How Close To Failure Have We Come?, a Science Fiction story

It can be dark in space, and no one can hear you scream. The Vexed Patrol Task Force was forty lightyears from the nearest star, and there were no nebulae or supernova remnants to light up the grey-tinted, blood-red-trimmed hull armor of the six craft-strong patrol. The propulsion drives, which glowed a rich, royal purple when ignited and gave a low-pitched whine when in atmosphere, were dark and silent. The only light came from the dull, dull red glow of the radiators cooling down the craft in the patrol. The Mercain III-class Light Escort Craft Imperium War Craft Vexed was at the center of the formation, escorted by four Sentinel III-class Heavy Fast Attack Craft, one Yetholm-class Shield Craft, one Overseer-class Support Craft, and a number of uncrewed Adder defense satellites and Arrow scout drones.

Those scout drones were being kept close at 10 megameters in a roughly spherical pattern. The defense satellites were kept within the formation, and were controlled by the artificial intelligence nodes onboard the Overseer. The Yetholm was there to provide heavy duty defense in case the patrol was attacked. The four Sentinel's, being of a newer design, gave a sense of security to the command leadership aboard the older Mercain task force flagship. But I didn't feel any negative feelings towards the smaller craft, as I felt the weapon systems on the Vexed were outdated anyway, and wouldn't be able to match up against some of the heavier Yeti escort craft in a close-in fleet action, which they've tended towards to recently.

However, I needed to get my mind back on track, and score the reports that the students in the Vexed's edufac had turned in. But, despite the fact that they were on a spacecraft, and had hectoyears of Space Force history to study, they still greatly managed to jack things up. How hard was it to make these idiots understand that space was not an ocean? There was no such thing as "lines of battle" or "defilades" or, better so far, "crossing the tee" in the three dimensional aspects of space. A ten-year-old could have, and did(meaning me), grasp the concept of modern space combat tactics, and the fact that using wet-body techniques will cause the Yeti to laugh at your stupidity and launch duproes to pick you off effortlessly. So far, this one outrageous part in an otherwise merely hilarious attempt to pass off this waste of flex-c as a strategy and tactics report was my favorite:

"When considering how to attack one's enemy while battling numerous others, it can all be reduced to determining how to outmaneuever the opposite craft. By moving alongside the ventral surface while presenting a full face of weapons, eventually attacking the adversary from behind. one could disable the drive and inflict considerable damage to the interior compartments of the vessel one was attacking."

Disregarding the sheer stupidity, the idea was sound, if we were some several kiloyears ago, fistnailing it out with wooden ships and iron men. But in present space craft, even the Vexed, we had systems to deal with the perils of modern space combat. Missiles are used heavily by the Yeti and the Humans. Humans handle the deluge of Yeti missiles by using point defense laser systems; I don't really care how the Yeti block my missiles (actually, I really hope they don't. Makes my job easier). The Vexed had ten laser emitters along all faces of the craft. The beams had a max range af about 30 to 40 megameters, and carried quite a hit. There were other things that I'm proud of of my craft, but I had to get back to scoring the flex-c's. But, it was so brain-desensitizing, sitting here in my compartment with two piles of flex-c's on the foldway desk. I was almost wishing for a Yeti Patrol to encounter ours, just so that-

I jumped and yelped with startlement when a voice from behind broke the silence. "Now, hear. Now hear: Commodore Vladyka to the TC3; repeat: Commodore Vladyka to the TC3. Double-time. Didn't mean to scare ya, sir."

I sighed, slowly turned in my rotate-chair, and gave the commu next to the slideway my best reproachful stare. Yet, the blinking, blue led showed no sign that it was being glared at. With a slightly-growled intonation, I replied, "On route." The little blue led blinked its final blink, and went out. I tossed the flex-c I was holding onto the foldway, and departed from the compartment, grabbing the blood-red shoulder half-cape hanging from the hook. The slideways parted, and I made the short distance of ten meters to the port entrance of the TC3, nodding to a passing crew's half-salute. Upon entrance into the Tactical Command and Control Center of the Vexed, I nodded consent at being handed Command of the Helm via the Ship's Colonel, my Executive Officer, one Fredrich Jerman. He motioned to the holotank, and explained that the Arrow's had picked up a small mass about three lightseconds away, relatively high and to the right of the Vexed patrol's orientation.

We arrived at the tank. The holotank was a cylindrical construct that, within a roughly twelve meter cubed volume, allowed a person to see what was around the starcraft from the information given from the sensors. Right now, it showed a shape. Fredrich finished his update with, "And we should be getting distance and an accurate repres- wait! Where did it go!" The image in the tank had disappeared. The view expanded to show the entire patrol task force, including the scout drones. Less than a second later another object showed up in the image, near where the first unknown object had appeared. "There!" I exclaimed, and as the view zoomed back in, I instantly recognized the shape, which was compounded by the appearance of two more smaller shapes. The first larger shape was a Yeti Porcupine-type Missile Craft, not much more massive than the Vexed, but certainly able to outmatch in terms of firepower. The Porcupines's escorts appeared to be Giraffe-types, light fleet action vessels that were loosely the equivalent of the frigates accompanying the Vexed, but were twice as heavy. It was a standard Yeti patrol task force.

"Sound crew to battle, all task force!" I ordered to Fredrich, as I moved quickly to the Command Center, various updates starting to come from the five other stations. I glanced to the forward veiwscreens, gathering in information as I settled down into the Command Chair, then thumbed a button on the arm, summoning a translucent, permeable, and interactive hologram in front of me, showing up close what was on the three forward viewscreens. To the left showed a top-down view relative to the Vexed, along with all objects larger than a meter within twenty-five lightseconds. The forward right screen depicted a faux-3D representation of the Vexed, along with various statii and conditions of the starcraft. The forward center viewscreen showed information about the Yeti patrol. I manipulated the image to gather in information so I could formulate a plan.

"Retract coolers. Get us in closer; in-line 1.5 megameters away. Send Arrow's to get more accurate info and Adders to distract them." Getting the radiators to be pulled in would take about seven minutes. It was possible to jump with them extended, but in battle, if they were shot off, you'd have to either go easy or risk heat death of the entire craft. The larger the craft, the longer it took to reel the radiators in. That was why I wasn't surprised when the Communications Officer reported that all four Sentinel III's had engaged their AHJ Drives, and jumped to an extremely close range of 100 kilometers to engage the Yeti that had begun to deal with the Adder's.

While missiles were heavily used by both sides, the Yeti also relied on kinetic energy weapons that were of varying effectiveness against Human craft. They started out by going extreme velocities and tossing rocks out the air lock, but the Yeti soon developed a gun that used coiled magnets to propel masses of depleted uranium (they managed to get the metal from somewhere) to respectable PSL's (Percentage of Speed of Light).

Suddenly, the Communications Officer reported something I didn't expect to hear. "The Yeti craft have begun to extend their radiators and ... signalled ... surrender."

"Order all fire stop, and verify that surrender message." I turned to the Secondary Executive Officer. "Have the radiators been fully retracted?"

"No, sir"

"Cease retraction, and extend fully. A sign of good faith." Fredrich, a normally cautious man regarding the Yeti, was silent. I noted this, and ordered the Navigations Officer, "Continue jumping." I briefly looked at Fredrich. "No reservations?"

Fredrich had fallen silent, and I gave up on a reply from him. Only after we'd jumped and done a short burn of the engines to move closer to the Yeti craft did he finally speak. "I'm a tactician, not a politician. The instant the Yeti surrendered, it turned into a political thing. Not my area. Good luck, Commodore."

I rolled my eyes and mumbled, "Thanks."

The Communications Officer, still reporting unexpected news, said, "The Yeti have sent a message ... in our language. They ask they be allowed an envoy of theirs be sent to speak with our government."

I considered annihilating the Yeti craft before me, but then I thought of my ship's recorder. "Is the recorder running?"

Fredrich, a little confused, answered, "Yes ... sir ... "

"Hm. Oh well. See if anyone here understands one of the Yeti's languages, and tell them I will talk to them."

Several minutes later saw the Vexed closing to just under five thousand kilometers when the Communications Officer said, "Uhm ... these Yeti don't speak that particular language."

I rubbed my face and groaned. "Just ask them if they fully understand Main Arrenian. Navigations, keep us at four megameters. Detections, are there any watchers around?"

"No sir, our section is clear as far as the Arrow's can see."

I nodded to myself. "Good. What about the Yeti's weapon systems? Any activity?"

"Uhm ... no. sir. Their weapons have not been activated since they first appeared."

I hated being a politician. I sighed. "Weapons, order all task force to power down their systems."

"Sir, the Yeti confirm they can converse in Main Arrenian. However, text only."

"Send transcripts of the following conversation to Harkemur Command, they may find it of interest. Ask the Yeti what their purpose is here." I tabbed a green light, and the holoscreens in front of me merged to form one in time to have lines of Main Arrenian appear. It was an introduction, full of useless honorifics and unnecessary queries. A blinking line under the first message indicated they wanted an answer. I slid out a physical keyboard and gave them their answer.

What is your purpose here?/

While waiting for the Yeti to respond, I thumbed the blue led on the chair arm, and called for a vodka. I'd just finished downing the small chalice when the Yeti finally replied.

\It please us to have honor into know your name and your vehicles.

I glanced up at Fredrich who gave a noncommittal shrug. I closed my eyes and silently sighed. It seemed I was to be getting no help from him.

You will only have the honor when you say why you are here./

The reply came back almost instantly.

\Ueihar' require your assistance of the Arren Empire. Ueihar' is endanger. Arren Empire must assist.

I debated on whether to admit who they were talking to, but decided it couldn't do any harm.

I am Junior Commodore Brendan Vladyka, Arren Imperium Space Force. My vehicle is the Imperium War Craft Vexed. I will talk with my superiors, now. Please wait./

I was spared of any wait when the reply came back ten seconds later.

\Thank you, Junior Commodore Brendan Vladyka, Arren Imperium Space Force. We wait.

With that debacle over with, I sent the transcript to the Communications Station. It was curious why the Yeti wanted help from the Arren Imperium. We were at war. I fancied that the Yeti were losing the war more than they were letting on. Perhaps they wanted to surrender. However, whatever they wanted, they wouldn't be getting anything when the forward viewscreens suddenly indicated all three Yeti craft had disappeared from sensors.

"What the fuck happened?" I demanded.

The Detections Station answered, "All three Yeti craft have gone from view. Radiation afterimages suggest they were the subject of Arrow Rape."

"I gave no such order! Where did that order come from?"

The Communications Officer said, "Sir, Harkemur Command sent that directive, along with a message marked for your eyes only."

The blue led began to blink. I tapped it, and the message appeared on the holoscreen in front of me. The contents of the text communique from Harkemur Command stated that the Vexed was to return with its patrol task force immediately, giving calculations that would allow the patrol to precisely jump to specific coordinates. Curiously, the icon in the heading did not contain the "JA" within the center; the message wasn't from the Junior Admiralty, which was unusual, as Junior Officers and spacecaft are handled by the JA, not the actual Admiralty. I asked the Communications Officer to verify the message, and only waited about three minutes before an angry sounding voice bit told me in no uncertain terms to get the Vexed and its task force to Harkemur Space as soon as possible.

"What are the radiation levels?" I directed the inquiry to the Secondary Executive Officer.

Without turning around, he reported, "Levels approached dangerous, but any would-be lasting damage was mitigated by the armor."

"Good. Confirm all decks are safe. Communications, warn all task force jump for Harkemur Command. Navigations, inset coords." I didn't want to keep Harkemur Command waiting any longer.

The process of jumping to Harkemur Command lasted all of ten minutes. That was because of the method of FTL (Faster Than Light) the Arrennian Empire employed; it was near instantaneous. With a bright yellow flash, an Arrennian craft could be anywhere within the universe and jump back in its original position before you finish sneezing. It was a complicated process, but how I understood it, most likely wrongly, was that as the craft entered Hyperspace, it's mass was converted somehow into tachyons, which are inherently FTL, and apparently, at their lowest energy state, move mind-bogglingly FTL. That bright yellow flash is the universe's keeping with the laws of conservation of energy and matter. That's all I remember from the lecture; I fell asleep during that particular day in the Admiralty Edufac. In any case, most of the ten minutes were spent retracting the radiators, and ensuring all crew were prepared for the jump. They should be, but sometimes the more raw crewmen spewed. But all decks reported green, and the Secondary Executive Officer reported all radiators retracted. The Navigations Officer announced coordinates locked in.

Three seconds later, I spoke a single word.

"Jump."

When visible from outside the craft, a bright yellow flash would overtake the Vexed, and leave almost nothing but that flash of EM radiation. In somewhere between three hundredth and three trillionth of a second later (the so-called experts would always argue and bring up substantial evidence that points to a number that I didn't really care about), another bright yellow flash appeared some three megameters from Harkemur Command's ventral spire. The forward viewscreen switched to a optical view of the entry point into the most guarded planetary system in the Empire. The Star Capital Base Station was only a point of reflected light at this distant, but the hundred sixty-five kilometer long Warfire II-class Overnought Pride of the Imperium, along with her sister Developer of a Dream could be seen even at normal magnification, albeit as an elongated bright dot. The viewscreen to the left, however, depicted all objects bigger than ten meters for twenty five light seconds around as icons that represented their respective starcraft or heavenly body. Information sent over the Ansible (the FTL communication system used by the Arrenian Empire) from identified each detected object.

I shook off the effects of entering Hyperspace and ordered a full burn for ten seconds to get us moving to the Station. One of the TC3 Crew in the Navigations Station confirmed my head-calc'd numbers.

"Time to Harkemur Command, fourty minutes."

I stood, and as I made my way to the exit door to the TC3 gave the helm to Fredrich. He gave off a half-salute, and took the command chair. I had a choice of Executive Officers when I received the Vexed. I chose him out of all others. I frequently gave him command of the Vexed, if only to have him familiarize himself with the prospect of commanding a spacecraft. The last time I was at Harkemur Command, I'd let off the idea that the boy would be one of the better Junior Ship's Captains in this age, and maybe an actual Ship's Captain. The Admiralty (Junior and actual) promised me they would heavily consider it. That was seven standard months ago. Since then, I've heard nothing.

I turned back, and headed back to my quarters to finish grading the flex-c's. On the way, and about some fifteen meters away, down the passageway I happened to catch a glimpse of Pyetre Harmen walking away really quickly, and about to turn a corner in the passageway. One of my boots scuffed against the deck ever so slightly. It was barely audible as the engines finished their ten-second burn. But the sound must have reached him after the engines cut out, for he glanced back, stopped in his tracks, half his profile blocked by the corner of the passageway. He saw me, standing there. Then, he did something odd. He half-smirked, half-smiled, and raised a hand, almost like in a half-salute, but with a slight twiddle of his fingers. His eyes sparkled as if he knew something, but didn't give much in the way of telling what he was thinking about. I just stared at Pyetre, studying his face. He raised an eyebrow, and gave a small shake of his head, and walked off.

I didn't go after him, but I did begin to wonder why he was even in this section at all; if I recall correctly, he was in the engineering sector, towards the rear of the craft. I shook my head, and walked the last few steps to my compartment door. It slid open, and I took note of everything in my compartment, checking it against memory to see if anything had been moved or tampered. I didn't immediately find anything that suggested such, so I moved over my rack, unbuckled my boots, and dumped myself unceremoniously onto the mattress without bothering to take off the shoulder cape, and closed my eyes. It was a couple seconds before I decided to look around my compartment again that my eyes fell upon my desk to the right of the entry to my compartment. Pyetre's flex-c had been set just a tad to the right of the center, where the lower edge of the flex-c was flush against the edge of the desk. But, now, it had been moved, it was at an angle to the edge. I scowled. No one was able or supposed to enter into the Commander's Compartment unless it was the commander himself (or herself; although there haven't been female space craft commanders for a couple hectoyears), the Executive Officers, or anyone the commander of the craft had personally invited. I began to think that he might have been either looking to cheat, or see ahead of time what the grade upon his report. Well, I supposed I would rather the latter, although breaking into the Commander's Compartment was a serious offense, in both the Junior Space Force and actual. But, considering I was unexpectedly tired, I decided to let it slide this time. I lowered myself into my rack again, and closed my eyes, intending to get a quick nap in before we were to arrive.

3: II

I had no idea at all why I was standing before the Board. Was I nervous? Who wouldn't be? Was I scared? Somewhat. I nurtured an idea that my fraternizing with the Yeti instead of destroying them outright would get me released, but as far as I recall, any craft that surrendered to any Imperium craft was to be treated with full honor and integrity. So, confident I could defend myself against whatever slights are leveled, I deigned to waiting with a full salute before a chime sounded somewhere in the darkened compartment. The chatter continued for another couple moments before it died down and the Board of Admirals started to collected themselves. Many possibilities of what was about to happen flitted through my mind again. The worst I could come up with was a release interview. I really hoped it wouldn't be as bad as that. I liked serving in the Space Force.

Each were seated behind a black, metal podium, with the Arrenian Space Force Sigil, along with the standard of the Arrennian Military engraved and painted in on the fore of each podium. An older man, sitting in the exact middle, with the whitest of hair, and and the longest of sideburns spoke first, his barkingly Aquorisi-accented voice nearly causing me to jump from startlement.

"You're early, Junior Commodore, by about thirty minutes. This was supposed to have start at 1125 in the morning, not 1055. At ease."

I lowered my arm, kept my mouth shut and face blank, and stood at rest, my feet shoulder width, and my hands at clasped in front of me.

A voice, coming from the second from the right, seemed to belong to a woman, (which was odd, because I wasn't aware of any woman Fleet Officers, and I make a good effort to stay on top of who's in the Leadership) spoke, a woman's emphasis apparent and at the same time, highly unknown to me. "Brendan, what Vice Admiral Horrant means is that you didn't need to be here so early. However, it is a commendable virtue and trait. Many men nowadays don't get the meaning of propriety." I heard the slight inflection on "men" in her last sentence, and wondered what she meant by it, but I kept my face blank of any telling emotion.

A younger looking man on the far left spoke next, his tone bored and business-like. "Now that we've got that out of the way, I suggest we start with the interview, if you will. First things first: state your serial identification number, rank as it is, and commission as it is, your full name, and socio-economic class."

I kept my voice calm. Nothing they'd said or done gave any indication or clue as to what this "interview" was. "Serial Identification Number BVA-5671-687, Junior Commodore of the IWC Vexed, Brendan Vladyka Aldren, Middle Class."

I waited as the man noted down the information. He spoke again. "Reason for this convening of the Board of Admirals?"

I was silent for a full second, not knowing if the question was directed at me. I had my answer when Vice Admiral Horrant spoke. "Promotion of Junior Commodore Brendan Vladyka Aldren of the IWC Vexed to Ship's Captain of the IWC Viktoriya Ivanov IV.

The man noted that down, tapping on his PD. He looked to his left. "Well, my part's done. Have at it."

