Remember the Starfighter (20 page)

In general, mind reading was like remembering a dream. The contents were always obscure. The images both blurred and fleeting. The clarity rare.

This was especially true when reading the minds of other humans. Naturally, the consciousness had a tendency to wander, moving from one thought to another in a whim. People, places and things could appear randomly, only to confuse and fade, decaying into shadow and oblivion. Even an experienced telepath might struggle, needing time and patience to comprehend the target’s winding psyche.

But this could not be said of Julian. Inside his consciousness, repeated the same memory over and over again. It was as clear as day.

Mentally, Landon saw the images. A fleet of ships had exploded to its demise. A moon and its military base were under attack. All around him, the world was beginning to burn, the battle unfolding before his very eyes. It was a memory that seemed like his own, a memory tainted with trauma. Pulling his telepathy away, Landon could only help but shudder.

“Bydandia,” he said. “It’s still on your mind, isn’t it?”

It was a question that wallowed into a pool of silence. Across from Landon, Julian stood only a few footsteps away, looking off into the surrounding view. Following along the tunneled path, the transport continued its ascent, moving through the station’s umbral inner paths and into the Alliance cityscape.   

“The mental suppression regimes. Have you been taking them?” Landon asked.

“No. Not anymore,” Julian replied, slowly raising his head. He wheezed out the words, trying to bear his discomfort.

“Is that really prudent? This is your second rejuvenation. I imagine it must be difficult.”

“It could be worse,” Julian said, his face folding back into apathy. “But I’ve had enough. I’m tired of the drugs, tired of the monitoring gear. Tired of all the medical crap feeding into my veins.”

Letting his head fall to the side, Julian exhaled deeply, venting the silos of exhaustion.

“I just need time. Time to be away from everything.”

He gave a half-smile, hoping to deflect any worries. “I’m fine,” he further insisted, massaging the temples to his head. But Landon could see through the act, the strain of it all still brimming from Julian’s face; it was pure stoicism.              

“Is what they say true?” he asked. “That the rejuvenation treatment can alter your memories?”

“I’m guessing you saw my medical profile.” Julian said. He brushed his hand through his hair, the shaved strands at his fingertips. Reaching further, he touched the back of his head, and imagined feeling it: the area where his scalp had been split open and left to operate upon.

“Maybe that’s just a medical way of saying my mind is fucked,” he said. “I’m not even a hundred percent human anymore.”

Julian chuckled, marinating his laugh in the sarcasm. But he could see Landon was not amused. Letting his laugh die out, Julian grumbled, resigned to the only reply he could give.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know anymore.”

Forget it,
Julian wanted to say.
The past no longer mattered
. He could have easily uttered the excuse and shut up. He had done so before, never wanting to say a word about himself.

But this time, it was different. Julian looked at Landon, and imagined that perhaps he already knew. All those excuses were simply lies, another cliché that sat between Julian and his emotions. He was far too exhausted to keep his guard up. Too tired to keep the pity at bay. This was Landon after all. Not just a telepath, but a man he had once called friend.

“The first rejuvenation was worse,” he said. “Much worse.”

Julian spoke lightly, not wanting to give his condition much weight. Yet to look at him was to see a man who had died not once, but twice. Out of a cruel coincidence, Landon had been present both times Julian had been dead. The first time, happening years before.

“I know,” Landon said. “I remember.”

Pursing his lips, Julian brandished what was an ill attempt at a smile. It was an empty one.

“I guess I’m lucky that I’m alive at all. But dying like that... You lose something. Things that you never get back.”

Julian then pointed to the side of his head, his two fingers twisting like a surgical drill.

“My memory. I’ve lost some of it.”

“How so?”

“Four years ago, in the...accident. The damage to my brain was so severe. The hole in my head, the doctors just did what they could.”

Julian gave a deadpan look, numb to the imagery his words conveyed.

