From a quiet, empty room on the Rebellious Nature, Konstance stared through a large rectangular window into deep space. Fluorescent clouds made of yellow, orange, and green gases populated the otherwise desolate blackness. Even the smallest eddy amongst them was over a thousand kilometers in diameter. The Rebellious Nature - at only four kilometers from bow to stern - was practically a flea in comparison.
The inside of Konstance’s head felt foggy. His thoughts couldn’t seem to entirely finish forming before quickly falling apart. Frustrated with the unwieldy state of his consciousness, he turned away from the window and filled his lungs with as much air as they could hold. Upon feeling them tightly press against the inside of his ribs, he slowly released the large breath in a controlled exhale. Repeating this process four more times, he gradually began to corral his scattered awareness.
“What's the likelihood I was born in this system, Thyme?” he asked.
The question was more of a ritual than a serious inquiry. While waiting for his AI companion to reply, he ran a hand down the left side of his jawline and appreciated the smooth feeling of his freshly shaven skin.
One point two percent, sir, responded a bright voice in his head. Provided the data gathered from my scans is correct, it is unlikely that you were born anywhere within one billion kilometers of your current location.
Konstance nodded absently. His damp hair lay limply on top of his shoulders and down his nape. As the tangy scent of apricot drifted past his nose, he wondered whether the hot shower he had just taken had improved or worsened his nausea.
“Thank you,” he said to Thyme.
His mind still wasn’t working correctly; it felt like a newborn foal struggling to coordinate its legs. Suddenly, a pair of doors slid open to his right and a slender female entered the dimly glowing chamber. Her dark brown hair was neatly tied back in a ponytail.
“How was your sleep?” she asked.
She carried herself with the graceful, sturdy poise of a prima ballerina.
“Long,” said Konstance.
He regarded her curiously.
“What business do we have in this system, Vylik?” he said.
Vylik smiled; her left eye was an intricate assemblage of constantly shifting, silver machinery.
“We’re picking something up,” she said. “Something valuable.”
“I wasn’t aware that the Tropical System had anything of value,” he said.
Maintaining her smile, Vylik moved closer to Konstance and tucked a long strand of hair behind his left ear.
“It’s good to see you again, Konstance,” she said.
As her smile faded, she looked intently into his eyes.
“You don’t feel ‘not like yourself’, do you?” she said.
Konstance frowned; her question unsettled him.
“My head feels a little foggy but that’s just part of the awakening process,” he said. “Besides that, I feel fine. Why? Did something happen?”
She quickly shook her head.
“No,” she said. “Nothing happened.”
Konstance looked at her quizzically.
“I just wanted to make sure that you feel … normal,” she said.
Though the way she was speaking was peculiar, Konstance wasn’t sure how fruitful it would be to press her any further - at least while he was still in a post-cryosleep fugue.
“I feel fine, Vylik,” he said, hoping to assuage her. “Other than feeling a bit less intelligent and more nauseous than I normally do.”
“Perfect,” she said, clearly satisfied with his reply.
Konstance recalled that, technically, it had been three years since they were last in each other’s company. As he held her gaze, he sensed the familiar “tug” that made her the center of his orbit.
“I’ll be holding a meeting in four hours,” she said.
“I’ll check over the Weapon System in the meantime,” he said. “It most likely needs some recalibrating.”
“Aren’t you still feeling nauseous?” she said.
“The Weapon System is more important than my subjective sensory experience,” he said.
The corners of her lips turned upward.
“Then I’ll see you at the meeting,” she said.
After exchanging one last glance with him, she departed the chamber as she’d entered it.
“We arrive at Omalia in three days,” she said, just before the doors closed behind her.
Konstance’s eyes remained fixed in her direction long after she’d disappeared from view. His dark eyebrows furrowed.
What’s the latest news on Omalia, Thyme? he asked internally.
Allow me to compile the latest research on the planet, Omalia, sir, said Thyme. One moment.
Konstance stared down at the plain, gray coverall he was clothed in.
Also please provide me something that’s currently in fashion on Talos, he said.
I’ll have an outfit woven for you right away, sir.
Konstance moved to the wall to his left and traced a series of Talosian glyphs onto a small holographic interface. Placing his left hand on an adjacent screen, a section of the wall shot out and revealed a cylindrical, transparent elevator. He stepped inside it. Upon sensing his weight, the wall retracted behind him and the elevator began to descend. Bright streaks of color flew past his view as it accelerated downward.
I’ve finished gathering my research on Omalia, sir, said Thyme. Would you like to hear it?
“Does it explain why we’re here?” he said.
Yes.
“Then yes.”
The elevator momentarily fell past an enormous hangar containing a long row of identical chrome-colored shuttles. A large Mech was currently fueling one of them. I wonder if Xenos finally finished that sim I requested, he thought.
It appears that within the past century Omalia has become quite adept at genetic modification, said Thyme. As a result, they’ve managed to introduce many useful and unusual traits into their populations’ genetic pool. Of course, as with all new enterprises, there are occasionally “mistakes”.
“Ah. I see. These ‘modifications’ don’t always go as planned.”
