Chapter 11

ERIC

The night revealed to him many things. The first being he was the last Gaalsien in the fleet, having seen no group of them at the ceremony and knowing none became Sleepers. He instead stood with the Naabal, the largest group. It was a somber thought despite his poor opinion of his kiith. All the history unknown to the Coalition archives, gone. All the tales of old, lost to the Genocide. Many tales he’d known as a child were only told orally. Not only had a people been lost, but a culture. A telling of history. The Gaalsien tales were by far the oldest of Kharak, some dating back to Khar Toba. Some myths date back before then, tales of their banishment and their sin.

He decided as the sole remaining member of the oldest clan in history to create a database of all that was lost that he could remember. Many of the more familiar stories he’d begun writing down. Others he had to approximate, and it pained him the original works were not with him to double check any mistakes he may have made, but he had to continue on anyway.

One of the longer ones was set around the first moments of arrival, titled Khar-Adama, the First Men. The next was a tale of the First Men’s departure from Khar Toba, the perils of trekking north through harsh sands and brutal heat. The others were for the most part non-written tales of their origins, ending in the tale of Hiigara, the lost promised land, their paradise, their home. One of the more known Gaalsien texts, being told in various forms from nearly all kiithid.

He wrote through the night having lost track of time. He’d completed a fifty page set of seventeen stories he remembered almost entirely. He then had to choose a title. He thought about it over a long shower. He came up with one that he decided fitting: Gaalsien Legacy: Vol. 1, and signed it only with his initials. He printed out ten copies to leave at various crowded areas. He would have to be quick about it, he wanted to attend the pilot training session later in the day.

The halls were empty; it was still early when he emerged from his tiny room. The lights were all on, but nobody to be seen down any halls he came across. He held the copies, placing them in each of the lobby rooms he passed on his way to work. Most of his job involved wandering the halls ensuring the floor was clean and replacing trash bags in the lobbies. It was easy work for what little money he would require. It also gave him clearance to normally off-limits areas. There was not much interesting to see behind most locked doors, however.

He did get a good idea of the Mothership’s layout. Beneath the main body was entirely dedicated to the Trays and below that at the very base of the ship there were the long-range sensors. The main body housed the hangars and pilot and maintenance quarters. Resource containment began at the stern drop off points and storage was along the main body’s hull doubling as an extra armour layer. The prison was also in the aft section. To the bow of the main body was utility ship docking for collectors and research ships, up to a maximum of six each. Towards the top and bottom of the main body were the rest of the crew barracks. Above the main body, the bridge section located outside the main hull, purely an aesthetic decision as it left the entire control centre vulnerable. Inside the hull behind it housed Command and the hyperspace core. That section was highly off-limits, even to him. Just below, towards the bow of the bridge, was short-range sensors and communications. The top housed the hydroponic farms and recycling systems for waste, air, and water.

He figured it was some unknown genius engineer’s design from generations ago, because everything fit perfectly in place. It was amazing.

He had dropped off all copies he had on him and was walking around the pilot housing having completed his morning run. He turned the corner to see the Manaan girl leaving Mark’s room. He checked the time, it was still fairly early. He continued his route, deciding it none of his business.

***

Once he returned to his room after his shift, he immediately began sorting out his desk that had become a mess. His computer stored the important files, so the paper scribblings he had for notes weren’t that important anymore. He opened the bottom drawer and dropped them all inside and closed it. None of them were important, as those stories had already been put in a book. He had folders filled with other scribblings, like a list of what to do next. Another folder held his various thoughts for his other project.

He checked the time again, still two hours to go before the pilot training began. “Great, I still have time,” he said to himself. Time to sit down and think.

The ceremony the night before had changed his opinion on Markus Soban. His son’s words spoke to him. He was no great man, but simply a man strong enough to carry a great burden. It does not change what he has done to the Gaalsien, but it does change how he perceived the killer. He now had a less guilty conscience about going to learn how to do exactly what he did from his son.

He gained a deal of respect for Mark as well. People were listening to his words of hope, and the mood of the ship today had changed. It may have simply been the ceremony as a whole, but Mark certainly had part in it. They needed it. People do not generally recover easily from death of loved ones in great numbers, he knew this from experience.

Not simply his own, but all those around him growing up. After Saju-Ka was destroyed for the second time, the survivors joined a Manaani convoy. He still knew those that were with him, and it took them years to recover. Some never really did. Some had lost everything. Mothers, fathers, children, everyone had someone they lost that day. He could still remember it from start to finish.

***

He woke up one morning at age thirteen, had breakfast with his parents and baby sister at their kitchen table. Their small neighbourhood within the walls of Saju-Ka had about ten thousand people, a significant size for what was essentially a communal refuge town. It was the largest one, and the most significant to their people because of the temple’s historical and religious importance.

