SHADOW EMPIRE

by Drew Avera

  Hespha took a step back. “I don’t understand. T’anoi never mentioned a lack of trust in his brother.”

  Vires nodded. “With his family, T’anoi kept many secrets. But it is true nonetheless. Ka’Hor’al, please don’t act out or security will have to take you in.”

  Ka’Hor’al stood, fists balled tight, and his jaw clenched. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Also,” Vires added. “He is not permitted to tour the station unless you insist upon it.”

  Hespha looked at Ka’Hor’al, and the only thing on her mind other than her potential pregnancy was the fact T’anoi distrusted his own brother enough to not allow him to see the station. “Perhaps it is best to respect T’anoi’s wishes, for now,” she replied.

  Ka’Hor’al glared at her. “This is bullshit.”

  “Don’t cause a scene,” she warned. Looking back at Vires, she noticed the short man extending his hand to escort her. “I’m ready when you are.”

  “Come with me, please. My men will take Ka’Hor’al to his room and deliver your bags to yours.”

  “Thank you,” Hespha replied, relieved to not be in Ka’Hor’al’s company for a while.

  “It’s my pleasure. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Hespha walked with Vires, hand in hand, and all she could think was how advanced the station appeared compared to other CERCO technology. She was aware of the ships built to combat the Greshian threat. She’d been on several during tours early in her career. But Valara was something different.

  Out of earshot from anyone else, Hespha asked, “I’m curious as to what you’re doing this far away.”

  They turned a corner and descended two levels before Vires stopped walking outside a silver door. “This room is the crux of our research. I warn you, what you see may shock you. But this operation was overseen by T’anoi, and it is now yours.”

  Nervously, Hespha replied. “I’m ready.”

  Vires nodded, placing his hand over the console to open the door. Inside, wrapped in bright, fluorescent light, lay the body of the weapon. Tubes and hoses sprang forth from her body as a beeping sound chimed every few seconds. Without a closer inspection, Hespha knew exactly who it was.

  Carista.

  Forty-Seven

  Ilium

  “Good morning, sir,” Quino said, opening the door to his stateroom while dressed in a light robe. The older man looked frail outside of his uniform adorned with large shoulder boards displaying his rank. Sometimes Ilium had a hard time recognizing himself outside of the uniform; its construction designed to be intimidating and high-class.

  “Good morning,” Ilium replied, pretending to wipe sleep from his eyes. Exhaustion ravaged him, not because of the early morning visit, but the lack of sleep as he imagined all the ways this meeting could go wrong. He knew the wise decision was to take Stavis’s advice, but the longer he waited, the more excuses popped in his head. Now, it was do or die.

  “Would you like to come in?”

  “Yes, please,” Ilium said awkwardly. Quino stood out of the way of the door and Ilium stepped into the cold stateroom. The old man kept his sleeping conditions like Ilium’s, which was going to wreak havoc on his ability to stay awake unless he stood. “Thank you.”

  “What can I do for you, sir? Work doesn’t begin for another two hours.” The statement sounded more like concern than complaining about the time. The truth was Ilium knew the man was awake before he knocked on the door. He spent the evening watching his XO slumber, only to wake an hour ago to place a call to whomever the mystery person was on the other end. That prompted Ilium’s action, but nervousness kept him unusually quiet.

  “There’s something we need to discuss.”

  “Is it regarding my position, sir? I assure you, I’m learning my new role as quickly as I can.”

  Ilium shook his head. “Not entirely. Look, there are some things you don’t know about me.” Here we go, jumping right into the fire before looking for an escape route. Idiot. “My rise to becoming captain of this ship took a less than standard route.”

  Quino straightened. “Yes, I assumed as much. A ship of this size having a captain your age is most unusual.”

  It was Ilium’s turn to straighten. Hearing the indirect accusation crawled beneath his skin, tickling his paranoia. “That’s right,” he admitted. “It takes an enemy who knows how a Greshian warship is constructed; who knows its limits and can defend itself against a Greshian assault. But statistics aren’t going to solve the mystery of who attacked us. I have my own theory.”

