Remember the Starfighter (29 page)

“You’re bleeding,” Arendi said,
pointing to Julian’s face.

He was standing in front of her — just minutes after the Kilanthian ship had made the jump into hyperspace — when it abruptly began. 

“Shit,” he said, rubbing the blood away with his sleeve. Embarrassed, he walked off, holding his nose with his two fingers.

“Are you injured?” she asked.

Julian waved his other hand, trying to dismiss the nosebleed.

“It’s fine,” he said, forcing a smile. “Just some minor hemorrhaging. Nothing to worry about.”

Arendi followed him, as he poured the leftover water from the bottle into his bloodied hand. 

“I guess my rejuvenation didn’t cure everything,” he said, wiping the residue on his flight suit.

Holding his nose, Julian leaned against the ship’s control system and waited for the bleeding to pass. He stared down at the floor, pretending to overlook Arendi’s glance.

“You should rest,” she said. “You have not slept since we left Alliance Command.”

“It’s all right. I’m fine.”

He wiped the remaining blood from his face, and placed the empty container on the floor.

“Don’t worry,” he said, hiding behind another forced smile. “It’s just an old wound. It happens”

“What kind of wound?”

She asked only to watch as Julian crouched down against the ship’s control system. In silence he remained, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

“Please let me know, how I can help you,” she insisted.

The pilot sat there seemingly unaffected by the words. He sighed, breathing out what felt like dread. Reluctantly, he stood up once again, the discomfort coursing through his gaze. 

“This may get ugly,” he said. 

She watched as the pilot walked to the salvaged supplies and pulled an object from the packed bag. It was a book-like case containing two small vials. He reached for one and held the bottle up to the light, shaking the milky solution between his fingers.

“Here,” he said, removing the communication band from his wrist. “I’ve granted you access. If anything happens to me, you can still control the ship.”

Julian handed the comm-band to Arendi. “I don’t understand,” she replied.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve done this before.”

Without hesitation, Julian then took the vial and jabbed it into the side of his neck.

The pilot clenched his teeth, feeling the solution ooze from the vial into his blood stream. Dropping the bottle to the floor, he knelt on the ground, and waited for the treatment to take hold.

The vial rolled on, falling next to Arendi’s very feet. She picked up the bottle to see that its contents had been entirely emptied.

“It’s an injection,” Julian said, as he began to sweat.

“Your rejuvenation, is it not complete?” she asked.

He turned his face toward her, preparing to explain. But before he could speak, the pilot wailed, clutching the bridge’s control console.

“I’m late, really late,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I should have taken the injection days ago. Hopefully, it’ll still work.”

With one hand, he clasped at his neck, squeezing at the skin. Along his throat and up to his face, the veins began to bulge, the blood vessels, turning purple. He coughed, spitting up drool, like he was choking. Arendi raced toward him.

“What is happening?”

She went to her own internal scans, and saw that his heart rate was climbing, beating erratically.

“It’s OK…” he moaned through his teeth. “Just a momentary side effect.”

As she scanned further, the data pointed to the danger. He was on the verge of dying, his body showing signs of cardiac arrest. The pilot screamed, reaching for her hand.

“It’ll pass. It’s not the first time.”

He held on to her metal fingers, seething in agony. “What can I do?” she asked.

Nothing, he tried to say, but still Julian was overcome with pain. He only needed to endure it a little more, his face turning redder by the second. Arendi stood by as his life signs continued to fluctuate, the spasms growing stronger. Julian clawed at his cheeks, feeling the blood vessels convulse. It terrified her.

“It’s fine,” he said, foaming at the mouth. “I’ll make it.”

The spasms continued, and yet the pain seemed to subside. He inhaled a gulp of air, sucking in one breath after another.

“The other one,” he said, pointing to the container. She found it on the Kilanthian’s ships control system, and pulled the vial into her hand.

Still reeling from the pain, Julian grabbed it, and as before, injected it into his neck. This time, he crashed to the floor.

“Captain?” she asked.

