by Drew Avera
The Seratora was still listing to the port side which made walking through the ship a bit more interesting as it picked up thrust. An evasive maneuver, Anki thought, never mind the fact it was too late, with the enemy already on board. She made her way through the ship, hiding in the shadows provided by the emergency lighting. The dull glow made it easy to hide, but she was getting nervous about bumping into the enemy without seeing them. She held the gun in a tight grip, toying with the trigger was a nervous tap of her finger. Anki stayed low, hugging the bulkhead as she approached an intersection of passageways. She could hear voices, the distinct accent of Greshians, but they sounded far off, not as close as the dancing shadows along the overhead and bulkheads suggested. She peered out, careful not to reveal her location, and saw three Greshians blocking the passageway. There were bodies on the deck, blue uniforms of Luthian navy surrounded by a dark pool of what looked like blood.
Anki’s eyes narrowed in the dim light. There were only three men, easy to dispatch, but she felt weight holding her back causing her to withdraw. This isn’t how a Marine is trained, she thought, tightening her grip on the weapon and drawing it to a ready position. The next moment defined who she was and it happened in the blink of an eye. Anki rounded the corner, her body low until the men came into view. The sudden movement drew their attention, but that moment was all she needed. Inhale, exhale, fire, three times, three short bursts of kinetic energy lighting the space in electric blue light. The gravity of the dark played against the orbs of energy as they traveled the short distance between her weapon and where they struck the Greshians. She watched, eyes wide, as their bodies sprawled out, arms and legs flinging wide as they were driven back. The sizzling energy of the shots sent the men into the bulkhead and their bodies collapsed in a heap on the deck, mixing with the blood of her people. They deserved it, she thought as she wiped tears from her eyes. She had never killed anyone before and the weight of guilt was lighter than she had imagined it would be. She had faced a choice and took a leap of faith that she could do her part in saving the ship. As the sound of her heavy breathing faded, Anki heard another sound, that of footsteps running.
Without a second thought, Anki ran towards the next hatch, deeper into the Seratora but closer to the transport ship. The footsteps were behind her, but she knew they probably heard the tattering of her magnetic boots clanging against the deck as she ran. It didn’t matter, though, if they heard her or not. She was armed and she had already killed three of them. She almost welcomed the coming conflict, the anticipation fighting against the self-doubt that threatened to cripple her. Almost was the operative word.
Lightning flashed across the deck, nipping at her heels. The magnetic properties of the boots was waning and her control as she ran across the deck and bulkhead was losing its effectiveness. The burning of her shins caused her to lose speed, but the sounds of gunfire and the hissing of electrical emissions made her push harder. Anki rounded the next corner and stopped, fighting to breathe. She jutted out and returned fire, quickly disappearing behind the corner again as more shots rang out in her direction. The Greshians were using a different kind of weapon, the arc of electricity jutting out like tendrils biting at her. The burn of the arc reminded her of the pain she would feel if she didn’t stop them. A direct hit would be crippling and then they would kill her.
She poised herself to return fire, but somewhere an explosion erupted beneath them. The deck cracked and fire shot through the gaping holes, searing the atmosphere. All around her the ship was ablaze, cutting her off from the Greshian forces, but also preventing her from escaping. The only way out is through the flames, she thought. She turned and ran from the carnage, the smoke and heat making it hard for her to breathe. There was no stopping. She could only run harder as the cracks running along the deck began to expand. The ship was tearing itself apart. Is it a self destruct sequence, Anki asked herself. Did the Luthians give up? Where’s the fight?
