Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Without Hope ❯ Orphan ( Chapter 1 )

Chapter 1: Orphan

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The ear-splitting crackle of a plasma rifle discharging was quickly followed by the scream of whichever unlucky person had taken the shot. It sounded like a male voice, sort of like the captain's, but he had been executed a long time ago, and the stench of his decomposing corpse now filled the corridors and airlocks with a fetid odor that made those with a weak stomach vomit, which only added to the smell. Right about now digestive acid would be slowly dissolving his various internal organs, and his screams would only get worse. By this point that was nothing new, however no less haunting. For some reason the shot was always delivered to the stomach, and it could take up to an hour for them to die as they digested their own insides. Sick bastards...

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Perhaps it was an act of demoralization, though to what purpose could not be fathomed. Each person was locked in a separate room, no commodities of any kind, surviving on the bugs that seemed to be everywhere now that there was an ample supply of carrion to feed on. Once per day another of them would be violently killed, their screams echoing through every corner of every room for as long as it took for them to die. By now nearly everyone left had gone insane, but of course no one else knew that. In the absolute black, all they knew was the inevitable sound of the tortured agony of friends and family, the gut-wrenching smell of death that seemed to stick inside the back of their throats and the sensation of feelers and multi-jointed legs exploring their naked and broken bodies.

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The rooms they were sealed inside were little more than store rooms, tiny, square and made of metal. There was nothing else within them now. There had been lights once, but after the vessel had been taken over their captors had switched off all the power to everything but the life support. This was the perfect environment for the beetles. Fat, bloated bodies crawled lazily over everything. Mandibles nipped and bit at the prisoners' bodies every now and then to see if they were still alive or if death and provided more meat in which to lay their eggs.

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Now only a handful of individuals remained. One of them was only about twelve years old. Despite her young age, an intense burning sensation behind her left eyelid was enough for her to know that the infection was getting worse. She'd tried to keep active, keep moving around the small, metallic room, but in the absolute blackness she had slipped and fallen in her own excrement. With no means of washing it off, it had led to an infection that by this point probably would mean the loss of the eye altogether. Though she wondered what difference that would make by this point.

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Yes, a handful of individuals were still alive. But whether any could be said to be survivors would have been a point of debate. If there had been anyone left to debate it that is.

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The cities shone in the sunlight. Everywhere there was the noise of an active and thriving civilization, a world of intense beauty and prosperity. Natural and artificial wonders could be found just about everywhere a being could see, all masterfully regulated to function in harmony with everything else on the planet. No one suffered here. No one went hungry. Disease claimed no lives. And nothing was sacrificed. Below, the shimmering streets bristled with works of art, some ancient, yet classical, some new and controversial. Artificial rivers ran down the middle of every street, teeming with the tiniest of fish, and birds perched on the overhangs of the elegant towers, designed by beings both architects and artists. Human designers had sought to create a world in which nature and technology were harmoniously intertwined, and it seemed successful. The buildings stood tall and glimmering in the reflected sunlight, which in turn was mirrored in the pools of crystal clear water below them. There were many vehicles flitting through the skies, but they were mostly noiseless, and all that could be heard was the chatter of people mixed with the sound of birds and rivers. Paradise.

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And to think that it had all begun with a conflict. After the wars, the Colonies of Sol were devastated. Humanity had nearly been eradicated altogether, and that was why the rebuilding was so important. It all hung on Earth really. If humanity could return it's home to a state of glory, what a message it would send to the other species living in the galaxy. Not only could we survive, we could prosper. We could come out on top. Apparently, when all was said and done it had worked. Five years ago we were accepted as a species of the Collective, and four years after that the first human gained the rank of Prince of the Collective. We had managed to take the means of shaping the face of galactic politics, and some said that we deserved it.

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The Collective. That had been our goal. In an attempt to end interspecies wars, a group of aliens had fused the governments of their homeworld into a group they dubbed the Princes, a new government who together would decide the rules that affected all their worlds. Since then, new members had been added, new races joining the original founders, and over two hundred years the Collective had become the largest galactic organisation ever known. They held power over 48% of the Milky Way, and that figure was rapidly growing. Joining them held unfathomable benefits. That is why we pushed so hard to be one of them.

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"So why am I here?" she whispered. If everything is so perfect, why are Elaanus Mit'ezka's ears filled with the roar of a military dropship's engines as it enters the atmosphere of the outer colony of Verduun? Why is she looking upon a horizon scorched black, illuminated by a sunset of orange, nuclear fire? Why is her body magnetised to it's seat by a metallic, bulletproof skin designed to disperse heat and radiation harmlessly around it's wearer, so all that they had to worry about was the screams of fear as cold, silent synthetics attempted to systematically liquify their body?

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As she sat there, surrounded by the chatter of combat-hungry rookiees who were too ignorant to realise that this would change their lives forever, her thoughts drifted back to that black, empty place in her mind which no light escaped from. Elaanus didn't sit in dark rooms crying herself to sleep every night, and she didn't make a devoted effort to break the smiles of the people around her, and she had no nightmares that made her scream in the night. But that didn't mean she had stopped thinking about her ordeal. On the contrary, something like that burns itself into a person's mind, makes itself a part of them as much as their own hand. It's impossible to push it away and forget about it, because every thought you have, every action you make is inherently tied to it. How could anyone forget such a thing? How could anyone live with it afterwards?

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She reached up a gloved hand to tie her black hair out of her face. There was no way she planned to get gunned down by a synthetic simply because a strand of loose hair had obscured her vision. A memory struck the woman, her fingers trailed to a cold, metal sphere embedded in her left eye socket. Sometimes, Elaanus still felt the pain of the long, drawn out loss of that part of herself. Pushing the thought away, she sighed and looked around. This was a mistake. Letting her eyes wander over the things around her, they settled upon the Ferolian sniper sitting across from her, his enormous rifle gripped firmly in his hands. He was paying her no attention, those shimmering eyes were peering toward the exit ramp in anticipation, but the sight of him sent a flare of white hot anger through her. They had started that god damned war after all. Tried to exterminate her people because they didn't want to submit to the rule of bullies. Humanity had made mistakes in the past, wrecked it's homeworld, and the Ferolians had surmised that gave them the right to take over, and what's more, the Collective had done nothing to stop them.

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Her mind turned to the dead weight of the rifle in her hands. How easy would it be to casually pull the trigger, blow the fucker away and call it a weapon malfunction? She could just tilt it like this, ease her finger over the trigger and... "No" she murmured, shaking her head. I mustn't let these thoughts in. I've got to keep them away. Elaanus thought to herself as she regained control and let the weapon rest back on her lap. Another day on the job. Another step closer to finding that bullet with her name on it.