REGIME CHANGE Page 7

  She turned to leave, but Tushia grabbed hold of her sleeve. “Gen, wait.” She canted her gaze back to him expectantly. “I don’t want you to go without knowing something.”

  “What is it?”

  Tushia stared at her, his eyes wide and his breathing obviously elevated. “I spent most of my night thinking about you,” he said.

  “I thought about the mission too. It occupied my mind to the point I barely slept,” she replied.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Tushia interjected. “Gen-Taiku, I know there’s a rank structure we try to follow and that it’s wildly inappropriate for me to say so, but I care about you more than just as a soldier.” She took a step closer to him without thinking about it. “I think I love you and you don’t have to say it back, or say anything at all. I just want you to know so I don’t have to walk around with this secret anymore.”

  Gen’s eyes widened, not knowing what to do with the information presented. She would be lying to herself to deny seeing this moment coming eventually. But the fact he would put this on her as she was about to go on a mission with the chance of a negative outcome chilled her.

  She stood still for a moment, looking past him and his expectant gaze. She could tell he wanted a reply, but she had nothing for him other than a bitter response born from being put on the spot at a highly stressful time in her life. “Thank you,” she said awkwardly, pulling her arm from him and turning to leave.

  Gen didn’t realize what she had done until she found herself walking absentmindedly towards the hatch with no one around her.

  By then it was too late to take it back. How Tushia felt about her response was the way he was going to feel until she returned. If she returned. Now, there was only the mission.

  Eighteen

  Brendle

  Deis and Malikea waited in the cargo bay as Brendle escorted Pedero onboard. He glanced up at them, their faces stern as they crossed their arms over their chests defensively. He knew his decision angered them, but he hoped they would see why he made the call he did afterwards.

  “Deis. Malikea. This is Princess Herma’s personal assistant. Pedero, this is my crew,” Brendle said, gesturing towards the Lechun men.

  “I gathered that when you spoke to them, Mr. Quinn. It’s nice to meet you two,” she said as she extended her hand to them. Each one gave the customary greeting, taking the other’s wrist and gripping it snuggly. “I see you taught them our ways.”

  “They already knew Greshian customs when I met them,” Brendle answered. “It would seem the Empire has a way of making its ways known regardless of whether another civilization wants to adopt it.”

  Pedero cut her eyes at him, but he maintained his position. There was no reason to sugarcoat the fact the Greshian Empire’s expansion took its toll on societies all across the galaxy. Cultural appropriation aside, the lasting effects of severing the traditions of a civilization to force them into submission was its own form of genocide.

  “Perhaps,” she said curtly.

  “Captain Quinn tells us you are prepared to restock our supplies in exchange for a military presence against a growing rebellion on this world,” Deis said, not looking at Brendle. The jab of calling him captain did not go unnoticed by Brendle or Pedero; the tone of his words saying more than he spoke.

  “We are not hoping for more than just a presence, but yes, in case the armed rebellion was to lash out at you, we do plan on arming you appropriately.”

  “You didn’t say anything about the possibility of an attack by this rebellion,” Brendle interjected.

  Pedero cut her eyes towards him. “What part of a rebellion made you think these Pilatians are unarmed?”

  Brendle took a step back, not appreciating the challenge on his ship. “I only meant to say that Princess Herma made it sound much less like a military act and that our presence was to sway further descension. Putting this ship and crew in harm’s way was not part of the original deal.”

  “Neither was adding to the list of supplies Princess Herma agreed to provide, on top of granting citizenship to you and your crew here,” Pedero spat, the indignation in her voice crushing the polite tone she carried previously.

  Brendle’s eyes caught the shock in his men’s faces. Without letting the silence carry, he spoke, “Deis, do you have the lists for Ms. Pedero to return to the princess?” he said her name to mimic the way she said his as an attempt at jabbing at her self-centeredness. The glossy look in her eyes showed nothing.

  “Here you go, Captain,” Deis said, handing over two notes written crudely on strips of stock board. Brendle took them and immediately handed them over to Pedero. “You might not want to keep your driver waiting too long, or the princess.”

  Pedero snatched the lists from his hand and sighed as she rolled her eyes. “I suppose a digital version of this list was too much to ask?”

  “We are low on supplies,” Brendle said. “My crew makes the best of what we have. We don’t have royal blood to provide for us.”

  “I…” Pedero started. She looked down at the strips of stock board stiff in her hands, the smeared ink used to write the lists rubbing off on her hands. She shoved them into a pocket before looking back at Brendle. “I don’t mean to be rude, but life on this world is not like it was on Greshia. Princess Herma is losing favor by the hour as the protests rage. We need protection that I am not sure will come by her father. I take the possibility of dying seriously.”

  Her words caused a lump to form in Brendle’s throat, but he choked it down. “And I take the possibility of taking a life seriously. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have to prepare our ship for the possibility of a counter attack I did not agree to.”

  Pedero’s softened look hardened once again as her stoic gaze bore into Brendle. “I’ll contact you for delivery of the goods,” she said, turning to leave without looking back.