Correct. Genetically-modified Omalians the Grand Council deems as mistakes are sold to passing starships. They refer to these mistakes as “Unfits”. Ultimately, this practice, though undeniably dubious, has become a quite lucrative one.
“But why buy an Omalian the Grand Council has deemed a mistake?”
Each ‘Unfit’ possesses a unique ability, one the Council either believes too dangerous or incompatible with Omalian society. Some of these abilities, however, appear to serve advantageous purposes off-planet; Whether as biological weapons or mere wonders, it seems ‘Unfits’ cater to a variety of intergalactic interests.
“And one’s caught Vylik’s?”
“Apparently, yes. According to a log I’ve found in the ship’s database - three years, three months, and twelve days ago - the Grand Council of Omalia officially signed a contract transferring ownership of an Unfit named “Seirene” to the Rebellious Nature upon its arrival. Unfortunately, I am unable to locate any more details on this matter.
“Well that’s interesting.”
The elevator passed by several long chambers teeming with green vegetation. The artificial sunlight illuminating them made Konstance’s eyes squint.
How long have the others been awake? he asked.
Crew member awakenings have been staggered, said Thyme. The earliest was four months, twenty-seven days, and fourteen hours ago; the most recent - excluding yours - was one month, twenty-two days, and three hours ago.
Konstance frowned.
“I was the last one awakened?”
Yes. Captain Vylik had you remain in cryosleep the longest to ensure full recovery from your injury.
Konstance felt something drift into his mind. He could sense its outline but not its contents.
“What injury?” he asked.
One received while sparring in the Simulated Experience Chamber, sir. There was an explosion.
“Was I the only one hurt?”
Yes. Your suit absorbed eighty-nine point seven percent of the impact.
He frowned.
“I don’t have any recollection of that event, Thyme.”
An aftereffect that was expected. Bernard predicted that the severe trauma you experienced would trigger acute retrograde amnesia when you awoke. I can assure you, however, that you have no need to worry about your general health; according to my scans, your body and brain are both in excellent condition.
“I think your scans might be bugged, Thyme, because personally I feel like shit.”
Completely natural, sir. Persons who awaken from cryosleep typically experience feelings of nausea for ten to twelve hours post-waking.
“This elevator isn’t helping either.”
Would you like me to stop it, sir?
“No. I’ll be fine.”
You will arrive at your destination in thirty-one seconds.
Play something calming until we get there, he voiced internally.
The sound of a babbling brook spontaneously arose inside his head. Folding his arms, he closed his eyes and leaned against the cool curved wall of the elevator, saying nothing for the remainder of the trip. Once the mechanism had come to a stop, he reopened his eyes and exited it.
The room he entered was a perfect sphere. Walls made entirely of a single unbroken screen relayed a view of the ship’s surroundings in every direction. A narrow, illuminated walkway extended forward from where Konstance stood to a structure in the center that seemed to be floating in midair. The structure was a sleek black chair surrounded by two large metal rings, one set within the other. Large transparent panels hung in front of each arm of the chair.
Konstance strode across the narrow walkway and nimbly slipped inside the rig. Upon sensing his weight, the structure around him started to hum. Seconds later, lines of colorful code appeared on the panels to either side of him.
Would you like for me to release the locks, sir? said Thyme.
Fastening a final strap, Konstance finished securing himself in place. After tracing a small symbol onto the left panel, the walkway he’d used to enter the rig retracted away.
Yes, he said.
Following a faint hiss, the chair began to angle itself toward wherever he looked. He cursorily surveyed the screen surrounding him; the nearby gas clouds appeared like bright splashes of color on a black canvas. Around and between them - like tiny jewels - far-away stars twinkled yellow, white, and pink.
“Initiate the Neutron Cannon Activation Protocol for me, Thyme,” he said.
Beginning initiation of the NCAP, replied Thyme.
A graphic of the ship’s Neutron Cannon mounted on top of the ship, followed by a long string of glyphs, materialized on the right panel of the rig. Konstance studied it intently.
“It would be irresponsible of me to fire a shot, yes?” he said.
Based on the weapon’s current positioning, sir, firing a charge would most likely result in damage to a planet or ship or, possibly, both. I would strongly advise you against performing such an action.
“Then please initiate the Deactivation Protocol,” said Konstance. “No anomalies or abnormalities detected.”
For the next two hours, Konstance meticulously recalibrated the ship’s Weapon System. Fortunately, it had needed only minimum tuning; clear signs suggested that someone else had already done a hasty audit of it, but, in this haste, he or she had missed quite a few optimal commands and adjustments. While this couldn’t necessarily be deemed a “mistake” on this person’s part - to Konstance - the slight inefficiencies in the system had been glaring.
After finally finishing his calibrations, Konstance hauled himself out of the rig. A new walkway - this one emerging from the far side of the room - speedily extended itself toward him; before stepping onto it, he waited several minutes for his vision to stop spinning. Gradually, he lost the sensation of rotating on a constantly shifting axis and his bearings grew fixed. He traversed the walkway, arrived at a new section of wall, and traced a single glyph onto it. A large panel retracted and slid to the left, revealing a small chamber with a large hollow tunnel running through it. He entered it. The tunnel extended to the left and right as far as he could comfortably view in both directions.
