Ingrish had swapped her usual black gown for a white one. Similarly, she had changed her scarlet blindfold for a length of pale cloth . I had rarely seen her wear any jewelry, but today she had chosen a pearl necklace alongside her phonic-collar. One of her long ears was pierced with many golden studs. On her left hand she wore three diamond rings.

  It was the first time that I had seen her without her usually warm face. And although I could not see her eyes, she seemed altogether distant. Not uncaring but not the same either. This blank quality is a noted phenomenon among telepathic races. Often derisively known as “dropping character,” it is when the telepath no longer cares to put on the act as their ideal selves. Or more frequently, when they are forced to wear the phonic-collar.

  I find this is an unfair characterization. We all wear these same masks even though most of us lack the abilities to make those masks compelling. And speaking as a child raised by the Mantza, it is a good thing that I was taught in wearing a thousand masks. Had I remained the vicious child of the insects, I would’ve died long ago.

  I think it is good, this desire to present yourself as better than you are. Because if you truly believe in it, then you do become better than you actually are. But at the same time, speaking as the child who stood at that airlock door, you can never know a person if you don’t understand them at their less than noble moments.

  Ingrish was off to murder Oberyn, throwing away everything Amon had sacrificed to get this far. But as I reflect back, that wasn’t the wound which left its mark on my soul. Standing at the entrance of the airlock, Ingrish turned to me for goodbye, and as I looked for that warm, reassuring smile that I had become so accustomed to, I saw it wasn’t there. For the first time, I saw the Ingrish as she had originally been.

  She quietly turned and pressed the keypad and the airlock cycled shut.

  …

  I sat numbly in the mess hall. Rykar was boredly flicking through the display orbs, trying to find anything interesting to pass the time. I amused myself with some of the other Pa’Zac engagements. I scrolled past a silver-robed Ki-fon Illusionist, tricking his opponent into sawing off his own arm. In between spurts of green blood, the other alien muttered to itself, confused why the pain wasn’t stopping.

  I saw a Strogoddon Arachnid. The stats accompanying it said it was ten meters tall, although it was hard to gain a good perspective on its size from the display orb. The towering spider looked down indifferently on the jungle battlefield. It lifted one of its many steel-plate legs and crushed the Tobeccan underneath as if he were an insect. Uninterested, I swiped away.

  There was a Holy Hospitaller, moving in a sandy desert. His helm was shaped into a crown of jagged ends, and he had a rubber hazard mask with a tube that connected to a vita-pack on his chest. He was preaching of The Negentropic Principle, declaring in a loud voice to the wavecast. A hooded figure burst out of the sand and took a shot at him with a sniper rifle. However, the round bounced off a force shield. The knight didn’t even flinch, continuing to preach his faith as the gunfire uselessly rained down upon him.

  My eyelids were heavy, and I laid down on the couch, watching the many-colored display orbs as they hovered in the air. The only game that mattered to me was the upcoming fight between General Kairon and Amon. I was worried, yes. I had a great ball of dread in my stomach, though I couldn’t understand why. I sensed so much seemed to hang in the balance, but I didn’t understand any of the consequences.

  It seemed like all I could do was worry about some murky, terrible outcome that was fast approaching but also that there was nothing I could do to stop it. I decided then there was no point to the anxiety if there was nothing I could do. I closed my eyes and I made sure to keep them shut. Rykar threw a blanket over me, and sometime between waking again, I fell into a dreamless sleep. It was something I later came to be immensely grateful for, as that would be the last time I would ever have a restful sleep again.

  Some timeless age passed, and then awareness forced itself on me. Drowsily, I tried to fight it, tried to stay in that place where there is no suffering, but the world and its realities came back to me. Rykar was shaking my shoulder. I sat up, throwing off the blanket and blinking my weary eyes. My mouth was dry, and I turned again to the display orbs, wishing I could’ve changed what was on them.

  “It’s started.” Rykar pointed to one orb off to the side.

