by Allen Ivers
When was the last time he had killed someone? Had it really been Ostia? Fourteen months of a Colonial post and heavy desk work was making him just as soft as the Capitals under his command. He needed to be made of sterner stuff if they were going to make it through this ordeal.
Battlefield terminations were the unfortunate reality of battlefield command; those that serve under often lose their nerve or their courage, and it often required the heavy hand just as much as the softer touch. His instructors had often belabored this point, the mutual tragedy that came from a proper commander 'filtering' his flock.
He had failed that test as a boy. Repeatedly. He hadn't responded to their lessons. It was a cruelty he had been made to embrace against his better judgement. He had many an unfortunate memory tied to those lessons.
If it was so unfortunate, then why was his heart pounding and his breath so light? Why was he excited?
Riley heel-turned to a stop at a bulkhead door. The door guard snapped off a perfectly fine salute, but all Riley could muster for him was a simple nod. The silent guard didn’t express any distaste, preferring to reach for the door handle. But the man didn’t meet his eye.
He cracked the seal on the door with a hush, prying it open for Riley to slip through. The Ready Room was a small conference space, with a holotable presented to the eight seats terraced out against the opposite wall. Each seat had a micro-scale version of the table, personalizing mission details for each recipient.
Holmst leaned against the table, somehow already out of his gear and the tiny hairs on the sides of his head glistening from a fresh shower. But his eyes were hollowed out, his shoulders hunched.
“Was that really necessary, sir?”Holmst asked with a bowed head. It’s like he thought the sword might fall down onto his neck next.
"Word travels fast, I see" Riley muttered.
"Mostly the sound did, sir."
“Are you going to get in my face too?” Holmst chewed on his cheek, carefully considering if it was worth poking the dragon today. Riley’s heart leapt at the very thought, beating so hard it might bruise his chest. There was a small part of him that thirsted for another round.
“No, sir.”
Pity.
“You followed your orders, Lieutenant,” Riley said, “Struck a major blow to Jergad supply lines, reconned their fortifications…” Riley paused, considering how to address the elephant in the room. “...and you followed your orders. You’ll be receiving commendations for your work today.”
“Just used to my casualties being from hostile action,” Holmst said, “That’s all, sir.”
“Realities of command, Lieutenant,” Riley intoned his instructors' words.
Holmst blinked at that, as the gears in his brain slipped, "It was supposed to be the Capital, sir. It was supposed to be friendly fire."
"You adapted." Riley dropped into the closest chair, propping his feet up on the edge of the map table. “Now, give me the rundown, Lieutenant. What exactly are we dealing with?”
Holmst held his breath and his tongue.
14
Aaron
Those blue eyes. Staring at him from the black.
The corners of Aaron’s eyes itched, little bricks of sand scratching at the skin. Otherwise, he’d have assumed he was already dead. He felt the stone under his fingertips but it was uncharacteristically warm and pliable, like a firm cushion overstuffed.
The minor sounds of industry echoed in some distant place, as workers went about their schedules. There was even a soft scent on a mild breeze, something vanilla - perhaps someone was baking nearby?
Did they come back for him? Was he back in that quaint hospital being treated for more injuries? Or had he never left its walls, and this had all been some lingering nightmare?
He blinked his eyes open, the sand crumbling away. He was on some kind of stone plateau, a golden glow rising up from somewhere below on all sides.
Oh no.
He reached to push himself up -- and the stone surface gave way ever so slightly, a sealing resin softening at his touch, like an organic latex. Aside from the instantaneous confusion turning his brain inside out, it was actually quite comfortable.
Unable to work his brain around this discovery, he elected to crawl. The edge of the plateau was a dozen feet or so from him. He wormed his way along the strange ground, hesitant to confirm the only conceivable possibility. With a bracing breath, he tugged himself towards the edge.
Hundreds of feet below was the magma chamber, the three towers, the devastated moss farms -- he was deep in the Jergad nest.
“Oh… fuck me…” He couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth.
Aaron flopped over, looking for a swift exit he could squirrel out of— coming face to face with a Drone, one eye darkened by a hideously familiar scar.
Aaron couldn’t muster a sound, as it snuffled around him, chitters deep in its hungry throat. He watched its mandibles lick the air in a rhythmic flow.
Scarface just stared at him with its one good eye, a dozen ways to kill him. But there wasn’t a mark on him, just the scuffs & bruises he’d received in his retreat.
Aaron pushed off the ground, inching himself away — and Scar barked, a harsh & sudden sound that froze him to the spot. It was a violent objection, and whatever the beast’s reasoning, Aaron didn’t want to test its patience.
Why would they take him alive? These roaches weren’t exactly known for their planning or strategy. They ran themselves with more brutish tactics, numbers overwhelming. Taking prisoners had only one real purpose during an armed conflict.
They wanted what he knew.
“Nothing quite as sinister as that, ak’thun.”
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. It echoed off the walls of the chamber and inside his own head. It was kind yet firm, formal yet awkward.