“Hello, Konstance,” said a voice from above. “I see you’ve made some adjustments to my offensive capabilities. Thank you.”
Konstance looked up at the ceiling despite knowing that the ship’s AI would hear him no matter where he directed his voice.
“Just some tweaks, Del,” said Konstance. “I need transport to the Experimental Wing.”
“Sending you a car as we speak,” said Del. “ETA is fourteen seconds.”
“Thank you, Del.”
“You’re welcome, Konstance.”
A sleek, aerodynamic car soon slowed to a stop within the tunnel in front of him. Following a click, the car door opened vertically. Konstance boarded it and sat in one of the two front seats. Once he’d secured himself, the car resealed itself and accelerated forward.
Who was with me when the accident occurred? he said internally.
‘Accident’, sir? said Thyme.
In the SEC, the explosion, he clarified.
Natalya, Lubov, and the captain were with you.
What happened exactly? What caused the explosion?
One of Natalya’s prototypes malfunctioned unexpectedly; unfortunately the one you were carrying at the time.
What was it?
It was a gun, sir. The weapon’s fusion core destabilized after receiving multiple direct hits from an electron rifle. Luckily your suit was only lightly damaged prior to this, allowing it to protect you from a majority of the impact.
“But not all of it,” he said out loud.
No. A high amount of thermal energy struck your left leg, arm, and abdomen. Thankfully, Bernard either fully repaired or replaced all of your damaged tissue.
He stared closely at his left hand, opening and closing it repeatedly. And I would never have known, he thought.
All of a sudden, he felt a slight pressure build inside his skull. He frowned, all thoughts about his prior injury dissolving. The new sensation felt familiar, yet just as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished. He waited, wary of its return. Only when several seconds had passed and it seemed it wouldn’t, did he finally relax. He turned and looked out the window, letting the changing blur outside the car hypnotize him.
Some time later, the coach decelerated and came to a halt. There was another ‘click’ sound as it latched itself in place.
“The Experimental Wing,” announced Del.
Turning, Konstance saw a long brightly lit hallway to his right. After unbuckling himself, he exited the car and entered the corridor. His footsteps echoed down its length. On either side of him, the walls contained strange displays set behind glass: some were very clearly weapons from a more primitive human era; others - fossils of extinct aliens; the great majority were enigmas, but, aesthetically, all were undeniably fascinating.
Konstance reached the end of the hallway and placed his hand on a screen set beside a large, reinforced door. The sound of heavy pressurized locks releasing followed, and the door, actually six consecutive doors, slid to either side in alternating directions. Konstance proceeded forward and entered a hangar filled with a myriad of distinct objects; hanging single-person spacecraft, half-constructed automatons, and translucent tanks containing glowing chemicals were just a few of the many things which populated the room. The two persons within it froze when they noticed him. One, a human sitting in a corner to the left, pulled off a protective visor and stood; she had dark purple hair tied back in a bun and a sleek mechanical left arm. She grinned at him. Her upper canines were sharply pointed.
“Hey, Konstance,” she said. “Nice to see you.”
Konstance smiled at her warmly.
“You too, Nat,” he said.
The room looked significantly different from how it had during his last visit. Which was three years ago, he thought. It was a disconcerting realization.
“Looks like you’ve been keeping busy,” he said.
The mechanist shrugged.
“Had to pass the time somehow,” she said. “I certainly envied you at times, that you were still sleeping while I was awake – like some cursed princess.”
“I think we both would have preferred the reverse,” he said, “but I guess my injury precluded that.”
Natalya’s expression soured. She looked away and began searching for something on the table to her left.
“Yeah I guess it did,” she said. “You, uh, feeling all good now?”
Although she asked the question casually, her body was tense.
“Still nauseous from Awakening Sickness, but, besides that, yes,” he said.
Konstance frowned. There was no need for her to feel guilty about what had happened to him inside the SEC. Accidents during live scrims had occurred before, and Konstance had been fortunate enough to make a full recovery. As far as he was concerned, he and the rest of the crew were best off forgetting about the mishap entirely. A three-meter-tall Mech approached him from across the room, interrupting his train of thought.
“A pleasure to see you again, Konstance,” it said, in a resonant, robotic voice. “I hope to have the honor of accompanying you on the upcoming mission to Omalia.”
Konstance craned his head upward to address its headpiece.
“We hope for the same thing then, Chairo,” he said. “Your presence is always a great comfort in foreign environments.”
Chairo’s body consisted of hundreds of obsidian-colored plates seamlessly fitted together to form a formidable humanoid figure. Natalya had ingeniously designed his appendages such that they could rearrange themselves into a variety of weapons. The current configuration of his left arm, a medium-range plasma cannon, emitted a continuous bassy humming noise. As Konstance surveyed Chairo’s body further, he noticed subtle alterations in the Mech’s exoskeleton that had not been there three years prior.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“I see Natalya’s made a few modifications to you,” he said.
