[[Please enjoy the changes, effective 2/14/2022]]
Be careful.
Lithos’ eyes opened slowly, this time. He shivered against the cold sweat that had coalesced to rivers down his back. He was grasping at straws once again; the warnings of his nightmares faded quickly to a general malaise. He groaned, cursed under his breath, and tugged the covers over his head.
The engines hummed under the bed frame. The computer blipped in acknowledgement of him waking.
“Good Morning, Lithos,” said the metallic voice. “Initiate morning routine?”
He pulled the covers down from his eyes and lay scowling at the ceiling for a few moments more. Eventually, he grunted, “Yes.”
Again, it blipped in acknowledgement.
There was a passing moment where he was left to wonder how long he’d been asleep. It hadn’t felt like a full eight, nor the usual toss-and-turn of his partials. He tugged the blanket down the rest of the way and sighed, “Play message from Command.”
“You have,” the voice hesitated as it processed, “two new messages from Command. Message one: ‘I’m willing to look past the insubordination this time, Commander,’” Baal-Berith sighed, then continued, “‘I-- you’ve got to start taking better care of yourself. It’s beginning to affect your work.’”
Lithos scowled, pushing himself upright. The scowl shifted to his feet under the blanket.
“‘That said, you’re under new orders. Make your way back to base–’” a booming explosion within the message made Lithos jump out of bed.
“What was that?” he was left to wonder alone.
That shimmering nebula glimmered outside the window, uncertain.
He grabbed the uniform he’d laid out over the table under the window and made a mad dash to the cockpit.
“‘--Lithos,’” his voice was measured, tense, “‘I’m going to have to call you back.’”
“What was that?!” Lithos slapped the panel on the wall repeatedly as the doors took their time to open.
“Come on, come on, come on!” he whispered, shifting between his feet. He shrugged his uniform shirt on as he squeezed through the small opening the doors gave him and flew into the cockpit.
“Message two: ‘Lithos, son, the absolute moment you’re awake (even if you’ve only slept five minutes), call me. Use a secure channel. This one is compromised.’ End of messages.”
The silence was dense. It was a cold pearl in his stomach. It made his fingers and his cheeks tingle. There was a whine in his ears as he input the coordinates to their homeworld. He swallowed, leaning back in his chair. His eyes settled on Aaliyah’s picture, and his stomach twisted.
In for five…
Out for five….
He put his boots on, and fumbled over the laces. His eyes drifted up to Aaliyah’s picture again. The stars pulled away from each other as his cruiser tore towards home. There was another voice at an arm’s length of memory that brought his eyes to well in hers.
‘No more games. No more cycles. I am done, Theta.’
“Computer, call Command, use secure channel Beta,” Lithos said, his voice shaking in the throes of adrenaline. His eyes lingered in Aaliyah’s eyes, on her hair, the ease of her smile. He missed her, terribly.
Please be okay, Aalie.
Please.
“Calling... COMMAND, BETA,” the metallic voice responded, passionless to his urgency. The muted trill sounds of a connection attempt rang between the whine in his ears.
“Come on,” he whispered, rubbing the stubble on his face with shaking hands.
Finally, the trills ceased all at once. A black line became a box, processing a video link.
“Lithos, oh, ancestors,” a young face of sequoia appeared on his viewscreen. His eyes were wide, pupils just pinpricks He was sweating, and his panic was palpable, “Oh, ancestors.”
“Enzokuhle,” he dropped his hands from his mouth, “what’s going on?”
There were alarms blaring, hazard lights flashing behind the man on the screen, and against his skin, his eyes.
“What happened to Baal-Berith?”
“He’s, uh,” Enzokuhle’s face drained. He looked haunted, devastated, terrified, “he’s not dead? But... he’s not... himself? either?”
“What is that supposed to mean, Enzokuhle?!” Lithos shouted (in a rare form he immediately regretted), unable to hide his panic.
“I don’t know! I’m a programmer, not a Nominal Peace officer!” Enzokuhle yelled back. “Are you on your way yet?!”
“I--I, uh,” he said, crossing his arms to hide their shaking. “I’m sorry. I’m going as fast as this tincan can go. I’m sorry.”
Shame on you.
What’s the matter with you?
Enzokuhle shrugged and scowled.
You know better than that, Lee.
“Computer, calculate ETA,” he said against his guilt. He tried to apologize with his eyes, and was met only with the fire of his friend’s glare.
I’m sorry.
