CIRCA 205-206 UC AT A SIDE’S HARBOR
This isn’t fair! None of this fair! This is lame! It doesn’t matter how many times I pout or jump in place. Mama doesn’t move a muscle. She simply stands there, eyes closed and with a calm expression. “There’s nothing to do here! There’s no one to play with. I want to play and have fun!” I whine. A dozen adults glance at us while we stand out in the open, but all of them shrug off my temper tantrum. I’m getting tired of this, it’s always the same. It’s always boring.
Mama opens her eyes and gives me a glowing smile. “Li, dear… just wait a little longer, and we’ll be on our way,” she nods her head with a smile expecting me to comply “you can play with your brother while on the ship—we have all those toys papa bought for you, remember? Don’t you want to play with your toys?”
“Mama! You always say that!” I snap back angrily “and then we go to the next big scary guys and the next dock with nothing to do!” I take a step forward “I want to play with other kids! I want to have fun and not play with big brudder all the time!” I blow mama a raspberry “big brudder never lets me win when we play his games, either!”
“My, my…” Mama rubs her face with that gentle smile of hers “after this deal—or the next—I’ll pester papa to let us go have some free time in the next Side we go to. That way I can find a playground or arcade for you to play at, would that be better?” She asks, getting on her knees and shuffling closer to me. “Afterwards, I might nag papa to have us dine at a nice and fancy restaurant… and then after that, I can buy you some snacks. Wouldn’t that be nice, Li?”
“Make it a cotton candy! A really fluffy cotton candy! A really big one!” I exclaim, but I quickly calm down, “mama… wouldn’t that make papa angry?”
“Angry?” She muses.
“That you’re spoiling me so much,” I reply quietly with eyes to the floor, “papa always seems like he gets mad when you spoil me…” I look back up at mama and she never smiles for even a second.
“Papa… doesn’t get mad, darling,” for just a second it seems her smile has a hint of sadness in it “Papa… always beats himself up for letting work get in the way of being a parent. If he had things his way, papa would’ve wanted us to settle down in Terra and never have to worry about having to put yummy hot food on the table. You would be able to go to school properly and make lots and lots of friends.”
“Mama…” I blink rapidly and drop my gaze to the floor again “I’m sorry… I’m…” Before I know it, she plants a hand on my head and gives me a gentle pat. “Mama?”
“Papa’s not very good at expressing himself, but he wants what’s best for us too,” Mama says “he might gawk at the idea of spoiling you this badly with candy… but deep down he knows he’d want to do the same, too, to make life just a little less dull for you,” mama rubs my head again “it’s a promise, Li, when we’re at the next stop I’ll spoil you to your heart’s content!”
“Really, really?” I couldn’t help but hop in excitement “you’ll really take me to fancy arcades and playgrounds and play with other boys and girls?!”
“It’s a promise, Li,” Mama beams without a worry in the world “I’m not one to break promises, am I?” She continues to pet me “all I ask is you behave like a good girl and don’t cause papa any trouble when he’s doing grown-up work.”
I give a nod and take mama’s hand, “thank you mama… I’ll be a good girl and keep my promise, too.”
“I’m happy we could conclude a little trade agreement of our own,” mama giggles. She looks away in the direction of our ship and gets up. After dusting herself off, mama takes my hand and points at the ship with her other hand. “Looks like papa and brother managed to finish moving cargo around… let’s go wait in the ship and I’ll play some games with you, okay?” With happy compliance, the two of us depart for the ship.
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BACK IN THE PRESENT
AUGUST 15TH, 220, 6:00 AM VELKSLAND TIME
4 HOURS LEFT IN THE ULTIMATUM
The slightly cracked visor shows the reflection of a happy-go-lucky child, smiling as she takes great strides toward a promise that never came to be. The more I rotate the helmet in my grasp, the more the paths of cracked glass resemble the shattered innocence of a girl that once was. After each turn, the likeliness of the innocent child changes to that of an older haggard, obviously strained by her actions.
The more I hold this cursed helmet in my hands, the longer I feel I am pulled into a bottomless pit of regret, latching onto a past that I can only dream of changing. A past that only serves to haunt me for being so weak and feeble. But in hindsight; there truly was nothing I could do. I was merely a child after all. Even if I had a second chance at diverting the flow of history, there would be nothing to avoid it.