Anger devoured her questions as she pushed herself harder. She was covered in darkness, blanketing her fear as her heart beat rapidly, pulsing blood through enlarged hyper-oxygenated veins. Panting, she found her way to the transports and was horrified to see the devastation awaiting her. She had found the area where the Greshians must have breached their way onto the Seratora. The transports were still there, aligned in long rows along the bulkheads, but the corridors of the bay were filled with dead bodies, mostly Luthian. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, and panic rose in her throat as a scream. She couldn’t hold it back even though it did nothing to help her situation. Just the horror of seeing so much death before her eyes needed a release and she found it through the expression of coarse vocal cords. The pain was stabbing, but it didn’t silence her. Only the lack of air muted her scream until she felt empty. She looked around and took it in. Why so many, she wondered. How could this happen? Her mind moved immediately to the fact that these people must have been trying to escape and were murdered for doing the only thing that made sense at the time: trying to survive. None of them seemed to be armed, she noticed. They were executed by a heartless enemy. This is my fate if I stay, she thought, urging herself to take the first step through the grotesque display and towards her transport.
Anki walked through the swarm of bodies, her brothers and sisters in uniform, Luthians who were the only ones standing between the Greshian Empire and the freedom her homeland wanted to preserve. She wondered if that dream had died with these sailors scattered across the deck. She desecrated their bodies by walking over them, upon them, in hopes of finding the transport assigned to her. Thrust began to fall away as the ship collapsed on itself. She ran now, the horrid crunch of flesh and bone as each heavy boot fell to the organic deck of the dead. It echoed in her mind with each footfall, each solitary step driving her to tears as she realized she was living a nightmare she didn’t know could exist. She knew death was a reality, but here and now it seemed so much harsher. This was more than murder, more than defeat. This is genocide, she thought as her throat burned from the bile rising in her throat. Nauseated, she made her way to the transport and scanned her com-unit for access. The airlock cycled and welcomed her longingly as she collapsed into the cockpit, away from horrors of the Seratora. Anki had nowhere to run, nowhere to flee to, but she had to escape. Her mind sought out some kind of distraction from what she was experiencing. She needed to find that happy place that made her numb to pain, but all she could think of was how many people had died around her without her even knowing it. Hundreds of Luthians she had never met had been killed by their enemy and she could do nothing to avenge them. Instead, she was running for her life. Her mind struggled to focus on something else, and kept flashing images of the people she had met, people like Wella. She was most likely dead now, Anki thought, the cold reality bringing her to realize she was in the transport, but she still wasn’t safe yet. She had to get out of the Seratora before it was destroyed.
Anki jumped forward into the cockpit, crawling over protruding surfaces trying to get situated. It was dark except for the dim light coming through the airlock. The fires were suffocating any breathable air as it spread out into the bay so she cycled the airlock closed as her fingers found their way to the control console where her helmet waited. I need breathable air if I’m going to get out of this, she thought. Anki flipped the switches into manual operation and started the drive, watching as the transport sprung to life and illuminated the dark confines of its small cockpit. Anki had little experience, even in simulations, with flying transports or any type of spacecraft. Yet that didn’t matter. The only thing on her mind was survival.
The drive came online, the dull hum of metal vibrating against other metal. Anki tried to shift the thrust to escape, but the transport was stuck, still strapped into the Seratora and she had no way of knowing how to release it from its prison. She increased thrust again, the drive whining under the strain, the pilot’s chair vibrating nauseatingly. Thoughts of the transport being ripped apart or the hull fractur
ing and suffocating her as all the air escaped crossed her mind. A lack of experience and the pressure of trying to survive were getting to her and she could feel every bad decision threatening to loom in her mind. She was questioning everything and second guessing herself. There were sounds echoing through the transport that made her think death was imminent, never mind the fact she had been shot at, almost burned, and the Seratora was being torn apart by the Greshian Empire.
Anki donned the helmet, feeling the cold gel envelope her face and neck, it would be comforting if it wasn’t so damned distracting, she thought as she reversed the thrust and tried to back out of the Seratora’s confinement. It was a moot point, the transport was stuck and she was screwed. She shifted the throttles back and forth hoping the rocking motion would tear it loose. Anki winced as sounds of ripping and tearing steel erupted around her. The monitor showed the Seratora cracking into pieces like glass. Her hand kept shifting the throttle, forward and backwards, the transport rocking in its cradle of death. And then it tore loose.
