Dark Matter

by S. W. Ahmed

  “You’re right, sorry,” Sharjam whispered.

  “There are pockets of resistance across the Dominion,” Raiha explained. “There are some rebels here on this moon. Fouzil, the sentry who let you in, is one of them. There are even a few rebels in hiding on Meenjaza, right on Wazilban’s doorstep. But by and large, the public is very afraid to attempt anything. Ordinary Aftarans are staying home and keeping their heads low, lest they get picked up by the secret police. That’s what happened to Master Heeran – he was made an example of at this academy.”

  “What do you mean?” Dumyan asked.

  “In a lecture he gave at the academy seven months ago about religion and peace, he dared to criticize our war with the Phyrax. I was there, Dumyan, and I know what he said. All he said was that our religion teaches us to promote peace and understanding, and that violence should only be used as a last resort if nothing else works. He then questioned whether that principle was always being applied under Wazilban’s rule. That was all it took! The next day, he mysteriously disappeared from the campus, and appeared a couple of days later as a prisoner on Meenjaza. Four days later, he was executed, after a staged trial accusing him of being a traitor and a heretic.”

  “He was… executed?” Sharjam couldn’t believe his ears. His old, beloved teacher, dead! His head began spinning in shock.

  “I know, Sharjam, I’m so sorry,” Raiha said. She got up and sat next to him on the mattress to comfort him. “He was so kind and tolerant, so knowledgeable and so brilliant. I still miss him terribly every single day.

  “This is why everyone is so scared to say or do anything. The other problem is that there’s no strong leadership to take charge of an organized rebellion. Our last hope was your father, and of course you two, but Wazilban led us all to believe you had perished at the hands of his forces.”

  “Well, here we are,” Dumyan said. “Hopefully the public will listen to us this time!”

  Raiha smiled. “Oh, they will. Ordinary Aftarans have become absolutely fed up with this tyrannical regime that violates every basic right of freedom they used to enjoy. The war with the Phyrax is completely out of control. Aftarans are dying daily by the thousands. Yet Wazilban refuses to negotiate or seek a diplomatic solution to the conflict, and instead continues to intensify his hateful rhetoric against the enemy. He’s using up all of the resources in the Dominion to continue this war, drafting young Aftarans to join the military and sending them to the frontier to die, and even forcing priests and monks to work on building weapons and military ships. And all for what? The Phyrax are far too big and powerful an enemy. The more we fight them, the more their resolve grows to fight back. Wazilban is blinded by hate and pride, it seems, and his blindness is driving our people and way of life to the ground.”

  “And yet it’s unpatriotic to speak out against those who are leading our nation to the brink of destruction,” Dumyan said, smirking. “How ironic.”

  Raiha nodded. “So the public will listen to you. But listening by itself will not accomplish the job. Wazilban needs to be overthrown, and his stooges across the Dominion need to be brought to justice. None of that will be easy, considering the might of the military and the reach of his secret police.”

  “Ah, but the Creator is on our side,” Sharjam said defiantly. “And the Creator is more powerful than all others combined.”

  “Why not join us in our mission, Raiha?” Dumyan said. “We need all the help we can get.”

  Sharjam froze for an instant. “Dumyan! We can’t ask her to put her own life in danger like that!”

  Raiha smiled again. “Sharjam, isn’t that my decision to make? And yes, Dumyan, I will gladly join you. With the Creator’s help, we most definitely will succeed.”

  “But Raiha, the perils are far too great! You just told us yourself how dire the situation is – Wazilban’s powers and his reach are overwhelming.”

  “And that’s precisely why I want to join you, Sharjam. It’s no longer the life of an Aftaran I lead here. It’s like living in a cage. Ever since Master Heeran was executed so mercilessly, I’ve been dying to do something. So many endless nights I’ve lain awake, trying to devise a plan to fight back, to take revenge against those who killed him. So many days I have prayed to the Creator to show me a way. Now the Creator has finally answered my prayers.” She gazed at both brothers with a combined look of determination and contentment in her eyes. “I’m coming with you, whether you like it or not.”