The man to his left, a darker-skinned man, spoke, his deep voice rumbling through my ears. "Ship's Captain Vladyka, you understand we are all busy men." A small ahem from the woman was ignored. "Ergo, we don't have time like we used to to involve ourselves in meaningless, time-consuming, so-called traditions. So, I'll give you your First Order right now: shakedown the Ivanov, and see her through safe and tough, war and peace. That is all. Good luck and congratulations, son. Dismissed."

I snapped a full-salute, and waited until all the Admirals had returned with full- or half-salutes before turning heel, and walking out of the darkened compartment, and into the passageway. I looked around me and noted the various people walking by. Some were in civilian attire, while I nodded to any passing officers. I was in the dorsal spire of the station, near the hull. Harkemur Command was six-sided, its core shaped like a cube. From each face of this cube went out the spires I mentioned. These spires were thick, bluntly ending some fourteen to fifteen kilometers from the core, and made up the bulk of the station, but their main purpose was to field the barrels of the six EMTAC's, or Electromagnetothermal Acceleration Cannon. They were basically really long coilguns that used gas spark-ignited so as to create a rapidly-expanding plasma to help initially accelerate a projectile to speed; I think I once heard the muzzle velocity as being somewhere around a quarter of the speed of light.

I needed to think about what the fuck just happened. I came to a rare viewport in an out-of-the-way compartment, and leaned onto the sill, staring out into the starfield, with various Imperial starcraft interspersed throughout. I could see the bow understructures of the the Warfire's. It was hard to tell which was which, though. The Imperium's starcraft builder, Imperial Star Shipyard Systems, never put names on the craft, except in the case of the Sabre's, and even then only a select few carried the names of the most important figures in all of history. The Admiral had stated that I had a new command, a craft called the Viktoriya Ivanov IV. To my knowledge, the only craft line that had actual names as their operating names were the Sabre II-class Heavy Fleet Attack Craft. They were the backbone of any dedicated fleet, and were the largest non-dreadnought craft line currently used by the Imperium. I pulled out my PalmTab Personal Device and accessed the records. The Sabre II-class Heavy Fleet Attack Craft Viktoriya Ivanov IV was constructed by Imperial Star Shipyard Systems fifty-seven years ago. the craft participated in seven major fleet actions, twelve minor, and had been relocated as home guard to my birth planet of Veyrgaei. For some reason, any further information about her actions at Veyrgaei were blanked out.

I sighed, and continued to stare at the massive fleet gathered at Harkemur Command. I could see all classifications of dreadnoughts present, starting at the Jyiani's going all the way up to the Sovereign ... I could even just barely make out the smaller triangular shapes of the Refector's and Refector II's ... I then realized that this had to be the most starcraft within Harkemur-controlled space ever. Suddenly, it clicked.

The Admirals were busy ... they were busy because they were planning something ... an invasion. This was an attack fleet, and the Imperium was about to wreak havoc on someone, most likely the Yeti (who else was there?). I thought about the shortness of the ceremony, about the silence of the Junior Admiralty; usually they sent missives along with summons from the Admiralty, congratulating whoever had been promoted. But that wasn't the case. In fact, there was no indication I was going to be promoted I had been called here straight out of the black. I was beginning to think the Junior Admiralty had been dissolved. If that were the case, why?

I was brought out of my musings when I heard footsteps behind me, the hard rubber of Imperial soles click-clacking against the grating in the deck of the passageway. The passageway to the compartment took several sharp turns, and the owner of those boots had yet to finish making those turns. I looked around, and saw a small alcove that was out of the line of sight of those coming into the compartment from the passageway. I silently made my way to the alcove, and didn't have to wait for long for the incoming owner of the boots to enter the compartment. The lopsided gait, the snow-white hair, and the long sideburns gave away the identity of intruder, not to mention the trimmings of a Vice Admiral. He came upon the viewport, and rested his weight on his palms onto the sill, just as I had, with his leg crossed behind the other. I saw his head twitch in my direction, and I knew he saw me. I don't know how, but I know he did.

I made no effort to mask the sound of my boots hitting the grating. I came to his left side, my arms crossed, but my hands pressing against my torso, my feet placed shoulder width. I tried to bring myself to my full height, but he dwarfed me, with my 1.5 meter height being dominated by his 1.95 meter stature, even with him leaning over. I stared out the viewport with him for a a few minutes before he without words turned his head at an angle to look at me through the reflection in the viewport, his face expressionless. I didn't look at him back, but instead asked in a low voice, "Where is the Jay-'ey? Was it dissolved?"

He turned to look out the viewport again. In a gravely voice just as low-pitched, if not more so, as mine, he answered, "They struck without warning. Warped in only ten thousand kilometers from the planet. The fleet that invaded was massive; twice the size of the we have managed to gather here." He turned fully to look at me, and spoke in a louder voice. I met his eyes fully. They were dark brown. Horrant spoken again, his voice not as low. "We are gathering every asset possible, and consolidating our defenses. Over half of this armada will be used to bolster possible target systems. The other half will go and ... neutralize known Yeti locations." Horrant turned his gaze back out the viewport. I followed it, then my eyes fell upon the Warfire sisters. An idea formed in my head, a result of my common bouts of incredibly correct intuition; I voiced it, while glancing at Horrant. "Civilian locations, sir."

The movement of his throat, him swallowing confirmed it. Suddenly, in another bout of intuition, a horrible thought formed in my mind. I thought my voice would sound my fears, but I appreciated the steadiness apparent in my softly-spoken words. " The planet ... Veyrgaei ... ?"

Horrant turned his head to look at me, but I was still staring off into space. Then he sighed, and moved his hand as if to put it on my shoulder, but then decided better of it, and moved it away. He turned and walked out of the compartment, the boots making the same click-clacking as they did when moving into the compartment.

I almost didn't want to think about it, because news like that ... how can anyone take that at face value? How can anyone merely be told they lost their home? It's ridiculous. It was sensationalist. I almost didn't want to believe it, but ... on my PD, any mention of Veyrgaei beyond the name was either erased or blacked out. I'd never seen that before, but I had no idea even just a few minutes ago what those simple little omissions would mean.

They apparently meant only one thing.

My planet is ... gone. Fallen.

Every person I ever loved ... my parents, my friends ...

But, I made myself owned up to the fact.

They're dead. They ran screaming their bloody heads off, praying to their gods, trampling each other as they futilely tried to escape the pouring storm of Yeti duproes raining death from above. Vaporized; disintegrated. Gone. Dead. I accepted that fact without much consternation, but ... how else was I supposed to take it? I've been ... taught ... conditioned, even, I should think ... to not give death much thought. Am I cold for following my training? I hope so ... lest I break down, curl up, and wish to die. But I didn't do that. Instead, I stood, my eyes losing themselves to the starfield of star craft surrounding Harkemur Command. Well, what to do, now? Stay in the Star Fleet? That seems to be the only option I have, aside from putting a dupro in my head, but I didn't really want to do that. These thoughts took three seconds to cross my mind, but my face was blank, a product of my fortunate ability to mask any emotion I'm feeling. The only reaction I allowed to the news was a quick blink to moisten my eyeballs, and a quick nod to the spot where Horrant had stood. I made my mind move onto the here and now, to tactical and strategical matters, and spun on my heel to exit the compartment. I had things to do, and a tragedy to suppress; didn't need to focus on unnecessary distractions ... especially since those distractions didn't really ... exist anymore ... After wandering around for a few minutes, I found myself at a travelway, and waited for a bus to take me to one of the hangars.

I had to get acquainted with my new craft.

4: III

III

"You may know this already, but please pay attention anyway. The Imperial Star Shipyard Systems B175 Sabre II Fleet Assault Craft is the backbone for any sizeable force meant to do battle. It is capable of taking on five Yeti light patrols while suffering only 25% damage to major systems. Main armaments are thirty-two Mark-Seventy-Two's along the dorsal and ventral fantail, surrounding the super- and under-structures. These are dedicated anti-shipping batteries, designed to battle with craft of comparable or exceeding mass. There are sixteen to a side. Next are the thirty-six Mark-Eighty-Three's lining the trenches, eighteen to a side. They are meant to deal with targets of comparable or lesser mass. These batteries are directed by the Command Center, but not controlled; remember that. They are individually manned and have their own power supply. They do not draw directly from the main system. Point defenses are supplied by the Mark-Five-Fifty-Four. These are automated and controlled by the computer. "

The techy droned about how the things work while I further delved into the capabilities of the batteries on my Palmtab. The Mk-72 had a range of only seven and a half megameters, while the Mk-83 went less than half that; not to add in that the projectiles only went around 80 kilometers a second. I was beginning to hate this. The directed energy-based projectile the rest of the Space Force craft used was automatically inferior to what the Junior Space Force used all because what we used didn't have an arbitrary maximum range.

" ... properties also allows the bolts to propagate through most atmospheres, making the deb's secondarily suitable for planetary bombardment."

I glanced at the dark-coloured, shiny-headed man. "Wouldn't the extreme speed of the bolts cause them to detonate well before actually striking the planet's surface, among other factors? I mean what's the point?"

The man seemed annoyed. He managed to purse his massive set of lips while at the same time treating me to a very disdainful look. "You know how your ... kinetics ... were at best rated point three four?" he reproached harshly.

I didn't know if the question was rhetorical, but after a second, I figured it wasn't. "Yeah ..." I answered. I figured he was familiar with Mercain weapon systems and was referring to the main armament placed on the sides of the craft.

He smirked. "The Seventy-Two and Eighty-Three have ratings of three point three and two point one, respectively."

I have to admit, that was awful, in the sense that it was full of awe and ... something akin to overkill. That amount of firepower... I quickly tried to come up with an example where I could wrap my head around the concept; I couldn't. A small " ... Oh ... " was all I could manage while looking away. "Uhm ... please, go on," I gestured.

I suffered an admonishing stare for whatever reason before the black deigned to continue. "You know about the laser point defense complimenting the flak, along with missiles. Oh, those missiles. You're used to the old Imp AS2's. You now have Jaguar AS35's. Your PalmTab has more details on those. Last is the Mark-V Stormhawk Hypervelocity Cannon. It runs along the ship's spine, a fixed, forward-facing weapon, utilizing three kilometers of the three point six of the ship. A deadly weapon, with a rating of fifteen point seven five. The Mark-V is more your style, projecting the power of this ship at 10 PSL. That's Percentage of Speed of Light."

"I know what it fucking means," I growled. His type always tried to make themselves sound more intelligent, smarter; at the expense of the chance to actually gain respect at all, though.

The tech crossed his arms, but continued talking . "Hmph. This particular Sabre possesses three heavy power generators, rated at one thousand each; two light backups with a rating of two-fifty. Armor rating is twenty, shields are one-ninety-five. Good day." With that, he stalked off.

I do believe I'd somehow offended the techy. I don't know how,and I didn't really care, but it was easy to do that with people like his; most of his end of the race were more often than not extremely prejudiced against the rest of the color scale. I had no idea why. He didn't salute when he left, which was a small slight but I wouldn't be suffering any type of disrespect, especially from a tech of his ilk. I leaned forward and pressed the blue led. "Officer on Watch, detain the black tech leaving the TC3 and place him in the holding for a day for disrespect to superior officers."

"Aye, sir," the voice at the other end acknowledged.

I sat back and and contemplated the state of my trousers for a few moments before being interrupted by a voice to my front. "Why?"

I looked up. My Executive Officer was studying me. Why, he'd asked. He was inquiring about my order to arrest the tech. I noted a weird zeal in his eyes. "He didn't salute ... " My concerns were realized when he ever-so-slightly narrowed his eyes, and turned back to his station without saying a word. I knew then I would have problems with my XO. But, I couldn't dwell on the matter further, for on the forward viewscreen a text message from the Developer of the Dream was being read aloud by the Communications Officer.

We were going to the Canerci Planetary System. Departure at 1400, some fifteen-odd hours from now. Battlegroups are going to be formed, placed at locations throughout the planetary system, including the star, main planets, planetoids, asteroid fields, various Lagrange Points, and seemingly random points throughout the system, all under the lead of the twenty-odd Sabre's within Defense Fleet White. A led on the arm of my command chair blinked blue; my mind quickly supplied a reason: the roster of starcraft under my lead. I fingered a switch, and stood; I'd sent the message to the holotank behind the command center. After entering my SIN, and pulling up the message, I was proved right when before me appeared the roster I was expecting. I perused the craft under my- The Vexed! It listed the captain as ... Pyetre Harmen. Odd. What a letdown. Fredrich was still listed as the Executive Officer. Quickly putting the distraction aside after staring at the former's name for three more seconds, I motioned through the full list; it seems I had twenty-three war starcraft under my lead of Task Force White-Seven, along with a text telling me I had an temp rank of Commodore

Seven Purity-class Light Fleet Assault Craft, three Refector and Refector II-class Heavy Escort Craft each (one of the Refector, and two of the Refector II), the Vexed, ten Sentinel III-class Heavy Fast Attack Craft and one Yelthom Shield Craft. Not a bad-sized fleet. But when looking at the hundreds other craft under the other commanders' leads, it was small. Oh well. Once again, I was interrupted in my thoughts when I felt tired and exhausted for no perceptible reason at all. I needed to get to sleep. I stepped to the railing of the command center, gathered my PD and gave the helm to my XO, and then turned and walked away without looking at him. I made my thoughts turn to other matters, such as what I would have for late-hour meal. How about a pot pie, with some juice. That sounds nice. The sliders parted, and I was still amazed at how my compartment was still the same distance from the bridge as it was on the Vexed. Standardization really made things go smoother when war starcraft commanders switch craft.

Unfortunately, that brought my thought train to the reason why I was promoted ... my planet was gone. Logistically, it would have taken even a ten thousand craft fleet three standard days to completely glass a planet ... unless the Yeti had something new ... or that the entire planet couldn't have been reduced to a glowing rock. this thought gave me some small hope that my relatives and loved one could still be alive. I shuddered, and forced my thought elsewhere. They ended up on my bridge crew ... rather, a certain, specific individual ... one who I'd just given the helm to. I entered my quarters compartment, and gave it a once over; I knew it was fact, but it still was somewhat eerie how every command deck on every war starcraft in the Space Force was laid out exactly the same. I headed to my rack while fumbling with my PD. I flicked the tab on the side, and it hummed to life, the touchscreen going through its motions, showing the designer's logo, then the Space Force's Ensign, while I dumped myself unceremoniously onto the rack, and began flicking through the various programs until I found the ship's roster. I moved my finger up, scrolling through the names until I got to the one I was looking for; the Ship's Registry.

Mardon, Jameson Rels, aged 23 years, Ship's Colonel of the Sabre II-class Fleet Assault Craft Imperial War Starcraft Viktoriya Ivanov IV, hailing from the Labros Planetary System ... survived a couple fleet actions, was promoted to actual Star Fleet after serving aboard the Carrion, a Mercain Light Escort Craft for only three months ... I couldn't find why he was promoted though ... I read through the information some more, learning all I can about my bridge crew. I then went through an infuriating urge to scream and twitch. The feeling lasted for several seconds, but I was victorious in not giving in. I bit my lip, and swiped away the program, sitting up in rack, hanging my legs over the side, my booted feet barely scraping the grated deck.

I jumped off the high hanging bedding, tossing the personal datapad tablet onto the now-rumpled sheets, and made my way to the head, pausing long enough to to shake off my boots (while buckled they may be, they weren't tightly strapped; just the way I like it), and stepped into the head, the lighters above glowing brightly to my detected presence, I blinked, my eyes getting used to the harsh illumination in contrast to the warmer softness of my quarters compartment's lighter on the fold-way desk. I turned my head, to stare at myself the mirror opposite the waterfall compartment.

I hadn't cleared my face since a morning ago, therefore black prickles lined the edges. The prickles were few and far in-between, but they were dark, making my face seem unnecessarily untidy. I glanced at the clearer next to the sink, but decided I'll get around to it after I've cleaned myself and slept, in that order.

I unbuckled the red, white-fur adorned shoulder pauldron and half cape and hung them on a hook next to the hatch. I then unbuttoned my officer's jacket, placing it on the same hook. A black silk long-sleeve button-up was quickly doffed, which left me standing on my matching black silk trousers held up by a silver-buckled, leather belt. They weren't long in coming off as well. I let these fall to the ground and stepped out of them. As I turned the waterfall compartment, I glimpsed at my decidedly pale, and even somewhat starved-appearing, hairless torso. But, I paid no more mind, and stepped into the waterfall compartment, pushing the translucent hatchway closed. The lighters in the main compartment of the head dimmed, while the lighter on the overhead above lit to the same blinding intensity as the one in the main compartment. I made a mental note to get those Goddamned things dimmed to a more apt level. I looked around the compartment (it was about two and a half meters long, by a meter and a half wide, while the height of the compartment was about half a meter shorter than the height of the main compartment of the head), noting the tannish, almost pink, tile bulkheads, what looked to be a plast tube bench at the far end of the waterfall compartment, while the deck was a gentle sloping mass of what looked like chrome that had been roughened so as to allow nonslippage, but polished to such a degree that I was able to see between my legs, groin and buttocks. I stared in fascination at the extreme imprudence of this decadence. After about a minute of this, I continued observing the waterfall compartment around me. I noted my tolesses on the dull metal wireframe placed at the fore of the compatrment; it wasn't much: only a faded, opaque plast container of wash tablets. I fished one out, slipped it into the spigot of the waterfaller, and stood for a moment staring the, figuring out the controls ... at least I think they were the controls for the thing. It was three golden knobs, placed at my neck level, all on the same horizontal plane, spaced about ten centimeters apart each. Wide, deep notches ran from aft to fore of the knobs. They were connected to the tiled bulkhead by a screw-like metal piece about a centimeter long. I studied the rotational direction of the metal pieces to determine which way to turn them. I started with the one to the left. I slowly applied pressure, but I was surprised when it turned smoothly. Immediately, the spigot came alive, spewing scaldingly hot water, but it quickly ended when I turned the knob back. While glaring at the first knob, I tried the middle knob, and what seemed like sub-zero temperature water came forth. I quickly turned it off as well. I wondered what the knob on the right was. I tried it, and the lighters overhead dimmed, even the ones in the main compartment of the head. I made a small noise of surprise. I turned it all the way, and the lighters didn't turn all the way off, but they must've dimmed by a good 80 percentage. As my eyes adjusted to the sudden near-darkness, I had a thought of me enjoying this for as long as I had this craft as mine to command.

