by Greg Dragon
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Rafian and Riyah boarded a run-down Tyheran supply ship under the guise of Mr. and Mrs. Mancozulu. They exchanged formalities with its pilot and settled in among some smelly boxes in the back. Trying to make the best of the situation, Riyah smiled at Rafian and took his hand, but he had the same distant look in his eyes that he always did.
“Where are you, Rafian? You aren’t here with me.”
Finally, his eyes focused on her, and he returned the smile. “I’m here,” he said, “with the best girl ever. I owe you more than I can ever hope to repay.”
Lifting his palms to kiss them, Riyah looked into his eyes for a long time before speaking. “It was only money, plus I was saving to leave. We just moved the date up a bit to escape the Felitians. Plus you killed Burdok, and I owed you for that, so let’s call it even, okay?”
Rafian nodded and they talked and learned more about one another. Throughout the night, he held her close as he mentally drifted back to his place of peace. He felt guilty for his crimes on Talula, and he made an oath to become a good person whenever they reached Tyhera.
“Good-bye, beautiful Talula,” he whispered and reached up to touch the glass. He looked at his palm against the shrinking moon and wondered who he was before he woke up in the wilderness.
The smile that Riyah displayed as the ship broke Tyhera’s atmosphere was bright enough to light the entire planet. Like two pups in a storefront, the couple watched as the lush planet came ever closer with the ship’s descent. It was very blue, a pretty azure field with clouds that masked beautiful green landscapes and occasional brown swampland. They were so enthralled, they did not notice the three vessels bearing down on them.
Suddenly, a loud voice came over the speakers. “This is the Felitian Air Patrol. Slow your descent to a halt and prepare to be boarded!”
Nervously, Riyah looked over at Rafian. Their trip to paradise had hit a brick wall. In response, he smiled and squeezed her hand. “Positive thoughts,” he whispered.
“Hold on back there!” It was the pilot’s voice on the announcer, and before Rafian and Riyah could react, they were slammed into the wall as the ship bolted away from its pursuers. Shot after shot rained down on them as the pilot did his best to outrun the authorities. But there was only so much maneuvering one could do with a freight vessel. The ship was being torn apart, and it was not going very well.
“Oh, man, Gorda will be most unhappy!” the pilot uttered as a huge explosion rocked the side nearest Riyah. Rafian desperately tried to grab her falling body, but the ship was hit again, this time propelling him into a far wall. When the pain had subsided enough for him to open his eyes, he thought he saw Riyah reaching for him before he fell unconscious.
Rafian opened his eyes to find himself on the banks of a swampy pool. The remains of the craft were strewn all about, and refuse seemed to be everywhere. He took in the situation soberly. They had been attacked, he had passed out, and now he was on Tyhera.
After checking for any visible wounds, he began to search for Riyah. The fragments of the ship were everywhere, and for hours he rifled through them, searching unsuccessfully for his mate. He managed to find evidence of the pilot’s demise, but it seemed as though Riyah had vanished into the atmosphere. Where was she? After a few more hours, Rafian came to terms with reality.
The skies of Tyhera were all that Riyah would experience of her homeland.
Memory 17 | A New Cause
The minute Rafian set forth into them, the swamps of Tyhera seemed endless. He had no idea where he was going but knew if he kept walking, he would eventually run into something or someone. Three hours passed, and the heat and his exhaustion began to play tricks on his mind.
Stopping to catch his breath after a time, Rafian looked about at the vast swampland and considered his situation. Dark thoughts began to cloud his mind as he headed for a nearby rock to sit. He had not eaten for days, and he felt an interior ache throughout his entire body.
Suddenly a memory pushed itself from out of the dark cloud of his delusion. He recalled himself as a starving boy lying on a cold, concrete floor. He was in a sort of cell, and he was alone, with no hope of escape. Was this memory real, or was it just another illusion? With much effort, he forced himself to stand up and pushed forward through the trees.
It began to rain and the sky grew dark but Rafian pushed on through it all. He plodded through the rain and found a wet road that seemed to have had a lot of traffic. By fate, he stumbled upon an abandoned bike whose saddlebags were laden with credits. Lying nearby was a cloak and a gun and he grabbed them, hoping they were real.
When his fingers found the handle of the tiny gun, he knew it was real. He tried the bike but it had burned to a husk, and the cloak was stiff and dirty. When he reached in its pockets he found a Tyheran crown, which was worth a lot of money on Talula. He closed his fist on the coin and threw on the cloak and hurried away from the area. He followed the road and kept his head down and used the gun to ward off a pack of hum hounds that tried to make a meal of him.
After several miles, the trees broke away and the road cut down through a series of rocks. Rafian could see a city several miles beyond them. His legs were fatigued and his joints were aching but he wanted to drown his sorrows inside a bottle of brandy. If the city didn’t have any drinks he recognized, he was hoping that, at the very least, he could buy a cheap mug of ale.
As he approached the city, the odd makeshift uniform of a soldier caught his eye. She gave him a warm smile and tipped her hat, and he bowed slightly as he walked past her station. She looked no older than eighteen, and her uniform looked to be secondhand rags. It was an olive color, covered in various places with armor, which on close inspection favored that of the Felitian National Guard.
Riyah used to speak of the resistance to him; she had been passionate about their fight and wanted to join when they reached Tyhera. She had dreams of infiltrating Felitian bases as a spy and would make up long scenarios and relay them to him. He would always blow it off as political nonsense, since he saw the Felitian rule as absolute. The only “resistance” in his mind was men like him who “defied” them by breaking the law for a fist full of coins.
But in front of him was a member of the infamous resistance and she was smiling at him. She was out in the open in Felitian-occupied Apun, and this impressed him immensely. It was three Felitians who had killed Riyah, and he liked the idea of hurting them for it.
“You a recruiter?” he asked as he stepped out of the rain.
The woman nodded and pointed at her badge. “You wanna join up?” she asked with a wink. “Help us win this planet back for the Tyheran people?”
Rafian didn’t know much about the politics of Tyhera, but he knew that the Felitians had the power in their galaxy, and the capital of their empire was in Veece, Tyhera. He considered his life and couldn’t fathom any other direction that would make sense for him. He wanted revenge for Riyah, and another reason to live, so why not lend the resistance his mysterious fighting skills?
“I want to be recruited into the resistance army,” he said. “Where do I sign or whatever?”
“What is your name?” she asked and pulled out a tiny data pad.
“Rafian VCA,” he replied and she looked at him to see if he was joking.
“What kind of name is that, with the last one being letters?”
“It’s a name. Put it down; I want to get this over with.”
“You will be a hunted man, VCA, do you understand? The Felitians are always looking for resistance members. If I record your name, you will be marked.”
“Mark the name, already. I said I’m in.”
That first mission was a rescue one and it led to many more for Rafian. Void of his memory and having no one, he made the resistance his life. The skills he possessed helped him to develop a reputation, and before long he was known by all of the resistance leaders.