“I’m okay,” he said, panting. “I just need to rest…”

The veins across his face began to fade, sinking back into his cheeks. Arendi went to her scans, and saw that his heart rate and breathing were returning to normal.

“Yes, the treatment seems to be working,” she said.

But the pilot did not hear the words. He was unconscious. “Captain?” she asked, hearing nothing in response. The pilot merely lay there limp, the signs of struggle no more.

When the pilot awoke, he looked more gaunt than before, his skin still pale, and the few veins in his cheek tainted in blue. Although his vitals had remained stable, the treatment had taken its toll, sapping Julian of whatever energy he had.

“How long was I out?” he asked

“Over two days,” she said, standing beside him. “How are you feeling?”

His head fell into his hands, as he wiped his eyes and the sweat from his cheeks.

“Damn. I thought it would be just a few hours at most.”

He stood up from the floor, and looked over at the bridge’s control system. 

“Our course through hyperspace has remained undisturbed,” she said, the comm-band in her hand.

“Good,” he said. Julian placed his two arms down at the control system. He sighed and massaged his neck, feeling how easily the drugs had numbed his body.

“That was the last of the injections,” he said, holding the temples of his face. “I don’t know how I survived that.”

“Why did you delay it?”

“No choice. I needed to focus on the mission. We had little time to prepare. I had to risk it.”

He slowly walked away from the control system, wanting to stretch his muscles. Julian, however, found himself tripping down to the floor. His balance and legs were weaker than he imagined.

Arendi loomed over him concerned, reaching down to try and steady Julian.

“It’s all right,” he said, ignoring her hand. He simply surrendered to gravity and let his body lay on the platform’s incline, nearly out of breath.

“Why did you take this mission?” Arendi asked.

“There was no one else. No one else that could be trusted beyond a doubt.”

“But you are in no condition to pilot.”

“I can take it. I’ve been through worse. Anyways, I feel okay. Just tired.”

Arendi walked toward Julian’s salvaged food supply, and pulled a packet of sealed nutrient solution. She knelt down beside the pilot, and handed it to him.

“You must drink.”

He nodded, taking the packet, and unzipping its cap.

“I’m sorry for all this,” he said. “Things haven’t gone as planned.”

Softly, he squeezed the container, laboring to drink from the packet.

“It’s hard to believe that I’m still alive,” he remarked. Julian lifted up his hand, and stared at the blue veins seemingly scarring the skin around his arm.

“You received this rejuvenation treatment before, correct?” she asked.

The pilot was slow to respond, sipping from the packet, and savoring its taste.

“Yes, the first time... it was several years ago,” he said. “I died.”

He gave an empty smirk, seemingly unconcerned. Curiously, Julian placed two fingers against his temple. “Boom,” he said in a puff.

He then crumpled the container in his hand, silent. “Do you need more?” she asked.

“Sorry, no. I was just thinking. Thinking about that first time…”

His vacant stare lingered, before he finally turned to Arendi to see the metal sheen of her armor. “I don’t know if you would understand,” he said. “The war… the fighting…”

“I’ve only read the records, including yours,” she replied. “You fought many battles for SpaceCore during your military career.”

Julian slowly nodded, indifferent to all the violence he had witnessed.

“It’s ironic. Even with all the battles, I’m the one who did this to myself.”

It was the second time Julian had said such a thing. “Why do you say that?” Arendi asked.

Again, he placed two fingers against his temple, the thumb pressing down like a trigger.

“I killed myself,” he said. “Shot myself right through the head.”

Julian let the hand fall into his lap. He lay on the ship’s floor still numb. Arendi did not know what to say.

“It was a mistake,” he went on. “I was dumb. Too damn young. Couldn’t keep it together.”

Julian rose to his feet, and turned to the ship’s central control system, noticing the alien symbols across the gold metal. He looked on, hoping to forget what he had just mentioned.

“Your military profile does mention your death,” Arendi said. “It was during a campaign called Second Gaia.”