Traversing those lanes then was often horrible. Even if events miraculously played out differently—even if we all lived happily ever after, it would still happen eventually. One day, we would have been raided by pirates, and perhaps even I would have not been spared if it were for the likes of Simon. The only way any of it could have been avoided is if my older brother or papa settled down somewhere—like his and mama’s dream of settling in Terra. Li Chou would have never died, and the Madame Scarface that terrorizes the galaxy would have never been conceived. But it cannot be helped now. It is merely history at this point—even less that and more of a forgettable footnote lost to time.
I rest the helmet on my lap and give it a few gentle strokes. If mama—or even papa saw how I grew up to be. Would they be horrified, or perhaps weep at the misgivings I have gone through? If they were still alive, would they still call me their flesh and blood daughter, or would they consider me a blood-thirsty monster? Considering all the cruel things I’ve done to others—robbing spouses of their loved ones, sending adult children to their graves, and leaving dozens of children orphaned—is there any hope of me having humanity? Was this way of life destined for me? I can only wonder how history will view me for years to come; a victim of cruel destiny, or perhaps a maddening woman whose insatiable thirst for bloodshed never ends.
I look upon the overhead lights which flicker occasionally. Some henchmen walk past with averted eyes; some clutching to feeble determination. Many are clad in milky-white armor plating, some others only have chest plates and even less. Their weaponry consists of anything from great axes to machine pistols and even the occasional rifle. Putting aside the helmet, I reach for the wooden axe propped up between my heels and caress the steelhead.
And yet again, I find myself at a junction where I must either resolve this peacefully or go all out and kill those who oppose me. Why must I always resort to violence in the vain hope of achieving my goals? Clenching the blunt side of the axe, I can only curse in silence at father—at Simon and Kamon for forcing me to go through this route. At myself for not being able to change something at Brunsbüttel. To change not just my fate—but those who chose to follow me. Those who believed I have decided to charge headfirst into the fray without a second thought.
Stroking the axe head more… I wonder, did I make the right choice at Brunsbüttel? Did I make the right choice at Valspon, and perhaps the right choice to stop and rest at Lübeck? If I had waited for a second longer—the battle would have been lost. Everything otherwise has been going so… well. I don’t want to believe this was the right course of action. I wanted to deceive myself into thinking this is the only course of action—that violence is the only answer. But even now I can’t help but think: it shouldn’t be. Surely, was there some other path I could have taken? Surely I could have done better to convince Simon of the coup. I thought Simon and I understood each other more than anyone else. Even more than Dong Zhui and Olga.
But perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps Simon speaks the truth about the consequences of an initiated coup. In hindsight, I put Simon in a dreadful spot and forced him to choose between two people who he holds dearly. But it’s not Simon’s fault that this whole massacre unfolded. Rather, it is in no part due to the wretched man I call father and the pool of paranoia he swims in. There would’ve been no way to peacefully resolve this resolution—no way to slow the endless corpses that would be spilled for an ending nobody desires. The only variable that changes is how people would’ve died. In any case, I have killed a lot of people. I have killed for my survival, and for those who blindly followed me without objection to what I did, deluding themselves into believing I have done the correct course of actions.
And I hate it. I reject the notion that what I did was the right thing—but there’s been no other choice. I was dealt with the worse dice rolled by destiny and had to make calculations that cost me dearly. It frustrates me to no end on having to persistently throw away lives on broken promises—on the off-chance that this hope that everyone clings to will make all our sacrifices worth it.
And yet, despite accomplishing all that I did, and after wading through an ocean of blood I have arrived at this sorry beach of corpses. With all the lives of those I have extinguished, am I truly any better than Karwoski? Do I have any sense of morality left in me—any shred of humanity? Why must my suffering continue? Why must I endure these awful, miserable dice rolled by destiny? What will it take to be free of this suffering?
If this ultimatum fails—and if I am forced to board the Trinidad, will the last dice roll land on a six? Will death be the only meaningful way out of this nonsense life I live? Will I have to lung into the bottomless pits of death to save those more deserving to live? Olga… if Olga died in her reckless endeavor, is there any point in living if I have no one left to be by my side?
