ADMIRAL
Shit! Where am I?!
“Leia! Answer me!”
Only a faint crackle echoes in my earpiece. Even the towering karst peaks around me refuse to return the sound of my voice.
The landscape is breathtaking. For a moment, I almost forget my pressing concerns—the vegetation is lush, far beyond anything I ever saw on Orio K-2 or Learbilar. The domes weren’t as vast, the gardens not as lively, the leaves not as broad and… glossy.
I run my fingers across one. I shouldn’t—it could be toxic, dangerous to my skin, cause burns or worse. But I don’t care. This is my world now, whether I want it or not. Well, I never wanted this... But it’s time I stop fearing everything outside my ship, outside my old world.
Life is rich here, and I can’t help but be awed. Ironically, this is exactly what I imagined when I signed up for this mission—when I agreed to lead a colonization effort. To be here, alone, in an uncharted environment, to stand where no imperial officer has stood before. A whole land to explore, trees to study, creatures to observe, leaves to touch… a land to—populate.
“Leia!” I try again.
“KKqeqq … Danopkad ggd …”
Nothing but distortion. Panic grips me again. I cannot lose contact with her. For a brief moment, I force myself to hope, to believe it’s just my receiver malfunctioning—that Leia has already dispatched drones to retrieve me.
“This can’t be happening… what’s wrong with you?!”
“Function inaccessible. Entering standby mode for fonnnnnnn… UNNECESSARY.”
Fear and fury seize me.
That damn AI—what the hell is she doing?! What’s happening?!
“What do you mean?! Unnecessary for what?!”
No answer. Nothing. Not even static. She’s cut communications. She’s abandoned me here, in the middle of an alien wilderness.
I glance at myself—covered in a thin layer of grime, the reeking stench of filth and piss from the cave soaked into my ragged clothes. I feel naked. I feel weak. I feel alone.
The trees around me remain just as beautiful, just as fascinating. The rocks, hypnotic in the way their layers have settled over time. But for the first time, I feel like something could emerge from them at any moment. And it could kill me before I even react. End everything. Leave this world in the hands of a rogue AI to do as she pleases.
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I clutch my head. No. She’s only making the most logical decisions for survival—to execute the tasks I assigned her. But damn it! Why cut communications?! That doesn’t consume processing power! It barely uses any electricity—it’s just a simple radio signal…
I retrace my orders in my mind: Secure the cryopods, maximize their recovery to the safe zone. That includes constructing—or carving out—a secure space. Then me, the Admiral, the one who commands it all, though apparently less and less in this vast, infinite land, informed her I would undertake an independent mission.
“Damn it! Of course she took it that way! Just left me to ‘integrate with the locals’! Stupid machine!”
I steady myself. The cave can’t be too far. There’s still a chance to reestablish contact. Yes—I just need to reach the droids, speak to them directly. Leia has to restore communications if I order her face-to-face!
The makeshift boots she gave me before I was thrown into Albion’s group have barely lasted a few days. And it’s not like I was trekking around the wilderness—I was locked in a cave. Now, I’m barefoot on the damp humus, blades of grass brushing against my soles. I think this is the first time in my life. It’s strange—not quite unpleasant, but unsettling. I’m afraid I’ll sink into it, like stepping into liquid. Afraid I’ll step on a thorn, something that will pierce my flesh.
No—just soft earth, a path likely worn by many animals. Perhaps even hunters? I couldn’t have strayed too far from the cave where the others are imprisoned—my sprint didn’t last more than a few minutes. So I force myself to retrace my steps.
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ALBION
We’re lost—doomed to die here, rotting in the stench of burnt flesh. Elinak and Ptojé… Some of the others have come to speak to me about them. Some are crying. Others, eyes wet with grief. We’re all worn thin.
“Damn…” someone sobs. “Ptojé was amazing…” He wipes his tears on his filthy sleeve. “You know, she loved playing cards in Benamire. It’s a shame you never got to play with her.”
I place a hand on his shoulder. I hold my tongue. Yeah, well, it’s too late now, I think bitterly.
A woman joins in.
“Ptojé… to think she’d end up like this. It’s just…” She hesitates, searching for the right words. “It’s horrific. Abhorrent.”
A third voice—Andros, a burly man—demands answers.
“Albion! What the hell do they want with us?! Why are they letting us die like this?!”
Anger boils up inside me. Doubt. Rage. Frustration. Injustice. A woman’s hand rests on my shoulder. I expect it to be Salina—she always does this. But no—it’s my new ally, the sharp-eared woman. A fresh source of support these past few days. An indispensable one.
“We don’t know, Andros…” I start.
Lyrel finishes for me, her voice dry with resentment.
“Unfortunately, those sons of bitches didn’t feel the need to share their plans with us. Or what fate they’ve decided for us.”
Yeah. All we can do is hope. Hope and wait for this “Admiral” to come back—with reinforcements, anyone, even the damned Inquisition—as long as we get out of this grave.
But despite Lyrel. Despite my own words. The rage won’t settle. My nerves won’t calm. My veins still pulse with fury.
I watch the Bavils—their eyes, the only sign that they’re actually alive. The eerie glow that proves they can move—terrifyingly fast, if needed. But I see it now. A flicker. A tremor.
I rise to my feet. If I’m going to die, I refuse to rot away like a corpse before my time. If it ends, let it be with one of these bastards punching my skull in.
Salina sees me. Lyrel. Groboln. Everyone in the cave watches as I stand, as I stride toward the exit. Maybe one of them will take the chance. Maybe someone will slip through in the chaos.
“Albion!” someone shouts.
I don’t turn back.