Burden of Sisyphus bod-1

by Jon Messenger

  She’s fighting the Voice, Keryn’s Voice warned. If that were you down there, this fight would already be over. You always were the better warrior. Instead, Bellini will continue to fight it and will die.

  “Come on, Bellini,” she whispered, hearing the wisdom of her Voice’s words. A void opened in her chest, leaving behind only a dull ache of concern for her friend. “Give in to the Voice. Fight back.”

  Still grimacing, Bellini shook free of the mantle of pain that settled over her and searched for her composure again. Yusef waited only a moment before pressing his advantage. Her slashed arm and stomach left her weak, with her movements slow. After another quick series of attacks, she had a grazing cut on her leg, too.

  He has already won, the Voice whispered to Keryn. He’s just toying with her now.

  “Don’t count her out yet,” she muttered, not speaking loud enough to break the sanctity of the ceremony. “Let’s go, Bellini. Don’t prove me wrong.”

  Yusef stepped forward again, his face locked in a stoic countenance, as he prepared to end his round of combat in the Initiation. As he swung downward with both axes on his injured foe, Bellini moved impossibly fast, sidestepping his swings and catching the crook of both axes with her dagger.

  Yusef’s eyes widened in surprise, as she smiled softly. Striking with her short spear, she left a pair of deep cuts across his chest. As he stepped backward in disbelief, she jerked forward with her dagger, stripping one ax from his hand. It flew harmlessly aside, landing outside the circle at the feet of the front row of the audience.

  It’s done, the Voice said. She has accepted her destiny.

  Keryn fought conflicting emotions. Having merged with the Voice, Bellini stood a chance to win the fight. Simultaneously, it meant part of Bellini was gone, replaced by the ever-present Voice.

  Backpedaling, Yusef put distance between himself and his confident opponent. Bellini allowed him a decent amount of ground before moving forward like a serpent, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Yusef moved his ax back and forth protectively, trying to follow her movements. Her hand shot out, as she launched her spear at his head. He tipped his head aside and brought up his ax, knocking the spear harmlessly aside.

  Glancing up at the interlocked weapons, he realized the diversion too late. With his ax out of the way, he left himself exposed without a weapon to bring to bear. Appearing before him, Bellini drove her dagger into his exposed side, digging through the muscles and slipping into his right lung before penetrating his heart.

  Yusef gurgled, and Bellini wrapped her free arm around his back, lowering him to the ground. She sat over him, watching him sympathetically, as his last breath escaped his lips. Pulling her dagger free, blood dripping from its tip, she stood to face the audience.

  “Bellini is the victor of her Initiation,” the Schoolmaster exclaimed. “Congratulate our newest member of the warrior caste!”

  The audience cheered, while the two priests lifted Yusef’s body and pulled it into the stage’s darkened wings. Still bleeding from her wounds, Bellini bowed respectfully to the audience, then the Schoolmaster, before taking her place against the low back wall.

  Two at a time, the Initiates faced one another, always with one surviving and the other dead. Those were the rules of Initiation, by which Keryn couldn’t abide. Before the ceremony ended, she stood and walked down to the middle path through which she entered the temple. She caught Bellini’s eye, as she prepared to leave, but she said nothing.

  Keryn had no interest in sticking around until the end of the ceremony to congratulate her friend. The Bellini she knew was gone, replaced, at least in part, by the Voice. She would rather not condone her transformation into the savage warrior she became.

  Walking slowly, crying softly, she returned home and prepared the last of her belongings before her departure the following day for the academy on Arcendor.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Michael Vance walked down the brightly lit corridors of the Goliath, drinking in the sights. Raised and trained as an infantry soldier, where dirt and grime where as much a part of one’s uniform as the pants and jacket, he found it strange to be onboard a ship kept so immaculately clean. The light-gray walls glistened from the thick lacquer spread evenly over the paint. Colored lines of yellow, black, red, and blue traced the hall, splitting toward different directions, guiding crewmen toward unseen objectives. The infantry was fond of teasing the Fleet, accusing them of needing color-coded walls to avoid getting lost.

