Exile

First part of a longer story about an alien consumed by his quest for revenge.

Zrakken stared at the floor between his feet. For those hundreds of graduates pressed in around him, this day was one of celebration and accomplishment. For Zrakken, it was a grueling ordeal. He clacked his wrist plates absently as the winners of elected awards were announced. Most musical, most artistic, most athletic, most innovative, most likely to succeed... Each winner bounded to the podium to receive the little blue reward hologram. Most of them took a moment to hold it out to the watching students, faculty, and families. Several attempted to make speeches. Every time, the hall filled with applause and bellows of approval. Zrakken shifted his weight uncomfortably. This ceremony would last at least another two hours.

The host waved his hands for quiet. He made a speech that transitioned from the student-nominated awards to the faculty ones. These were the academic honors. Zrakken caught about every third word. He closed his eyes, listening for specific names.

“There are only three academic awards to be presented this year. First, we are pleased to premiere a new award. This award,” the host displayed the hand-sized hologram to the crowd, “goes to a very deserving student. This student has never missed an assignment or deadline. He’s had near perfect attendance since the first years of coordination training. He’s stayed late at school to ask questions and assist the professors. We counted it a privilege to work with him, and are sad to see him go. This award, the first ‘most diligent student’ hologram, goes to Zrakken!”

Zrakken kept his head low and darted straight to the podium. The hall, just minutes after shaking with applause, was quiet. Zrakken listened hard. Three or four, no, five individuals applauded him sincerely and enthusiastically; he glanced at the faculty section and found all five. Most guests and quite a few students clacked their wrists carelessly, as Zrakken had done. The rest sat or stood in silence. Zrakken thanked the unseen forces that no one hissed or hooted. When Zrakken reached the podium, he looked up at the host and gripped his wrist plate. The host nodded almost imperceptibly and handed Zrakken a small box with the hologram on top. Zrakken took it, nodded, and hurried back to his place. As the next honoree walked out, the hall came to life again.

Back at his place, Zrakken opened the corner of the box. A dozen or so little hologram cards were stacked neatly inside, all projecting his name and accomplishments. Zrakken ran a claw among them, shuffling the stack. He sighed and closed the box.

That evening Zrakken hurried back to his room, avoiding the parties that would run far into the next day. Zrakken barely looked up from his feet until he felt the door safely close behind him. He sighed, tossing the box of awards on his small bed. The ‘most diligent student’ award fell to the floor, and Zrakken picked it up. He held it, and chuckled.

“Stayed late almost every night,” he muttered. He paused, then tossed the award back on the cot with the others, “Of course I stay late. I live here.” As he turned he made eye contact with his reflection in a mirror. He stopped and stared.

Zrakken wasn’t unattractive. His armor plates fit together neatly. With a roll of his shoulders he shifted the heavy plates along his back and chest, an action not unlike a cat resettling its fur or a bird its feathers. He leaned close and stared into his eyes. The most common eye color for his species was gold, followed closely by blue. Swirls of teal were uncommon but not unusual. Zrakken’s eyes, however, were solid teal, without even a hint of gold or blue. It was the most unnatural thing about him. Zrakken stepped back from the mirror. Those eyes stood out from the dark green of his face and armor. He snarled and took the mirror down.

His frustration faded quickly, as it always did, and Zrakken knelt to begin dismantling a shelving unit. He immersed himself so deeply in the action that he did not notice Professor Dalomex enter the room and lean against the door.

“There you are,” Dalomex said.

Zrakken jumped. Once he realized who it was, he turned back to his work.

Dalomex noticed the awards strewn on the bed. He gathered them up and started stacking them in the box. “I didn’t realize you won so many,” he said.

“Hmph.”

“You only went up once, though.”

“I asked the host to put them together so I’d only have to go up once.”

“Why? Only walking once is understandable, I guess, but they didn’t even mention these other ones. You’ve got the math and science awards in here. Also physics and chemistry, programming, language, astronomy…” Dalomex’s voice trailed off as he closed the box, “Zrakken, these are the highest honors. Why wouldn’t you want others to know?”

Zrakken gave Dalomex a dark look and went back to dismantling.

Dalomex sat on the bed and ran his finger along the support beams holding it against the wall. “The academy’s going to seem empty without you here.”

“It’s always empty at night. My being in the basement doesn’t change that.”

“Yes it does.”

“Feel free to move in when I’m gone.”

“Where are you going?”

“Right now? To my computer. Excuse me.” Zrakken stood, stretched, and sat at the monitor with his back to Dalomex.

“You know what I mean.” Dalomex waited for a response. Getting none, he continued, “You’re not still planning that little crusade I hope.”

“What do you care?” Zrakken turned his head slightly, and caught Dalomex’s disappointed gaze. He looked back at the computer and added quietly, “I might.”

“Zrakken!”

Zrakken leaped to his feet and twisted to face Dalomex. Suddenly, he hunched gasping. Dalomex rushed to Zrakken. Zrakken’s eyelid sets fluttered, and his right hand grabbed at his lower back feebly. After a few slow breaths, he lowered his arm.

“It still hurts that much?”

Zrakken swallowed hard. “Not usually; only when I twist too fast…”

“Do you take painkillers anymore?”

“No.”

“You’d think it would subside after all this time.”

“Yeah, you’d think. Know what I think? I think it’s permanent.” Zrakken turned away.