He was intrigued.
“To protect the crew more effectively,” said Chairo.
“AKA to obliterate any hostile presence before it can even register its own obliteration,” added Natalya, walking over to them.
She wiped red grime from her hands with a dirty rag.
“Sure you don’t want any?” she asked Konstance.
He shook his head.
“Not yet.”
While he acknowledged that cybernetic arms and legs significantly improved the wearer’s strength and speed, he had long resisted trading any of his healthy biological parts for mechanical ones. He knew that he would have to do it eventually, but, until his organic limbs weakened substantially, he would postpone it indefinitely. Konstance liked the vulnerability of his natural body. It was a reminder that he was in fact human, living - not some soulless robot.
Del’s voice sounded above them: “Captain Vylik has requested your immediate presence in the Command Chamber. Please make your way there immediately.”
Konstance looked at Natalya.
“You know anything about this mission?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Vylik’s said almost nothing about this one,” she said, “so either it’s routine - or super fucking dangerous.”
…
Vylik stood in front of an immense conical-shaped window. The Command Chamber was situated in the most forward extremity of the ship, making it so only space could be seen through the transparent hypercarbon behind her. Against the black of space, the soft glow of Vylik’s bionic eye grew perceptible.
Seated near the chamber’s entrance, Konstance scanned his surroundings calmly. His fellow crew members dotted the room. Chairo and Natalya stood directly in front of the doorway; side by side, the Mech made Natalya look like a child.
Bernard sat a few meters away to Konstance’s left and flashed Konstance a wink as their eyes met. His well-groomed beard and silver slicked-back hair gave him an air of sophistication.
Danek, the ship’s linguist, leaned against a railing beside Bernard and absently levitated three small cubes with an electrokinetic glove. He gave Konstance a slight nod before returning his focus back to the cubes. Intricate crimson tattoos traveled up both of his arms and across his neck, sharply contrasting with his pale skin.
The ship’s botanist, Irina, sat to Konstance’s right and cradled an open thermos containing a steaming liquid. Her straight blonde hair fell precisely to the middle of her neck. Though it was not immediately noticeable - due to the boxy shape of the glasses she wore - she had dark circles beneath her eyes. Nevertheless, she had offered Konstance a cheery smile when he’d first entered the chamber.
Xenos, the ship’s programmer, sat perfectly upright in the center of the room, simultaneously interacting with a thin translucent tablet and a floating hologram. He had yet to acknowledge Konstance, but Konstance was neither surprised nor offended by this. Someone had braided his light blue hair. He looks more gaunt than I remember, he thought. Xenos had always been thin, but now he was starting to look skeletal.
Finally, the ship’s ordnance specialist, Lubov, sat by himself along the far wall. He was a sizable man with close-cropped hair and the tallest person on board excluding Chairo. A jagged white scar stretched from the left edge of his lip to the top of his ear. When Konstance had asked him how he’d gotten it years ago, Lubov had said that he couldn’t remember. He’d also added that, before he was hired by Vylik, he’d had a significant memory block procedure, likely explaining his ignorance about the scar’s origin.
Currently, Lubov held a brass Zippo lighter in his right hand. The device was a relic from a bygone era. Over and over again, he swung it open and swung it closed. This repetitive behavior, coupled with his distant gaze, made it clear that Lubov was somewhere other than the Command Chamber right now. Something’s different about him, Konstance mused. It was starting to become obvious that Konstance had missed a great deal while asleep.
“Today, I will finally be sharing with you all the reason why we’ve come to the Tropical System,” began Vylik. “Our ultimate destination is the planet, Omalia.”
A three-dimensional graphic of the Tropical System generated itself in the center of the chamber. A few seconds later, the graphic expanded and focused-in on a single lilac-colored planet.
“We have one objective when we reach it,” continued Vylik, “and that is to safely retrieve a very valuable ‘Unfit’. She is a genetically modified female Omalian whose blood is remarkably unique. All who ingest it experience a prolonged period of unparalleled euphoria. Supposedly, it’s better than any drug that’s been invented to date. But while the high is unimaginably pleasurable, the aftereffects are extremely destructive. The blood gradually shuts down the pleasure center of whoever ingests it. Once this has been accomplished, it then modifies the center to only respond to more blood. In other words, its victims are no longer able to experience pleasure by any other means, and, therefore, become willing to do almost anything for just one more drop of blood. Realizing the danger she posed to their society, the Grand Council deemed her ‘Unfit’ four years ago and subsequently locked her away. A few months before we underwent cryosleep, I purchased her. She is our new mission. Once we have retrieved her from Omalia, we will be transporting her to a distant set of coordinates, coordinates which, for the duration of the mission, will be known only by me.”
She briefly paused and looked around the room. Konstance noted that, like him, several other crew members bore a bewildered expression.
“I understand of course that this is unlike any other mission we’ve undertaken, but I’m asking you to trust me,” she said. “It is extremely necessary that we successfully deliver this Unfit.”
“I take it the reason for that is ‘classified’ as well?” said Bernard.