16
Brendle
Brendle had never seen a ship go nova before, but it was mesmerizingly beautiful in such a sickening way. The grotesqueness of the situation was heavy on his heart as he watched arms of violent radiation reach across the horizon. Part of the explosion encapsulated the hull of the Telran and for the briefest of moments he thought the destruction might have claimed his previous ship as well. There was no way to truly know, though, because the light seemed to scatter across the expanse and be held in place, moving ever-so-slightly outward before the rays collapsed in on themselves. After that he was effectively blinded by the light and left in the silent rage of an alien moon’s grip.
He stared, mouth agape, as the rain of fire and metal fell to the surface. He knew he should be afraid, but there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide that could save him from the onslaught if it chose to take him. So he stood and watched death let loose from its chain. The ground quaked as heavy steel structures dropped from the dark, propelled by the force of the explosion and welcomed by the gravitational pull of the moon. Brendle almost lost his balance when chunks of debris landed near him, but he still didn’t run. He was numb and devastated simultaneously. The sky burned in crimson regret as the unknown ship left its place in the dark for a rocky grave. Everywhere there was fire raining down, scorching the ground below and smoking with the nauseating smell of burnt chemicals. He knew there was radiation from the reactors, or from the explosion itself. There was too much energy to not be radioactive to some extent, another form of death presenting itself. Starvation or radiation poisoning, Brendle thought. But there was an option for salvation in the hell he was witnessing.
Brendle ran for the mass of burning metal.
He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but maybe he would know it when he found it. The bulk of the debris was scattered across the horizon in all directions, but he made his way through the field of falling dead for the largest structure. If he could salvage any of it, then maybe he could find a way off the moon. Maybe there will be a transport ship of moderate functionality, he hoped.
The ground opened to a steep crater he didn’t see coming because he was looking up towards the hazards falling towards him. Brendle tumbled, his body racked by rocks as inertia punished him, scraping his skin and bruising in its assault. He came to rest on his back, grit and grime covering his face. He was out of breath and hurting all over, but hope was over the ridge and down a steep embankment, where charred metal awaited him. He climbed to his feet and hobbled until the ache in his legs faded enough to run. Climbing the ridge was difficult, as dirt and rock shifted under the weight of his feet. He slid down and had to start over several times before he finally made his way to the top, cresting over the edge and collapsing as his hungry lungs gasped for air. The thin atmosphere made it difficult to catch his breath, but the only thing going through his mind was, I don’t want to die here, like a mantra, a battle cry.
He rose again, smoke filling his lungs from nearby destruction, and he sprinted. Everything, every danger, every fear fell away as he made his way to the rising structure burning in the distance like a candle. The flames lapped against the steel and reached out to the sky with fiery fingers longing to hold onto what it once was. Brendle collapsed before it, the flames burning the air around him. He panted and crawled his way to the burning hull, to the hope that lay in wait to be discovered. It was too hot to touch, so he removed his jacket and patted down the flames, snuffing it out with the only thing available to him. They obeyed; the first thing to go his way since the Telran left him behind. At least without the flames, the air was getting easier to breathe, Brendle thought as he sat down next to the charred remains. It towered over his seated body, an ominous black. Streaks still filled the sky, but the worst of it seemed to be over, for now at least.
He had to wait for the heat to dissipate before he could claw at the remains, but at least he had made it. Brendle looked up at the sky one last time before his body gave in to the exhaustion. He fell back, his body warm against the rocky surface, his lungs tired from the torment of smoke engulfing them as he ran. With the relative danger gone he allowed himself to rest, but not for long.