“You can’t know for sure…”

“Yes, I can. When flame still shoots under my plates four years later, I can say it won’t heal.” After a pause Zrakken continued, frustrated, “You can’t know what it’s been like, what they took from me. You can’t possibly understand. My plans aren’t some ‘childish adventure,’ ‘pointless mission,’ or ‘little crusade.’ This quest is real to me. I will see justice delivered…”

“You mean revenge, or payback.”

“This isn’t a joke! It’s not an idle ‘what if?’! I’ve put a lot of thought into this. Believe me, I’ve thought of little else.” Zrakken collapsed in his chair. He turned and stared miserably at the computer’s casing.

Dalomex stood behind Zrakken quietly for several minutes. Finally, he murmured, “Don’t lose yourself Zrakken. Please don’t lose yourself.” After another moment of silence, he left quietly. Zrakken slumped forward with his head in his hands.

After more than a year of careful questions and countless false leads, Zrakken found his tiny craft orbiting an artificial moon. He knew this wasn’t just another dead end; deep inside he felt the proximity of the one he sought.

Rather than attempt to sneak in—as he had been advised against many times in his travels—Zrakken landed in an open receiving bay. Before he could finish powering down, a pair of workers boarded to meet him.

“Welcome to MoonScape 11046.2. What can we do for you?”

They looked like receiving bay attendants. Both had a hospitable posture and friendly demeanor. If Zrakken had said he was a lonely traveler, looking for a few days rest and socialization, the two would have ordered general repairs and maintenance for his craft and guided him to a comfortable lounge. But Zrakken saw the three or four harmless-looking tools each carried—tools that could easily be assembled into a weapon. With one wrong word these two would become merciless security guards.

Zrakken was tired of lies and false identities. He faced the guards and said firmly, “I am here to speak with Braezek.”

Even though he anticipated their reaction, Zrakken was startled. It felt like barely enough time to blink before two laser rifles were leveled at him.

“Who are you?”

“I’m a messenger, nothing more.” Everything inside Zrakken ordered him to look up, to stare at the guards’ faces, but his eyes remained glued to the tips of the rifles. His breathing accelerated without his permission.

“What’s your message?”

“It is for Braezek’s ears only. He will understand.”

“Will he?”

Finally Zrakken’s eyes obeyed, and he stared at the guards. The weapons looked safer than the icy glare he met. The guards turned to each other, whispered too soft and quick for Zrakken to hear, and faced him again. One calmly took his weapon apart. The other tucked his weapon along his wrist plate. He grabbed Zrakken’s arm at an angle where, if fired, the laser would sear Zrakken’s ribs.

“This has the intensity to punch a hole in your armor,” the guard growled, “so play along.”

Zrakken was confused, but only for an instant. The guards suddenly became the inviting receiving bay attendants they boarded as. They escorted Zrakken from his craft and took him across the bay. As other attendants and guests passed, they laughed and joked. Zrakken felt ill.

They ambled along warm passageways and paused at a dining area to visit. Zrakken, in a futile effort to keep his mind off the weapon in his side, tried to focus on the other attendants. To his dismay, every one of them noted the way the guard held Zrakken’s arm and the direction they were headed. Every attendant held the same harmless tools. If Zrakken even thought about escaping now, he would be dead within four steps.

At the end of a passage, they went through a door labeled “Maintenance.” As it closed behind them, the unarmed guard took the lead and the armed one pushed Zrakken forward. He walked between the guards, acutely aware of the weapon now in his back. This passage was different from the sociable hallways they had used. It was much narrower, and poorly lit. The floor was dingy and worn. The guards quickened their pace. They hurried around corners and through doors and into a battered lift. Zrakken knew he wouldn’t be able to find his way back.

The lift ground to a halt, and one of the guards typed in an access code to open the doors. This level was clean and well lit, but with none of the warmth present in the entrance. Zrakken was escorted to a tiny room. The guards shoved him onto a bench and clipped his ankle plates to the bench legs. Then they left.

Zrakken sat alone for nearly an hour. When he began to worry that they’d forgotten about him, a tall slender figure entered. The figure dragged a metal chair up to Zrakken. Zrakken winced at the piercing sound it made as it grated on the metal floor. The figure sat uncomfortably close to Zrakken’s face.

“You say you are a messenger. What is your message?”

“My message is for Braezek’s ears only.”

“But I am Braezek.”

“No you’re not.”

“Have you ever seen me before?”

“No. I have never seen you before. But I have seen Braezek. I know Braezek very well. And you are not him.”

“How do you know me?”

“I don’t know you.”

“But I am Braezek, and you say you know Braezek.”

“You are not Braezek!”

“Calm yourself. Tell me what your Braezek looks like.”

“He, unlike you, is the same species as me. He’s taller than me, and has dark gold eyes. He has a discolored armor plate on his left leg.”

“How could you know all that?”

“If you tell me who you really are, I might tell you how I know.”

The character’s tone changed. It was no longer syrupy and misleading; instead, it was straightforward and blunt. He smiled cruelly, “I see there’s no fooling you. I am Braezek’s chief advisor. He won’t see just anybody. I gauge the importance of each request.”

“I guessed that.”

“How do you know Braezek?”

“I won’t tell you. He might.”

The advisor nodded his approval. After a pause, “What is your request?”

“To deliver a message and ask some questions.”

“What sort of message? What sort of questions?”

“They concern his family. I will tell you nothing more.”

“He won’t…”

“Yes he will. Tell him.”

The advisor glared at Zrakken, then abruptly stood. At the door, he turned back and said, “Braezek has no discoloration on his left leg.”

“He does. He hides it.”

