by Joe Vasicek
“They only need enough to weather the immediate crisis,” she said, her body still trembling. “The key is to build up capacity as soon as possible. Hydroponics modules are relatively cheap to make, but we’re going to need thousands of them if we don’t want everyone to die of starvation. And they’ll need supplies until the hydroponics start producing.”
“I see,” said Qasar. “Most of our ships have a three-year supply of foodstuffs. Will that be enough?”
“I hope. What about the modules?”
Qasar waved his hand. “Not a problem. I’ll set my engineers to work on it immediately.”
He’s listening to me, Sholpan realized with a start. He’s actually considering my advice.
“That’s not all,” she said, emboldened. “There will be other needs, I’m sure. Food is just the beginning.”
“And what do we do to prepare for those?”
“We—we should form a governing council for the system. Gather delegates from the surviving settlements and have them draft a constitution.”
Qasar’s eyes narrowed. “You mean to set up a council to undercut my authority?”
“Not at all,” said Sholpan, leaning forward. “It’ll only be for domestic affairs. We want them to govern themselves, right?”
Qasar nodded wearily. “We certainly do.”
“It shouldn’t be too hard to draw something up, if we pattern it after the government that was in place before—before the invasion.”
“And you know how to do that?”
“Yes,” said Sholpan. She paused. “If you would delegate to me some of your authority, I’m sure—”
“Consider it done. Anything you need, let me know.”
Sholpan nodded and rose shakily to her feet. “I will,” she said. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.”
“Why?” Qasar asked. “It’s so pleasant talking with you.”
Because if I don’t leave right now, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.
“You need your rest,” she said. “You look tired.”
Qasar nodded. “Very well. You may leave.”
Sholpan walked to the door, her legs numb. Before palming the access panel, though, she stopped and turned around.
“W-why?” she asked. “Why are you doing this?” The forcefulness in her voice caught them both by surprise.
“Doing what?”
“Fighting this war. Slagging entire worlds. Conquering every system from here to—to the end of the universe. Why?”
Qasar smiled at her as if she were a child. “Because the great god Tenguri has given us the universe, Sholpan,” he said. “The high shaman prophesied this many years ago, long before the Generals convened the High Council. And if the great god has given us the universe, who are we to refuse our destiny?”
Sholpan blinked. “Your destiny?”
“Yes. We conquer because it is our destiny. You can’t run from destiny, can you?”
“No,” Sholpan said softly as the door hissed open. “I guess you can’t.”
* * * * *
Dammit, boy, thought Danica as she ran down the hallway with James in tow. Did you leave your brains on the ship, or are you just trying to get us killed?
She rounded a corner and paused long enough to scan her wrist console for an alternate route to the docking yard. Behind them the shouting grew louder—a few more moments, and their options would start to become real limited. Figuring she could read a map just as well in the maintenance corridor, she keyed open the nearest access door and tossed the boy in.
“Where are we going?” James asked as the door slid shut behind them. “Stella is—”
“Shh!” Danica hissed. “Stay down. And give me this!” She snatched the pistol from his hands.
“I’m sorry,” said James, his face as pale as death. “Believe me, I’m—”
“Stay quiet and follow me,” she whispered.
A quick glance at the map on her wrist console showed a nearby shaft that connected with a side corridor running toward the docks. Without a second thought, Danica started running.
We don’t have much time, she thought to herself. Security is probably going to freeze all outgoing traffic as soon as the alarm goes station-wide. That meant that they had only a matter of minutes to get back to the ship.
“Where are we going?” asked James, breathing heavily behind her.
“We’re getting the hell out of here.”
“What?”
He stopped in his tracks, forcing her to turn and face him.
“We’re aborting the mission, Ensign,” she said. “It’s over—we failed.”
Even in the meager light of the wrist console’s LCD display screen, she could read the horror and disbelief on his face.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t come—”
“Don’t tell me what you came for,” she retorted. “The way you’ve botched things, we’ll be lucky to get out alive. Now let’s stop wasting time and get back to the ship.”
“No,” said James. “I’m not going.”
“What?”
“I said I’m not going.”
Danica stared at him and frowned. His voice was calmer now, and his cheeks weren’t quite so pale. His face had a certain serenity to it, the way someone looks when they’re about to say goodbye.
“Ensign, you can’t possibly be serious.”
“I didn’t come this far to turn away and run.”
“They’ll find you and kill you before you get to her.”
“Maybe.”
“James—be reasonable. Anya and Ilya are waiting for us. Do you want me to leave them to die?”
“No. I understand. Leave without me.”
Danica’s stomach twisted into a knot.
“Ensign McCoy,” she said, her voice shaky despite her best efforts to control it, “I order you to come with me.”
“I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry. If I ran away from this chance, I’d never be able to live with myself.”
“Ensign!”
“Thank you for all your help, Captain. Goodbye.” Without another word, he turned around and headed back the way they had come.