I set the axe down on its head, and rest my chin and hands on the axe’s flat knob. As I sit there in ponder, a couple more people pass by, and one of them stops in front of me. My eyes slowly creep up and I find it is no one but Brutus—wearing a variant of the usual armor plating but in a darker gray tone. “Madame,” the man starts as he takes a seat next to me and stares at the businesses of the hanger where people come and go “the bridge hasn’t had anything new to report. No signs of any ships moving, no response to the ultimatum… nothing,” Brutus finishes taking a glance over at me.
“It’s to be expected, five hours is not a whole lot of time to deliberate on something major as this” I reply flexing my fingers over the oak handle “perhaps it would’ve been better in giving them more time… no one in the fleet is broadcasting any jammers, are they?” I inquire looking back at him. I can’t help but think that the extra plating the oaf wears makes him far heavier than the eye perceives.
“All our frequencies are open and as far as I’m aware, there are no signs of jamming from either the Feds or our own,” Brutus says, placing his double-sided axe on his lap. The light reflects brightly off the silver-colored head. “So far, there’s only been a flurry of messages to the Trinidad —but none originating from it. Most of them are merely repeating the same question— ’what is our answer? Should we intervene?’ And things of that nature,” Brutus reaches out for the great axe’s head and taps it a couple of times with his plated mittens.
“I see…” I muse by taking one hand off my axe’s knob and rubbing my cheek. I look back over at Brutus, and he returns the gaze. We remain like this for a while until the giant oaf repositions himself in his seat and blinks owlishly. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Brutus?” I ask warmly. The man clears his throat.
“No—I mean, sort of,” Brutus retorts “er… is something on your mind?” He asks “you seemed sort of gloomy before I arrived… are you anxious about the ultimatum failing?” He immediately winces and bites on his lower lip “sorry, that was a…”
“That, and so much more, Brutus,” I wryly say “I was wallowing in a sinkhole of despair over what I’ve done, and what I will have to accomplish from here on out, but I think that’s details I will spare you from… boring to tears, for lack of a better word,” I lift myself from the axe and lean onto the wall behind us, resting the handle against my stomach. “That side, I think I found myself rather baffled by how much the armor makes you look… bigger.”
Brutus, having looked away, looks at me with a surprised scoff. “I don’t know if I should be taking that as an insult or not. I’ll have you know I’m not fat…” his cheeks slightly flush red “it’s all muscle mass, mainly.”
“Even if you weren’t to wear the armor, I bet all the bullets would either bounce off you or be soaked by the muscle fat you have,” I remark with a warm smile “you certainly would make a splendid meat shield or even an impenetrable door… come to think of it, I’m surprised you can fit in these tight corridors given your height and mass, I do wonder if Federation corridors are smaller than ours?” Brutus scoffs with embarrassment again.
“I never took you one for being a tease, Madame,” Brutus says, flipping his visor on.
“It’s important to try and keep some sense of rationality in these hard-pressed situations,” I say wincing a smile “on that note, Brutus, if, and if this ultimatum fails…” I trail off watching as the man stiffens in his seat. I scoot closer to Brutus and run a hand along the metallic armor he wears over his thigh. It almost pains my heart having to go through with this, but I feel it must be done.
“M-Madame…?” Brutus stammers through the closed face-plating. He reaches for the knightly visor but slowly retracts his clenched hand. With my hand still on his leg, Brutus cautiously moves around in his seat.
“Brutus, I want you to stay behind on the Castelforte,” I state softly “I have in all likelihood lost Olga…” my hand makes its way up Brutus’s thigh to his torso’s shirting. The man must have been holding his breath in since he seems to deflate with a hoarse sigh. “I don’t want to have to lose any more that I hold dearly.
“It may be a little selfless of me, but I want you to live, Brutus. I want you to live and find a purpose in life… find a lover and settle down with her. If I don’t survive, then go to Simon after this is all over. I have full faith he will let you and anyone else who wishes to leave the Mafia without issue.”
“Madame… I,” Brutus says haltingly “I can’t imagine letting you go by yourself without adequate protection…”
“Brutus,” I grimace a smile “you have risked your life more than enough times. I believe it is my turn to return the favor—to spare everyone from any more meaningless deaths,” reaching up I lift the man’s visor. His eyes are full of hesitance.