As the door slammed behind the advisor, Zrakken doubled over. He shook so hard he almost fell off the bench. It took several minutes of deep breathing and hard swallowing to calm his adrenaline-shattered nerves. By then, the advisor had returned with two guards. They unclipped Zrakken’s ankles and hauled him to his feet. The advisor leaned in close.

“It seems Braezek is interested in you. Count yourself lucky. If he wasn’t…”

The guards dragged Zrakken into the hall. They hurried along halls and across rooms and through hidden doors. Zrakken felt an intense desire to see this labyrinth from above.

They stopped in the doorway of a large chamber. The floor was heated and textured. There were a few tables and shelves covered in trinkets. The walls and ceiling were plain. And in the middle of it, there was Braezek, standing with his back to the door.

Braezek turned dramatically and looked Zrakken over. His eye ridges arched and his mouth pulled into that smug grin he was so fond of showing.

“I had a feeling it was you,” Braezek said. He waved to the guards and advisor, “you may leave us.” Braezek picked up a tall metal staff with an ornate blade on the end. He strolled to the group. Without warning he swung the blade around and stopped it centimeters from Zrakken’s face. Zrakken jerked away. Braezek, still keeping the blade to Zrakken, said, “I can handle him if he gets rowdy.”

The guards and advisor left. Braezek’s eyes followed them out. When the door was shut, he pulled the blade away and calmly replaced it on a shelf across the room.

“You flinched,” he said with his back turned.

Zrakken ignored the comment. “You’re a hard one to find.”

“Really?” Braezek spun around, “I didn’t think it was that challenging. After all, you found me. How long did it take you, Zrakknen?”

“Zrakken.” Zrakken studied the floor.

“That’s too hard for me to say. So, Zrakknen, how long did it take?”

“It is not too hard. Say it.”

“Zrahhh Kennn. Satisfied?”

“Thirteen months.”

“I didn’t remember you being so entertaining, Zrakknen,” Braezek laughed.

“Zrakken.” Zrakken hated it when others mispronounced his name, particularly like this. In the ancient version of the language, ZRAK-en meant lively or spirited; zrak-NENN meant lowlife or scoundrel. Braezek knew it well.

“So, what do you want to discuss? Business of some sort?”

“You could call it business.”

“All right. We can get to the business in a moment. First, I suppose we’d best get caught up on old times.” Braezek paced back and forth, using his most melodramatic voice and hand gestures. He continued, “I suppose you’re through with school by now?”

“Graduated with honors.”

“Whatever. And how are Mother and Father?”

“Dead.”

Braezek stopped in mid-stride. “What?”

“I said they’re dead.”

“When?”

“About five years ago.”

“Both? At once? Was there some sort of accident?”

“I was coming here to ask you.”

“How would I know? This is the first I’ve heard of it!”

“Are you sure?” Zrakken kept his voice level while Braezek shouted.

“Of course I’m sure!” Braezek grabbed a small crystalline sculpture from his shelf and flung it at Zrakken. Zrakken dodged it easily. Braezek grabbed his bladed staff and advanced on Zrakken. Zrakken moved back until he felt himself pressed against a wall. Braezek scraped the blade’s tip against Zrakken’s chest plate and whispered through clenched teeth, “You better tell the truth.”

“Would I spend thirteen months seeking you out just to tell a lie?”

“Perhaps.”

“Go sit down. I’ll tell you what I remember, and then I’ve got a few questions for you.”

Braezek lowered the blade and went to a chair. He made a show of not sitting, running his hand along the back and eventually putting the staff on the seat.

Zrakken masked his frustration and began his story.

“You left home a bit over seven years ago. For two years, it was just Mom, Dad, and me. They were probably the best years of my life so far.”

“Awww, boo hoo. Get to the accident!”

“I will, if you don’t interrupt. One afternoon I was coming from the second floor lab…”

“Lab? We never had a lab.”

“After you left, we converted that old storage room into a small lab for my Chemistry projects. You remember the hallway that runs from that storage room to the visiting room? Well, I was at the end of the hall, planning to go through the visiting room to the entertainment room. As I entered the hallway, I saw Mom and Dad in the visiting room. There were three Cruidians. One held Mom, one held Dad, and the other paced in front of them. They were shouting. I don’t remember anything they said. Before I could react, the one in front drew a pulse cannon and blew their faces off. He had it on full power and shot from less than half a meter away. The bodies were unidentifiable.

“I couldn’t help myself. I screamed. All three of them started running toward me. I ran for Dad’s room. He had that experimental disrupter. You know the hall; his room was between us. You also know how fast Cruidians are. I didn’t have a chance. They knocked me down less than two paces from the disrupter.

“I was on my stomach, and they were holding me down. The leader asked me where his merchandise was. He asked where he could pick up the weapons. He shouted something about a mishandled payment. I insisted I didn’t know anything, which was true. They wouldn’t hear it, though. I felt something press on my back, on the plate just over my right hip. Two held my arms out and the leader leaned in close to my ear. He asked where he could find you.”

“What? Why are you bringing me into this?” Braezek was pacing anxiously behind the chair.

“I’m not bringing you in! You brought yourself in. The Cruidian asked, ‘where is Braezek hiding? I know you know!’ I kept saying I didn’t know anything. The pressure on my back got more and more intense. They had some sort of drill and were using it on the plate. They broke through to the tissue, and pulled it out. Have you ever had the inner armor tissue exposed like that?”

“Can’t say I have.” Braezek seemed to be losing interest. Zrakken continued anyway, determined to get his story out.

“They got a grappling hook, one of those expanding types, and jammed it in the hole. They expanded it in the middle of the tissue! In case you forgot, inner tissue is almost entirely made of nerves. Once the hook was expanded, they started turning it. I passed out.