There was nothing organic in the whole heap of burning metal that he could find. That could be a good thing, Brendle thought as he dug through more of the wreckage in hopes of finding a way to communicate off the moon, he wasn’t exactly in the right headspace to find dead bodies at the moment anyway; he had enough death haunting him than to have to worry about seeing the ghostly remnants of previous life laid out against the cataclysm here before him. Of course, when was anyone ever really ready to find a dead body? There was one thing he knew for a fact; this moon was no place for him to be. It was a deathtrap and one that he was thrust upon for spite. He needed a way off this rock before he died. Of course, the raining debris might decapitate him before he found what he needed, but it was better not to think about things like that. If it happened, it happened; otherwise he had work to do.
The scalding burn of hot metal against his flesh caused Brendle to yelp in pain. He cut his hand as he pulled away and dark blood was beginning to pool in his palm before he had the chance to realize it was happening. “Dammit,” he hissed, removing the tucked-in portion of his shirt and tearing it with his good hand. It wasn’t the best bandage, but it was what he had for the time being. It wouldn’t serve him any justice to bleed out and die as the sky fell around him. Besides, if he’d have been smart, he would have worn gloves for this kind of work. If he’d have been smart then he wouldn’t have sent a message home that made him look like a traitor and got himself into this mess in the first place. It’s all about perspective, he thought, as he wrapped his hand tightly; the sting of the tender flesh coursing through his nervous system. He had to be smarter if he was going to survive. It’s the things you didn’t think about that had the highest potential for killing you.
Brendle looked up at the sky, the forefront of the horizon burning away atmosphere and fuel as whichever ship lost the fight was engulfed in raging flames. The battle hadn’t lasted for very long. He had seen the streams of ordnance being launched in both directions, lighting the sky like falling stars. The finality of the losing ship going nova meant there was a lot of death dealt in a single hand. A part of him wanted to say a silent prayer for those dead and dying above, but another part of him hoped it was the Telran. Better yet, he hoped it was Ilium burning alive as he sat in Brendle’s former console in Combat Control. What better way to administer justice than by the fires of your enemy’s own doing?
A glimmer to his left caught his attention. It was something falling. Perhaps another large section of debris, but this one looked a little too controlled to be scrap. Brendle jogged to the top of a rocky hill, away from the burning fumes and smoke, and tried to find the object again. His eyes narrowed, struggling to find it against the glow of the inferno above. It took a moment, but the falling object fell below the burning h
orizon. No, it was flying below the horizon. It’s a ship, albeit a small one, he thought. Pulling out his com-unit, he tasked himself with trying to synch up with the vessel, to use its communications system to call for help. But it was his luck that the ship was Luthian, the computer system inside of it revolting with as much fury as he imagined any of their soldiers would put up if hailed by a Greshian. Brendle didn’t have much choice, though. This might be his only way off the rock. He just hoped that trying wasn’t going to get him killed any quicker than the gods had intended. He also hoped he could change his luck and rely on some skills he hadn’t had much use for since joining the Greshian Navy.
One of the joys of a childhood with a mostly absent father was getting to grow up with bad influences. His mother hated his friends, but spending a lot of his time on the streets, getting in and out of trouble, had taught him a few things that life in the Greshian Navy had not. That skill set of hacking into foreign networks became a game changer when he was sixteen. Brendle remembered the thrill of hacking into a Torian’s com-unit and being able to access personal information. It was all innocent fun, at the time, and he did it purely for the chance to eat a free meal. It was the risk of getting caught that made him do it again and again, almost as if the risk of getting caught was a myth. It seemed that way, at least until he got caught. The Torian man in question was an ambassador from Torachea. Politics―not being something Brendle spent a lot of time contemplating― had brought this man to seek refuge from his own government because he had been the one to commit his people under Greshian rule. The citizens of Torachea had revolted, but like most one-sided battles, they were crushed by the Greshian Empire. The fact the world was left alive showed the mercy that Greshia had bestowed upon them. That mercy was why the man didn’t make a big deal out of Brendle stealing from him, because charging a Greshian with theft would have been a slap in the face to what the Empire had done for that man and his people.