“You can’t just say that, Madame…” Brutus says after clearing his throat “you have a right to live, too. You have to, for Simon—for Olga. And all those who laid down their lives for you.”
I only shake my head. “When I arrive in Hell, I’ll apologize for what I’ve done to the hordes of people that died for me. Even on the off-chance that Olga survives, I will wait for as long as it takes to prostrate in recognition for my selfishness.” Brutus shakes his head in disagreement.
“Nobody could live with themselves if you died, Madame… we all think of you as a mother or a big sister, if we lost you now, after all the suffering we endured together…”
“I’m too much of a horrible monster to be considered anything motherly,” I reply dryly, stiffening another smile and enduring the stinging pain “my last parting wish to all of you is to enjoy life for what it is. Most of the people I’m taking with me are older,” I point to some group of soldiers across from us sitting on stools and enjoying a game of cards. Most of them look twice my age, some are graying already. “Sergeants and soldiers who already experienced all that life could have offered. Some who have been with me when I was a child. Some even longer serving under Simon and the Don,” I turn my attention back to Brutus who stares down at the bench in disbelief. “You’re only a few years older than me, Brutus. Do you think I could live with myself if you died before me?” I retort poking him between the openings in his plating. He lets out a grunt and places a hand over my stomach. “Compared to the momentum sins I’ve committed, your hands are not nearly as bloody as mine. You don’t have to live every day knowing that someplace, somewhere, a widow is sobbing for her sons and husband.”
“Madame…” Brutus mutters as his eyes shut tight as he heaves himself up from the bench “this isn’t right…”
“Please, Brutus, as the Madame Scarface I order you to strip off the armor and remain on the bridge. As Li Chou…” a pause “I beg you to refrain from participating in any more mindless slaughter.” Brutus lowers his head in silence. He then gets up and slowly slides the helmet off. Brutus turns to walk away, but stops and turns part way.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Madame… in the off-change that Olga lives,” he tersely clears his throat “what do you suppose I should tell her?” I look back at my helmet to pick it up. Rolling it in my hands, I ponder for a proper answer. Certainly, Olga would be nothing less than devastated. If I were to die and Olga somehow lived, I have no doubt she would fall into a bottomless depression. It’ll shatter her will to live. And for that reason, after staring into the cracked reflection of a dozen Madames, I do not doubt that I am coping much the same.
“Next time,” I say heartily “I hope you meet someone who will love and understand you all the same—and may you live a long and peaceful life, Olga,” I finish gripping the helmet tighter “and as for Simon… please tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t keep our promise.” When I look up at Brutus again, he nods sorrowfully, and following the long moment of a chest salute, the giant of a man leaves the bay area in grave silence.
Simon… I nearly forgot to consider how he may feel about this. I don’t doubt that his heart will literally break upon the news. But it can’t be helped now. In time, both Olga and Simon will have to accept the past and move on with their lives. Or at least, I can only hope so.
The time ticks by, and the Federation’s answer to the ultimatum draws near. Even if they were given the order to fire—will their moral conscious object? As a democratic entity, their soldiers should have the right to refuse orders and stop this madness once and for all. But after the Federation massacred their troops in cold blood earlier, I have little, if any, faith that they won’t pull the trigger. But even so, all I can afford to do now is hope for the best outcome available. Hope, and pray that the dice rolled by destiny bless me with nothing short of sixes.
With everything said and done, if there could be one regret I would have in all of this, it would be not being able to have another meeting with that Victoria Happ-Schwarzenberger again. The things I could’ve said, the experiences I could’ve shared with her… it frustrates me it won’t be possible.
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FORTY MINUTES UNTIL THE ULTIMATUM DEADLINE
The bay has become packed over the last few hours. Just by a quick head-count alone, I could tell there are at least over two hundred present. Even still, there were still a lot of latecomers flowing in. Near the open entrances of some assault shuttles, dozens stood at attention in columns near the entrances of their assault shuttles. Those were namely the cream of the top soldiers of the Castelforte I have at my disposal. Out of everyone present, I would say they were the most deserving of the well-worn suits of armor some of them wear. Their weapons are well-maintained, unlike my axe, which has suffered from minor corrosion over the last couple of years.