“I was in and out for hours. It seemed they’d left me for dead. I would have been, if Professor Dalomex hadn’t arrived. He was just dropping by for a visit. It took months for me to even stand up again. They’d turned that whole section of tissue into sludge.

“What’s worse, you know we don’t have any other family—no relatives to take me in. And I didn’t have any friends; you saw to that. I had nowhere to go! Professor Dalomex finally just gave me a room in the basement of the academy. Do you have any idea what it’s like, being the crippled weirdo who lives under the school?”

“Poor Zrakknen. I bet you made that last part up to try and impress me.”

Zrakken turned around with his arms out. The middle of the lower right back plate was swelled out, permanently warped. In the center of the bulge was a pale welt. Zrakken waited several seconds before turning back to his brother.

“Why did they want to know where you were, Braezek?”

“How should I know?”

“Braezek! I didn’t come all this way to listen to your bullshit!”

“Wow,” Braezek’s eyes widened, “Baby Zrakknen swore. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“What were you doing to anger a trio of Cruidians five years ago?” Zrakken pleaded.

“I’ve done lots of business with Cruidians. All kinds of Cruidians. What would make this one group so memorable?”

“They were upset enough to track down your family.”

Braezek sighed. “What would you do if I told you some names?”

“So you know them?”

“I only know of one Cruidian trio; they usually travel in fours or sixes.”

“Who are they? Where can I find them?”

“What would you do if I told you?”

Zrakken glared.

“You’d try and kill them?” Braezek laughed, “It’s no use. We’ve been trying to get rid of them for years. They’re a terribly paranoid bunch. Their ship is tiny, almost impossible to track. Doesn’t matter if you find it, though. They’ve got the most advanced shielding system I’ve ever seen. We could fire MoonScape’s primary phaser system on it; they’d just shrug it off.”

“I’ll find a way. And it won’t be from outside.”

“When was the last time you grappled with a Cruidian?”

“I’ve never fought with a Cruidian.”

“Well, if you manage to board, you’d be against three on a cramped bridge. They’re faster, more agile, and better armed. Not to mention, they’re more experienced and far less sentimental. You’d be…killed.” Braezek turned away to hide the smile that tugged the corners of his mouth.

“I’ll find a way. Who are they? Where are they?”

Braezek spun around, in control of his face. “I’ll have my strategist give you names and last known whereabouts. Go; play out this vengeance fantasy of yours. If you manage to succeed, come back here with unquestionable proof.” Braezek opened the door and gave the waiting security a list of directions that Zrakken couldn’t follow. They led Zrakken to a comfortable little room and told him to wait for the strategist.

Over the following months of investigation, Zrakken and the strategist, Erivase, became close friends. The two spent hours of every day poring over logs and records. They interviewed all the sources they could find—loyal, neutral, rivals, reliable, unreliable—in an effort to find a weakness. Braezek had been right; these were paranoid beings. The ship was miniscule, and its engines left a trail so similar to ordinary space material that most modern scanners wouldn’t register it. It achieved that with a unique fuel system—a system no one could analyze, because they’d killed the designer after she finished. Their ship was easy to run, so they only employed two crewmembers. The two—a medic and an engineer—wore tracers and were constantly monitored. When and if a crewmember died or failed, the three Cruidians painstakingly selected a single replacement. They rarely docked with a larger vessel, and when they did, it was with a trusted ally in a secure facility. If they even suspected a trap, they would vanish.

Despite their intensely isolated ship, they seemed to be in constant communications with their business contacts. They always seemed to have a supply of something that could be sold, or modified and used. Occasionally it included illegal weapons, irreplaceable engine pieces, and other rare items; most of the time it was second hand computers, used fuel injectors, and junk metal. What they’d have at any given moment, and where they managed to find it, was a “mystery” to even their closest business associates. Erivase was convinced the associates knew more than they were telling; after all, one doesn’t become a trusted ally of the most paranoid creatures in the charted galaxy by freely divulging information.

Attempts at monitoring the business associates failed miserably. The Cruidians were perfect at detecting bugs or taps.

Zrakken knew he couldn’t force his way onboard. The Cruidians were too well prepared for something like that. He knew he couldn’t sneak onboard, they were always expecting something like that. The only way to that bridge, Zrakken figured, was by being taken on voluntarily. He’d never pass the inspection process they put crew applicants through. Besides, killing an innocent crewmember just for a chance to board sent a twinge through Zrakken’s spine. There had to be another way.

One day, after more than 11 months of dead ends and brain-wracking, Zrakken came up with a plan. It was a long shot, but it was the only thing that had any conceivable chance of succeeding.

Several weeks later, Zrakken and Erivase were positioned on what they calculated was the Cruidians’ flight path. They had to act fast; the Cruidians would pass in less than a day. As they were finishing preparations, Erivase began to have second thoughts.

“I can’t just leave you out there.”

“You can’t stay with me, and you definitely can’t leave our ship out here.”

“We don’t even know they’re coming!”

“Erivase,” Zrakken placed his hands on Erivase’s sloped shoulders, “you modified the scanners yourself. We found three clear trails of irregular material here. Three trails! Ordinary space debris wouldn’t stay in such neat lines. And, since there are still three detectable traces, it means they come through here frequently. Most important, when we saw their craft, it was headed here.”

“Not here specifically. It’s a moon in a different system. Zrakken, we need a better plan.”

