by Michael Kan
It was seemingly inconsequential, the fragment a piece of metal. Shaped as a feathered wing, the symbol denoted his former status as a captain. It was something he initially hadn’t even cared for, a requirement any officer of SpaceCore was forced to abide and don. But over time, it had grown on him. Though he would never say it, secretly he had worn the ranking with pride. With affection.
Julian held on to the metal with his two fingers, thinking of the one who had given it to him. “Nalia,” he said in a whisper. “I wish you were here.”
With his thumb, he rubbed the surface of the feathered wing. Only a day ago, Julian had been tempted to throw it away. For so long, he had tried to keep the past at bay, wanting to rid himself of any painful reminders. But as he looked at the symbol, he couldn’t help but relent. This was something not to forget. Clasping his hand, Julian remembered: Nalia had wanted him to have this. She had been the one to make him a captain. She had needed him to be a pilot. “Captain Nverson,” she would always say, letting him know that he mattered. Now this piece of metal was all that was left of her, the sole object of what remained.
Looking down at the insignia, he wondered if he would ever pilot another ship again. To Julian’s surprise, someone was listening.
He rose from his seat, thinking he had heard a voice. Around him, he glanced, looking for the source. What met him were the slitted eyes of a Nelacite, the six sockets blinking in his direction. Looking past them, he could see there was no human face close by, let alone anything resembling his own species. Only more alien life. Julian sat back down on his seat, confused.
Once more, the voice came, louder. It echoed in his mind, the speech telepathic.
“Landon?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.
He felt it in his thoughts, the distinct imprint. The voice female. Julian knew this sensation.
He held still, cautious of his surroundings. Casually, he searched for the source, carefully moving his eyes in what field of vision he could see.
“Um, excuse me?”
Startled, Julian was unsure what he was in store for. But in the blink of the eye, it happened, his vision transformed. In fact, he could see himself.
There Julian was, sitting on the bench, alone, the view coming from his rear. Everything was the same, his clothes, his posture, even the way he breathed. Confused, he brushed the back of his head, thinking it to be surreal. As he did so, he noticed the image mirroring his every action. This was no simulation; he was truly watching himself.
Slowly, he could feel it pull away, the field of view expanding. Soon he could see himself, and the Alliance clientele passing behind him. Then it became a crowd, dozens stirring in the terminal hallway. Eventually, the view panned back, becoming almost aerial, the perspective traced to a balcony above.
His view darted away, moving along with the floor. Julian not only heard the footsteps tap on the ground, but felt them, the weight pressing and lifting each time. At his sides, swayed what he knew to be arms, and gradually he could see them, the hands both feminine and elegant. Tapping a band on the wrist, they accessed a holographic projection, the wall of light filling Julian’s view.
At first, he thought it to be a mistake, the view entirely that of data, with little sign of any person. But as Julian looked closer, he realized it was the reflection that mattered more. In the golden light, he saw a faint figure: a woman, tall and with long hair. Implants lay etched on her cheek bones, the metallic lines lacing down her unnaturally youthful face.
“Specialist Alysdeon,” Julian said in softest of tones.
To the thought, a smile perked on the woman’s face.
“Are you in danger?”
“What?” Julian asked. “You mean you’ve been monitoring me? Why?”
“Up for what?”
***
It seemed extreme, but specialist Alysdeon insisted. Clothed in a four-armed suit belonging to a Fvarian trader, Julian walked on, hearing himself breathe. He was out in space.
Peering through the glass of his helmet, he gazed off and saw a true night sky. Above, the long marbled trail of the galaxy stretched on, the starlight and nebulae like neon fire in the darkness. Convoy ships passed overhead, charging their engines and entering hyperspace in shimmers of energy. Looking down, he saw endless white, the superstructure of Alliance Command nearly glowing against the twilight. His over-sized boots fell gently to its surface, the gravitational pull weak, and even fleeting. But grounded he was, Julian’s every step moving in a slight bounce. Slowly, he walked to the designated point, hulling with him the bulky and thick gear.
He stopped, and glanced ahead, the additional limbs to his suit swaying at his waist. A lone tower designed to launch escape pods protruded out from the ground. Appearing past behind it was the commander, fitted in a black uniform. Only now her face was contained by a helmet of curved glass, her blonde hair tied together in braids. She looked down at her wrist, inspecting a scan of the surrounding area. In the other hand was a weapon, the barrel of the energy pistol laying down at her side.
She greeted him with a grin while reaching for something else. With her index finger and thumb, she held it in her hand and tossed the capsule into the vacuum.
It spun unfettered into Julian’s open glove. Handling the capsule, he noticed it was a specialized data card, and promptly inserted it into his suit’s intake port.
“You really aren’t taking any chances are you?” he said, assuming it was an encryption key for communication. But it was far more than that. Inside his facemask, he saw the information displayed against the glass. It was his own personal data, his location and whereabouts effectively hacked and altered.
“It says here in the Alliance data banks, I didn’t miss my flight. That I’m actually no longer on board the station.”
However, that wasn’t all. The commander walked closer, and handed him the weapon.
She gripped the barrel of the pistol, its handle facing upward toward Julian.
“This is getting very extreme,” he said, stepping back.
Reluctantly, the commander holstered the weapon at her side. She could tell Julian was uneasy, concerned by all the drastic measures. But the commander staunchly believed her motives were sound; Julian simply had no idea how dangerous things had become.