“Estimated time of arrival is within... FIFTY EIGHT minutes,” the voice said, oblivious entirely to their urgency.
Lithos and Enzokuhle stared at each other in terrible silence. Lithos’ hands slipped over his mouth again.
Oh, ancestors.
“I’m not going to make it, am I?”
“Lee,” Enzokuhle said, wiping sweat from his forehead, “my friend, look, this goes against all protocol, and there’s no one around who can authorize this for me, so we’re just gonna have to… ‘create a workaround.’”
“A workaround, eh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. A small part of him wondered where this ingenuity was where a certain night-mode-in-the-closet issue was concerned. The rest of him was thoroughly ashamed of his thought’s timing.
What is the matter with you?
“Computer,” Enzokuhle said, his face settling into determination, “activate maneuver PoSC-FPS.”
“Authorizing.…”
“You did not,” Lithos snickered, “call it that.”
“Authorization code Sigma Niner Foxtrot Kilo Omega.”
“Authorization code... not recognized.”
“Authorization code Sigma Niner Foxtrot Omega… Kilo Niner?” Enzokuhle tried again.
“Learn your passwords, Enzo!”
“Shh!”
“Authorization code... recognized.”
“Piece of Shit, Cluster-Fuck Programming System…” Enzokuhle grumbled, just a hair too loud. He drummed his fingers against the desk, impatiently.
“Initializing maneuver P-o-S-C-F-P-S,” it studdered over every letter, unaware entirely of the joke at its own expense it spelled out. “WARNING... maneuver will increase risk of... hull integrity failure. Continue?”
“Affirmative!” Lithos and Enzokuhle practically shouted over one another.
“Lithos, strap in and hold on. It’s gonna get bumpy.”
Lithos did. His fingers struggled with the buckle.
“Computer, calculate ETA using manuever PoSC-FPS,” Lithos’s voice sounded so many times removed from his own ears. That whine in his ears was back.
“Estimated time of arrival is within…” the metallic voice said through the whine in his ears, “TWENTY-FIVE minutes.”
“That sounds much better,” Enzokuhle sighed, relieved.
Lithos relaxed a little, offered a small smile to him. “Do you want me to stay on the line?”
Enzokuhle nodded.
“So,” Lithos raised both his eyebrows, hoping to give them both a moment of solace from the panic, “the ‘PoSC-FPS maneuver,’ eh?”
Enzokuhle didn’t respond. His eyes were vacant.
The stars shuddered a moment. The engines hesitated, then whirred into overdrive. The cockpit shuddered under his chair. Then, the stars pulled away from each other in earnest until they were gone entirely. All that remained was the abyss of space, starless in the cruiser’s speed.
“Lee?” Enzokuhle shook his head, fingers against his lips. His knuckles were bleeding. “Something’s taking our people over.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know,” Enzokuhle threw up his hands. “All I hear are explosions and screaming down the hallways, and--” he took a deep shuddering breath, “Lithos, I don’t know what’s going on, but it doesn’t look good for us.”
“Are your hands okay?”
“Hm?” dazed, his dear friend looked at the backs of his hands. He cringed, grimaced, and tears welled in his eyes. “Things are bad, Lee.”
“What happened?”
He sniffled, shaking his head, “Woke up to the alarms. Thought it was another drill.”
“Mm.”
“Baal-Berith was… starting to talk on the intercom, cut himself short–”
“What was he saying?”
“Uh, uh,” he snapped his fingers, “that there was a hostile intrusion on base. I think he was starting to give instruction when he just… cut out.”
“He say where on base?”
“No.”
He nodded, his heart catching in his chest at the ETA countdown’s slow crawl.
“I’m barricaded in my room,” he said, following the tears down his face with his palms. “I had… Oh, ancestors, Lee, I punched Mike in the face.”
“Mike?” The g-forces were pushing his stomach into his spine. He could barely peel his hands from the chair.
“Yeah,” Enzokuhle sobbed. “I was… I was headed to Programming from my room, and, uh, he was waiting outside the door for me, I thought… he wanted to group up or something, but Lee, his eyes.” The color was draining from his face. “His irises were red.”
There was a shiver down his spine, and another one shortly thereafter.
“He… had this weird look on his face…?”
“Weird how?”
“All the sirens are going off, right?” Enzokuhle whispered. “And Baal-Berith had just cut out not too long before, and… Mike’s just…” he shivered, “he just smiles at me.”
