by Drew Avera
“I see you’re back with the living, Mr. Quinn,” Pedero said nonchalant. Her fingers glanced across the monitor, but access to the weapons system was denied to her. “I’m going to need your help arming this ship for our attack against the resistance. I’m sure you understand that business must still be carried out. Of course, your betrayal of Princess Herma means we must advance the timeline.”
“I’m not helping you, you crazy bitch,” Brendle snapped.
Pedero smirked. “Your bravado could use a little work, Mr. Quinn. Besides, you’re fooling yourself, not me. I happen to know that you will give in and help because I have an insurance policy that guarantees it.”
“Yeah? You can take your little insurance policy and choke on it. I’m not fucking helping you. And once I get out of these chains—"
“Let me guess, you’re going to kill me with your bare hands? You’re so predictable.” Pedero glanced at one of the Pilatian guards and Brendle watched as the man stepped towards Deis, pulling out his weapon and placing it against the unconscious Lechun man’s head.
Brendle’s eyes narrowed as he stared them down, but in his gut he knew she was right. He also knew that there was no guarantee they were making it off this ship alive whether he helped or not. “Fine,” he seethed, the feeling of defeat washing over him like a stench.
“As I said, predictable. Mussa, please assist the ship’s captain to this console to access the data I need.
The Pilatian guard stepped towards Brendle, kneeling to disconnect the chain shackling him to the pad-eye. “One wrong move and your friend doesn’t wake up. Got it?”
Brendle clenched his jaw and nodded. A moment later, he was lifted to his feet by the guard, a gun stuck to his side as he was led to the monitor.
“What do you want?” Brendle asked, refusing to look at Pedero.
“I need access to the weapons system so my people can arm the ship. I’ll have more for you later, but try to resist the urge to waste my time. It won’t bode well for your crew,” Pedero replied, the smugness of her voice digging its way under his skin in a way he could not shake.
Brendle placed a hand on the monitor, allowing the scan to take place before unlocking the ship’s subsystems pages. He then scrolled past the engine and environmental controls data to access the weapons. “We have PDC’s, a rail gun, two .50 mm cannons, and two torpedo tubes. Access to everything is below decks, through that hatch.” He nodded towards a rectangular section of the deck outlined with red paint. “It opens hydraulically with the console on the bulkhead.”
“Thank you, that should make things easier on my men. Mussa, please escort Mr. Quinn back to his station. I don’t want him getting any ideas.”
“Let’s go,” Mussa said, shoving Brendle from behind. His chains dragged against the deck as he slowly walked back to the pad-eye where he woke up. His mind flooded with thoughts on what to do next, but each semi-plan felt doomed as he conjured them. There was no way he could fight off armed men without one of his own taking a bullet.
I can’t win for losing, he thought as he dropped to the deck.
Mussa bound him back to the pad-eye and rose with a groan. Brendle noticed the man favored his right knee. He didn’t know what he could do with that information, but letting it dwell in the back of his mind might open a possibility later on.
Hopefully.
“See to it this ship is fully stocked. I have some errands to run for Princess Herma,” Pedero said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Both guards said simultaneously. It reminded Brendle of the servants he’s seen on Greshian owned by the rich.
Pedero stepped off the ship, down the cargo ramp, but Brendle could hear her ordering someone around outside. He could only imagine a larger crew of people loyal to Princess Herma waiting on her beck and call. The real question is can they be turned?
Moments later, the first crates of weapons were hauled onboard. As the tops were lifted, Brendle noticed the weapons were Pilatian design. “You guys are going to use your weapons against your own people when you have an enemy to your freedom sitting high in her tower?”
“Shut up,” the guard next to Deis said, still holding his weapon to his the Lechun’s bald head.
“Come on, if you’re going to kill me, at least let me run my mouth. It’s not right to let things go unsaid. Besides, isn’t it genocide to kill a race of people? That’s what the emperor is doing, causing mass genocide on a galactic scale. You Pilatian are the lucky ones, you have survivors. Malikea and Deis lost their whole civilization. Once they’re gone, the Lechun race will be extinct. It’s the same thing that will happen to the Pilatians if Princess Herma loses interest. Are you sure you want to go out on the wrong side of history?”
The man stomped over to Brendle, kicking him in the face and driving him backwards. The only thing preventing him from slamming against the deck was the taut chain tearing at the flesh on his wrists keeping him bound. “I said to shut up,” the guard snapped.
Brendle shook his head, spitting blood onto the deck as he glared up at the man. He would be lying to say his face didn’t hurt, but he was happy Deis no longer had the gun to his head. As he kept his eyes low, he noticed the same relief on Deis’s now awake face. A slight curl of the Lechun man’s lips let Brendle know he wasn’t going down without a fight either.
Thirty
Ilium
“Status report?” Ilium asked, taking his seat on the bridge. The relative normalcy of the activity on the bridge ushered a sense of calm he hadn’t expected to crave so much. Crew rest was in place after the emergency, so the occupied seats were cut in half, leaving what crew remained in a monitoring status and nothing more. For all intents and purposes, the ship was not on a mission, but merely drifting for a small reprieve.
