Haunted

Nobody can hear you scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Not even the sounds of the blaring alarms could drown out the words as they bounced around in their heads. As the frantic escapees scrabbled to their places in the cockpit, the unspoken memories hovered over them like a storm threatening to break. The warden’s haunting words felt like a noose around their necks, tightening around their throats with every passing second. Each inmate sat down at a console, hurriedly initiating the launch codes as quickly as they could manage in their uncomfortably tight and restrictive grey prison suits. Nervously, one glanced over their shoulder towards the rear of the small shuttle, the short tendrils that trailed from the side of their head fluttered and large blue eyes darted about.

“Deon, we need to hurry! The broken panel will not keep the guards out of the hanger for very long.” Their grey-blue skin flushed darker and frantic, flashing patterns streaked like lightning across their elongated neck as the banging on the hanger door outside began. “Deon” they cried out, panic peaking their normally low, baritone voice.

“I’m aware Bral!” The dark-haired human shouted, his tone harsh. “Just keep working on stabilizing the engine’s output. If we screw this up, we’re as good as dead anyway.” Deon continued entering the sequence to convert the autonomous piloting system over to manual. “We’ve got one shot to make this work and I, for one, am not dying on this godsforsaken station!”

“Deon’s right, just focus Bral! We can do this!” Deon nodded at his navigator as she sent her spindly fingers flying across her station. She beamed at him, her sharpened teeth flashing in the very human expression she had picked up while behind bars.

“Tidrava, plot a course through the asteroid belt. We need to lose them quick. Satan isn’t going to let us go easily.” Deon ordered as he finished switching the ship to manual. Tidrava trilled in response, her feathers ruffling slightly as she began to feel the pressure setting upon her.

“Attention prison scum!” A harsh female voice rang in the hanger over the intercoms. All five crew mates in the cockpit jumped as the painfully familiar voice sent chills down their spines.

“Speak of the devil,” the human woman piped up from the rear of the ship, her yellow eyes rolling heavily. Deon suppressed a snort as he waited for the engines to finish priming.

“We’re so close,” Deon muttered, his hands wrapped firmly around the dual yokes as he waited for their moment.

“If you come out of the shuttle, you will live to see tomorrow. Don’t even think of trying this bullshit. That shuttle is worth more than an hundred of you damned idiots.” The voice of the warden over the intercoms blared continued profanities in a tirade against them, but Deon motioned for everyone to continue. “And if you make me shoot that thing out of the sky, I’ll pull your corpses from the wreckage and charge the cost of every bullet and every ounce of fuel used to your families and clans. I’ll send envelops made from your hides to receive their payments!”

Deon rolled his eyes as he watched his console, though inwardly he wondered if she was capable of keeping such a threat. I doubt such trivial things like prisoner’s rights carry much weight with her, he thought to himself, deciding that yes indeed, she would make good on such a promise. Doesn’t change the fact that this is our only shot to escape. Jokes on her anyway, I don’t have any family to pay up.

Suddenly, the last green light appeared on his dash and he let out a victorious whoop. As the ship began to hover and move towards the hanger bay door, it slowly began to open. “Great job on getting through their securities, Rashvot. Let’s get out of here!” Deon pressed the yokes as far forward as he dared to speed them out of the hanger. With the flick of his controls, Deon opened comms for only a few seconds to scream, “Eat shit, Santana,” before shutting them back down and speeding into the vast void of space.

Ahead of them, lit by trillions of glittering jewels, the canvas of space lay before them. Painted in hues of violets, blues, pinks, and oranges, the nearby nebulas left each creature on board breathless in momentary awe, despite their dire straights. The limitless space stretched in every direction, promising them endless possibilities, if only they would but reach for them.      

“Nothing ever looked so beautiful before,” the human woman commented from her artillery station, a stray tear rolling down her cheek. Each one of the crew murmured their agreements as the ship drifted listlessly into the endless expanse.

Deon nodded. Though it took him a moment to break from his stupor, he knew time was not on their side. He shook his head to clear away any distractions and turned to address the others. “The bug Rashvot set in their systems won’t last long, let’s get the hell out of here while the getting is good. We have all of our lives left to admire the view.” Deon pressed the yokes as far forward as he could manage as they made a break for the distant asteroid field. “Tidrava, have you gotten us a safe-ish course through the belt?”

