Vengeance in the Void

The air passed slowly through Pyrus's pursed lips as he struggled to force his breathing back under control. The world around him shook, walls humming, floors quaking, and every item that was not bolted down crashing to the ground.

Eyes closed, he focused on each breath, the sweet intake of oxygen surpassed only by the ecstasy of its carbon-bonded release.

Inhale slowly and hold. Exhale slowly and hold.

Quivering hands squeezed the bars on each side of his seat, flesh and metal indistinguishable in the fierce vice of his clutch. Every muscle across his body clenched as if only their strength kept his body intact. Rigid bones rattled within, his skeleton fighting sinew and tendons to unmake itself under the stress.

Pull in air and pause. Push out air and pause.

His lungs rebelled against him; shaky breaths hissing through jaws clamped so tight that his gums had begun to bleed.

"Focus." He told himself, the words a whisper pricking the recesses of his mind like a distant memory. "Focus on your breathing, and it will all be over soon."

Searing light burst into his consciousness, shattering what minor pretense of calm he had coerced into his mind. Eyes flinging open, he stared, squinting into a wall of pure light. The shutters of his viewport had disappeared, disintegrated no doubt, clear duraglass the only buffer between man and flame. There was no control of his breath now, no inner center of focus. Terror flowed into and through him. Screams were all he managed to push out.

A massive jolt rocked the ship, testing his endurance against the unyielding vigilance of his restraints. Fingers faltered as limbs flailed and his head whipped passed the ability of his muscles to control. Darkness filled him once more, consuming the light, cleansing his horror with silence, and stilling the world.

How had they faltered so badly? Travel had advanced beyond this. Navigational computers, AI sensors, and synthetic backup crews were supposed to defend against exactly this kind of situation. Sure, when interstellar travel had first been achieved, incidents like this had not been uncommon. Half of a millennium had passed since then. Pyrus had never heard of a ship flying into the gravity well of a sun outside of history chips and old stories.

Yet here they were, a governor's frigate, no less, and his last moments would be splintering under turbulence before complete immolation claimed whatever remnants of his molecules managed to stay intact.

He had not been a crewman of the Bon Chance very long. None of them had. The exquisite vessel was barely a year out of the shipyards. It was magnificent to behold. Sleek and long, with rippling curves that flowed too aesthetically to have been designed by any human hand, each wave-like ridge standing in juxtaposition to its neighbors, and yet in perfect harmony nonetheless. Its hull was a mix of silvery white alloys heavily steeped in the deep green of Delicia, the tiny planet under Governor Fillon Curlough’s austere reign. The ship was a royal gem adorning the imperial majesty of space, a crystalline treasure crafted rather than built. Pyrus did not doubt that even in their current predicament, the Bon Chance shone with radiant splendor, an elaborate jewel upon the golden crown of the accursed star quickly devouring it.

It all seemed almost beautiful in that serene stillness. As his mind wandered into swirls of resplendent light and color another jolt brought him crashing back to consciousness.

Opening his eyes with a start, he stared about at the wreckage of his small room. The rattling had ceased, though every possession he owned was drawn about the floor. Cold, dark space loomed through the viewport, the outer seam of the window charred black like a frame.

He had survived. Relief washed over him like a waterfall, a cool tingling that swept through him as though each cell in his body was checking its virility. He smiled at first, then surrendered to the inner mirth that filled him. Laughing hysterically to himself, his eyes watered as fear fled and pure joy at life filled the void it left behind.

He was alive.

Regaining his composure, though still smiling, he fumbled for the latch that would set him free from the restraining belts embedded in his flesh. Hissing quietly as he peeled away the straps, he grimaced. A latticework of thick bruises likely lay beneath his rumpled uniform, flesh and fabric molded together in creases that outlined his body’s skirmish with the restraints.

Rising to his feet, he swayed unsteadily, his legs jittery and numb. He braced against his seat once more as needles danced across his thighs and calves, blood flooding through arteries and veins that had been cut off by his restraints. His head swam for a moment, then all existence became a consuming attempt to steady himself as body, mind, and stomach raced for equilibrium in his new situation.

A few moments later, his legs steady, and wiping the last remnants of bile from his lips, Pyrus headed for his door. No light to indicate the scanner was online and no motion from the thick steel barrier. Looking around, he realized only the emergency lights still glowed, painting the whole room Scarlett. Power must be out.

Running his hands along the nearby wall, his fingers grazed the slight ridge of the hidden wall panel beside the door. Pressing it, the panel sprang up, revealing the manual override switch. Flipping the small lever, the door hissed, sliding just a few inches to the side. He would have to do the rest himself. Pulling with both hands, the door glided into the wall with unexpected ease, revealing a hallway lit with the same crimson aura as his room.

To his left, another door opened in a similar manner, a dark shadow filling the entrance. Torien Harswick lingered only a moment before limping out, his right arm hanging from his shoulder like a worn doll’s limb. His right leg was hardly better, though it was hard to make out any details in the ruby-tinged light.

“You okay, Harswick?” Pyrus asked, making his way towards the sagging man. Torien, Second Aide to the Governor, had always been a proud and pretentious man, vain as a Cloderian princess and nearly as finicky about the company he kept. As a Hierarchal Elocution, Rapport, and Linguistics Diplomat, or herald, as most called it, Pyrus skirted the lower threshold of individuals Harswick tolerated in his presence.

As he approached, something rocked the Bon Chance violently, sending both men sprawling. The lights flickered as Pyrus smacked hard against the wall, every already bruised strip of flesh howling its outrage at the force. Darkness prevailed once more, only this time, he was still awake.

Eyes wide with terror at the utter blackness, Pyrus steadied himself against the wall beside him before sinking back to the floor. Straining his vision in defiance of the total darkness, he could not see his hand quavering mere inches from his face.

Panic bubbled inside him, while only pain and the occasional sound of creaking metal assured him he was even alive.

Inhale slowly. Exhale slowly.

He closed his eyes, forcing his mind to calm and think. As he opened them, the crimson light flashed back to life, painting the hallway back into reality.

Hardwick's glaring sneer was barely an arm's length away, his eyes cold and neck contorted at an angle not meant for the living. Unable to catch himself, he had slammed face first into the wall, even his stiff neck unable to withstand such a blow.

Reeling back, Pyrus began to pant once more. He had never seen a dead body outside of a casket, and certainly never so close. All pretense of calm left him as he backed away, turning his heel and sprinting towards the bridge away from the sneering corpse.

Blindly he ran, passing doors both opened and closed. He sped around debris, scattered possessions and entities he refused to let his mind acknowledge. The bridge. The captain was there. The navigators, the pilots, the chief medical officer, all would be at the bridge. They would have the answers. They would have the plans. They would retain whatever last shreds of sanity remained upon the ship.

Turning round the last bend, he could see the entrance to the bridge, it's door slid open, white light dissipating red at its touch.

Another lurch sent the sprinting man hurtling towards the open portal and back into darkness once more.