His skin trembled and his eyeballs shivered. He could swear he could… smell the words -- like freshly baked bread, lightly spiced and left to warm in the sun. It was comfort incarnate, yet unsettling, like his head was pressed into a vice.
It was behind him. He was sure of it.
He could hear a regular sound, the intermittent flow of breath grating past a surface.
His mind conjured a thousand monsters from a thousand childish nightmares, of beasts with no face or asymmetric horrors with a hunger unknowable. Whatever monstrosity spoke those words had to be ten times what Scar was, a Lord of the manor, a God amongst insects.
Aaron’s hands shook against that impossible stone, as if they might tear off of his wrists and flee -- every man for himself. They just have to run faster than the slowest team member.
That’s how he got caught in the first place, after all.
He lifted himself up onto his knees. Don’t look. Just run.
Aaron spun to his feet but found his great escape abruptly halted by a familiar face. Scar stood in his path, no anger or hatred in its stance, but its wide frame blocked any escape from the plateau. No need for bars in this place.
Scar barked again. It struck Aaron how bizarre that sound was coming from the Jergad’s frame. He had heard their talk, their screams & chittering, but that sharp exhale and baritone thud… that wasn’t a threat; it was an order.
There was only one thing to do now. He turned to face his jailor.
The light beaming up from the cavern below was dim and his eyes would never likely never adjust to the subterranean space, but he could make out a form. Something bulbous, large, almost as big as the Mining Rigs.
How it even fit on the platform with him he couldn’t tell. Perhaps it was dangling off the far side. How the platform held the weight was another question entirely.
There were four limbs tucked back over the top of its frame, perhaps gripping the ceiling of the cavern, but he couldn’t be sure. And the hallmark swept-skull fan reached high in the air, before bowing backward and out of sight.
Two pure pupiless eyes, solid blue like a kind of acrylic paint that shone brightly
, reflecting the little available light. Two vertical slits peaking out at him from the mountain of shifting shapes.
What’s worse, was the entire titan hadn’t been there a mere ten seconds before.
“We are not here now. We are far away. But we can be where we need to be.”
Aaron bit his lip. Maybe those arms would sweep down to pierce his flesh, drain him of blood and knowledge. Perhaps it didn’t need to touch him at all, it would simply shout him to pieces and collect what it desired from the remains.
The unknowable monster seemed to shudder, recoiling for a moment.
It was then he heard footsteps, clopping heels on stone. Those stunning blue eyes bobbed up and down, advancing away from the shrouded creature. In a nausea-inducing moment, the eyes tilted individually to rest more horizontally, to fit the face that stepped into the light.
“Whoa…” Aaron blurted, slack-jawed.
The shape was human in the most uncanny way. He could see Jensen’s top-heavy frame, Eden’s hair & Talania’s hard cheeks, the swagger of Carmona in the gait. And unsettling of all, those solid blue eyes…
The beast at his back nudged him forward toward the doppelganger. Aaron stumbled, almost dropped to his knees before it.
The blue-eyed impossibility gave no reaction, a stoic and regal mask, “A projection drawn from your memories, ak’thun. You understood this person. We would have it that you understand us.”
No words. This was absurd. Horrifying even. There was nothing comforting about what he saw.
It paused for a moment, considering him. Then the image shimmered, revealing a perfect replica of Talania, Princess of Vanguard.
At least the doppelganger had made up its mind.
Aaron’s eyes glanced back at the shifting creature in the dark behind it. He was too taken aback to consider escape anymore, “How is this possible?”
“We have spent time trying to understand that ourselves,” Talania’s ghost said, “You touched our mind. How did you do this?”
Aaron glanced back at the wounded beastie that blocked his path -- and the white tissue that now sealed its wounded eye. Could it be that…? No. How would that even work? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No ak’thun has ever known us.” She took another few steps forward, the image shimmering again to reveal the softer Eden. Her soothing bedside manner was slipping out of the mouth of a monster, “You saw us. And we saw you.”
That voice was so unsettling, churning his insides. He only just noticed the tears spilling down both of his cheeks.
She took another cautious step forward, and in an instant, stood a foot taller as Gearmaster Jensen. It was changing tactics, looking for a way in.
“They call you criminal. They call you ravager. They call you murderer. What do you call yourself?”
“What do you want?”
Eden again, soft and kind. “We want to live, just as you do.”
Aaron snorted, “I don’t know how I can help you.”
The doppelganger huffed, the exhale drawing it back into the regal demeanor & form of Talania. She reached out to him, not quite lunging for his face. He jerked his head back, but too late. She gripped his skull between thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently.
No. Not there. He didn’t want to go back there.
Amongst the flashes of color and maddening patterns repeated ad infinitum, Aaron could feel the rain on his head and the blood on his fingers. The city towering high over his head. The crowd parting around him like they were drawing back a curtain. The body crumpled at his feet.
And yet, there she stood -- Talania was at his side, gaping at the dead.
“You killed your own?” She asked, almost confused by the equation.
All of the adrenaline of the day flooded through his veins. The taste of metallic in his mouth. The smell of ozone burning his nostrils as the laser pistol cooled in his hand. All the fear, all the rage, all the instinct that had boiled up in a single moment. Old scars ripped open with a rusty blade.