  Watching the faces of the crew and officers he passed, their uniforms pressed and creased to perfection, he suddenly became aware of his appearance. Still clothed in thick boots and dusty red robe, cinched at the waist by a tattered leather belt, he trailed red clay and dust from the planet’s surface to be ground into the carpet, as he walked toward one of the ship’s many classrooms. He heard a rumor that the Fleet actually had a job for watercraft operators, which hadn’t been used by the Fleet in more than 150 years. He wondered if they also had a job for carpet cleaners.

  A loud guffaw escaped his lips, drawing the attention of nearby crewmen. He could only imagine a crewman cursing loudly, as he shampooed and vacuumed the halls, tracking Vance’s movements throughout the ship. It would be easy to locate him if the crewman really wanted to find the source of the persistent red clay. The special operations officer was so obviously different from the rest of the crew aboard the Goliath. Dirty and sweaty, he still carried his large rifle slung across his back. The barrel bounced harmlessly against the back of his calf, as he walked. He was so accustomed to the weapon, he hardly noticed.

  Nearing the first of many elevators he must take to reach the classroom, he tapped his foot impatiently, as he waited. A rush of recycled air brought a sour smell to him. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he looked around in surprise before realizing he was the source of the rancid scent.

  “No wonder they were looking at me so weird,” he mumbled to the closed doors. He laughed despite himself at the great divisions between the Fleet and infantry. He couldn’t imagine what a crewman would do if forced to sleep in the mud.

  The light above the door turned from red to green, acknowledging the arrival of the elevator. The doors parted with a soft hiss, revealing a spacious chamber with a single unfortunate warrant inside. Despite his broad shoulders and Terran heritage, Vance moved gracefully, as he slid past the closing doors and took a place against the back wall.

  Eying him warily, the warrant politely lifted the back of his hand to his nose, trying to block the smell. Running his own hand across his thick, black beard, Vance flashed bright, white teeth at the trapped warrant. Returning the smile weakly, he gave a subtle nod.

  Two floors later, obviously uncomfortable about being in such an enclosed space with Vance, the warrant pressed a floor button at random. When the doors slid open, he quickly left the elevator.

  Finally alone in the lift, Vance stretched his arms wide and relaxed, as the elevator took him the rest of the way up through the ship’s numerous floors.

  After catching another set of lifts and walking nearly the length of the ship, Vance found himself before an open door leading into the rear of a tiered classroom. At a podium at the bottom of the steppes, gesturing wildly toward a holographic projection of a battle, a Pilgrim officer taught historical battle scenarios to a group of enthralled, young pilots. Slipping into the room unnoticed, Vance sat in the rear and listened.

  “When the newly formed Alliance first faced off against the Terran Empire’s Fleet, the crew of those Alliance ships weren’t much older than the faces I see in this audience,” the audience said. “They were inexperienced but brave. They fought valiantly against an aggressive, dangerous enemy.”

  The instructor removed his glasses and set them gently on the podium. “Don’t smile. They were summarily wiped out by the superior Terran Fleet.”

  Stepping away from the podium, the Pilgrim ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. He smiled gingerly at the captive audience, his fa
ce breaking into a spiderweb of wrinkles. “My concern is that I see the same youthful bravado in your pilots and crewmen. You have the urge to prove yourself. You want your name to go down in history. The problem is, there’s no place for attitudes like those among the crew of this ship. In this atmosphere, you either work as a team, or you die alone and forgotten.”

  He stopped pacing and stared at the defiant faces of the pilots and crewmen. “How many of you think that the war between the Alliance and the Empire is over? Give me a show of hands.”