“But they’ll pass through here. Erivase, think! There’s a nebula bordering a debris field. They’ll have to slow to a third of their cruising speed just to navigate through here. At that speed, they’ll easily detect our trap.”

“They’ll see it, but how do you know they’ll take it? We need to add something more valuable.”

Zrakken set the final pieces of scrap material in their refuse-pod. “Erivase, if there’s something rare or valuable just floating, they’ll know it’s a trap.”

“But they’ll bring it onboard to determine the threat…”

“No, they’ll vaporize it from a safe distance!” Zrakken righted a specially modified fuel canister. “Where do they get all the second hand junk they sell? From refuse-pods and discard fields. Think of the sheer volume of sales they make! They must be constantly on the lookout for something salable. This pod, full of viable fuel and working canisters, is gold to them.”

“You’re right. I still don’t like what you’re going to do.”

“You don’t have to. Help me with this.” Zrakken put a mask around his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. He fixed a filtrator to the skin beneath his chest plate. It constantly circulated the oxygen and carbon dioxide in his lungs. Once he became accustomed to the rhythm, Zrakken didn’t need to breathe. It was a weird sensation. Zrakken sealed the airtight mask and turned to the modified canister.

“Here. I won’t let you in there without neuro- and hemo-steroids.” Erivase quickly injected the drugs into Zrakken’s neck. Erivase continued, “They’ll take a moment to absorb. In the meantime, test your communicator.”

Zrakken pressed a button over his ear while biting on a transmitter. His throat tickled as he attempted to speak without formally breathing, “Do you hear me?”

“Yes. Good. Now, in you go.”

Erivase removed the lid from the modified canister. Zrakken stepped in and wormed his way down. A fuel canister was a circular cylinder three quarters of a meter across. It was two and a half meters tall with a rounded base and a flat lid. Most of Zrakken’s species wouldn’t be able to squeeze into the tube.

Erivase added fuel until Zrakken was entirely submerged and sealed the lid. He rolled the canister against the others and stepped back. “You still all right in there, Zrakken?”

“It’sss cuh-cuh-cold-d.”

“I thought your species was cold-blooded.”

“N-not this cold-d-d!”

“I can see your canister shivering from here, Zrakken. Keep still.”

“I’ll t-t-t-try.”

“Is your monitor working? Can you see outside?”

“Y-yesss.”

“I’ll finish cleaning the pod.”

“Good. I’m d-d-deactivating my transmit-t-ter.”

Erivase finished preparing the refuse-pod and detached it from his ship. He watched it drift for a moment before hurrying away to conceal his ship in the nebula.

Zrakken adjusted slowly to the cold. The only light in the canister was a tiny monitor wired to a camera on the lid. Zrakken watched the other canister lids intensely. Without warning or reason, one of the other canisters rolled up to the camera lens and blocked it. In the resulting darkness, Zrakken’s mind began to wander.

Zrakken sits on the floor of his bedroom. He plays with cheap toys, content. Then he hears voices outside his door. He focuses on the toys; maybe the voices will go away. They don’t.

“Come on, this will be so funny!”

Zrakken squeezes the toys so tightly that one breaks. His door bursts open. He tries to curl into a ball, but his newly hardened plates prevent it. Four sets of hands grab him and lift him. Zrakken squirms and shouts. A hand clamps over his mouth. Braezek’s face leans in.

“Shhhhhhhhh…”

They carry Zrakken down the hall and into the entertainment room. The side door is open. It is the first time Zrakken has seen it open. A hacking computer hangs from the door’s keypad. Inside is a massive computer. It controls the house; Zrakken remembers his mom telling him.

Also in the side room is a platform. Zrakken is lifted up, feet first. They start shoving Zrakken in a ventilation duct. His clawed toes scrape the metal, but it does not slow him. They push and shove, laughing. Zrakken wriggles and flails, but they keep shoving. His legs, then his hips are inside. It is tight; Zrakken can’t kick anymore. As Zrakken’s chest plates grate on the opening, Braezek’s face appears.

“You tell Mom or Dad, and next time it’ll be the heating duct.”

An extra hard heave, and Zrakken’s chest and shoulders vanish into the duct. Then, quickly, his head and arms. The grating is replaced, and the door below closes.

“Help!” Zrakken tries to yell, but can’t. He can’t breathe; the space is too tight. Every time he shifts, the duct squeezes a bit more. The duct gets darker and darker. Zrakken wonders if the room below is darker, or if he is passing out. If only he could breathe!

Zrakken hears voices again. He listens desperately.

“We were just playing, and we heard this noise…”

“Where?”

“Over there, from behind the side door.”

“What sort of noise?”

“Bumping, scraping. It’s quieter now. What is it?”

The door opens, and the duct is flooded with light. Zrakken claws and wheezes.

“What the hell?”

The grating falls away. Strong hands grab Zrakken’s wrists. They pull, hard. It hurts. Zrakken feels himself moving. His arms are free. And now his shoulders. Another tug frees him to his waist. His hips are stuck. The hands release Zrakken’s wrists and grab his waist. The floor seems impossibly far above Zrakken. Zrakken groans and sputters. He feels crushed and stretched at the same time.

Suddenly his hips are free and he is falling. The strong hands catch his shoulders as his legs swing around. He is held, his toes just scraping the floor. Zrakken looks up. It is his father.

“Thank you,” Zrakken breathes.

“What were you doing in there? You know you’re not allowed in here.”

Zrakken sees Braezek in the doorway. For an instant, he feels the searing of the heating duct. He looks back at his father.

“Well?”

“I don’t know!” Zrakken starts to cry.

