by Drew Avera
“Crew of the King Slayer,” he began, pausing for a breath as he thought about the message he wanted to convey. He could preach about seeking revenge, or he could honor those who passed away, reflecting on their sacrifice. He chose to do both.
“We lost some of our shipmates, our friends, our mentors. An enemy overcame us in a moment when we were ill-equipped to fight back in a meaningful way. Those we lost were brothers in our family. They were leaders in a war about more than power, but also our future. Their’s was a sacrifice we all raised our hands to accept, but never expect to happen to us.
“Death came for them, though, and their sacrifice saw us through to a new tomorrow, a wiser tomorrow. This memorial is to let the fallen know their sacrifice will not be in vain. This memorial is to mark the day we refocus our efforts on bringing this sector of the galaxy under Greshian control.
“Captain Crexon was your commanding officer for two years. During that time, the King Slayer was responsible for the annihilation of sixty-one threats and saw the occupancy and conversion of seventeen planets. His leadership impacted more than just this crew, but the Greshian Empire as a whole. His loss, and the loss of others in our crew, is a reflection of the hazards of our job, of our responsibility to the Empire.
“They gave of themselves, and so shall we, if we are ever called upon in service to our worthy Empire. May the gods accept them and welcome them to watch over us as stars.”
Ilium stopped talking and looked over the reverent faces of his crew. He saw the resolve to fight when the time came to call upon them. But in the meantime, they were to put to rest the fallen.
“Lieutenant Teirs, would you please launch the fallen members of our crew into the dark?”
“Yes, sir,” Teirs replied, cycling the hangar bay doors open, but careful not to vent the atmosphere. The doors opened to the sound of an alarm and flashing red lights. Teirs silenced the alarm, but the lights continued to flash. One by one, the caskets of the fallen were conveyed towards the open doors, each one lifting as it departed the atmospheric boundary, cascading into the darkness of space as the King Slayer silently crept at a fraction of the speed of light.
The crew watched until the final casket jettisoned from the vessel. It was the final resting place for Captain Crexon, his casket adorned with the regalia of the Greshian Empire. For millions of years he would float in vacuum, sealed as a time capsule for a war that would eventually be over for thousands of generations.
Ilium wiped a tear from his eye as he watched his mentor drift quickly away from the ship after crossing the threshold. He felt hollow inside, as if someone carved his heart from his chest and devoured it. But now was not the time for shedding tears.
“Thank you for joining with me for this memorial. You are dismissed.
“Fall out,” the senior enlisted man said, and Ilium watched the ranks turn uniformly and slowly disappear into the adjoining passageways.
“Lieutenants Stavis and Teirs, can I have a moment?”
Both officers stepped next to him. “Yes, sir?” Teirs replied.
“Have we received word from Headquarters as to what the vessel was that attacked us?”
“Negative, sir. We are still awaiting a response. Though, the security officer suggested the vessel may not have been a military vessel,” Teirs responded.
“If not a military vessel, then how could it have attacked with such precision and devastating effect?”
“He wasn’t implying that it did not have military weapons, but that it was not the primary mission. He believes the vessel was a research facility,” Stavis answered, drawing Ilium’s attention to her.
“Like a scientific research facility?” Ilium asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Ilium took a deep breath and thought for a moment. “If the ship is for science, yet it packs that kind of payload, then what are these people trying to hide?”
“That’s a good question, sir, and one we are trying to answer now,” Teirs said.
Ilium nodded. “Thank you for the briefing. I need to touch base with Headquarters about the inbound Executive Officer. He should rendezvous with us within the next three days. I want to be ready for his arrival.”
“Do you have anything in mind?” Stavis asked.
“I want to have a plan of attack against this enemy, so his first order of business will be helping lead the crew to revenge,” he answered, and the thought of retaliation caused his lips to curl into a smile.
13
Brendle
He watched her sleep, though he knew it was a medically induced coma that made her lay quiet with tubes monitoring her brain activity. “Sleep” made it sound more peaceful than reality, and that was one thing he craved most for her and him in that moment.
“How could this happen? Radiation exposure?” Deis asked.
“That is my assumption,” Pilot answered, reviewing the data on the medical cart and researching possible treatments within a fraction of a second. “The tumor is centralized in a part of her brain where most activity is minimized. For it to grow there without previous symptoms is not far-fetched. The real question is where did the radiation exposure take place to cause such rapid growth. Anki’s condition, though a new diagnosis, seems to metabolize quickly.”
“She spent some years in her youth doing salvage with her uncle. It’s possible they did not have sufficient equipment to block high levels of radiation,” Brendle replied, hopeful it was a means to a solution.
“I’m afraid the exposure she would have received that long ago would have caused more noticeable damage earlier.”
“What about when she was sucked out of the airlock unprotected?” Malikea asked. “It was our first time meeting one another, but that was a rather recent incident.”
“That could be,” Pilot said. “Brendle, do you mind taking a seat on the other medical cart and allow me to scan you? You were exposed for roughly the same period of time. Perhaps I can catch anything out of the ordinary if this is the cause.”