“Um, define ‘Safe-ish’,” she nervously clicked her teeth as she sent to his station a flight pattern. Deon glanced over it and then back up to his fellow escapee. “Best I could do with the limited tech on this ship,” she clarified, her feathers rippling in her nervousness. “These are meant to shuttle cargo from one ship to another, not for prolonged flights. These only have weapons because Satan feared outside attacks on her supply chain more than any of us would escape.”

Deon stared at the path laid before him, his eyes sharp and focused. “This is doable,” he said, grinning at his screen. “And luckily, we only need to be in this boat for a few days at best. We’ve made it this far, the rest is up to Kilway. Astrid, be ready to fire if they manage to get their defenses back online before we’re clear.” Deon banked slightly to the left and pushed the shuttle to its maximum speed, leaving the prison station to shrink slowly into the distance behind them.

***

“Nobody can hear you scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.” Santana’s wicked grin stretched too wide across her face. Her lithe, pale form walked ahead of Deon as he struggled against the prison guards who carried him, occasionally glancing over her shoulders. Ahead lay one of the airlock decontamination rooms, its red door sent waves of panic through him.

“No! Don’t,” he screamed, struggling even harder against the iron grips that held him. Years in space had atrophied his muscle mass, leaving him far weaker than even his weedy high school years in the colonies. The guards laughed as his kicks landed softly against their shins.

“You don’t want to help me test this theory, laggie?” Santana turned, her black eyes stark against her pale white face. Her short blonde hair framed her face harshly as she stared with a wicked grin. Though she was fully human, whenever Deon pictured what a demon would look like, Santana’s was the face he saw. “Then I guess you shouldn’t have wasted my time. I expect prompt answers to my questions, and if I ask you ‘Who made that untraceable transmission from Unit 5’, then you best have something I want to hear.”

Santana hit the panel on the wall, causing the chamber door to open with a menacing hiss. The guards tossed the now screaming Deon into the dark room, cackling as Santana shut it behind him. Deon scrambled to his feet, eyes wide in terror as he banged on the door. “Scream for me, maggot!” Santana shouted with a laugh, though her voice was muffled behind the thick door. Deon shrieked as the airlock procedures began to sound the alarm inside the small chamber. Deon felt his blood freeze in his veins as the airlocks vented, the bloodcurdling hiss of air leaving the chamber lasted only a few seconds until all he could hear was silence as even the sounds of his own heartbeat ceased in his chest.

***

“Deon! Deon, wake up!” Tidrava’s voice broke through his nightmare, bringing Deon back to the waking world. With a yelp, he leapt up from their bed, getting caught in the sheets and tumbling gracelessly into the floor. As the cool metal floor smacked his cheek, Deon felt himself returning, piece by piece and breath by breath. I’m still breathing? The thought brought a rush of relief to his racing mind, helping to calm his terror. “Deon! My love, are you alright?” He glanced up to see a nervous Tidrava peering over the edge of the bed at him, her red eyes shining. She chattered her teeth in her concern, eyes darting about looking for the source of his fright.

“I’m ok, Tids. Just a bad dream.” Deon sat up, his naked skin against the floor was uncomfortable, but it helped to bring him fully back to awareness. “Remember, humans get those from time to time.”

“I remember,” her wide mouth pursed in a quizzical expression. “I am still confused as to what the evolutionary benefit of such a feature would be though. You were in clear distress.” She sat on the bed, crossing her spindly legs beneath her, and regarded him with the same predatory but gentle gaze he loved so much.

“I was dreaming about Satan,” Deon said flatly. He watched Tidrava shudder reflexively and her lips pulled back in a threatening snarl at the mention of the name. “So yeah, I was pretty scared.”

“As any creature with a sense of self-preservation would be,” Tidrava said, nodding sagely. “Do you wish to talk about this dream?” Deon smiled, standing up and joining his mate on the bed.

