by Drew Avera
Soon, the ground crew began loading large crates into the cargo bay as Pedero entered a vehicle. “The weapons are being loaded,” Beva said.
“I see it, the crates look like they’re holding torpedoes.”
“Most likely, I’m sure there’s more.” As he said that, more crates were unloaded, some labeled. “It’s enough artillery to go into battle with, much less take out a base without the firepower to go against a warship.”
Gen looked down at the pack and frowned. She didn’t want it to be true, but as the scene unfolded before her, she knew she had little choice. Once the vehicles were gone, the explosives would be planted; and the ship destroyed. I have to think about my people, put them first.
Even as she thought it, regret filled her heart with impending grief. Fighting for freedom wasn’t as black and white as she was led to believe. She never thought a regime change on her crippled world would be such a difficult choice to defend. Even in the face of extinction, her value for the lives of others blinded her.
“What kind of monster will I become if I do this?” She whispered, not thinking Beva could hear her.
“Not a monster, but a savior,” Beva replied.
But his words did not make her feel any better about it.
Thirty-Three
Brendle
His thoughts drifted to Anki, alone in a hospital recovering from brain surgery. She had no idea what was happening and the last time he saw her she was angry because of his selfishness. It wasn’t his best moment in their relationship and the chances for a redo were looking slim. From where he sat now, chained to the deck of his ship, it seemed she was right.
I may not have seen this coming, he thought, but I sure as hell am going to see my way out of this.
Across from him, Deis stared ahead, his bound hands slumped between his knees as he sat on the uncomfortable nonskid on the deck. The look of deep concentration on his face let Brendle know the Lechun man was up to something; a potential escape he was sure but was yet to be verified.
“Can we hurry this up?” Mussa asked, his weapon dangling loosely in his hand like a second thought. For being the one left in charge, he didn’t seem to carry himself with authority in Brendle’s opinion. “I don’t like being this far out of the city. That’s where the women are.” The slithery tone of his voice suggested a dirty thought springing in his mind, at least to Brendle’s ears who had grown up in the worst parts of a city on Greshia.
He knew the type.
“It will get done, sir,” one of the Pilatian workers replied. “We have a bottleneck with the small access door in the deck. We can only take the torpedoes down one at a time. That’s why it’s so time consuming.”
Mussa stiffened. “Are you talking back to me?”
The look on the Pilatian man’s face turned to one of sheer fear. “No, sir. I was just trying to inform you of the difficulty we’re experiencing. It’s challenging to fit everything into such a short timeline.”
“Give it a rest, Mussa,” the other guard, Lere, said as he leaned against the bulkhead behind Malikea and Deis, his eyes darting down to Brendle every so often. “The job will get done when it’s done. We get paid either way.”
Mussa turned to his partner. “I’m just fucking with him,” he replied. “I like it when these little people get all teary eyed like they’re about to piss themselves.” He chuckled to himself as the Pilatian worker carried on about his business.
“And do you think Pedero wouldn’t cut your balls off for messing with her people?” Lere canted his eyes towards the Pilatian man as he went back to work unloading the crates of weapons into their respective magazines under the cargo bay deck.
“Her people? Are you serious? She’s a Greshian like us, we’re her people,” Mussa shot back. The irritation in his voice escalating with derision.
“She’s taken a liking to their subservient nature. They treat her like she’s Princess Herma. Haven’t you noticed they both have that ice-cold veins vibe?”
Mussa smirked. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that.” Both men chortled as Mussa continued his pacing, taping the barrel of his weapon against his thigh with each step. Brendle watched, knowing exactly what a shot from the weapon felt like, especially after waking up. The kinetic weapons didn’t damage structures like ships, but they felt like getting kicked by a two-thousand-pound beast. It wasn’t something he looked forward to experiencing again, though it was inevitable if they were going to mount an escape.
Just say when, Brendle thought as his eyes darted towards Deis who had a mildly satisfied look on his face.
Behind Brendle, the last of the crates made their way up the cargo bay ramp. These boxes were different, he noticed, rail gun rounds. “She wasn’t kidding about stocking this ship, I’ll tell you that,” Brendle said, distracting the guards.
“No one told you to speak,” Mussa said, canting his head midstride as he continued pacing. His breathing was heavy and Brendle could not tell if it was from the excursion or from anger.
“I’m just saying, I made a mistake in thinking Pedero was blowing smoke up my ass about restocking our supplies. I never would have sought a more peaceful means of resolving this conflict had I known she would provide enough firepower to wipe out an army. I’m pretty sure I can take out two with as much ammunition as she’s provided. I can confidently say the resistance will not be a threat to us now.”
Mussa scoffed at Brendle’s words, not taking the time to even look in his direction. “Yeah, well, isn’t it too bad you went and turned bitch on her? Now, we have to seize your ship and put you three in the dirt. I suppose I should thank you, but considering how much I hate flying, I’ll show my gratitude by missing the kill shot the first few times and hitting you in your extremities. No need to let you die quickly after turning your back on your people.” Mussa stopped pacing and glared at Brendle, his eyes a sinister stare.