  “As do I,” Quino replied.

  Ilium nodded. “What is yours?”

  Quino sighed, craning his neck to one side in a stretch before speaking. “It was an attack carried out to make you captain of this ship. I don’t have definitive proof, but I don’t believe in coincidence. How can you replace the XO on a ship and within a few weeks, the captain dies, and you take command? There’re too many coincidences to not create a pattern. Once I uncover it, I’ll know for sure.”

  “I can see why you think that, but I assure you, that was not the case. I can prove it.”

  “You have evidence?”

  “Not hard evidence, but I have a story that might align your theory in a different direction.” Ilium’s heart pounded as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Quino shook his head. “I’m not here for fictitious stories. I’m here for the truth.”

  A sigh escaped Ilium’s lips and he took a step closer to Quino. “The evidence of this story was erased from the database.”

  “Which database?”

  “Fleetwide message traffic and Headquarters historical files. Anything with my name on it from the time I was stationed on the Telran until I left the Hamæråté. It’s all gone.”

  Quino smiled. “Gone, almost as if you were erased?” the man’s tone shifted, and it caught Ilium off guard.

  “Yeah.”

  “And why do you think that is?”

  Ilium paused, gazing into the other man’s eyes for the answer contained within himself. “Because I used to work for someone who wants me dead.”

  Quino turned, stepping to a chair in his stateroom and taking a seat. “Please, sit and tell me more.”

  Ilium followed the request, immediately feeling more comfortable. The cool temperature of the room calming him. “I was planted in the Greshian Navy as a mole for a man known as Haranger. His plan was to have me, and others, seize control of the fleet and use it against the Empire.”

  “How did you come by this Haranger person?”

  “I grew up on the streets. I was recruited into shady organizations at a young age. My personality meshed well with the type of person he looked for, and because of my age, he felt I would be a good fit for coming in as an officer.”

  Quino scrunched his nose, tapping a finger against his cheek as he leaned his head in his hand. “So, what happened next?”

  Ilium leaned back, relaxing more, feeling the burden lifting from his shoulders. “He pulled strings to get me into Officer Candidate School, and I shipped off onto the Telran. I spent four years serving in various departments. I didn’t have a specialty, which allowed me to float. I worked logistics, navigation, and security before transferring.”

  “And I take it not having a designator allowed you to feed more information to Haranger?”

  “It did.”

  Quino nodded. “What caused you to leave the Telran?”

  “My tour was over, and I was due to transfer. I advanced quickly, mostly due to Haranger’s ability to make things happen on the outside. I found my own opportunities to stand out as well. A position opened on the Hamæråté and I took it. Typical career progression was to command a scout ship, and Haranger saw that I went to one in a sector he had particular interest in.”

  “What interest was that?”

  “Proximity to Farax.”

  “What about Farax?” Quino asked, looking puzzled.

  Ilium sighed. “I’m not sure.
I assumed it was because of smuggling, but my time on the Hamæråté was short and I didn’t have an opportunity to perform any missions before one of his other moles incited a mutiny. After realizing what my lot in life would be on my current path, I made the mistake of going against the grain with Haranger and he took action against me.”

  Quino stopped tapping his finger on the side of his face and leaned forward. “What happened after the mutiny?”

  Ilium shrugged. “I put out an emergency message for help. Captain Crexon brought the King Slayer to my aid, and his men stormed the ship and executed the crew.”

  “The entire crew?”

  “More or less. It was a small ship and loyal to Haranger.” Hearing the words pour from his lips, guilt washed over Ilium. His heart raced as he revealed so much about his undocumented time.

  “Do you think Haranger knows you’re alive?”

  “I can only assume. With his other men dead, he has to have some inkling of an idea that I escaped.”