“No, I think we’ve spent more than our fair share of time in bed today. We should get out there and see what Kilway has for us to do today.” Deon cupped Tidrava’s face and stared deeply into her eyes, giving her a reassurance of connection that her kind craved. With a soft chirp, Tidrava broke the contact first and planted a kiss against Deon’s lips as best that she could manage, though it still felt strange to her.

“Then let us meet the day.”

The pair gathered their clothes from around the room where they had fallen. After salvaging what had not been too damaged by Tidrava’s claws and replacing what had, they exited their quarters. As they made their way from the crew’s quarters to the mess hall, they heard loud shouting and laughter from up ahead. Sharing a quizzical look between them, they rounded the corner to find much of the off hours crew gathered around the center of the mess hall. The tables and benches had been unbolted and moved to the walls to give the crowd more room. Deon pressed into the crowd, with Tidrava’s claws clutched in his hands. In the center of the crowd, Astrid and Bral were locked hand-to-hand. Astrid snarled, her muscles rippling against the much larger Bral’s weight. Bral chuckled, pressing their advantage against the buff human woman. Their reptilian head swung closer into Astrid’s face, neck flashing bright patterns of confidence along their markings.

“Ready to give up, Astrid? You won’t beat any dot’vigran in a contest of strength, no matter how augmented by cybernetics you are.” Astrid shoved against them, managing to scoot them back an inch along the floor. Bral’s booming laugh filled the mess amidst the wild cheers. “Give it up. I don’t want to hurt you by accident, my friend.”

Deon watched as Astrid strained and strained, before he noticed her eyes flashing from point to point on Bral’s body. Suddenly, Astrid shifted her stance and pressed her weight from one side to the other. She sacrificed her ground to do it, but Deon watched as it made Bral adjust their own stance. Unfortunately for them, they were much slower to do so and Astrid quickly began to push them backwards. “There’s a reason humans became the dominant species of our planet,” Astrid said through gritted teeth. “It wasn’t strength or claws, it was our brains,” She gave Bral a feral grin as she shoved again.

Bral stopped laughing and stared at the human woman in wonder before pulling their head back closer to their body and throwing their weight back into the competition in earnest. As the crowd’s cheers rose to a fever pitch, suddenly the klaxons above them began to shriek. The crowd nearly leapt from their collective skins. Bral accidentally carried their momentum forward as Astrid’s focus shifted towards the alarm, nearly pinning her against the wall before they managed to stop.

The intercom came on overhead and a gruff male voice barked out. “All hands to battle stations. We’ve got a lock on one of Santana’s transport ships. There’s a dozen escorts, all fighters to be deployed. Double time people! Deon, bring your folks to the bridge!”

Deon turned, his hand still clasped firmly around Tidrava’s. Her crest fluttered slightly and her teeth chattered wildly, but she kept her composure as best she could. She nodded, letting out a sharp trill to call Rashvot nearer to them. Astrid and Bral came running as the crowd around them scattered, grim looks on their faces. After a few moments of waiting, Rashvot came running around the corner, his talons spread and his own feathered crest standing tall in alarm.

“I heard your call! I made it, I-I… what’s happening?”

Rashvot’s panic lasted only a few moments, until Deon’s cold gaze met his wide eyes. “Santana,” Rashvot’s crest pressed against his head and he hissed slightly. “Come on, we’ve got to get to Kilway.”

The five former inmates raced through the belly of the ship, each lost in their own thoughts but taking the comfort from the presence of each other. They had made it through so much together in such a short time, never wavering, never faltering in their bonds.

Once they came upon the bridge, they discovered a flurry of activity. Deon pushed past the furious crew checking, double checking, and triple checking their data to make his way towards an older human. He stood in the center of the bridge on a slightly raised dais. Around him were holographic screens flooded with information, but the one he starred at held a live feed of another spaceship. Emblazoned across its side, in bloody crimson letters, were the words that haunted Deon’s dreams. Victoria Correctional Station.

“Good, I’m glad you all were able to get here so quickly,” the man on the dais said without turning to face them, his grey eyes trained on the feed in front of him. “And you have the ilsvari with you?”

