REGIME CHANGE Page 8

  “What about your previous plan to do salvage missions to earn money? Anki seemed interested in taking part in that.”

  He sighed, remembering a much simpler time, right after a pirate’s narrow defeat and before the young girl crashed into their lives and revealed the evil of whatever experiment was performed on her. “Life got in the way of that idea.”

  “Perhaps you give up too easily?”

  No.

  “No,” Brendle said, after thinking about it. “I’m just realistic in the obstacles we face. Besides, it’s not like I have much choice now. I already gave my word.”

  “Then break it,” a voice said behind him.

  Brendle spun in his chair, one hand shoving himself forward while the other rested on his weapon. “Who are you and what are you doing on my ship?” he stared at the girl, her hands hidden behind the folds of a tunic where she could just as easily have a weapon of her own aimed to kill him.

  “My name is Gen-Taiku, and I’m with the resistance. We need your help,” she replied, her eyes staring into his.

  “Captain, if I may interrupt, I met Gen-Taiku yesterday when she tried to break onto the ship. I neutralized her threat and demanded she not return.”

  “As I told Pilot, we need help. My people are at risk because of your people.”

  Brendle winced when she said “your people” as memories of what horrors awaited worlds which refused to bow to the Emperor. “So, you decided to break onto my ship and take her?”

  “No,” Gen replied. “I was looking for information to figure out who you were and what kind of weapons my people would face if you turned them on us.”

  Despite the relative coolness of the bridge, Brendle felt a bead of sweat drip down his back. “What makes you think that’s a possibility?”

  Gen scoffed. “Yours is the first ship of its kind to land on Pila since the fleet left. As our rebellion rises, Princess Herma feels more threatened. It only stands to reason she would seek your employ to preserve her reign. Besides, I heard your conversation with Pilot before I stepped in.”

  Brendle gawked at her. Despite her youth, she had tenacity and a willingness to do whatever it took to accomplish her goal. The audacity to break onto the Replicade twice suggested as much and she reminded him of Anki.

  “I appreciate your predicament, Gen-Taiku, but breaking aboard my ship isn’t going to appeal to my generosity.”

  Gen stepped closer. “I didn’t break onto your ship today,” she replied. “I was invited.”

  “Invited? How?”

  Malikea stepped onto the bridge, his crimson robes pulled tight over his body as he stood with his hands over his stomach. “I invited her, sir. She has a compelling story.”

  Brendle eased and fell back into his seat, feeling just as betrayed as he was sure his crew felt by his decision. Letting a stranger onto the ship wasn’t a violation of rules, since there were no rules, but it didn’t extinguish the sting of the situation.

  “I’m sure she does,” Brendle said, “but why should I have to listen to it?” he watched their eyes as his words fell on the ears.

  “I thought…” Malikea started before Brendle raised his hand to silence him.

  “No, I want her to tell me why I should give her the time of day after breaking onto the Replicade.”

  Brendle and Gen stared each other down in harsh silence. Their eyes unmoving as time seemed to stand still. Brendle’s heart pounded with anticipation. Whatever she said, he knew it wouldn’t be enough to quench the fire burning inside him. But there was enough hope for a justification that he wanted to listen, to be allowed to turn back from the path he chose because in truth, he hated himself for making the decision too.

  “You’re a Greshian on a ship with refuges, their worlds were destroyed by your people. My world is no different than theirs. This manufactured planet is all that remains of my people. We have hope of surviving because we had somewhere to go, unlike most planets who attract the anger of the Emperor. But living under Greshian rule is not freedom. If we can’t have our world back as free people, then we don’t want it at all. That’s why I’m here, seeking your help. If we can sway Princess Herma’s decision to stay, we may have a chance at a life after our families died.”

  Brendle rested his chin in his hand as he leaned on the armrest. “You’re right, this is a ship of refugees. But the Greshians are not my people. I’m a refugee as well. With that said, we have to survive and sometimes that means we do things we don’t like to ensure we have a tomorrow. I’m sorry, but we can’t help you.”

  With his words he watched the blood drain from her face. It was the look of defeat and pained him to see it in the eyes of someone carrying the hope for a better future so prevalent on her sleeve.

  “You’re making a mistake,” she said.

  Brendle let out a sigh, looking away from her when he said, “I know.”

  Twenty-Two

  Ilium

  Panic flooded through his body as his face pressed against the observation window of the inner airlock. Drifting through space at their current speed, the object disappeared just as quickly as it appeared. “Sir, what happened?” The guard asked as he stepped closer.

  “I don’t know, but I think she’s gone,” Ilium answered.

  Like a back-handed compliment, the emergency lighting illuminated first, blinding in it’s stoic iridescence. “The power’s returning,” the guard said, almost gleefully which nauseated Ilium as he continued to gaze out into the darkness. The tether still hung limply from the bulkhead.

  “Wait,” Ilium said, “if the emergency lighting works, then maybe the comms in the EVA helmet do as well.” He snatched a helmet from the bulkhead and pulled it over his head, clicking the power switch with his thumb. “Lieutenant Stavis, can you hear me?” Ilium’s voice cracked.