“Go to your room. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Zrakken drops the last centimeters to the floor. He scrambles past Braezek and Braezek’s friends and runs for his room.

Zrakken jerked his head. He started to panic. He couldn’t move! Then everything flooded back to him. He remembered where he was. How long had he been dreaming?

Zrakken didn’t have time to think. At that moment, the whole pod lurched. Zrakken’s canister tipped over and started rolling. He could see out on his monitor again. He saw feet.

“Who would leave all this? I mean, most of these canisters still have weeks of life.”

“Probably some politician.”

Laughter.

Zrakken strained his ears. He heard canisters being moved. The feet on his monitor turned toward him. They approached. Zrakken felt himself being lifted. His muscles tensed.

“Ungh! This one’s heavy!”

“Lemme’ see.”

Zrakken tilted as his canister was passed.

“Shit! It’s full! Look. The injection mechanism is broken. Some bastard threw out a full canister because he didn’t want to fix the lid!”

Zrakken saw Cruidian faces press in over his canister. It took every gram of will power to keep still.

“Let’s load these up!”

Zrakken’s canister was dropped to the floor. He felt his heart start beating again.

It took less than an hour for the Cruidians and their crew to move everything from the pod to their cargo hold. Zrakken’s canister was flat on the floor, pressed against the wall, under a pile of other fuel canisters. The lid was facing away from the door.

Zrakken didn’t blink. He was sure his heart could be heard on the bridge. If he tried to get out while someone was in the hold, he’d be dead.

Finally, after hearing nothing for more than half an hour, Zrakken cautiously released the lid. It clanged on the floor. Zrakken froze. When no one responded, he started worming his way out. He removed his face-mask and filtrator and sprawled on the floor. This was Zrakken’s most vulnerable moment; he couldn’t move smoothly until his body temperature increased. Thanks to the steroids Erivase had given him, Zrakken stabilized much faster than normal.

Zrakken looked around. The hold was full of fuel canisters and broken computers. The only weapon Zrakken could find was a bladed staff, similar to Braezek’s. He swung the staff around. It was solid and well-balanced; Zrakken could use it until he found a better weapon. He walked to the door.

As he approached, the door opened. It was the engineer, looking over his shoulder and chuckling. Zrakken waited until he began to turn, and threw him against the wall with the blade at his throat.

“Not a word,” Zrakken hissed.

The engineer was dumbfounded. He didn’t react as Zrakken guided him to a metal shelf and tied him to it.

“Where’s the other crewmember?” Zrakken asked.

The engineer shuddered and stammered so hard he couldn’t complete a word.

“I’m not here for you. I won’t hurt you unless you cause trouble. Now, where is the other crewmember?”

“Coming here” the engineer gasped. Zrakken nodded and returned to the door.

The medic had the same reaction as the engineer. It didn’t take Zrakken long to secure him as well. Once both were bound, Zrakken slipped out of the cargo hold.

Zrakken made his way to the bridge entrance. The rest of the ship was empty, meaning that all three Cruidians were on the bridge. Zrakken tested the weight of the bladed staff and positioned himself at the bridge door. Carefully, he opened the door a crack. He saw his targets, took a deep breath, and flung the door open.

To Zrakken, the scene seemed to move in slow motion. As the door swung, Zrakken threw the staff like a javelin. It hit its mark, pinning one Cruidian’s head to the instrument panel. Zrakken dove left, grabbing the second Cruidian from behind. He felt a blast of heat on his arm, but ignored it. The Cruidian he held pushed him back and reached for a weapon. Zrakken saw the third Cruidian, not 3 meters away, begin to fire an illegal phaser. Zrakken ducked, and the blast missed. He wrestled the weapon from the second Cruidian’s hand. The third fired again. Zrakken twisted. The shot hit the second Cruidian in the back, burned through, and seared Zrakken’s side. Zrakken used the second Cruidian’s weapon and shot the third in the shoulder. The third Cruidian collapsed, sending his phaser skittering across the floor. Zrakken knelt over the third Cruidian.

“Do you remember me?” Zrakken growled.

“No…”

“Braezek’s little brother?”

The Cruidian thought for a moment. Then his face lit with recognition. He pleaded, “That was politics! I held nothing against you…!”

Zrakken buried the weapon in the Cruidian’s neck, “You didn’t hold anything against me except a drill and a grappling hook.”

“Please! Don’t, don’t…”

“I know I’ve heard that before. But where?”

“Don’t do this!” The Cruidian’s eyes were brimming with terror, “Don’t! I didn’t mean anything! Please!”

“I remember where I heard it. My parents said that exact thing right before you…”

“No!”

Zrakken fired the weapon. It severed the Cruidian’s thin neck and sent the head rolling. Zrakken sat, shaking. Suddenly, his left leg exploded. He whipped around and saw the second Cruidian preparing to fire another shot. Zrakken bellowed and fired. The Cruidian fell back, dead.

Zrakken could barely breathe. His leg burned and throbbed. With his eyes screwed shut and his teeth clamped on his right wrist, he slowly ran his fingers down his leg. He snapped his hand back. His left shin was gone, exposed to the bone. Zrakken popped his eyes open. They rolled about, unable to focus. Zrakken forced them to look around the bridge. The Cruidians’ emergency medical kit hung next to the door.

With his teeth still firmly clamped on his wrist plate, Zrakken dragged himself to the kit. His left hand shook as he rummaged through it. He found a powerful anesthetic and injected it into his hip. Zrakken laid on his back, working to breathe evenly, as he waited for the medicine to take effect.