“I didn’t realize you were here specialist,” he said. “Is this where you’re normally stationed?”
The question elicited a wry smirk from the woman, her background and influence still unknown to Julian.
epped foot on Alliance Command in decades, maybe even a century. It’s changed from what I remember. Once it was the safest place in the galaxy.>
She motioned out to the view surrounding them, figuratively brushing her hand at the stars. The history of the Alliance, and even that of her own, was embedded in the very ground they stood upon. It was a feeling her physical looks could not convey, the commander’s face still flush in youth and energy. Julian stared on, at once confused and puzzled, but still wanting to probe.
“Then why are you here?”
The commander appreciated the bluntness, putting aside the nostalgia. She extended her hand out, and brought a look of anticipation toward Julian.
The excitement teetered on the cusp of her lips, the sense of marvel present in the prescient words. Julian could feel them swell, a name trailing not far behind.
He stood there in pause, unsure of what to say. It was true, the android was a monumental discovery, the kind of revelation that would engender awe and fascination among the few privileged to know of her existence. Julian, however, struggled to muster such feelings. The commander already knew why.
She glared at him sharply, the comment just as acute.
“Are you always reading my thoughts?” Julian stammered. “I never thought it was fair. You and your telepathy.”
Feeling ambushed, Julian meandered his body away from the commander.
“I don’t know. What was the point of finding her?” he asked. “I saw her almost two weeks ago, only to watch her unravel. Barely had a chance to even talk to her before she shut down.”
He swore beneath his breath, frustrated not at just that outcome, but what had come before.
“Goddammit. I understand the importance. But all of Bydandia was destroyed because of what I found. And the one thing I save... It just falls apart.”
The anger was there, as he felt justified in his loss. Indeed, Bydandia was gone, utterly destroyed by the enemy. But Julian had not been correct in all his assumptions.
“Told me what?” he asked.
Julian eyed the specialist, leery of the claim.
She briefly smiled, hoping the words would give Julian some comfort. Not all had been lost, she wanted to say. But such things were now platitude to Julian, his tolerance for them long gone.
“I don’t care. I’m done with this,” he said coldly. “I was supposed to be gone from this place. These things don’t concern me anymore.”
Julian still didn’t care. He was no scientist, or a high-ranking officer. Nor was he even a listed pilot anymore, his duties officially stripped away. He merely nodded, his patience wearing thin.
“Again, what does this have to do with me?”
Julian recalled hearing nothing about an attack. “Why didn’t the news feeds report this?”
To illustrate her point, she went to her wrist and touched the module embedded on her suit. Gradually, flickers of light began to emit from her arm as the holographic image appeared. On the virtual display, Julian could see the destruction projected in neon lights. Dead alien bodies lay bloodied and scattered on the floors of the research facility, as smoke entered the view. One alien in particular, he thought he recognized, the pod-like body desiccated into a husk.
“Why do this?” Julian asked.
The projection then panned to a new view, showing the remains of not corpses, but machines, their broken parts spilled out from their armored bodies.
“The security should have been impenetrable. The energy barriers around the facility alone—”
“Then you’re suggesting the attacks had inside help.”
The specialist’s holo-emitter then shifted to display a priority order.
“Then it was sabotage.”
“Are you in any danger?”
As the commander said the words, she remotely synched her implants with the military network, accessing the proper command nodes.
Julian stood overwhelmed, checking the bio-ID through his suit’s display. The status suddenly changed, with access to flight and operational military systems granted.
“This is why you were monitoring to me,” Julian said. “Then you know about my medical status… about what happened, about Bydandia.”
“And yet you still want me for this mission?”
She nodded.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Debilitating is one way to put it.”
Julian, not wanting to acknowledge nor deny it, looked away.
He closed his eyes, feeling the commander’s pity overwhelm him. “I really don’t want to talk about this.”
The commander, however, insisted that he listen.
“I don’t need a counseling session.”
“My friends are all dead.”
“Stop,” Julian shouted. “Stop speaking into my mind!”
He walked away from her as if wounded. Taking his hands, he grabbed at his face, only to realize that it was now separated by the glass and metal of his helmet.
“I think you were doing more than just monitoring me,” he said, embarrassed. “Fuck. How much did you see?”
“I should have never found that Endervar ship. Then this would have never—”
“No, you don’t understand. I should have done something. But what can I do?” he said. “I couldn’t stop them. I can’t do anything. What’s the point?”
Julian then shut his eyes.
“I’m so tired,” he said, his shoulders growing limp. “I’m tired of feeling angry and sad. Tired of just living. I’m so fucking tired.”
The commander could see the exhaustion on Julian’s face, his skin pale, the light in his eyes gone. In her mind, she felt it as well, his thoughts and emotions devoid of any soul.
Julian turned to look at the commander. She had approached him and extended a hand out, the look behind her mask desperate and grave.
The commander, so old and yet determined, her youthful face not at all reflecting the centuries-long experience she possessed. He did not want to reject her, knowing that she was right. But despite the commander’s pleas, still he refused. Though not out of stubbornness, nor out of apathy. He simply believed she was talking to the wrong person.
“I’m not your man for this job,” he said, looking past her extended hand. “You should find Commander Landon Vyuranas. You must know him. He’s a far better pilot than me.”