Deon and Tidrava both stepped up together onto the dais next to him. “Yes Kilway, I am here, as is Rashvot.” Tidrava spoke with confidence, but she couldn’t keep her feathers from fluttering. Kilway spared her a short glance before returning to his consoles.

“We have reason to believe that one of the newest inmates headed for Victoria’s is an ilsvari political prisoner. Someone paid good money to get rid of whoever it was at least.” Kilway motioned to the monitor. The five former prisoners watched as dozens of fighter ships engaged the escorts of the prison ship. Deon felt Tidrava’s talon’s squeeze his hand. He gave her some reassuring pressure in return. Together they watched the feed, waiting with bated breath. The main ship attempted to engage their engines but the fighters harried it, keeping it in place.

“We’ve hacked their systems, Captain,” one of the crewmen called out. “We’re disabling their systems as quickly as we can. Shields are down to 64% and FTL drives are offline!” Deon’s crew watched as the fighters made quick work of the remaining escort ships, leaving the inmate transport ship alone to deal with nearly two dozen fighters on its own. The great transporter was quickly brought low, like a bison felled by a pack of ravenous wolves. The fighters then escorted a shuttle of Kilway’s crew towards the beaten vessel and as the shuttle came alongside the transport’s airlock, the call came back across the comms.

“Docking secure, Captain. Overriding the locks now. Once we’re inside … Woah!” The derelict ship began to list to one side, its engines sparking and sputtering as someone inside tried in vain to achieve flight.

“Even if they manage to get that ship to jump, it would tear them apart anyway,” Rashvot said breathlessly. “Are they really that foolish?”

Kilway chuckled. “Fear drives people to do many a foolish thing. But in this case, we’ve been waiting for this opportunity to stick it to Santana and her backers for too long to let them have even the smallest chance to get away.” As the captain spoke, the sputtering engines died.

“Sorry captain,” the call came back to Kilway. “Had to shoot the pilot. Bloody bastard was firing blindly behind himself as he tried to fly the ship away.”

“Good work, Nelson. Clear the ship and secure anything of interest. I await your report.” Kilway finally turned to face Deon. “I figured you and your crew would want to see this. I’m glad you were here for it. We’re a few more weeks from our next port call outside of the Alliance’s space, you’re all welcome to continue using our ship to recover until then.”

Deon beamed at Kilway, dropping Tidrava’s hand for a moment to shake Kilway’s. “It’s been a pleasure Captain. I’ll admit that when Rashvot made that call months ago, I had small hope that we would be standing here today. Happy to say I underestimated both his skills and your determination.” Behind him, Deon heard Rashvot trill in embarrassment at the compliment and he turned to give the young ilsvari a conspiratorial wink.

“Truthfully, I had thought that it might have been too tall an order myself, but with Rashvot’s code-breaking and hacking skills, we’ve done great things. Be proud of yourself, boy.” Kilway nodded at the now chirping Rashvot. “Now as far as …”

“Captain!” A frantic cry brought Kilway’s attention back to the monitors. Nelson’s face appeared on a feed. The young man had taken cover behind an overturned mess table as live fire rained around him. “It’s her! She’s here! We’ve been … Aarrgh!” The feed cut to snow.

“Nelson!” Kilway shouted, his eyes wide with anger and disbelief. After a moment, no response or message came from the boarding party. As Kilway tried to reestablish communications, Astrid laid a hand on Deon’s shoulder. He glanced behind him to see his friends and crew mates all staring at him with the same resolute expression. It was the same look they wore the day they executed their great escape from Victoria’s. Deon nodded, his own blood boiling.

‘She’s here,’ that can only mean one thing. Deon looked back to Kilway, his shoulders set and a grim expression on his face. “It’s Santana. She’s on that ship.” Kilway turned to look at Deon. Seeing him and his crew, the Captain’s face fell.

“And you want at her?” Kilway’s expression turned quickly to admiration and with a brusque nod, he turned to his console. After a few moments, he glanced back to Deon. “You’re registered with my crew and now have access to the armory. Go get yourselves some armor and weapons and meet the shuttle in fifteen.” Deon flashed Kilway an excited grin, though his heart felt as if it would bang its way through his rib cage from the fear.