About a standard hour later, I was laying in my rack, still uncovered, on top of the covers, my hands crossed under my head, with my feet crossed over one another. I thought about eating, but dismissed it; I wasn't hungry. I thought about my Command Crew. The Ship's Colonel, Jameson. He seemed competent. The other Executive Officer was a gizzed, old crone with a thick Pesciean accent by the name of Joatho Nasyena, but anyone who survived to that man's apparent age must have experience, experience that I might be able to pick apart and use in a fleet action. The Weapons Officer, Manfrid Yestol, was a no-nonsense man with a clipped, husky Capital accent, while the Navigations Officer, Aleyex Henree was a woman. This was the second woman I'd seen in a relatively high ranking position, or was it the third ... it didn't really matter, someone somewhere was giving women high ranking positions. I didn't particularly mind it, but I did have a problem with a woman being the Navigations Officer; it was well-known that women can't navigate their their way out of a bag; they get lost even if they're going the right way. But, on the other hand, I was a mostly objective person, and I allowed people to either reinforce, or discredit first impressions; if she was a Navigations Officer, she must be good to have broken the stereotype (for herself, at least). Then there was the Communications Officer, Sath Rickard, a young-looking, shaved-head ordeal with the same type of accent as the the second Executive Officer. Lastly was the Detections Officer, Nayzhen Mathers. I like to keep watch of my surroundings, and it seemed everytime I scanned around the bridge, he would be watching me; I think he was, or staring in my direction, I should think. Understandably, the current setting (Harkemur Space) didn't see the need for the constant watch of the surroundings, as that was taken care of by Harkemur Command's own scanners, but it seemed ... a yawn interrupted my thoughts ... it seemed he should be keeping a closer eye on the scopes, instead of me or whatever was in my direction. And if he had an interest in me, then he would have to wait until I took interest in him. Or, if I did.

My next thoughts were a jumbled mess of whatever happened to flow across my mind at the time. As such, I barely noticed when the stream quieted, and I fell asleep.

5: IV

"Three hundred kilometers! Forty-seven pos, ascension twenty-two."

"Fuck, right on top of us ... launch twenty salvos, match angle. Batteries one through eight, fire as you bear."

His barked orders, a result of a split second decision, were carried out; the Vexed began to present her port face, railgun batteries slewing in their mounts ever so slightly. Firing solutions were calc'd. In another minute, the batteries would fire, their capacitors charged. The missiles would likewise take a while. But, relatively, this was going to be a quick action. The Yeti hadn't been smart enough to fire first.

He was being kept updated on the Yeti craft. It had detected the weapons fire from the Vexed, and ignited its main thrusters to accelerate, putting out exhaust that shone like a beacon in the near-vacuum. Which that, the Vexed's Detections Stations were able to figure out what type of craft it was: a Rhino-type Destroyer; from the fluctuations in the exhaust velocity detected from the center and side engines of the Rhino-type, it was determined this particular craft was one that the Vexed had exchanged duprojectiles with a few times in a fleet action some time ago. The Rhino-type Destroyer craft line was the Yeti's attempt at copying Human design concepts; big, blocky, heavily armored, and barely able to change velocities with a will, but built with a singular purpose in mind: going to muzzle to muzzle with human craft. The Yeti's armor was inferior to the Imperium's, but Rhino-types carried thirty meters of it on a single face, a full ten percent of its entire length, which was enough to stop a Mercain main battery duprojectile.

But only a single Mercain main battery duprojectile. Once.

Suddenly, the Yeti Rhino-type deacked its main thrusters, oriented itself so as to have its prow pointed directly at the Vexed, and disappeared, and reappeared three kilometers away from the Vexed, traveling at- the Detections Officer didn't get a chance to finish, for the Rhino's blunted prow impacted against the Vexed's central port midships, crumpling the barrels of batteries three, four, and five, and irreparably crippling their barbettes. Everyone in the bridge was knocked about to the left, but the inertial dampeners did their job, for the crew was able to recover without much injury beyond a bruised knee. However, they weren't able to keep a single loose piece of deck grating from buckling, and slinging out from the shock of the impact, slicing through the air, and before he could even perceive the metal streaming towards him-

-I woke to the sounds of my own crying screams springing out onto the deck, falling hard against it. My face was wet, drenched from my nightmare-induced tears. I couldn't help but cry to myself a little more, my silent sobs wracking my body as I lay curled on the deck. I crawled back to my rack, pushing myself into it, tears streaming onto the deck and covers. I tried to forget the dream and promptly received my wish, falling back to a thankfully-dreamless sleep.

When I woke, I could tell that even though it was a sleep without dreams, it wasn't a sleep without tosses and trials; the covers were tangled around my feet, my uncovered body was sore for whatever reason, and my head pounded worse than anything. My pillow where my head laid was drenched from my crying, which had continued even after I slipped back under. I sighed, and rolled out of rack, taking the damp pillow into the head to toss it into the basket for whoever cleaned my compartment to take care of. Along the way, the pounding pain in my head grew worse.

As I turned to stare at my reflection in the head mirror, hand pressing against my temple in a vain attempt to stem the ache, I contemplated whether or not to even show myself in the TC3 for the day, before being interrupted in my musings by the voice of the Ship's Colonel announcing that jumping will commence in five minutes, all hands prepare for jump in five minutes, and would Executive Officer Nasyena and Communications Officer Rickard please report to the CC at once.

And then another voice, this time from much closer and to my left didn't so much as startle me, but cause my head to snap smartly to the left at a speed in which lesser velocities have caused whiplash; my brain did not like that, and the pressure in my temple increased but for a split second, and subsided. The speaker was an young boy, a midshipman, standing beyond the threshold of the hatchway into the compartment, who looked to be a tad younger than I was, but about a good two decameters taller. To his credit, he only glanced at my groin and stumbled in his speech once, and kept his eyes on my face for the rest of the time he spoke.

"I'm so- uhm. I'm sorry, sir, ehm, for interrupting you, sir. I am Blaik Serwick, your compartment attendent. I had noticed you hadn't called for your meals at all, so came in to check on ... I hope I didn't interrupt anything? Sir."

I blinked, and spoke my reply, lightly massaging my temple, for my headache presented itself at that moment. "Ehr ... no, you ... No, you didn't interrupt anything. Uhm, I'll have a simple, ehr ..." come to remember ... when was the last time I'd eaten anything? Not yesterday, or the day before, at least I don't think the day before. If that was so, then the last time I'd eaten was back on the Vexed. I then realized I left a five second gap of silence. I quickly filled the absence of sound. "Uhm, something simple, light; ehn, whatever you think best. Also, bring me a vost- uhm .. a plast of vodka." I moved my arm down, and caught the movement in the mirror, reminding myself that I was completely uncovered in front of the poor kid, who was just about done saying something that I missed. Just as he turned away to leave, I gave a reply that made it sound like I heard him, "If I'm not here, I'll be on the bridge." He gave a turt, "Yes, sir," and left the compartment, the slish of the sliders marking his departure. I let out a drawn out sigh, and buried my face in my palms.

Seven minutes later found me covered in my uniform stepping out of my compartment to go to the bridge, with a small titch of a scratch where my throat meets my jaw from the clearer from when the Ivanov jumped; even though I was expecting it, it still caught me unawares. Lucky thing though, for the wound barely went past the outer layer of skin, so there was no spilt blood at all; just a slight stinging sensation from the barely exposed nerves, which did nothing at all to distract from the persisent headache I unwillingly nurtured as I exited my quarters compartment. I glanced to the left, and found the compartment attendant briskly making my way, with one hand holding a plast platter of what looked to be a couple of thin slices of dry, roasted meat with the other hand carrying a small, clear, disposable plast of the vodka; I wondered how potent this craft's stores of vodka were. "Sir-ah!" he called out, stopping in front of me and holding out my late lunch. I took the platter and plast; downing the plast of vodka within a few seconds- I nearly choked on the burn of the aftertaste, for this was quite possibly the strongest vodka I've ever had the fortune of downing. I was certain I made quite an amusingly unnatractive face, for the boy started laughing in a high-pitched, girly voice.

In between my coughing fits, I managed to rasp out a single word, "Percentage?"

When he finally got done cackling, the attendant replied with, "Seventy-five."

After getting the burn under control, I grimaced and stared incredulously. "Goddamn, is your former captain still alive?"

"He's Pesciean! You aren't, apparently!" This got the kid into another giggling fit while he took the empty plast and stumbled away, holding his side from his extreme bout of laughter. Tightly shutting my eyes, I allowed my face one more sour look before opening them, and realizing the extreme effect the vodka was already having on me; for one, my headache was gone, but I could feel my balance starting to go. I groaned and tightly pressed my eyes shut, and nearly dropped whatever it was I was holding, but after a couple seconds, I did anyway. I could feel the nausea starting to rule over me, and I fell to the side, collapsing against the grating of the deck hard, my skin starting to feel like it was on fire. Suddenly my headache came back with a vengeance, all localized in the right crown. I cried out, pressing my hands to my temples, trying to crush my skull in order to rid myself of the pain. Through the noise in my head, I heard an outside voice speaking in a language that decidedly wasn't any I knew.

"Shu slushlos nim?"

I could feel someone getting close to me, and what sounded like someone sniffing the air in front of my face, and a gruff, heavily accented voice that sounded familiar replied with, "Hmph. Captain's Vodka. He'll be fine; get him into the compartment, no one else-"The sound of my moaning obscured some of the voice. "some sredsevu. I'll tell Mardon to rid the stupissa ... cabinboy.

"Da, oti-" It was the last I could hear before my mind blanked out and I fell into unconsciousness.

Blackness.

Then, I felt my fingers twitch against something, the sensation was ... blurred. My fingers were numb. In fact, I then realized my entire body was numb to the point where I could tell I was lying on something, most likely my rack, but that was it. My mind was also numb, an elated feeling making it difficult to grasp and hold onto a thought. I rotated to my side, and was made immediately aware that I was completely uncovered. My length flopped against my thigh, and I, in a groggy and euphoric state, didn't even think twice about enjoying the very enjoyable feelings as the contact against the bare skin of my leg-

Very unexpectedly, something pushed my shoulder forcing me to turn back over. "On your back. Stay-"

I screamed. Not a howl, or a shout, but screamed like a little girl about to get a dupro to the head. I was terrifyingly surprised, and the looming face of Sath Rickard hovering over me as his hand pressed against my mouth in attempts to stifle my shriek didn't help any. It didn't help at all. I tried to remove his hand unceremoniously blocking my mouth and nostrils, and thus my well-needed ability to breathe, but he wasn't going to let off anytime soon; he kept making shushing noises. I heaped a generous amount of my saliva against his hand in order to distract him from my hand moving out to grab him in his nether regions, to hold it hostage while he did the same to my mouth. He turned away, not noticing me twisting my legs and subsequently kneeing his side. Only then did he extract his hand and I was able to take a ragged breath and sit up, covering myself.

"Get the fuck out!" I yelled, gesturing wildly to the sliding hatch.

Rickard didn't leave, instead opting to plant himself in my foldway rotate-chair. "Resident medic. I order you to lie back down and let the remedy flush the toxins from your blood str-"

The commu came to life. "Vladyka to the bridge. Now." It was Nasyena. I glanced at Rickard, who started to shift in my chair, but I turned away and stood, not caring anymore if Rickard saw me in my full glory. I walked past him, but in a flash of anger, without prior thought, turned and grabbed him by his shoulder pauldrons, and in a sudden fit of anger, actually lifted him off the chair and bodily threw him onto the deck.

"Get out!" I yelled.

A look of unbridled fear flashed over Rickard's face before it was replaced by soft anger. He propped himself on one elbow and put a hand to his forehead. He saw no blood and began to pick himself up. However, I finished the job for him. I dragged him by his jacket and collar through the hatch, and down the corridor. It wasn't easy, with him being about ten centimeters taller than me. The hatch slid apart, and we both crossed the threshold. I again threw Rickard forward.

"Stay at your station for the next three shifts!"

Rickard glanced over his shoulder with a look of great dislike and smoothed out his disheveled coverings. With a huff, he turned and stalked off to his station. That was when I noticed nearly the entire bridge crew staring at me, and the Detections Officer practically gaping.

"What!" I snapped. "Back to work!" The shout was enough to snap just about everybody out of their stupor and back to whatever they were doing before I barged into the Command Center completely uncovered. Only Nasyena, Mathers, and Mardon were facing me now. Oblivious to all else, I stepped directly to Nasyena, and in the best annoyed and authoritative tone I could manage while losing what was left of my dignity, I demanded, "What. Do. You. Want."

Without missing a beat, Nasyena replied, "For you to put on your uniform, sir."

I could only stare at the man's lined face while I was searching for reply. Suddenly, one came to me when Rickard shifted in the corner of my eye. "But what I want ... " I turned to Rickard and crossed my arms. " ... is to know why you had come in to my compartment and uncovered me in the first place!" I wasn't expecting an answer, so I reached over to my chair, and called for the Officer on Watch. "When Communications Officer Sath Rickard is not on shift, he is confined to quarters." I looked to the indignant man. "Is that understood." With that, I pivoted on my heel to walk away.

6: V

"Three hundred kilometers! Forty-seven pos, ascension twenty-two."

"Fuck, right on top of us ... launch twenty salvos, match angle. Batteries one through eight, fire as you bear."

But only a single Mercain main battery duprojectile. Once.

In between my coughing fits, I managed to rasp out a single word, "Percentage?"

When he finally got done cackling, the attendant replied with, "Seventy-five."

After getting the burn under control, I grimaced and stared incredulously. "Goddamn, is your former captain still alive?"

"Shu slushlos nim?"

"Da, oti-" It was the last I could hear before my mind blanked out and I fell into unconsciousness.

Blackness.

Very unexpectedly, something pushed my shoulder forcing me to turn back over. "On your back. Stay-"

"Get the fuck out!" I yelled, gesturing wildly to the sliding hatch.

Rickard didn't leave, instead opting to plant himself in my foldway rotate-chair. "Resident medic. I order you to lie back down and let the remedy flush the toxins from your blood str-"

"Get out!" I yelled.

"Stay at your station for the next three shifts!"

"What!" I snapped. "Back to work!" The shout was enough to snap just about everybody out of their stupor and back to whatever they were doing before I barged into the Command Center completely uncovered. Only Nasyena, Mathers, and Mardon were facing me now. Oblivious to all else, I stepped directly to Fet, and in the best annoyed and authoritative tone I could manage while losing what was left of my dignity, I demanded, "What. Do. You. Want."

Without missing a beat, Nasyena replied, "For you to put on your uniform, sir."

7: VI

I thought I was on my rack. So, when I got tired of being curled up, I stretched out, but shut my eyes even tighter in agony and screamed from the debilitating pain in what seemed like every single last joint in my body, including ones I didn't know about. I tried to curl back up amidst my leaking tears but that just made the problem worse. The piercing ache subsided as a wave of endorphins eventually soothed away most of the pain. At least now I was able to stand up, albeit shakily, with a hand on the bulkhead for support. It wasn't just my knees knocking together; the craft around me rumbled as what I assumed to be another piece of the Ivanov breaking off. I listened to the various klaxons and alarms. In addition to the Battle Alert and Proximity Warnings, Reactor Leak along with Imminent Life Support Failure, Craft Structural Failure, and Lethal Radiation Levels all were sounding off. Fortunately, the two I was listening for were absent. The computer system and the jump drive were still operational. I had to get to my PalmTab in my quarters. Hopefully, the compartment didn't have a big hole open to the void like the TC3 does.

I unhooked the oxygen mask from my head and shuffled down the passageway to the sliders. Twice in a row my luck held, and they parted with a whisper. My PD was on the deck facing screen down. I retrieved it and turned it on, tossing it to the rack. I needed to get dressed before something bad happened ... again. I only bothered with my trousers, jacket, and Ship's Captain's insignia, leaving the boots and capes and sashes and bells and whistles behind. The PalmTab's screen glowed brightly, displaying the home section. I sat down, and flicked through the application icons until I got to the very last one, a golden lock and key. I didn't know what it was called, but I do know that only three people besides myself that I know of possess this application in the entire military. After entering the application, it immediately loaded, showing a notice that I had to reverify a few settings. A few quick taps later, and I was all set to use it again.

While I didn't know what the name of the application was, I was intimately familiar with its functions: it allowed the owner of the tablet to access or override and control any aspect of any craft the PD had a connection to, from weapons and life support, all the way down to individual minutiae like turning on and off an individual section of a compartment lighter. When I still had the Vexed, I even once flushed my toilet with it, just to see if I could. It was a powerful tool, and while I recognized the application did give me a certain amount of power above even the highest admiral, to misuse it was unthinkable to me, purely because I had no reason to; plus, I didn't want to lose the use of this tool, so I kept it secret from everyone.

It allowed my PD to become my own personal, mobile Tactical Command and Control Center. And the particular Station I was looking for was Navigations. I split the screen and opened up the Detections Station as I input extremely simplified calculations for the Jump Drive. I kept an eye on any object that had a velocity intercepting what was left oft the Ivanov. Suddenly, an alert appeared that noted the approach of several ... hundred nuclear devices; time to impact, thirty seconds and counting down. I freaked out for five of those seconds before wasting ten on deciding whether or not to jump anyway and hope the incomplete numbers didn't cause the drive to shred itself. Another four seconds before the first of the nuclear devices impacted were spent inputting my command code and pressing the accept button. A light pink warning notice appeared but I didn't bother to read it, instead overriding it. I just wanted to be anywhere other than here.

Three seconds passed and I felt the customary momentary nausea and slight headache accompanied by my fast-beating heart. One second; all the time in the world. Nothing like one measly fucking second separating the mind from everything to nothing.

I placed my hand to chest, feeling the quick patter against my hand. "Be still, my beating heart," I quietly chuckled to myself. Everything was different. Not only had I nearly gotten my first real command destroyed with me along with it, I'd lost all of my TC3 crew to a measly hole in the deck and overhead; if not from being sucked out in the vacuum, than to not being able to breathe as all the viable air was sucked out because they were strapped to their chairs and couldn't reach the oxygen tanks nestled safely at their feet. It was frustrating really, the randomness of how the Yeti appeared in the planetary system. No, it was unfair, that they just had to set up and plop down, quite literally, right on top of my task force. The task force which I estimated took out at least a hundred Yeti craft; but they had to bow eventually to superior numbers. I know the Vexed was still broadcasting its tag just before the Ivanov jumped, and I thought I saw her tag move to near where Freylind Command was orbiting Canerci just before we burnt out of there, so at least I could hope she and her crew survived.

My joints twinged slightly with phantom pain, and I rested my head in my hands, allowing my PD to drop to the deck with a clatter. For a small moment I let myself remain in that posture, listening to my heart just now slowing down; to the the soft hum as the back-up propulsion engines were tested and ignited; to my quiet breathing; to a very faint beeping ... the commu by the hatch. My gaze was drawn to it and sure enough, a blue led was blinking on and off, oblivious to the destruction around it. Two quick blinks and a long off period. It was my turn to blink in surprise; when the light behaved that way, that meant one had to hold a button down to respond, and then release to hear what the person on the other end had to say. Usually, all one had to do was just speak, as the commu was voice-activated. My toes bumped against the PalmTab as I made my way to the device. I thumbed a tab and spoke, glad that my voice was clear of the fear and terror that gripped my being only a minute before.

"This is your Captain; what is it, man?"

The voice responding had a certain Southeastern Capital accent that I'd always found intriguing and ... intriguing. Wait, he was actually saying something; I needed to listen. " ... there. The InSense showed that the TC3 had been vented to space. How did you get out of there, Captain?"