“Yes,” she said, maintaining her bullet-proof composure.
A thought suddenly sprang into Konstance’s mind.
“We aren’t the only ones interested in acquiring this Unfit, are we?” he said.
Vylik turned to address him directly.
“We are not,” she said, “but we will reach Omalia first and leave well before any of these other interested parties arrive.”
“What if one of these parties arrives earlier than anticipated?” he asked.
“They won’t,” she said assuredly. “The nearest A-class vessel is at least a week behind us, and, based on its current trajectory, it most likely won’t even be docking at Omalia. At this point, nothing can overtake us.”
A Wraith could, he thought. They’re also notoriously difficult to detect at long distances. A Lightstreaker was capable of reaching a top speed of one fifth the speed of light, but there had been - within the past century - the advent of a new ship, one which was able to reach a top speed of one third the speed of light. This model of ship issued from Mithar - the richest and most powerful of the five Kyrothan Colonies; it was the brainchild of a brilliant collective of physicists and engineers, who ultimately gave it the portentous name, “Wraith”. Strangely, it could only maintain its top speed for a limited amount of time. While there was much speculation about the exact amount, the general consensus was that it was somewhere between two to three months.
Vylik began to speak again.
“Konstance, Lubov, Chairo, and I will descend to Omalia’s surface to collect the Unfit while the rest of you will remain on board the ship.”
Natalya will probably want me to get something for her, thought Konstance. Some tool or weapon crafted by one of their most skilled artisans. It was Natalya’s belief that the most beautiful machines were ones which hid their complexity in the guise of simplicity. Her curiosity with anything was never satisfied until she had seen and fastidiously inspected its interior; perhaps this was part of the reason she had been the first crew member to talk to him all those many years ago.
“Does anyone have any further questions or concerns?” asked Vylik.
Silence filled the chamber. Konstance wagered that this wasn’t because no one had questions or concerns, but, rather, that - even if they were voiced - they most likely wouldn’t be answered or addressed.
“Then you’re free to leave,” she said.
The door behind Chairo and Natalya silently slid open. Konstance stood and stretched; his body still ached from cryosleep.
“Hi, Konstance,” said Irina, now also standing.
She was close enough now that he could smell the aroma wafting from the open thermos she held in her hands. It was simultaneously smoky, sweet, and spicey.
“What’s in there?” he said.
Irina smiled proudly.
“A new synthesis I’m calling Quoris,” she said. “I created it two months ago after mating three different species of flora I collected from the Quoridian System. It does a few things but mainly it balances and revitalizes the central nervous system.”
As she offered him the thermos, Konstance was able to better inspect the mysterious dark purple liquid inside it.
“How addictive is it?” he said, reaching out for it.
“About the same as coffee,” she said, handing it over. “I bred out the most addictive phenotypes when I was augmenting the plants’ genomes.”
Despite only partially grasping the meaning of what she’d just said, Konstance took a small, cautious sip. At first, the flavor was sharply bitter, causing his jaw to tense reflexively. It quickly shifted, however, into a rich sweetness, and, finally, left a pleasant, lingering heat on the back of his tongue.
“You made this?” he said.
Irina nodded.
“Its effects are even better than its taste,” she informed him.
Konstance took another sip. Simultaneously, he felt a warmth radiating from his stomach and up his spine. Seconds later, his feelings of nausea and soreness were gone.
“That’s interesting,” he said. He chuckled, shocked at how potent the drink was. “Thank you, Irina.”
The botanist grinned.
“I’m quite pleased with it,” she said, taking back the thermos. “Sadly not everyone on board is a fan of it though; Xenos can’t even swallow it.”
“Too bitter for him?” he said.
She shrugged.
“I’m heading over to the Saloon,” she said. “Care to join?”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ve got some time.”
After exiting the Command Chamber, they turned down the hallway to the right. Bright blue lights illuminated their way.
“Some mission, huh?” she said casually.
“Yeah, some mission,” he said. Aside from the reverberant murmur of the Thrust Generation System, the ship was quiet.
“Not that I’m worried of course,” she added. “Vylik’s never steered us wrong.”
Konstance studied Irina’s profile as she took a sip from her thermos. “Of course there can always be a first time” is what you’re actually thinking, aren’t you? he thought. He wouldn’t have disagreed with her had she said that out loud. Being infinite, the universe contained infinite possibilities, but his trust in Vylik was firmly rooted. She was shrewd, capable, and always prioritized the safety of her crew.
“The mission doesn’t sound especially difficult,” he said.
Which only makes Vylik’s lack of transparency more confusing, he mused.
“You think Vylik will let me take samples of her?” said Irina.
“Probably not,” he said.
A troubling thought entered his mind.
“This will technically be the first time that we’re transporting a live human,” he said. “I know that she’s ... ‘different’, but, even still, some of her genes must trace back to Earth. It just feels like it’s one thing to transport dead criminals with bounties on their heads and another some unlucky genetic experiment. Obviously, I’m aware our reputations aren’t spotless, but we have maintained at least somewhat of a code.”