Out of the corner of my eye, a lad runs up to me. After catching his breath, he presents himself with a graceful chest salute. “Madame! Lieutenants Lachmayer, Skop, and Preecha report that their soldiers have all formed rank and are ready to board their vessels,” the boys finishes his report with another salute.
“Excellent, thank you…” I reply tersely “and the others? There should still be a few more—if I remember correctly, I summoned Brancaccico and Lafond…”
“They are still scrounging around for equipment,” the young man replies reluctantly “they told me they should be done in twenty minutes,” he finishes, flinching slightly. And he has every reason to, as I subconsciously find myself gritting my teeth.
“What the hell have they been doing for the last couple of hours?” I angrily mutter under my breath, rubbing my bridge nose in an attempt to calm myself now. “I had them promoted for their past merits, and you’re to tell me they can’t even muster soldiers in a timely manner?!” Upon seeing the lad shrink at my reaction, I take a deep breath and offer him a wincing smile. “Sorry… do tell them to… hustle in their efforts. I’m leaving with or without Lafond or Brancaccio. It would be quite the shame to have my odds even more far-fetched than they are now,” I remark as kindly as I could “if there’s nothing else to report then please hurry along.”
The lad makes his leave. As the courier slips out of sight, Brutus enters the bay and heads toward my direction, being stopped only by a group of passersby that he nearly crashed through like a determined wave. Seeing him without armor takes away some of the anxiousness that I’ve accumulated for the last few hours. “Madame,” Brutus says, plopping himself down on the seat next to me. I expect him to continue speaking, but after a few more moments pass, I turn to face him. And he certainly looks troubled.
“Brutus?”
“There hasn’t been a single message from the Trinidad yet, not a single peep. Not even so much as an encrypted message is detected. On the other hand, not a single Federation ship has budged at all,” Brutus states with a tired sigh. The oaf leans forward with his chin on his hands. He doesn’t say any more, and we sit there in silence for the next couple of minutes. When he does look back at me, his eyes convey the same amount of anxiousness as I do. “Aren’t you worried about this, Madame?”
“About what in particular?” I ask warmly, gently brushing my axe’s flat knob.
“Forbidding me from me going, this tense standoff that you and the Feds are in, just to name a few,” Brutus remarks leaning back against the wall. “You don’t seem as pale when I first came by to check up on you.”
“They always say not to judge a book by its cover,” I reply in kind “beneath this beast’s looks lies an utterly trembling maiden unsure of what the future has to offer—of what the dice rolls of destiny has in store for her,” a little scoff escapes my lips “simply put, I’m paralyzed by fear. But I’m also driven by it,” I remark rather stoically. The giant man jeers in return and gets on his feet. When I look behind him, men that I recognize belonging to Lafond start pouring in—all with anxiety written all over their faces. It’s still only part of what I expect. Just from a brief head-count, I can count at best forty out of the ninety that I requested. I don’t see any men belonging to Brancaccio at all. Though, it could just be his underlings are in another hub block.
Brutus looks at his wrist-watch—and for a second the nervousness in his eyes grows. He follows my gaze at Lafond’s men slowly but surely forming up into a poorly organized column. It’s safe to say that these soldiers are practically green. As if reading my thoughts, Brutus crosses his arms and frowns. “Lafond’s men?” Brutus muses “You’re mobilizing Lafond’s men for this? I never took them for being much of fighters—weren’t these kids part of the Don’s younger guard at Brunsbüttel?” He tilts his head in ponder “Or Simon’s… perhaps… in any case, if you’re that desperate for manpower…” he stops and shakes his head. He probably realizes it would be fruitless to change my mind of him going at his point. There wouldn’t be enough time now to change back into armor even if that were the case.
“Not just Lafond, but Brancaccio too,” I say concisely before frowning “though… I’m starting to have second doubts about Brancaccio.” When I inform Brutus of the courier from earlier, the overbearing muscle-man slaps himself over the head.
“You make one subordinate get benched, and his replacements just reek of incompetence,” Brutus groans “if Brancaccio doesn’t arrive in time…”
“The answer is no, Brutus,” I retort sharply. Brutus stiffens in place for a second before slowly easing up on the tension. “Regardless of his ability to marshal in an orderly fashion, Brancaccio does have some experience with ship-to-ship fighting—unlike his lackeys,” with a gentle rub of my damaged facial tissue I continue “the man also has a far smaller frame than you do—I’d liken you to a barn, Brutus. Even the worst Metropolitan conscripts would be able to hit you from a kilometer away.” It is, of course, a remark that evokes a confused scoff from my confidant.