I had no idea who this guy was, so I was wary about giving away the details of my sordid ordeal just yet. "That ... uhm, will be answered in an emergency sector head meeting in the Conference Compartment on the Command Deck ... if it's still there," I said cautiously.

The shortest pause before the voice replied. "Aye, sir." The blue led audibly clicked off.

I stared at the dead light, biting my lip, wondering if I could get in any trouble due to the fact that I lost my bridge crew. I couldn't, could I? I mean, the Ivanov was still ... here, mostly. The backup engines were working; so, too, were the backup reactors. As long as we didn't have to shoot at the Yeti anymore (not that I think we could do even if we wanted to; when I looked at the weapons system on the tablet, it was disheartening: only four or five main guns and three secondary guns were working, and there was a malfunction somewhere in both point defense systems. The missiles seemed okay though), we could probably be looking at only two or three hours before Freylind Command sends over some tenders to pick up our dead and wounded.

My shoulders slumped, but I picked them up, straightening my posture. "All crew." I waited a second for the blue led to wink on. It didn't. I stared at it for five seconds more, realizing that the voice activated commu system could actually be damaged somehow. That was new. Also frustrating as I very much hated to simply lift my finger, and keep it held on a button while I talk. Oh well. Sarcasm aside, it actually is weird to realize that even the commu system has redundancies. The silence now accompanying my thoughts let me gather them.

"All crew. This is your Captain. I want to personally thank each and every one of you for performing at your peak during our finest ... " How long was the battle? I didn't really know; I wasn't paying attention to the time. " ... hour. I know that we lost many good men." I thought my Navigations Officer; obliterated, disintegrated, wiped from existence by a Yeti dupro penetrating the Ivanov's armor in just the right way. "And women. They were courageous to the end; follow their example, and you shall all be heroes of the Imperium." I seriously don't know where this is coming from. It's like listening to a propaganda reel, honestly. "The Yeti could not take our determination, and we shall not lose it now. In time, after we heal and lick our wounds, we will not let this act by the Yeti go unpunished. We will strike back." Oh my God, someone stop me. Please. This is excruciatingly cliché. I sound like a fanatic. "I need all surviving sector heads to convene in the Conference Compartment on the Command Deck." Finally. Although ... just because they survived doesn't mean they were well enough to come here. I figured I would see a few faces that didn't normally see the upper ship's officers. I released the talk button but the blue led stayed on. Time for some comic relief.

"Now, how does this thing turn off ... ?" I mumbled loud enough for the mic to pick up. I looked closer and found I'd inadvertently triggered a holding mechanism and all I'd have to do is press the button again to turn the commu off.

While the sector heads were busy either getting here or sending someone else in their stead, I needed to get ready. I contemplated going to the meeting looking like I had just nearly been killed. But, something in my head decided against it. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was ... nah, just pride. My pride ... it'll be the death of me. I just hope not literally. That would suck. The time between my last conscious thoughts and the meeting wasn't recorded. I don't know what happened, but the moment I stepped into the waterfall compartment, I sorta went on autopilot. The pain-turned-ache wasn't registering, neither was the water, or rough/polished deck of the compartment.

So, it was with a somewhat jolting wrench of my gut as I sat at the head of the ornately large conference table that I was disengaged from autopilot and made aware of my surroundings.. There were normally somewhere around two hundred sectors in a Sabre II, but this ... the sight before me was disheartening. Over forty seats were empty. The spaces were scattered, but the chairs for the sectors of the prow were the second most noticeable. The most noticeable? The Command Seats, as they were colloquially called. A big, long desk stretching the entire width of the compartment, where each seat had a small console and screen in front of it on the table. Some sixty-odd chairs. But ... only three other people were present, which was three more than I'd ever expected.

Nasyena, Rickard, and Mardon. The suprise that they were still alive was now just getting to me. Mardon was sporting a sling, an eyepatch, and a bandaged stump for a left leg. But as I turned to study Nasyena and Rickard, neither one of them were showing any signs of ... damage. I know I didn't look too worse off myself, but I walked in here with a limp, swollen skin, and bloodshot eyes, but you'd have to look at me to notice. But those two ... they were impeccable. I mentally made a note to investigate them further.

Mardon was saying something to me. " ... get rid of me that easy, Vladdy." I didn't respond, but I narrowed my eyes at his "term of endearment." It almost sounded like an insult, but I made no indication of that other than to coldly turn away, and face the control console in front of me. I pressed the blue and red led's together, which turned on the bulkhead screen behind me as well as turning on the mic set into the console.

Let's start this. "Thank you all for coming." My voice was rough, hoarse; as if I'dn't talked for over ten years. "Let's get this over with. I would like to personally thank each and everyone of you. Your individual bravery and courage in the face of danger allowed the Ivanov to survive. She is heavily damaged. Many systems are offline or malfunctioning. More importantly, we've lost more than that. We've lost friends, crewmates, even loved ones." By now, the trembling in my words had gone and I was able to hear my slightly tenor tones return. "I won't patronize you. The sacrifice was more than what we could ever hope to ask from you. Instead, it was taken from you. By the Yeti. And I, I know this, would like to take from them thricefold what they took from us. That's what's going to happen. But first, we have other matters to worry about." As I was talking, I'd been bringing up status reports from the sector heads and displaying them on the screen behind me. I was just throwing them up, barely glancing at each one before I tossed them on. I happened to peek in just the right location and saw the date for the report to be a single question mark. Weird. The date stamped on the reports is done by the ship's computer. For the date and time subsystem of the computer to be corrupted or damaged would require more ... something ... to cause it to not display the date. But even then, the system has a command loop that causes it to reset to the nearest turn of the century whenever anything interrupts the automatic updates from the nearest Star Capital Base Station. But this ... this question mark ...

I looked at the other reports more closely, and saw that each and every single one had the date missing. I looked up at the sea of faces, and continued my monologue. " Such as ... why the date slot on each of these status reports ... does not have the date." Once again, I happened to see something interesting just as I put it on the screen. "Not to mention why we are not able to communicate with Freylind Command. Before we proceed with this meeting, we need to discuss those matters first."

To my right, Nasyena spoke in his gravelly, Pesciean tones. "If I may, my Captain. I have ... knowledge of this situation before. About ... three hundred ... no, no ... almost four hundred years ago, a ship ... the Blighted Freedom, ORN number zero-zero-zero-three, progenitor of the Freedom-class Battle Carrier line." He stopped and looked at me, and then the room. "This information is classified. Deactivate mike matrix zero zero three authorization escorren thernim." I shifted in my chair, and stared at the audacious old man. The fucker had just turned off all the recording devices in the room, including the personal devices of the sector heads and sector head substitutes.

I managed to butt in before he began speaking again. "Belay last order authorization mine." I'd had a bit of a chuckle in creating my authorization code. It was deceptively simple, but it incorporated a slight lilt in certain parts of the word that so far no one else had been able to replicate. Fet's mouth drew thin as he turned his head to me. I don't care if he was pissed, he's not the one who gets to pick and choose what goes on the records. "Fet, I don't care if the information is classified at the Leadership level. You cannot supersede me to turn off the mic's where and whenever you want. Got it?"

Still staring at me, Nasyena responded with, "Lockout authorization mine, command code seven three four dash twenty-one dash seven thirty-eight alpha alpha theta." He then turned to the sectors heads and started to talk again as if nothing had just happened. "Deactivate mike matrix zero zero three authorization escorren thernim. Five hundred years ago, Blighted Freedom, was the largest ship in the fleet. She was the flagship of the Home Fleet, tasked with defending the capitol planet. At the time, an ... old enemy was causing trouble." I finally tore my glaring eyes away from that disgustingly wrinkled visage and down to my console screen, which had frozen up, no matter what I did. Nothing on my console worked; no combination of buttons or levers or switches produced meaningful results. This was unbelievable! The crone had actually booted me out! I had no idea where he got that code or even that it existed, but I wasn't able to do a damn thing about it. He'd basically made it so that my authority was in name only. I couldn't do anything. I let out a long sigh, sat back in my chair, and folded my arms across my increasingly concave stomach, which turned slightly as I tried to remember what I ate last. Failing, I kept a slightly annoyed look on my face, but inside I was seething. Nasyena was telling a story about the Blighted Freedom, about some heroics it pulled or something. I caught the ending of Fet's monologue. " ... in half. The drive malfunctioned, and the chronostasis fields that should have kept uhm, them in the present, they failed. And caused the ship to become stranded halfway across the galaxy, and seven hundred years in the past. And ... it's been there ever since." Nasyena's slight pause made me look over at him, and as he said his next sentence, I noticed the lines going from the corner of his eye tighten ever so slightly, as if he'd made to blink, but decided against it. I don't play card games, but I know an out when I see one. " ... alive knows where it is."

I turned my head back to facing forward, and the gears in my head began to turn. He may have turned off the mic's in the room, but he didn't turn off my eyes. I caught him in a lie, and I know it was specific to his last sentence. Where he undoubtedly said that no one was left alive that knew where it was. He must know where it is. Suddenly, like a little click, his words finally made it into my head. I processed the significance, and finally realized why he'd told that little tale about some three or four or five hundred year old ship.

'Oops ... I think I just broke causality ... ' I shifted lower in my seat and furrowed my eyebrows slightly as I thought back to when I was inputting the calc's for the jump drive. I guess that little pink warning box popup wasn't anything insubstantial. I pulled out of my thoughts, seeing that Nasyena had stopped talking and was allowing the sector heads to talk amongst themselves. I needed to regain control. I pulled out my PD, hoping Nasyena's little stunt hadn't locked the the little app at the end of the selection row. As I pawed through the countless apps, I began to speak. "Thank you for that, Colonel Nasyena. But we are still left with ... " I paused to open the app, and then continued speaking, moving my eyes to the gathering. " ... the two questions I asked earlier; where, and more importantly, when are we." I looked down, and saw that I still had access to the override functions of the app. I could feel Nasyena's eyes on me to my right, but I didn't care. I scrolled through the various menus while still speaking. "I want ten Arrow's in patrol pattern six-ten at a distance of one lightsecond ... " I finally came upon the function I was looking for. With a simple swipe, I turned back on the mic's in the compartment. I don't think I'll be able to lockout Nasyena like he did me, but I'll deal with that later. " ... so we'll be able to ascertain our location ... if we're even still in our galax-"

"A lot good mess you got us in, yeah!" My head turned to where I thought the interrupter was, but approximately ten others joined in in voicing their protests to our current situation. Five more raised their little insights. Then three more. Six more.

"Silence!" I shrieked. That got everybody's attention. Mardon nearly fell out of his chair from surprise. I was getting kinda frustrated with these petty little ... children! "Do you want to be dead? Would you rather it would have been you who got vaporized, blown apart, disintegrated, crushed, suffocated? Instead of your crewmate, buddy, or lover? If you find the fact that we're still alive after going through what we just went through to be so detestable, then I can gladly, personally, end your oh-so-painful suffering! I would rather live another day if for the cost of figuring out how long we are from home. If you find this situation to be so unbearable that you want to join our fallen, then please, come on up. It'll be my pleasure to assist you in moving on to whatever afterlife you do or don't believe in." I glared at the silent mass out of frustration. Honestly, why couldn't they act like the adults they were? It was embarrassing! Here I was, a sixteen year old, behaving more maturely than people thrice my age!

I saw movement on my left, which turned out to be Mardon pushing himself to a standing position. I sat back back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest while he had a smug, little smirk on that annoying face. He opened his mouth to speak. "Really? What are you go-"

He didn't say anything more, because I'd leapt up to my feet, kneed his stump, and as he curled forward, elbowed him in the face at the bridge of the nose. Like a ragged paper doll, he fell back on his chair. I was still raging, though; a foot on his chest and and a hard push sent him flying backwards and sliding until he hit the bulkhead with his neck at an awkward angle. The sector heads were staring noiselessly as I turned back to face them, but noise to my right drew my attention to Rickard standing up. His eyes were flashing warnings, and with my adrenaline pumping, I saw his left hand hiding something; probably a blade.

Nasyena intervened, yelling, "Sodizvya!" or something, and pushed Rickard back down into his chair. He then moved to Mardon, giving me a narrowed eye as he moved past. He knealt beside the tangled mess, and checked for Mardon's breathing and pulse. He let out a long sigh, and pulled out his PD, and tapped a few times here and there.

I sat back down in my chair, picking up my fallen tablet, and folding my legs and arms. I glanced at Rickard, and saw ... something that was undoubtedly concern, but it was hiding something else. He saw me looking at him, and gave a glare so powerful that it put the point defense lasers to shame. In response, I raised an eyebrow and looked away to the sector heads. "Anyone else ... that wants to be made an example?" I heard Rickard take a deep, angry breath, but I moved my mind to other things. Things such as what the Goddamn Hell I'm going to put in my report log, when did I eat last, and what is next on the agenda for this farcical debacle of a sector head meeting? I cleared my throat, and sighed, coming down from my adrenaline rush. I chose my next words carefully. "If we ... are to get through this ordeal ... without anymore mishaps, I would be glad. Now, let's get this Goddamned meeting back to focus. I want ten Arrow's in patrol pattern six-ten at one lightsecond distance. I want them out there for a full twenty-five hours, gathering as much data about where we are as possible. The Ivanov was heavily damaged. The TC3 is inoperable. Repair priority is the TC3, the life support, reactors, weapons, engines, and habitation. I don't care how you do it, just get it done. Meeting adjourned." With that, I stood up, and walked out of the Conference Compartment, staring straight ahead and ignoring everything else.

I needed to eat, and just ... think. I didn't particularly want to be around anybody else.

8: VII

VII

Actually, I didn't want to be alone. I think I wanted someone to talk to. I think wanted to be interrupted in my thoughts by someone behind me loudly calling out my name, my first name, which nearly no one left alive knew me enough to even know it. I was a little annoyed, as I'd just gotten into thinking about what Nasyena had done. I shut my eyes, sighed to myself, and turned around, opening them to see, lo and behold, the kid who gave me that fucking fifteen million proof chast of vodka ... I then remembered waking up naked next to Sath Rickard, of all the random people, and then quite literally and bodily throwing him out of my compartment. And then the Yeti attacked. While I was naked. Nearly all of my TC3 crew died while I was naked. Fuck, I nearly died naked! All I could think about was being naked while this whelp was running up, and then I recalled that he'd seen me naked. The absurdity of it all finally got to me, and I muttered out loud, "What the Goddamn?"

I seriously couldn't remember the kid's name. I think I'll call him Kid. In any case, Kid seemed to have thought my utterance was directed towards him, and he stopped with a somewhat taken aback look on his face. It was almost adorable, the way his previously smiling visage seemed to become ... hurt? He was studying my face, and I realized my slightly furrowed eyebrows and thinly drawn mouth could be miscontrued as me being annoyed with him, if not angry. Which I was, actually; annoyed, I mean, but I couldn't let my compartment attendant be scared to approach me. Besides, he had a cute face, and it was kinda sad to see such a face be ... sad. I decided to try to cheer the Kid up. "What, disappointed you didn't get to see me uncovered this time?"

He actually giggled at that, putting his hand up to his mouth, shoulders shaking and eyes twinkling with youthful mirth. His eyes. I hadn't noticed his eyes before. They were the bluest blue to have ever been blue. Which is really blue. I then realized that the reason why I was able to really determine the color of his eyes was because he was standing so close to me. So close, I could smell him, or whatever scent he'd put on when he was ...

My mind was still analyzing the sensations Blaik (that was his name!) was giving me, while my body was automatically turning away to get something to eat. Luckily, I was able to half turn and give an expression that was meant that he could follow, which he did. He fell into step with me as I walked down the passageway. He was able to keep his pace even with mine, no matter how much I tried to change my gait.

"More like disappointed I wasn't there on the bridge earlier today ... " he responded with a shy grin. He said bridge. Why the fuck do people call it a bridge? Technically, a bridge was where the helm was and that's about it. It was called a Tactical Command and Control Center. TC3. What was so hard?

But, there was something I didn't recognize in his tone, in that it was so irreverent from what had actually happened on that deck. So, maybe a little harshly, I snapped, "You'd be fucking dead if you were."

I think it was the ... hardness I'd unintentionally put into my voice, but his grin vanished nearly instantly, and his face fell. I saw this, and couldn't help but feel for the Kid (Blaik was his name, fucker). So, I tried to soften my face, and put a little ... I'unno, reproachfulness in my eyes, if only to let him know I wasn't actually upset at him. He looked over to me, and his face became pensive, so I guess I was at least successful in that regard.

His voice became quieter, sadder. "I'm ... sorry. I just ... I lost my b-bestfriend today, and I ... can't ... come to terms with it." So why was he talking to me? I knew for a fact we had grief counselors inboard the Ivanov. I continued to look at him as we walked down the passageway. I perused the surface of his face. He hadn't been crying; nothing suggested that. I figured he was dealing with the pain some other way. We were about to round a corner, a T-junction, and I knew I had control of where we walked. To the left was the Officer's Mess Compartment. On the right are ... were the quarters of the TC3 crew, and the stopping for the travelways that criss-crossed the inhabited areas of the Ivanov. I wondered if the travelways were still accessible. I pushed aside thoughts of my hunger and focused on trying to make the Kid feel ... better.

I went right, and sure enough he followed me, lagging behind just a step before falling into synch with my legs. I had nothing else cross my mind as towards his outward display of grief to his loss, so I decided to voice his lack of tears. "You haven't cried." As we passed the sliders that led into the quarters compartment for my late command crew, I noticed that just about all of them had amber environmental leds blinking; they weren't open to the void, but they were leaking atmo and technicians had either yet to locate the leak or repair it.

The Kid sighed, breathing out, "No. I ... " He coughed. "Ehhhn ... I never cry. Never been able to." He abruptly stopped and pressed a hand against my arm. I'd been working a pretty good clip, so I nearly lost my balance. I managed to steady myself before glancing at his hand on my arm and then back up to the Kid's face. My brow raised, but I made my eyes radiate concern. The Kid was quiet for a second, then lifted his hand off me as thought it had been burned. He then blurted out, "I'm sorry, I just ... it's just that ... Grennera, he- the previous Ship's Captain- he would always let me talk to him if I had problems, any problem, and he always said his door would be open ... " He started fidgeting with his hands. "And, I hope that you would do the same for me-"

The Kid was getting on my nerves by beating around the bush. I interjected with, "Sure! Yes ... yes, uhm, what did you want to talk about?" At that, I turned and continued walking, but slowly enough that Blaik (That's his name! Why do I keep forgetting?) would see that it was okay to come with me. As I walked, and he started to say random things about this and that, I made sure to check that my Ship's Captain's trimmings are in place. Blaik was still spouting words that I guess he needed to rid his mind of. We came up to a four way junction, and I turned left, but came to a halt as a mass of wreckage blocked the only way to the command deck travelway stop. This was annoying. Wait, if this way was blocked off, then how ...

My question was answered by Blaik tugging my wrist saying, "This way. In the Ivanov, beyond the bridge and Officer's Mess and Quarters, the Command the Deck's all backwards from the regular layout."

