Page 79 of Hope Forged
A touch at her wrist must have synchronized with her O.D.I. because clear as dawn, a voice filled her ears.
“Airlock is secure,” Ulta said.
“En route,” Illan responded, his suit sealing to his helmet the moment he wrestled it on. She hadn’t sensed that at all. “The suit has two hours of built-in oxygen supply. But…stay close.”
Grasping her hand, he led her to the docking bay.
And like a kulog, she trailed him, all obedient. Would she follow him into danger without a concern?
Yeah.
Chapter Twenty-One
Fromfoottohead,Illan was as stiff as a fossil. His thoughts, normally ordered and calm, zinged through his mind, making demands he didn’t have the time to deal with. But only he was to blame for the state he was in. The way Ziamee had looked at him had sparked an answering fire in his belly. He’d been determined to remain firm, aware time was of the essence. But when he’d caught glimpses of her sex as he helped her don her suit, his resistance had crumpled.
When they returned from the station, he’d find his pleasure. For now, he had to focus.
Brac and Coll waited in the docking bay, the door gaping on the extended arm latched onto the station’s exterior. Chance of their success: 86%.
Illan drew in a breath and nodded at Brac. The male headed into the tube, his boots thunking on the metal plating that appeared to be Maloidian steel slats, locked together to form a solid surface. Illan led Ziamee along the path, Coll trailingher with his blaster drawn. Once they’d disembarked from the scimitar, the bay door sealed, forming an airlock. They were, in fact, suspended between two structures with nothing separating them from outer space but these thin nano-polymer walls.
Lights flickered, marking the depressurization process. Weightlessness came next, summoning a squeak from Ziamee.
“Quick, tap your heels like this.” Illan demonstrated, then caught her floating arms to pull her feet down to the floor.
She did as instructed, and her boots locked onto the metal slats. “That’s…incredible.” She made to take a step but tilted, instead.
“It is like moving through your sinking sand. Try sliding a foot forward until your legs learn the strength needed.”
She inched forward, and when they arrived at the station’s door, the light in the tube was flashing green in warning.
Brac activated a seamless panel to the right of the entrance, a spark leaping to his fingers while he navigated the Maloidian holographics. The metal door slid aside, a little slow, but it proved power was still available to the station. He scanned the panel with his O.D.I., then marched into the minimally lit sphere, his focus on his arm as he issued commands. Blinding lights flickered into life, revealing a…home in disrepair. Wires dangled from below consoles. A tiny beep came from the replicator, announcing its lack of sludge. In critical failure, all access to the sludge stores was assigned to a working rehydrator.
“The situation must have been dire,” Illan mused.
“Indeed,” Coll said from where he leaned over a…body.
A male Maloidian lay ‘asleep’ on a bunk nestled on the opposite side of the room. His body hadn’t decayed, locked in an airtight tomb.
“He died a while ago. I cannot determine when by his physical state.” Coll ran his O.D.I. over the male. “With no external wounds, I must assume it happened while asleep.”
“That’s so sad,” Ziamee said, sliding closer to Coll. “Alone, nameless, forgotten…”
“A comm console is beside you, Illan.” Brac glanced at the barely lit buttons on the wall. “Perhaps it will reveal his last moments. I will access the station’s diagnostics protocol. That might reveal what killed him.”
“And when,” Coll added, resting his hand on the body’s sternum. “Death is a path one must walk, as in life. For beyond the darkness and silence lies the hope of Cinniur’s eternal blessings.”
Part of Illan admired Coll for speaking the Maloidian death rite over the male. But the angry side of Illan wanted to hate the dead male who’d played a pivotal role in his planet’s demise. He tapped the closest display vid, and text appeared.
“Eight years,” he said, skimming through the logs. “The last entry he sent out was almost a decade ago.”
Choosing one at random, dated seven decades ago, the image of a vibrant male formed, his tentacles swaying with serenity. His skin glowed a healthy yellow against the dark markings on his brow to his crown. And his solid-black eyes held warmth.
“Greetings. All has gone as planned. I have stated as such in my previous comms. I am uncertain if they have reached you. I have checked the station for any technical issues. It would be most unfortunate if the problem lies on your side. I will attempt to send a wider comm, but my concern is revealing my presence in the light of my last mission.” His chuckle was self-deprecating. “It has been too long since I received a response.” His shoulders slumped, but he caught himself. “I will try again in a month.”
Illan flicked down, searching for a more recent log. The male was almost white, his marking too stark, and his eyes becoming gray.
“I have lost hope. I am alone, my nightmares now reality.”He rubbed his face, then yanked in his tentacles with trembling hands.“My distress signals targeted at everything not Durn or Etterian have been ignored. If the problem is in this Cinnuir-forsaken station, I cannot find it. I have rewired everything without relief. Curse this mission. I wish I had never agreed to this…abomination, no matter how it would benefit future generations of Maloidians. We are…monsters.”