Brendle felt nervous to think whatever was happening to Anki could also happen to him. “I suppose, but shouldn’t you focus most of your attention on her?”
“She’s not going anywhere, Captain. Besides, my processing power can enable me to perform high-risk medical procedures on each of you simultaneously while also catching up on the most popular sitcoms on your world to brief you upon waking up.” Brendle could tell Pilot was joking, but the robotic voice lacked inflection and it sounded more like boasting. Ever since Anki returned from the CERCO ship, she asked Pilot to not use her father’s voice. It was sad for everyone in the crew because it felt like losing a friend, despite the only difference was the sound of the speaker’s voice.
“Thank you for the assurance,” Brendle said as he cleared off the medical cart and placed the items on the counter mounted on the bulkhead.
“It is my experience that a positive bedside manner is the first step in successful healing,” Pilot replied.
“Yeah? Did you pick that bit of knowledge up from catching up on my favorite sitcoms on Greshia?” Brendle asked sarcastically. Deis and Malikea chortled softly while he took a seat and allowed Deis to strap the sensors onto him as he stared over to Anki, peacefully “sleeping.”
“Actually, Captain, I gained that knowledge by listening to lectures at a popular medical school that no longer exists on the planet Iara.”
“What happened to it?” Malikea asked.
“Greshian warships destroyed it.”
Brendle looked at Deis and Malikea, noticing the shock on their faces he also felt. “Can we continue with the procedure and not remind me what kind of hellish world I come from?” Brendle replied, leaning back in his seat.
“Of course, Captain. Don’t worry, Iara was destroyed before you joined the Greshian Navy. Those lives need not be on your conscious.”
Brendle sighed, wondering whether Pilot was trying to be funny or really did lack good judgement on what was appropriate to be said to someon
e without making them feel uncomfortable. “I appreciate that, Pilot. I can only deal with the trillion or so deaths that took place during my service right now.” He meant his statement to be lighthearted, but it fell flat and he regretted saying anything at all. Only assholes make jokes regarding the loss of so many lives, and doing so was completely out of his character. Still, the stigma following him due to his heritage was something he knew painted the things he said when people from other worlds listened to him. And each time he thought he had grown past it with the crew, he was reminded in instances like this. “I’m sorry, guys. I’m just nervous and can’t control my tongue.”
“We understand you didn’t mean it,” Malikea said, and Brendle noticed Deis looking at his husband as if he did not appreciate being spoken for. It’s always one step forward and two steps back when my past comes back to haunt me, Brendle thought.
“I think what Malikea is trying to say is that we know you have a hard time controlling what you say in moments like this, but if you jokingly dismiss the lives of those lost because of your people, then I will punch you in the mouth,” Deis said without a hint of sarcasm. He stared at Brendle, and he knew it was a warning. “I just want you to be clear on this since we are family.”
“Understood. Again, I’m sorry, I’ll be more vigilant about guarding my tongue in the future,” Brendle replied.
Deis nodded and his expression lightened. “He’s ready, Pilot.”
“Very well, beginning initial scans.” Brendle sat still, nervously waiting for Pilot to conclude the scan, and surprised that the preparation took longer than the procedure. “Scan complete.” The data collected appeared on a monitor contrasting the difference between Anki’s and Brendle’s brain scan. A full body scan appeared in a smaller portion of the screen, but both were clear of cancers.
“So, what’s the verdict?” Brendle asked, noticing some of the yellow pigmentation of the screen where Anki’s tumor was centralized also appeared on his.
“Your scan is clean of cancers.”
“What about the yellow portion? On Anki you said that was where the tumor was located.”
“Yes, but the yellow is not the tumor, the white mass in the center of that yellow section is the cancer. Your scan shows no such anomaly,” Pilot replied.
“Oh.” It was all he could think to say. He was grateful to not have brain cancer, but what did his relief say about Anki’s predicament?
“Now that we know their exposure did not result in the same medical condition, where do we go from here?” Deis asked, concern in his voice.
“I have plotted a course to Pila. We will keep Anki in the medically induced coma and hope the cancer does not metastasize more by time we get there in five days.”
“Five days?” Brendle asked, not wanting to helplessly endure Anki’s condition for a moment more. He wanted someone treating her immediately.
“It’s the best we can do. Taking a gate could produce more radiation exposure, further worsening her condition.”
“What can we do for her in the meantime?” Malikea asked.
“If you are religious, I would suggest praying for her. The initial prognosis does not look good.”
14
Hespha
Hespha found sleep difficult. After her and Ka’Hor’al’s meeting with Edon, the only thing she wanted to do was go somewhere else and leave her life behind, but she knew it was a childish notion. Running away never solves anything. The only choice I have is to fight back. She rolled over in her bed and turned on the light, noticing the double zeroes on the clock. Every time I look at the clock it is at the top of the hour. Am I going crazy or just having an odd streak of coincidence? She hoped it was the latter, but feared it was the former. Fear was the only constant since T’anoi’s death, and she only had herself to blame.