The only people I turned my back on was my crew and I’m never making that mistake again.
From the corner of his eye, Brendle watched Deis lean forward, getting his feet under him. “My people worshiped the dirt because it provided the means to sustain us,” Deis said, his voice calm.
“Is that right?” Mussa asked. “Maybe you want to volunteer as the first one I take out? Keep talking and see what happens.”
Deis smirked, “Thank you for the suggestion.” He flung his hands upward, sending the chain now disconnected from the pad-eye hurtling towards the guard’s face, striking him between the eyes. Deis planted his feet and whipped the chain back towards him, letting it fall slack at his feet before continuing his attack.
Mussa shouted in pain as he doubled over, dropping his gun in the process, the stock of it clattering on the steel deck away from Brendle and Malikea. Brendle watched as Deis charged him, swinging the chain over his head like a lasso and sending it around Mussa’s head, the chain wrapping around it a few times before Deis yanked it downward, snapping Mussa’s neck as he was brought down like a tree. The dead thud of his head on the deck let Brendle know the man wasn’t walking off the Replicade.
Behind him, Lere caught on to what was happening and brought his weapon up to fire. Brendle looked on helplessly as the man took aim. His eyes glued to his target.
“Deis, watch out!” Brendle screamed.
The next thing he heard was shots fired and the sickening sound of a body striking the deck.
Thirty-Four
Ilium
Ilium found her curled up in his bed, the lights dim as she slept soundly. He didn’t know how long she tried to stay awake for him, but neither would she have known that Headquarters responded to the message she sent on his behalf. It was the main reason for his trepidation, but just as quickly as it came, it was over.
He closed the door gently and pulled off his uniform top as he crept closer to the bed, not wanting to disturb her. Under the glow of the red overhead light she looked at peace and he watched her sleep for a moment, the gentle rise and fall of her chest in time with
her breathing. It was impossible for him to deny how he felt for her. It was equally impossible for him to give it up now that they both wanted to pursue a relationship. Part of him felt he gave up one dangerous path for the other, but he knew this was the one that would make him happiest.
What was power with no one to share it with?
Ilium slid his boots off and dropped his pants before reclining back on the mattress designed for one. As he pulled the blanket over himself, she stirred.
“What took you so long?” Stavis asked, her voice slurred by sleepiness.
He hesitated to tell her, not wanting to disturb the moment he wanted to share, but he could hardly contain himself. “I received a message back from Headquarters. They reviewed the video you sent.”
Stavis sat up in the bed, the expression on her face fighting back the tiredness he knew coursed through her body. “What did they say?”
Ilium rolled over to face her. “You didn’t send them the video I made explaining the situation. Why?”
Stavis bit her lip and looked towards the ceiling. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t lie about it, I know you sent your own video message,” he said. “When the Admiral made no mention of my past, I decided to look at the send history from my account. Your brief was sent, not mine.”
Stavis brushed a tuft of hair out of her face and looked at him. “Look, the charges that could be filed for what you once were could have you put to death. It was treason of the highest degree. I know who you are now, and that’s an excellent commanding officer who is compassionate about his crew. You don’t deserve to die for the sins of your past. The things you know could be used to stop this Haranger character, so I took a calculated risk and recorded my own message for the Admiral’s staff. I’m not apologizing for it, either.”
Ilium gazed into her cobalt blue eyes as tears began to form. Her passion for him only made him weaker as he beheld her. “I’m not looking for an apology. I want to thank you, you very well may have saved my life.”
The expression on her face shifted ever so slightly from confusion to satisfaction. “You’re welcome, sir,” she replied with a smirk.
As the King Slayer drifted deeper into the darkness, on a course set for nowhere, two lovers were caught in each other’s gaze. Ilium placed a hand on her thigh and leaned closer, their bodies touching. “To express my gratitude,” he said, “I want to give into the temptation I’ve fought since the moment I met you.”
She placed a finger on his lips to silence him. “That’s very self-serving, sir. What kind of reward is that?”
Dumbfounded, ilium looked at her questioningly. “I don’t understand.”
Stavis smiled and rolled her body on top of him. Her hair tickled his chin as she leaned down, kissing his neck before whispering in his ear. “It’s only right you let me give into my temptations first.”
Ilium grinned as he felt her kiss his neck more before finding his lips with hers. His mind raced with the thrum of his heart. It had been so long since he’d been with a woman that he was nervous, but he noticed the same in her as she trembled in his arms.
It’s like we’re perfect for one another, he thought, his eyes affixed to a dull red spot on the ceiling of his stateroom. And then his mind moved to more intimate things.
Thirty-Five
Crase
Coming out of deceleration felt like being born again. With all the tension removed from his body, Crase could finally relax. Esma lay passed out next to him, his seat reclined, and the straps still bound tightly around him. The right thing to do was to check the man’s condition, but a part of Crase hoped the bastard was dead. He knew when he was being played and with each passing day, the sensation that something terrible awaited him grew.