  “You’re probably right. Men like Haranger often depend on an accountability from their people. If you do not make contact at the designated time, then it triggers an alarm that lets them know you are either unreliable or in trouble. Depending on the trouble, different actions can take place. Over the years, I’ve seen many instances where these men ultimately catch up to the wayward contact.”

  “And what happens?” Ilium asked.

  Quino stood, walking slowly to the table with a bottle of Mar on top. With his back to Ilium, he spoke. “In most cases, the target is executed.”

  “Do you believe my story?”

  Quino pulled open the cabinet and reached inside. “I do. And I believe your loyalties have shifted to an extent where you are no longer sided with Haranger.”

  “That is precisely true,” Ilium replied. “I am loyal to the Empire.”

  “That’s what I hoped to hear,” Quino said, turning on Ilium and pointing a gun at the shocked captain. “I’ve been waiting to hear those words, so I could wrap this up.”

  “What are you doing?” Ilium asked, pushing back in his seat, trying to get out of Quino’s line of sight. “I told you I’m loyal.”

  “That’s right, you did, but that’s not going to work for Haranger. He sends his regards, by the way. He also sent me with marching orders to execute you at my earliest convenience, as well as anyone working with you. It was pretty obvious from the beginning who that would be.”

  Ilium’s eyes widened, his heart pounded. “He sent you after me?”

  “You catch on quick, Captain. Too bad it’s a skill you’re going to lose along with your life.” Quino stepped nearer, leveling the weapon at Ilium’s face. His lips curled into a sinister smile as his finger danced happily along the trigger while Ilium frantically backed himself into a corner.

  “You don’t have to do this. Stavis had nothing to do with my plans” Ilium said, his voice cracking.

  “I know, but a bounty for another kill is too much of an offer to refuse. I don’t have to do anything. But sometimes opportunities like this present themselves in such a way that you must seize them. I’ll tell Stavis you were thinking about her in the end, and don’t worry−she’ll see you on the other side, traitor.”

  As Quino’s finger met the trigger to squeeze it, the door to the stateroom burst open. Startled, Quino turned his attention to the weapon drawn on him. Before he could adjust his aim, two shots fired, each striking him in the chest, sending him crashing to the deck.

  Ilium looked on in horror. Unable to grasp what happened, he stammered, trying to find words, but found none. Coming so close to death sapped his strength and his confidence. Lieutenant Stavis dropped down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder as two men flanked the fallen XO.

  “Sir, are you, all right?”

  Ilium’s eyes darted between her and the body on the deck before him.

  She shook him. “Sir!”

  “Yeah, I think so,” he answered, not knowing if it was true.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” she said, placing an arm under him and helping him up. As she led him from the stateroom, his eyes affixed to Quino’s body, the only thought running through his mind was that he would never not be a target for Haranger. Who could he trust after an experience like this?

  As Stavis and Ilium stepped out of the stateroom, the ship shut down.

  Forty-Eight

  Brendle

  Waiting was a difficult game, even with his friends. Hours passed in the ever-shrinking, guarded room without even a light knock on the door to ask if they were all right. The more the conversation died, the darker his internal thoughts grew. What if Anki died? What if she was comatose for the rest of her natural life? What if? What if? What if? The questions never ceased, and neither did the anxiety-rich feeling coursing through Brendle’s body.

  “Are you still with us?” Malikea asked as Brendle’s gaze towards the not-so-distant wall grew bleak.

  Startled, he looked up as Malikea knelt next to him, his crimson robes touching the floor like a pool of blood. Like death. “Yeah, I’m still here,” Brendle lied, relieved to be prodded from his thoughts for a slight reprieve. “I could really use a walk, though. Being holed up in here isn’t doing me any good.”

  “The guard suggested this is the safest place for you,” Deis replied, his arms resting on the table.

  “You mean, for us?”

  Deis replied, “No, Malikea and I can come and go as we please.”