  “Loud and clear,” Stavis replied. “It looks like the plan worked. I can already see navigation lights turning on from out here.”

  “Where the hell are you?” He snapped.

  “Outside the airlock, sir,” she replied. “Why, what’s wrong?”

  Ilium balled his fists tightly as he sucked in a deep breath. “The tether went slack and I saw something drift by. I thought it was you.” Stavis chortled. “I’m serious, my heart was about to jump out of my chest.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I just thought I would take the time to survey the ship to ensure there was no damage before returning inside.”

  Ilium couldn’t tell if the gradual warmth he felt was the environmental controls returning, or the anger and fear colliding in his body. “I’ve had enough ‘oh shit’ moments for the day, Lieutenant. Return to the ship.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied.

  Within moments, Ilium saw the silhouette of her body coming through the airlock. The bright shimmer of the emergency lighting against the black canvas of space made her appear to glow. He knew it was because he’s eyes were adjusting from pitch darkness, but for a moment she looked like a visual portrayal of the gods depicted in the history books.

  He watched her turn and depress the outer airlock control, the large opening cycling shut on its own power. After a moment for decompression, the inner airlock opened and they were arm’s reach apart. Ilium’s heart pounded as he beheld her. she looked up at him, her eyes a mix of elation and concern.

  “I didn’t try to upset you, sir,” she said as she doffed her helmet, cradling it between her arm and her hip.

  He removed his own helmet, allowing it to dangle in his grip. for the briefest of moments, he was lost in her gaze.

  “Your plan worked, sir,” the guard said. “Multiple systems have returned to operational.”

  She turned to him. “Excellent, once the drive is back online, then everything should return. It will be nice to be able to feel my fingers and toes again.”

  “Will you excuse us?” Ilium said without looking at the guard. “I need to debrief Lieutenant Stavis.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” The guard disappeared aroun
d the corner of an adjoining passageway within moments, leaving the two of them alone.

  “I about had a heart attack,” Ilium began. “I saw an object drift across the viewable area outside the airlock and it reflected a pinprick of light. I thought it was the light from your helmet shining back several meters away from us. When I looked at the tether, it no longer appeared under tension. I thought you were lost.”

  Stavis placed her hand on his chest. “Your heart is still beating wildly, but you don’t need to be concerned. I was all right and everything was under control.”

  Ilium lifted his hand to touch hers. “It’s not about whether everything turned out all right, but about the fact I thought I lost you and you don’t seem to care.”

  Her expression shifted to one of concern as her lips shaped into a frown. “I’m more than concerned, sir. I’m sorry.”

  He gazed into her eyes, her irises growing smaller as light returned to the King Slayer. “Apology accepted,” he said as he lowered his face to hers. So close he could feel her breath, she closed the distance as their lips locked together passionately. Despite the coldness of her skin, she felt warm against him and he craved for more of it as he wrapped both arms around her, dropping the EVA helmet to the deck with a loud thud.

  The otherwise unnoticeable vibration of the drive returned with a flash of overhead lighting and the warm breeze of the environmental controls fighting to return the ship to nominal temperatures. But Ilium ignored all of that, focusing his attention on the most important thing before him.

  As Stavis pulled away, taking a breath and licking her red lips, she looked up at him. A tear streaked down her face.

  “Why are you crying?” Ilium asked.

  She smiled. “I thought about this moment for so long that I thought it would never happen,” she said. “Now, it doesn’t feel real.”

  Ilium drew her closer, his hands flat against her back to the point he felt her breathing. “It’s real, trust me.”

  “What about the crew? This kind of relationship violates regulations. We can’t pretend it doesn’t.”

  Ilium frowned, never fond of being bound by so many restrictions on his personal life. “We’ll find a way. We can keep it a secret.”

  “And if we’re found out?”

  “I don’t care if we’re found out,” he replied. “I just want to be with you.”

  Her eyes beckoned to him as they stood in the cold, waiting for the renewed power on the ship to deliver lifesaving warmth. He held her not wanting to let go. “I have to think about this,” she said finally.

  “What is there to think about? I can tell we feel the same way about each other?” Ilium asked, feeling dejected.

  Stavis moved away, making his arms drop from her torso as she looked up at him without straining her neck. “My life has never been as complicated as it is with you,” she said. “I do care for you, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t want this, but this life will come with more baggage that I’m not sure I’m ready for.”

  Ilium stood there, jaw slack. He went from feeling like he’d won the day to realizing he was losing ground at a rapid pace. “I understand. I need to see to the crew.”

  Without waiting for a response, he turned from her and walked the long path towards the bridge. The irony of loneliness was not lost on him as he met no one along the way. But his mind turned over the endless possibilities. Knowing that she felt the same way about him gave Ilium hope that he could find happiness with someone else. And he would be damned if he did not fight for it.

  Twenty-Three

  Crase

  Crase had a hard time finding a comfortable place to kill time. The bridge was too cramped, his quarters was nothing more than a coffin rack and a narrow aisle closed off by tightly confining bulkheads, and he was left with sharing the galley with Haranger’s men.