Finally the pain subsided. Zrakken sat up. His body felt like cracked glass. He pressed the piece over his ear and bit the transmitter hard.

“Zrakken? Is that you?” Erivase sounded worried and relieved.

“Yes,” Zrakken gasped.

“Where are you? What happened?”

“I am now in control of the Cruidian ship.”

“Are you all right? You sound exhausted.”

“I got shot.”

“I’ll be there in two minutes, hang on.”

“Don’t. Just go back to MoonScape.” Zrakken managed to speak evenly.

“You need help…”

“There’s a medical kit here on the bridge, and a medic in the cargo hold. I’ll manage. We need to get both ships back to the base. Do you have its coordinates?”

Erivase sighed. “Yes.”

“Send them.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Zrakken out.” Zrakken deactivated his transmitter. He climbed to the navigation panel. Zrakken programmed the computer to pilot the ship into orbit around MoonScape. As the engines engaged, Zrakken collapsed onto a chair.

Zrakken looked around. One Cruidian slumped over a console, his head skewered. Another lay tangled, a hole through his stomach and another through his face. The third’s head stared blankly at its tattered stub of neck from a meter away. Greenish blood oozed from the bodies and collected in putrid pools. This was what Zrakken had quested for. These were the ones who killed his parents and nearly tortured him to death, some six and a half years ago. And yet, something felt wrong.

That was politics! The last Cruidian’s words echoed in Zrakken’s head. Politics? Why had they come? Zrakken replayed the fateful afternoon in his mind. These Cruidians had been so violent and aggressive! But these same Cruidians were cowards, hiding in their tiny ship and avoiding any contact with outsiders. What could have persuaded them to leave the comfort and security of their ship, to charge into an unfamiliar house to confront strangers? And what was Braezek’s involvement? Zrakken’s mind whirled.

The Cruidian’s personal journals were restricted, but their recorded communications weren’t. Zrakken accessed all exchanges between the Cruidians and Braezek starting one year before the murders and watched silently.

Braezek was low in the hierarchy of his ‘organization’ at the time. He managed transactions and was the exclusive organization contact for the Cruidian trio. In the early exchanges, he was efficient and accommodating. He needed to keep the Cruidians’ business to impress his superiors. Braezek never said it directly, but he hinted at it.

As time passed, and Braezek’s reputation grew, he lost interest in pleasing the Cruidians. The Cruidians had been testing Braezek’s limits, and Braezek was sick of it. He started delaying payments. He started losing shipments. Braezek acted, at first, like they were honest mistakes or outside interference.

After more than two months of this, the Cruidians were fed up. It was obvious that Braezek was toying with them. They sent Braezek a conciliatory message:

“Braezek, don’t even try to hide it. We know you’re screwing us intentionally. We were demanding and difficult, and so, in a way, your behavior is justified. But now things have gone too far. Let’s start a new stage in our business dealings with this next transaction. We’ll supply our equipment on time and at the correct coordinates. You supply the payment, also on time and to the correct coordinates. From now on, let’s be honest and prompt. Sound fair?”

Braezek’s reply was short. He agreed.

The Cruidians dropped their merchandise on time to Braezek’s waiting crew. But, when two weeks passed without payment, they sent a threat.

“Braezek! What is the meaning of this?! We offered to move on, and you agreed. And you still withhold payment? We were hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but…Send the correct payment immediately, or your family will suffer.”

Braezek’s reply: “Don’t make empty threats. No one, not even you, knows who or where my family is. Don’t lie to me. Besides…” Braezek smiled cruelly, “…the payment was intercepted. Be patient. It will come. Eventually.”

“We do know where your family is, Braezek.” The Cruidians showed Braezek and Zrakken’s home from above. The scanner image zoomed through the roof, along a hallway, and to the family room. An old family picture sat on a table, and it included Braezek. The Cruidians continued, “You can’t deny it. Now, deliver payment and start behaving respectably, or we will destroy your family.”

“Whoever told you where they lived will be punished,” Braezek grumbled. He shook his head and continued nonchalantly, “In the meantime, I’ll pay you when I’m ready. I know you. You wouldn’t be able to leave your ship on a planet surface if your lives depended on it. Besides, the last character you killed was that old engineer because he betrayed you to the authorities. Almost got you caught, remember? If it weren’t for me, you would be in prison right now. Anyway, you don’t kill well. It took you two months of planning and you still shuddered as you beheaded him. Or blasted him. I don’t remember. So don’t tell me that you’re about to land on a heavily populated planet, wander through some building, and brutally kill innocents. I know you can’t. You can’t now, and you won’t be able to, ever. You’re worthless.” Braezek laughed and ended the transmission.

Zrakken skipped the message that informed Braezek of his family’s death. There was nothing after it. Zrakken checked the communication log. Braezek had no reply. Zrakken closed the program and sat back.

All this time. Zrakken had spent almost seven years of his life obsessing about the Cruidians, when they weren’t the ones to blame! A delivery shuttle seemed to drop on Zrakken’s chest. He felt it all but physically. Those Cruidians would never have dreamed of setting foot in Zrakken’s home, if not for Braezek. Zrakken looked again at their corpses. He did not regret killing them; after all, they had wielded the weapons. His burden was not lifted, though. Braezek had provoked the assault. He had lied about his knowledge to Zrakken, and in doing so, drove Zrakken to a trio of gruesome murders. Zrakken sat, shaking weakly, for the remainder of the flight.

