by Tristan Vick
Halfway through, Onelle’s dress snagged on the edge. She took a deep breath and sucked in her stomach and her chest as much as she could and then said, “Pull!”
Aidora, still holding Onelle’s hand, gripped her tight and gave her a firm tug. A loud rip sounded as Onelle popped through the door, making it to the other side. She looked down at her dress; it had been gouged all the way down the right hip and thigh. She checked herself for any wounds and let out a sigh of relief when she found herself unscathed.
Just then, the ship’s computer came over the comms.
[*All hands, abandon ship. This is not a drill. All hands, abandon ship.*]
“This way,” Aidora said, turning up the corridor. “We need to get to the escape pods.”
They raced together up the corridor as a crazed passenger flew around the junction point. All parties froze in their tracks and stared at one another.
“This is your fault!” the wild-eyed Seyfferian woman growled. She lunged forward, knocking Aidora out of the way and tackled Onelle. Aidora smacked her head against the wall plating and collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
With Aidora down for the count, the remaining two women rolled around on the floor for a minute before the crazed woman found herself on top, straddling Onelle’s waist. With fierce screams, she clawed at Onelle’s face. Luckily, however, Onelle managed to clasp onto the woman’s wrists and held her at bay.
“Aidora!” Onelle cried out, turning her head to look at the unconscious girl. “Wake up! Aidora, I need you!”
Unable to break free of Onelle’s grasp, the woman bent down and bit Onelle’s hand. She screamed and let go of the woman’s wrists.
Scared for her life, she kicked and flailed and scooted herself up against the wall.
The woman, who’d fallen off in the tussle, slowly stood up. Then turning to face Onelle, her hair dangling in front of her face and giving her an ominous look, she reached out and bashed her fist into the glass touch-panel of the corridor’s computer interface, shattering the surface.
The black glass lay in a mess on the floor and the crazed woman shuffled through the discordant shards until she found a long, jagged piece. Picking it up, she held it out in front of her and begin to prowl toward Onelle.
Terrified of what the woman might to do to her, Onelle let out a fearful shriek and pressed her back flat against the wall. Reaching into her cleavage she fished for her mini-blaster, then realized she’d left it back in her room.
“This is all your fault!”
“It’s all just a terrible misunderstanding,” Onelle said, her voice wavering as she spoke. Her body trembled with fright and she tried to scoot away. But this only seemed to agitate the woman even more, so she grimaced and turned her face away.
“Look at me!” the woman screamed.
“Leave me alone!” Onelle shouted back, squeezing shut her eyes.
All of a sudden there was a loud thump, and Onelle, cracking one eye open, looked over to find the woman lying prostrate on the floor.
When she opened both eyes, she saw the knight she’d seduced earlier helping Aidora up.
“It’s you,” gasped Onelle, surprised to see any familiar face, let alone his. She didn’t make much of it, other than the fact that it was his duty to secure high-ranking officials and see to their safety. One of the perks of being a VIP member.
“The name is Palamedes, if you recall, mistress,” he reminded her. Turning his attention back to the young Nyctan girl, he asked, “Are you able to walk?”
“I think so,” the girl replied, rubbing the knot forming on the top of her forehead.
“Good, because it’s not safe here. We have to keep moving.” Palamedes helped Aidora up and she thanked him with a subtle nod. Then he turned to Onelle. “I can see you both to the escape pods, but then I must get to the bridge.”
“You’re not coming with us?” Onelle asked in a shocked tone.
“I’m afraid a Knight’s duty is to the ship he serves upon.”
Onelle eased up to him and gently placed her hand on his thick arm. “About earlier...I’m sorry I forced you to...”
“That’s all in the past,” he said to her. He smiled at her warmly, as if to reassure her that it wasn’t all bad, and then turned and marched up the corridor leading the way to the escape pods.
