“This is a mistake, Gerry.”
“Just trust me, Davon.” The duo stood in the dreadnought’s dark elevator, the only light coming from the reflection of their uniforms, including the fresh-folded bundle which Gerry held in his arms. “I do trust you.” Davon commented, “Gods above, I trust you far more than Shanna and Orson do.”
“You just don’t trust her?” Gerry chuckled, smiling back at Davon. “No one trusts her. I’m still surprised the commander agreed to this. We haven’t even heard back from the Emperor yet.”
The elevator doors creaked open, leading into the dim civilian quarters, which had begun the process of being turned into yet another set of barracks. “I couldn’t care less about the politics, Davon, this is about human decency.” Both Gerry and Davon stepped out of the elevator. Davon adjusted his ponytail, which had settled over his shoulder. After it moved to his back, he removed a cigarette from his mouth. “Yeah, the thing we’re fighting for.” Gerry glared at Davon once they reached the room Nadeden had been assigned to. “You know what I meant.” Davon shrugged as Gerry knocked on the door. “Nadeden?” A minute passed.
“Oh, well. Looks like we’ll come back some other time.” Davon stuck the cigarette back in his mouth and began to walk away until Gerry opened the door. “What do you think you’re doing?” He sprinted over, entering the room before Gerry stepped inside with the new uniform cradled under his left arm. “Well, she obviously isn’t here, so I’ll just set this down on her bed.” Gerry innocently approached the bed. “Gerry, this Woman has killed more people than there are in this ship. She stabbed you in the stomach when you first met her! How do you think she’ll react to having her privacy invaded?”
“You need to relax, Davon, you haven’t even met her yet.” Gerry took one more step toward the bed. Davon gripped his arm. “I don’t want to take any chances.” Gerry laughed, “You can’t be serious, come on, let go.” Gerry tugged on his arm, but Davon’s grip tightened. “Cut it out, Davon!”
“I’m serious, Gerry, I have a bad feeling about this!”
“You and your superstitions again! Not everything has some cosmic meaning!” The pair wrestled, the uniform and cigarette fell to the floor as the pair tripped over themselves, landing in front of the bathroom just as the door opened. “Smoking will kill you, y’know.”
The pair glanced up to see Nadeden standing over them, her wet body full of scars, wrapped in a towel with steam leaking out from the room behind her. Nadeden picked up the cigarette that fell during Davon and Gerry’s scuffle, rubbing its end on a nearby table, snuffing out the flame. “So, Gerry, who is this? Is he your lover or something?” The pair quickly jumped off each other, standing up to exchange a frantic “No!” in response to Nadeden’s surprisingly genuine question. Davon stood at attention while Gerry picked the uniform off the floor. “My name’s Davon Yemer. I’m a messenger of the Division. I guess you’d call me something of a priest. And for your information, I mainly smoke to calm my nerves. I don’t care if it kills me.” Nadeden made her way over to a mirror, taking out a hairbrush from a nearby cabinet. “So you’re the religious type?” She sneered, “I don’t particularly care for those.” Davon gulped, shooting back, “That’s no way to address your superior officer, and you certainly shouldn’t be speaking to anyone when you’re hardly wearing any clothing! It’s indecent!” Nadeden turned back toward Davon, the brush caught within her long strands of hair. “Superior officer?”
Gerry handed the uniform over to Nadeden with a red face. “You’ve been made an honorary member of our Warbound. Davon’s our leader.” He sank in on himself, turning away from Nadeden as soon as she took the uniform. Davon was careful to note Gerry’s embarrassment and overall desire to please Nadeden before handing out his orders to her, “We’re deploying to Quandroiz tomorrow. The Republic has set up an oiling operation. They're running low on fuel. If we can cut off their supply, the Division will gain a major advantage. We all know how capable you are, but we need to know that you’re loyal to us. This will be your first test.” Davon exited the room. Gerry had begun to follow him before Nadeden called, “Gerry.”
“Uh, what is it?” His voice trembled. He avoided looking at Nadeden as he spoke. Sweat ran down his back.
“Make sure they get me a good bow and set of arrows. I’ll want to adjust both beforehand.”
Gerry nodded, “Sure, I’ll do that.” He said, running off after Davon. He was acting weird compared to when we first spoke. I wonder what that’s about. She thought. She stretched out the blue and gold uniform in front of her, “This is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“The Forge is the Machinist homeworld, just outside of the human galaxies. It’s comprised almost entirely of metal. It’s a peaceful planet, a paradise in essence. We have no wars, no crime, and no poverty. We have no true government, but we do have what could be considered a class system. As for economics, we only own what we build, and trade is nonexistent due to no one having any true desire to obtain anything. We are a peaceful people. I’m sure you’ve realized by now that our religion is a pacifist one. The Mystics are the heads of our religion, and probably the closest things we have to leaders; there are very few of them. They have the power to transport metal across large distances. The Scholars are another social class, which is also very small since most of them happen to be elders; they record all of our knowledge and history, as well as teach it. They can use their writings and runes to transform the very land itself to suit our needs. The Builders are the largest class; you assumed I was one; they can build anything out of metal with basic vocal commands. Metal is summoned and communed with by my class, the Smiths. We are each created with these designations in mind, and our metal bodies are what grant us our abilities. If the Rusting really spread as far as you say it did, the Forge might be gone by now. That’s why I have to go back and check on it. I need to know if my people are still alive, Nadeden, and if they are, hopefully they can get me out of this body and back into a real one.”
