, Ensign Quin, I find you guilty of treason. These charges generally result in execution, but due to our previous arrangement, you will be held in the brig until the Telran can safely drop you onto an inhabitable planetary body. If during that time, you choose to violate the policies of my command then you will be tossed into darkness.”

  Brendle stood in shame. Everything the captain had said was meant to destroy the man he had been. He looked away from Captain Elastra; the moment for not looking weak was long past mattering. He was a condemned man, a coward in the eyes of the crew. He looked over to see Lieutenant Prable standing in the first rank. A look of sadness was etched upon her face. Maybe it was regret, but at this point it really didn’t matter.

  “Mr. Quin, you are relieved of service to the Greshian Navy. Enjoy your temporary stay on the Telran. I look forward to your disembarkment, traitor.” And with those words his career was officially over.

  The guards behind Brendle cut his uniform from his body. The tattered shreds of fabric that represented his once-faithful service lay at his feet. The sound of his medals clanging against the deck echoed in his ears as he stared down at the mess that was his past. He didn’t remember confessing to treason in the way Captain Elastra proclaimed it. There must be some mistake, Brendle thought. He wanted to speak out, but when he looked up the captain was no longer there. He saw only the dead stare of Ensign Ilium looking back at him. Below those eyes was the wicked curl of grinning lips.

  Rage began to burn inside Brendle’s chest where fear and anxiety once pressed against his heart. “What are you smiling at?” Brendle asked, bitterness etched in every word. He was no longer an officer in the Greshian Navy. His indignant attitude meant nothing now. Finally able to speak freely, he wanted to berate the man before him, knowing that the records had to have been altered and the only person with that kind of authority was the man gleaming at him as if it was the best day in his life.

  “I’m just surprised to hear a dead man speak.”

  “I’m not dead yet,” Brendle said sardonically.

  Ensign Ilium only shrugged at first, not breaking eye contact. “Yet being the operative word,” he replied. “Chief Harling,” he said, looking behind Brendle to the guard poised to strike. Brendle didn’t see it coming, but his body registered the impact of something solid striking the back of his head, knocking him out like a light.

  9

  Anki

  If the bucket transport was the most body-wrenching ride Anki had ever experienced then walking the passageways of the Seratora was the most glamorous. Built for war, the Seratora didn’t pull any punches with fire power. But true to the society that made her, she boasted a luxurious decor clearly designed to send its inhabitants to heaven in a godly fashion. The honor bestowed upon the Luthian Navy came at the expense of its citizens. They made no attempt to disguise that truth. It made Anki wonder if it was worth it to send the elder’s children to die on such a magnificent machine which would be forever lost to those who had to live with the sacrifices. She knew what her father would say. He believed in God and looking at this vessel he would say that the loss of this ship and its crew would be a sacrifice to God for protection. She wished she could tell him that if there was a God then he shouldn’t need sacrifices to do the right thing. She didn’t understand how anyone could love a God who was the equivalent of a parent diseased enough to think abusing their children was a pronouncement of love. She couldn’t reconcile herself to believe that a God like that could even exist. Sadly, if her father knew how she felt then it would break his heart. Regardless, it seemed that being a child came with its own hardships to face.

  The wardroom was by far the most enchanting space on the ship. It was expansive, adorned with metallic luster and shining lights. It looked like the kind of dining area a world leader would use, yet it was designed for a Navy, men and women sent to do the bidding of those in power. Subjugation looked nice when coupled with the sheen of polished wood and silvery metal. Seeing it all made Anki feel at least a little important. It was a sentiment she wasn’t used to; marines were expected to make use of poor things, to not require the best tools to do their job. So long as they had hands and feet then they were strategically placed weapons with the purpose of violent delivery to the enemy. Her purpose was to fight and die; an expendable breath to preserve life on her world. Historically, Luthia took pride in treating its warriors as people of honor, but all it did was bring the realization that she was in her final moments before she would be called upon to defend her home, to lay down her life. It was the calling she thought she wanted to answer, but now it was a lingering question.