In the crimson glow of the red emergency lights they followed after the Knight, Palamedes. The red wash gave everything an eerie post-apocalyptic vibe that didn’t help to ease the tension of whatever was causing the crew to go mad.
Aidora and Onelle followed the knight to the end of another junction when voices rose up from the depths of the adjoining hallway. He threw up his arm and motioned for them to get as flat as possible against the wall.
They did so and almost as soon as they’d receded from view two men tumbled into the corridor. Each of them was soaked in sticky wet blood and, like the woman from earlier, were quite mad with what seemed to be a rage virus.
“It’s all your fault!” the one man shouted, bashing his fists against the other man’s face. With a crunch, the first man’s nose broke and blood began gushing down his mouth and chin, but all he did was laugh.
Full of rage, the battered man returned the favor and swung his blue fist and it struck the copper man in the temple, drawing green blood. He immediately went down and the blue man scurried on top of him and began to bite his ear. Tearing off the copper-skinned man’s ear in his mouth, he threw out his arms, kicked back his head, and howled like a common beast.
This short reprieve allowed the copper man to shove the blue man to the ground and he climbed on top, blood trailing from the hole where his ear used to be and drizzling down his neck.
Compelled by rage, the copper man began to pound the blue man’s face in. Even after he’d rendered the man unconscious, he did not stop his brutal attack. Instead, he continued pounding away, a gleeful expression on his face. Blow after blow he continued to bash the copper man’s scull in until his face was a bloody pulp.
Just then an orange skinned woman with blue markings and her top torn asunder, raced by cupping her breasts. She saw the two men beating one another to death and continued on her way, screaming frantically as she went.
Distracted by the woman’s shrill scream, the copper man stopped his assault and looked up. He paused and stared in the direction the woman had fled, an almost contemplative look on his face, and then rising to his feet he took chase. “You bitch!” he shouted. “This is all your fault!”
She screamed again when she glanced back to see him chasing after her and then they disappeared around the bend of the other end of the junction. At the same time, the blue man gurgled something with his dying breath and then his head fell limply to the side.
“What in the bloody galaxy is going on here?” Onelle asked out loud. She looked over at her two partners and they each shrugged.
“We’re almost there,” Aidora finally said.
A few meters later they rounded a bend and found themselves standing in front of the escape hatch.
“It’s here,” Palamedes said. He slid a wall panel away to reveal a manual lever with a red handle. He grabbed it and pulled it down. This released the hatch and a concealed door that were built to blend in as part of the wall. This rose up to reveal the round entrance to a four-person escape pod.
“You two get in. I must return to the bridge and secure the ship.”
Onelle reached out and grabbed his arm, delaying his noble exit, “But it’s suicide.”
“It’s my duty,” he answered. “Besides, I’ve already broken enough rules for the week.” He smiled at her and then turned and jogged up the hall.
“Hey, knight,” Onelle called out after him. He paused and looked back at her one last time. “Be careful.”
He nodded, as if to say he had this all under control, and then continued on his way.
Once Palamedes was out of sight, Onelle turned back toward Aidora and they stared at one another, the shock o
f it all causing them to feel numb.
“Gruh!” a gruff voice grunted, startling both women. They turned to face the other end of the hall when a man stumbled around the corner of the junction and then crashed to the floor. He let out another agonizing groan and was holding onto his side which was bleeding profusely. The man staggered back to his feet and looked up to find two women standing at the other end of the passage.
Almost immediately he recognized them and called out, “Onelle!”
Onelle gazed back down the corridor at the Blue-skin and recognized his charming features and long flowing white hair. “Senator Targon?” she gasped.
A flurry of angry shouts came up from the depths of the corridor directly behind the senator. Alarmed, he looked back, eyes wide with fear. Not waiting around to see what the mob would do to him next, he limped quickly toward the two women. “Don’t leave without me. They’re mad here. They’ve all gone mad.”