Julian slowly walked past the control system, and back to the bag of supplies. Pulling out another nutrient packet, the pilot gave what Arendi could tell was a look of sadness.

“Second Gaia. It was a human colony. From one of the original seed ships,” he said.

“Yes, I know. It was lost to the Endervars four years ago.”

“The public records don’t say it. But in the end, the Alliance obliterated that planet. We bombed it to hell.”

“Why?”

“It’s an Alliance protocol. Scorched earth. The higher-ups had decided to scratch off the colony. They wouldn’t let it fall into enemy hands. It’s all about containment, and stopping the enemy’s spread.”

He shook his head in shame, as he tried to sum up what felt like a lifetime of fatigue.

“I wasn’t there. I didn’t see it. But we failed. I know that. ”

Julian kept his head down, the frustration welling up in his face. “We evacuated as many as we could. But it wasn’t enough. Eventually, we were running suicide missions. Trying to stop the Endervar advance any way we could. Didn’t matter. “

“Dead,” he said. “Just blown away. People I knew for years, people who were my best friends. Killed in an instant. 12 friends dead in one goddamn battle. Under my orders.”

“Your profile said you briefly led Gray Squadron,” Arendi said.

Julian shook his head. “There is no more Gray Squadron,” he said, waving his hand.

“Fuck,” he snapped. “No, in spite it all. It wasn’t that—”

The pilot stopped, as he reached for another nutrient packet. But rather than pull it out, he left the container in the bag of supplies. He could no longer stomach it, and zipped the pack tight.

“It was a woman,” he admitted. “Some stupid thing.”

Dejected, Julian stood hunched over the control system.

“Evah... I guess I loved her.”

Julian stood there silent, the depression swelling in his gut. It was a feeling he was intimately familiar with. He could no doubt go on, and reflect on the regrets. That for a moment, years ago, the world had fallen apart around him. That he had pulled a trigger, thinking it done, only to feel a flood of shame ever since. He could say so much more, and let the pity wash over him again.

But he stopped. Julian realized it was an old story, one that he had repeated to himself too many times over. He let it go rather quickly, knowing that it was the loneliness wanting to talk. Julian had grown tired of it.

“It is what it is,” he said, looking at Arendi’s face. “This war... I don’t expect you to understand.”

The pilot had nothing else to say, as he threw aside his emotions. He walked away from her, and sat down on the platform’s edge, looking out to the field of empty seats surrounding them.

“I understand,” Arendi simply said. But it was not uttered only out of politeness. She grasped the pain Julian had spoke of. Many times over, she had faced the same feelings before.

Arendi found herself inside a room on the ship. It was one of the few on board with an actual view out into space itself, the window enshrined in Kilanthian symbols. Through the glass, thousands of stars glimpsed by, passing along the violet trench. Hyperspace — it was a medium new to her, the region of reality still untapped by the enemy’s influence. She gaped at the sight, and briefly imagined the countless worlds in the galaxy, all spinning along, trying to survive. It was not long before, Arendi noticed the other figure among the stars. Her face like a shadow, lurking in the reflection.

It would have been so easy to shun it away.
Extend
, she could order, the retractable armor ready to hide her human appearance once again.

But Arendi held back. Instead, she did something she had rarely ever done before, the action like reflex. With her hand, Arendi reached for her face, and felt the softness of her cheek. Slowly, she moved to the mouth, with the lips touching her chrome-plated fingers like an accidental kiss.

It was then she looked directly at the figure, almost ready to say the words.

Professor
, she thought to herself.
Professor Arendi Miya Soldanas.

She glanced at the woman before her, half-hoping for a response. A ghost stared silently back, its legacy living on in the artificial body it housed.

“Am I disturbing you?”

She turned around to see Julian at the room’s entrance. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said concerned. “You still have my communication band.”

She looked to her wrist, and saw the device attached around her hand. “My apologies,” she said, slipping the band off, and placing it in Julian’s open palm. “I had forgotten.”

“No worries.”