Those dual shivers sent a stab of nausea through him.
“It was the most… unnerving smile I’ve ever seen… and he… he had something in his hand, and he swung at me, Lee–”
“He swung at you?”
“Yes!” Enzokuhle sobbed. “So, I– I got a real bad feeling, Lee.” His eyes focused back to Lithos’ screened image, and his dread settled in frown lines on his face. “‘Life in danger’ feelings. ‘Run while you can’ feelings.”
He nodded.
“So, I… I punched him,” he whispered, “and barricaded in my room.”
“Ancestors….” he wasn’t sure if he was shaking, or if it was the cruiser. It was likely some combination of the two.
“I don’t know what to do, Lee.”
“Stay where you are,” he said. “Are you in contact with anyone else?”
He nodded, slowly, “Stavros and Alexander.”
“Okay,” his shoulders relaxed, slightly. “I’m gonna try Aaliyah, okay?”
“Okay,” Enzokuhle said. He pulled a knee up and rested his chin on it, scowling and sniffling.
“Computer, call Aaliyah,” Lithos said, voice shaking, still so distant from him.
“Calling... AALIYAH,” the computer said, indifferent to the chaos surrounding Lithos’ thoughts; the CosmoCorps’ turmoil.
‘I’ll be seeing you, Theta.’
There was a shiver down his spine and another, again.
‘And I’ll have a welcome home present for you.’
Focus.
Do your in-and-outs.
In for five…
After a few muted trill tones, Aaliyah’s voice came through, breaking up, “H-lo?”
Enzokuhle stiffened.
“Aaliyah,” he said, “Aaliyah, are you ok?”
“Y-h, --’m --ne,” she said. “-r- -o-?”
In for five….
Enzokuhle was focused on his screen. His eyes squinted, he hunched over, leaned in closer.
Lithos scowled at the poor status of their connection, dreading its implication for the scene on their homeworld. “I’ll be back soon, real soon, just hang on.”
Aaliyah responded with something he couldn’t make out, there was an explosion (shredded to pieces by interference and their otherwise choppy connection), and the call terminated.
Enzokuhle recoiled.
“Oh.”
“Lee, there is a lot of debris in the atmosphere. There’s an emergency evac alert for the capitol.”
“Oh.”
The entire cruiser had begun shaking and shuddering under the PoSC-FPS maneuver’s demands.
Lithos’ heart pounded, and sweat beaded on his forehead. “Debris from what?”
“I’m–”
“Breakfast has been dispensed at the receptacle,” the metallic voice interrupted.
“Good for breakfast!” Lithos shouted.
Enzokuhle smiled for a moment, but it was gone just as quickly. “I’m not sure. I have to assume–”
“WARNING: Hull integrity at... NINETY-SEVEN percent, with a rate of loss of... ZERO POINT FIVE percent a minute,” the metallic voice interrupted again. “Recommend terminating maneuver P-O-S-C–”
“Ancestors,” Enzokuhle muttered.
“–F-P-S. Confirm?”
“Negative,” Lithos said, his stomach flipping. “Continue PoSC-FPS until we’ve arrived at the entered coordinates.” He took a deep breath in.
In for five…
“Please re-authorize maneuver.”
The ship shuddered violently.
“Oh, oh, uh,” Lithos felt green. He exhaled, slowly, “Authorization code Sigma Niner Foxtrot Omega Kilo Niner.”
Enzokuhle raised an eyebrow at him.
He wanted to put his hands up, but they wouldn’t budge. He offered a cheesy smile, instead.
Enzokuhle shook his head and almost smiled back; almost.
“WARNING: Hull integrity at... NINETY-FOUR percent, with a rate of loss of... ONE percent per minute. Recommend terminating P-O-S-C--”
“Are you serious?!” Lithos shouted.
“--F-P-S maneuver. Confirm?”
“Negative! Stop asking me! Ancestors!”
“Lee?” Enzokuhle’s voice was barely a whisper over his heart hammering in his ears.
“Continue PoSC-FPS maneuver until we’re there, no matter how low hull integrity gets!”
“Action not recommended,” the computer protested.
“Override!”
“Do your in-outs, Lee.”
He shouldn’t have to be reminding you to keep your head.
What is the matter with you?!
You’re a Nominal Peace commander! Start acting like one!
“Override accepted; authorization code Sigma Niner Foxtrot Omega Kilo Niner,” the computer said.
Breathe.