  “You should know,” she added, “that there are rumors floating around that Wazilban didn’t kill the High Clerics, but that he has them imprisoned on Meenjaza and is using them for his own benefit.”

  “Really?” Sharjam was stunned. “If that’s true, we must free them right away!”

  “Well, we’ll have to find out for sure,” Dumyan said. “And there’s only one way to do that. Raiha, can you get us in touch with the rebels on Meenjaza?”

  “Yes, although it won’t be easy.”

  “We’ll definitely need their help. To begin with, we have some precious cargo they’ll need to watch over while we search for the High Clerics on Meenjaza.”

  “What kind of cargo?”

  “Two prisoners – associates of Wazilban’s. I believe they may yet come in quite handy.”

  Chapter 26

  The ship that Marc, Sibular and Zorina were on was badly damaged after being shot at during its passage through the Volonan border barrier. With just one functional engine left, it had almost no chance of reaching the nearest Aftaran star system in any reasonable amount of time. And that was assuming the last engine wouldn’t overheat and die as well.

  The three friends were, therefore, more than happy that help had arrived at so opportune a time, help in the form of three Aftaran vessels. Sibular brought the ship to a complete standstill as the vessels came into view ahead. Spread apart in a horizontal line, they were flashing green and yellow lights.

  “They almost look like police cars with those flashing lights,” Marc thought. “Very large police cars, though.” In contrast to the tiny ship he was on, they were massive – at least a couple of thousand feet long, a few hundred wide and another few hundred tall. Nowhere near the size of Mendoken Euma or Kril vessels, of course, but still quite big. They had the basic shape of submarines, with long, thin snouts that widened towards the middle and then thinned out again towards the end. Each ship had a hump above its middle section, which Marc assumed served as the cockpit or bridge. The hulls had a dim orange color.

  “Gyra-class vessels,” Sibular explained. “Designed for long distance travel from one end of the Dominion to the other and beyond. The green and yellow lights indicate that they come in peace. If the lights were red and blue, we would not be stopping right now.”

  The Aftaran captain hailed them over their ship’s rudimentary communication link, and upon hearing that a Mendoken was on board, graciously offered to help them repair their ship and give them whatever other supplies they needed to continue their journey.

  “We will lock onto your ship with a tracking beam and pull it inside one of our vessels,” the captain announced over the link.

  Seconds later, a beam from the middle Aftaran vessel locked onto the hull of the tiny ship, and the ship instantly began moving towards the Aftaran vessel.

  “Feels like an invisible rope pulling us in,” Marc thought. He glanced at Sibular, sensing a slight uneasiness in the Mendoken’s expressionless face. Or maybe it was just uneasiness that he was feeling himself. He tried to brush it aside, dismissing it as fear or nervousness about meeting another alien race for the first time. He also reminded himself that he and his friends were extremely lucky to have found somebody to help them out of their current predicament.

  Zorina, who had been silent for a while, spoke. “So how do you think they knew we were coming, my man?”

  “That is a mystery,” Sibular said. “But they might not necessarily have known we were coming. Perhaps the Mendoken government just asked the Afta
rans to keep their eyes open for survivors from the attack on Volo-Gaviera.”

  “You think the Mendoken government would actually publicize the news of that failed consar attack to the Aftarans? Seems highly unlikely to me.”

  “They may have, in order to save the lives of any Mendoken who managed to escape across the border into the Dominion.”

  The tracking beam pulled the small ship through a gate into the belly of the Aftaran vessel, laying it to rest in the middle of what appeared to be a landing bay. Several small, short-range transports were parked nearby.

  Even though he was clearly inside an interstellar spaceship, Marc felt the landing bay looked more like the inside of an ornate medieval mansion. The floor was made of polished white stone, and the ceiling composed of multiple rows of arches. The ceiling sections in between the arches were covered with elaborate decorations, as were the pillars that supported the ends of the arches. He focused his eyes on the decorations, and noticed how they were covered with different forms of calligraphy in a text he had never seen before.