As he placed the band around his wrist, Arendi noticed that the pilot’s health was recovering fast. In mere hours, his face was becoming less pale, the blue veins fading into his skin. Most of all was the energy in his voice, the wheezing in his breath lifted.

“We have about another day, before we arrive in SpaceCore territory,” he said, eyeing the countdown on the communication band’s display. “Delta Highron is just on the horizon.”

He then wiped his face, still somewhat fatigued. But not before, he shot off another glance at her, the question fresh on his mind.

“I’ve just been thinking,” he said. “My friend Landon. He said you could break the Endervar shield. Is this true?”

Arendi pondered the thought herself, thinking the answer to be already known.

“Break? No, I cannot. That technology was lost with my ship.”

“Yes, but Landon said you knew something. Something that could still stop it.”

Julian stared at Arendi hard. She could tell it was a plea for help. For anything.

“Theoretically, I may be able to penetrate it,” she said. “If only for a brief moment.”

“How?”

Arendi pressed a hand against her chest, signaling the answer.

“My power source. This suit, it is designed to manipulate enemy matter. It is how I was able to pilot my ship, and depart Earth.”

“Well, at least that’s something.” He said the words trying to cement them in reality, although the uncertainty was still there in his gaze. Julian then confessed.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m not a scientist. Or a commander. I’m just a pilot.”

He cut himself off, feeling like he was uttering an inadequate apology. “But it’s my duty to protect you—”

“There is no need to explain,” Arendi said. “I understand.”

“No, what I wanted to say—”

“I trust you captain. I understand.”

She stared at him fully, her face no longer masked by metal, but open before him. Julian pursed his lips, and nodded.

“May I ask a question?” Arendi said the words, walking closer, her gaze both serious, and yet withdrawn.

“Sure.”

“It is of personal nature.”

He paused, surprised by the request. Julian motioned with a hand. “Go ahead.”

“The replica we met on Gamma Dyrannus. The replica of yourself. We’re you pleased with it?”

“Pleased?”

“Yes.”

He stuttered in his speech, still bewildered by the question.

“Well, he was very helpful. We wouldn’t be here, in this ship, without him.”

“But what did you think of him? Is he what you expected? Or do you regret creating him?”

Julian paced the room, unsure where this was going.

“I guess it’s good to know there’s a part of me that will always be around. Although I can’t really say if we share that much in common anymore.”

“You felt he changed?”

“Maybe it’s better to say I changed. Not necessarily for the better, it seems.”

It was a joke, but Arendi did not smile. Only grow more solemn and uncertain.

“Then perhaps the replica was not thoroughly accurate,” she said.

Julian shook his head. “No, it’s not that. He seemed … happy. Genuinely so. Or at least at peace. Like he belonged.”

He combed through his hair with his hand, realizing the conclusion he was about to make. “Maybe that’s what I wanted. I suppose that’s fitting,” he went on, with a sigh. “Why do you want to know this?” Julian then asked.

She raised her chin, and glanced at the ceiling above.

“It is ironic,” Arendi said. “Prior to meeting you, I had never encountered another human before.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “To be designed like a human, and yet to never have conversed with one. It is strange, I know. At times I have wondered what humans… what you, would be like.”

“It’s nothing special,” Julian said. “I’m probably not the best example.”

Arendi smiled in politeness, dismissing the modesty.

“Perhaps we share something in common.”

“What do you mean?”

She had been caught off guard by all the questions. Here, before Arendi, was an actual human, speaking and then listening to her every word. Once she had thought them to be elusive, humanity existing more like an abstract concept, a derelict if anything. But she had been wrong. They were not only real, but, indeed, she had been built with a part of them — her machine systems clinging on to that legacy, however flawed it may be.

“I am not just an android,” she said, feeling the kinship. “But I am based upon another specific human. My emotions, my personality are supposedly hers.”

She then stepped away from Julian and turned to the ship window, the reflection harboring her faint figure.

“I am an imperfect replica,” she added. “Of a woman who died eons ago. Her name was also Arendi Soldanas.”