by Drew Avera
“Everything looks normal from my initial scans, but the medical cart will provide more information about her neurologically. I am detecting a decrease in heartrate and her core body temperature is four degrees below normal for a Luthian. That is peculiar considering the perspiration on her forehead and the back of her neck,” Pilot replied.
“What could cause that?” Malikea asked. “A tumor?”
Deis frowned. “I’m not sure. For Lechuns, I would say a tumor or traumatic brain injury. But I don’t know her medical history or the biological makeup of a Luthian comparatively. I can only assume they are similar to us based on anatomy, but that is pure speculation.”
“Pilot, do you have any ideas?” Brendle asked.
“Negative, Captain. As Deis suggested, my best hypothesis would be a tumor or neurological disorder barring any signs of trauma.”
Fuck, Brendle thought as he tightened his fists. “Pilot, please do as much research as you can to find a solution to any possible results. If we have a means to help her, then we’re doing it. In the meantime, set a course to the nearest planet with appropriate medical facilities.”
“Roger that, Captain.”
“Is there anything you want me to do?” Malikea asked, tears in his eyes as he looked at Anki. He held Deis’ hand in his, his shoulders slumped.
“Yes, please don’t leave. I don’t think I can handle this alone.”
“We would never leave, brother,” Deis said solemnly. “Family is everything to us.”
10
Hespha
“We’ve gone over this, Hespha. Without access to T’anoi’s assets, we cannot turn the company over to you. This leaves us in limbo with a rather large cloud over our heads,” Edon said as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared at her with a smug look. His condescending attitude wasn’t the only reason Hespha wanted to put a knife into his heart.
“You told me that if we removed him, then the transition would be simple,” she replied bitterly. She glanced out the window at the scientists bustling through the building, on their way to work on the next project on CERCO’s agenda. Wars weren’t fought without weapons, and money wasn’t made without selling them to the highest bidder. Apart from the fact the actual face of the company was now dead, it was business as usual and it made her queasy. It’s like they don’t even remember him, she thought.
He shrugged. “That was before you two came to me with zero evidence of the secret project he was part of and claiming there was more we might not know. The responsible thing is to have the board run the company until we know there is no chance of discoverability of what he was really doing. The last thing we need is Greshia catching wind of us. Besides, how lenient do I need to be, considering you could not retrieve a body of the girl after what happened to the Yeopa? The retrieval should have been completed within days before T’anoi’s passing.”
The nonchalant way he mentioned T’anoi’s death made her skin crawl. Her ambition had blinded her to the conspiracy leading to his eventual murder, and the realization nauseated her. If they wanted him out of the way, then I should have known what kind of people I was dealing with.
“We assumed it would be simple to find the location, but we found nothing in his secured files, electronic or otherwise. We combed through everything, some multiple times, and we are left with two options: either it never existed, or he closed the doors on the project after developing Carista. T’anoi was not one to spin his wheels on something which took time away from his ultimate goals.” Ka’Hor’al interjected, breaking Hespha from her thoughts. He was different since his brother’s death, more assertive, but also colder. It reminded Hespha of the disguise she also wore. Hers was a brutally cold persona to mask the feeling of shame and regret. It’s easier to pretend you feel nothing than to face your emotions. Especially when guilt follows you.
Edon rubbed at his temples with both hands. “The board does not operate on speculation, Ka’Hor’al. You of all people should understand this. Otherwise, your brother would have been silenced years ago.”
The man’s last statement hit Hespha where it hurt. “Enough,” she spat, her voice dismissive. “We turned over every piece of information we have. Instead of focusing on the unknown, let’s move forward with what we know. Carista is missing, we have no proof others like her exist, and we are planning an assault on the largest military threat in our galaxy. Where do we go from here?”
The sarcasm in her voice did not appear lost on Ka’Hor’al or Edon, but she didn’t care. Now was not the time to fuck around with politics. She glared at Edon, choking down her nervousness—a mixture of frustration and anxiety—as her heart raced. She wanted to run out of the room and never return, but she was in too deep for that. She had seen on more than one occasion what those actions brought on. T’anoi was only the latest notch on the corrupted board’s belt, albeit the most significant to her.
Edon smiled nervously. “The board has not decided yet, but I assure you we are working on it.”
Bullshit.
Hespha clenched her jaw and stared him down with irreverence. “So, you get together to discuss what needs to be done to secure our survival, but you leave the meeting accomplishing nothing? That’s not the way an efficient corporation works, yet you have the goddamned audacity to sit here with a smug expression painted on your face and tell us we have not met some unseen mark which allows you to withhold the company from us? Is this the situation? Because I feel that’s the circle you’re jerking us around in, Edon.”
“I−” Edon began.
“Furthermore, you haven’t shared a fucking piece of evidence to support your claims T’anoi worked on a secret project. The video presented to our assistant after the funeral could easily have been doctored. So, this leads me to believe you and your board are conspiring to seize the company using loopholes in our contracts.” She didn’t mean to go so far over the edge, but once she started, there was no going back. Based on Ka’Hor’al’s heavy breathing, she thought she might have crossed the line, but when she looked over to him she saw anger and not fear. Maybe I’m onto something.