  “Here they come,” Sibular said, getting up and opening the hatch to the cockpit. He climbed out of the ship and floated gracefully down to the floor.

  Marc came out last after Zorina, barely avoiding slipping and falling to the floor with a thud. He inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh, cool air inside the landing bay. He hadn’t breathed air this good since back on Earth, and felt thankful that Aftaran preferences for air quality were so close to those of humans. Even the air on Mendoken worlds and ships, while fresh and very rich in oxygen, was a tad too cold and dry for the average human.

  Up ahead, he saw two shadowy silhouettes approaching from between the pillars of the dimly lit landing bay. As they came closer, the first thing he noticed was how tall they were – both of them had to be nearly 8 feet in height. Their bodies were covered in loose brown robes, and their heads and faces wrapped in cloth of the same color. The only exposed parts of their entire bodies were their eyes.

  Marc felt a rising wave of apprehension. He wasn’t sure why, but his feeling of uneasiness about these Aftarans was intensifying, and it wasn’t just because of their mysterious looks. Something just didn’t seem right about them, even though he couldn’t quite place what it was.

  One of the Aftarans stepped forward and bowed. Sibular bowed back. Marc and Zorina followed Sibular’s example.

  “May the Creator protect you from harm, friends,” the Aftaran said in a low, crackling voice, keeping his face covered.

  “And you,” Sibular replied.

  “I am Thorab, of the 438th generation of the Fourian clan, and the Captain of this fleet. This is my High Officer Rulshanim, of the 312th generation of the Shufra clan. This ship is your home for as long as you desire, as are all our ships for our Mendoken friends.” Once again, Sibular’s translator was working flawlessly, instantly performing the correct translations for everyone.

  “We appreciate your hospitality,” Sibular said. “I am Sibular Gaulen 45383532, Senior Space Travel Engineer from Lind at Mendo-Zueger. This is Zorina, and this is Marc.” He pointed at both of them respectively.

  The Aftarans looked stunned at first, then alarmed. “Zorina?” Thorab said. “You are not…?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m a Volonan,” Zorina said, flapping her ears as she cut him off. “This is what we really look like. And yes, I’m the same Zorina who used to be Chief Imperial Defender.”

  “In the name of the Creator!” Thorab shouted. He took a step back and his hand slipped into his robe, as if he was about to take out a weapon.

  Marc was alarmed. He wondered if it had been wise for Zorina to mention who she really was, but realized that Thorab would probably have figured it out sooner or later.

  “Zorina is no longer affiliated with the Empire,” Sibular said quickly. “She is now as welcome there as you and I. She has escaped with us to seek refuge in the MendokenRepublic. I personally vouch for her, and assure you she poses no threat to you.”

  Thorab apparently wasn’t convinced, as he kept his hand inside his robe. He turned to Marc. “And where might you be from?”

  Marc swallowed hard before opening his mouth. “I’m a human from Earth, a planet in the Mendo-Biesel star system.”

  Thorab’s eyes lit up. “I haven’t heard of your species before. You’re from inside the MendokenRepublic?”

  “Yes.”

  Thorab relaxed all of a sudden, and took his hand out of his robe. He then whisked his hand past his face, and the veil over his face magically slid away into the rest of his robe. Rulshanim did the same.

  Marc could clearly see their faces now, and was instantly reminded of the pictures of Aftarans HoloMarc had shown him and the ones he had seen in his visions. They had big, round brown eyes, and beaks for mouths. Their skin was covered with small feathers.

  “Kind of like big owls,” he thought. It was obvious these Aftarans didn’t look half as threatening with their faces uncovered. He wondered if that was why they kept them covered when meeting strangers who could potentially be enemies.

  Thorab bowed again in front of the three visitors. “It is my honor to have you on board. Rulshanim will show you to quarters where you will be able to rest, freshen up and partake of nourishment.”

  Marc gathered the courage to ask the question he was sure both of his friends were also asking in their heads: “Were you expecting us, Captain?”