Pila was large enough to see with the naked eye now. Its large wedge-like appearance reflected the light of the nearby star, glistening as the light skittered across the metallic substructure of the station. Crase wondered if the station could be used as a ship, maneuvered through the abyss to a new home system. With the ability to sustain oneself the allure of having a station like that was appealing.
Especially when you wanted to disappear and not be found.
Crase sat up in his seat and loosened his harness as he pulled the monitor near him. His eyes were blurry from several hours under strain, but he knew it was normal, though irritating like nothing else. It’s difficult to fight a battle with haloed vision.
“How much longer until I can put this tin can on target?” His question was nothing more than talking to himself out loud, but he needed hear a voice.
As he scrolled along the monitor, reading the data as it was laid out before him, he ran the calculations in his head. The ship turned out to be more efficient than he originally thought. In less than four hours he could be in targeting range.
“Are we there yet?” Esma asked, his voice strained and weak.
Crase sighed at the interruption. “Four more hours and the actions starts.”
“I can’t see anything,” Esma replied, ignoring the answer to his first question.
“Is your vision blurred or blacked out?” Crase asked.
“Blurred,” Esma answered as he struggled to raise his seat.
“Then don’t complain. Your vision will return within an hour or so. It’s a side effect of having too much pressure on your optic nerve and your eyeball slightly changing shape. Most people return to normal. I would be concerned if your vision was totally lost.”
“That happens?” Esma asked, his voice dripping with concern.
Crase smiled, loving how uncomfortable Haranger’s little errand boy was. Certainly not the kind of person I would send to represent my organization, Crase thought. He ignored the question and moved on to the business at hand. “Have your people make rounds across the ship and search for damage. The strain of the deceleration burn was just as hard on her as it was us.”
“All right,” Esma sighed as he rose from his seat. “It’s probably a good idea for me to stretch my legs anyway.”
“Of course, be sure to hydrate too, it will help settle your stomach.”
“Thanks for the tip.” Esma stepped out of the bridge and disappeared behind the corner of the passageway.
“I hope you blow chunks you little shit,” Crase said under his breath, tickled with himself for hazing the man. “Never send a land dweller into the dark reaches to do this kind of work. It’s never pretty.”
Alone in silence once again, Crase leaned back in his seat. He stretched, popping the joints in his back and neck, feeling the relief wash over him. All that was left of his plan to take back his ship was the slow drift towards Pila, finding the Replicade, and taking the lives of those despicable people who took her in the first place.
“But I have something special for the girl,” Crase whispered.
Something special indeed.
Thirty-Six
Gen-Taiku
The first shot passed above her shoulder, the sound of the screeching projectile buffeting frightfully towards its target. She continued her press forward, one foot in front of the other as she held her weapon, barrel down to keep from accidentally shooting a friendly.
It was her first time leading an advance into enemy territory with the intent to kill. Behind her, two Pilatian ground-pounders followed, their faces void of expression. Both were deadly shots, as each member of the resistance was, but the heart behind their willingness to fire did not match hers. Still, they followed and she was thankful for it.
Behind the vehicles, Beva held the workers captive, their mouths gagged and their arms and legs bound. It was a peaceful surrender on their part, but an act of treason on the part of the resistance fighters. Not that it would have stopped them anyway.
“I’ll take the lead up into the ship,” she whispered. “The crew knows me.”
“Be careful, Gen, the two Greshians are armed,” Beva said into his comm.
Gen nodded, not knowing if he was watching or not. From
her vantage point the sound of something hitting the deck. As curiosity got to her, she climbed upward on the ramp, keeping a low profile until she could see inside. Above, Deis stood with a chain dangling from his hands as one of the Greshian men lay sprawled out and bleeding.
But the sound of a man shouting hit her like a punch to the gut. “Deis, watch out!” Three words that prompted fight or flight. She drew her weapon upward and sprinted up the ramp to see the second Greshian guard with his weapon leveled at the Lechun.
Two heart-beats later, her weapon fired. She didn’t recall willingly pulling the trigger, but the threat was neutralized nonetheless. Gen stood in shock as blood gushed from the Greshian man’s chest before he collapsed to the deck, the dull thud of his head striking the steel floor nauseating her more than the view of blood spilling out into a pool.
“Gen?”
Someone said her name, but she had no idea who. She barely heard the voice over the sound of her own heartbeat.
“Gen?”
She turned around to see Beva standing there, his weapon hanging loosely in his hands, a sign the threat was over. “What did I do?” Her mind refused to process the event and the place she had in it. Gen had never killed anyone before, her job was espionage, not infantry, yet here she stood, a killer.
“You saved my life,” Deis said behind her. “Thank you.”
She turned back to face the Lechun man, his sweaty, dark gray skin glistened under the bright lights of the cargo bay.
She looked down at the mayhem she helped cause and felt her stomach turn.
As her eyes struggled to take everything in, her men assisted the crew by removing their restraints. She stood there, Beva behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder as words flowed incoherently from someone else’s lips.