Nadeden scoffs at Smith as she continues to sharpen her arrows, “You are in a real body.”
That was all she took away from what I said? Smith wonders, scratching at his wounds again. His ribs ache, but he’s grateful that the itchy sweater is no longer assaulting his skin. This body isn’t real to him, not as real as the metal one, although at this point, he isn’t quite sure what Real means anymore. “You know what I meant.” Smith sighs, leaning back against the ship’s rusting hull. The metal continues to yell at Smith. It’s in pain.
Nadeden huffs, “Sorry, Smith, but I’ve already had too many distractions, what with saving you back on Terra-gilma and all that. I can’t put off killing the Emperor any longer, and from the look of this ship, we’re probably only gonna be good for one trip. That summoning metal trick could be useful, though…” The sudden idea causes her to pause the sharpening of her arrows. She looks Smith in the eye, “Could you make me a metal arrowhead?” Smith tenses in disgust. Is violence all she thinks about? “What? No!” He blurts out, “Like I said, I’m a pacifist, no Machinist has ever made a weapon before.” Smith notices that he has begun emoting with his hands, these hands which are not theirs. Gazing at his palms, he states, “My real body was what previously allowed me to summon metal, but when those men attacked me, I had to use the iron in my blood to summon the metal. I’m not sure if I could do it again.” Nadeden smiles, jokingly swinging around an arrow, “Well, maybe, I should just cut you open then!” She laughs as a look of concern crosses Smith’s face. He still hasn’t mastered facial expressions, but Nadeden receives the message nonetheless. She resumes sharpening her arrows. Why did she say that? I’m getting far too comfortable with him. She warns herself, chipping away at the razor-like stone.
It has always been difficult to hold on to a concept of time in space. There is no sun that sets and rises, no moon that waxes and wanes. There is only the void. The dark, ever-spanning eternity in which living things travel yet do not belong. Even if the ship had a clock, its presence would be pointless. Time is relative after all. At least that’s what Nadeden tells herself as sleep continues to elude her while Smith indulges in it. She watches his breath rise and fall. The embalmment scars that stretch across his eerily white skin make it appear as if someone drew a series of random lines on a sheet of thin paper. His body is young. Nadeden recalls coming across it when it was alive, simply passing it by in a village square as its eyes were stained with the black paint that now adorns them. The markings symbolized that the boy had volunteered for a ritual sacrifice. Hadel was to plant his organs in the soil and dispose of the body. The process was said to help with the growth of wheat, a crop that was scarce on Terra-gilma due to the planet’s eternal downpour. He volunteered to die. Nadeden runs her fingers along her bowstring.
“Leading another child to their death again?”
“Get out of my head.”
A young man with a pair of glasses and curled hair overtakes her mind, “He’s just another person you’ll hurt, you know. I have no idea why you keep doing this to yourself.”
Her old lips tremble. “You aren’t here.”
His youthful smile shines on his face. The Division uniform he wears is clean and new. “My lovely Nadeden, of course, I’m not here. Your mind is trying to warn you.” Gerry sits next to her on the Rusted floor. He rests his head on her shoulder.
“He reminds me of Adamus, you know.”
Nadeden leaps off the floor, swinging her wooden bow into the ship's hull, screaming at voices that will never speak back. Her bow cracks. Not enough to shatter or split in two, but just enough for a large splinter of wood to break off and fall while the string comes undone. “What are you doing?”
Nadeden draws an arrow in fury, spinning around to strike the voice with it. She halts herself once she meets Smith’s gaze. Smith lowers the arrow from his eyes with his index finger.
“Did I scare you?” Nadeden whispers with an echo of regret. Smith shrugs, “No, just confused me really.” Nadeden loads the arrow back into her quiver. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks backhandedly. Smith shrugs again. Nadeden smirks, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re starting to warm up to me.” Smith chuckles, “Well, maybe if you stopped killing, I would.”
The unlikely duo share an uneasy laugh before the front of the ship explodes. A large chunk of rock bursts through the cockpit. Nadeden holds her breath as the ship tilts onto its side. Smith does the same. The pair slam into the left side of the hull. The right cracks open as another chunk of rock breaches it. The rocks suddenly pull away before the ship crashes into an asteroid. The chunks of rock stick out of it and wrap around the ship again while the asteroid moves to a much larger one. One with eyes. “Pirates!” An indescribable voice bellows within the vacuum of space from the hulking asteroid’s mouth. “How many times do I have to tell you? Quandroiz is off-limits!”
The giant’s right hand speeds toward the destroyed ship that Smith and Nadeden now lie helplessly in. Nadeden only has one thought in her mind. Did they just say Quandroiz?