Shattered Silence

by Anna Carven

  “I am not the captain.”

  A pause. “You have a name, don’t you?”

  “I do.” Enki didn’t feel like telling this Layla his name just yet. It occurred to him that outside the First Division, nobody knew him. Even the ordinary soldiers saw him as just another one to steer clear of, and they certainly didn’t know him by name.

  “Well…” She muttered something under her breath in human-speak, something that sounded suspiciously like a curse-word. “Then what should I call you?”

  “For someone who is in need of assistance, you ask a lot of questions. Wait there and keep your signal open. It is the only way we can track you. We will find you.”

  And pray the pirates don’t reach you before we do.

  Was that the Tharian speaking, or just his own thoughts? Sometimes, he couldn’t tell.

  “Huh.” The human on the other side made an indignant sound, probably unaware that Enki’s hearing was sensitive enough to catch her soft breathing and detect the rustle of fabric against skin. He heard the scuff of her feet against the floor and the soft, despondent sigh that escaped her lips.

  Somehow, he got the feeling she was…

  “You are alone, aren’t you?” he asked, not really meaning to go there. But for some reason—probably because of her hopeless predicament—this female made him react, made him question, made him speak more than he had in a very long time.

  “Unfortunately, yeah. Th-they’re all gone.”

  And suddenly, part of Enki could almost empathize with her situation, because he had been there once before.

  Stuck on a planet full of ghosts.

  Left for dead.

  None of that would have happened if your kind had just kept away from Tharos, but you just can’t help it. Destruction’s in your blood, isn’t it, Kordolian?

  Shut up.

  Inside his head, the Tharian just laughed.

  Chapter Two

  Layla hugged her knees and curled up into a ball. Sitting on the floor of the escape pod, she bit her hand, trying not to sob. A tangle of emotions swirled inside her chest—sadness, despair, relief.

  For the past few days, she’d been preparing herself for the inevitability of death, for the bone-chilling reality that nobody was coming.

  But then, against all odds, someone had found her.

  She’d been singing an old Earth song about love, despair, and madness when the man’s sharp command—in some strange alien language—filtered through the speakers.

  Oh, crap. That was her first thought, because her singing voice was fucking terrible.

  Her second thought was that she must be hallucinating.

  It had been so long since she’d heard another voice, and time flowed like thick, sticky syrup in this confined space.

  Slow as fuck.

  Layla had nothing to look at but the four walls surrounding her and the cold, glittering canopy of space, visible through a single port-hole. The pod’s exterior cameras weren’t working for some reason—the blank holoview told her that much. All she could see was a narrow sliver of the Universe, slightly distorted through the thick synth-glass of the window.

  At the very edge of her view, she could just make out the damaged shell of her passenger transport, the Starship Malachi.

  The reason she could still see the goddamned ship was that her escape pod had failed to eject properly. Shivering and barefoot, the cell-preserving bioliquid drying rapidly from her clothes, Layla had run through the disintegrating ship, searching for survivors.

  There were none.

  Struggling with the realization that everyone was dead, she’d turned back, battling through smoke and debris and low-oxygen cabin air until she reached the safety of the emergency hatch.

  Why had she been the only one to wake up when the Malachi’s seven other passengers were still plugged into their cryosleep slings? Why had she been spared when dozens of tiny pellets of space debris smashed into the Malachi’s hull at impossible speed? Why had she been right at the very back in Pod 8, the most protected part of the ship?

  Layla was no space-engineer, but on some basic level, she understood what had happened.

  Extreme velocity micrometeorites, the ship’s AI had warned. Apparently, any object that moved fast enough—no matter how small—could turn into a deadly projectile, and according to the analysis, there were thousands of them.

  But there was no time to understand exactly what had happened, because the doors had slammed shut.

  An alarm had sounded.

  The eject mechanism had engaged…

  And failed.

  And now she was stuck in a malfunctioning emergency escape pod at the rear of a smashed-up ship.