“I think I got it the first time, Madame,” Brutus states dryly, leaning in his seat in a defeated posture. After what feels like several minutes passing by, he glances at his wristwatch and slowly—reluctantly—gets up from his seat. I follow suit, and the two of us walk to the center of the hub area.
Before us, the assembling soldiers and their accompanying lieutenants give one last inspection of their troops before they are all herded into their shuttles. Just outside in space, I watch anxiously as Mafia ships maneuver around into positions capable of providing more deterrence. By now, I shouldn’t be finding this situation surprising… but now that the pieces are gradually falling into place, I clutch my rapidly beating chest in anticipation of what’s to come.
“Ten minutes left to the deadline…” Brutus mutters, glancing over his shoulder at the entryways as if holding out hope that a bridge technician will rush in any moment now. Of course, that sort of thing is pure fantasy. When Brutus looks back at me, he smirks and puts a hand on my shoulder to stop my mild trembling.
“Don’t ask it again, Brutus,” I stammer, clenching my trembling fists. Brutus’s hand neither tightens nor softens up. Instead, I find myself spun around and forced into an embrace.
“Don’t falter now, Li,” Brutus chokes “not in front of the men—put on a front, at least for a little longer.”
“Simon… please… please tell him I’m sorry—I’m sorry if I die before he does,” I tersely gasp in between increasing sobs. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around the man. The more I bury my face into his chest, the wetter his shirt becomes. Brutus must’ve taken notice too, because he pulls me away, and with a giant hand wipes the streams of tears from my eyes. “You know, seeing a beauty such as yourself close-hand, I don’t think crying suits you at all,” he says trying to crack a smirk. There is a lone tear lining his cheek.
Olga… what I would do to be with her right now. To be in her grasp and be told everything would be okay. Before I can say any more, Brutus turns me around, and with a gentle push compels me to walk toward the nearest assault shuttle still open. Many of its occupants staring at me with curious eyes, unsure of what to make of our little moment. As I take a few steps toward the ramp, I look back at Brutus and the others staying behind to crew the Castelforte. The confidant, along with the others next to him, gives solemn chest salutes as the ramp begins to close.
“Madame!” Brutus shouts as I take a step back to give the door space to close “You’re going to tell that old sly dog you’re sorry, yourself! You hear me?!” A slight scoff. Even as I’m being shipped off to my utter doom, Brutus never fails to make little jabs.
With the door sealed tight behind me, I turn around to the overly cramped passenger compartment, which is fairly huge in its own right. I wager if I permitted Brutus to come, he’d struggle a fair bit in even getting out without slowing the assault dead in its tracks and having us all mowed down as a result.
The men do what they can to give me space for me to make my way to the front of the assault shuttle. There, I look upward into a shaft leading into the pilot seats above. This shuttle, which was originally a captured Legionnaire craft, is designed in such a way that you can exit from either end of the craft—a useful design for boarding a ship without having to risk slowing down the momentum and turning the ship around to board.
“Your orders, Madame?” One of the pilots peaks over from above. His co-pilot is busy flipping switches and handling the monitors. “All shuttles are piped for launch.”
“Excellent, inform all pilots that we are to synchronize our launches in five minutes,” with a yes ma’am! I turn my attention to the soldiers before me. “Listen up! From here on out, whatever we accomplish here will decide the fate of the entire Mafia. Let no one escape! There will be no quarters. If you go down, I hope to hell you take at least a dozen with you!” I conclude to a roar of affirmative grunts, and staffs being banged on the floor.
From among the many faces present, I make out that of the flamboyant Skop. “All men other than Skop’s will act as rearguard and root out the small-fry. Skop’s men and I will fight our way to the bridge—and in the best-case scenario, bring the admiral to the bargaining table by force,” I state loudly before hesitantly clearing my throat. Or die trying, at least. Turning my attention back to the pilot, I explain to him to relay the orders to the rest of the shuttles. Afterward, I slip on my helmet, unsheathe my rustic axe and hold onto the railing to await the forthcoming g-force acceleration.