  “What a piece of work,” Brendle said, shoving his hands in his pockets. When he turned to look at Deis and Malikea, they avoided eye contact. “What’s wrong?”

  Malikea looked up first. “I think you know. We will not fire on civilians,” he said.

  “No one is asking you to,” Brendle replied.

  “No? What do you think she was asking, Brendle?” Deis snapped. “It sure was not for a peace offering to be extended to the rebel forces on this world.”

  Brendle swallowed. “If the time comes, I will not fire on these people.”

  “When the time comes, it will already be too late,” Deis replied, stalking away with Malikea following him.

  Alone in the cargo bay, with the warm Pilatian air billowing in through the ramp, Brendle stood and contemplated his position. From his viewpoint, everything was falling apart. What happened to the crew who came together to help Carista? Once the girl was gone, it seemed to him the life of the crew went with her.

  Nineteen

  Ilium

  Standing at the airlock, Ilium assisted Stavis as she pulled the EVA suit over her body. It was not designed to fit over the normal working uniform, so articles of clothing lay strewn out on the deck, leaving her mostly in undergarments except where the EVA suit molded tightly around her body. Of course, it was hard to see with nothing more than battery powered lights on half a dozen EVA helmets powered on along the bulkhead.

  “You have three-hundred meters until you reach the aft-most section of the ship, it’s not a short hike, are you sure you’re up to this?” Ilium asked, noting the frame marker designation on the bulkhead at the airlock.

  Stavis turned to look at the marker. “We’re on the fifth level, I have less than sixty meters before I reach the end of the tower. This is going to be easy, sir,” she corrected. “Besides, I volunteered because I want to do this, not because I have to.”

  Ilium held the wrist opening wider as she shoved her arm through the sleeve. Ilium had worn a few EVA suits in his time, but never struggled as much as Stavis appeared to with the current design. To save space, the Greshian Navy went with a model that stret
ched to fit, which meant the first few times donning the suit essentially felt like putting on someone else’s skin. He could tell by the look on her face that the description he’s heard from others might not be too far off the mark.

  “You’re right,” Ilium said. “This is your mission and I shouldn’t be talking you out of it.”

  She stopped working the suit for a moment and stared up at him. “Look, we’ll discuss what you said later, but don’t think about that now. You’re my commanding officer and if you tell me not to go, then I’ll obey, but trust me when I say I can do this.”

  Ilium stared at her for a moment, watching as she went back to zipping the suit over her small frame. He reached out and grabbed the helmet from the bulkhead and set it atop her head, helping her strap it in place and attach the oxygen hose to the back. Once she was set, Stavis attempted to switch on the voice amplifier, but it didn’t work.

  She shouted through the helmet so he could hear. “I’m ready.”

  Ilium nodded and looked to the guard standing several frames away at the manual airlock station. “Open the inner airlock,” he ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” the guard shouted back as he grabbed the lever and cranked the airlock open. Stavis turned and together they watched the steel door cycle wide enough for her to fit in. after squeezing through, Ilium grabbed the device and placed it just inside of the airlock.

  “It’s all on you now,” he said.

  She smiled.

  “Close it,” he ordered.

  Immediately, the guard cycled the inner airlock closed before moving the lever to the outer bulkhead to the mechanical control for the outer airlock. “I’m ready when you are, sir.”

  Ilium gazed through the window of the inner airlock and made eye contact with Stavis. She nodded her consent as she clasped a tether to her belt and he turned to face the young guard. “Do it.” He turned back to Stavis as the outer airlock cycled open. The vast darkness of interstellar space revealed pinpricks of light staring back at him. It was a void which reminded many of their mortality.

  Stavis turned, grabbing hold of the device as she activated her mag boots. Ilium watched as the heels lit up in a bright blueish hue. Surprised, he felt hopeful for her mission as she took the first few steps towards the airlock. With no means of communication, overwhelming fear filled him as she disappeared from the airlock with the device. There was nothing more than a small tether holding her to the ship, but lines broke all the time.

  “Be ready to close the airlock as soon as she returns,” Ilium said.

  “Aye aye, sir,” the guard said. Ilium could tell the man was out of breath after manually manipulating the airlock. He regretted not bringing more personnel to assist, but felt keeping everyone at their stations to take care of the ship once power was restored was more important. Now, all that was left was the waiting game and Ilium Gyl was not known for his patience.

  He leaned against the inner airlock, willing Stavis to return as he fixed his eyes to the tethering line. It was taut as he watched it shift, tugging against the mount on the bulkhead. The line itself was designed to tow small craft into the hangar of a ship, so logic declared it would have no issue holding Stavis to the King Slayer, but Ilium couldn’t help being afraid.

  “Come on, come one, come on,” he said, resting his fists against the airlock. His breath fogged the icy window and he wiped it away. “You can do it, I believe in you,” he whispered.

  The wait felt like forever before he saw movement outside the ship. It started as a glint of light before he realized it was an object rotating end over end. He looked to the tether and realized it was slack. His jaw drew slack as the blood drained from his face.

  “No,” he said, looking left to right frantically for an answer to his worst fear.