  But at least the oxygen had kicked in, the emergency transmitter worked, and there were enough rations to last eight people for twelve months.

  In theory, she could survive for eight fucking years in this metal box, provided the power and oxygen held out for that long.

  Eight years of complete and utter… nothingness, hoping for rescue, waiting to die, staving off madness. And what if nobody came? Layla shuddered as she stared out at the vast, terrifying Universe.

  Against the seductive backdrop of stars, bits of debris—cables, insulation, metal scraps—hung out of the ship like the guts of a disemboweled beast, floating eerily in the cold vacuum of space, illuminated by the pale light of distant stars. Occasionally, a piece of scrap metal or plastic would break free of the mass and fly off into the distance, growing smaller and smaller and smaller until it disappeared.

  This was the same view she’d stared at for so long now… had it been days or weeks? Time had melded into one big long stream of sleeping, eating horrible space rations, and sending out futile pleas through the emergency distress channel—interspersed with her terrible singing, of course, because she’d long ago given up on anyone actually hearing her.

  Until he spoke.

  What a shock that was. How completely alien he sounded, how devoid of anything resembling human emotion.

  Quiet, deliberate, cold, his words shaped by that flawless Universal accent.

  Somehow, she got the feeling he wasn’t any ordinary space traveler.

  Layla closed her eyes and tried to paint a picture of him in her head, using the memory of his voice as a guide. Dozens of images of different alien species filtered through her mind, but she couldn’t match any of them with that voice. She couldn’t really explain why, but she imagined him as a lithe, graceful being, and there was something distinctly military about his demeanor.

  What exactly… was he? Layla was hesitant to ask him too many questions, because she didn’t want to piss him off or drive him away. All she could tell was that he was definitely male, definitely not human, and definitely a bit of a guarded asshole. He hadn’t revealed anything, let alone his name.

  And he hadn’t asked her many questions, either.

  Wait there and keep your signal open.

  That was it.

  Huh. He sounded supremely confident and perfectly in control, as if rescuing her from a damaged transport when he didn’t know her location was the easiest task in the Universe.

  Well, all she could do now was wait. She was desperate, and beggars couldn’t be choosers, could they? Layla could only pray that her would-be rescuer would turn out to be halfway decent.

  We are coming.

  She just had to hope.

  Chapter Three

  With nothing else to do, Layla put on the VR glasses she’d been given by the ship’s attendant-bot, the very same glasses she’d managed to grab—along with her now-dead link-band and cabin luggage—when she’d evacuated the Malachi.

  A familiar scene unfolded before her, appearing so real she could almost reach out and touch the leaves of the lush exotic plants that lined the crystal-clear waterway.

  This was her personalized introduction. Along with seven other humans, Layla had been en-route to her new home.

  Miridian-7. The warm, lush planet ha
d become a secret enclave for Earth’s wealthiest citizens. Those that wanted to escape the hassles of everyday life on Earth—crowding, pollution, criminals, Federation surveillance, pain-in-the-ass jerks—they went to Miridian-7.

  “Welcome to Miridian-7, a premier lifestyle destination.” Calming music played, a series of relaxing chimes blending with the sweet tones of a harp. The view zoomed in on the creek bed, revealing purple stone formations that glittered beneath the pristine water. Silver creatures darted beneath the surface. Not fish, but something other.

  “Untouched. Unpolluted. Uncrowded. The air is clean, the sky is clear, the climate perfect. Infinity-8 Developments is proud to present this unique settlement opportunity.” A gentle female voice filtered through her ears, the slight lack of inflection telling her the speech was AI-generated. “As an elite member of our growing human colony on Miridian-7, you will be offered prime land in one of our stunning skydomes. Enjoy total environmental protection, along with the freedom to explore the unspoiled outer environment at your leisure. Layla dela Cruz, you have worked hard to achieve success on Earth. Now is the time to broaden your horizons and reward yourself with your very own piece of paradise. You deserve it.”