  “Expecting you?” Thorab’s beak widened slightly to indicate a sly smile. “No, we weren’t expecting the three of you in particular. But we have recently stepped up our patrols of the Volonan border, due to some, shall we say, irregular events on the other side.” With that, he turned around and began walking away.

  “Please follow me,” Rulshanim said to the visitors. He led the way out of the landing bay and into the depths of the ship.

  Aftaran cuisine was a marked improvement from the dry and bitter sparli Marc had been surviving on for over 2 weeks. It was all vegetarian, and incredibly hot and spicy. He had always been a fan of spicy food, but he had to admit that nothing he had ever eaten in his life before came anywhere close to the spiciness of the thick curry he was currently eating. Much as he enjoyed its taste, every bite seemed to put his tongue on fire.

  As he and Zorina gulped down their second helping of vegetable curry, Sibular floated into their quarters. It was a medium sized room, with no windows and the same ornate décor of the landing bay. Beautiful calligraphy covered the walls and the ceiling, and the floor was made of the same white stone found across most of the ship.

  In contrast, the furniture in the room was very simple. There were just two thin mattresses on the floor, and a rug with several cushions in one corner. Marc and Zorina were sitting on the rug, leaning back on the cushions as they ate. They had taken warm showers, and were now dressed in gray Aftaran robes. Marc was surprised by how comfortable his robe was. He had also watched with interest when Rulshanim had shown them how to magically wrap their robes around their bodies several times for additional warmth if needed.

  “What news, Sibular?” Marc asked between mouthfuls of spicy curry.

  “Captain Thorab has offered to not only help repair our ship, but to also take us through a large part of the Dominion on board this vessel.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He says they are already headed in the direction of the center of the Dominion, and can take us as far as the Afta-Raushan star system.”

  “Afta-Raushan?” Zorina asked. “The system the Aftar originated from?”

  “Yes. It will actually save us a lot of time, as we will have to traverse the entire Dominion to get to the Mendoken border anyway. If we reach Afta-Raushan on board this vessel, we will be halfway there in less than half the time.”

  “In far more comfort too, I might add!” Zorina said, bobbing her head up and down enthusiastically. She took in another mouthful of curry, as if to drive the point home.

  “You both feel this is a good idea?” Mar
c asked, keeping his voice low in case the Aftarans were monitoring the conversation. “Don’t you think there’s something strange going on here? Captain Thorab – he seems like a highly suspicious character to me. Didn’t you see how he changed his behavior as soon as he found out where I was from? He lost all his concern about Zorina.”

  “Yes,” Sibular admitted. “But to what end, I do not know. What I do know is that as an Aftaran he is unlikely to cause any harm to a Mendoken. That would cause an interspecies incident between allies.”

  Marc shook his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t trust him. And I don’t feel comfortable staying on this ship a minute longer than we absolutely need to.”

  Zorina flapped her ears, looking somewhat incredulous. “You would rather get our little ship repaired and cross the Dominion in those cramped conditions, with only dry sparli to eat for days on end? If it doesn’t break down again and leave us stranded in empty space, that is. I doubt we’ll be lucky enough to have another Aftaran ship pick us up again at that point. In that contraption of a transport, chances are we’ll be dead long before we reach Afta-Raushan, let alone Mendoken territory.”

  Marc got up and began pacing around. “Yes, I’d rather take my chances with friends I trust than with strangers I don’t, regardless of the odds. I’m telling you both, something isn’t right here. I can feel it. I…”

  To his surprise, he wasn’t able to finish the sentence. The rest of the words just refused to come out of his mouth. Instead, a wave of weakness suddenly overcame him, causing his head to spin and forcing him to close his eyes. Losing all control over his muscles, he collapsed and fell to the floor. He lay there motionless, his face touching the cold stone surface, unable to utter a sound or move a muscle. Far away, he thought he could hear Sibular’s and Zorina’s voices, but he wasn’t sure. As his mind separated from his body, he remembered where he had felt this way before – on the moon Ailen, in front of Osalya, the Imgoerin’s aide.