  Rubbing my blurry eyes, I saw the image of the black Carapace Suit wandering a tomb world. Most of the time, that term is used colloquially, simply referring to a world where all intelligent life happened to be wiped out due to one catastrophe or another. But this place was something else. It was littered with hundreds of monoliths—human monoliths. Human gravestones. I am told in antiquity such objects were used to denote reverence, sacred monuments with the names of the dead written on that enduring substance.

  But seeing such a place here, knowing what monoliths now meant to the galaxy—and particularly humanity—it was the cruelest insult. Even now, I can hardly stomach my disgust with such a gesture.

  The thing that used to be Amon Russ looked on indifferently as he found his opponent. General Kairon stood a distance away on a hill of wet grass and stone. Both carried zero-swords. Neither reached for them. My tiredness vanished as my eyes were completely affixed to the display orb, even while Rykar scanned the news channels for word of Oberyn.

  I watched the two veterans of that most awful of wars as they remained motionless in the sighing wind. Maybe I was hoping for some indication that Kairon had listened? Maybe some sign of humanity from Amon? Honestly, I didn’t know how that would even be possible anymore, underneath the Carapace Suit. I held my breath feeling as though time had stopped, as it does, in those holy moments.

  Amon reached for his zero-sword and he held it out and then the display orb went black.

  I blinked, shaking my head in confusion. I saw that all the other display orbs had gone out as well, black bubbles which hung in the air, denying us any information. Rykar practically jumped upward, running to the holo-table and checking it for faults. And after several minutes of tinkering, he confusedly tapped a comm and called Kybit.

  I admit, this was one of the few times I have ever allowed myself to be bitter towards Ingrish, for not being there for me. Through Rykar’s speech, I could make out the basic words, but everything technical was completely lost on me. And growing in panic, I tugged on one of Rykar’s feathers and pointed to the display orbs, desperately trying to get him to explain what was wrong.

  He tried a number of complex words before finding some that finally reached me.

  “It’s gone. It’s all gone.”

  Before I could ask him any further, I felt the ship shake underneath my feet just before the inertial dampeners kicked on. The pirate lord was confused for a moment before a look of unmistakable dread crossed Rykar’s face. He quickly yelled something in the comm while I glanced out the viewport to see what was happening. Looking upward at the round metal sky of the fuel station, I saw explosions bloom in the distance. The far horizon was now colored with streaks of orange, the penetrating rounds sending long trails of fire in the pressurized atmosphere. I saw docked ships burst apart from outside weapons fire, and even as the station’s emergency shields kicked on, gaping holes tore through the fuel station like it was paper.

  Rykar raced out of the mess hall, already in action. I was stuck hesitating between him and the viewport, but I decided to follow. The old bird sprinted down the corridors of the Aphelion with the sickly child struggling to keep up. Rykar flew up a set of ladder stairs and down the access shaft to the bridge with me panting behind. Kybit was already there, her neural cables hooked into a makeshift port. It was a good thing too as I saw the golden shields of the Aphelion flicker on just as our landing pad turned to fire beneath us.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Rykar raked his talons across the control consoles, turning the ship’s engines on. The Aphelion ripped the docking clamps out as it slowly rose in the air. The ship shuddered awfully for a moment, and I saw a display screen turn red. A rail-round had penetrated nine decks deep, and with a flick of a talon, Rykar sealed off a seventh of the ship.

  All the other ships of the fuel station had begun to react to what was happening. Those with the quicker pilots had made for the station’s portum, clumsily crashing into each other as they tried to escape through the narrow exit. Rykar didn’t attempt to navigate the desperate traffic jam. He lifted the Aphelion in the air and aimed all its weapons towards the spot where the fuel station began to curve upward in its cylindrical world.

  Firing the equivalent of a small nuclear load, Rykar blasted through the fuel station’s surface. And pushing the Aphelion’s engines as far as they would go, the pirate lord slammed the large vessel through the weakened metal. I didn’t have time to shriek as the Aphelion plunged through molten girder braces and hull plate. The bridge’s blast shields rapidly unfurled along the viewscreen, protecting the hex-glass from being punctured. Holometrics flickered on, tracing the outside impact in shaky outlines that glitched as we burst free into empty space.

