Remember the Starfighter (56 page)

In its arrogance, the Ouryan had done more than just incorporate a piece of Julian into its being. It had assimilated the entirety of the replica, and imprinted the captain’s personality onto its own.

It was how the agent knew Julian would return to Haven. But the Ouryan had perhaps underestimated the captain’s influence.

It felt the silver rod in its hand, the holographic skin masking its hardened robotic grip around the device.

How the Ouryan had so wanted to punish the captain, and make him pay for the humiliation it had suffered. Two vessels had been lost, with the Unity casting only more doubt over its abilities.

The agent had imagined it, and toyed with all the morbid possibilities. To ruin the captain and rip that war-torn brain out of his precious skull. The agent had very much salivated at the prospect. In fact, it craved it.

All that seemed very irrelevant now. The captain was in its grasp. And yet, the Ouryan felt no urge to exact revenge.

Here was a man, who had died twice. If anything, Julian welcomed death.

No, the captain was a soldier. A starfighter. He wanted to liberate his people, even if it would come at the cost of his own life.

That’s why he had returned to Haven. To try and save it.

Yet with that understanding, came a small dose of sympathy, along with an alien sense of idealism.

Was this weakness? Or some bizarre asset?

The audience replied in a chorus of shouts.

-- Flawed you are. Weak. You disappoint us! You are no Ouryan!

The agent balked.

“They will never understand us,” he said. “Not like I do.”

Although its own loyalty may have been to the Unity, the agent feared no one, including its own kind.

Still, the agent could not ignore it. The mission and all its perceived glory.

“I know much of you captain,” the Ouryan said. “But not quite everything.”

It was a fact that the agent was swiftly reminded of, the vast audience urging him to act.

-- Arendi Soldanas. The captain knows. We demand her location!

The agent and its prey. The calm before the kill.

The blonde-haired man nodded and held up the silver rod before Julian. It walked forward, ready to insert the device. 

The interrogation tool would end the captain, or cause significant neural damage. Once embedded into the side of his skull, the invasive machines would go to work, scanning his flesh and extracting every salvageable memory contained inside his brain.  

The process would be excruciatingly painful. With another step forward, the Ouryan activated the device, a pair of needles, jutting out from the bottom-end of the rod.

Julian swallowed, and closed his eyes.

“I hope you understand. But I have my orders,” the agent said. “Otherwise, I would very much like to continue our little chat.”

“It is what it is,” Julian merely replied. “Let’s get this over with.”

The agent silently agreed.

“At least I wasn’t bored. You’ve earned my respect,” the figure said, slowly pulling back its arm. “But all good things must come to an end.”

It was true. The Ouryan didn’t care for organic life, or even much for its own kind. By human standards, it was a sociopath and was certainly a master in the art of killing.

But as far-fetched as it seemed, a small ounce of the agent valued the captain.

“Hmph,” the agent said, the rod only inches away from its target.

Julian expected the blow to be there already, the rod lodged somewhere alongside his head.

He was still standing, as the seconds passed by. He waited for it. The rod cutting through flesh.

It did not come. There had been no blow. Or any sign of pain. Only an amused grunt.

“Very interesting,” the agent went on, becoming more emphatic. “Very, very interesting.”

Julian timidly opened his eyes.

In his sight was the agent, but without the silver rod. The blonde-haired man had mysteriously sheathed it away behind his waist.

The agent nodded, moving its head up and down in a slow rhythm. Apparently, it had become distracted with something, the event sending ripples through the free galaxy.

It would be another full minute, when the Ouryan finally responded.

“I assume you had a hand in this?”

In another snap of the fingers, the agent summoned the display screen. It materialized in front of Julian, the holographic image replaying in a loop.

“It’s trending. On every news feed in the galaxy,” the Ouryan added.

What Julian found was footage of a world captured in white. Then it was gone, the barrier lifted, the natural colors of the planet restored.

He saw it again, when the realization dawned upon him.

“Is this Haven?”

“Indeed. It is.”

As Julian continued to watch the footage, the Ouryan stepped back, hearing the cacophony of the Unity.