“Hurry!” Onelle shouted, ushering him into the escape pod. She shoved Aidora in after him and then grabbed the hatch and looked back down the corridor just in time to see an unruly mob of at least half a dozen demented crew members flood into the main junction.
Ratty and drenched in one another’s blood, they made eye contact with Onelle. She tensed up then quickly closed the hatch behind her, climbing into the escape pod. She secured the door and then turned to see what her next step needed to be.
Aidora was already fishing out a first aid kit to attend to the senator who was sitting on the bench seat leaning against the wall. While the Nyctan girl dressed his wound, Onelle prepped the escape pod for launch.
“Everybody hang tight,” Onelle said, going over to the controls anxious eyes searching the panel. She hit some buttons and prepared for emergency launch. “I’ll get us out of here.”
She flipped a series of switches then mashed a large green button on the side of the dashboard and the airlock hissed then spat out the escape pod.
The jettisoned pod wobbled away from the ship before the automated stabilization thrusters kicked on, igniting white hot. As the small ship settled into a steady flight plan, all three passengers looked out the window at the massive Nyctan cruiser hanging large in the distance. It contained all the delegates from all the worlds of all seven systems, and they were slaughtering each other like common livestock.
Suddenly, numerous orange explosions started erupting all along the hull of the cruiser.
“All those people,” gasped Aidora, covering her mouth with both hands as she gazed fretfully at the flaming ship outside her window.
They’d barely made it off in time, Onelle realized. She took in a deep breath to help calm her jitters then quickly tapped a few buttons on the controls. Off to the side, Senator Targon grunted and sat up to get a better look at what she was up to.
“What are you doing?” he asked her.
“I’ve signaled my yacht for an emergency pick up.”
Soon enough, her vessel came into view over them and docked with the escape pod.
Once the two ships had fully connected, Onelle opened the hatch and stepped into the airlock of her ship. She waited for the automatic pressurization to equalize then opened the inner airlock hatch. Turning back to her two guests, she said, “Welcome aboard my personal yacht, the Miura.”
Aidora helped the senator climb out of the narrow confines of the escape pod and brought him aboard the ship. Onelle was there to greet him, extending her green hand for him to take. He looked at it almost hesitantly, but took it anyway.
“I appreciate your help,” he said as she hoisted him up. Practically bumping into one another, he maintained a firm grasp of her hand and pulled her close. “I’m in your debt,” he said, before finally relinquishing his grip.
Onelle helped him over to a seat and sat him down again. As she buckled his waist, he groaned in pain, his blood seeping through the fresh gauze they’d wrapped him with. “Does it hurt?” she asked him.
“Not too bad. More of a pinch, really. Don’t worry,” he said, looking over at her with a poised smile. “I’ll manage.”
She batted her eyes at him, her dark green lips tightening into a flirtatious grin. Nothing more to say, she headed to the front of the cabin, quickly found her seat, and prepped the thrusters.
Onelle swiveled in her chair while Aidora settled into the seat across from the senator. “All right, everyone,” she announced, “you can all take a deep breath because we’re officially in the clear.”
The sleek yacht, escape pod still attached to the side of its hull like a bulbous tumor, turned away from the Nyctan diplomatic cruiser, the Qui’tek’alon, and fired all thrusters.
Even making escape velocity, the final annihilation of the ship behind them sent out a massive shockwave. The force expanded out in all directions, like a ring rippling away from a stone tossed into a pond, and quickly caught up to them.
“Hang on!” Onelle growled through her clenched jaw. “Things are about to get rough.”
As soon as she’d warned them, the ship began to shudder so violently that it sounded as though it would tear itself apart. There was a strong jolt, then another as the turbulence picked up. It felt like they were in a giant barrel crashing over the rapids, their harnesses digging into their flesh with each gut churning lurch. Before she could correct it, the vessel was knocked off its trajectory and spiraling out into uncharted space.
Onelle fought the controls, trying to get the ship back under her control, but the shockwave had been too strong and had knocked out her main thrusters. Simply put, there was nothing she could do.
