by Drew Avera
Pedero snatched the lists from his hand and sighed as she rolled her eyes. “I suppose a digital version of this list was too much to ask?”
“We are low on supplies,” Brendle said. “My crew makes the best of what we have. We don’t have royal blood to provide for us.”
“I…” Pedero started. She looked down at the strips of stock board stiff in her hands, the smeared ink used to write the lists rubbing off on her hands. She shoved them into a pocket before looking back at Brendle. “I don’t mean to be rude, but life on this world is not like it was on Greshia. Princess Herma is losing favor by the hour as the protests rage. We need protection that I am not sure will come by her father. I take the possibility of dying seriously.”
Her words caused a lump to form in Brendle’s throat, but he choked it down. “And I take the possibility of taking a life seriously. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have to prepare our ship for the possibility of a counter attack I did not agree to.”
Pedero’s softened look hardened once again as her stoic gaze bore into Brendle. “I’ll contact you for delivery of the goods,” she said, turning to leave without looking back.
“What a piece of work,” Brendle said, shoving his hands in his pockets. When he turned to look at Deis and Malikea, they avoided eye contact. “What’s wrong?”
Malikea looked up first. “I think you know. We will not fire on civilians,” he said.
“No one is asking you to,” Brendle replied.
“No? What do you think she was asking, Brendle?” Deis snapped. “It sure was not for a peace offering to be extended to the rebel forces on this world.”
Brendle swallowed. “If the time comes, I will not fire on these people.”
“When the time comes, it will already be too late,” Deis replied, stalking away with Malikea following him.
Alone in the cargo bay, with the warm Pilatian air billowing in through the ramp, Brendle stood and contemplated his position. From his viewpoint, everything was falling apart. What happened to the crew who came together to help Carista? Once the girl was gone, it seemed to him the life of the crew went with her.
19
Ilium
Standing at the airlock, Ilium assisted Stavis as she pulled the EVA suit over her body. It was not designed to fit over the normal working uniform, so articles of clothing lay strewn out on the deck, leaving her mostly in undergarments except where the EVA suit molded tightly around her body. Of course, it was hard to see with nothing more than battery powered lights on half a dozen EVA helmets powered on along the bulkhead.
“You have three-hundred meters until you reach the aft-most section of the ship, it’s not a short hike, are you sure you’re up to this?” Ilium asked, noting the frame marker designation on the bulkhead at the airlock.
Stavis turned to look at the marker. “We’re on the fifth level, I have less than sixty meters before I reach the end of the tower. This is going to be easy, sir,” she corrected. “Besides, I volunteered because I want to do this, not because I have to.”
Ilium held the wrist opening wider as she shoved her arm through the sleeve. Ilium had worn a few EVA suits in his time, but never struggled as much as Stavis appeared to with the current design. To save space, the Greshian Navy went with a model that stretched to fit, which meant the first few times donning the suit essentially felt like putting on someone else’s skin. He could tell by the look on her face that the description he’s heard from others might not be too far off the mark.
“You’re right,” Ilium said. “This is your mission and I shouldn’t be talking you out of it.”
She stopped working the suit for a moment and stared up at him. “Look, we’ll discuss what you said later, but don’t think about that now. You’re my commanding officer and if you tell me not to go, then I’ll obey, but trust me when I say I can do this.”
Ilium stared at her for a moment, watching as she went back to zipping the suit over her small frame. He reached out and grabbed the helmet from the bulkhead and set it atop her head, helping her strap it in place and attach the oxygen hose to the back. Once she was set, Stavis attempted to switch on the voice amplifier, but it didn’t work.
She shouted through the helmet so he could hear. “I’m ready.”
Ilium nodded and looked to the guard standing several frames away at the manual airlock station. “Open the inner airlock,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” the guard shouted back as he grabbed the lever and cranked the airlock open. Stavis turned and together they watched the steel door cycle wide enough for her to fit in. after squeezing through, Ilium grabbed the device and placed it just inside of the airlock.
“It’s all on you now,” he said.
She smiled.
“Close it,” he ordered.
Immediately, the guard cycled the inner airlock closed before moving the lever to the outer bulkhead to the mechanical control for the outer airlock. “I’m ready when you are, sir.”
Ilium gazed through the window of the inner airlock and made eye contact with Stavis. She nodded her consent as she clasped a tether to her belt and he turned to face the young guard. “Do it.” He turned back to Stavis as the outer airlock cycled open. The vast darkness of interstellar space revealed pinpricks of light staring back at him. It was a void which reminded many of their mortality.
Stavis turned, grabbing hold of the device as she activated her mag boots. Ilium watched as the heels lit up in a bright blueish hue. Surprised, he felt hopeful for her mission as she took the first few steps towards the airlock. With no means of communication, overwhelming fear filled him as she disappeared from the airlock with the device. There was nothing more than a small tether holding her to the ship, but lines broke all the time.
“Be ready to close the airlock as soon as she returns,” Ilium said.