The ship roared around him, whining, shuddering. Warnings and alerts blared at him frantically. His viewscreen bled crimson with errors:
>Hull integrity at 92%, with a rate of loss of 2% per minute.
>Hull integrity at 75%, with a rate of loss of 5% per minute.
>Primary engine integrity at 80%, with a rate of loss of 5% per minute.
He watched the integrity percentages freefall, eyes frantically darting between Aaliyah’s photo and the black and gray pixels that glitched through her, the error messages, the ETA countdown, and his friend’s face hidden under his hand.
In for five…
Out for five….
“You’ll make it,” Enzokuhle said, softly.
“Enzo, has there been contact with any upper admins?”
He shook his head, slowly.
“Any updates?”
He continued shaking his head.
“Do you hear anything?”
He sniffled and shook his head.
“Mm, friend.”
“Nothing from Stavros or Alexander for a while, either.”
“Can you see anything from your room?”
“Hm?”
“The window?”
“Oh, uh,” he stood, slowly. He hesitated a moment before he disappeared from view. “I haven’t looked in a while, I had a view of stars, but the homeworld’ll be in view soon enough, if not–” From across the room, he gasped, “Oh, ancestors….”
“What is it?”
The hull was creaking and groaning.
“Uh, what– what looks like the entire fleet of cruisers.”
“What are they doing?”
The ship was rumbling under him, all around him.
“In a semicircle, between base and world,” he cleared his throat, returning to the screen and plopping down. He rested his forehead in his hands, and whispered, “The smoke-cloud is huge.”
“From Aegea?”
He didn’t lift his head, but he nodded.
The countdown was closer, but still much too far away.
“Do your in-and-outs, Enz.”
He nodded again. His shoulders rose slowly, then dropped the same.
“Couple more, please?”
“Mmhm.” Enzokuhle did. His shoulders slowly rose and fell a few more times.
“You’re doing great, Enzo.”
“Mm.”
That groan left a bitter taste in Lithos’ mouth.
“How much longer?” Enzokuhle asked, his voice husky.
“Not too much.”
“How long,” Enzokuhle demanded.
“Eight minutes.”
Enzokuhle stiffened a moment, then relaxed and curled up in the seat. He hugged his legs to his chest, brow furrowed into half a scowl as he glared at something on the screen (or past it).
“How have you and Alexander and Stavros been coordinating?”
“Just what information we seem to have, which… isn’t a lot…”
“Okay.”
“That they’re alive, still. Not, uh…” Enzokuhle cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and shook his head, “not taken.”
“Mm.”
“Lee, this is bad.”
“Doesn’t seem optimal, no.” Lithos’ stomach somersaulted again, and he groaned.
“Be careful.”
“I’ve… been trying to think of a strategy,” Lithos said.
“Defensive arrays have been activated. There’s a debris field,” Enzokuhle’s voice was hoarse. “Stavros is doing well, all he can, it’s just… a lot of unexpected,” he inhaled, sharply, the tears welling in his eyes reflecting the screen, “intense responsibility.”
He nodded.
“We have no information, and whatever is happening is… happening very efficiently.”
He nodded
“Very quickly.”
Again, he nodded.
He whispered, picking his head up slightly, “Very darkly.”
He swallowed.
“The interference alone,” Enzokuhle said, tears spilling over, “is not a good sign.”
How huge?
“The, uh, the smoke?”
Enzokuhle didn’t react.
“How bad?”
“It’s dense,” Enzokuhle said, flatly. “Plumes and craters.”
Craters.
“Craters?”
He nodded and dropped a leg.
“Oh.”
“This is bad,”
“Yeah, Enzo,” he whispered. “I’d have to agree with you there.”
Enzokuhle’s attention wasn’t his anymore. His eyes were out the window. The light reflecting off the planet’s surface cut lines across his face through the shade.
The countdown ticked past its final seconds. All at once, the shuddering of the cruiser slowed, then stopped. Out of the darkness, the stars rearranged themselves around his homeworld.
His heart sunk at the hulking, obsidian mass of HomeBase. It glinted at him in the sun it reflected, a monolith and augment of the delicate twinkling world it orbited. Past it, the damage made itself apparent: the plume was massive over Aegea; there were craters visible from orbit, some small, some massive; from them, there was smoke, but the majority of the cloud originated from the capitol city.