Edon’s expression changed from one of power to meekness. “That’s not…”
“That’s not what, Edon?” Hespha asked, her voice raised in anger. She felt the urge to jump across the table and claw his eyes from his face and shove them down his throat.
“We’ve been forthcoming with our evidence. The only things we don’t share openly are those not having to do with CERCO’s current mission which have not been declassified.” It was the blanket answer given to the media. The fact he spouted it off with two members high on the food chain suggested he was in fact hiding something. If not him, then someone on the board did not want them to know it. What “it” was, Hespha did not know, but she was certain it would shift the power balance of the company if she could find out.
“Really?” Ka’Hor’al interjected, obviously feeding off Hespha’s rage for the courage to speak up. “Where is the high-resolution footage? Perhaps we could obtain answers if we could get a good look at the facilities.”
Edon stared, his jaw slack and his eyes wide. “This meeting is over. The board expects you to comply with their demands or you will forfeit your share of the company. That is all I am privileged enough to say at this time.” The words fell from his lips as if he read them from a script. He stood to leave, not making eye contact with Hespha or Ka’Hor’al as he gathered his things.
“That’s it? We ask a few questions and suddenly you don’t have the time for us?” Hespha asked. She stood from her seat, prompting Ka’Hor’al to do likewise. Edon looked startled. “You said we had an hour to discuss the future of the company and our place in it. Your leaving things unsettled does not sit well with me. Nor does your threat we will forfeit our share. That will happen over my cold, dead body,” Hespha warned. She hated the fact she immediately felt self-conscious after her last comment. These are the people who kill for what they want, and I b
asically invited them to target me.
Edon glanced in her direction and shook his head. “Do as the board asks. If you want the promises made to you to be kept, then this is the only way it will happen. I cannot divulge more than that, but know I am serious,” he replied, before turning to leave the room.
Left alone, Ka’Hor’al asked, “What the hell was that?”
Hespha watched Edon leave through the dark windows looking out into the main offices. “It was a threat and proof the board is lying to us. The loophole they’re using is our noncompliance of their demands. If we can’t pull off our end of the deal, then we breached the contract and they can drop us.”
“How do you know that’s their angle?”
“Because that’s what I would do if I wanted to remove the person next in line to take over. That, or kill them.”
“Neither will happen,” Ka’Hor’al said as he placed his arm around her. She wanted to shake it off but didn’t have the energy to start another fight.
“All I have to say on the matter is we need to find something to buy us some time. We might not be able to find this facility, but if we can find a record to support its existence, then maybe the board will relent and give us control.”
“And if we can’t find anything?”
Hespha stepped out from under his arm and grabbed her things from the far end of the table. “I’m not sure that’s an option.”
11
Anki
The wind subsided and Anki found herself alone. All around her, the terrain looked like a wasteland, landscape causing her to think about Luthia. She could not tell what long-ago event caused such desolation, but the evidence of once intelligent life rose on the distant horizon in the direction Anki last saw Carista. They were as extinct as her own people, and the bitter reminder pained her as visions of her father filled her mind. She shook her head, forcing the memories away with vigor. The longer she pushed thoughts of home from her mind, the harder the memories tore at her, ravishing her thoughts and filling her with guilt. Survivors remorse was the most honest emotion she had recently.
“Carista!” She called as loud as she could, trying to focus her attention on something she could control, or hoped she could. The strange, deathlike silence on the world made her feel abandoned as her voice dissipated the moment it left her lips. She tried again, forcing herself to scream, but she could hear only the first murmur of what she said before it disappeared. What is happening here? Where am I?
Fear clawed its way into her mind and instinct made her claw for the weapon always strapped to her leg, but it was gone, or was never there to begin with. She could not remember.
Anxiety overtook her, causing her heart to beat rapidly, and she feared another crippling seizure. Anki held her breath, hoping to fight it off, but this time she felt different. The wave of anxiety did not strike at her with the same magnitude that thrust her to the ground and shook her uncontrollably. She realized why when she noticed a shimmer above her. It gave her the feeling she was inside a bubble. Without thinking, she stretched her hand out for it. Static clung to her, making the hairs on her arm rise, tickling her as it coursed over her body like millions of invisible insects wrapping around her.
“What the hell?”
Anki extended her other hand and felt the electric cocoon around her, vibrating as if it was alive. She held onto it for a moment, feeling the charge and wondering if she was imprisoned in it. She took a step forward, expecting to be trapped, but the bubble shifted with her, easing her thoughts.
So Strange.
Movement ahead caught her attention. Cresting the hill was woven fabric, the same color as Carista’s robes, flapping in the wind. A form stood, partially obscured by the hill and the waving cloth. It could be only one person.