  The ancient holometrics took a second to react to our new surroundings. From the sensor readouts, I saw half a dozen small vessels firing upon the fuel station—autonomous attack drones, though extremely sophisticated for such craft. Three of them turned their attention on us, and I saw rapid projectile fire as the enemy vessel approached. Rykar swung the ship and opened the missile batteries. There was a terrible second as I watched many bright lights approach each other on the screen. And then everything collided.

  Rykar had tilted the ship so the majority of the enemy’s fire hit the shields. But the battered protective screen could only catch so many. I saw half a dozen more decks flash amber as holes punched through decks quicker than the blink of an eye. Emergency shields flickered on to contain the atmosphere. Rykar closed the hatch to the bridge. The iris door slammed behind us, separating the bridge compartment from the rest of the ship.

  But even as the Aphelion took a beating, the smart missiles evaded the point-defense of the small ships and two found their targets. On the holometrics, I saw the vessels rupture and bloom in light before fading away.

  Rykar pushed the engines to full thrust, hoping that the enemy would lose interest. However, the drone that had split away from the main attack force still followed, plinging us with attack fire. Rykar flicked a switch and sent more missiles, but they were caught by the drone’s point-defense. And all the while, more decks on the backside of the Aphelion registered breached. Another explosion caused the Aphelion to shudder. Rykar cursed, and I saw that one of the engines was flashing crimson.

  As we raced in the void, the enemy drone ship gained on us, faster than the larger Aphelion. It continued blazing weapons, slowly tearing through our defenseless hull like rusted sheet metal. I saw compartment after compartment flicker yellow and then red as the drone ship bit further and further into the Aphelion. I glanced at Rykar in panic and he looked back at me with a reassuring expression, checking to make sure I had fastened my safety harness.

  In a sudden violent motion, Rykar brought the Aphelion on its side and slammed on the braking thrusters. It was a thousand to one maneuver, requiring a split second calculation of the two ship’s velocities. If he had missed, the drone ship could’ve angled back and hugged close to the Aphelion, making our missiles pointless while the drone could tear us apart. But Rykar was Rykar, and instead, the enemy vessel couldn’t maneuver away from the impact. It slammed against the most heavily shielded section of the Aphelion.

  Without the safety harness, I would’ve been thrown from my seat. The Aphelion groaned horribly as inertial dampeners struggled to counteract the impact. An explosion blossomed on the holometrics and a dozen streaks of molten scrap punctured the Aphelion’s side. But the force of the hit carried us further away from the fuel station, and Rykar was quick to recover, turning us again and putting us at full burn away from the battle.

  Well, full burn with the engines we had left.

  Rykar shouted something at Kybit. Again I couldn’t make out the details. She had focused her whole attention to minimizing the damage of the skirmish. Plugged in to the port, Kybit had been operating the fire suppression systems, rerouting power conduits around damaged sections, and directing emergency shields to preserve much as the atmosphere as possible. Her eyes, rolled to the back of her head, snapped back and the two quickly debated over something I didn’t understand. But in a second, I thankfully didn’t need to.

  The holometric screen changed to a sensor readout of the system. While most traditional scans were being jammed, Rykar figured they could work around it with an infrared sweep. A fuzzy map appeared, and I saw that practically the whole solar system was on fire, especially near Rhodon and the coliseums. Rykar and Kybit shared a terse conversation while I stared horrified at the display, wondering what had become of Ingrish and Amon.

  Rykar slowly nodded his head and began flicking more switches. I actually recognized what he was doing, having seen him run test activations on the Ibis Drive before. Like the veteran of a thousand ship battles before, Rykar had begun charging the FTL at the moment of the attack. He had been fast, and in another twenty minutes, we could enter dark space and escape. Unfortunately, that was also the last thing I wanted.

  I quickly unbuckled my safety harness and tugged on his shoulder, pointing to the outline of Rhodon. “What about Ingrish!? What about Amon!?” I yelled.

