by Drew Avera
“What the hell?”
Anki extended her other hand and felt the electric cocoon around her, vibrating as if it was alive. She held onto it for a moment, feeling the charge and wondering if she was imprisoned in it. She took a step forward, expecting to be trapped, but the bubble shifted with her, easing her thoughts.
So Strange.
Movement ahead caught her attention. Cresting the hill was woven fabric, the same color as Carista’s robes, flapping in the wind. A form stood, partially obscured by the hill and the waving cloth. It could be only one person.
“Carista!” Only the first syllable fell from her lips before dissolving into nothing. As she looked up, the figure stepped out of sight, taking the whipping fabric with them as they disappeared over the cresting terrain.
Anki sucked in a deep breath and steadied her nerves. I have only one choice, she thought. I must find her.
She took another step forward, followed by another and another before she met the base of the rocky hill. It was steeper than she first thought, but Anki persisted. She grasped towards a protruding stone and gripped it, the bubble cushioning between her skin and the surface of the rock in a way she did not think possible.
Using the handhold, Anki pulled herself upwards, finding her footing as she continued to scale the increasingly daunting summit. What once appeared as a hill was now a cliff. She knew she should be afraid. If the terrain could shift so easily, then she was in danger, but her thoughts were on one purpose: to do what she failed to do before.
Save Carista. And if it means dying in the attempt, then so be it.
Twelve
Ilium
The mood on the King Slayer was different after the attack. For the first time in many years, the Greshian Navy was overpowered by a threat. To add insult to injury, that threat was unknown. The new captain could feel in the very air around him how it all affected the crew He bore it as his responsibility to right the crew, to bring them back from the brink of defeat to focus on the annihilation of their offenders. It sounded good in his mind, but how he was going to accomplish it remained to be seen. First, he had another priority.
“I’m happy to see you on your feet again, Captain Gyl,” Stavis said to Ilium, stirring him from his thoughts as he sat in the captain’s chair. The idea of taking the helm of the ship and her crew overwhelmed him, but as a point to honor the fallen man he held so much respect for, he accepted it. That small act contrasted his prior self in a way he immediately noticed. It was because of Captain Crexon that Ilium righted his own path. He owed the old captain much more than merely doing right by the crew.
This is not how I saw myself taking command of a ship of this capacity, he thought. Sometimes he said it out loud when alone in his stateroom. More often, he wondered what others thought of his being granted the position. It appeared, at least for now, that the members on the bridge were comfortable with his leadership. He hoped it lasted because the battle was only just beginning.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. I’m happy to see your injury is fully healed,” Ilium replied. Her actions on the day of the attack awarded her a meritorious promotion and a large amount of respect from her peers. It made Ilium happy that Headquarters signed off on the spot promotion, and she was far from the only one deserving of such an honor. He just wished he could do more for the officer who saved his ass and that of the crew.
Stavis smiled, and the scar on her forehead appeared more prominently as her brow furrowed. “Thank you, sir. Are you ready for the ceremony?”
Ilium nodded. The memorial and burial for the fallen had been postponed until Ilium was cleared by Dr. Remes. It appeared traumatic brain injury made him too fragile to do his job, according to her. He was thankful to feel one-hundred percent again. Of course, the nightmares were something he kept to himself, more because he felt he deserved the reminder than out of embarrassment. “Yes, I think now is as good a time as any to say our final goodbye.” Death in the Greshian Navy while serving the empire was considered an honor. Pride befell those who would so willingly sacrifice themselves for their Emperor. But on this side of death, it felt odd to Ilium. It felt sad.
Stavis led the way from the bridge, leaving the Command Duty Officer and pilot behind in case of an emergency. It was not typical for a junior officer to hold the position of Executive Officer, but Ilium found that he relied on her for a substantial number of his administrative and executive decisions. Her intelligence was a model and a compass for him to follow, whether she realized it or not. So, he made the decision to offer her the position without approval from Headquarters. The word “temporary” was used in their returned correspondence, along with a set of orders for an inbound commander Ilium had never met. It was with profound disappointment that he gave her the news, but she still carried out her duties as if it did not bother her. He respected her more for that because it was not in his personality for him to perform in such a way.
The hangar of the King Slayer was filled with personnel for the ceremony. Each department mustered into their own rank and file, standing by for the somber affair. He looked down at them from the CO’s passageway, the windows looking down into the hangar providing a vantage point for him to see how many men and women he was responsible for. Only on a vessel of this size did the Greshian fleet support female sailors, and it stood in stark contrast to his time on the Telran.
Ilium descended the ladder well behind Stavis, noticing how confident she walked after the terror brought onto the ship. Dr. Remes briefed him on the situation after he woke and was aware enough to understand what was happening. Despite several senior officers on the King Slayer, Stavis rose to the top, and her intuitive leadership brought the crew together as they battled fires amidst mass casualties. How the senior staff buckled under the pressure and allowed a junior officer to take control was a kick in the teeth to regulations, but her actions undoubtedly saved the ship. She deserves her confidence, he thought as they entered the hangar.