What are we even doing, he asked himself as he turned and raced towards the armory of Kilway’s ship.

***

“Clear!” Deon called out, his rifle pointed down the hallway towards Nelson’s last transmission. He moved forward, leading his team towards their goal. Behind him, he could feel their stalwart resolution to see this to the end. Deon shuddered slightly, but from fear or anticipation he couldn’t tell anymore. Ahead of them, a door to their left tried repeatedly to slide into place, unable to fully close due to the prison guard’s body laying prone in the way.

As they reached the mess hall where Nelson’s transmission had ended, Deon checked the open door by sticking the end of his rifle into the door. Gunfire sprayed through the door, peppering the wall across from them with glowing holes left from the lasers. Deon drew back as a shrill voice cried out from inside, “Come at me, you mercenary bastards! I’ll kill the lot of you!”

Ice filled Deon’s veins. That voice which had haunted his nightmares for what felt like an eternity, was shrieking in rage and terror within the mess hall. She was here. Can I do this? Can I… A low, long hiss fulled his comms. He looked over his shoulder to Tidrava to see her crest fully raised and her crimson eyes narrowed. Her claws were out and she was ready to fight. Behind her, Bral’s rumbling growl shook the floor beneath them. Astrid’s yellow eyes glowed angrily from behind her visor and she gritted her teeth. Even gentle Rashvot’s crest was raised in his own fury. Deon felt his own heart begin to beat like a war drum. He tightened his grip on his rifle and leaned back against the door frame.

“Come out Santana, and you might just live to see tomorrow,” Deon shouted, paraphrasing her final threat to the group. His words must have broken through the fog of her fear because now all he heard from her was a rage filled scream.

“You! The escapees! You made a fool of me! You ruined my life!” The shrill scraping of metal on metal met his ears, followed by swiftly approaching footsteps. Sensing her approach, Deon readied himself. As a wide-eyed and enraged Santana barreled around the corner of the door, she managed to fire off a single shot before Deon drove the butt of his rifle into her temple, collapsing her on the spot. He looked down in surprise, seeing the unconscious Santana sprawled before him. She was so small compared to him. This was the creature that had stalked his nightmares? That had caused so much harm and death?

“Deon!” Bral’s bellow broke him from his daze. As he turned around, his eyes met the wide crimson stare of his mate. Tidrava slowly looked down at her shoulder. A smoking hole had pierced the armor just below her right shoulder, leaving a window clear through her.

“D-Deon?” Tidrava chirruped weakly. She reached up for him, managing a single step before she collapsed into his arms. Deon couldn’t scream. He couldn’t even breathe. His beautiful, wonderful, funny, kind, Tidrava was hurt. Astrid and Rashvot moved to help, pulling medical kits out and setting to work. Bral gingerly moved around them, their mammoth feet pounding the floor as they marched over to pick up the unconscious Santana. Deon felt salty tears racing down his face, but he couldn’t speak. Nothing felt right in the world. Move, damn you! Tids needs you! MOVE! Deon watched Tidrava’s face. Even in her unconsciousness, she seemed too peaceful and wise for this world, of course her gods would want her back. Deon balked, growling at the thought. No, I won’t lose her!

“Kilway! We’ve got injured. Get medbay ready!” Deon shouted over his comms.

“Already on it, Deon. We were watching the feeds and have another squad preparing to fully clear the ship. Just get Tidrava back to the shuttle!” Kilway ordered, his concern clear as he cursed Santana under his breath for hurting the girl. Deon looked up at Astrid and Rashvot as they finished plugging the hole in Tidrava’s chest.

“Can she be moved?” Deon asked, his eyes pleading silently with his friends. Astrid turned her head to look at Rashvot. The other ilsvari checked Tidrava’s pulse and opened her eyes.

“Her stress levels are high, but not fatally so. We can move her, but any more damage and she won’t make it. The good thing about laser ammo is that it often cauterizes the wound enough that blood loss is no longer a concern.” Deon nodded, satisfied.