“All ship’ systems are operating normally and there are no casualties. Medical has reported four personnel with minor injuries, sprains and bruises, but we are an operational warfighter again, sir,” Lieutenant Stavis reported. She was smiling, a look of relief he was certain of.
“Excellent. After such a nerve-racking experience, we should see about hitting port, and letting the crew blow off some steam.” It had been so long since he walked on a planet that he wasn’t sure he could do so without assistance. Even the hard burns deeper into space placing gravitational forces on his body beyond what one experienced on most worlds in the Greshian Sector might not be enough to maintain muscle mass. There was always a pharmaceutical means to lessen the effects on the body, but it wasn’t one he trusted.
“Do you have anywhere in mind?” Stavis asked.
“Somewhere close, we need permission from Headquarters before we port anywhere. I’m not sure it will come easy after submitting my report, if at all,” Ilium replied. He adjusted himself in his seat, stretching out his left arm as the tingling sensation of a pinched nerve got the better of him.
“That does produce an unfavorable outlook, sir,” Stavis whispered. “Still, what do they expect to do given the fact you saved the ship?”
Ilium nodded. “You mean that you saved the ship. By the way, I can’t thank you enough for taking control of the situation. I would have been lost without you. I really mean that, things could have gone worse with me making every decision.”
Stavis grinned and she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. He could tell she was exhausted, but they all were. “Survival is the primary objective. I just had to think my way out of dying. I don’t believe there was any skill to it, but I do think I had an amazing amount of luck on my side.”
“Luck? I’ll take what I can get. We’re all still breathing thanks to you. If you want to retire to your quarters for the night, I can oversee things for now. I don’t think anyone has the energy to do anything stupid, so we’ll just drift for the time being. I have a heading set for open darkness; the autopilot can do the rest.”
Stavis leaned closer. “Perhaps we should both retire for the night?” her voice was low enough so only he heard it.
&n
bsp; Ilium brought his face to hers. “I would do that in a second if I thought I could get away with it, but we both know now is a fragile time. People will be hyperattentive and we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”
Her smile diminished, but her eyes still suggested her eagerness to coalesce. How he hoped he could delegate his duties to someone else and take her in his arms.
And elsewhere.
“If you were to find yourself in the wrong stateroom tonight, I wouldn’t complain,” he said, carefully watching the few remaining personnel on the bridge to ensure they didn’t notice the rampant flirtation taking place a few meters away from them. Edging so close to dangerous, improper territory made it exciting, like making out in school in a dark corner, hoping the adults didn’t find you.
Her smile returned, and with it, the fire in his loins. “Goodnight, Captain,” she said, turning to walk away with a sway of her hips that drew his attention with more fervor than anything else in his life; power and wealth included.
“Goodnight. Lieutenant,” he replied, but no one heard him.
Sitting on his chair alone with his thoughts made time drift as slow as the ship. That was a lie, he knew. The ship catapulted through the darkness fast enough to move around Greshia in just over an hour, but with the expanse of darkness before him, it felt like crawling.
“Sir, we have an incoming message from Headquarters,” Lieutenant Teirs said from her communications console.
“Patch it through to my monitor,” Ilium replied, the beat of his heart rising to the point he felt it in his throat.
“Yes, sir, patched in now.”
The display on his monitor changed and he saw the Greshian Navy’s seal in the background of a video feed. The idea of opening it to see the condemnation he knew he deserved was unsettling. Part of him wished he could just delete it and pretend none of this ever happened. The other part of him was a reminder that doing so could result in another ship coming to destroy him and his crew just like the Hamæråté.
His finger swayed over the image, too afraid to press the icon to play the message. But as the fear grew, his finger drew closer.
And then he pressed it.
Thirty-One
Crase
Pila grew larger in the monitor as they approached. The wedge-shaped station turned planet glowed from the system’s starlight, giving the illusion it winked at them as they stared. “Beginning approach burn,” Crase said as he initiated a series of commands on the console. Beneath him, the deck vibrated as reverse thrusters kicked in. he braced himself against the console, feeling the shoulder harnesses tightening around his body. Discovering the Eruga’s ability to operate in this capacity was a happy accident. The details of executing it were buried in the flight manual he read to pass the time. As uncomfortable as it was, the maneuver was easier to bear than a flip and burn; the disorientation alone would make him nauseas.
Not to mention it took longer to prepare the ship to prevent injuries.
“How long before we orbit?” Esma asked, gripping his shoulder restraints as he grimaced, obviously having a harder time maintaining his composure than he would like.
“Reverse thrust will last six hours, and we’ll have another twenty hours to drift into position.”
“Drift, why would you drift when the engines are functional?” his voice took on the whining nature of a child.
“Because the Replicade has advanced radar systems that will pick us up if we’re powered up. I intend to use inertia to arrive and only have emergency power and life support operational to give us the element of surprise.”
“It sounds unnecessary to me,” Esma said, looking away as he face reddened.
“It’s a good thing I didn’t ask you,” Crase hissed as the pressure surrounding his body increased. It felt like trying to brake quickly but never coming to a complete stop.