“Attention on deck!” A senior enlisted man shouted, causing a hush to fall over the hangar bay as three thousand sailors quickly quieted.
Ilium continued to follow Stavis to the center of the hangar where a small stage was created with ordnance carts. He stepped up and stood at the platform, looking over the crowd of survivors. Many in the ranks were still healing from wounds following the brief but decisive victory the enemy claimed against them. But there was a resolve on the faces of the crowd. There was fire in their eyes and he felt it too.
“Crew of the King Slayer,” he began, pausing for a breath as he thought about the message he wanted to convey. He could preach about seeking revenge, or he could honor those who passed away, reflecting on their sacrifice. He chose to do both.
“We lost some of our shipmates, our friends, our mentors. An enemy overcame us in a moment when we were ill-equipped to fight back in a meaningful way. Those we lost were brothers in our family. They were leaders in a war about more than power, but also our future. Their’s was a sacrifice we all raised our hands to accept, but never expect to happen to us.
“Death came for them, though, and their sacrifice saw us through to a new tomorrow, a wiser tomorrow. This memorial is to let the fallen know their sacrifice will not be in vain. This memorial is to mark the day we refocus our efforts on bringing this sector of the galaxy under Greshian control.
“Captain Crexon was your commanding officer for two years. During that time, the King Slayer was responsible for the annihilation of sixty-one threats and saw the occupancy and conversion of seventeen planets. His leadership impacted more than just this crew, but the Greshian Empire as a whole. His loss, and the loss of others in our crew, is a reflection of the hazards of our job, of our responsibility to the Empire.
“They gave of themselves, and so shall we, if we are ever called upon in service to our worthy Empire. May the gods accept them and welcome them to watch over us as stars.”
Ilium stopped talking and looked over the reverent faces of his crew. He saw t
he resolve to fight when the time came to call upon them. But in the meantime, they were to put to rest the fallen.
“Lieutenant Teirs, would you please launch the fallen members of our crew into the dark?”
“Yes, sir,” Teirs replied, cycling the hangar bay doors open, but careful not to vent the atmosphere. The doors opened to the sound of an alarm and flashing red lights. Teirs silenced the alarm, but the lights continued to flash. One by one, the caskets of the fallen were conveyed towards the open doors, each one lifting as it departed the atmospheric boundary, cascading into the darkness of space as the King Slayer silently crept at a fraction of the speed of light.
The crew watched until the final casket jettisoned from the vessel. It was the final resting place for Captain Crexon, his casket adorned with the regalia of the Greshian Empire. For millions of years he would float in vacuum, sealed as a time capsule for a war that would eventually be over for thousands of generations.
Ilium wiped a tear from his eye as he watched his mentor drift quickly away from the ship after crossing the threshold. He felt hollow inside, as if someone carved his heart from his chest and devoured it. But now was not the time for shedding tears.
“Thank you for joining with me for this memorial. You are dismissed.
“Fall out,” the senior enlisted man said, and Ilium watched the ranks turn uniformly and slowly disappear into the adjoining passageways.
“Lieutenants Stavis and Teirs, can I have a moment?”
Both officers stepped next to him. “Yes, sir?” Teirs replied.
“Have we received word from Headquarters as to what the vessel was that attacked us?”
“Negative, sir. We are still awaiting a response. Though, the security officer suggested the vessel may not have been a military vessel,” Teirs responded.
“If not a military vessel, then how could it have attacked with such precision and devastating effect?”
“He wasn’t implying that it did not have military weapons, but that it was not the primary mission. He believes the vessel was a research facility,” Stavis answered, drawing Ilium’s attention to her.
“Like a scientific research facility?” Ilium asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Ilium took a deep breath and thought for a moment. “If the ship is for science, yet it packs that kind of payload, then what are these people trying to hide?”
“That’s a good question, sir, and one we are trying to answer now,” Teirs said.
Ilium nodded. “Thank you for the briefing. I need to touch base with Headquarters about the inbound Executive Officer. He should rendezvous with us within the next three days. I want to be ready for his arrival.”
“Do you have anything in mind?” Stavis asked.
“I want to have a plan of attack against this enemy, so his first order of business will be helping lead the crew to revenge,” he answered, and the thought of retaliation caused his lips to curl into a smile.
Thirteen
Brendle
He watched her sleep, though he knew it was a medically induced coma that made her lay quiet with tubes monitoring her brain activity. “Sleep” made it sound more peaceful than reality, and that was one thing he craved most for her and him in that moment.
“How could this happen? Radiation exposure?” Deis asked.
“That is my assumption,” Pilot answered, reviewing the data on the medical cart and researching possible treatments within a fraction of a second. “The tumor is centralized in a part of her brain where most activity is minimized. For it to grow there without previous symptoms is not far-fetched. The real question is where did the radiation exposure take place to cause such rapid growth. Anki’s condition, though a new diagnosis, seems to metabolize quickly.”