Danica felt rooted to the spot, as if her boots were riveted to the floor. In the darkness, the maintenance corridor felt like a tunnel with two ends—a turning point in her life that could only be crossed once. On the one hand, she could return to the ship and escape with her life. On the other, she could throw her lot in with James and go with him to the bitter end. One way or the other, she had to make a choice, and she had to make it now.
And then she realized that she’d already made her choice, the moment she’d left the Tajji Flame.
“McCoy! Hold up!”
“What is it?” James asked, stopping.
“I’m coming with you.”
A smile spread across his face. Before Danica could order him to keep moving, he turned and sprinted down the corridor, so fast she could hardly keep up.
As she ran, she lifted her wrist console and sent a message back to the transport: Alpha squad lost. Abort mission and return to base immediately. The screen blinked, then flashed confirmation that they’d received the message.
At least some of us will come out of this alive, Danica told herself. No one will say that I didn’t take care of my men.
The thought hardly comforted her, but that didn’t matter anymore.
* * * * *
Anya leaned forward in her seat on the Hameji transport and glanced down at her wrist console. Her blood ran cold as she read Danica’s message.
“Did you see that?” Ilya asked from the seat next to her.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“What does she mean, ‘return to base immediately’? She wants us to leave without her?”
Anya swallowed, and her arms tensed. “They’ve probably been discovered. Maybe they’re pinned down and can’t get to us.”
Ilya’s face went white. “Then let’s get the hell out of
here.”
No, Anya thought to herself. It can’t end—not like this.
“I’m not going,” she said. “Danica needs our help.”
“What are you talking about? You got the order—Anya? Anya!”
But she was already on her feet, running down the narrow corridor to the armory. Ilya shouted after her, but she was too angry to care. He really is a coward, she thought bitterly to herself as she put up her hair in a crude bun.
Once in the armory, she grabbed a bullet proof vest and threw it on, stretching it tight to flatten her chest. They had no time to suit up in the regular armor; she’d have to make do with one of the gray officer vests. It didn’t give her nearly as much protection, but—
“Damn it!” Ilya cursed, running into the room. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going to save them,” she said, pulling the gray uniform over her head. “Are you coming, or are you staying behind?”
“Neither. We’re leaving right now!”
Worthless, came the terrible voice in Anya’s head. That’s what you are—what you’ve always been.
“No,” she said. “I’m not going to abandon her.”
You’ll fail.
“But—but we have to! She—”
“Are you scared? Is that what it is?”
Ilya’s cheeks flushed bright red. “I’m not a coward.”
Worthless.
“Show me.”
She pulled out another uniform and tossed it to him. He fumbled and dropped it on the floor.
“You’re insane,” he shouted. “This is suicide!”
She ignored him as she picked out her weapon—a plasma SMG, powerful enough to pack a punch without attracting too much attention. She slipped it into the holster on her belt. A couple of stationary RPV shield projectors fit nicely into the pockets on her hip.
“I’m going,” she said. “Either suit up and come with me, or stay behind.”
“Come on,” he pleaded, anger giving way to desperation. “Anya, let’s go. Please?”
“No.” She shouldered her way past him and stepped into the airlock. Spineless ass, she thought to herself. If he doesn’t follow me, we’re over.
You’ll die alone, then.
“Hold up,” said Ilya, calling after her. “I’m coming with you.”
A flood of relief surged through Anya’s body. She turned and smiled.
“I’ll be in the airlock.”
The docking arm was a lot longer than she expected. It took them three precious minutes to make it to the station node, even in the weightlessness. Ilya was better at pulling himself along than she was, despite the heavy assault rifle on his back.
“They’re going to wonder about us when they see that,” she told him.
“Then we won’t stick around to let them ask questions.”
Anya could have kissed him.
They reached the node and found it empty—a good sign, she was willing to bet. If the alarms had gone off, the terminal would be in chaos. Then again it might have already emptied—they wouldn’t know until they went upstairs.
She checked her wrist console. Danica was five hundred yards away and getting further.
“Quick,” she said. “How do we get in?”
“Through the public terminal,” said Ilya.
“What, there’s no other way in?”
“Nope.”
She swallowed. “Then let’s go.”
The elevator opened onto an empty wing off of the main concourse. The guards that Anya expected to see were all gone, called off somewhere else. That was bad—very bad.
“Look,” said Ilya.
A band of five lightly armored soldiers stood at the center of the terminal, turning the civilians away. What had probably been a small crowd not a few minutes ago had now dwindled to a handful of people swiftly making their way to the station. Once they stepped out, there would be no one to hide behind.
You’re going to die here, you know. Both of you.
Anya drew in a sharp breath. “Come on,” she said. Ilya’s face paled, but he followed.
As they walked past the guards, one of them called out. Anya ignored him and kept walking, moving briskly as if the order had been meant for someone else. A hand gripped her shoulder, pulling her forcibly to a halt.
Worthless. Just give up.