“Off to the libraries again today, Eric?” his mother asked.

“Uh huh,” he replied.

“You know, I could use a hand fixing Percy’s roof,” his father said.

“Leaking again?” she said.

“Yup, third time this month. Floor’s turned to mud overnight. Real shame.”

“I haven’t any plans today, why don’t I go help instead? Not afraid of getting a bit dirty,” she laughed. “It’s good that he’s spending so much time there reading. I’m very proud of it, actually.” His mother winked, he smiled.

He finished eating, and was off. The cloth that acted as their front door gave way to a dusty carved tunnel that was their street. It led eastward to an open cavern where light was reflected in from outside the tunnels, and artificial lighting fixtures hung from the top. It was only a short jog until he came to the temple’s inner library building. The receptionists knew him by name at that point and didn’t stop to question him.

He had an uncommon fascination with the old. Every time, he tried to find the oldest-looking book in the section he was in that day, and read through all or most of it. The texts were not allowed to leave the building without permission, and he was too young for a pass anyway, so he read while inside. There were plenty of desks, but he preferred to sit on the washed floors leaning on the aisle shelves.

The day’s choice was Architecture of Sajuuk, and it contained beautiful descriptions of things otherworldly. Nebulas, galaxies, all kinds of things he struggled to understand. The heavens, it said, were filled with all kinds of wonders. Clouds rising extremely high and arching over, greens and pinks everywhere. He didn’t understand what it was all about, or that these things actually existed out in space. He did not even understand that the night sky was only so dark because of how far Kharak’s star was from the centre of the galaxy, yet he read on anyway.

He was midway through when it happened.

A far off booming sound could be heard overhead, and a siren sounded. He knew what this meant. He put the book back where he got it and ran. He moved his legs as fast as he could, picking up speed. He ran straight to where all were to go in this situation, the bunkers several stories under the main level.

Hundreds crowded the cavern around the elevator platforms.

“Mom? Dad? Hello?” he yelled, he looked around for them, but couldn’t see. He waited five minutes more and seven explosions later before he decided to check his home.

“Hey kid, stop running, it’s not safe!” someone called. He ignored and continued on.

He ran to his house, stopping to catch his breath before checking inside. Empty. He looked around everywhere, but it being a small carving out of stone, didn't take longer than seconds to search the whole place. He then remembered they had gone to fix a roof at one of their friends’ house. He knew where it was, and started off towards it, ignoring the booming overhead.

He began crying out of panic, as the bombs became more frequent. He knew their defences would have been sent out at first signs of attack, but clearly missiles were getting through, which scared him. What if the lights go out? What if the ceiling collapses over the main cavern? He stopped thinking about that and kept on running until he no longer could.

The tunnel was caved in three houses before where he needed to be. He dropped to his knees in front of the wall of rocks and sand. He realized his parents and sister were dead. Percy’s roof was leaking, meaning it was probably the weak point of the collapse. His family was covered with the full force of the mountain they were cut into. He cried out this time. He cried out for a long time, he couldn't tell how long. Tears and dust blurred his vision, and the lights went out.

When he woke up from passing out, he saw a feint light in the distance and followed it. He could not see his hands two feet in front of him, but he could see a dim flicker off ahead and ran for it. Approaching, it got lighter. He turned the corner and saw that it was coming from the main cavern. He ran to it, and saw why he could see.

The cavern had collapsed, and the temple had been destroyed. The library, the altar, the gallery, all gone underneath several meters of rock. He looked up to the sky and saw it was clear and blue without a cloud to be seen. Awestruck at the sight, he forgot for a moment about the deaths and the destruction. He could see four mounds moving up, and then kept moving up carrying the pile with it.

The elevators were designed to push debris away from the holes before coming back down for everyone to escape. His eyes still red, he went over to them as there was nowhere else he could go.

When he got there, the first group of people had arrived. They were in tears, stunned, or expressionless as they all processed what happened: the temple was gone. Saju-Ka was destroyed, and their homes along with it.

The Gaalsien-Sa spoke to all those remaining, roughly three thousand out of ten, and said they were once again forced to face the harshness of the surface. They could not remain in Saju-Ka. The aqueducts were all caved in, and their greenhouse farmland on the surface was all gone. They had no food and no water other than what was available in the shelter, which would only last them a week with rationing.

By the time night had fallen that day, all of them were on the move. Even if survivors remained, there were no tools to dig them out before they would run out of supplies. And he knew, he knew in his heart that his parents would have had quick deaths from the collapse. Others, however, may not have been so fortunate. He was happy to be alive, but he was filled with anger. An anger that seemed would never go away.