  The Seratora was her home away from home, a mansion drifting away from the world she had known, away from the comforting pull of gravity. She never realized how comfortable being on a world was until her feet were planted on the drifting decks of a warship as it careened into the expansive darkness. It was made to be comfortable, but it wasn’t, not to her at least. The bulkheads were a luster of white, almost pearl-like. Anki could see her reflection in the sheen. Her brown skin and long flowing hair pulled behind her ears were a stark contrast against the reflective surface. Her uniform, the dark gray of a Luthian Marine, was in contrast to the blue worn by the Navy sailors. She was something else on the ship, apart from it while also being a part of it. She was a grain of sand on a beach of strangers. It was overwhelming. She struggled to come to terms with her place onboard. Did it really matter how temporary or permanent the accommodations were? The Seratora was her ride into combat. It didn’t matter if she belonged, just as long as she was there to do her job.

  Anki pulled a tray down from the pile and made her way through the chow line. There was a banquet of food, some preparations of dishes she had never seen before. She was nervous being on a ship for the first time, so she chose something familiar. There’s no need to stress out my stomach on foreign foods, she thought. Food was sustenance, what the ship was offering was liken to what people ate to pass the time. Her body was a machine, fine tuned for fighting, so she ignored the sugary stuff and opted for lean proteins and vegetables. She took her food to the first empty table she could find. All around her were naval officers, their blue uniforms looking crisp in a way that said they hardly had jobs requiring much labor. Life on a ship wasn’t much like she thought it would be.

  Anki took only a few bites of food before someone interrupted her train of thought.

  “Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?”

  Anki looked up to see a woman in Luthian Navy blue standing with her own tray, balancing a buffet of food. “No, the seats aren’t taken,” she replied remembering to smile despite her nervousness.

  The woman smiled in return and sat across from her. Anki took note of the close-cropped hair around her ears while a tuft of longer hair was brushed to the side. It looked easy to manage and she figured it was styled to save time. Most female marines kept long hair that could be tied up quickly while female sailors kept their hair short. It was one of the distinguishing things between branches that everyone seemed to recognize while never really discussing it. The short-haired look still suggested femininity, and it complimented her paler brown skin and soft contours. The woman was very attractive, almost especially b
ecause of the fit of the uniform, which was hard to accomplish. It made Anki wonder why she wasn’t sitting with the myriad of other naval officers in the wardroom. She definitely looked like the kind of woman who would have a magnetic attraction from the guys in the room.

  Anki watched as the woman took a few bites of her own food. There was a kind of tension that suggested someone needed to break the ice between them. Anki felt a little relieved when the woman spoke first. “I’ve never met a female marine before,” she said. It was a matter-of-fact statement that didn’t really mean much of anything, just a casual observance. It was polite and that was all that mattered at the moment. Anki didn’t see much of a reason to turn down conversation when she didn’t know anyone onboard. The least she could do is make an attempt to form some friendships, or at least an acquaintance or two.

  “I don’t imagine so, most women opt for Navy,” Anki said. She didn’t intend to make a generalized statement or to be offensive. The other woman didn’t seem fazed by it, though. “I was pretty active in sports and wanted to do something challenging, so I enlisted in the Marines,” she finished.

  “I’m Wella by the way,” she smiled. “I think I forgot to introduce myself.” She extended her closed fist towards Anki while stifling a laugh.

  Anki reached out her open hand and grasped Wella’s fist in greeting. “I’m sorry. My name is Anki, pleased to meet you.”

  They both laughed off the awkwardness of the situation and continued to eat.

  “How long have you been on the Seratora?” Anki asked.

  Wella set down her fork and took a sip of Tratchea tea. “I’ve only been on the Sera for half a year, but this is my second boat. The Flunech went to Port Hinnah for an extended repair cycle and I had no intention of enduring that mess.” She laughed, but Anki didn’t really know what the joke was.