That was odd. Not unheard of; I think the Developer of a Dream's command deck layout mirrored her sister Pride of the Imperium. I didn't care either way because I ... in fact, where was I going? I'm hungry, not to mention thirsty. That could, would, and should wait, though; I wanted to make a tour of my craft and find out personally what was wrong and what needed repaired, so on and so forth. It was a habit of mine, on I got from my very first commanding Officer, one Ship's Captain Harron Tret, of the Junior Mercain III-class IWC Interception. I was a Second Executive Officer, second and third shifts. He would have been my age, when I was around ... I'unno, eight, nine years old?

I brought myself from my thoughts when we came upon a set of sliders, and Blaik was looking at me expectantly. He'd probably just asked a question, so I gave a noncommital shrug, and muttered, "Don't know ... I really don't."

He gave a small smirk, and said, "You don't know if you're hungry or not?"

Ah. "What I meant was, I don't know if I want to eat now." We passed through the sliders, the halves parting and slipping together with a horribly quiet screeching noise. "I kinda want tour the craft, see the damage with my own eyes."

He nodded, and we came up to the stopping, a small platform set beside a wide two-lane travelway stretching off into the distance. Passenger cars and buses were whipping past the stopping, automatically taking their occupants to and from destinations from the craft. I was about to make my way up to the embark step when Blaik grabbed my wrist with an amused expression. "You get your own car, sir. You don't have to travel with the ... others." With that, he pulled his PalmTab from his pocket and tapped on the screen a few times.

"Oh." That was all I could respond. How opulent was Ship's Captain ... the last guy? Heh, I forgot his name already. The name must've not been important to me. A bright yellow, long passenger car with darkened viewports slid out from the bulkhead about twenty meters aft, and rolled back towards us, stopping silently at an embarking platform I hadn't noticed before the boarding hatches swinging upward, revealing a very lavishly decorated interior. I wasn't personally comfortable with such ... decadence. I hid my misgivings and second thoughts from Blaik though, as he practically skipped the short distance from here to the car. I got the feeling that he wasn't particularly against the rich life that Ship's Captain Last Guy (heh heh) provided.

The first thing I noticed besides the near-darkness as I entered the car was that there was nothing to really hold onto beside the regulation bars on the overhead. And, it was short. the car was nearly the length of a bus, but it was nearly half the height. I was glad I was so short, otherwise I'd have to duck my head, like Blaik was doing as he moved the very fore of the car, which was one entire viewport. I frowned at the unnecessary-ness of it all. Blaik had no consternations, though; he fell back into a seat that seemed more like a bed, and seemed to sink into it, arms splayed out against the back of the upholstery. I just grabbed for the nearest overhead railing and held on, all the while staring at the smile that seemed out of place on someone who supposedly lost a close friend today.

While Blaik was becoming comfortable, I let my eyes wander around, letting them notice the small fridge and heater aft. Long rows of cushioned seats lined the two sides, coming up to meet the larger-than-necessary ... thing Blaik was settling into. The sparsely-numbered lighters overhead were barely producing any light, with the majority barely making it in from outside the car. The deck was a soft but shaggy fabric that definitely seemed out of place on a spacecraft. Not so much unneeded, but just ... well, yeah, unneeded works.

"Fore or aft, sir?"

I looked back up to him. He'd kicked off his boots, and was laying on his side, propping his head up with a hand, while the other arm rest on his side. He looked really ridiculous in that pose. "I want to check out the main thrusters first, I think starting with number five, and work my way foreward from there."

"Oh, really?"

Something clicked in my head. You know that feeling? It's like you're looking at a mass of colors splashed on a canvas, and the person's telling you it's a dog. You don't see it after a while, but suddenly, as you're tilting your head at just the right angle, it clicks, and you're seeing a puppy playing in a field. Anyway, yeah, that's exactly what just happened here. It clicked, and I found myself knowing exactly why this car's interior looked the way it did. Why Blaik was on a double-wide rack (not an overly-large seat) laying on his side so ridiculously. I think he was propositioning me. It made me a bit apprehensive, and I was having second thoughts about even stepping foot inboard this entire craft. It wasn't that I wasn't ... like him, the way that I found other males ... more appealing than I do females; wasn't like that at all. The reason I was starting to panic was because this was a situation in which I had no control over, and I liked knowing where things were heading, but more importantly, I liked having the ability to change where things were heading. And if I stayed in this car ... that possibility was terrifying to me.

I don't do terrified. Things, mostly people's faces, tend to get broken when I'm terrified.

And so, just as he pulled out his PD, and began tapping on the screen, I was stepping through the hatchway, ducking as it slid down and into place. I let out a breath as I watched the car pull away and accelerate up the travelway towards the stern of the Ivanov. Blaik pressed against the window, his mouth moving but no sound reaching my ears, beyond the other passenger buses whipping by.

I sighed again, gripping the railing in a vice grip while I struggled to get my mind in order. It may seem like madness, turning down sex, especially at my age. No, no, that wasn't madness. Madness was wanting sex at a time like this. Who the fuck wants to ... well, fuck when the Ivanov needed the attention more? Maybe Blaik was hard of hearing, because, I for one can still hear the individual systems alarms going off, albeit at a lowered volume. The one that grabbed my attention most was the Jump Drive Failure klaxon. But I pushed this from my mind as an passenger bus slowed and moved to the embarking platform. Another empty one joined not soon after.

I pulled out my PD as I moved onto the first bus, and took a seat on a hard plast bench somewhere in the middle, against a viewport. The interior was brightly lit with six halogen lighters, sharp shadows contrasting against the grey deck and red benches. The bulkheads of the bus were all no-tint viewports, from about chest height going all the way up to the overhead. A chime and a screen popped up on my PalmTab, prompting me to choose my destination from a list of menus and submenus. Another screen popped up, wishing me a safe and enjoyable ride.

But I didn't pay much attention to it because at that moment, the question I never bothered to ask was answered; the sector heads and sector head stand-ins started filing in, filling nearly every bench inboard the bus. Someone sat next to me and started chatting with someone else. That was good. I didn't really want someone to shout "Captain on deck!" and bring attention to me. But what was ... dumb about it was that people said it even if you were in the head trying to go, and they just happened glance over and see the smallest tip of fabric from your half-cape peeking out from under the divider. I kept my eyes downcast on my PD, listening to the chimes and buzzing of the others' PD's as they tapped in their destinations. If I recall correctly, there're about two dozen stops between here and the Main Propulsion Sector, subsection Thruster Five. I figured I could get a good nap in.

The hatches finally slid closed, and I deliberated taking off my shoulder pauldron and half-cape, since they were the main things to identify my status with. After the bus started to accelerate away from the stopping and the lighters dimmed I quickly undid the buckles holding the cape and pauldron up. I shrugged and the pauldron slipped off and fell into my lap, where I pushed it to the side between the cold bulkhead and me. The cape slipped down behind me, and for some reason I felt as thought some stressor had been lifted off my heart, and I leaned my head back, crossing my arms against my chest. I stared at the overhead above me before letting eyes drift shut.

My mind wandered. At first it was blank, but I started to pull up memories. Memories of my Vexed, how she'd almost been destroyed. I suppose I did show favoritism by ordering only her to jump back to safety. But, I knew the people inboard. I did it for them; I didn't know anyone in the Discovery or any of the seven or eight or whichever Sentinel III's that been atomized. I did it for Fredrick, if he was even still alive. I sighed silently to myself. If that matter ever came up in a release trial, I'd make the argument that they were the only craft left in my task force besides the Ivanov herself that was still battle-worthy. The Discovery certain wasn't going anywhere, not after she'd been exploded in two, although it was miraculous that her TC3 was still able to broadcast their tag. But I thought I saw it wink out shortly before ... that happened. I involuntarily shuddered. I can't believe that happened only a few hours ago. It seemed ... far away. Maybe my mind was already trying to push it into the dark corner of my mind where the bad memories go.

That corner ... I never thought about it if I could help it. I never wandered into that particular wretched recess intentionally. My thoughts might brush up against the borders I'd built up, but I can't remember the last time I actually braved a foray into that corner. That corner full of bad memories. Well ... I might as well get it over with. I don't remember my very first bad memory, all I knew was the feeling; it was one of anger, mixed with disappointment and self-hate, lots of self-hate. I don't know when I started the practice of shunting aside the less-than-ideal times of my life. It was always just there, and I would always leave a particularly distasteful event to wither and rot inside that cesspool ... I wouldn't know what would happen if anyone looked inside my mind and wandered into that part of my head. I think they'd be destroyed from the sheer ... power those memories held. Powerful, yet locked away ...

The overhead lighters buzzed on again, dragging me kicking and screaming from my subconscious. I heard some isolated chimes as sector heads and sector head stand-ins disembarked or other people embarked. I pushed it from my mind and started my wandering trek over again. I didn't head back to my garbage pit. This time, I wandered my thoughts to what Nasyena had made his little speech about. Apparently, when I rushed through the calc's for the Jump Drive, I'd made a mistake somewhere and that mistake mountained into the point where I'd actually broken causality (at least from how I understood it, not that that meant anything). I guess that's what I got for playing with physics while unsupervised.

The bus arrived at the next stopping, and the lighters flooded the area in brightness. I brought my head forward to shield my closed eyes even further from the piercing light, not that that did any good. I wondered if Nasyena unlocked my authority. And so, just as I opened my eyes to start tapping away at my PalmTab, guess who thought it would be prudent to plop themselves right next to me after the chatty couple had left?

With a slight knife-eating grin on an otherwise cute face, he stated in the most smug voice, "Can't get rid of me that easily, sir."

9: VIII

VIII

My head snapped forward, while his words echoed themselves inside my head, mirroring those of a certain Executive Officer whose stump of a leg I kneed and ugly mug of a face I punched in. It was right then and there as the bus was pulling away that I decided that Blaik had to go.

Go die, that is. I was going to kill him myself. I detachedly thought that was going a bit far, but I then justified myself by reasoning that he was a threat to continued survival of this craft. How? He was obstructing a high-value inspection of the damage to the Ivanov, one that was critical to the repair effort being undertaken. Yeah ... yeah, I think that'll slide. I turned to study the face I was blow away, getting to know every single line and plain of skin. His forehead was high and smooth, while his thin but wide brow hid intense blue eyes that I now could see were dangerously twinkling. The cheek bones had a hint of Capitol-like sharpness to them, and they were set high and wide, making his face seem largely angular. His nose was thin, long, but didn't stick out very far. His mouth was silken pink and thin while being wide, with the cutest little notch in the middle of his upper lip. Blaik's jaw was sharply defined, to the point where I wondered if that edge cut the clearer instead of the other way around. His chin was small, round, and smooth, if not for the smallest dimple right in the middle.

I decided I was going to aim for one of his eyes. He deserved to have only one eye of that high caliber, and even that was pushing it. I turned my attention back to my PD. A prompt popped up asking if I wanted to change my destination, and I did to that of the nearest Armory subsector.

Armories were inboard every Imperium War Craft but were rarely used, if even entered. They were intended for the crew to have access to ranged and melee weapons if the Yeti ever made the disturbingly rare decision to board. The Armories were stocked with small arms, long rifles, knives, explosives (mostly for scuttling, the craft if the situation ever got that bad), and pretty much anything else needed to stop a bunch of furry, little, six-limbed creatures from taking over the craft.

Luckily for me, there was one at the next stopping. So, while he did his best to engage me in conversation, I did my best to freely imagine what the bulkhead behind him would look like in a nice new coat of red, pink, and gray. Finally, he said something to which I just had to respond. "You're an idiot," I observed.

Blaik had the nerve to smirk. "Oh, so you do speak? That's news," he replied wryly.

I glanced at him with an eyebrow raised. "Now that I've said something, will you finally please leave me alone?"

He sat back with his arms across his chest. His mouth still smiled, but his eyes became serious. "No ... I've come this far. I won't lose it now."

I wondered what he meant by that, but I was spared from having to reply by the bus arriving at the travelway stopping. I stood up, and swept across him before he could react. I figured he would follow me, but I gave a glance back to make sure. He saw the look, and stood up to follow me. It looked like I had this box wrapped. I stepped onto the embarking platform and started walking. The map on my PD showed the Armory subsector being some seventy meters away, at the end of a series of turns and twists. Only one other person got off on this stopping, but immediately got back inboard the bus for some reason or other. Blaik had to jog to keep up with me. After the second right, I slowed my pace, he managed to catch his breath.

"This isn't MP. Where are we going?" he asked.

Without looking at him, I replied curtly, "Armory. We're vulnerable to boarding with the Weapons Systems offline." It was a complete fucking lie, but he didn't know that. "Target practice. Can never be too good with a Seventy-Five." General Mark Armament Industries Mark-Seventy-Five Semi-Autoloader Pistol. So named for the seven point five millimeter caliber; default ammunition was high velocity frangible rounds, 15 of them in a box magazine the size of four of my fingers placed against each other. Fast firing, and one fuck of a kick. They had a single-shot, three-shot, and full auto setting. I'm thinking a single-shot setting would be best for what I had planned. Three-shot was messy, and full-auto would be wasteful.

"Oh," was all he had to respond with. Soon, he wouldn't be responding at all. I giggled to myself at that thought.

Another thought popped up, one that concerned how I was going to cover up killing the Kid. I tapped around on my PD, glad that Nasyena had unlocked my authorization. I hadn't tried to use the app while the lock out was in place, so I didn't really know if it would work. But it was working now, and I was able to access the spartan menus and submenus. One handy use for this tool was to disable the recording devices in the sensors, and put them on a loop for as long as you needed them offline. I managed to figure out the intricacies of that particular feature by the time I reached the hatchway entrance to the Armory. It would look odd if we turned a corner and disappeared, so I looped the entire system to just before our bus arrived at the travelway stopping. To sweeten the cake, I hadn't seen a single soul besides the Kid while trekking there, so there were no witnesses I had to worry about.

Then, just as I put away my PD, the thought of his jumped to the forefront. I glanced at him. He seemed nervous, as if he wanted to be elsewhere. Both of his hands were behind his back, but his arms were moving slightly. I raised my hand to palm the switch to open the hatch. "Where's your PalmTab?" I asked as the sliders parted. I didn't wait for an answer to move through the threshold.

"What? Oh, ehn ... " he sighed. "It's in the ... it's in your car."

In my mind, I jumped up and down for joy. This was as easy as it got. I was happy because beyond everything else, you could track someone's current location through their personal device. I'd disabled the tracking device in mine long ago, so I'd nothing to worry about there.

But, in the real world, I merely gave a small "Hmm" while moving over to the cabinet where the pistols were being held. There was an old-fashioned padlock but it was defeated by the key innocently hanging next to the recessed case. I smirked at Blaik who was busy looking at his fingers intertwined in front of him. I won't lie, he looked adorable like that. He looked like a scared pup, like a lost little yeller. I kept my attention on him while gaining access to the cabinet, perusing the selection of firearms until I came upon the one I was looking for. Accessories like gloves, eye goggles and ear covers lined the sides. I exacted two sets of each; a pair of gloves, goggles, and covers were given to Blaik while I donned the others. Blaik never did the same. The ammunition was kept in drawers below, while the magazines were stacked next to each pistol. I took out a hundred-count box, three magazines, and the most used-looking pistol. I kept a small smile on my face while taking the items to a small table. Everything had the slightest layer of dust on it, even the ammunition box. That didn't matter though. These things were designed to last.

I motioned Blaik to sit next to me to load the magazines. He just sort of adorably stared at the items I placed in front of him. I swear to God, I'd never seen someone so cute be so clueless. I almost regretted the decision to kill him. I didn't think about why I was killing him, because I didn't know why. All I knew was that he had to die. But, as I showing him how to properly load the seven point five millimeter rounds, my hands kept brushing against his, and he kept getting redder, and his speech kept getting less coherent. That was good. That meant I was in control of the situation, and I loved that feeling. Nothing else can compare to that feeling. And when I placed my hand on his leg and reached across him to grab the other magazine to load (since I'd already finished loading mine), my fingers 'accidentally' landed against his groin. What I felt there made me even more bold; I moved my fingers against the fabric as I was sitting back down in my chair. He actually yelped when I took my hand off his thigh. It was barely audible, but I heard it. I grinned to myself where he couldn't see.

A silent minute later, and I'd finished slipping the 15 rounds into my two magazines. I stood up and slid a full magazine into the well. As I moved to the single firing range lane, I took stock of Blaik. The poor boy was a hot mess. His hands were shaking so bad he kept dropping a seventy-five round on the table. I smirked, staring at his hands. He had nice hands. Thin, but not bony. His joints were delicate, and the veins and arteries were popping out. I couldn't see any scars or blemishes beyond a tiny line of white going across the outside of his left pinky. His nails were trimmed properly and perfectly clean. He had beautiful hands. They felt perfect too. That part I found out by taking one and pulling him to his feet. The fingers were weak as they grasped mine. His eyes were landing on everything but mine. I was in complete control. I was in my comfort zone. Blaik wasn't though, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Without a word, I guided him to the firing lane booth, moving to go behind him.

Now, I will admit I was a tad aroused, but it was from the feeling of power I perceived, the power of controlling a boy who not thirty minutes ago had tried to control me. My arousal was certainly making itself known as it pressed into the cleft at the bottom of his buttocks. And God, did he breathe sharp the moment contact was made. He whimpered and pressed back into me, but I made no motion other than to press the pistol into his hands and guide them up. Blaik was breathing hard by now, and my breathing softly onto the right backside of his neck wasn't doing him any favors. He smelled good. I was certainly fully aroused by now, and he wasn't blind to that, as his valley started to fit around me, and his covered cheeks pressed against my hips. I took his other hand and raised them up, having them hold up the seventy five, while my gloved hands supported his naked ones.

At this point, I decided to throw him a bone. So, I slipped my left hand down and grabbed his, curling my fingers as much as I can around it through the fabric of his trousers. At the same time, I moved my hips forward, pushing against him. I earned a soft, little whimper as he dropped his left hand as well to support himself on the booth. His knees must've nearly given out. This was fun, and intoxicating. I moved my head forward, and flicked out my tongue to give the Kid's earlobe the lightest of licks. This time, he breathed out a moan.

He started to twist around, turning his body while keeping as much contact against mine as possible. I knew he was going to try and kiss me, so I kept my face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, alternating between lightly licking and pressing my lips against where I licked. He let go of the seventy-five, which I let drop to the booth, but kept my hold on it. He however had no qualms against wrapping his arms around my waist, and grinding my groin against his. I nearly let go right then and there. His warm breath tickled the short hairs above the tip of my ear. My left hand moved up to softly grip the back of his head.

Suddenly, something clicked in my mind. This was it. I had to do it right now. I pulled my face away from his neck, and stared at his eyes until they opened, revealing the aquamarine pools of ethereal beauty, heavily lidded with lust. I licked my lips, and began to move my face closer to his. He did the same, and closed his eyes. Once that happened, I made my choice.