  Rykar glanced at me with a sympathetic look. “Amon will be fine. Ingrish…” he hesitated. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

  “We have to go for them!” I shouted, tears in my eyes.

  Rykar looked at me with his yellow eyes. “No.”

  I stood dumbfounded at the old bird, and I cursed myself again, knowing it was pointless to try to argue the point. I truly hated myself, that I didn’t understand language. I wouldn’t have called it back then, but words were to me as magic. Ingrish commanded a thousand feelings and emotions. Amon was more complicated, but whatever he said stuck. And I, was neither. All I could do was gesture uselessly at a malfunctioning map and beg with half-pronounced sentences for Rykar to save my family.

  And the old bird refused.

  With the hindsight of time, I will argue in Rykar’s favor. For what the pirate lord knew at the time, Rykar was right not to be worried for either of them. But I cannot omit a certain irony, knowing what I know now, just who the Xurak were. It was the barely coherent child, grunting in half-gasped sentences, that actually had the more correct view of the situation.

  No one, not even Amon Russ, was safe from the Xurak.

  But as all human children do when they are upset, I was entirely unreasonable. I threw my hands at the switches, trying to shut the Ibis Drive off. I don’t even know what I expected at the time. I couldn’t think that far ahead, so desperate as I was for my parents.

  Before I could even reach the console, Kybit had her arm around my neck, restraining me. “Don’t,” she simply said.

  “Sorry kid.” Rykar sighed, as he sank back in his seat. “We have our orders, and it’s to get you far away.”

  I was unconsolable, flailing and crying in the Nekomata’s grip. Rykar nodded to her. “Get him somewhere safe and put him under.”

  I had no idea where safe was anymore, and I did not know why Rykar wanted me under it. The iris blast door opened, and Kybit dragged me away, kicking and screaming to safety.

  …

  As Kybit dragged me down the corridors to the center of the Aphelion, I eventually calmed. It was less that I changed my mind and more that I was too overcome with the destruction my home had suffered in such a short amount of time. The wall panels were peppered with holes greater than the size of my fist. The scorched remains of explosions and fires were everywhere. There were places where circuity and conduit cabling had blown out, leaving tattered fragments across the blackened floor.

  The Aphelion always had been disorganized, but now it looked wrecked. Cargo crates had spilled over, scattering maintenance parts and other machine bits across the floor. Snapped cables hung uselessly, some still sparking. There were sections where coolant and water lines had ruptured, leaving great puddles that dripped down into flooded access tubes.

  Our journey to the life support bay and the backup stasis pods should’ve been a simple one. Instead, we had to take long detours around blown compartments. Some were sealed off by bulkheads, others with the golden emergency shields, flickering barriers that seemed dangerously thin to keep the atmosphere inside.

  I was in despairing shock as I stumbled past the eviscerated Aphelion. To see this world, which was the only friendly one I had ever known, so broken and torn apart—it was nearly unbearable. I was astounded that this vessel could still fly. The Aphelion had always groaned under its own weight, but now it felt like it could fail at any time. I glanced around worried that the beaten and bruised metal would finally snap apart.

  I slowed in my step as we passed by a viewport. The ship shifted under my feet, and I hesitated to look outside. Kybit gently let go and allowed me to stay a moment as the Aphelion translated into dark space. Wisps of black dust turned into dark clouds which slowly enveloped the vessel as if we were entering a storm. Eventually, there was nothing left of the stars, and I was staring at a howling tempest.

  Reflecting for a long moment, I tried to reach for Kybit’s hand, looking for a something to comfort me.

  “Do you think—” My voice was interrupted by a high-pitched whine. A bolt of energy seemed to pass through me and the ship. Before I could understand what had happened, the Aphelion’s hall went dark and the crimson lights flashed on. I stumbled in the dark, and I saw sparks explode from Kybit as the Nekomata shuddered like she did when she destroyed the silverfish. The alien contorted in great pain, as if she was being burned alive from the inside. After a terrible screech of pained agony, Kybit fell limply to the floor sizzling. In horror, I glanced outside into dark space, and I saw a great warship silhouetted against bolts of eerie light.