“We’re not enslaving her, Konstance,” said Irina. “The only thing we’re doing is moving her from Point A to Point B. Personally, I don’t see the dilemma.”
“The dilemma lies in the fact that wherever we’re taking her, she will most likely be held captive there for the rest of her life,” he said. “Do you honestly believe that the person or organization we’re taking her to will treat her kindly? If her blood is what they want, then she’ll be hooked up to a machine and bled for the rest of her life.”
Irina frowned.
“I see your point,” she acknowledged.
Irina was silent for a long time.
“I don’t know if we have a choice here, Konstance,” she finally said. “To me, it seems pretty clear that failing to complete this mission will put our lives in some sort of danger. And if that’s the choice - saving your life or this Unfit’s - I’m choosing you every time.”
He hated to admit it, but there was an undeniable soundness to her logic. Stopping in front of a small door, Konstance input two glyphs on a screen beside it and it promptly slid to the side. As he walked forward (with Irina close behind him), Del’s voice greeted them from above.
“Hello, Konstance and Irina. Headed to the Saloon?”
“You guessed it, Del,” said Irina.
“Your car will arrive in twenty-one seconds.”
“Thank you, Del,” she said.
“You’re welcome, Irina.”
Konstance held out his hand expectantly. Smiling, Irina passed him the thermos. He took a longer draft this time.
“A little goes a long way - by the way,” she said. “Drinking too much will make you feel feverish.”
“How was it while I was asleep?” he asked, handing back the thermos. His head grew pleasantly warm.
“Boring for the most part,” she said. “Xenos made a few new interesting sims, but I’ve mainly kept to the Experimental Wing.”
Their transport car slid to a halt in front of them. Once it opened, they stepped onto it and took their seats. As it re-accelerated, their surroundings devolved into a disorganized series of colorful striations. Irina stared through the window to her left.
“Remember any dreams from your sleep?” she asked; the streaking lights rushing past them bathed her face in a variety of colors.
“There was a strange one that kept repeating,” he said. “I had a family in it: a wife and two daughters.”
Irina turned away from the window and regarded him curiously.
“I was a smuggler,” he continued, “in a system the Peacemakers had just begun to annex, and I was supplying cannons to some pathetic, insurgent fleet who actually thought they could drive the Peacemakers away.”
“What happens to them?”
“They’re annihilated. And then the Peacemakers arrest me and charge me with aiding their rebellion. After that point in the dream, I never see my family again.”
“What do the Peacemakers do with you?”
“They execute me. And then everything would go black and suddenly I would be at the start of it again.”
A prolonged silence ensued between the two of them.
“Well that doesn’t sound fun,” Irina said eventually.
He shook his head. It wasn’t, he thought.
“I was very happy when I woke up from cryosleep,” he said. “After the twentieth or so repetition, the dream started to feel like it wasn’t a dream. Like ... it was a memory.”
The thought terrified him. Yet even taking into account modern memory blocking technology, it was highly improbable that the dream was actually a memory. He had never had a family, the system the dream had taken place in was unfamiliar, and, obviously, he had never fought or conspired against the Peacemakers.
“I think,” said Irina, “the dream was just the universe punishing you for having once been a Peacemaker, Vice-Admiral.”
Konstance scowled.
“You know I don’t like to be called that,” he said.
Irina looked at him with empathy.
“Everyone on board has a past they’re not proud of, Konstance,” she said. “It’s why we’re all so compatible.”
Konstance thought of his old life as a Peacemaker like a dream, something that had happened in another reality separate from this one. It was the only way for him to continue moving forward, to not become paralyzed whenever he thought of the things that he had done in his past. Moments later, the car slowed to a stop.
“The Saloon,” announced Del.
Exiting the coach, they walked across a small antechamber to a circular door. As it opened, a wall of sound slammed into them. Two towering Mechs brawled each other in a ring in the far left corner of the room. Just outside the ring, Natalya and Xenos stood in exoskeletons that were transmitting their movements to their respective Mech. Acid Techno music pulsated throughout the chamber, mixing with the sound of the blows being exchanged between the two giant robots. Konstance observed the fight closely. With cold precision, Natalya slipped inside Xenos’s guard and delivered a violent uppercut, promptly sending Xenos’s Mech to the ground. Natalya raised both her fists above her and roared; her Mech mirrored her movements in the ring.
“Every time you find a way to get past my guard,” Xenos shouted, shaking his head.
He deactivated his Mech and shed the exoskeleton.
“What guard?!” said Natalya.
Xenos smiled crookedly.
“Fuck off, Nat!” he said.
Finally, one of them (Natalya) noticed him and Irina standing by the entrance.
“Hello!” she shouted.
She quickly shrugged off the exoskeleton still attached to her and jogged over to the two of them. Techno music continued to blast.
“Either of you fancy stepping into the ring with me?!” she asked, smiling broadly.
Her temples were shiny with sweat.
“Sorry, Nat!” said Konstance. “I’m not in the best shape for that right now! Some other time!”
Irina simply shook her head.
“OK, fine!” said Natalya, clearly disappointed. “We’ll do something else then!”
