by Cheree Alsop
“You see, sometimes I feel like I can’t get all the words out I need to,” O’Tule explained in her fast way. “It’s like all of the scenes are bottled up inside me and if I don’t let them out, I’m going to explode all over the place!”
“We don’t want that to happen,” Shathryn said. She pulled a small fold-out seat from the wall beneath a mirror and motioned for Liora to sit down. Liora did so with her gaze on the beautiful pictures, amazed that they had been created by the little woman at her side.
“Exactly,” O’Tule rushed on. “If that was to happen, it wouldn’t be a pretty sight. You’d see little old me all exploded and nothing left but splattins all over the place. Instead, Captain Metis, bless his soul, allowed me to paint whatever I wanted along the hallways and in the rooms as long as it was beautiful.” She winked at Liora. “And of course it’s always beautiful. It comes from me!”
Shathryn pushed on a handle and a small drawer slid open. She withdrew a pair of scissors and a comb, then met Liora’s gaze in the mirror. “I promise I’ll be careful,” she said, her purple eyes warm. “Trust me. I know plenty about the connection between a girl and her hair.”
“She really does,” O’Tule began.
It was clear she was about to go off on another tirade, but Shathryn beat her to the punch.
“As it is, I’m going to just even things out a bit.” She smiled at Liora. “Damaclans are the most beautiful, terrifying race there is. I’ve always wondered how beings so gorgeous can be the heart of a race so deadly.” She winked at Liora in the mirror. “You’re no exception, my dear. In fact, you’re the loveliest Damaclan I’ve ever seen in my life. How do you keep the menfolk away from you?”
The question brought a sudden blush to Liora’s cheeks. She stared at herself in the mirror. She had never blushed in her life. She shook her head as Shathryn ran a comb through her hair.
The woman paused as though waiting for an answer.
Liora finally went with, “I’m not quite sure.”
“Of course you’re not,” Shathryn replied with another purple-hued wink. “The gorgeous ones never are. You carry this sort of dangerous, I’ll-kill-you-if-you-look-at-me-wrong air. It must drive the men crazy. They don’t know whether to kiss you or shoot you.”
“That’s got to be quite the conundrum,” O’Tule acknowledged. “I’ve seen the way the captain looks at you. You know, he is quite eligible. Devren’s always been kind to women and would never dream of hurting anyone. He has a huge heart. It’s like he’s his father all over again, only Devren’s still young enough to believe in the goodness of mortalkind. He only wants to help, you know, but he could do it so much better if he had a good woman at his side.”
O’Tule paused and stared at Liora with a horrified expression on her green face. “Not that I don’t mean you’re not a good woman. You’re an amazing woman. It’s just that Dev’s sort of innocent and I don’t know if he’ll know quite how to handle a Damaclan of your, um, ferocity.” She gave Shathryn a pleading look.
The other woman’s smile was kind. “What Frayn means is that while our captain is an experienced man as far as life, he’s still a bit on the naive side when it comes to women.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially and said, “He tends to think all women are good creatures. We’re just hoping no one will break his heart and prove otherwise.”
She measured a length of hair and gave a snip with the scissors. Liora felt strands fall onto her shoulders. It was strange to trust someone with a deadly weapon so close to her head and yet not be tense. Even though O’Tule’s high energy filled the room with the vigor that seemed to fuel her life, both women set Liora at ease as much with their actions as their words.
O’Tule settled into a dialogue about how the painting around the mirror symbolized her friendship with Shathryn and how their meeting upon the Kratos was one of both kismet and necessity. Shathryn smiled and nodded at the appropriate places, allowing Liora to fall into a lull of security in which only the shear of the scissors and the gentle pull of the comb through her hair seemed to matter.
Near the end of the haircut, Shathryn set the scissors on the edge of the drawer to reach for something. The scissors dropped and the woman tried to catch them. In doing so, she bumped the pitcher of water on her small pull-out table with her elbow and sent it plummeting toward the floor. The actions surprised her enough that she let go of the comb as well.