He caught his own eyes in the viewscreen. He looked as ill as he felt, six shades lighter, dark circles under his eyes. His stomach flipped, careened straight through orbit, and into a crater of its own. He unbuckled from the harness, pressed his hand against his mouth, wrapped his arm around his stomach, and inhaled sharply.
“Welcome home, comrade,” Enzokuhle muttered. “Wish it were under better circum–”
“Incoming call from COMMAND,” the metallic voice interrupted. “Accept?”
Lithos frowned. “Command, Beta frequency?”
Enzokuhle picked his head up out of the cradle of his arms. He was frowning, too. He hit a few buttons, and a frame appeared around his image to indicate that the incoming call would be unaware of his presence on the line. A small icon at the bottom of his image indicated he’d muted his microphone.
“Negative,” the voice droned. “Incoming call from COMMAND. Accept?”
“Yes,” Lithos said hesitantly, standing from the command chair. His legs shook underneath him and his stomach threatened him, urgently.
I’m gonna be sick.
“Lithos,” the gray face of Baal-Berith appeared on his screen as he turned around.
“One moment, General, please, excuse me,” Lithos found himself groaning his words and rushing to the latrine with his hands over his mouth. He was almost ill between the fingers of his gloves before he made it, just barely, to the silver bowl on the wall.
There was an impatient sigh from Command, and with it was another twin shiver down his spine.
‘I’ll be seeing you, Theta.’
Keep it together, Lithos.
In for five…
He returned to the cockpit, groaning, his stomach still flipping, “Sorry, General. I’m back.” He iced over with what at first seemed to be a coloration glitch on his viewscreen, but wasn’t.
“Mediator, why are you here?” there was not even a hint of concern on his features; not for the craters, not for the smoke, not for the debris field. His eyes were cold, crimson, and he swore there was just a twitch of a sneer in the corner of his lip.
Lithos hid his suspicions in his nauseated disorientation. He looked past the call, to the standoff taking place behind it. There was that line of StarCruisers between HomeBase and their homeworld. Amongst and behind them, shards of shattered cruisers falling through the atmosphere.
“Sir, why are our cruisers blockading HomeBase?”
The General was silent for a moment. He closed his eyes, and sighed (almost) silently through his nose before saying, flatly, “Mutiny.”
His lie crawled up Lithos’ arms in goosebumps.
Enzokuhle sneered, shaking his head. Lithos could read his lips, “Unbelievable.”
“But we’ve got it handled,” he smiled in an odd, ill-timed serenity that was clearly not his own–it was hers. “Return to your post.”
Lithos nodded numbly, as those shivers traced his spine twice-over, “Aye, sir. Terminating call.”
Baal-Berith’s image collapsed on itself. The frame around Enzokuhle’s image disappeared, as did the indicator of his muted microphone.
Oh, ancestors. This is bad. This is bad.
Collectively, they sat in uneasy silence. Lithos rubbed at the goosebumps on his arms and shivered. Enzokuhle’s eyes drifted out the window again.
“This is dark,” Enzokuhle whispered.
Lithos nodded, his stomach flipping once more. He sat back in his chair, staring past Enzokuhle to the line of cruisers. After a while, he admitted, “Baal-Berith told me my orders were to return to base, but he… he got cut off by an expl–”
He was derailed by HomeBase’s defensive array–reserved, until now, it seemed, for protecting the homeworld from asteroids–as it ignited. One of the cruisers in line exploded.
He recoiled. His heart sank, his eyes widened. Those shivers rumbled down his spine as the goosebumps spread. He cleared a lump in his throat to say, “Enzokuhle?”
“Mm?” his eyes were still out the window.
“We need to get you out of there.”
He closed his eyes. He sat there unmoving long enough for Lithos to wonder if their connection was lost, before he asked, “How?”
“You’ve been talking with Alex?”
He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut more tightly.
“Are they still on board?”
He nodded again. A few tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Deep breaths, comrade.”
His nod shifted into a shaking of his head. He wiped his face and buried it in his palms. “They’re monitoring all teleports on- and off- base, Lee. That’s what Alex’s been saying.”
“This is an emergency.”
“I,” he dropped his hands, scowling at him, “am fully aware, thank you.”
“Your Ma and Pop would never forgive me if I didn’t at least try to get you out of there, Enzo,” he said, his voice breaking.
He shrugged.
“Incoming call from STAVROS, ALEXANDER, DELTA FREQUENCY,” the computer interrupted.
Enzokuhle sat up straight, dropping his feet back down to the floor.