In the magazine of the seventy-five was a battery that had a lifetime guarantee of fifteen years. When the magazine is loaded, inserted into the well of a seventy-five receiver, that battery is connected to the firing mechanism that activates an electrical pulse that ignites the propellant inside the cartridge. I moved the seventy-five up, my thumbing flicking the safety off and onto single-shot, engaging the electrical pulse firing mechanism. I pressed the muzzle of the pistol against the side of his head, angled at ninety degrees. The instant he felt the cold titanium, Blaik opened his eyes wide. Lust was replaced with fear. I wasted no time in pulling the trigger, but just before I exceeded the trigger pull weight, the Kid managed to blurt out in a small, pathetic whimper one single word.

"Wait ... "

That word was then drowned out by the loud clap of a seventy-five round being propelled out of the pistol and through the skull of the boy before me. The frangible round would expand almost instantly, breaking into numerous pieces. Those pieces would shred any soft matter in its path, but would ricochet off the interior of the skull. That reflecting disintegration, combined with the high-speed of the projectile in the first place (somewhere around a seven hundred meters a second) ultimately would reduce the now dead boy's brain to the consistency of slushy water. At least, that's what I believed would happen. I couldn't very well see what was going through the Kid's head besides the seven point five millimeter projectile.

What I did see was a twitching body slump to the left, sliding down the booth partition. Those otherworldly azure portals disappeared, replaced by ordinary white as the eyes rolled back into the head. A pinkish sludge oozed out of the hole, dripping onto the deck with a pit-pat. the right leg twitched for a few more seconds as residual electrical impulses spent themselves.

I sighed, letting out a breath I'd purposefully been holding, and a slight smile appeared on my face. I felt elated; high, even. Blaik's lifeless eyes stayed rolled up, his eyelids frozen open. I knelt, letting out a soft breath on his face. I slowly passed my hand over those empty orbs, cutting off the sight of them for the last time. Without knowing why, I suddenly leaned in closer, and pressed my lips against his still-warm ones, a chaste post-mortem peck.

I stood, only to find myself extremely uncomfortable. My groin was still aroused, and my length had shifted when I stooped down. I hadn't gotten a release from killing Blaik (I wasn't particularly fond of orgasming to murder), but the more I thought about the blackened, little, and raised nub of an entry wound leaking out what was once the brain of another Human caused me to become less aroused, to the point where I could shift myself into a more agreeable position. I placed the pistol in Blaik's lap, and walked away, picking up my PD and waving my hand over the panel by the hatchway. The lighters clicked off, and the sliders came back together with a slight hiss, casting what I'd left behind to rot in darkness. I sighed. My heart began to slightly speed up as thoughts of what I'd just done began to push to the front of my rational mind.

It was unbelievable. I didn't expect to actually be able to heartlessly kill another human being. This was one time that I'd outdone everything else I did in surprising myself as to how far I will go. Now that I was able to roll the taste of murder around in my mind, I realized that the only thing that could top what I'd done was me ending the life of two people at the same time. So on and so forth, until I concluded the only way to top me killing a Human was if I were to sentence the entire Human species to extinction. Wouldn't that be a fun event to witness. Except I wouldn't be able to witness it because the entire Human species includes me.

I walked slowly, playing my PD around in my fingers, lost in the morbid thoughts I started to enjoy entertaining. And morbid they were. I found I felt no guilt in killing a boy my age, especially one so attractive. If I could do that, what else could I do to an attractive face? I wouldn't want to tarnish that beauty. I'd probably mark the skin everywhere else. Maybe ... maybe if I removed the visage of beauty first, if I preserved it somehow, maybe I could do what I want to the body. I let a smile play upon my lips as I leaned against a support pillar.

I suddenly began to feel light-headed, and nauseous. My bottom hit the cold deck, but I barely registered it. I didn't have to be a medical genius to realize what was happening. I was dehydrated, and hungry. Since I had almost nonexistent fat deposits on my exterior, my body had begun to metabolize itself in order to feed itself. A ripping pain pierced my insides, but quickly subsided, and I was able to stand again after a few moments. I began to feel tired, but I knew I had to eat something before my body decided my brain started looking like a good idea for a meal.

Suddenly voices manifested themselves just around a nearby bend in the passageway. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but I didn't want to be caught in a moment of weakness. I crossed my arms against my chest, leaned against the pillar for support, and waited for the owners of the voices to turn the bend. But they never did. The hum of those voices stopped at just before the curve, and then retreated quickly back the way they came, before going out of earshot entirely. Intrigued, and just a little bit alarmed, I raced to peer around the bend. No one was visible. I took another step forward, and noted the impact of my boot against the deck. The hard bottom made a sound that was easily recognizable, but as I replayed what just happened in my head, I took a large breathe when I realized no such clacking of rubber against metal accompanied those voices.

I either hallucinated, which was terrifying in and of itself, or this certain sector was haunted, which may have been laughably terrifying, it was still terrifying nonetheless. I let out the breath, and started running at full tilt down the passageway, mirroring the path I'd taken to get to the Armory. Fear started taking over my mind. Tendrils of dread and panic tickled the back of my head. I ran even faster, trying to outrun the fear. I took one left, and found the travelway stopping a scant twenty-five meters away.

Then, my world turned dark.

10: IX

I was pretty sure I could feel myself drooling. That was extremely embarrassing. And I was laying face-down on something that wasn't particularly comfortable. But then I opened my eyes to find myself staring at what I recognized as the deck surface of the Ivanov. It took me some time, because everything was poorly lit via the rels, or red emergency lighters, placed at where the bulkhead meets the deck every couple meters, but I recognized it as the deck. I was kinda proud of that, because that meant my mental faculties were mostly in working order. I pushed myself to my knees, and tasted the air. It was acrid, smelling of burning plasts and something else that I wasn't able to identify. The smell was sweet, and had hints of rot, but I didn't know what it was.

It was quiet. Too quiet. My heart was calm, and my breathing steady and low. I looked towards the travelway stopping. I waited, but no sight of the passenger buses appeared. A knocking sound behind me stirred up small ripples of fear, but I couldn't see the source. There wasn't much to see, though. The rels didn't do much in the way of actually illuminating the area. The knocking got closer, but got quieter as it did so. I wished I had that seventy-five right now. It would bring me a lot of peace of mind.

Something started whispering in my mind, telling me to move forward, to step further into the darkness. I wasn't going to do that anytime soon, and said aloud, "Fuck you." I slid my foot back, and then my other, watching the end of the passageway carefully. I slid my foot back again, and my foot made contact with something. That something slid across the deck before coming to rest a good two meters away. In the limited light, I saw what looked like a cylindrical tube. As soon as I saw the object, the knocking noise and disembodied whispering stopped. I was scared, but also curious about what that thing was. Two steps put me within half a meter of the cylinder. I toed the object, pushing it slightly. Seeing there wasn't any reaction, I bent down and picked it up. It wasn't heavy, but it wasn't light either. I brought it over to where one of the rels were, and studied the object in detail. It was covered in a tightly woven fabric, with intricate circular markings along most of the length, but the colors were washed out in pure red light. I then noticed that the rest of the length of the object was covered in some kinda of braided taping; it was a smooth material, but as I gripped it there, what this object was finally entered my mind.

It was a sword. A true, authentic sword. I always wanted to hold one in my hands. I suppose I finally got my wish, but I didn't think it would've been granted at this specific, random moment. Swords were kinda my back-of-the-mind hobby, something I dabbled in very infrequently. I knew how to use one, but as I pulled the blade from the scabbard, I found myself wondering who I could kill with it. It wouldn't be hard, I reasoned. The blade was a meter long, white, single-edged and straight, with a shallow groove on both sides; but the very tip curved back ever so slightly, and had a reddish tint along the edge that seemed to glow faintly in the illumination of the rels.

I felt a presence behind me, so I stood and slid the blade back into the scabbard. I turned, and found to my surprise, that no one was there. I glanced towards the direction of the Armory. My entire body suddenly went numb. My hairs stood up on end, and I felt light-headed. The cold, slithering, and piercing daggers of terror once again snaked and wormed their way into my mind and heart. This was what unbridled fear tasted like. My heart thundered in my ears.

Blaik was standing there. At least, it looked like Blaik. I couldn't tell, because the rels threw the features of the figure standing just at the bend of the passageway into a exaggerated dance of darkness and red. Its face seemed to be constantly switching between something demonic (sharp cheekbones, jester-like toothy grin, and dark pits with a single pinpoint of brightness where eyes would be), and the sweet sanguine visage of the boy I murdered. I could see a black hole pinpricked on the left side of its head.

The whisper in my mind returned, urging me to draw the sword, to use it to strike down the apparition. That seemed like a good idea, so I drew it out. The whisper in my mind sighed as if out of pleasure. The heartbeat in my ears turned to a loud thumping as the figure at the bend in the passageway started to slowly step in my direction; each footfall a thunder in their own right. I let the scabbard fall to the ground and took the hilt in both hands, one just under the guard and one at the pommel, and adopted a relaxed stance with the sword in the direction of the advancing monster, but pointing at the deck. I was scared, scared witless, and I felt tear drops leak down my face. Somehow, I was able to keep my face blank, devoid of emotion, but inside my head I was screaming in abject terror. I had no idea what was happening right now, but what I did know was that I had a sharp object, and something very terrifying was coming my way.

Remember when I said that I don't do terrified, because faces got hurt when I was? That seemed like a good plan. So, when the figure was about three meters away, and the roar of its steps hurting my ears, I decided to put that plan into action. I stepped back, drew the sword back low and to my right, and then leapt forward. Curiously, the sword seemed to move before I even thought about it, and it jumped out to the monster, slicing upward in a diagonal cut. Three whistles accompanied the voice in my head laughing softly as the instant the edge of the blade made contact with the figure. It was a quick cut and I followed through the swing with a quick half turn and kick at the midsection of the creature.

And then I woke up.

Clenched in my hand was the sword from my dream. I pushed myself to my knees, staring at the bright white blade the entire time. A whoosh sounded behind me, but I ignored it, and walked towards the travelway stopping. No fear, only empty determination.

As if on cue, an empty passenger bus pulled up to the embarking platform on the other side of the travelway, the entrance hatch swinging up. I looked for the pedestrian bridge that would allow me to cross the travelway safely. As I climbed the steps and began to make my way across, I reflected on what just happened.

I thought it was a dream, but when you wake up from one, objects from the dream don't normally enter the real world with you. Perhaps it actually happened. If that was so, then how come I ended back where I originally woke up? How did I end up there again? I glanced at the sword in my hand, but I could glean nothing from the white metal. No answers were coming from there.

I thought about that demonic figure that seemed to represent Blaik Serwick. It obviously wasn't Serwick, because I was absolutely certain dead boys don't get up and walk around after having their brain turned to dripping mush. Maybe it was the soul of Serwick. I personally don't believe in ghosts, but what I just saw seemed to push that right out of the airlock.

I frowned when I reached the other end of the bridge across the travelway. That was hardly any time to think. I walked too fast. And as I glanced down at the sword I gripped tightly in my hand, and then back up to the innocuous bus waiting patiently for me, I tried to analyze the situation. But I couldn't. My mind wasn't working very properly right now, which was weird because I usually out-thought anyone and everyone I met. But, even though my mind was slow, my body was on autopilot, and I bemusedly walked towards the bus, feeling nothing but satisfaction as I did so. I wondered where the bus was going to take me. When I stepped inboard, I pulled out my PD and checked the screen, but no prompt appeared. I took a seat near the middle, by a viewport, and watched the stopping slide away.

I was sitting scrunched over, shoulders slumped. My elbows were on my knees and my breathing was slow. The sword was set beside me, its bright blade contrasting sharply with the blood-red plast seating bench. Discomfort in my belly made me once again aware that I hadn't eaten in at least five days. I was certainly dehydrated. It was wonder how I was still able to even move. I knew that a Human could last a week and a half without water. I figured I had about another five days before I would start to suffer for it. Had to eat something. But, despite my mouth being so dry and my stomach empty, I didn't want to. I wasn't feeling thirsty. I wasn't feeling hungry. I didn't feel like drinking something cold and refreshing. I didn't feel like eating something warm and filling. In fact, I felt nauseous at the thought. This was the longest I'd ever gone without partaking of something but I didn't really want to eat or drink. My body was screaming for it, for something, anything. But my mind wasn't interested. It was annoying, really. I had a mind and a body, and sometimes the things they each wanted were two very different slides.

I vaguely noticed passing the stopping for the Command Deck, and watched with passive eyes at the people milling about the embarking platform, waiting for a bus to arrive. There were two men vaguely resembling Nasyena and Rickard standing at the very front of the embarking platform. As they flashed by, Nasyena and I made the briefest of eye contacts. It felt liked eternity. I could see the way his mouth tilted down at the sight of me, his facial wrinkles distorting aws his head turned to track the bus I was in. Time seemed to stop. In that instant, I could see the startlingly armor-piercing gray his eyes were swathed in. I could see the four or five lines at the outside of his eyelids. Individual hairs were in sharp relief. The white upper lip had a very slight notch in the middle, and was pressed against a slightly larger and softer lower lip. I looked back up to those eyes. I saw emotions flit through them like one of those old 2D movies; surprise, then alarm, then fear, then back to alarm, and then suspicion.

I looked to Rickard, and studied his face. His eyes were fawn brown, with bits of hazel thrown in for good taste. His nose looked crooked as if it was broken but then amateurishly reset. His mouth- it was the same as Nasyena's; thin, upper lip with a cute, little notch and larger and softer bottom lip. I looked back to his eyes, and saw his brow was the same as Nasyena's as well. It was flush with their foreheads, but wide and flat. I noticed Rickard wasn't paying attention but tapping around on his PD.

I was going to look back to Nasyena, but time resumed, and the stopping flew past without the bus, well ... stopping. I glanced at the sword next to me, and then thought about Rickard and Nasyena, about the superficial similarities. I entertained the possibility of them being related to one another, but found I didn't really care. My mind wasn't operating at its normal speed. That might've had to do with the fact that I needed to eat. But I didn't want to. It's amazing how wants take precedent over needs these days.

These days. These days, I'd been in more situations than I wanted to be in. I wanted to curl up somewhere safe, somewhere ... hidden. Inboard a craft, on a planet, I didn't care. It could be a meter cubed sealed box floating in intergalactic space. If it was far from everything else, I wanted to curl up in it, and just ... exist without interruption. That would be nice ... But then thoughts of my time as commander of the Vexed forced their way, and I was forced to watch the memories.

My first executive officer, Fredrich's predecessor. He was ... he was ... well, he was ... I don't know what he was. But, he wasn't ... I ... I don't know what he wasn't, either. I had memories of spending time with him, getting to know him, becoming his friend, and becoming ... more than friends ... and then the memories end right there. I missed that boy. He was my only friend at the time. I missed him. I don't remember his name. I don't remember his face. I don't remember his touch, his smile, his scent, his ... taste ... I don't remember any of it. I can't remember it. I purposefully forgot it. I pushed him away. He was gone. I don't know what happened. The memories of his departure torment me. I don't remember if he died, or was transferred to another craft. I'm older but I can't stand the memories. They bring me such guilt and ... mental pain I locked them away into the pit. But they were the only ones to come out and torment me.

My head fell into my hands. I gasped because my heart had skipped a beat.

I don't remember that boy. But I remember his presence. It was sweet, like sacchar tablets. It was intoxicating, like 140 percent vodka. I liked those feelings I had when I was around him. But they were different from what I normally felt. I normally felt like I had to be detached from everyone. Keep everyone at arm's length, to not let them get too close. But this boy, he got close, more than close. He made me break down the walls, and let someone, anyone in; maybe even let him in. I let him in. I liked how he made me feel. But my mind rebelled. It wasn't how I was supposed to feel. I was supposed to feel cold, distant, and uncaring. But with him, I was warm, close, and compassionate. But it wouldn't last. He went away, and I don't know what I did to make it happen. I don't remember. I can't remember. I won't remember. I loved him. I pushed him away.

The guilt was too much for me, and I gasped again, except this time it was a quiet sob. I drew a small breath, and tears distorted my view.

That boy went away, and it was my fault. He's gone, and I'll never get him back. But the wierd thing was, this was the first time in years I thought about that boy. The thought of him, the near-forgotten memory of him, it came back to haunt me. I hated feeling guilty. But I knew I should feel guilt. It was my fault he's not ... here. It was. I couldn't bear the thought of not having him near me, but ... it was six years ago. But ... he's gone. I'll never get him back. The memory of what I did made me hate myself. If I could change everything, if I could go back and change everything, if I could turn back time to change it ... the chance of that happening ... it won't ever happen. I'm stuck with this, sentenced to feel the self-hatred, the guilt, the fear; I deserved it. I deserved every minute of it.

The tears started to flow freely. The sobs turned to wails as I cried aloud and drew my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them and buried my face in them. It muffled my pain-filled howls, but not by much.

I craved comfort. But I knew none was coming. No one liked me. I was alone. I deserved this. I deserved to die for what I did. I wanted to die. I should die. I destroyed him. It was my fault. And now ... now, I was getting the punishment. The mental anguish, it consumed me. This boy, who I hadn't thought about once in over five years was now getting his justice for what I'd done to him. I controlled his fate, and instead of putting it in my heart, I tossed it out. and now I wished I could take it back. But I couldn't. I wasn't getting out of this.

My tears soaked through the fabric, and I could feel the moisture seeping through.

I loved him. He loved me. He was my only friend, and I was idiot. I threw him away. I shut him out. After all he did for me, this was how I repaid him. I let him go. I fucked it up. I fucked everything up. I always fuck everything up. I fucked it up. I fucked up that battle with the Yeti. I should have suffocated. I should have died. I wanted to die. I fucked up and stranded everyone back in time. It was my fault. Everything bad was my fault.

Everything bad was my fault. I didn't know what would happen. I seriously didn't. I didn't know I would fuck things up this badly. I didn't know this would happen. But I would fix it. I had to. I had to, because me sitting alone in a darkened passenger bus wasn't going to solve anything. Suicide ... it would make everyone happier. They could do things without me. They don't need me. They'll be happy to see me gone. I'll pay for my sins, transgressions, my insults. They'll be better off without me. It was a win-win.

I wished I had someone to talk me out of it. But there was no one. No one there to put their arm around me and tell me it was going to be all right. No one there to wipe my tears away and pull me close to them; to whisper sweet nothings and random reassurances into my ear; to hold my hand and give me their sympathy and empathy. No one. I was alone. I would always be alone. I would die alone. I wanted to die alone. I would die alone. I deserved it, for everything I did. No one would miss me.

It was easy to feel sorry for myself, but this time, I had good reasons. I let him go. I let tens of thousands of people die. Through my actions, tens of craft with thousands of people on board were destroyed and killed. This wasn't teenage angst, but I deserved to feel like this. I deserved it. It hurt. I didn't want it to hurt. I wanted it to stop. And the only way to make it stop was to commit suicide.

I was tired. Crying had left me drained. I felt empty mentally, physically, and emotionally. I wanted to go to sleep. So, I curled up on the uncomfortable plast bench, and closed my eyes.