  Seeing no one move, he continued, “Good. The Taisa Accord, signed nearly 150 years ago, was just a mutual agreement between both sides to end open hostilities. The key word is open hostilities. Under the radar of the populace of both the Alliance and the Empire, there’s still a war being fought. Outposts are being built in enemy territory. Platoons of infantry are facing off in bloody battles which history will never record. Notes of condolence are being sent to families who’ll never know how their loved one died.

  “The fighting between the Alliance and the Empire will never truly end until one or the other is completely destroyed. The Goliath has been tasked to uphold the illusion of peace throughout the Alliance. That’s what the citizens of the Alliance want-to be told and lulled into believing that an uneasy truce still exists. To reach that goal, we’ve been outfitted with not only a superior array of weapons, but this ship has been integrated with a Halo system. Our mission will always be to hunt down and destroy any Terran elements that try to establish a foothold in Alliance space.”

  Vance frowned at the mention of the Halo system. Its installation in the ship was still a sore spot for him.

  “Welcome to the world of covert operations, Ladies and Gentlemen. No matter how good you were in your old job, no one will ever congratulate you on a job well done. If you do well, no one should know you did anything at all. If you don’t do a good job, you’ll be dead. It’s the job you signed up for.”

  He returned to his podium and retrieved his glasses. “Are there any questions? No? Then good luck to you all. This concludes your welcome brief.”

  All the audience members standing in unison braced in a firm salute, which the instructor brusquely returned. Vance waited until the room cleared, and the officer was collecting his paperwork, before he stood and walked down the stairs.

  “I don’t remember ever looking that scared when I left one of your briefs, Sir.” He cleared the last step and stood before the Pilgrim instructor.

  The Pilgrim turned with a broad smile. “Believe me, Michael, you were always that scared around me.”

  Vance snapped to attention and saluted. “Captain Young, it’s a pleasure to see you again, Sir.”

  The captain dismissed the formalities with a flippant wave of his hand. “I make the new recruits do that, because it reminds them we’re a military at war. I served with your father too long to have you stand at attention in front of me.” He motioned Vance to sit and pulled over his own chair. “Speaking of which, how is your father?”

  “Yes, Sir, our mission went exceptionally well. Thank you for your concern.”

  The captain rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong with a little small talk? I’ve known your family for years. You were away on your mission for only two weeks. My relationship with your family takes seniority.”

  “Last I talked to him,” Vance conceded, “he was doing quite well.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  Vance shifted uneasily. Though his father was one of the commanding generals in charge of the Alliance Infantry, father and son didn’t always see eye to eye. “Is it OK if we talk about something other than my father?”

  “Fine. How’s your love life these days?”

  Vance laughed. “No, believe me. I’d really prefer we didn’t start getting into my love life.” He knocked his boot against the chair leg, jarring caked red sand from the tread.

  “Someone will have to clean that up, you know.” Captain Young pointed at the growing pile of dirt under the lip of Vance’s seat.

  “That wouldn’t be an issue if you’d quit sending us to dustbowls on our missions. I’m still not entirely sure why the Terrans continue picking such horrid places on which to establish outposts. Whatever happened to outposts on tropical islands full of bikini-clad women?”

  “If that were the case, I wouldn’t have any problem keeping my finest soldiers in boots. Well, next-to-finest soldiers. Your group is still the best.” He paused. “I assume they are.”

  Vance reached under his robe and retrieved a data disk earmarked as Terran property. “We haven’t failed you yet, Sir. We’re still the best in the Alliance.”

  Captain Young carried the disk to her personal computer console on the podium. He slid in the disk and waited for Alliance technology to decode the complex Terran encryption.

  After less than a minute, a flood of data poured across the monitor. His eyes flicked back and forth across the screen, trying to take in the information. Hands tapping on the screen, he scrolled through file after file of Terran plans and operations. In the bottom right corner of the screen, a red light flashed persistently.

  “Anything of importance?” Vance asked, feeling awkward at being ignored while the captain ran through the data.