As Xenos joined them, Natalya paused the music with a short command to the Accesser around her left wrist.
“Where’s everyone else?” he asked.
Besides a six-armed automaton standing lonesomely behind the bar, the four of them were the only ones in the Saloon.
“Lubov looked like he was heading back to his personal chamber after Vylik dismissed us all and Bernard and Danek are up in the Half-Sphere,” said Natalya, pointing to the ceiling.
“Why don’t we join them?” said Konstance.
Natalya opened her mouth to speak but then hesitated.
“I don’t- um,” she said. “They seemed like they were fighting about something when they went up; I’m not sure they would want us joining them.”
“Let’s find out,” he said.
Natalya shrugged.
“Sure, why the fuck not,” she said.
The four of them then proceeded to a circular platform in the center of the Saloon. As they stepped onto it, it glowed yellow-white.
“Floating tonight?” came Del’s voice from above.
“Yes, Del,” said Xenos.
The platform began to smoothly rise toward the ceiling. Natalya leaned backward and propped her elbows against the slim white guard rail behind her. Suddenly, the section of ceiling directly above them opened like an antique camera shutter, creating a mouth that seemed ready to gorge on them. Once they passed through it, the platform continued to rise for a few more seconds before slowing to a stop. Then - following a sequence of mechanical clicks and a long, sustained hiss - Konstance felt his feet gently separate from the ground.
Two large panels on either side of him retracted and slid to the side, allowing starlight to flood into the confined space. He waited until the other three had exited before pushing off the ceiling and diving through the opening which, now upside-down, was to his left.
The transparent dome he entered was approximately half a kilometer wide and a quarter of a kilometer tall. Turning onto his back, he spotted Danek and Bernard far above him, just beneath the dome’s top. The two of them spoke in hushed whispers. Swiftly noticing that they were no longer alone, however, they broke apart and reoriented themselves toward the new entrants.
“You would think, on a ship this big, privacy would be easy to come by,” said Danek, loud enough for all of them to hear.
“Are we interrupting something?” asked Konstance coyly.
He bounced off the floor and projected toward them.
“Yes, you are,” said Danek.
Neatly landed beside them at the top of the dome, Konstance steadied himself against the ceiling.
“And what exactly is it that we’re interrupting?” he said.
Danek smiled thinly.
“It actually happens to be none of your fucking business, Konstance,” said Danek.
“It’s nothing, Konstance,” said Bernard. “And, as far as I’m concerned, we’re finished talking about it, so we might as well change the subject anyway.”
Danek’s jaw twitched.
“I would prefer that we put a pin in it, Bernard,” said the linguist.
“I will hear of it no more, Danek,” said Bernard.
Konstance’s curiosity redoubled. What could they have possibly been discussing to cause Bernard to react this way? he wondered. As Konstance studied the two men’s faces, Natalya and Irina floated into their gaggle.
“I have something I’d like to talk about,” said Natalya, fully upside-down. “What’s going on with Lubov? Ever since waking from cryosleep, he’s ... different.”
“He's more than just different, Natalya,” said Danek. “To me, he’s showing clear signs of being unstable.”
“Perhaps he needs to be re-examined,” suggested Irina. “I've noticed a significant change in his behavior as well. Could it be as simple as his neural implants are malfunctioning?”
“I scanned his implants when he first woke up,” said Bernard. “They were fine. But I do agree; his behavior is becoming peculiar.”
“Maybe he just has a vitamin deficiency or something,” said Natalya.
Bernard mulled over this possibility.
“Deficiencies can produce strange symptoms,” he said. “I’ll reanalyze his bio-scans before we reach Omalia.”
“How has he been spending his time?” said Konstance.
“We don’t know,” said Danek. “We barely see him anymore! Some days, he spends hours alone inside the SEC. And we have no idea what kind of sims he’s running in there because he encrypts his session history every time before he leaves.”
“Lubov was with me when I got injured, right?” he said. “Maybe that has something to do with it.”
“You were the only one in there who was seriously injured,” said Bernard. “After I made sure that you were stable, I examined Natalya, Vylik, and Lubov and I cleared all three of them. The only thing unusual I saw on Lubov’s scan was that, at some point within the hour, he had temporarily lost consciousness.”
“There’s no use speculating about whatever Lubov is experiencing,” said Irina. “We’ll just have to wait till we’re presented with more information.”
Natalya’s back rested against the dome’s ceiling. Without warning, she tucked herself into a ball and kicked off the surface beneath her. As she passed by Danek, she circled her arms around him and brought him along with her.
“Wait! Wait! Wait! Oh how I love to wait!” she shouted.
Irina followed after her, cackling.
Natalya and Danek collided with Xenos at the far end of the dome. Bernard chuckled.
“Ever the youthful spirit,” he said.
The older man viewed the other crew members fondly. Xenos was now hurling a string of indistinct swear words at Natalya.
“Thank you for fixing me up by the way,” said Konstance. “Thyme informed me of what you did.”
“You were quite the sight when they first brought you in,” said Bernard. “For a second, I almost wasn’t sure if there was anything I could do.”