“Graddack!” she cursed, smashing both palms on the dash and then looking back at her passengers. Senator Targon had already blacked out from the inertia and Aidora was struggling to maintain consciousness with all the g-forces of the uncontrolled spiraling pushing her to the verge of darkness.
Onelle reached back to try and touch Aidora’s hand but she, too, felt the darkness tightening around her vision. What began as tunnel vision incrementally grew into a full-on blackout, though only momentarily. Fighting as best she could to remain conscious, Onelle reached out for the glowing orange button at the center of her darkening vision that read: autopilot.
She fought with all her strength against the unrelenting g-forces and, finally, her fingertips brushed the button just as she felt the walls of her consciousness collapsing in on her.
The strain was too much, and with tears streaming from her eyes she gave into the darkness, never knowing whether or not she’d succeeded in pressing the button that would save them.
31
A chandelier aboard a spaceship still seemed odd to Jegra. But the new Shard’s design had been overseen by Lianica, whose taste leaned more into the decadency of Dagon aesthetics.
Even if it wasn’t to her specific tastes, she did find that the soft light it cast basked everything in a wholesome glow that reminded her of a warm cabin fire.
Jegra rose to her feet, held her glass high, and cleared her throat. “It seems I’ve been giving a lot of speeches as of late.” An unexpected round of laughter caused her to smile and briefly reflect on why that was funny. She understood the irony though, a woman of action, a warrior, becoming a diplomat and a ruler wasn’t common. But, somehow, it felt right. “We’ve won a small battle, it’s true, but the larger fight lays ahead of us. Tomorrow we take back Dagon Prime! So, eat, drink, and be merry—”
“For tomorrow we die!” they all cheered in unison.
It was a grim acknowledgement that war never truly brought peace, only suffering. The only real peace was in death. And you could either shirk from that fact or face it head on, courageously. Not recklessly, but with the awareness that life is only a fleeting, bittersweet existence.
Jegra raised her glass and shouted across the room for all to hear. “To those who will lay down your lives, I salute you!”
It was the gladiator’s salute. A way to honor those they faced in the arena, each knowing that they had no choic
e and that, ultimately, one would die. For that sacrifice, they paid tribute to one another.
Everyone mimicked her gesture and uttered the same and then began their feast, for which the ship’s cooks had slaved over for the past fourteen hours.
Instead of the stereotypical five course dinner most commonly prepared for dignitaries and guests, she had the equivalent of a Thanksgiving feast prepared. At least, the close approximation to one she could get with alien cuisine. However, for all their effort, the cooks couldn’t seem to crack the gravy recipe and ended up having to synthesize it.
When Jegra hadn’t touched her food for several minutes, Lianica leaned in, the many medals and pins on her dress uniform glinting in the chandelier light as she did so. “You haven’t touched your meal. Is everything all right? I can send it back, if it’s not to your liking.”
“It’s not that,” Jegra replied. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
Unexpectedly, the ship’s red alert blared and the lights in the room changed from their soft golden color to a bright red.
“Saved by the bell,” Jegra muttered to herself.
“What was that?” Brei asked. Jegra turned to her and smiled.
“Nothing,” she said, “but gather all the senior staff and let’s find out what is going on.”
“Captain Blackstar to the bridge,” Lt. Commander Barrion’s voice came over the comm.
Lianica looked over at Jegra, a sense of urgency on her face. They rose simultaneously to their feet and headed toward the exit of the dining hall together. The senior officers all rose too and followed them out, including Lieutenant Brei’Alas.
Before she left the dining hall, Brei’Alas turned around and said, “Everyone hold tight. The empress and senior staff have everything well under control.”
She didn’t know if that would help console them or even ease their concerns, but she didn’t want them panicking. She turned again to leave when a hand came out of nowhere and placed itself on her shoulder. She looked over to see Karina staring at her.