Anya grabbed the man’s wrist with her left hand, pulled out her gun with her right, and yanked him to her. Before he could react, the muzzle of her pistol was jammed into his lower abdomen, into the soft spot between armor plates. She fired twice, making his body twitch. His eyes went wide, and blood trickled down the corners of his mouth.
The other five soldiers shouted and charged, some with rifles already drawn. Using the first man’s body as a shield, she brought out her pistol near the dying man’s hip. Three quick shots caught the first guard in the face, the neck, and the shoulder; he fell dead without a sound. Ilya shouted and pulled out his assault rifle, firing into the other two. They didn’t have a chance.
“What now?” shouted Ilya as screams rose around them. Anya dropped the body just in time to see reinforcements coming through the main gate.
Now look what you’ve done. Worthless.
“Take cover!”
Three squads of black-clad Hameji shock troops charged through the concourse. They moved as a single unit, forcing their way through the scattered crowd with guns and shock prods. With their heavy armor and assault rifles, the Hameji soldiers looked more like monsters than men.
For a second, Anya’s legs were numb and unresponsive. Then the adrenaline took over, and she was running back the way they’d come, heart pounding audibly in her ears.
“Ilya!” she screamed, but he was already in the terminal wing. Gunfire hit the walls as she rounded the corner and sprinted after him.
They made it into the elevator and down to the maintenance level before the Hameji soldiers could catch up to them. Once they reached the docking arm, though, there was nothing but the long, empty shaft, brightly lit and devoid of any obstacles to shield them from gunfire. It stretched nearly a kilometer in either direction—an almost impossible distance, with their pursuers close behind them.
“Come on!” shouted Ilya, already flinging himself down the shaft. “Let’s go!”
He’s going to die, and there’s nothing you can do to save him.
With the adrenaline still coursing through her blood, she stopped long enough to set up one of her RPV shields. The Hameji soldiers pulled out of the airlock a second later. Gunfire and smoke filled the space between them, and the air around the shield cackled and sizzled. Anya turned and dove into the low gravity area.
“Ilya!” she screamed, feet leaving the ground. “Ilya, wait! Wait, or by all the stars of Earth, I’m going to—”
Before she could get any further, the RPV shield blew. The force of the explosion sent her careening down the long corridor, arcing ever so slightly. With a little help from the handholds, she soon reached Ilya and flipped herself horizontally against the wall, bullets flying all around her.
Ilya had found some shelter in the shallow inset of a docking doorway across the corridor; it was only half a meter deep, but wide enough to fit the both of them. With her own personal RPV shield already fizzling, she shoved off and landed face first against the door, scrambling to keep herself from bouncing off and drifting out into enemy fire.
“Congratulations,” he shouted. “We’re going to die. Are you happy?”
Are you?
Anya coughed and spat, still breathing hard from the run. As the ball of phlegm floated out into the middle of the corridor, a stray bullet struck it and splattered it into mist.
“How far is the ship?” she shouted, struggling to be heard over the roar of gunfire. Ilya didn’t answer.
This is the end.
Bullets whizzed past the doorway, screaming as they ricocheted off the walls. Plasma bursts seared the air only inches from her face, filling her no
strils with the bitter smell of ozone. She pressed herself against the shallow doorway, desperate for better cover.
Ilya cursed and peered around the corner again, trying to get a line of fire. A bullet screamed and ricocheted off of the near wall, and he pulled his arm down, screaming. Blood arced from his hand, and the components of his shattered wrist console drifted out in the open air.
“My hand!” he cried. Five more bullets grazed the armor of his exposed back. With her left hand pushing off of the top of the doorway and her feet firmly planted on the bottom lip, Anya reached out and pulled Ilya back into the doorway.
“My hand,” he moaned.
“Here,” she said. “Let me see your gun. I can—”
“No,” he said, pulling himself free from her grip. Behind them, the gunshots died down as the shouting grew louder.
She stopped and looked Ilya in the face. His cheeks were as white as death, but his teeth were clenched and his face shone with an intensity greater than fear. Her eyes grew wide, and all her anger of the past few weeks instantly dissipated.
“No,” she whispered.
“You wanted me to prove I wasn’t a coward.” He gripped his assault rifle with both hands as his RPV shield hummed and recharged.
“No,” said Anya, her hands trembling. “Don’t do it!”
Ilya screamed and pushed off from the door, letting loose with a barrage of plasma. His shield fizzled as dozens of unseen Hameji guns loudly returned fire. One burst caught him in the shoulder, another in the stomach, burning through his armor in seconds. His RPV shield exploded, blowing his body apart in a plume of hot blood. Anya screamed and covered her face as his remains splattered all around her.
When she opened her eyes, she found her armor covered in his blood. Scattered remnants of his body still floated in midair—a shredded arm near the ceiling, an armored leg near the floor. The air stank of burned flesh.
He was gone.
Her whole body went numb, and she felt utterly empty inside. All she could do was stare wide-eyed at the carnage.
The shouts were getting louder now. Renewed gunfire pelted the floating remnants of Ilya’s body, sending them spinning and ricocheting out of sight. Not long, and she’d be next.