  Esma he already knew, at least enough to form an opinion. The man was the obvious leader of the group and probably gained that position by excelling at ass kissing. The other five men were astonishingly less interesting.

  “You know, I never thought I would meet ‘Crase the Terrible’,” the youngest in the group, Ret said. The man looked like a kid, his eyes beams of innocence and naivety. “I grew up hearing stories about you.”

  “So, someone mentioned me yesterday?” Crase replied, forcing a grin.

  The other men laughed at Ret’s expense, but it didn’t phase him. “Well, yeah, Haranger sent us to come get you.”

  “He means you look like a baby, Ret,” Berda said. This man had the look of a dumb killer in his eyes and Crase could only assume it was an accurate representation of the mind at work. Haranger surrounded himself with people with certain gifts. This man’s large bulking mass and cryptic stare looked like a resume for death.

  “Well, I inherited my father’s looks. He didn’t age at all before he died,” Ret replied, a tinge of sadness painted his words.

  “Liven up, kid, don’t get yourself down.” Berda slapped Ret on the shoulder with a large hand, the dull thud of it filled the space and drew attention from everyone else.

  “You do look young,” Crase said. “How long have you worked for Haranger?”

  “I think that’s a little too personal,” Esma interjected.

  Crase stared up at the man as he approached from the other end of the galley. “What, I get to listen to Clem go on about his sex life for half an hour but a sincere interest in one of your guys is off limits?” Clem smirked, rubbing himself under the table. Crase tried not to notice, but it was difficult not to.

  Esma’s eyes narrowed. “Clem is just talking shit, you’re trying to fill in intelligence gaps in my men to plot something. That crosses a line with me.”

  “I don’t know how you think I can glean intelligence off the guys you have working for you,” Crase said as he stood. “You have a sex fiend, a murderer, a kid, and two others who look like they might need a reminder on how to breathe with their mouths closed. I feel dumber being in the room.”

  Cold stares followed him for a heavy moment before Esma broke the silence. “I suppose you’re right. Ret has been with us for a few months. He’s a runaway of sorts. His father was killed for debt and Haranger took him in to cover the losses. It was nothing more than a business decision. I’m sure you can understand the sensitivity of it in Ret’s eyes. But he’s one of us now.”

  Crase was taken aback, but he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done similar things in his own life. Perhaps it was the cruelty staring back at him in Ret’s dark brown eyes. “That does fill in a gap after all,” Crase replied, retaking his seat across from the boy.

  “And what do you expect to do with that information?” Esma asked.

  Crase shrugged. “I don’t expect to do anything with it. Sometimes it’s just good to know where people come from.”

  Ret’s eyes fell on him, speaking in hushed whispers. “It was a gambling debt. I thought he was getting help for it, but he was just getting in deeper,” he said somberly. “I miss him.”

  Crase gripped the glass before him, wishing it was Haranger’s neck; hell he would settle for Esma’s at the moment. “Loss is a part of life, son. It’s best to come to terms with that painful reality now.”

  Esma slumped into a seat next to Crase. “Mr. Tuin has years of experience facilitating the loss of others in order to nurture his wisdom in such matters. You should heed his advice.”

  The coldness of Esma’s words caused Crase to cut his eyes at the other man, but he couldn’t risk revealing what the mind turning behind his emerald orbs was thinking. There would be a time to act and now was far from it. “I’ve had my own losses to draw from the fount of wisdom too,” he said, attempting to match the neo-poetic irony of Esma’s tone.

  Ret drew in, leaning on the table as his eyes bore into Crase’s. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

  Crase nodded, surprised the question needed to be answered. “Many.”

  “What was it like the first time?” Re
t asked.

  “I doubt Mr. Tuin even remembers after the mass extinctions he’s helped facilitate over the years,” Esma cut in.

  Crase ignored him. “I was afraid,” he began. “It was a matter of life and death and I thought I was done. My short life was passing before my eyes with every staccato beat of my heart. I remember the taste of iron on my tongue and the smell of something burning. My body was covered in sweat and there was a low humming noise that seemed to drown out everything. And then, there he was, standing in front of me with his gun drawn and me with a knife. My hands were so sweaty I thought I was going to drop it. I remember he took several steps forward, his lips were moving but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. And then, in a flash of light, the next thing I remember was sitting on his chest as I thrust the knife into him over and over. The sensation seemed to last forever.”

  Ret’s eyes were wide, a seeming mix of fear and fascination. “Why did you kill him?”

  Crase’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember.”

  “How could you not remember?” Ret asked.

  The air seemed to leave the room as Crase fished for an answered inside himself. But he came back with nothing.

  Twenty-Four

  Gen-Taiku

  His words hung in the air, thick enough to make it hard to concentrate on anything else. “What do you mean, you know? If you know you’re making a mistake, then why carry through with it?”

  She watched the Greshian with his back to her, his shoulders rising and falling as if he was out of breath. His fingers scrolled across the console, actively ignoring her question, she had no doubt.

  “What would you do in my position?” Gen asked, distracting him for a moment before his fingers went back to work. “I don’t want to see my people die, nor do I want to live as a slave.”