  The view panned out to a series of green, undulating hills. A double rainbow stretched between them, curving across an impossibly blue sky. If Layla hadn’t known better, she might have thought the whole thing was digitally enhanced, but she’d seen the raw footage. She’d paid an independent exploration company to scan Miridian-7 with their drones, and they confirmed that the jungle planet’s terrain was the real deal.

  “Miridian-7, the closest livable planet to Earth, is uncolonized and completely removed from the frantic pace of old world life. Your lifetime residency permit will grant you membership to an exclusive club, where total peace and privacy is only a spaceflight away. Suspend time and aging as you enter light cryosleep shortly after departure, and wake up perfectly refreshed, feeling exactly the same as you did when you left Earth.”

  “So much for the dream,” Layla sighed, switching off the VR glasses. It was all out of reach now. The verdant landscape of Miridian-7 disappeared, revealing the grim interior of the escape pod. To one side, there was the automated storage facility that held the supplies. All she had to do was ask for food, water, medical supplies, or whatever, and the bot would take care of it, dropping the items into a small clear-walled cabinet. On the other side of the pod, there was a closed off compartment with a toilet facility and a stash of spare bedding, along with some oversized cabin-jackets that seemed to have been stuffed in there as an afterthought.

  Really, Layla had everything she needed for survival.

  But there was no shower.

  No goddamned shower.

  And stars knew she needed one.

  Layla was still wearing the same garment she’d had on when she’d entered the cryosleep sling—a custom-made suit that consisted of a fitted long-sleeved jersey and comfortable leggings. Made of a permeable new-tech fabric that felt like a strange cross between silk and warm gel, it was designed to allow near-freezing bioliquid to coat every pore of her body while she lay in the sling.

  Impregnated with millions of sensors, with several nanoscopic nodes extending directly into her bloodstream, the suit had monitored her body’s activity right down to the tiniest flicker, allowing the AI to perfectly regulate the environment inside the sling.

  All that fancy tech was pointless now, because her suit was disconnected from its AI.

  But it was comfortable, and it kept her warm, and it had saved her life. When all that debris came flying through the cryosleep bay, when something heavy smashed into her chest, jolting her out of a dreamless sleep, her suit had momentarily hardened, protecting her vital organs.

  Layla ran her fingers over her ribcage, hissing and wincing as she grazed the exquisitely tender spot on her right side. No doubt there were a couple of broken ones there. They’d healed a little, but they were still fucking sore.

  “It’s definitely a curse,” she groaned, her voice sounding strange to her own ears. “I just can’t get a break, can I?”

  All she’d wanted to do was escape Earth for a while. Five years, ten years, even twenty. Most of that time would be spent in spaceflight, and Layla would hardly age, because she would be in cryosleep.

  “You are injured.” A familiar cold voice cut through her thoughts, sounding so perfectly clear that she almost felt he was right there in the pod with her.

  Layla stifled a gasp. “How do you know?” She hadn’t told him anything about her injuries.

  “The sound of your breathing changed.”

  A tiny little shiver coursed through her. It was half fear, half curiosity, and all shock. “You can hear even that?” Maybe these aliens just had really, really good sound detection technology. “Who are you, exactly? Are you part of the Infinity-8 Alliance?”

  Come on now, he had to give her something.

  “How badly are you injured?” He countered her question with his own, and Layla didn’t know if he was asking out of concern, or for strategic reasons. Perhaps a nearly-dead passenger wasn’t worth all the time and effort to rescue.

  She had no choice but to be honest. “It’s nothing that’ll kill me. I have a couple of broken ribs and a black eye. An annoying cough that won’t go away. A nasty bruise on my stomach. A twisted ankle. I’ll survive, if I don’t die of boredom first.”

  “You find your current situation boring?” Okay, so now he sounded irritated. At least he was capable of feeling some sort of emotion, even if he wasn’t able to appreciate her sarcasm. Maybe Kordolians didn’t do sarcasm.