Hespha crawled out of bed and walked slowly towards the bathroom, careful not to fall over because of the alcohol she tried using to get to sleep. All it did was make her clumsy. She grabbed the wall and steadied herself as she stood in front of the mirror, contemplating the mess her life was in. She never thought she would be wrapped in a scandalous situation and caught in the middle of a power struggle where murder came as easily to the people involved as breathing.
“Where did it all go wrong? I was supposed to have a happy life.”
You got greedy and sought power for yourself, a voice in the back of her mind said indignantly. She shook the thought out of her mind and turned on the water to rinse her face. The coolness of it was refreshing, the chill making her eyes feel heavier, sleepier. You did this to yourself.
“Shut up,” she said, looking up and seeing her reflection staring back at her, streaks of water looking like tears, or pity. She knew it was guilt gnawing at her, but the greater good was the only justification she could glean from the situation to satisfy her self-judgement. Tonight, it was insatiable.
Opening the mirror, she saw the pill bottles once belonging to T’anoi, yet another reminder of what she lost. Even after a few years of separation, she never found the will to toss them out. She couldn’t think of a reason to hold onto them, but disposing of them felt wrong somehow. Even now, with T’anoi dead, she could not bring herself to trash them. Instead, she stared at them as if answers were hidden inside a bottle for T’anoi’s chronic heartburn. It was a silly notion, but it was how her mind dealt with things she struggled to cope with.
But a thought came to mind as she gazed at the clear bottle, the two-part capsules staring back at her. One side red, the other white, both serving the same purpose, to contain chemicals to aid an ailment. What if the files in his office were not the only ones there?
Hespha turned abruptly and immediately felt the effects of the alcohol on her balance. She steadied herself for a moment and moved back towards the bed, collapsing on it as she pulled out a tablet to take notes. She quickly scribbled “find a file that is not a file” in the worst handwriting she had read, but legible nonetheless. Dropping the note back onto her nightstand, she smiled. I just hope I remember what this note means in the morning, she thought.
Hespha fell back onto her bed and spread her arms out, looking up at the ceiling. The cracks and deformations were cosmetic, but they spoke to her in a way. The fracturing of the paint, though not by design, mirrored the cracks in her fractured heart. She was caught between two worlds, two people. If she had it all to do over again, she wished she could change the last several years. It was when she had allowed herself to become dissatisfied with her station in life that she made the changes that damaged everything. Leaving T’anoi. A brief, but somehow lingering fling with Ka’Hor’al. A board blackmailing her in order to control the company that was rightfully hers. The secret worth containing that gave the board the ammunition to control her so easily. Everything felt stacked against her and thinking about it made her sick.
None of it was worth it, yet she continued the charade because she knew nothing else. She hated herself for it, but she hated the board as well. She just hoped one day, when the dust settled, she could look back at this time in her life and be content with where it brought her.
But she knew the truth.
Nothing was ever going to get better, and contentment came only to those who didn’t carry a guilty conscience. She was not one of those people, and it was too late to do anything about that. She could only move forward until her life was over.
Until then, the only thing she could hope for was to find the weapon and take back control of her company. Maybe that will rebalance the dynamic between me and the board, she thought. Perhaps when the weapon is in my control, they will see that they cannot control me. I will hold all the power.
And I will make them all pay.
15
Anki
The higher she climbed, the further the cliff rose from the surface. Her hands ached, sharp pain contorting her fingers as she hauled herself upward, each cramp threatening to make her lose her grip on the now jagged rocks. How the terrain kept changin
g was beyond her, but her mission was to save Carista, and she would do it come hell or high water.
Don’t look down, she reminded herself. Always look up. Her Marine training kicked in, stuffing down her fear in order to execute the mission.
Another shaky hand rose for a handhold, the rock greeting her with teeth cutting into her flesh. Anki pulled away, examining the wound, but her flesh was untouched. “What kind of world is this?” The answer came with a clap of distant thunder and a stiff breeze beating down on her from above. It was a world set on defeating her, holding her back.
She sucked in another gulp of air and continued her ascent, shoving aside the pain, the doubt, the fear. Nothing existed except the next handhold followed by another foothold. Inch by inch she scaled higher, resisting the urge to look down where death lay below. Her heart pounded, and her hands throbbed in pain. The longer it lasted, the more she felt fear weighing her down like an anchor in a sea of despair.
For the first time in as long as she could remember, Anki Paro wanted to give up, to quit, to give in to the voice in her head telling her she would not make it. She contemplated letting go, letting her body fall backwards and having gravity do its deed. She closed her eyes and envisioned the fall, the brisk wind passing her by, cooling her skin until the world grew black. The tension in her hands eased as the muscles relaxed. The seemingly instant relief in such a small act beckoned her.
Why keep fighting when the target moves further away? Why keep living when all you know is pain? Why exist when your people are dead?
Why not fall?
“Anki?”
A voice called upon her, but it came from everywhere. She looked around her, looking for the source, but found none. That’s because no one is here and I’m alone. Devastatingly alone.
It was with that conclusion that the decision appeared to be made for her and she leaned back, releasing her grip on the jagged cliff, and watched the sky fall away. The light in the sky above grew brighter the faster she approached the ground below. Anki held her breath and waited for the end to finally come.