Liora’s hands shot out by pure reflex. She caught the scissors by the handle and tossed them up to give her time to snatch the comb out of the air before it could hit the ground. With her right hand, she grabbed the pitcher and jerked it to the left to catch the water that sloshed out at the abrupt stop. She set the comb on the table and reached back with her left hand in time to catch the scissors by the tip. She twirled the small blades in her fingers and held them out to Shathryn.
Both women stared at her as if she had sprouted two heads.
“How in the Macrocosm did you do that?” Shathryn asked in a hushed voice.
Liora didn’t know how to answer the question.
O’Tule spoke in quiet tones on the verge of reverence. “I’ve heard about that,” she said, her eyes wide. “It’s the Damaclan training. It speeds up the reflexes so that to the Damaclan, it’s almost as if time itself slows down. Liora can react that much faster than us because she is, in fact, operating on a faster time frame. To her, though, the pitcher, scissors, and comb fell at a slower speed, enabling her to respond at what feels to her to be a normal reaction rate.”
“Is that true?” Shathryn asked, turning her attention back to Liora.
“I guess so,” Liora replied, thinking it through. “We train for speed and agility so that when anything happens, our instincts are ready to react without us thinking about it.”
“Incredible,” O’Tule said with a shake of her head. “I’d never spill anything again. The captain would let me bring drinks back to the bridge.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” Shathryn replied. At Liora’s questioning look, she explained, “Frayn once spilled an entire goblet of drak berry juice on the console. It took us weeks to get the stickiness out. Since then, all drinks have been banned from the bridge.” She gave O’Tule a dry look. “It’s something we have never forgiven her for.”
O’Tule rolled her eyes. “At least I didn’t get caught wooing a man on the captain’s chair.”
“For your information, he was a Zamarian captain. They are rare and far in-between.” Shathryn winked at Liora in the mirror. “I’m not about to let one get away if I can help it.” She gave one more snip, then stepped back with a satisfied nod. “Done. What do you think?”
Liora gave her hair a critical look. The longest dark brown strands reached her chin while the rest was shorter so it wouldn’t get tangled. It looked much better than the rough cut she had given it with the Zamarian’s knife. It would be easy to work with, and gave her appearance a bit more edge.
She still wasn’t used to seeing her reflection. Somehow, in the back of her mind, she searched for the young girl of her memories. She may not have been carefree with the way Obruo had raised her, but at least with her mother she had been happy.
For the first time in her life, she saw a glimmer of that happiness again.
“I really like it,” she said past the tightness that formed in her throat. “Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure,” Shathryn replied.
“Mine, too,” O’Tule seconded. “Come back anytime.”
Chapter 8
Liora joined the other members of the SS Kratos crew to pay final respects to those who had fallen in the skirmish with the Revolutionaries. Three dark caskets of recycled vogum wood from cargo crates sat behind one blanketed in the blue and yellow flag of a Coalition captain.
Devren stood next to the captain’s casket, his head lowered and his hands held behind his back. He spoke quietly, whispering words nobody else could hear as he said farewell to his father.
Liora saw ligh
t catch on two iridescent tears that dropped to the coffin lid and faded into the flag. Devren held his eyes with a gloved hand for a moment.
Tariq walked to the new captain’s side. He said a few quiet words. Devren nodded. Tariq motioned to Officer Duncan.
The older officer pushed a button on the side of the loading deck. A small square panel slid open near the middle of the wall. Several crew members walked over to carry the captain’s coffin. Devren reached for the front. Tariq tried to gently persuade him to let the others handle it, but Devren refused.
Liora saw him wince slightly when he bent to slip his hand in one of the handles on the side of the coffin. The other crew members took their places and they walked their fallen captain to the square in the wall.
“Equality of race,” Devren began. The rest of the crew took up the words. “Exploration of the Macrocosm, and advancement of knowledge for the growth and understanding of mortalkind.”