Seconds tick by. Minutes pass. Behind me, whispers of increasingly restless prayers go unanswered. The uneasiness of the men creeps up behind me, leaving me in a state of continuous short breaths. Before long the dimly lit compartment flashes red as the alarm signaling for all hands to brace for departing goes off for a few moments.
At long last, the time of reckoning has come.
Taking a long, strenuous deep breath, I tighten the grip on both my axe and the overhead railing. The siren wailing ceases and gives away to the mechanical ambiance of the shuttle being placed on a launch pad…
And an unusually loud banging from the other end of the shuttle.
“Don’t they know we’re about to launch?!” I bark glancing over my shoulder. “Tell them to get back, lest they want to be propelled into space!” Needless to say, it never ceases. In fact, it only gets louder. If I listen real closely, I can hear faint similar noise coming from, presumably, the other shuttles. The banging never ceases, and I look up the shaft at the pilot dumbfounded. He gestures for me to investigate, and I make strides through the waves of bodies towards the rear of the shuttle.
“Get away from the shuttle, you idiots!” No answer and the banging only continues to cause me a growing migraine. “What the hell is going on?!” I yell through the thick metal door. The banging immediately stops. There is silence at first, and then muffled voices. But I can’t understand a word they’re saying. “Louder! I can’t make out what you’re saying!” I raise my voice again, I glance back at the horde of men behind me, gazing in puzzlement.
Pressing my head against the door, I can slightly make the increasingly strained muted voices.
Fed… ration… fle…t… mo…v…ing…!
My heart skips a beat. At that moment, underneath the armor plating, my whole body becomes stiff with coldness. Did I hear that right, no? It couldn’t be…
Federa… ion… flee… travers… Rou… en…!
It couldn’t possibly be happening. I refuse to believe it, and yet…
I rip myself away from the door and sprint towards the front, knocking over any who hasn’t reacted in time to my sudden movement. “Halt the shuttles! Halt the shuttles!” I scream through the closed visor as I push more of the bystanders aside. I fail to stop before reaching the front and slam with full force right onto the front shuttle door. With a painful grunt, I glare at the pilots both peering down in confused shock. “What are you staring at me for?!” I bellow with strained vocal cords, “tell the pilots to abort the launches! The Federation fleet… the Federation fleet is withdrawing!” I point back towards the back “the doors! Open the goddamn doors!” Getting back to my fleet with more painful grunts, I race to the back entrance and wait with bated breath as the doors open with a mechanic creak.
Once the platform door is partway down, I run up the makeshift ramp and jump off onto the bay’s platform below. What subsequently follows is a clumsy crash to the floor, followed by a painful roll that knocks the wind out of me. My vision becomes blurry, and the intense pain from my scar tissue is enough to make me cry out in pain. Several voices cry out for me after a series of gasps, and I feel several people attempting to keep me stabilized.
But I pry myself away from them and throw the helmet off. I look around frantically and attempt to locate the windows. Upon locating them, I use what energy I have left and sprint towards it with full force. I hear Brutus and the others shout after me, but I ignore them.
I have to see it for myself. I have to see to it with my own eyes that this is the way it goes down. That the Federation has made the right decision, and this is not merely a ploy to close in the Trinidad and the Castelforte.
Gasping for air, and suddenly finally finding myself completely breathless, I collapse before the windows. With one last second-wind, I bring myself to my feet and prop myself up against the windows.
And upon seeing the revelation, a fierce wave of emoticons crash over me.
Slowly, but surely, the Federation fleet embarks not for Lübeck—not for us—but the Rouen corridor. And as the homogeneous fleet creeps along the cosmic sea, behind it—just beyond Velksland—the ever distant and ever beautiful sun creeps over the horizon. Soon, rays of blinding light shine with such intensity through the Castelforte’s windows. And with its rise delivers the hopes and dreams of those who could not join us, of those who endured so much and hoped for nothing less of self-preservation. To a new tomorrow that heralds in a time of peace.
At last. At long last. The dawning light appears over Toscana. As Brutus and the others join my side, I cover my mouth and break down sobbing on the hard, steel floor.
Olga… Simon… Victoria.
I did it.
We won.