My PalmTab started to beep three or four times, but in a sudden fit of rage, I took it and threw the device clear across the bus to the front. I laid back back down facing the back of the bench, and sighed.

I wanted to sleep a dreamless sleep. I really did. But would I?

11: X

I dreamt of him and woke up crying. I kept my eyes closed. My body ached from laying on the bench, but I wanted to go back to sleep. I was uncomfortably warm, and it hurt a lot to swallow. I dreamt of him, of being together with him once more. It hurt. But only a little this time.

I pushed myself up to sit and wiped the sleep from my eyes. I sniffled and sighed. The bus was still barely lit and still moving. But the sword was gone. I was curious about that but I pushed it from my mind. I needed to eat and drink something. I had work to do. For one, I had to write an after-action report, not to mention I had several days' worth of logs to create. I tried to stand but my balance seemed off, so I let myself slump back into the seat. Another sigh escaped my lips as I remembered what I did to my PD. I couldn't stand up, let alone walk, so I sat back, and stared out the viewport. My mind was blissfully blank as I took in and subsequently tossed out the details I saw from inside the bus.

I took about half an hour to gather my strength enough to chance standing up. I had to hold onto the back of the seating bench in front of my for support because my legs were a tad wobbly, but that soon went away. I saw a light blinking near the front of the bus and picked my way through the bus to reach it. I looked the PD over and saw no screen or casing damage, so I guess I hadn't done to much to break it. These things were delicate, yet tough at the same time.

"I like purpleberries," I whispered aloud to no one. I really wanted some purpleberries. They were tart and sweet without really trying. The walk back to the bench was apprehensive as I stared at the Ivanov-local time. Apparently, I'd been asleep for twelve hours, nearly half the day. As soon as my bottom touched the formed plast, a prompt finally appeared, asking me where I would like to go in the Ivanov. I really had no idea. But then I was reminded of what a good idea finally getting something to eat would be. I tapped my way until I'd chosen the stopping for the Command Deck. A screen popped up informing me it would be a twelve minute and thirty seven second wait before the bus arrived at the stopping. I sighed and stood, running my hand through my short-cut hair. I absentmindedly rubbed my scalp while I thought about what yesterday.

I killed Blaik, my compartment attendant. I felt no remorse for it. He had it coming, really. He obstructed a critical tour of a damaged craft. As soon as I finished that thought, I laughed softly and smiled to myself. It was complete nonsense. My only saving grace in that situation was that I shot him in a strangely deserted part of the Ivanov. It was odd, that such a high-value sector of a war craft like the Ivanov would be completely ... empty. Now that I thought about it, there was no one. No one else. There should have been someone, anyone. Guards patrolling, crew going to and from random destinations. And there was that one under-lieutenant who got off with Blaik and I, but immediately turned around and got back off. Why did he turn around? Perhaps that sector was haunted. It would seem ... likely. My hallucination, and ... uncharacteristic thoughts about carving off some poor boy's face while he was still alive and kicking ... not to add in my ... experience ... with that faux-Blaik. And the sword! It was in my hand! I felt the braiding of the hilt in my hand, could still feel the coarse material against my skin. I doubt that someone could have entered inboard the bus without me hearing the hatches or footsteps. It was gone, just as suddenly as it appeared.

I saw back against the seat and closed my eyes.

I opened my eyes, and stared deep into the reflection in the mirror. My same, dark chocolate brown, boring eyes. My hair was dark, the same color as my eyes. My nose was thin. My lips always seemed ... puffy. Not puffy as in sore from making out for twenty-five hours straight, but puffy as in ... they were naturally like that. Fuck, the only going for me was that my face was angular, with pronounced cheekbones and not-insignificant jawline.

I heard a scrape to my left and I glanced out the hatchway into my compartment to find Blaik sitting on my rack, a peaceful smile playing on his cute face as he watched my uncovered form lean over the counter. I was surprised to see him sitting upright.

"Are you feeling all right, Blaik?" I had to test the waters, to see if he remembered me shooting him in the head.

He only smiled further. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" he asked innocently.

As I lifted and aimed the seventy-five in my right hand, I coldly said, "Because I shot you." The very last bone in my pointer finger pressed against the trigger. Just before the release, I whispered, "Let's try this again, shall we."

My eyes opened again, to find myself staring directly into a lighter in the overhead of the bus. I quickly shut my eyes, not so much because they were blinded, but because I didn't really want to see the real world after having such a vivid dream. It felt so real my mind rebelled for a moment against the fact that this instead was reality.

My mouth was dry as I smacked my lips against one another ran my tongue across them. I needed to drink something real soon. The skin of my lips cracked painfully. I looked out the viewport and saw the travelway stopping for the Command Deck. For the briefest of moments, I imagined Blaik leading me by the hand onto the stopping, a smile on his face. I turned and faced forward, sighing. If I wasn't careful, I would end up regretting killing Blaik.

My mind was blank as the bus pulled into the near-empty stopping. The reason was because Nasyena, for some reason wearing purple-tinted, rectangular glasses, and Rickard were standing exactly where they were some twelve hours ago. Nasyena had those same emotions on his face and Sath was once again tapping around on his PD. I stood up to leave and heard something slip off my lap and fall to the floor. I wasn't really surprised to find the items to be my Captain's Trimmings; the shoulder pauldron and half cape. I snorted and applied them to my uniform as I got out of the bus.

Nasyena said something that sounded like, "Dayzha voo." Sath, in a clueless and somewhat cute way, looked at Nasyena with a puzzled look on his face, which disappeared the instant he saw me approaching. What replaced his face was something that seemed closer to tamed hatred. I didn't really care. Let him stew for some reason or other.

I looked back at the bus as it kept its hatchway up, and then back to Nasyena. "What?" I asked, curious as to what he said. I stopped about two meters away from him.

He sharply gestured a small wave while replying with, "Nothing. Archaic term. Where did you go?" He regarded me with those steel gray iris'. I held his gaze.

"I toured the craft. I wanted to see the damage for myself," I lied. I toyed with my PD behind my back. My face was emotionless.

Nasyena took a couple seconds before countering with, "No you didn't. Your device's tracker showed you no where near the affected sections." His accent lilted some words and emphasized needlessly others. My PalmTab's tracker was turned off, but there was no way Nasyena would know that. I decided to call his bluff.

"Where did it show me being, then?" I kept my voice level and non-accusatory. Maybe if I reveal no emotion he would get as bored as I was at this and just go away.

He was silent for a moment before blurting out, "You're an idiotic children, one of the most ever."

I merely raised an eyebrow, and stared at the tall Pesciean through his silly purple glasses. I stated in a disturbingly deadpan and low voice, "Okay. Thank you for your counsel. I will keep it in mind." With that I broke eye contact, and walked around them, heading straight for the hatchway while lifting my PD to make it look like I was doing something important. The sliders parted, and I stepped through the threshold, only to be stopped by Nasyena's next words.

"You are no longer Captain of this ship. I am. There was a vote."

And there goes my appetite. My hands fell to my sides, and my PD clunked to the deck. I looked down to my feet. A couple seconds passed. I looked back up to where I could see the hatchway sliders for the Officer's Mess. I let out a breath. My dry tongue scraped across my cracked lips, and my shoulders fell. I felt a sinking feeling in my chest, and discomfort in my lower abdomen. I listened to my body's reports, but purposefully did not dare to inspect my emotion's reactions' to this ... development. This was ... unfortunate. Very unfortunate.

I reached up with my left hand, and pulled at the straps pressing against my chest. The half-cape slid against my back and fluttered to the deck. It was followed by the soft clattering of the pauldron. I drew a shaky breath, keeping my eyes on the deck. My eyebrows furrowed themselves at will. I didn't know what to do. I glanced back up to the Officer's Mess and let out the smallest of whimpers, but my eyes fell again to the deck. My only consolation was that no one had disturbed this little meeting.

I didn't say anything in reply. I just turned around and passed Nasyena and Rickard. I think Rickard said something but I wasn't listening. I just got back inboard the bus, and sat down where I was not five minutes ago. The bus peeled away from the stopping.

My mind was blank as I stared at the grey decking of the bus. It was blank for the thirteen minutes the bus was speeding down the travelway. I recalled nothing of the time spent. The bus pulled up to a stop, and the entrance hatchway opened. My body was on autopilot and my mind was along for the ride. My legs moved of their own accord. I vaguely noticed seeing signs about an observatory somewhere multiple times. It seemed that I was going to someplace that would assure me I was alone for quite some time. An observatory was one of the three places on the Ivanov that was a structural vulnerability, with the other two being the main propulsion thrusters, ventral single-ship bays. I remembered this from my research into the Ivanov before I boarded her.

I suppose I was grateful that I was reflexively heading somewhere no one else would go. Most of the crew aboard a war craft hated feeling the void so close. If they wanted to be so close to it, they reasoned over and over and over, then they would have bought a civilian spacer and sat staring out the viewport. They were comforted by the constant metal surrounding them. I understood the sentiment, even agreed with it a little,. but I didn't fully share the feeling. I, on occasion, have stared for hours on end into the void, taking in all the never-ending pricks of multicolored light against the black backdrop. The Observatory on the Ivanov was basically a bubble of heavily radiation shielded and transparent metal screen. It had its own shield specifically for the purpose of making sure it didn't get damaged. The Observatory bubble was about three meters in length, five in length, and two and a half in height. I was certain it wasn't damaged during the fight with the Yeti. Sure enough as I finally came upon the hatchway, the sliders parted and I crossed the threshold.

It was dark, and the only light, coming from the passageway behind me, was cut off, drenching the deck in darkness once more. The Observatory went all the way to the very deck, connecting the hull armor with the deck. The only illumination sources was the stars. There were no nebulae or supernova remnants to light up the grey-tinted, blood-red-trimmed hull armor of the singular, heavily-damaged war craft.

I stepped lightly to the center of the compartment, and sat cross-legged. I immediately felt the chill seep through the fabric of my Officer's jacket and sleeveless undershirt. I leaned back and my back touched the deck. I splayed out my legs and put my hands under my head.

I was so tired. My body felt so sluggish. My heartbeat slowed. My mind was blank. For two hours, I stared out at the stars, focusing on a singular cluster of stars that seemed so familiar. Then, when it should have taken only ten minutes instead of two and a half hours, I realized that about a week ago I was focusing on that particular cluster. I smilled, the action cracking my lips even further, but the sharp stab was barely noticeable. I shifted my eyes about seven degrees and fourty minutes away to a red point of light that confirmed what I was seeing.

I let out a breath that was supposed to be a laugh. I knew where we were. We were within a lightyear of where the last patrol I ever had with the Vexed was. Five days ago, or was it six, or even seven? There was me returning to Harkemur Command, me receiving command of the Ivanov, That unrememberable time between Task Force White Seven going on patrol and then the fleet action with the Yeti, which was ... yesterday? I don't know.

I sighed and pulled my arms from under my hand and laid them on my stomach. I was unimaginably hungry. My belly was so empty, so concave, that as it dipped into my abdomen down from my ribs, the skin was stretched uncomfortably. I was starting to wish I had more belly fat, if anything to just pad the area and make it not so ... uncomfortable.

My breath was shallow. I was so tired. My body was tired. My mind was tired. I was tired ... of life. I wanted it to end. Within a week, I went from the top of the galaxy to being reduced to a starving, ostracized, and worthless shell. And I literally killed the only possibility of me having a friend in this entire craft. Forgive me if I found it easy to feel sorry for myself. Ever since I was ordered back to Harkemur, everything went from bad to worse.

Oh God ... my home. It was gone. I ... I forgot about that. Entirely. I felt even more empty. I was ostracized, or kicked from the chair, as the term meant. I knew what that meant. I would be released from the military. I ... I had no where to go. Once the Ivanov was able to jump back to Harkemur, I would be before a convening board and then officially released. I didn't want that. That was the last thing I wanted, ever. But to have it happen to me ...

I sighed and closed my eyes, ignoring a quiet discomfort coming from my upper abdomen. I was cold, but I didn't allow myself to react.

I wanted to die. Or just ... go away. Why did Nasyena do that? He knew what it meant for me, for my career in the Space Force. But, he doesn't care, does he? He's already lived his life, and from the looks of things, he won't last much longer. But me ... I was still young. I still had my life ahead of me, and he threw it all away.

I sighed again, and turned to my side, placing my head on my hands. A single tear dripped out of my left eye and rolled onto my nose. The sensation tickled, but I did nothing about it, and waited for it to drip onto the fabric of the sleeve of the jacket I was now technically illegally wearing. I sighed again, the breath threatening to turn into a sob. But my mind blissfully went blank and I fell into sleep.

I didn't remember any dreaming, but just as I opened my eyes, I gasped and sat up straight. Nearly the entire field of view was black. I looked to my left, to the Ivanov's port side, and saw only a small sliver of the star field. The same went to the view on the starboard.

Then, a slightly blue haze barely obscured the view of the thing. The shield systems must have just been activated. Then the thing seemed to move down under the mangled prow of the Ivanov until I realized it was the Ivanov herself moving, not the thing in front of her. Suddenly, flashes of bright red from both sides of me streaked from the Ivanov towards the encroaching object. The streaks were from the Ivanov's main batteries, and I saw the glowing exhaust of the missiles trailing towards the object. They appeared to impact against the surface of the thing, but there was a bright blue flaring where the bolts struck at what I guessed to be the thing's shielding. The missiles did the same about ten seconds later and the observatory bubble automatically tinted against the bright flashes of the detonating shaped-charge thermonuclear warheads.

I studied the object as the flashes lit up the side facing the Ivanov. I willed myself to breath as I got a good view of white markings on the brown-grey side of the thing. If this thing had been an alien spacecraft, I think I would have been less frozen in my spot. But it wasn't alien. The craft was Human. The markings on the side proved that. They were letters. Main Arrennian letters.

The letters read SFAS GORGON.

12: XI

A quick flash of bright orange shot out of the craft near the center, and impacted not a hundred meters from where I was. I could feel the rumble of the reaction control thrusters as the Ivanov struggled to point herself at the object, which now seemed to be moving to the right. It was accelerating fast, and I thought it was the Ivanov turning, but a quick glance at the star field confirmed the Ivanov was still pitching upward, although not a second later, the Ivanov started to yaw, accompanied by a slight roll. The main and secondary anti-ship batteries to the sides of me stopped firing.

What was going on? What caused this? Even better, where the hell did this craft come from? Those were Main Arrennian letters I saw on the side. And from the glow of weapons' fire, I could make out the general shape of the craft; starting from a wide prow, the midships was narrow, maybe about half the width of the prow. And the stern was twice as wide. Those sections were pure rectangular cubes, like an H but with a smaller line on one side. All in all, this wasn't an Arrennian design. But it had Main Arrennian letters stenciled on the sides! I didn't know what in God's name a "Hiddra," or maybe "Hide-dra," or perhaps it was pronounced "Hoodra", was, but I do know that I knew each of those letters. But as for the prefix "SFAS" right before HYDRA, I had no idea what they could stand for.

I saw the blue glow of the craft's main thrusters as they struggled to accelerate it in a tangent away from the Ivanov. The spinal cannon must've been operational, because I felt more than heard a rumble that must've been the Ivanov's main thrusters firing. About three seconds later, the deck shuddered, and I saw with my own eyes what the power of a Mark-V Stormhawk Hypervelocity Cannon can do. For a brief moment, the blue film surrounding the other craft flared with dazzling brilliance; such so that the tint of theobservatory bubble couldn't begin to block out the light. As I lowered my arm, instinctively raised, I saw the aftermath.

The projectile had ripped through the other craft's midships section, and I could see, as the Ivanov fired her port maneuvering thrusters to slide herself to the right, straight through the hole created. Stars peeked through the hole piercing the burning decks of the other craft, and I felt a moment of elation as smaller explosions ripped along the messy little path the Stormhawk projectile made. But then the explosions died out and another flash of bright orange shot out from the craft and again struck the same place some hundred meters to the fore of me. The shielding flared but I saw it hold. I looked back up the other craft and noticed small pinpricks of azure streaming out of the dorsal and ventral of the craft. Immediately, the point defense flak guns opened up, filling the void between the Ivanov and the other craft with rapidly expanding balls of red. Some of the pinpricks exploded as if by themselves, before I realized the laser point defense system must've survived the battle with the Yeti. I picked myself up to my feet, and moved to the surface of the bubble, pressing a hand against the heavily tinted material to steady myself.

The SFAS HYDRA. What does SFAS stand far? Space Fleet Action Ship? Stars For Androids Ship? Shits Fucking Ass Ship? I honestly had no clue. This craft was Human, I knew that. There were Human design principles, such as main propulsion at the stern, weapons on the side, not to mention the general shape. All blocky, and hard angles were everywhere. The Yeti were usually more sleek, with sharp angles where they had them. They had missile mounts and coilguns and railguns and chemical-reaction propelled guns and gas propelled guns and anything and everything that made a solid object go from nothing to very fast in a very short amount of time. This craft seemed to only have that midships-mounted bright-orange-flash-shooter thing. And those blinking blue lights flashing around it.

The Ivanov began to yaw to orient herself to be pointed at the other craft. I guessed this was to allow as much of her surviving weaponry to be brought to bear against the other craft as possible. Another flash of bright orange shot through the flak clouds, but this time the impact was more to port than it was the previous two times. Nevertheless, the blue haze glowed brighter, as the shields struggled to radiate the imparted energy back out in to space. The Ivanov began to cant herself forward, and at the same time, move upwards in respect to the other craft. But the other craft wasn't having any of that, and rotated to keep the Ivanov on her broadside. Then, while spinning, the craft began to yaw to point her prow at the Ivanov.

It was right then that I realized that this void-fight was close range. The other craft couldn't have been more than ten kilometers away. I had no idea as to how much the other craft massed, but from the multiple angles of view I had been given, I could certainly claim the other craft was around seventy-five to a hundred ten percent the length of the Ivanov. And as the other craft finished its yaw, I realized there wasn't more than three to five kilometers of space separating the two craft.

The pinpricks of glowing blue began to zoom past, successfully dodging the point defense systems, and I finally could make out the shapes. Those things were single-ships, one man space-craft designed to combat other single-ships. I was a tad incredulous at that. The Ivanov didn't care any single-ships or single-ship fighters, so I was left wondering as to the sanity of the commander of the other craft for throwing away lives needlessly. And thrown away those lives were. Their weapons didn't do anything against the shields of the Ivanov but each in turn fell to flak and laser until only ten were left. These ten scurried back to the other craft.

However, while the single-ships' weapons weren't doing anything, the weapons on the other craft were more than effective. A blue circle decorating the prow glared brightly every couple seconds. I figured this was some sort of electromagnetic or particle accelerator weapon, because even though the munition coming from that circle wasn't visible, the effects it had on the Ivanov were more than clear. Paint had begun to bubble and pop and underneath the metal dully glowed a long strip stretching a good kilometer and a half along the length of the Ivanov.