Devren concluded, “Captain Metis, you gave your life for the Coalition, and you will always be remembered. Thank you.”
He lifted his end of the coffin to the square. The pressurized door pulled the wooden coffin through. A slight popping sound was heard and the door slid back into place. The hum of a furnace roared to life, cremating the captain’s ashes along with the coffin. A few minutes later, a small panel at the back of the furnace opened and the cinders were released into space.
The sight of the captain’s ashes floating through the black vastness gripped Liora’s heart. The coffins of the three crew members soon followed. Tears showed on the faces of the Kratos crew as they watched their friends fade away into the vast darkness.
Jarston cleared his throat. “This calls for a drink.”
“I second the notion,” Lieutenant Argyle said.
In twos and threes, the crew members made their way toward the mess hall. Liora held back. She hadn’t known the fallen Coalition officers. It didn’t feel right to participate in a remembrance toast.
“Do you have that blood ready?” she heard Devren ask Tariq.
She turned in time to see the young captain’s eyes roll back. Tariq grabbed him before he could hit the floor.
“Help me,” Tariq commanded.
Liora rushed to his side. Tariq quickly checked Devren’s wound. Blood coated Tariq’s hand when he pulled it away.
“He refuses to listen,” Tariq grumbled as Liora helped him carry the captain to the medical wing. “I told him to take it easy. Does he do it? No. He gallivants around the ship like a captain who hasn’t just taken a bullet in the side. I’m going to have to sedate him this time.”
“He’ll be mad,” Liora pointed out. She helped Tariq set the captain gently on a table.
Tariq gave her a frank look. “Do I look like I care? I’d rather him be mad than dead. Here. Hold this.”
She took the tray he handed her and watched the medic cut open the bandages. Blood poured from the wound.
“That’s what I thought. He tore all the stitches.” Tariq glanced at Liora. “He couldn’t leave one or two for good measure. Nope. Had to make sure every single one was torn through.” He shook his head and reach for the staple gun. “He’ll be mad as a swarthan when he wakes up, but at least he’ll wake up.”
Liora watched the medic swab the wound and staple it closed. Devren barely moved during the procedure. The captain’s eyes finally opened as Tariq was wrapping the last of the bandages.
“What…happened?” Devren asked.
“You passed out on the holding deck after the funeral, that’s what happened,” Tariq replied. He shook his head. “You always take it a step too far, Dev.”
Devren glanced at Liora. “Was anyone else there?”
“They went in to toast their fallen comrades,” she replied. “It was just me and Tariq.”
Devren sat back on the bed with a sigh. “At least there’s that.”
“At least?” Tariq sputtered. “I almost pulled out the blood this time. If you don’t go straight to your quarters and rest, I definitely will.”
Tariq ducked under Devren’s arm and walked with him down the hall. Liora cleaned up the medical equipment and threw the dirty bandages into the incinerator. When Tariq came back, Liora was glad to see that the human appeared somewhat mollified.
“He promised to sleep. Dev’s going to be the death of me someday.” He glanced at Liora. “Come on. I’ll show you to your quarters.”
“How long have you and Devren known each other?” she asked as they made their way down the quiet hallway.
“Since birth, pretty much,” Tariq replied. A smile stole across his face. “We got into a fight over a toy gun. The squib room teacher resolved it by giving us another. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Liora smiled. “And now you’re on the same ship.”
Tariq nodded. “His dad was practically my dad. We shared everything. So, naturally, when he wanted to join the Coalition and follow in his father’s footsteps, I was right beside him.” His voice quieted and he said, “I didn’t think he’d end up taking over the same ship. I know it’s been hard on him.”
They reached a door and Tariq gestured to the panel beside it. “Place your hand on the reader and I will record your palm.” He put his hand on the palm reader next to Liora’s, and a moment later a buzz sounded. The door slid open to reveal a room with the same layout Shathryn’s had been.