The vast audience was scattering, the concerns and priorities immediately shifting into a new wave of internal bickering.

The agent could hear it all: the high collectives ambushed by a development they had once thought preposterous. How very wrong they had been. 

It glanced back at Julian, and found itself in envy. The captain had no idea the nuisance it had wrought for the Unity. But more importantly, this human had done the one thing the agent had always sought to do in its 2,000 years of existence.

“The Endervars,” the Ouryan said. “You’ve struck a blow against them like no other.”

After crossing a series of checkpoints, Julian had finally found her, standing tall within the small gathering.

She was beaming, and welcomed him with a hug.

Alysdeon said, in a tight embrace.

She examined him and patted his shoulders, letting out the anxiety in a mellowed breath. It had been over three days since their capture, and Julian had been worried as well.

He was about to speak, when he realized the mask around his face was still active. Pressing the collar on his neck, Julian let the breathing apparatus release, and retreat away from his skin.

“I’m fine,” he said in a belated smile. “Just barely.”

Wiping the sweat off from his face, Julian was relieved. He had been spared what would have been a painful interrogation, and maybe even death. Instead, he had been delivered to a neighboring ship, one that was not directly under the Ouryan’s Union’s command, but which served the Alliance Supreme Council.

It was a diplomatic vessel, and staffed by a wide range of alien races, all living under different conditions. Following a run-in with a lower gravitational state, Julian had arrived in the designated room, feeling the weight return to his feet and the cool air press against his cheeks.

Alysdeon said.

She led him to center of the room, where the three other figures stood, none of them human. They all gazed above, to the images generated by the perched holo-emitter. But before Alysdeon could begin the introductions, the latest military intelligence had started to stream through.

Julian joined them, and saw the data buzz with colors and activity. Recognizing the live news report, he went to his comm-band, and requested a translation.

NEWSCASTER: We are now getting reports that communication has been reestablished with the Terran world of Haven. The colony’s government is responding to the latest calls and is asking for immediate assistance.

Furthermore, continued scans show that the colony remains populated, following the demise of the Endervar shield around the planet.

Alliance authorities have yet to issue an official comment. However, an emergency meeting of the Supreme Council is already underway.

While we wait, we’re receiving more information... about the group allegedly responsible for lifting the shield around Haven.

We’re still trying to confirm. But they claim to be working on behalf of former Terran leader, known as Sovereign Davinity.

According to a statement issued by the group, the Sovereign has found a way to destroy the Endervar shield. She pledges to target other systems, including homeworlds belonging to the Arcenian and Iyanas people.

She asks that all join her cause...to begin the liberation of the galaxy.

The report went on, the details mixing speculation with what few facts were publicly known. Julian, however, already knew the truth, and so began to tune it all out. He wished to only stare at the other picture on display. That of a blue planet, spinning in space, unhindered, and seemingly free of the war.

“Arendi,” Julian said. “She did it. She really did it.”

Still in disbelief, he felt the emotions swell in his chest, the sensation almost intoxicating. Although he could barely speak, Julian was elated, and felt the need to sit down.

Finding a nearby railing, he leaned over the metal bar and tried to process everything happening around him.

Next to Julian, the other figures were doing the same. All of them veterans of the Great War, and aligned with the Alliance in some capacity.

The Arcenian was the first to comment, and did so by slamming his large fists down against an adjacent desk. Julian nearly jumped when he heard the loud clang, and the sound of the table topple. 

“The Ouryans. They’ll pay for this treachery.”

Nearly 7-feet-tall, the Arcenian shouted his hostility, and flexed his scaled arms. Licking its lips, like a serpent would, the famed admiral barked, using a module at its neck to translate.

“I would have my people declare war on them, if only they weren’t so powerful.”

The admiral formed another fist, and angrily raised it into the air. Looking at the Arcenian with mild concern, Alysdeon spoke through her implants, so that all could hear.

“Former fleet master,” the admiral corrected. “I much rather fight for my own people, rather than continue this charade of a so-called Alliance.”

The Arcenian then grabbed the official insignia on his chest, and crushed the medal emblem with his hand, the electronics inside snapping. 