“Accept, add to call,” Lithos said.
The panicked faces of Stavros and Alexander appeared. Alexander’s silver hair was pulled into a bun at the top of their head, pencils and pens holding it into place. Behind them, the alarm lights reflected off of the Technologies sector’s white walls. Stavros’ charcoal hair was pulled from his sweating face with a band. Behind him, a similar cockpit to what Lithos sat in. Stavros, too, wore the deep plum color of Nominal Peace command.
“Folks--” Lithos started.
Alexander offered him a solemn smile. Stavros’ lips twitched.
“--I am so relieved to see your faces.”
“Welcome home, Lee,” Alexander said. “We’re relieved to have you back.”
Stavros nodded, his eyes darting back and forth.
“Stavros?” Lithos asked.
“Hm?” he grunted.
“What’s your status?”
“The General has been taken. I’ve requested all cruisers return to base,” Stavros said, his tone flat. “We’re losing cruisers left and right, this… this is unprecedented.”
“You’re doing great, Stavros,” Lithos said.
Stavros shook his head, his eyes still darting back and forth, “Sorry, Lee, I’m trying to coordinate with the cruisers left–”
There was another explosion. This one shone across Stavros’ face, and his olive skin faded three shades lighter.
“Oh, ancestors,” Stavros whispered. His gloved hand covered his mouth.
“That looked close,” Lithos said, quickly. He was able to parse out the approximate location of his cruiser in the line, though.
Silver linings.
“Oh, ancestors,” Stavros’ eyes slid shut, and his shoulders shook with silent sobs.
“Stavros,” Alexander said, gently. “In for five, okay?”
He nodded, slowly. He mouthed, “Okay.”
“Okay,” they said. “Out for five, okay?”
He nodded again.
“You’re doing great, Stavros,” Enzokuhle said, his voice hoarse.
Stavros gasped for air and forced his eyes open. They were fixed past them all for a moment before they started shifting again. Determination took place of dismay as he said, “Enzo, we gotta get you out of there.”
“How?” Enzokuhle asked, half his face twisted into a scowl.
“They’re destroying cruisers faster than we can return fire,” Stavros insisted. “I don’t know how, but we can’t hold back anymore.”
“If I may,” Alexander chimed in, the edge under their soft-spoken voice stronger than he’d ever heard it.
“Now isn’t the time to be asking for permission, Alex,” Lithos said.
“I’ve got a lock. I can send him out to you or Stavros,” Alexander said.
“Who’s going to get you out of there, Alex?” Stavros said, panicked.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. We need to direct our focus to the programming head,” Alexander said.
“Alex–” Stavros protested.
“Send him to me,” Lithos said. “Please.”
“Alex,” Stavros said, his voice breaking, “Alex, who’s gonna get you out of there?”
“Initializing transportation. Let me know when you’ve got him, Lithos,” Alexander said, struggling to keep their breathing even in Stavros’ protests.
“Alex, for our ancestors’s sakes, I know you can hear me!” Stavros shouted.
Alexander flinched and sniffled.
The air behind Lithos shimmered and broke, spilling Enzokuhle out onto the floor of the cockpit.
“Ungh, hate,” Enzokuhle moaned. He scrambled to his feet and rushed to the latrine.
“Alex!” Stavros insisted, his eyes sharpening and settling at a point on the viewscreen.
“Got ‘im,” Lithos said, doing his best to ignore the tears streaking down both their faces.
“Well, friends,” Alexander smiled sadly, wiping their face, “if I don’t get the chance to tell you again: it’s been an honor serving with you both.”
“Alex!” Stavros’ eyes overflowed with furious tears. “Send yourself out! Please!”
“That’s not a wise idea, Stavros,” they said, smiling sadly. They had their fingertips pressed together so tightly they were turning white.
“This is an emergency, Alexander!” his voice was broken into pieces. “Have someone send you out!”
“I can’t abandon my post,” Alexander whispered.
Lithos pressed his lips together. Enzokuhle coughed and retched from the latrine.
Stavros and Alexander sat in terrible silence, both trying to stay strong for the other, and failing.
“You know that’s the case, my love,” Alexander said, just as softly.
Lines of tears rolled down Stavros’ face as lips pulled down with a sinking heart.
“It’s an honor, Alex, being your comrade and your friend,” Lithos winced through a miserable lump in his throat.
Why does this feel like goodbye?
Lithos’ eyes spilled over, “Take care of yourself. Be safe. Watch your back.”