“Aye aye, sir,” the guard said. Ilium could tell the man was out of breath after manually manipulating the airlock. He regretted not bringing more personnel to assist, but felt keeping everyone at their stations to take care of the ship once power was restored was more important. Now, all that was left was the waiting game and Ilium Gyl was not known for his patience.
He leaned against the inner airlock, willing Stavis to return as he fixed his eyes to the tethering line. It was taut as he watched it shift, tugging against the mount on the bulkhead. The line itself was designed to tow small craft into the hangar of a ship, so logic declared it would have no issue holding Stavis to the King Slayer, but Ilium couldn’t help being afraid.
“Come on, come one, come on,” he said, resting his fists against the airlock. His breath fogged the icy window and he wiped it away. “You can do it, I believe in you,” he whispered.
The wait felt like forever before he saw movement outside the ship. It started as a glint of light before he realized it was an object rotating end over end. He looked to the tether and realized it was slack. His jaw drew slack as the blood drained from his face.
“No,” he said, looking left to right frantically for an answer to his worst fear.
“What’s wrong, sir?” the guard asked, concern dripping from his voice.
Ilium faced him, his eyes wide. “No.”
20
Gen-Taiku
Three sentries followed her from the subterranean depths of the rebel base. Armed with long distance rifles and surveillance gear, it was obvious extraction wasn’t part of the plan if things went south, but she was confident it would not come to that. If the man she met the night before was any indication, this crew was not battle-ravaged and molded by war. They were refugees.
“I suppose this is where you guys will hole up until I return?” Gen asked as the men spread out, taking cover in the lonely hangar across the landing zone from the warship.
“It’s the only real cover unless we hike up the mountain,” Beva replied. He meticulously set up his gear without looking up at her.
“You’re right, it seems as good a place as any and we can cover our escape
route if necessary.”
“Exactly,” he replied. “If you can give us a few minutes to set up, we can provide support for you before you head out.”
“Sure,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to squeeze the anxiousness from her body. She hated standing still, not pushing forward with a mission. The static moments of any situation were the worst for her to tolerate.
As she peeked from rusted holes in the side of the hangar, she noticed a transport near the cargo hold of the Replicade. Knowing members of the crew were staying out in the city, she didn’t find the transport itself unsettling, but the golden insignia emblazed on the side. It was the crest of Princess Herma.
“We have company,” Gen whispered.
“What?” Beva looked up, still mounting the surveillance equipment to its stand. “That’s the princess’s seal.”
“Yeah, do you think she’s on the ship?”
Beva shook his head. “There’s only one way to find out,” he handed Gen a scope to get a better view. She brought it to her eye immediately and knelt near the largest hole in the side of the hangar. “You see anything?”
“No, there’s too many smaller craft in the way. All I can see is the transport itself.”
“Use the next setting to view through the solid objects,” Beva suggested.
She turned the dial atop the scope while peering through its lens. With each crank the view shifted slightly, removing the nearby obstructions first, before bringing her view to the Replicade. That was where the strength of the lens stopped. “The ship is made of a material I can’t see through.” Frustration fueled her voice as she pulled the scope from her face.
“What about the transport?” Beva continued with his task, finally seeming content with his work before looking back at Gen. “Unless it’s armored, you should be able to get a good view of who’s inside.”
Gen gazed into the scope again, this time seeing movement in the area aft of the ship. “I see someone; a woman.”
“Is it Herma?” Beva asked as he readied his weapon.
Gen squinted to make out more detail through the powered lens. “I don’t think so. This woman isn’t dressed the way Herma would, but she’s definitely a Greshian. An assistant maybe?”
“Probably. Should we take her?”
Gen shook her head. “We don’t know what kind of defenses we’re up against. If we open fire and the ship fires back, we could be obliterated.”
“We could cut down a Greshian asset in the act. If we can cut Herma’s legs out from under her, then maybe she’ll leave.”
Gen scoffed. “Or maybe she’ll get scared and call for her father to save her. we know what happens when a Greshian fleet orbits us, or have you forgotten?”
Beva lowered his weapon. “All right, we’ll do it your way. But if she already has control of this ship then we may as well blast it to hell.”
A wave of hopelessness moved over Gen as she pulled the scope from her face and stared out the rusted holes. As much as she wanted to get her hands on that ship and save the rebellion, Beva was right; if Herma had control then they would have to destroy it. Thinking about it brought back memories of Pila’s destruction. She could still feel the wave of heat as the planet erupted beneath the transport as it carried her away. The sound of the engines roaring as it tried to break free from the collapsing planet’s gravitational pull. The smell of scorched death.
“Looks like our target is leaving,” Beva whispered, drawing Gen from the darkness of her memories.
She pulled the scope back to her eye and peered through the lens in time to see the transport take off, leaving a wide-open view up the cargo ramp. There she saw three men standing in stone silence. Even from this distance, she could read their faces.
Theirs’ was a look of reluctant acceptance.