“She spent some years in her youth doing salvage with her uncle. It’s possible they did not have sufficient equipment to block high levels of radiation,” Brendle replied, hopeful it was a means to a solution.
“I’m afraid the exposure she would have received that long ago would have caused more noticeable damage earlier.”
“What about when she was sucked out of the airlock unprotected?” Malikea asked. “It was our first time meeting one another, but that was a rather recent incident.”
“That could be,” Pilot said. “Brendle, do you mind taking a seat on the other medical cart and allow me to scan you? You were exposed for roughly the same period of time. Perhaps I can catch anything out of the ordinary if this is the cause.”
Brendle felt nervous to think whatever was happening to Anki could also happen to him. “I suppose, but shouldn’t you focus most of your attention on her?”
“She’s not going anywhere, Captain. Besides, my processing power can enable me to perform high-risk medical procedures on each of you simultaneously while also catching up on the most popular sitcoms on your world to brief you upon waking up.” Brendle could tell Pilot was joking, but the robotic voice lacked inflection and it sounded more like boasting. Ever since Anki returned from the CERCO ship, she asked Pilot to not use her father’s voice. It was sad for everyone in the crew because it felt like losing a friend, despite the only difference was the sound of the speaker’s voice.
“Thank you for the assurance,” Brendle said as he cleared off the medical cart and placed the items on the counter mounted on the bulkhead.
“It is my experience that a positive bedside manner is the first step in successful healing,” Pilot replied.
“Yeah? Did you pick that bit of knowledge up from catching up on my favorite sitcoms on Greshia?” Brendle asked sarcastically. Deis and Malikea chortled softly while he took a seat and allowed Deis to strap the sensors onto him as he stared over to Anki, peacefully “sleeping.”
“Actually, Captain, I gained that knowledge by listening to lectures at a popular medical school that no longer exists on the planet Iara.”
“What happened to it?” Malikea asked.
“Greshian warships destroyed it.”
Brendle looked at Deis and Malikea, noticing the shock on their faces he also felt. “Can we continue with the procedure and not remind me what kind of hellish world I come from?” Brendle replied, leaning back in his seat.
“Of course, Captain. Don’t worry, Iara was destroyed before you joined the Greshian Navy. Those lives need not be on your conscious.”
Brendle sighed, wondering whether Pilot was trying to be funny or really did lack good judgement on what was appropriate to be said to someone without making them feel uncomfortable. “I appreciate that, Pilot. I can only deal with the trillion or so deaths that took place during my service right now.” He meant his statement to be lighthearted, but it fell flat and he regretted saying anything at all. Only assholes make jokes regarding the loss of so many lives, and doing so was completely out of his character. Still, the stigma following him due to his heritage was something he knew painted the things he said when people from other worlds listened to him. And each time he thought he had grown past it with the crew, he was reminded in instances like this. “I’m sorry, guys. I’m just nervous and can’t control my tongue.”
“We understand you didn’t mean it,” Malikea said, and Brendle noticed Deis looking at his husband as if he did not appreciate being spoken for. It’s always one step forward and two steps back when my past comes back to haunt me, Brendle thought.
“I think what Malikea is trying to say is that we know you have a hard time controlling what you say in moments like this, but if you jokingly dismiss the lives of those lost because of your people, then I will punch you in the mouth,” Deis said without a hint of sarcasm. He stared at Brendle, and he knew it was a warning. “I just want you to be clear on this since we are family.”
“Understood. Again, I’m sorry, I’ll be more vigilant about guarding my tongue in the future,” Brendle replied.
Deis nodded and his expression lightened. “He’s ready, Pilot.”
“Very well, beginning initial scans.” Brendle sat still, nerv
ously waiting for Pilot to conclude the scan, and surprised that the preparation took longer than the procedure. “Scan complete.” The data collected appeared on a monitor contrasting the difference between Anki’s and Brendle’s brain scan. A full body scan appeared in a smaller portion of the screen, but both were clear of cancers.
“So, what’s the verdict?” Brendle asked, noticing some of the yellow pigmentation of the screen where Anki’s tumor was centralized also appeared on his.
“Your scan is clean of cancers.”
“What about the yellow portion? On Anki you said that was where the tumor was located.”
“Yes, but the yellow is not the tumor, the white mass in the center of that yellow section is the cancer. Your scan shows no such anomaly,” Pilot replied.
“Oh.” It was all he could think to say. He was grateful to not have brain cancer, but what did his relief say about Anki’s predicament?
“Now that we know their exposure did not result in the same medical condition, where do we go from here?” Deis asked, concern in his voice.
“I have plotted a course to Pila. We will keep Anki in the medically induced coma and hope the cancer does not metastasize more by time we get there in five days.”
“Five days?” Brendle asked, not wanting to helplessly endure Anki’s condition for a moment more. He wanted someone treating her immediately.
“It’s the best we can do. Taking a gate could produce more radiation exposure, further worsening her condition.”
“What can we do for her in the meantime?” Malikea asked.