Zrakken didn’t remember docking the Cruidian ship at MoonScape. He barely remembered Erivase rushing onboard to congratulate him. At one point he ordered that the two captured crewmembers should be assigned together to another ship, but his mind was blurred. Zrakken didn’t truly return to reality until the pain medication wore off while the doctors were transferring him to a stretcher. He was given another anesthetic that knocked him out.

When Zrakken woke up, he was on the medical level. There were contained energy fields over his right arm and left side where phaser blasts had grazed him. His left leg was hidden by specialized energy casings and dozens of wires. Zrakken stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.

Two weeks passed. The doctors had created an artificial plate and tissue to cover his leg. Zrakken’s body accepted the additions, and he was allowed to move into small personal quarters. On the second night there, Braezek visited.

Zrakken was lying on his bed when Braezek came in and slouched in the doorway. He was obviously upset and refused to make eye contact with Zrakken.

“What’s wrong?” Zrakken asked.

“My advisors have been nagging me about you since you came back. They say you’re some sort of genius because you killed the Cruidians when we couldn’t. We have been thinking about things other than Cruidians while you obsessively pursued them, but they don’t seem to see that.”

Zrakken stifled a laugh and smiled to himself. This was incredibly difficult for Braezek to say. Zrakken loved it.

“They’ve been telling me to take you on, to give you a job. It’s unanimous, and they won’t let up!” Braezek punched the wall.

“You didn’t veto them? I thought you had that authority,” Zrakken cooed.

“I do! But they’re unanimous. I can’t just override them, not without a good reason! If I just say no, they’ll, they’ll… I’ll lose my credibility! My respect!” Braezek took a deep breath, “There’s one position. They all mentioned it. We need a new messenger. Our last one was captured by authorities. There’s no telling what hideous torture they’re subjecting her to right now. All we know is she’s gone for good. We need a replacement. The messenger is exactly that—a messenger. She, or he, delivers information directly from one individual to another. Usually it’s confidential plans that need to get from general to general without risk of interception. The messenger has no authority, holds no prestige, and has the highest likelihood of being killed or maimed.”

“You’re offering me a job? How sweet.”

“I’m not! My advisors are. Clear? Come to me in two days with your decline or…” Braezek winced, “…acceptance.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve told your advisors that we’re relat…”

“Never say that!” Braezek snapped. He glared at Zrakken, “If you ever tell anyone about our history I will personally run enough electricity through your body to make your eyes bleed and your plates burn. Understand?”

“You don’t want your enemies to find me and use me as leverage?”

“Zrakknen, if anyone threatens to hurt you to get me to do something, I will sit back and watch. And probably laugh.” Braezek turned and left.

“You’ve done it before,” Zrakken whispered as the door closed.

Zrakken sat on his bed. Every instinct told him to refuse the job and get as far away from Braezek as possible.

And yet, if Zrakken fled, Braezek would have won. His sadistic antics would go unpunished, probably for the rest of his life. Braezek always wanted to be rid of Zrakken. Zrakken’s refusal would be giving him what he wanted.

Zrakken saw his parents lying mangled in the visiting room, and the Cruidians bleeding on their own bridge. Braezek was a cold killer, and needed to be treated as one. Zrakken imagined the next afternoon, stopping by a storage room for a disrupter on his way to Braezek’s chamber. He felt the weight of it in his hands. It would be small enough to conceal, but powerful enough to shatter armor. He would go to meet Braezek, to discuss this job opportunity. It didn’t matter what choice he made. He would kill Braezek. Justice would be served.

“But he’s my brother!” Zrakken screamed. His mind was getting away from him.

But what if I don’t kill him? Zrakken thought. What if I use a grappling hook on his back? What if I burn off his armor plating? I’ve endured more than most do in a lifetime because of him. He needs to see how it feels to writhe for hours, to scream in agony when no one cares.

Zrakken imagined Braezek’s luxurious quarters in the dead of night. Zrakken saw himself slip in, undetected. Braezek would be sleeping, breathing slowly, evenly. He’d be lying on his stomach, as he always did. Zrakken pictured the drill boring into the armor. He heard the plate crack and split. Braezek would bellow, but be unable to move. Zrakken would have been sure to tie Braezek’s hands and feet. The scene played out in Zrakken’s mind, but did not stop at his hasty departure. Braezek would be found by his guards immediately. He would make a quick recovery. And he would be pissed. Braezek would get Zrakken and…

Zrakken stopped. He shook his head. Braezek would always have the last move. Whatever Zrakken did to him, he would repay to Zrakken twice over.

“There must be something!” Zrakken cried.

He ran his claws along the back of his head, desperate. It came in a flash.

“I’ll take the job…” If Zrakken accepted, and did his honest best, Braezek would hear daily reports of Zrakken’s success.

Zrakken’s eyes lit up. He saw how upset Braezek was just making the job offer. Zrakken imagined Braezek beating his head on a wall, frustrated to death. And since he refused to tell anyone why he hated Zrakken, he would be forced to listen to praises for Zrakken and act as if he agreed. It would be a spine under his armor, a daily irritation. Braezek would never be able to act on his exasperation without revealing his ugly secret. Zrakken laughed, thoroughly enjoying the mental image.

An inner voice begged Zrakken to reconsider. He saw the Cruidian bodies again. By taking the job, and by doing his best, he would forever be a criminal. He would always be in the same class as cold murderers. He might turn out to be a cold murderer. The voice pleaded for Zrakken to let it go.

Zrakken recognized the voice, and dismissed it sadly.

“I’m sorry, Professor Dalomex,” he murmured as he laid back down on his bed, “but I’m in too far now to quit.”

And Zrakken slept peacefully for the first and last night of his life.