“Affirmative,” Alexander said, closing their eyes. With a miserable laugh that brought them to wipe their nose, they said, “Operation: Sabotage is go, yeah?”
This is goodbye, isn’t it?
Stavros slunk into his shoulders, his eyes shifting back and forth more slowly. “Alex, we can’t hold back anymore.”
“Take out the defensive arrays,” they said, “and don’t worry about us. We’ll survive.”
“Please,” he pleaded, their eyes focusing on one point (on, Lithos assumed, Alexander’s image on his screen), “be careful, Lex.”
They closed their eyes, nodding slowly.
“Keep Teleportation on lockdown, okay?” Stavros continued, wiping his face.
They nodded, still.
“Keep me updated, okay?” he asked with a breaking voice.
“I love you,” they said, opening their eyes again. They wiped their face. “Don’t explode, please.”
He laughed, miserably, “I’ll do my best. I swear.”
“Tell Enzokuhle, uh,” Alexander hesitated.
Please don’t let this be goodbye.
Alexander chewed on the inside of their cheek. Their eyes dropped to their fingertips.
“Tell him what?” Stavros asked.
“Be careful,” they whispered. “All of you, please, be careful.”
“StarCruisers, be advised,” Stavros said, “defensive arrays on HomeBase must be targeted and demolished. Repeat–”
“Excuse me–” someone on Alexander’s line said, urgently. “I’m so sorry, we– uh, we have a problem.”
“My dear, dear friends,” Alexander sighed, offering a somber smile. “I have to go. I’ll be pushing more messages as able.”
“Okay,” Stavros whispered. “I love you.”
Alexander pressed their fingertips against their lips.
Stavros did the same.
“Talk soon, Alex,” Lithos said. He glanced down at his leg as Alexander’s face disappeared from the call. It was shuddering, violently, like his ship had. His hands were shaking the same.
The empty chair of Enzokuhle’s desk (the warning lights flashing against the seat) and the empty, shifting eyes of Stavros were all that remained.
“I… I have to go, too, Lee.”
“I know,” Lithos said. He pulled up a submenu on the cruiser’s array–a submenu he’d never had to open before: defenses.
“You heard them, yeah?”
“I’m targeting the arrays now,” Lithos confirmed.
“Well,” Stavros inhaled, sharply, “don’t explode, friend.”
“That goes for you, too, yeah?” Lithos offered a smirk. “Be safe.”
With a nod of his head and a wiping of his face, Stavros’ face, too, was gone from the call.
For a while, Lithos hunted through the submenu over the background of Enzokuhle’s empty chair, striped with lines from the window shade. Then, he terminated the call. “How are we feeling in there?” he called over his shoulder.
“Mm,” Enzokuhle groaned, “I hate these tincans!”
Lithos frowned against Enzokuhle’s retching. “Friend, you’re gonna wanna hang on to something, here. It’s gonna get messy.”
“Oh, oh, ancestors,” Enzokuhle groaned. “Computer.”
The computer blipped in affirmation.
“Replicate bucket.”
“Please remove item from receptacle before requesting additional replications,” the metallic voice requested, pleasantly.
“What’s even in there?” Enzokuhle lamented
“Breakfast,” Lithos grumbled, rolling his eyes.
“What?!”
“Breakfast!” he shouted over his shoulder.
“How– I– Still?!”
Lithos almost laughed, but another cruiser exploded; another comrade’s life wiped out. “Computer, destroy last replicated item.”
“Previous item incinerated. Replicating BUCKET,” the voice said. “Please retrieve item from receptacle.”
Enzokuhle emerged from the latrine and grabbed his bucket from the silver door. He plopped down in the chair beside Lithos, strapping himself in.
“If… you flip us,” Enzokuhle warned, frowning at him between dry-heaving, “vomit… is gonna go… everywhere.”
“That’s not how artificial gravity works, comrade.”
“I’m going to vomit on you, is what I mean,” Enzokuhle clarified, his voice buzzing from within the bucket. “Ugh, ancestors, it smells like eggs and coffee.”
Lithos smirked, pushing his controller forward as he put words in Enzokuhle’s mouth, “I will pour this bucket of vomit over your head, so help me, ancestors!”
“Computer, initiate Codename: Firestorm, target the HomeBase defensive array,” Enzokuhle said, side-eyeing him in aggravation. “Authorization code Sigma Niner Foxtrot Kilo Omega.”