“I’m sorry,” Landon said. “I just assumed you recovered. You can still fly. You still remember me.”

“But the other things...” he said. “Fuck. I don’t even remember my family any more. Or why I even joined. So many early memories, the gaps…”

Julian closed his eyes, flinching at the thought.

“The memory loss. How bad was it?” Landon asked.

“20, maybe 30 percent. Who knows? A giant chunk is just gone.”

“I had no idea.”

Julian nodded, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“I can’t even remember why I became a pilot. Just little things, gone. Enough to make you feel lost.”

He stood there, pensive, reminded of the fact, that for a time, Julian could face no one. He had left behind his family, and any semblance of a normal life. He was just a casualty of war, forced to pick up the pieces when he could find none.

“I feel I’m to blame,” Landon told him. “What happened to you, four years ago, I can’t help, but—”

“No,” Julian said, raising a hand in protest. “I blame no one. No one, but myself. It’s my mistake. Mine alone.”

He could feel the guilt come over him like an illness. Grabbing a handrail next to the transport window, Julian squeezed hard.

“Besides. I have plenty of memories. So many of them clear. The military, the war. Too bad it’s done me no good to remember them. Maybe I don’t want to remember.”

It was easy for Julian to see them. Even his most recent experiences could not wash away the stench of death. Tapping the metal handrail, Julian felt his fingers twitch, shivering to some subconscious thought. He grabbed at them with his other hand, forcing them silent.

As Julian held his hands tightly, the transport arrived at its destination. The elevator-like frame held still, the subtle hum of its gears abating. Now sitting through the glass door was an Alliance promenade, the pathway leading to a shuttle hub not far.

He did not immediately exit, wanting to instead take a moment to breathe. Wiping his eyes, Julian straightened his shoulders, trying to find some normalcy. 

“Where will you go after this?” Landon asked.

“I don’t know. Not like I’m in the condition to do anything.”

“But you will eventually. Maybe in just another week or so. You can go anywhere.”

Julian, however, merely shook his head. He had no answer to the question, only just what others had hoped.

“Before I left Bydandia, Drayden told me that I could have a life,” he said. “I only wish it were so easy.”

Turning to face Landon, Julian gave a nod. It was his way of saying goodbye, the farewell simple and brief. He then prepared to leave the transport, and tapped a nodule on his suit. Slowly, the organic glass formed a barrier over his face and neck, sealing him off from the surrounding atmosphere.  

He gave one last look at Landon, and saw an innocent stare. In return, he smiled back.

“Just take care of yourself,” Julian said through the suit’s speaker. “Take care of
her
.”

The door opened, the air venting out from the transport. Moving past Landon, Julian walked off, letting the door behind him close.

“Her” — to anyone else, it seemed as if Julian was referring to the android. The artificial woman was still in both their memories, her significance of the utmost importance. But Landon knew better. His telepathy had felt it. 

“Evah,” the commander said, whispering the name. “Evah Nyung.”

Isen was located on the other end of the galaxy, thousands of light-years away, and far from the Endervar war. It was a planet different from Haven, with few oceans, a drier climate, and little civilization. But to Julian, it was the new homeworld, a safe refuge for what remained of his scattered people.

After spending almost a month on the Alliance station, Julian waited at the spacedock, ready to leave. He had finally received flight clearance, albeit with his military status still suspended. Nearby, convoys were docking at the landing terminals, the various ships, both large and small, populating the chambered bays. Some were structures like stone, others fleshed out in organic skin. However, each one was effectively a gateway, leading to the rest of the Alliance or some non-aligned galactic territory. In another hour, Julian would board one ship in particular, a cargo vessel bound with goods for Isen. But this time, he would be on the ship simply as a passenger and not as a pilot.