  He grunted in confirmation. “Quite a bit, actually.” He mechanically chewed his nails. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can share with you until High Council sees this.”

  Vance nodded. It would be weeks or more before he and his men saw any results from their mission. “Sir, if it’s going to be awhile until we get anything out of the disk, and, I’m guessing, before our next mission, I’d like to request leave for me and my men. We’re a little tired and could use the downtime.”

  Captain Young smiled, wrinkles extending from the corners of his eyes. “Let me guess-somewhere tropical with bikini-clad women?”

  “Something like that.” Vance laughed.

  “I think you and your men have earned a break. We’re stopping at Fatutu IV for resupply and refueling. It doesn’t have a lot in the way of bikini-clad women, but it offers a great stretch of beach. It’ll be a bit of a trip to get there, but your men will manage. When we’re done here, I’ll get the paperwork together to put all of you on leave once we arrive.” He turned away from the screen, his steely gray eyes on Vance. “Are you taking leave with them?”

  Vance shrugged, telling the captain what he needed to know.

  “You really need to take some time for yourself,” he said compassionately.

  “Spending time with her is like taking time off for me.”

  “I meant away from the ship. I’ll order you to leave if I have to.”

  “It won’t do you any good. I’m as stubborn as my father.”

  “I never met a more stubborn Seque of a man than him.” The captain laughed. “Fine. You win. Don’t spend your entire time cooped up in that room with her, either. At least make it up to some of the observation decks. The view of Fatutu IV’s surface from space is truly remarkable. You should check it out.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Vance said halfheartedly.

  “I’ll take that as a solid no. Suit yourself, but don’t say this old man didn’t try.”

  As the captain rose from his chair, Vance stood, knowing the meeting was over.

  “As always, Captain, it’s been a pleasure.” Vance saluted.

  “Get out of here before I throw you out.”

  Vance collected his things and started climbing the steps.

  As Vance neared the door, Captain Young called, “I’ll let you know when we’re approaching the planet. Until then, keep your kids out of trouble.”

  “We’ll be waiting impatiently,” Vance called over his shoulder, as he left the room.

  Once Vance was gone, the smile faded from the captain’s lips. His eyes went to the blinking red light in the bottom corner, and his frown deepened, as he looked toward the recently departed Pilgrim.

  “You really shouldn’t
have opened the disk, Vance.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The large civilian transport dipped through the wispy clouds over Arcendus and skimmed over the tips of the tall mountain range. As snow-capped mountains gave way to gently rolling foothills, Keryn watched the city of Arcendor rise from the artificially flattened plain. Resting in a valley, surrounded on all sides by towering mountain ranges, it sat like an oasis on an otherwise mountainous planet. Sitting between the sparkling blue waters of the city’s namesake lake, the city was the architectural equivalent of the Avalons’ soaring majesty.

  Large, flowing spires rose sharply from the sunlit streets, supporting a litany of twisting turrets of smooth, white stone. Banners crackled above domed roofs on the spires, caught continually in the cool breeze pouring from the nearby mountains. Between the buildings, interlocking like an intricate web of capillaries spreading across the city’s majestic body, pedestrian walkways linked the spires’ peaks and wound down their length.

  As Keryn watched, Avalons launched from the topmost balconies of the spires, spreading their wings and gliding from building to building on the warm updrafts generated from the streets below. Between catwalks buzzing with foot traffic and soaring Avalons in the air, the city seemed alive, like a constantly shifting, writhing organism. The Avalon home world was everything she expected.

  Watching through the narrow portcullis of the civilian transport, she saw the tall spires drop away, as they approached the edge of the lake, giving way to luscious green grass. The edges of the green lawns were traced by ground-level sidewalks that led to a massive, four-story brick structure that covered nearly a half-mile of property along the shore. To the building’s periphery sat enormous hangar bays, their retractable roofs glistening in the warm air.