Esma mumbled something beside him and as Crase looked over, he realized the Greshian had passed out.
Good, I didn’t want to listen to him bitch the whole way. The Pilatian ship continued to shudder, but he watched the accelerometer creep slowly downward. With no resistance in space, acceleration and deceleration were timely processes. Most people tended to not think about that unless they were in the pilot’s chair. Everyone else assumed it operated like a ground vehicle.
Crase reached under his seat and adjusted the lever, reclining the seat enough to take the tension off his shoulders. It was the closest position to being comfortable he could maintain while keeping his eyes on the monitor. Bearable was the word he chose, and that was being positive.
As he settled in for the long haul, he manipulated the view of Pila, zooming in with the assistance of nearby satellites. For only being a station, the terra greatly resembled a planet. Half of it was a city while the other resembled a desert setting separating the city from a lush green area which he assumed served to grow food. He didn’t know much about the original planets topography, but it made sense they would model the station after their home world.
That’s what he would do.
“I’ll be there soon,” he whispered. “And when I arrive there will be hell to pay.”
Thirty-Two
Gen-Taiku
The Replicade sat stoically on the landing zone against the backdrop of the fading horizon as the Pilatian station rotated towards evening. As Gen approached, using the other craft as cover, her mind raced. She knew full well what she was doing, and had a reasonable explanation for why, but the feeling of impending regret pumped through her veins with a veracity she was uncomfortable with.
“We’re in position,” Beva said through his comm.
Gen slowed to a stop behind a craft, ducking under its rounded airfoil for cover. In her pack she had enough explosives to ground every ship in the landing zone. It was overkill to say the least. “I’m ready,” she whispered, her heart pounding to the rhythm of a coming war.
“Stand fast,” Beva said, “I see vehicles approaching.”
“Damn,” she muttered, feeling exposed. “Should I fall back for more cover?”
“No, stand fast, moving will only draw your attention.”
Easy for you to say when you’re inside, she thought.
The rumble of the approaching vehicles caused the ground beneath her feet to vibrate. Considering the fact steel sheets were welded together to create the surface, she was surprised she didn’t notice it sooner. Gen hunkered down behind the landing gear, trying to gain a better vantage point while remaining hidden. “I can’t really see anything, the belly of this ship is in the way.”
“It’s three armed vehicles, probably the weapons you said Princess Herma promised them,” Beva replied. “They’re stopping so keep quiet.”
The squeal of brakes was followed by the sound of heavy doors opening and slamming shut. They sounded like they were on top of her, but she knew that wasn’t the case. “Who is it?”
“It’s Pedero and a couple of Greshian men.”
“I thought Princess Herma’s people were all women,” Gen replied.
“Guess not. They’re entering the ship and the men are strapped.”
“What kind of weapons?”
“Handguns, looks like kinetic weapons. They’ll hurt, but probably won’t kill you. Maybe,” Beva answered, his assessment not instilling confidence for Gen to carry out the mission.
“Should we abort?”
“No, I think you need to sit tight and wait it out. If they load these weapons, then the explosive power of the ship is going to destroy this area and might reveal our location. I’ll radio back to command with what’s going on.”
Waiting for a reply felt like forever as the light faded and sensation of being exposed was difficult to shake. With the darkness to her benefit, Gen lowered to the ground to get a better view. What she saw in the light of the cargo bay was a Lechun man being dragged by his arms and bound with chains. This isn’t a friendly visit.
“Beva, do you read me?”
“G
o,” he replied, his radio staticky.
“Are you seeing what I am?”
“Looks like they’re rounding up the crew. Maybe Princess Herma decided to have her people in charge rather than them,” Beva replied. “Captain Tushia said to continue with the mission, just use one brick of explosives and target the engine. If they can’t power it, they can’t fly it.”
“I don’t know,” Gen replied. “I think there’s something sinister happening here.”
“Like what?”
“I get the feeling they’re being double-crossed.”
“Maybe, but don’t lose sight of what we’re doing here. These people are a threat to us, whether willingly or not.”
Beva’s words echoed in her head. “I know,” she replied, but as she did, she saw Malikea being dragged into the cargo bay, followed by his Greshian captain, Brendle. “The whole crew is bound and chained, what do you think is going on?”
“I’m getting the same vibe you are, but we need to wait it out, and carry out our mission. That ship must be destroyed.” His words tinged with the finality of General Nara’s orders felt like a punch to the gut. If the resistance had a ship like the Replicade in their arsenal, then Princess Herma would have to listen and relinquish control.
Gen pulled the pack off her back and set it next to her, relieved of the burden. Even with the night sky looming ahead, the ground still radiated heat accrued from the day. Being so close to it felt like she was being slowly cooked. She unzipped her jacket and fanned herself quietly, trying to maintain some level of comfort as she watched the events unfold.
As the minutes passed, she watched an altercation between Brendle and a guard, the look on Brendle’s face as he succumbed to whatever Pedero ordered him to do suggested he wasn’t happy. Maybe we can work with that, she thought, unable to let go of the fact she didn’t want to destroy the ship. There has to be a better way.