“It’s not much, but it’s yours.” Tariq rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I’ll think I’ll talk to Jarston about that drink.”
He ducked back into the hallway. The door slid shut.
Silence filled the air. Liora looked around the first room she had ever had. It was spotless and designed with utility in mind. The blankets of the simple bed had been tucked in tight over a small pillow to prevent anything from floating away in zero gravity conditions.
The drawers of a small dresser were embedded in the wall and slid open with a simple touch. A glance inside showed uniforms already folded along with some small clothes and a pair of loose clothes Liora assumed were for sleeping.
A mirror with a pull-out seat below reminded Liora of getting her hair cut. She had a lingering urge to ask O’Tule to paint colors on her white walls as well. There was a tiny washroom that branched off to the right complete with a pull-out toilet and a small pull-out sink that kept the water contained until use was necessary.
Exhausted from the day’s events, Liora settled on the bed. It was soft to the touch and gave beneath her body. Liora closed her eyes and concluded that she could get used to the feeling. Anything was better than the hard cage floor.
A few minutes later, Liora gave up and crawled off the bed. It was difficult to accept that she had slept on a hard surface for so long that being on the bed made it feel like she was sinking. She spread the blanket on the floor and put the pillow beneath her head. With a sigh, she settled on her back and closed her eyes again. The claustrophobic sensation went away and her muscles were finally able to relax.
She was about to give herself up to sleep when footsteps pounded up the hallway. They reached her door and it slid open. Liora sat up, caught disoriented between sleep and awake.
“Why are you on the floor?” Tariq asked in surprise.
“Why are you here?” Liora replied. The scent that clung to him touched her nose. “You’ve been drinking.”
“It’s been a rough day. Devren needs you.” Tariq moved as if he was going to help her up, but shoved his hands in his pockets instead.
Liora rose to her feet. “What’s going on?”
“He’s in shock. I think it was something with the bullet and blood loss, and losing his father, and becoming captain all in the same day.” Tariq hurried down the hall with Liora at his side. “He’s having some sort of breakdown. I’ve never seen it before. He said you could help.”
The look Tariq threw her said he was trying to figure out what she could possibly do. Liora wondered the same thing.
At Tariq’s touch, the do
or to Devren’s room slid open. The simple gesture let her know how much Devren trusted him.
Liora’s eyes focused in the darkness and she made out the form of Devren hunched over in the bed with his elbows on his knees. Tariq sat next to him and touched his shoulder. “She’s here. Liora came back with me.”
Devren glanced at her. The light that spilled from the doorway illuminated the haggard look in his dark gaze. His face was pale and exhaustion showed in the bruises beneath his eyes.
“I can’t do it,” he said.
“Can’t do what?” she asked.
He shook his head and his hair spilled forward to hide his face from view. “I can’t be what they need. I can’t be my father.”
“You don’t have to be your father,” Tariq told him quietly in a tone that said he had repeated the statement more than once. “Your father would want you to be your own person. He always said that.”
“I can’t hold a candle to the man he was.”
Liora saw that Devren’s shoulders were shaking. His fingers trembled and his breaths came out in a shudder. She met Tariq’s gaze.
“He’s been like this since I found him,” he told her, his eyes wide with concern for his friend. “Please help him if you can.”
Liora nodded. She took a seat on the bed.
“Devren, can I try something?”
“Yes,” he said, his words muffled in his hands. “Please.”
Liora set a hand on Devren’s back. She glanced at Tariq. Pushing always left her vulnerable. It took energy, especially when she was attempting to do what Devren seemed to need. Tariq was too busy watching his friend to notice her questioning look. The concern on his face was enough of an answer. She would be safe with him in the room as long as she was helping Devren.
Liora closed her eyes. She let go of the strangeness of the ship, the courage it took to attempt a new life, the way her face ached after Malivian’s beating, and the uncertainty that filled her when she thought of the course her life had taken. With a breath, she put it all aside and concentrated on Devren.