“...Yes.” He barely pushed the word out.
“They wished you harm?”
Aaron shook his head, “I don’t know what he wanted. Don’t even know his name.”
His lips quivered as he studied the dead man and the carbon scorch on his chest. The burn had etched a crater into the flesh and the spot-boiling of fluids had tossed viscera on to everyone nearby. The man’s chest had popped like a water balloon. His eyes fixed open, staring into the sky to catch the abuse of a thousand raindrops.
They’d been the same age. One with rank and power and money.
Aaron doubted the boy had real hatred in his heart, just the desire for more things and the will to take them. And take and take and take some more, without worry of who he hurt. It wasn’t malice that brought their conflict; it was a far more common crime: a callous disregard for others.
This boy would’ve killed Aaron and would likely have never thought of it again. Aaron never stopped thinking about it.
Talania’s fingers released him and the memory melted away in less than a second. He collapsed right where his victim had been, only to find the stone floor of the plateau.
“We did not wish you pain,” she said, her empty blue eyes softening at the sight. That was likely the closest to an apology he would get.
Was this going to be the duration of his captivity? Emotional torture, forced vacations into his most painful memories? Was he to be a laboratory animal for an alien species, only for them to study his corpse when they were done? If they were going to kill him, why not get it over with?
“What do you want from me?!” He bellowed at the dark shape.
Talania stepped into his sightline, kneeled down to his level, but keeping a respectful distance, “Peace.”
Ho-with the what now?
That thought had obviously twisted his face. It was all the response she needed. She stood up and walked to the edge of the platform, “Your people destroy our home, our food, and ourselves. We are few now and persistence will render us to shadows. You fear death, ak’thun?”
He wiped his face, scrubbing away the dried tears and snot, but he refused to answer.
“Yes… It is difficult to fear your reflection.”
Aaron took a step forward -- into grasslands.
The doppelganger stood waist deep in the reeds, wearing Eden’s form as her hands caressed the amber waves of grain.
The grass seemed painted by a soft blue of the midnight air and rolling along like a soothing ocean. Aaron could feel the tickle of the individual blades brushing against his forearms, the cool air filling his lungs. It was rejuvenating, like he was awaking from a refreshing sleep.
The savannah splayed out before him stretched from mountain to mountain, a picturesque landscape lifted clean out of a fantasy, like some somber depiction of Heaven. The clear night sky wore ten thousand nameless stars, a coronet of white gems staggered across the azure expanse all the way to the horizon.
“This was our place…” She whispered, reverential, like her breath might disturb a sleeping child, “It had seen nothing but the simplest life had to offer.”
Aaron stole a refreshing lungful of that air, tasting the moist earth on the wind and the smell of cut grass. He had never felt something so lush before, like a cool rag draped across feverish skin. With every passing moment, unseen weights were lifted away.
A grunt, earnest and hungry, came from the grass at his shin. He looked down to see a Drone at his knee. It was pubescent -- laughable, it was as big as he was. It sniffed at the ground, its claws picking chunks of the hearty grass and sliding the tiny bales to its waiting mouth. As the jaw bones sifted out debris and junk, the teeth worked to mash the barley with a quiet contentment.
The beast more resembled livestock than monster.
“We were one. Quiet. Still. At peace.” She turned to look at him, slipping into Talania and her cold fire, “You were many.”
He heard the unmistakable supersonic boom p
ierce the upper atmosphere. Aaron craned his neck back. Three stars were on the move, glowing brighter and brighter. The orange flash of reentry burn lit up the alloy hulls. They dipped low on the horizon, skimming the ground as they approached.
The sound caught the attention of the herd. Dozens of heads poked up out of the grass, curiously studying the approach, all tracking the movement as one.
“How are you doing this?” Aaron asked with a hushed whisper.
“I showed you your own memory with clarity and honesty,” it responded, “That you might believe this story to be as true as your own.” Her calm veneer crackling with energy, as if her fury grew with the oncoming storm. Aaron could guess what came next. After all, this lush plain was not one he had ever seen.
The stars zipped overhead, silent as the night, with only a stiff breeze to ever signify their passing. He couldn’t make out the ship or model, but Aaron could see the lights from the bellies exposing the interior. And small objects were falling.
Bombs.
He whirled about back toward the head of the basin where the ships had come from. Sure enough, a maelstrom of plasma and fire erupted, blinding the field with light. All went white -- and the pain struck him.
This was it. The torture he knew was coming. It lit every nerve on fire from head to toe, white hot and electric. He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything over that writhing agony.
And just as suddenly, it stopped. Perhaps now the questions would come, the accusations and the guilt and the manipulations and then more pain. They would visit a personal brand of justice upon his head, laying countless deaths on the feet of the one. He was all they had to exorcise their pain upon and they would have him bear it all.
But nothing. He lay curled up on the bare earth, black and scorched to a cracking glass. He checked himself over, but for all of that suffering, there was no visible injury to him. His clothes were unmarred, his flesh untouched.