“Carista!” Only the first syllable fell from her lips before dissolving into nothing. As she looked up, the figure stepped out of sight, taking the whipping fabric with them as they disappeared over the cresting terrain.
Anki sucked in a deep breath and steadied her nerves. I have only one choice, she thought. I must find her.
She took another step forward, followed by another and another before she met the base of the rocky hill. It was steeper than she first thought, but Anki persisted. She grasped towards a protruding stone and gripped it, the bubble cushioning between her skin and the surface of the rock in a way she did not think possible.
Using the handhold, Anki pulled herself upwards, finding her footing as she continued to scale the increasingly daunting summit. What once appeared as a hill was now a cliff. She knew she should be afraid. If the terrain could shift so easily, then she was in danger, but her thoughts were on one purpose: to do what she failed to do before.
Save Carista. And if it means dying in the attempt, then so be it.
12
Ilium
The mood on the King Slayer was different after the attack. For the first time in many years, the Greshian Navy was overpowered by a threat. To add insult to injury, that threat was unknown. The new captain could feel in the very air around him how it all affected the crew He bore it as his responsibility to right the crew, to bring them back from the brink of defeat to focus on the annihilation of their offenders. It sounded good in his mind, but how he was going to accomplish it remained to be seen. First, he had another priority.
“I’m happy to see you on your feet again, Captain Gyl,” Stavis said to Ilium, stirring him from his thoughts as he sat in the captain’s chair. The idea of taking the helm of the ship and her crew overwhelmed him, but as a point to honor the fallen man he held so much respect for, he accepted it. That small act contrasted his prior self in a way he immediately noticed. It was because of Captain Crexon that Ilium righted his own path. He owed the old captain much more than merely doing right by the crew.
This is not how I saw myself taking command of a ship of this capacity, he thought. Sometimes he said it out loud when alone in his stateroom. More often, he wondered what others thought of his being granted the position. It appeared, at least for now, that the members on the bridge were comfortable with his leadership. He hoped it lasted because the battle was only just beginning.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. I’m happy to see your injury is fully healed,” Ilium replied. Her actions on the day of the attack awarded her a meritorious promotion and a large amount of respect from her peers. It made Ilium happy that Headquarters signed off on the spot promotion, and she was far from the only one deserving of such an honor. He just wished he could do more for the officer who saved his ass and that of the crew.
Stavis smiled, and the scar on her forehead appeared more prominently as her brow furrowed. “Thank you, sir. Are you ready for the ceremony?”
Ilium nodded. The memorial and burial for the fallen had been postponed until Ilium was cleared by Dr. Remes. It appeared traumatic brain injury made him too fragile to do his job, according to her. He was thankful to feel one-hundred percent again. Of course, the nightmares were something he kept to himself, more because he felt he deserved the reminder than out of embarrassment. “Yes, I think now is as good a time as any to say our final goodbye.” Death in the Greshian Navy while serving the empire was considered an honor. Pride befell those who would so willingly sacrifice themselves for their Emperor. But on this side of death, it felt odd to Ilium. It felt sad.
Stavis led the way from the bridge, leaving the Command Duty Officer and pilot behind in case of an emergency. It was not typical for a junior officer to hold the position of Executive Officer, but Ilium found that he relied on her for a substantial number of his administrative and executive decisions. Her intelligence was a model and a compass for him to follow, whether she realized it or not. So, he made the decision to offer her the position without approval from Headquarters. The word “temporary” was used in their returned correspondence, along with a set of orders for an inbound commander Ilium had never met. It was with profound disappointment that he gave her the news, but she still carried out he
r duties as if it did not bother her. He respected her more for that because it was not in his personality for him to perform in such a way.
The hangar of the King Slayer was filled with personnel for the ceremony. Each department mustered into their own rank and file, standing by for the somber affair. He looked down at them from the CO’s passageway, the windows looking down into the hangar providing a vantage point for him to see how many men and women he was responsible for. Only on a vessel of this size did the Greshian fleet support female sailors, and it stood in stark contrast to his time on the Telran.
Ilium descended the ladder well behind Stavis, noticing how confident she walked after the terror brought onto the ship. Dr. Remes briefed him on the situation after he woke and was aware enough to understand what was happening. Despite several senior officers on the King Slayer, Stavis rose to the top, and her intuitive leadership brought the crew together as they battled fires amidst mass casualties. How the senior staff buckled under the pressure and allowed a junior officer to take control was a kick in the teeth to regulations, but her actions undoubtedly saved the ship. She deserves her confidence, he thought as they entered the hangar.
“Attention on deck!” A senior enlisted man shouted, causing a hush to fall over the hangar bay as three thousand sailors quickly quieted.
Ilium continued to follow Stavis to the center of the hangar where a small stage was created with ordnance carts. He stepped up and stood at the platform, looking over the crowd of survivors. Many in the ranks were still healing from wounds following the brief but decisive victory the enemy claimed against them. But there was a resolve on the faces of the crowd. There was fire in their eyes and he felt it too.