  “But we won’t leave you,” Malikea interjected as he placed his hand on Brendle’s shoulder. He looked at Deis with a gaze just out of view of Brendle’s peripheral vision, but based on the tensing of the man’s hand on his shoulder, he thought he could read the intention well enough.

  “I appreciate that, but please don’t lock yourselves up on my account. We’ve been on the ship for well over a month. Just getting a change of scenery outside of four white walls is enough to make a difference… not that I would know.”

  “The guard said once Anki is in a room that he will escort us. Our scenery will change soon enough,” Deis said, his tone just flat of reassuring. “Of course, that’s if he didn’t forget about us.”

  Brendle tensed at the idea of being abandoned in the room and not being up to date on Anki’s condition. Thinking of something happening without being informed felt worse than being in his current accommodations. He rose from his seat and moved swiftly to the door, sliding it lightly to one side and seeing his guard, Pwar he had come to know, sitting with his chair leaning against the wall lazily.

  Pwar looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Can I help you?”

  “I’d like an update on Anki’s condition.”

  Pwar let his chair rest on all four legs and stood. He looked up and down the hallways before shrugging. “I haven’t heard anything, but the doctor knows you’re here.”

  “Can you get in contact with him for me, just in case he forgot?” Brendle asked, just short of pleading.

  As Pwar looked down the hallway, his uncomfortable gaze settled on something, drawing Brendle’s attention to it. It was a surgeon in light, blue garb walking in a graceful gait. As the surgeon approached, Brendle realized it was a woman.

  “I’m sorry to keep you, sir,” she said. “I just wrapped up the surgery and Anki is doing well. The tumor was not attached to the brain as most growths are, which required very little work once the skull was opened. I performed a pre-closure scan and found no other growths and no damage to the cells of her brain. I’m certain she will recover quickly and have no loss of motor function.” The surgeon spoke almost too quickly for Brendle to follow, but after a beat he thought he caught enough of it to warrant a reply.

  “Can I see her?”

  The surgeon adjusted her mask off her chin, disposing of it in the waste bin next to her. “I’m sorry, but she’s in a clean recovery room. Only doctors and nurses are permitted for the first twelve hours. She’s in a medically induced coma for the time being, but we wi
ll bring her out of it before transporting her to a regular room in the morning. I understand your accommodations are less than ideal here, so do you want me to see about having you three put in an overnight guest room?”

  Brendle nodded, “That would be excellent, thank you.” He extended his hand to her and she took it in a firm grip. The truth was, with the positive news, he wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her as tight as he could manage to show how much he appreciated her. But given this world’s view of his kind, he thought better of it. “I appreciate everything you did for her.”

  “By all means, it was my pleasure. Someone will be down shortly to see you to the guest room. If you’ll excuse me, I have my rounds to make.”

  “Certainly. Thank you again.” As the surgeon walked away, Brendle turned to Deis and Malikea as they stood behind him. “Did you hear that?” He asked, his voice raised a few pitches as relief colored his words. “She came out just fine.”

  “It’s wonderful,” Malikea said, coming to Brendle and hugging him. Deis followed suit and for a long moment they embraced one another as family, relieved to be out of the most harrowing shared moment of their lives. Greshian warships and space pirates Brendle could face all day long, but it was the emergencies outside his control and for which he was not prepared where he felt most lost.

  “Thank you for being there for me, and for Anki.”

  “That’s what family is for,” Dies said.

  Family. With each day and every dire situation, I’m learning more and more what that word means. “Always,” Brendle replied.

  “Always.” Deis and Malikea echoed.

  Epilogue: Hathlene

  Shaky hands gripped the com-unit, holding it before her as the connection was made. Hathlene hated this part of her daily ritual, giving the report to the Imperial Princess Herma of Greshia to sway the princess from retaliation. Each day the descent of her people waving their indignant freedom flags wove another thread of impending doom into the fabric of their existence. How much more of this must we bear before the end truly comes, and there is nothing I can do to stop it?