  “What’s wrong, sir?” the guard asked, concern dripping from his voice.

  Ilium faced him, his eyes wide. “No.”

  Twenty

  Gen-Taiku

  Three sentries followed her from the subterranean depths of the rebel base. Armed with long distance rifles and surveillance gear, it was obvious extraction wasn’t part of the plan if things went south, but she was confident it would not come to that. If the man she met the night before was any indication, this crew was not battle-ravaged and molded by war. They were refugees.

  “I suppose this is where you guys will hole up until I return?” Gen asked as the men spread out, taking cover in the lonely hangar across the landing zone from the warship.

  “It’s the only real cover unless we hike up the mountain,” Beva replied. He meticulously set up his gear without looking up at her.

  “You’re right, it seems as good a place as any and we can cover our escape route if necessary.”

  “Exactly,” he replied. “If you can give us a few minutes to set up, we can provide support for you before you head out.”

  “Sure,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to squeeze the anxiousness from her body. She hated standing still, not pushing forward with a mission. The static moments of any situation were the worst for her to tolerate.

  As she peeked from rusted holes in the side of the hangar, she noticed a transport near the cargo hold of the Replicade. Knowing members of the crew were staying out in the city, she didn’t find the transport itself unsettling, but the golden insignia emblazed on the side. It was the crest of Princess Herma.

  “We have company,” Gen whispered.

  “What?” Beva looked up, still mounting the surveillance equipment to its stand. “That’s the princess’s seal.”

  “Yeah, do you think she’s on the ship?”

  Beva shook his head. “There’s only one way to find out,” he handed Gen a scope to get a better view. She brought it to her eye immediately and knelt near the largest hole in the side of the hangar. “You see anything?”

  “No, there’s too many smaller craft in the way. All I can see is the transport itself.”

  “Use the next setting to view through the solid objects,” Beva suggested.

  She turned the dial atop the scope while peering through its lens. With each crank the view shifted slightly, removing the nearby obstructions first, before bringing her view to the Replicade. That was where the strength of the lens stopped. “The ship is made of a material I can’t see through.” Frustration fueled her voice as she pulled the scope from her face.

  “What about the transport?” Beva continued with his task, finally seeming content with his work before looking back at Gen. “Unless it’s armored, you should be able to get a good view of who’s inside.”

  Gen gazed into the scope again, this time seeing movement in the area aft of the ship. “I see someone; a woman.”

  “Is it Herma?” Beva asked as he readied his weapon.

  Gen squinted to make out more detail through the powered lens. “I don’t think so. This woman isn’t dressed the way Herma would, but she’s definitely a Greshian. An assistant maybe?”

  “Probably. Should we take her?”

  Gen shook her head. “We don’t know what kind of defenses we’re up against. If we open fire and the ship fires back, we could be obliterated.”

  “We could cut down a Greshian asset in the act. If we can cut Herma’s legs out from under her, then maybe she’ll leave.”

  Gen scoffed. “Or maybe she’ll get scared and call for her father to save her. we know what happens when a Greshian fleet orbits us, or have you forgotten?”

  Beva lowered his weapon. “All right, we’ll do it your way. But if she already has control of this ship then we may as well blast it to hell.”

  A wave of hopelessness moved over Gen as she pulled the scope from her face and stared out the rusted holes. As much as she wanted to get her hands on that ship and save the rebellion, Beva was right; if Herma had control then they would have to destroy it. Thinking about it brought back memories of Pila’s destruction. She could still feel the wave of heat as the planet erupted beneath the transport as it carried her
away. The sound of the engines roaring as it tried to break free from the collapsing planet’s gravitational pull. The smell of scorched death.

  “Looks like our target is leaving,” Beva whispered, drawing Gen from the darkness of her memories.

  She pulled the scope back to her eye and peered through the lens in time to see the transport take off, leaving a wide-open view up the cargo ramp. There she saw three men standing in stone silence. Even from this distance, she could read their faces.

  Theirs’ was a look of reluctant acceptance.

  Twenty-One

  Brendle

  He stalked up the ladder well leading to the bridge, grinding his teeth in agitation. He figured the crew would be reluctant to help, but the way things were going painted a darker image of their attitude towards him. Add to that the fact Pedero suggested he asked for too much in exchange for their help placed him in the middle of a situation he wanted no part of. To be out of favor between two factions of a mission was a terrible burden.

  “Pilot, talk to me,” Brendle said as he slumped into his seat in front of his command console.

  “What would you have me say, Captain?”

  “Anything at this point,” Brendle replied. “No one seems interested in speaking to me right now.”

  “Is it because of the Greshian princess’s influence on the next mission of this ship?”

  “Yeah,” Brendle answered, his voice low.

  “Might I suggest not allowing an outside influence to dictate the future of the crew?”

  Brendle rolled his eyes. “It’s not that easy, Pilot. We’re dangerously low on supplies and have no defensive weapons. If we were caught by the Greshians, or some pirates, we would have nothing to protect us from boarding. We could quite easily destroy this ship trying to defend it if it became a small arms battle in the cargo hold. Either way, we would die.”