As Julian sat on a simple bench, the clientele around him bustled, the hodgepodge of alien races passing about. A Morbathian, and its glassy skin creaked behind him, lurching in a slow crawl. Snapping and hissing was a female Olantis, its stub-like feet prancing with each step. One after another they came, making noises and speaking languages still strange to Julian. Shutting off his automated translator, Julian took in the sounds, only to hear a crackling shuffle in the oxygenated air. Like a vagrant it made him feel, overlooked and irrelevant among the mass of unfamiliar bodies. It was obvious he did not belong with them. Julian’s only acquaintance was what lay in his hand, a last surviving memento. 

It was seemingly inconsequential, the fragment a piece of metal. Shaped as a feathered wing, the symbol denoted his former status as a captain. It was something he initially hadn’t even cared for, a requirement any officer of SpaceCore was forced to abide and don. But over time, it had grown on him. Though he would never say it, secretly he had worn the ranking with pride. With affection.

Julian held on to the metal with his two fingers, thinking of the one who had given it to him. “Nalia,” he said in a whisper. “I wish you were here.”

With his thumb, he rubbed the surface of the feathered wing. Only a day ago, Julian had been tempted to throw it away. For so long, he had tried to keep the past at bay, wanting to rid himself of any painful reminders. But as he looked at the symbol, he couldn’t help but relent. This was something not to forget. Clasping his hand, Julian remembered: Nalia had wanted him to have this. She had been the one to make him a captain. She had needed him to be a pilot. “Captain Nverson,” she would always say, letting him know that he mattered. Now this piece of metal was all that was left of her, the sole object of what remained.

Looking down at the insignia, he wondered if he would ever pilot another ship again. To Julian’s surprise, someone was listening.

He rose from his seat, thinking he had heard a voice. Around him, he glanced, looking for the source. What met him were the slitted eyes of a Nelacite, the six sockets blinking in his direction. Looking past them, he could see there was no human face close by, let alone anything resembling his own species. Only more alien life. Julian sat back down on his seat, confused.

<
Remain calm.
>

Once more, the voice came, louder. It echoed in his mind, the speech telepathic.

“Landon?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

He felt it in his thoughts, the distinct imprint. The voice female. Julian knew this sensation. 

.
>

He held still, cautious of his surroundings. Casually, he searched for the source, carefully moving his eyes in what field of vision he could see.

<
Let me help you. It’s only fair.
>

“Um, excuse me?”

Startled, Julian was unsure what he was in store for. But in the blink of the eye, it happened, his vision transformed. In fact, he could see himself.

There Julian was, sitting on the bench, alone, the view coming from his rear.  Everything was the same, his clothes, his posture, even the way he breathed. Confused, he brushed the back of his head, thinking it to be surreal. As he did so, he noticed the image mirroring his every action. This was no simulation; he was truly watching himself. 

Slowly, he could feel it pull away, the field of view expanding. Soon he could see himself, and the Alliance clientele passing behind him. Then it became a crowd, dozens stirring in the terminal hallway. Eventually, the view panned back, becoming almost aerial, the perspective traced to a balcony above.

<
I hope that wasn’t too disorienting. My implants don’t normally move so slowly.> 

His view darted away, moving along with the floor. Julian not only heard the footsteps tap on the ground, but felt them, the weight pressing and lifting each time. At his sides, swayed what he knew to be arms, and gradually he could see them, the hands both feminine and elegant. Tapping a band on the wrist, they accessed a holographic projection, the wall of light filling Julian’s view.

<
See me now?>

At first, he thought it to be a mistake, the view entirely that of data, with little sign of any person. But as Julian looked closer, he realized it was the reflection that mattered more. In the golden light, he saw a faint figure: a woman, tall and with long hair. Implants lay etched on her cheek bones, the metallic lines lacing down her unnaturally youthful face.

“Specialist Alysdeon,” Julian said in softest of tones.

To the thought, a smile perked on the woman’s face.

“Are you in danger?”

“What?” Julian asked. “You mean you’ve been monitoring me? Why?”

“Up for what?”