21
Brendle
He stalked up the ladder well leading to the bridge, grinding his teeth in agitation. He figured the crew would be reluctant to help, but the way things were going painted a darker image of their attitude towards him. Add to that the fact Pedero suggested he asked for too much in exchange for their help placed him in the middle of a situation he wanted no part of. To be out of favor between two factions of a mission was a terrible burden.
“Pilot, talk to me,” Brendle said as he slumped into his seat in front of his command console.
“What would you have me say, Captain?”
“Anything at this point,” Brendle replied. “No one seems interested in speaking to me right now.”
“Is it because of the Greshian princess’s influence on the next mission of this ship?”
“Yeah,” Brendle answered, his voice low.
“Might I suggest not allowing an outside influence to dictate the future of the crew?”
Brendle rolled his eyes. “It’s not that easy, Pilot. We’re dangerously low on supplies and have no defensive weapons. If we were caught by the Greshians, or some pirates, we would have nothing to protect us from boarding. We could quite easily destroy this ship trying to defend it if it became a small arms battle in the cargo hold. Either way, we would die.”
“What about your previous plan to do salvage missions to earn money? Anki seemed interested in taking part in that.”
He sighed, remembering a much simpler time, right after a pirate’s narrow defeat and before the young girl crashed into their lives and revealed the evil of whatever experiment was performed on her. “Life got in the way of that idea.”
“Perhaps you give up too easily?”
No.
“No,” Brendle said, after thinking about it. “I’m just realistic in the obstacles we face. Besides, it’s not like I have much choice now. I already gave my word.”
“Then break it,” a voice said behind him.
Brendle spun in his chair, one hand shoving himself forward while the other rested on his weapon. “Who are you and what are you doing on my ship?” he stared at the girl, her hands hidden behind the folds of a tunic where she could just as easily have a weapon of her own aimed to kill him.
“My name is Gen-Taiku, and I’m with the resistance. We need your help,” she replied, her eyes staring into his.
“Captain, if I may interrupt, I met Gen-Taiku yesterday when she tried to break onto the ship. I neutralized her threat and demanded she not return.”
“As I told Pilot, we need help. My people are at risk because of your people.”
Brendle winced when she said “your people” as memories of what horrors awaited worlds which refused to bow to the Emperor. “So, you decided to break onto my ship and take her?”
“No,” Gen replied. “I was looking for information to figure out who you were and what kind of weapons my people would face if you turned them on us.”
Despite the relative coolness of the bridge, Brendle felt a bead of sweat drip down his back. “What makes you think that’s a possibility?”
Gen scoffed. “Yours is the first ship of its kind to land on Pila since the fleet left. As our rebellion rises, Princess Herma feels more threatened. It only stands to reason she would seek your employ to preserve her reign. Besides, I heard your conversation with Pilot before I stepped in.”
Brendle gawked at her. Despite her youth, she had tenacity and a willingness to do whatever it took to accomplish her goal. The audacity to break onto the Replicade twice suggested as much and she reminded him of Anki.
“I appreciate your predicament, Gen-Taiku, but breaking aboard my ship isn’t going to appeal to my generosity.”
Gen stepped closer. “I didn’t break onto your ship today,” she replied. “I was invited.”
“Invited? How?”
Malikea stepped onto the bridge, his crimson robes pulled tight over his body as he stood with his hands over his stomach. “I invited her, sir. She has a compelling story.”
Brendle eased and fell back into his seat, feeling just as betrayed as he was sure his crew felt by his decision. Letting a stranger onto the ship
wasn’t a violation of rules, since there were no rules, but it didn’t extinguish the sting of the situation.
“I’m sure she does,” Brendle said, “but why should I have to listen to it?” he watched their eyes as his words fell on the ears.
“I thought…” Malikea started before Brendle raised his hand to silence him.
“No, I want her to tell me why I should give her the time of day after breaking onto the Replicade.”
Brendle and Gen stared each other down in harsh silence. Their eyes unmoving as time seemed to stand still. Brendle’s heart pounded with anticipation. Whatever she said, he knew it wouldn’t be enough to quench the fire burning inside him. But there was enough hope for a justification that he wanted to listen, to be allowed to turn back from the path he chose because in truth, he hated himself for making the decision too.
“You’re a Greshian on a ship with refuges, their worlds were destroyed by your people. My world is no different than theirs. This manufactured planet is all that remains of my people. We have hope of surviving because we had somewhere to go, unlike most planets who attract the anger of the Emperor. But living under Greshian rule is not freedom. If we can’t have our world back as free people, then we don’t want it at all. That’s why I’m here, seeking your help. If we can sway Princess Herma’s decision to stay, we may have a chance at a life after our families died.”
Brendle rested his chin in his hand as he leaned on the armrest. “You’re right, this is a ship of refugees. But the Greshians are not my people. I’m a refugee as well. With that said, we have to survive and sometimes that means we do things we don’t like to ensure we have a tomorrow. I’m sorry, but we can’t help you.”
With his words he watched the blood drain from her face. It was the look of defeat and pained him to see it in the eyes of someone carrying the hope for a better future so prevalent on her sleeve.