“Authorization code not recognized.”
Lithos raised an eyebrow, but didn’t look at him. His focus was on the stars, the cruisers, and the hulking behemoth of HomeBase.
“Authorization code Sigma Niner Foxtrot Omega Kilo Niner,” Enzokuhle tried again, visibly flustered.
“How do you not know your own AuthCode?” Lithos poked the bear.
“They made me change it last week!” Enzokuhle snapped.
“I remembered your AuthCode after hearing it one time, Enzo!”
Enzokuhle scowled at him, “I’ve got a lot going on, okay?!”
“Authorization code recognized. Targeting HOMEBASE with project CODENAME: FIRESTORM,” the computer said.
Don’t we all?
Lithos kept the thought to himself and stewed in guilt.
What’s wrong with you?
The ship shook slightly, the displays and lights flickering momentarily, as it hummed and buzzed. The ship shook more aggressively as a plume of plasma tore into the main engines of HomeBase.
“Woah.”
“Yup,” Enzokuhle said, his eyes morose, guilty, defeated. “For emergency use only.”
“Enzokuhle, what–” he shook his head, glancing over at his friend who’d hidden back in the bucket. “What emergency is that for?”
As his cruiser continued its onslaught, they both watched in horror as, one after the other, HomeBase blasted through the other cruisers that but tickled its hull.
“WARNING: Weapons fire targeting lock detected. Evasive maneuvers recommended,” the metallic voice chided.
“Oh, ancestors,” Lithos said. “Don’t vomit on me, please.” Lithos shot his cruiser down, flying as erratically as possible to lose the lock. “Keep your bucket to yourself!”
“I will! I will vomit on you, you asshole!”
The ship shook against the outer atmosphere.
“I’m the asshole keeping us alive, thank you!” he shouted, continuing his erratic flight pattern. Codename: Firestorm took out a defensive array on HomeBase. A missed shot from the looming mothership whizzed past them.
“Oh, ancestors, that was close, Lee!”
“Relax,” Lithos said, trying to relax himself. “Deep breaths. Close your eyes.” He narrowly dodged an onslaught of fire from HomeBase. Sweat dripped down his furrowed, focused brow. He continued to avoid the fire as his comrades exploded around him. Each soul lost only fixated Lithos on his target.
Enzokuhle’s nails dug into the armrests of his chair. His bucket began to warp in the tightening vise of his thighs.
The ship shook violently as a blast partially hit them, and the viewscreen was a blur of stars and earth as they spun for a few moments.
“WARNING: PRIMARY ENGINE integrity at SIXTY-SEVEN percent, HULL integrity at FIFTY percent,” the computer warned.
“Oh, ancestors,” Enzokuhle’s panicked voice shattered Lithos’ focus.
“Enzo, please--” Lithos was cut off by another powerful near-miss. “Shit!”
Enzokuhle’s face drained, eyes round and frantic. “You gotta land, or we’re gonna be next!”
Lithos nodded, knowing he was right. A child in a flight simulator could see that. He pushed them down toward the atmosphere. The alarms of errors and the shuddering of the ship were muted by the high pitched whine that took over Lithos’ hearing.
Their fragile marble engulfed in an inferno. The crisp blue sky vanished as they dove through the clouds, shot perpendicular through smoke plumes. It was replaced with a sickly orange hue that took the life from the fields and forests of the main continent. He aimed his ship for the capitol, his and Aaliyah’s home, using every ounce of strength he had to hold the ship steady, over craters and plumes and crash-sites. The skyscrapers reflected garnet light from the sun and the smoke in a rapidly closing distance.
He was left for one serene moment to a memory of the first time he’d descended through that atmosphere; how clear a day it was; how the leaves in the forests shimmered red and yellow and orange; how the glass of the skyscrapers reflected the greenery of the world around them; how a life-long burden had finally lifted, and he was finally home, where he belonged.
“Brace for impact,” Lithos shouted, not hearing his own voice over the shuddering of the ship and the whine in his ears.
Aegea drew closer, Lithos aimed for the circle of green of the landing zones around the capitol city. He miscalculated, and the city’s skyscrapers rang proximity alarms under the hull.
Enzokuhle threw the bucket over his own head. Lithos aimed for the last swath of green he could hope to hit: the city’s large central park. They hit the ground hard, bounced, and spun before it all went black.
"His lie crawled up Lithos’ arms in goosebumps" is a great line.