Chapter 22
ERIC
Two days had passed. In that time, he got to writing. The word Taiidan was familiar to him but until that day he could not place it. It came from an old text, the origin myths of their people. The text was called The Unimaginable Sin, and was quite relevant as of late. He knew almost the whole book by heart. Less and less fictional as the days passed by. The metal boxed floating through the void were obviously spaceships, and the word Taiidan appeared in the text as the name of the lost world, one destroyed by their ancestors. The exile was penance for this crime. The book spoke of Khar Halla, the first world. Clearly meant to represent Hiigara. The sin committed was now done twice over with the destruction of Kharak, and thus in his opinion, their penance was paid. A world for a world. Only Sajuuk could be the judge of them now.
He wrote down what he felt was important for the people of the Mothership to know. The story of Taiidan was partly, he felt, necessary for them to understand fully the state of the universe they were now part of. It rained fire from the skies and explosions on the land, and the air sucked away by the hands of our ancestors. It was a fiction, but one all too real now. He felt the horror once felt by the Taiidan, and because he and the exiles suffered the same fate, could understand their banishment. But the sins of their forefathers were not their sins, and if Sajuuk were truly there to punish them, none would have escaped Kharak alive. He wrote down next a passage that was stuck in his memory:
The people concealed their power inside a floating prison, taking it with them wherever they go. Memories of home, and the power to traverse the galaxy in the blink of an eye. The Taiidan, angered by not gaining said power, tore apart their prisons in search of what they could not find. The power was said to be lost to the Angelmoon, and they gave up their pursuit. After long, the Taiidan forgot them entirely, and the eyes on their prisons died out long ago.
The power source spoken of was clearly the Mothership’s hyperdrive, the hyperspace core. The technology they were forbidden to use over four thousand years ago. The Taiidan must have torn apart some of the prison ships searching for it, but never found it and moved on to elsewhere, to the hallowed Angelmoon of their homeworld.
These texts had long been considered little more than Gaalsien propaganda, the Sjet unable to verify the origins. The Gaalsien knew much that was lost to history, and he would make it his duty to inform. From memory alone there was much to tell.
He heard a bang on his door and got up to answer. It was Isabella Manaan. “Hello?” He said.
“I need your help,” she said. “Mark’s been shot and is recovering. We got into it with some rioters on the lower decks. I have to train the bomber pilots at target practice and need an extra pair of eyes. Can you help me?”
“I uh, was in the middle of something, but sure I’ll join you,” he said.
“Great! Meet me in the hangar’s central platform as soon as you can,” she said and turned to walk away.
“Hey, is Mark alright?”
“He’ll be fine, he’s just stupid.”
Stupid? He wondered what she meant. He hit save on his computer and headed after her. “Hey! Wait up!” He shouted. “So we never actually got properly introduced,” he said.
“There’s not much to tell, to be honest. My mother worked in hydroponics, and my father, well. He wasn’t exactly close. Thirteenth daughter of the clan’s leader doesn’t get you very far.”
“Which tribe do you hail from, north or south?”
“A northern convoy using a refurbished Gaalsien command carrier, spent most of my life on the move.”
“A Corvaal-class? I bet you’ve got stories to tell. If ever you want them written down let me know.”
“You’re a writer, yeah?”
“I try to be anyway, I’m working on something. Old stories of my clan from Saju-Ka’s libraries. Sadly I haven’t brought them with me, so I’m recreating them based on memory.”
“I see,” she said. “Just don’t inspire terrorist cells and we’ll be alright you and I,” she said.
“I’d be offended if I didn’t agree with you,” he said. “The terrorist cells onboard this ship are zealots who can’t see beyond the past. I look to the future instead, it’s far more freeing. Still, it does make me happy I’m not the only Gaalsien left, despite recent events.”
“I like to live in the moment, there’s no telling what could happen and why waste your current self worrying about what may or may not come to be?”
“You have a point there, but without hope for the future how do we move each other forward?”
“Together,” she said.
“We’re quite divided already. The people have no hope,” he said referring to the ongoing riots.
“Then let’s give them something to hope for,” she said calling the elevator. “First step of that includes training these pilots. If we can get these civilians to work out, I don’t see why we couldn’t do the same with more of the sleepers.”
“I seem to be doing okay as far as piloting goes, what do you think?”
“Right, you’re technically a civvy too, I forgot.”
“I don’t think there’s a difference anymore, civvy, military, we’re all just Kushan to the enemy.”
“Something to keep in mind, I guess.”
The door of the elevator opened up onto the hangar deck, and the group of ten was waiting for them.
“Sorry we’re late, we got held up. Now if you’ll line up beside the scout, we can get started. We have a few target drones that’ll be deployed into the hangar bay, and it’ll be your jobs to destroy them. One at a time, though. I know it is not ideal, but we’re pressed for time now.”
“What happened to Mark Soban?” One of the pilots asked.
“He’s currently recovering from a gunshot wound. Any other questions before we get started?”
“Yeah, what’s he doing here? He’s one of them!” Another pilot said eyeing Eric with suspicion.
“That’s none of your concern, he’s here to help me help you all. If you don’t like working with other Kiith, you know where the door is.”
He watched attentively as she barked orders to the pilots, and within no time at all, the first one was inside the scout preparing their attack run. He saw the target drone, and watched as the pilot circled around the hangar and took aim. He missed, but got it on the next pass.
It didn’t appear as though she needed his help, but perhaps there was something else to it. An insecurity, perhaps. He wouldn’t dare bring it up, but he was mostly a bystander watching as the pilots one by one engaged the target drones in the hangar. This went on for a couple hours until everyone had a chance to go.
“Do you all feel ready to fight alongside us?” She asked.
“Not really,” one responded.
“Good, because you’ll never be ready. Not really, anyway. No one can prepare you for combat, it’s just something you have to get through once you’re in it.”
“And if we fail?”
“Then you die heroes. Twelve interceptors, ten bombers, four light corvettes, six heavy corvettes, two support frigates, five assault frigates, and four ion cannon frigates along with some captured vessels. This is all that remains of our people. I’ll tell you the truth, we don’t know what we’re walking into. But we think their fleet is weakened from the atrocities of Kharak. Your group will remain docked until called upon. Just take your shots and head home. That’s all we can really ask of you. Dismissed.”
“Well said,” Eric commented to her alone.
“It’s just honesty,” she said. “Something these people deserve.” He pondered that for a second. “I could use a drink.”
“Are you even old enough?”
“Yes. Come on, I have some in my room.”