The older man’s eyes were still trained on the four other crew members across the dome.
“Frustratingly, I’m unable to remember any part of the accident,” said Konstance. “Although Thyme told me that this was something you predicted might happen.”
“Considering the amount of trauma your body suffered, I could almost guarantee it. Our brains can only handle so much, Konstance. You overload them enough and,” Bernard made a snapping sound with his fingers, “they turn off.”
An uneasy silence fell between them.
“I still can’t tell if I’m disappointed or relieved that I won’t be dropping with you,” said Bernard benignly.
“You say that, but - knowing you - you were incredibly relieved to hear that you were staying on board,” said Konstance.
Bernard cracked a smile.
“I can’t help my aversion to planets, Konstance,” he said. “Or my belief that those who choose to dwell on them may as well be bugs. I know I’ve said this many times - but there is a reason that humans took to space; there is majesty in space. There is no majesty in scrabbling around on the surface of some dirt-filled planet.”
This was perhaps the twenty-eighth time that Konstance had heard Bernard’s passionate dismissal of planets and those who chose to live on them. For some individuals who spent their whole lives traveling between different star systems, the idea of descending to a planet’s surface and bearing the weight of its gravity seemed regressive - a “backward step” in human evolution; Bernard, irrefutably, was one of these individuals.
“What did you think of the meeting?” said Konstance.
Bernard sighed heavily.
“Obviously I was surprised by Vylik’s opaqueness,” he said. “But, as always, I trust that she is acting with the safety of all of us in mind, and, therefore, I see no reason to protest.”
“I agree,” said Konstance. “Vylik always has a reason for her actions. I don’t believe this circumstance is any different.”
The ship’s medic nodded his assent resolutely.
“That being said,” continued Konstance, “I do feel somewhat uneasy about the fact that what we’re transporting is a human.”
Bernard’s eyes snapped to Konstance and regarded him quizzically for a lengthy moment; his bright yellow irises sharply contrasted with his gray hair. Finally, he broke eye contact and looked forward again, apparently satisfied with whatever he had gleaned from Konstance’s face.
“Remember, Konstance, that we aren’t the ones genetically modifying and experimenting on our people,” he said. “If there is a depraved party involved, it is the Omalians, not us.”
Konstance made no reply. Perhaps we’re both depraved, he mused.
---
Two hours later, Konstance quietly entered Vylik’s personal chamber. The glow of her bionic leg provided just enough light to guide him to her bed. After arriving at the side opposite where Vylik lay, he took off his coverall and gently sat down on the bed’s edge. In the dim light, Konstance surveyed the graceful outline of her silhouette. Finally, he laid beside her and slid his right arm under hers and across her chest. Her heartbeat quickened.
“You’re lucky I didn’t fall asleep,” she muttered.
As he lightly kissed the back of her neck, her breathing quickened. She pressed herself into him and stoked his carnal appetite.
“You should have come quicker,” she said.
“I wanted to make you wait,” he said.
All of a sudden, she turned over and faced him. Avoiding his gaze, she dragged a nail down his bare chest.
“I wanted to wake you earlier, but Bernard recommended I wait,” she said. “He said you still needed more time to heal.”
“Then it was for the best,” he said.
“My mind’s been all over the place recently,” she said. “I can’t concentrate. And with you asleep I felt like I had no one to talk to.”
“What’s bothering you?” he asked.
“I can’t say,” she said. “It’s to do with the mission.”
“If it’s causing you anguish, then abort the mission. We’ve done it before.”
“But we can’t with this one. If we don’t deliver this Unfit, there will be consequences.”
A stalagmite of dread rose into his stomach.
“Who did you make a deal with, Vylik?” he said.
“That’s classified,” she said.
“Vylik, it’s me!”
“I know! Even still! Trust me when I say that it’s best you don’t know.”
What has she done? he thought. Vylik’s chief concern had always been the safety of her crew; it was the first thing Konstance had noticed about her when they’d first met. But, now, it was beginning to feel like she had some other priority in mind. Something she couldn’t even share.
Hey, Thyme? he voiced internally.
Yes, Konstance?
Once we have established a new trajectory, I want you to scan in front of us and compile a list of anyone who may be interested in acquiring the Unfit that we’re collecting.
“Anyone”, sir?
Any empire, emerging civilization, religious group, or underground coalition occupying the space in front of us who may in some way benefit from owning her.
I will do my best, sir, but the amount of data that will need to be processed and analyzed will be immense. Further, I cannot guarantee that I will find the correct match.
That’s fine, Thyme. Just gi-
“Who are you talking to?” said Vylik.
“Thyme was just letting me know that a garment I asked him to make for me was finished,” he said.
Vylik smiled, aware of but not offended by the lie he had just told her.
“We’re going to be fine, Konstance,” she said. “When have we not been?”
He chuckled.
“We’ve had several close calls, Vy,” he said.
Vylik confidently climbed on top of him.
“But, thanks to your brilliant captain, in every single one of those you escaped unscathed,” she said.
She leaned down and nibbled his neck.
“Tonight you won’t be so lucky,” she whispered.
Konstance grinned.