  “Sorry. I was being flippant. Being alone for extended periods of time makes us humans a little bit crazy. Well, most of us.” Layla switched her tone, trying to sound as respectful as possible. Sleep deprivation and not speaking to single soul for weeks had made her a little bit delirious, and more than a little desperate. “Why won’t you tell me who you are, Captain?”

  Arctic silence.

  Did I piss him off? For a moment, Layla thought he might have even cut the transmission, but then he spoke.

  “I work for Darkstar. You may call me Enki… and I am not the captain.”

  “Okay. Y-you’re…”

  “Kordolian.” No mention of his rank, or station, or whatever. What the hell was Darkstar? What kind of name was that, anyway? It sounded like an organization headed by an evil supervillain… or something.

  Kordolian. Now it was Layla’s turn to go quiet. Her stomach flipped and her mouth went dry as the realization struck her. She stared at the transmitter unit in shock.

  Somehow, it made perfect sense.

  Now she could put a face to the voice. She didn’t know exactly what he looked like, but she knew he would be tall, lean, and rather ethereal looking. She’d seen Kordolians on the newsfeeds back on Earth. They all shared certain similarities, with that unmistakable skin—a luminous shade of silver—pale hair, fire-colored eyes, and pointed ears.

  Layla tried to remember everything she knew about Kordolians. Big changes had happened in the Kordolian Universe, but Layla didn’t know much about their current situation. She’d been too busy dealing with her own clusterfuck back on Earth to follow Inner Sector politics.

  Still, one couldn’t avoid knowing something about them. The Networks had been saturated with news—and gossip—about the intimidating silver aliens. From all accounts, they were dangerous… and searching for new worlds to inhabit, new ways to ensure the survival of their race. There was even a rumor that they were biologically compatible with humans.

  It seemed implausible that they would go out of their way to rescue her just because they were kind and charitable and all-round good guys.

  Why are you helping me? That’s what Layla wanted to ask, but she didn’t want to push the envelope; didn’t want to drive him away. Her only lifeline was a mysterious grumpy Kordolian called Enki, and he was impossible to read.

  And now he�
�d gone quiet again.

  Layla looked away from the transmitter. She stared out the narrow port-hole, awed and terrified by the infinite Universe that made her feel so fucking small.

  He was out there, somewhere.

  Coming for her.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, but her lids quickly snapped open again as an intense blue light filled the cabin. Something was blocking the port-hole. The blue light moved across the interior in a narrow, focused beam.

  It looked like it was… scanning.

  “Uh, Enki?”

  “What is it?”

  “There’s this weird blue light shining through my port-hole. You know anything about that?”

  If it was something to do with Enki’s rescue plans, then that was damn quick.

  “What is behind the light? Can you see anything?” His sharp questions made her heart sink, and instinctively she knew the strange light had nothing to do with him.

  Layla squinted as the beam rose, becoming momentarily blinded as it shone directly into her eyes. She blinked furiously, shielding her gaze with one hand as she tried to make out what was beyond the light.

  “I-It looks like some sort of machine—a robot. There are wavy metal arms coming off it, like an octopus. Crap, one of them just brushed against the window just now. It has little claws.”

  A narrow beam of blue light danced across her body. It slid over her breasts and her stomach before insolently lingering over her lower belly—where her reproductive organs were.

  As if it were trying to determine her sex, or something.

  Creepy. Like, alien horror-movie creepy. Layla shuddered as she thought of probes and crazy experiments and captivity and all those fanciful stories humans had concocted about aliens in the pre-contact era, before the real thing had shown up on Earth.

  She rose to her feet and darted to the far corner of the pod, where she retrieved an oversized thermal cabin jacket. For a brief moment, its silver reflective material flashed blue beneath the light’s eerie glare. Terrified, she ran to the port-hole and pressed the jacket against it, obscuring the machine’s view.