“Then you two get her back to the shuttle. Bral, bring Santana with you. I’ll cover us.” Deon fought against every instinct he had to cling to his beloved Tidrava, but he managed to leave her care to his crew and stand once again. On unsteady legs, he made his way to the gun he hadn’t realized he had dropped. Once again armed, Deon turned and began to lead the way back to the shuttle. As they marched, a desolate silence filled the air. Each member was drawn into their own thoughts, praying for Tidrava to survive. Deon cleared each hall, leading his crew back to the airlocks near the bridge where they had taken the only other available docking port. While making their way back, he felt the numbness that had taken him slowly turning into incandescent rage. Santana had taken years from his life in that hell-hole of a prison, and now she wanted to take away his future? The one thing in this cold, cruel galaxy that he genuinely gave a damn about? Thoughts clamored in his head as he cleared the last hallway between them and the airlock. Astrid and Rashvot moved forward, gently carrying a still unconscious Tidrava between them.

They moved onto the shuttle, carefully setting Tidrava down along the floor. Deon turned to Bral, motioning at them to stay put. Bral cocked their head slightly, but made no move to enter the shuttle. Astrid continued her first aid but glanced up at Deon. At once, the humans shared a knowing look between them. She turned and smiled at Rashvot. “I’ve got her, you go get us to Kilway.” Rashvot broke his intense focus on Tidrava to glance from Astrid to Deon. Sensing something was occurring, the young ilsvari simply nodded, though his crest fluttered nervously, and made his way to the helm of the shuttle. With a short glance back, Rashvot closed the hatch door and disengaged their ship. That left the empty airlock in front of Deon, Bral, and the still unconscious Santana. Deon stared out the porthole window at the retreating shuttle beyond the second door, his emotions whirling through his heart and mind.

“Why did we stay behind, Deon,” Bral asked, their voice layered with worry and anger. “I want to make sure Tidrava is going to be ok, don’t you?” They shifted their weight from one leg to another, glancing down at Santana. The woman was beginning to make small noises as she began to recover.

Deon turned to Bral, ignoring the devil-woman. “More than anything, but I … we have a score to settle.” Deon flicked on his comms to a private channel and paged Kilway. “Captain Kilway, sir.”

After a few moments, Kilway responded. “What is it, Deon?” Deon took a long breath to steady himself.

“Permission to cut transmission for five minutes?” Deon waited in silence for a full minute awaiting his captain’s response. Finally, Kilway answered his request.

“Permission granted. Comms on again in five, and help the incoming squad finish sweeping the transport.” Kilway cut their comms, leaving the three in silence. Deon turned his gaze down to Santana. All of the words that he wanted to say, all of the curses and damnations disappeared when Santana opened her eyes and stared up at him.

“Well, too weak to kill me while I’m out then, laggie?” She sneered up at him. Deon thought he should feel terror, rage, or maybe righteous fury, but all he felt was numb.

“Deon. My name is Deon. And it’s the last name you will ever hear. Remember it well while you’re burning in hell.” Deon reached down, grabbing the weakened Santana by her hair. With his free hand, he slammed on the panel next to the door. With an ominous hiss, it opened its maw, ready to devour the wicked. He dragged her struggling body into the airlock, tossing her in unceremoniously. Santana hit hard on the grated floor, her weakened body failing her as she tried to scramble back, realization and terror on her face. He quickly shut the door in her face. Santana screamed, her weak fists beating on the porthole between them. Deon leaned against the glass, letting Santana see him clearly.

“Santana, you have taken damn near everything from me. My life, my mate, and now my humanity. This is the last thing you will ever take from me.” Deon said loudly enough to be heard through the glass. Santana’s black eyes widened in fear, nearly driving out all whites from her eyes, as she realized just what was about to happen to her.

“No! Let me out! Let me out, please!” Santana shrieked and banged even more furiously on the door. Tears streaked down her face.

“You should have spaced me that day, Satan,” Deon said with an evil smirk. Santana’s blood began to coat the glass between them as she continued to drive her fists hard against the glass. “You were every inch the devil you claimed to be.” Deon moved his hand over the panel, his finger hovering over the emergency airlock controls. Her shrieking face pressed in vain against the glass, her eyes bloody and wild. “Scream all you like Santana, but you and I both know, ‘nobody can hear you scream in the vacuum of space’.”