“The Alliance. What a joke.”

While it was true that the galactic organization still existed, the Alliance was no longer a cooperative body. What power it had left had been diluted in the last week to form an advisory committee that primarily served the Ouryan Union.

It was a regrettable move, and to some, a humiliating loss. But at the time, there had been no other choice, the remaining galactic powers all desperate for access to the Ouryan collapser — or what had been thought to be the salvation of the galaxy.

The Arcenian commander fumed, his large nostrils flaring.

“The Ouryans. They go too far,” he continued. “Trying to silence you and issue a bounty. The galactic public will not forget this.”

The admiral’s blood seemed to boil, his face snarling with more anger. Julian wanted to back away, alarmed at the steam coming from the alien’s lips.

Thankfully, Alysdeon was there to intervene. She gently touched the admiral’s rock-like face with her hand.

The admiral recognized his folly, and eased his stance to focus on the priority at hand.

Alysdeon asked.

They turned to the figure next them, a far slender individual dressed in a transparent containment suit.

There were no eyes, mouth or discernible facial features to the being. Only a thin mop of red skin, followed by a bush of more tendrils at its feet, and a stream of bubbles rising around it.

It gracefully hovered closer, powered by the anti-gravity units embedded in the suit. The senator had been pondering the matter, and within a short time, had spoken to dozens of other representatives from across the Alliance.

“For now, the collapser is politically dead. Or at least delayed,” it said in a comforting and feminine tone. 

The being then glowed, the veins of blue light flashing through its skin.

“The whole galaxy is waiting for you, Sovereign,” the senator added. “What is your next move?”

They all looked to her, waiting for the answer. Alysdeon studied the data on display, trying to weigh her options.

Inevitably, she would have to rendezvous with the battleship, the Davinity, and learn the exact progress that had been made to eliminate the Endervar shield. It was her hope to repeat the success, as soon as possible, and freely distribute the technology to the other galactic governments.

Knowing that the expectations were high, Alysdeon dared not to disappoint. But as she looked at the latest intelligence, she realized that liberation would not come without a fight.

Julian saw it as well, the Alliance tracking networks noticing the start of a dramatic shift in Endervar movement across the sector.

“The warp signatures. Maybe the enemy is pulling back,” he said. “Away from the frontlines.”

It was what he feared might happen: an army of Endervar ships ready to strike, and reclaim Haven once more.

“Don’t worry,” the admiral said, his laugh creeping in. Surprised, Julian looked at the Arcenian, and saw his head held high.

“They will never take back Haven. Not while I live,” the admiral said. “No, we will have our vengeance.”

The Arcenian then approached Alysdeon, and knelt down on one knee in a loyal bow.

“What’s left of the Arcenian home fleet is ready to serve,” the admiral added. “Your cause has become ours. We will fight as one.”

Touched by the gesture, she knelt down, and took the admiral’s six-fingered hand.

They rose from the floor, only to hear another pledge of support.

“The Lanadi Yissau is also with you Sovereign,” the red-skinned senator said. “We seek liberation. My peoples’ ships are all eager to join.”

She was heartened by the words, and nodded in thanks. It was a sign that the free galaxy would, indeed, rally to her cause, just as she had hoped. Together, she would have a formidable fleet at her command, comprising of hundreds of able ships, maybe thousands. The tide was turning in their favor, and she could feel it.

However, there was one figure left in the room that had yet to speak.

She looked at him, the commander no longer embodying an attack bot, but how she had first met the sentient machine all those years ago.

she asked.

Out of all the three alien figures, the commander looked the most human, the veneer of a man there, but covered in chrome and fastened by liquid metal.

It was the form that the machine had designed. As a way to emulate and respect a long-deceased comrade. To uphold that honor, the commander still wore the pinstripes of blue across his artificial chest, the colors chosen by the first human sentinel to ever enter the ranks.

The commander now saluted Alysdeon, wanting to pay tribute to that memory once more. But regrettably, he could only ask that she wait for his answer.

“I would gladly fight with you Sovereign,” the machine commander replied. “But my will is now bound to the Union. Please standby.”