I then noticed the other craft was moving farther and farther away from the Ivanov. I wondered why for a good ten seconds. I never figured it out, because on each side the blue circle on the prow, five orange flashes struck out, and disappeared from view as they went under the mangled prow of the Ivanov. For a second, I though they had missed before all along the central length of the Ivanov from the broken prow to only one hundred and seventy meters away, explosions blossomed and dissipated.

Dread. That's what immediately entered my heart. The Ivanov's spine had been broken. On either side of me, bright orange flashes destroyed what was left of the anti-shipping batteries. Then the point defense batteries and lasers were smashed. The Ivanov had been broken. Without preamble, I gave a short bark of a laugh. I didn't know how much time had passed when I'd fallen asleep in here but it couldn't have been more than an hour. But either way, this was some sportsy captainship Nasyena had displayed. I just hope he got killed during the fight. The Captain's supposed to go with his ship. That's what the saying was. And the Ivanov is gone. The Stormhawk was the spine of this craft. With it compromised, the entire craft, if torqued the right (or wrong, however you look at it) way, would split down the middle. And there was no saving a war craft after that. Scrap and spare parts.

I felt lightheaded at that thought. My body felt weak again, and my legs wobbled, unable to support my weight, however light. I wasn't able to control my knees, and they gave out. I slumped to the floor. I'd had a slight headache all day, but now my head was pounding, along with my heart. The pulse was more erratic than anything but I sighed again, wondering when I would die. I didn't expect the other craft to take prisoners. In any case, while I was too lethargic to move my head, I saw the other craft's profile begin to block out the stars again, this time coming much closer than it was before. I was laying on the deck, my arms splayed and my legs bent to the side. This position was comfortable, and I was getting sleepy again.

My eyes closed.

Some time passed. I don't know how long. Might have been a few seconds, or ten years. But I opened my eyes to the sound of the sliders opening. The other craft was still above us, I guessed, because the view was black with no stars. I turned my head, however much I didn't want to. My eyes took a couple seconds to focus on the figure striding purposefully towards me, the profile black from the light behind it. I toyed with the idea of it being from the other craft, but that idea was dashed upon steel as the frighteningly rage-filled visage of Sath Rickard became scarily clear.

Primal fear entered my mind and heart, and I tried to will myself to move, but failed. I could only watch his hateful face as he kicked me in the ribs. My mind was too busy with other things to worry about the crack that accompanied the second and third kicks. Sharp pangs of pain materialized on my right side. He leaned down to me and hissed, "This is all your fault," through clenched teeth. He then flicked his hand and a click sounded. My mind struggled to identify the sound before I saw the slightest gleam of metal and realized too late that clicking sound was from a knife blade being flicked open. It wasn't so much realization as it was feeling the blade pierce my skin and stab through my stomach. It hurt, believe me, but that was only the acid from my stomach leaking through the wound; all of my skin was numb for some reason. He stood up, turned around and ran away, leaving me to die, just as suddenly as he came. Just before the sliders closed together, I heard a large bang, followed by several smaller, but just as loud, pops.

I tried to move, to roll over, to do something. My side hurt something terrible. My sluggish eyes rolled downward to discover he'd left the knife in me. Wasn't that nice of him? "Goddamn," I mouthed noiselessly. At least, I think that's what I did. To a third-party, it might have looked like my lips flapped several times. Several more pops reached my ears. I think they were coming from outside the Observatory. Two more bangs, and a masculine scream that was cut off before another loud bang let off. Then another sound, a deep boom. That boom sounded near the hatchway, and I could feel the deck beneath me rattle. The pops were getting closer, until they sounded like they were coming from right outside the hatchway. I had no idea what those pops were. I just turned my head back to stare up at the starfield that had miraculously appeared in the last few seconds. It might've been minutes. But there was a new cluster for me to focus on, for me to recognize later on. I looked for an identifier, something that will help me remember next time. I found it, about thirteen degrees and some twenty minutes to the north; a large, bright u-shaped streak across the sky. Suddenly, the streak disappeared, and I was left bewildered, and set upon by a feeling of huge loss. I shut my eyes and wanted to cry, but then metallic voices filled my head.

"Room clear! Only one occupant and he's down."

Imagine my surprise when I could understand what was being said. The voices were coming from my right, the direction that Sath had come from. I thought he was back again, but another metallic voice disproved that theory.

"We didn't do this. Look. That's his knife."

His knife. Sath's knife. Yes, it was his knife. Wait, how did those voices know whose knife it was. Wait, what were those voices?

"Holy fuck, he was just a kid! Look at him-"

"Leave it. You know that Flee-" Several loud pops came from just outside the compartment. "-wants us on the command deck for the final push, double-time! They'll both be there. We need to capture them, remember?" A couple seconds of silence. "Move it, corporal!"

Then silence reigned as my mind blacked out.

I awoke to the feeling of something pulling the knife out of my gut. And that hurt. I saw red and white and black as I coughed. The pain was unimaginably overwhelming. A weird taste filled my mouth and dribbled out the side of my lips. I tried to curl up on my side but my side was hurting even more. A small, high-pitched groan sounded as my legs slowly spasmed from the pain. My eyes shut even tighter and my breath came in shallow gasps. I tried to scream out, but the pain in my head left me still gasping. I whimpered pathetically. My fingers clawed the deck.

Through the pain-filled shrieks in my head, more metallic voices pierced. "You want him, he's your responsibility, corporal. Don't fuck this up, it's your last chance."

"Yes, sir."

Responsibility? What ... ? Even though my skin was numb, I felt something tickle the inside of my elbow. I desperately wanted to scratch it, but for some curious reason my mind went blank as the pain was slowly filtered away. What was even more strange was the oddly comforting sensation of someone running their hand through my hair.

My mind went blank.

13: XII

XII

Hundreds of years ago, most of Humanity practiced a religion started by a mostly harmless man who was consequently nailed to a tree somewhere. This religion, among its more illustrious points, emphasized going to a wonderful place in the sky where you would live forever until you died in a war with the not-so-wonderful place; a completely opposite location. Haven, the wonderful place was called. Haven was filled with souls that had been saved, reborn, whatever. The guardians of Haven were the Angels, humanoid beings that were the definition of beauty. There was no sexual desire in Haven; had there been, those Angels would have been deflowered within a very short time. There were twelve Angels, Arch Angels, Guardian Angels, and Hell's Angels. Hell was the name of the not-so-wonderful place, and why a group of Angels would be called Hell's Angels when they were in Haven was beyond me; I didn't bother to ask, because arguing with an archeotheologist would be akin to trying to swim through solid metal.

Before, I didn't believe in Angels. The only remaining vestage of that religion I took part of was using the name of the singular diety, God; and that's as a curse. I'm not a very religious person. I'm only seventeen years of age, but I knew enough to figure out on my own that no God or gods are on my side.

My career as an officer in the Arrennian Space Force was over. For ten years I'd worked hard to get where I was. I'd commanded crafts from a simple Light Escort Recon Craft, one of the now decommissioned Venator-class up to my last command, the Viktoriya Ivanov IV, a Sabre II-class Fleet Assault Craft. Three craft I'd commanded, and four more I'd survived a tour on. I was responsible for the destruction of over four hundred Yeti craft. I'd commanded a fleet! But what has Nasyena done? In his file, I remember reading that he'd been the Secondary Executive Officer since the Viktoriya Ivanov IV was released from the construction yard. He hasn't served anywhere else. What right had he to call a vote to transfer the power of Captain? None! I cursed Nasyena's name over and over. He destroyed me. I can only hope to completely destroy him as he did me. He took everything from me. My life, my career, my entire world was taken from me by him. He didn't care. He doesn't care. He never cared, not about anyone but Sath, his bastard child. In my mind, I pictured ruining them both in thousands of ways. I wanted to systematically dismantle all he'd ever done and tear down his achievements. I would return the favor his child did me, and drive a knife into Nasyena's heart. If only to make him feel a thousandth of what he put me through. Those thoughts of revenge were half of what kept me going.

The other half ... for ten months I was in a coma. The starvation and dehydration, coupled with the perforation to my stomach and broken ribs, along with my exposure to vacuum ... it was simply too much for my body. It shut down, just about completely, to begin the repair process. My mind, however, was free. I was free to roam my waking mind. I found secrets, forgotten memories, untold stories, lost treasures, and precious keepsakes. I was locked in my mind, shut off from the outside. I was left to my own devices, my thoughts. I knew I was alive. I knew what I went through; the seven and a half days of zero caloric intake. I almost died. I should have died. I wanted to shout that to the galaxy. But I couldn't make a sound. At first, I tried so hard to move my body, to move my lips, to open my eyes, but in the end nothing. Nothing got out, and my senses were turned off.

Except when they turned on.

They turned on so my body could run tests on itself, to troubleshoot any new problems, to gather in information about my surroundings. And I honestly thought I was in Haven the first time I woke up. The first thing was the sensation of the softest material I'd ever laid on. The same material was on top of me, keeping me warm. The next sensation was my taste. I tasted my saliva, and detected a hint of mint. I began to hear things next. People talking, in Main Arrennian. I understood what was being said; insofar as understanding what the language was. The actual words were medical rankle-frankle mumbo to me. The smell was sterile, a cleaning fluid. That much told me I wasn't in a mythical place, but instead in a medical place, although the other would've sufficed. I couldn't guess if it was inboard a craft, on a station, or planetside; I wasn't able to feel the gentle reassurance of the softest rumble of the power generation system, of the utilities, or the main propulsion. The rack I was in was dampening all sensation outside of its warm and safe confines.

And then finally, my sight. It was bright beyond the dark prisons of my eyelids, but my eyes adjusted, and I opened them a crack, and laid eyes on an Angel. Everything about the face was beautiful. The skin was the palest of tones without looking sickly. The forehead was smooth. Forget what I said about Blake's eyes, this Havenly being had eyes that I could not look away from. The Angel's nose was typical Capital. The mouth ... his mouth was second only to the shocking blue above. The top lip had the notch, but it wasn't thin like Nasyena's or puffy like mine. It was perfect. The bottom lip was the same size if only a little bigger. The lips looked so soft, and they were so pink. His cheekbones were perfect, a cross between the soft cherubic roundness of a boy, and the shallow angles of the most perfect man in the universe. There were no lines or scars or marks tarnishing the perfection. Blonde hair so bright it was almost white. Forget what I said about Blaik, the eyes on this being were clear blue, bluer than the sky on Veyrgaei. The blue was bright, and shaded. Those iris' carried depths that I would lose myself in if I wasn't careful. I almost did the first time I peered into those two aquamarine windows. This was an Angel. This was perfection.

My heart quickened and my eyes opened a little more, hoping to drink in all of that Angel's beauty at once. Unfortunately, I got a little too excited about seeing an Angel in my midst, and all the blood that was rationed for one head suddenly went down to the other. I promptly blacked out, and my senses shut down. But I wanted them to turn on again. I wanted to see that Angel. I wanted to bask in his beauty for the rest of my life, and even for eternity if he'll let me. But I had other things to do. I had to find out where I was. If I was on a craft or station, my options were limited. I could just very well ask for a single-ship and be on my merry way. I didn't even know the method of FTL travel this craft used. Getting out was another matter, but it led back into not knowing a thing about my current location. I could worship the deck that Angel walks on later. I wouldn't be in this coma forever, so I had to formulate a plan of action.

What were my goals? To kill Nasyena and/or Sath? Literally, or figuratively? Why not both? Annihilate all they care about in their lives, and then let them die slowly and painfully. That would be the end result of my plan. Now, how would I go about doing that? What was my strategy? That was as far as I'd gotten. I had no idea where I was. I had no idea if I was on a planet or inboard a spacecraft. I guessed I could make a plan for both situations, but those situations would have to ultimately end in me leaving this place, preferably after finding out where Nasyena and Sath went. That is, if they hadn't already been killed. That possibility hadn't entered my mind before. There was nothing to support their death at the hands of those metallic voices. They wouldn't be able to die. They survived what happened on the TC3 of the Ivanov without a scratch. In fact, if I hadn't seen them with me on the TC3 during the battle, I would have been concluding they weren't on the TC3 at all when the Yeti dupro ripped through it.

My musings would have to wait, because right now, my senses are starting to activate. This time, my sight came first. I first looked for the Angel. Unfortunately, I saw nothing that looked like him. I almost decided to quit right there. Then I realized I don't quit, especially because someone wasn't there when I woke up. I got over the feelings of disappointment, and studied my surroundings. The lighting was dim, but not so dim that darkness reigned. There were soft blues and whites everywhere. After a couple seconds, my eyes focused and I could hear things. Someone called for someone else, but I paid no mind to it.

I was in a rack in a corner. The compartment seemed to be twenty meters long and some seven to ten meters wide. Racks lined the bulkheads and were spaced out two and a half meters apart, and most were empty, with the obvious exception being mine, and someone else who was sitting on a rack on my side and facing away from me. The skin had uncomfortable-looking welts crisscrossing the whole of his back. I wondered what his story was. But I tore my eyes away, and continued observing my surroundings. The bulkheads were a bluish-gray, while the overhead was solid dark blue. There weren't any windows or viewports I could see, so I wasn't able to ascertain if I was on a craft or on a planet. Medical paraphernalia lined the walls. At the far end of the compartment, a spoked wheel turned, and an oval-shaped hatch swung open to the inside. A man (not my Angel, unfortunately) in a buttoned-up white longcoat stepped through and made his way to the other person in the compartment. They spoke in low tones. I contemplated moving a single part of my body apart from my head. I knew everything was in working order, but there wasn't anything quite like trying it out for yourself. But, I couldn't. I shouldn't. I wouldn't. I knew just because I was able to do something that doesn't mean I have to. I could cause irreparable damage, damage that my body couldn't fix. I sighed, and let my senses slip back into themselves. I studied what I saw. The bulkheads weren't planetside plast and mortar. I was on either a spacecraft or space station.

Then, from nowhere in the black, a single name came to the forefront of my mind; Charlee. I tried to remember what he looked like, and for a moment feared that he would be in the same tender as the other boy. However, my fears were assuaged when his visage swam comfortingly in my mind's eyes. Pale, blue-veined skin all over, except for a few certain areas, a cute little nose, the thinnest lips I ever saw, and infinitely expressive emerald eyes, which were perpetually covered underneath a shaggy bangs; a blatant and rebellious breach of regulations if there ever was such a thing. He was tall (well, everyone to me is tall, but he was exactly two meters in height), lean but fleshy at the same time, and he almost always had a smile for the people he was friendly with. I first encountered him back when I first took command of the Vexed. He was posted in the fire control station in the barbette of Battery 4. I was conducting a craft-wide tour the day after I took command, getting to know the sector heads in the Arms Sector, when the one for Battery 4 came upon the boy trying to scurry past him, which was inherently amusing trying to see one of, if not the, tallest person in the Vexed trying to scurry. The sight and concept of this was absurd to me, so I inadvertently giggled. Unfortunately for Charlee, he heard this giggle and turned to look for the source, stopping in his way the instant he saw me. His hair had parted slightly as he tilted his head ever so slightly, and I could see a dot of green focus on me. For a full second we stared at each other until the sector head, for whatever reason, started to berate Charlee for something he apparently forgot to do. Before I could say anything, the Sector head grabbed me by the arm, and dragged me off to meet his girlfriend; who was, by despotism, his second in command. for the rest of my time in Battery 4, I kept an eye out for the tall boy with long hair and green eyes, but I wasn't able to catch sight of him again for another couple days.

Later, after the second and third shift had ended, I'd gone into my quarters, and looked up all the personnel in Battery 4; that was how I learned his name. His picture was one that must've been taken a while back, because his eyes could be seen clearly and showing obvious mirth. The next time I saw him, I had to corner him just to get him to speak to me. He asked what I wanted with him. I was confused by the kid's behavior; He almost looked like a caged animal and I remember that, for some reason, I was enjoying the fear in his eyes, but that good feeling went away as the fear in his eyes finally got to me. I inquired about what he did to have the sector head lay into him like that. He said that he didn't do anything, that the only reason the sector head didn't like him was because he'd caught Charlee looking at the other boys in the communal waterfall compartment. I wasn't particularly happy with the sector head when Charlee said that. So, I'd arranged for something to happen to the kid. I don't know what, as all I said was something, but I'm certain it must've been ... permanent, as I never saw him again. A couple days later, when I told Charlee he wouldn't have to worry about that again, he just simply hugged me for a very long. It nearing our sleeping shifts,so I just took him back to my quarters. We managed to make ourselves fit onto the single person rack, where I just held him as he cried. Eventually, I got to rubbing his back, and I made sure to give Charlee plenty of time to get used to the feeling before I started rubbing lower on his back. The instant my hand reached the bottoms of those fleshy hills, he looked up at me with such a vulnerable look in his eyes. What happened next ... well, I could clearly remember touching those lips, kissing that nose, and losing myself in his eyes ...

A softly whispered moan reached my ears "Charlee," and my mind was instantly on high alert, mainly for two reasons; one, I never said any name outloud for any reason, no matter what; and two, I could speak, and hear. And see, and feel, and move, too, and taste, let's not forget that one, but more on that later; I deduced this from the suddenly warm contact I without warning felt on my arm, my sitting upright in the rack, and my eyes springing open only to have blinding light flooding in to mercilessly sear my retinas. Just as suddenly, the light went away, but I was blinded for the two minutes afterword. I didn't blink, only kept my eyes as wide open as they were in the beginning, until a voice to my left made me snap my head in that direction, which made something in my neck snap, definitely giving me whiplash this time. I didn't notice anything about that, as I was too busy gasping for breathe like a madmax for some reason.. But then I was aware of my length flopping about in my motions to slide closer to the bulkhead next to me just to get away from that dark blob.

I cracked something else in my neck as I directed my decidedly still-blind eyes towards my groin. And seemingly impossible, my eyes got wider as I realized that not only was I completely uncovered once again, I had come to with an admittedly impressive and throbbing arousal, which was now going down, as I realized with a somewhat elated feeling that to my knowledge, for the first time in at least seven weeks, I orgasmed. Explosively. I figured that out from the sensation of something wet and warm dribbling down all over my face, neck, chest, stomach. And from the salty and somewhat bitter taste on my tongue as I instinctively tried to swallow before it clicked just what I was attempting to ingest, I must've had quite a stockpile saved up. I felt absolutely drenched, and I was certain that my hair had caught a few strands of the action. I looked up to stare at nothing in particular, and chuckled to myself.

Suddenly, I realized again I wasn't alone, and looked back at the blob. my eyesight wad returning back to normal, and I could make out the features of the intruder of my decidedly intense wet-dream. He was a white-skinned, little taller than me, young-faced, but had the prickles of someone at least ten years my elder. His full and pink lips were open and his light brown eyes were wide and unblinking. He was wearing some sort of dark, singlet fatigues that seemed to have light ballistic protection built into the fabric in the chest and limbs. On his hip he carried a sidearm of some design or other; I'm certain he carried another smaller pistol somewhere on his person.

After staring at each other for what seemed to be an eternity, he finale closed his mouth, swallowed, and managed to croak out one word. "Wow."

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