Solitary Ruin

[BlueMars]

He sat submerged in the hum of the spaceship's engines, having just left a planet that contained a rather interesting abandoned temple. The temple still stood and was almost perfectly intact. He had spent the whole day casually strolling around it, gazing at the carvings and paintings that filled the walls with silent awe. He could never wrap his head around the fact that nobody cared about such ancient wonders anymore. Those who did care were few. Then again, he reminded himself humbly that he never really cared about such things before.


Elran Faure sat back in his commanding armchair, enjoying its warmth. He stared blankly at the holoscreens around him that showed his idle surroundings in space. He blinked, and almost yawned, yet he caught himself and frowned a little. No, bedtime was quite far away. He would return to the nearest planet or space station to sleep there, he had decided. He didn't feel like sleeping with barely any gravity, and a hot meal sounded appealing.


He yawned. Then, he smirked at the screen in front of him.


"What is the nearest civilized planet, Gwen?"


"Swillon E17, approximately twenty thousand miles away, the inhabitants are human," Gweneth, his ship's AI, replied in no time at all. A picture of the planet showed up in front of him on the holoscreen, dotted with bits of data he might be interested in. He hummed, tilting his head at bit.


"Very well," he muttered, "how long will that be?"


"Two hours, approximately."


"Head for Swillon E17," he ordered calmly, his tired frown returning, "at low speed. I feel that the right engine isn't all right."


"Roger. Initializing travel route sequence. Heading for Swillon E17 at low speed," Gweneth's voice droned on, providing him with details that he wasn't particularly interested in at that moment. When Gweneth had stopped, he smiled, as though she could see him, and nodded his approval. Soon, he felt the air tug gently at his body as the ship accelerated just a tad to make its way to the destination he had set.


"Very well, Gwen. Meanwhile, try to find me a decent hotel over there."


"Yes, Mr. Elran. Are you not planning to sleep onboard tonight?"


"No," Elran sighed tiredly, "the shaky gravity in this area is not that comfortable to sleep in. We'll see if that planet is any better."


"Alright, Mr. Elran," Gwen paused, allowing several smaller beeps of notification here and there to take over the eerie silence of his ship, Solitary Sun.


"Would you like something to drink?"


"Ah, some coffee would be nice, Gwen. Thanks."


With a heavy sigh, Elran sat up, forsaking the comfort of his massive chair, and headed to a small living room where Gwen had already given the order for coffee to be brewed, and the order was almost complete. He picked up a thick book from one of the armchairs placed in the room, grabbed the streaming cup of coffee, and began heading back to the cockpit.


He had sat down comfortably, drank over half his cup of coffee, and read a chapter or two of his book when a particularly alarming beep caught his attention. It signaled that he had company, and most likely unwanted and unpleasant company. A slight grimace pulled at his lips as he raised his honey-colored eyes to inspect his new surroundings. In no time at all, Gwen would probably offer him a report of what was going on in the near distance.

 

[Scriven]

Ah, yes. There was nothing quite like the damp, ever-so-slightly-moldy-but-still-oh-so-comforting scent of old books. Bertie’s hull was full of them; wooden crates full of tomes filled the space, and in the back was a special airtight, light proof case that held the most valuable and sensitive of her beloved books. She had uncovered quite the trove on Jeslon. An avid collector had passed away, leaving an estate full of books he had collected over the course of a lifetime to a family who didn’t know what to do with them. Bertie had been happy to take the books off their hands and had given them a fair price, though she would turn around and sell them to the right buyers for a whole lot more.


Ancient books were a niche market, but those who collected them really cared about their collections. Bertie was able to make herself a decent enough living traveling around the galaxy to search out rare tomes. It hadn’t been easy getting started, but now that she had a decent ship that was in good shape, a trove of valuable books that were going to make her fat stacks of cash, and a heck of a reputation in the antique book business, she was doing alright.


Yeah, life was pretty good.


She was feeling a little uneasy with the amount of cargo she was carrying though, and the woman feared she had put all her eggs in one basket. She had just about cleared out her accounts to purchase this latest collection.


“It’s an investment,” she reminded herself, plopping down into the chair in front of the controls, used to talking to herself out loud. There was no one else to talk to, after all. “Okay, so I spent almost all my money, but these books were too good of a deal to pass up. Once I unload them on the right collectors, I’m going to be sitting pretty.”


She had an aluminum can of coffee in her hand, which she pulled the tab on. Once the air met the liquid, the chemical reaction started happening, and within seconds the liquid became hot. She took a sip and sighed, then set her drink in the cupholder beside her seat. The black reaches of space stretched out before her beyond the big, panoramic window, stars dotting the darkness, little white points of light. Though the ship was moving at remarkable speeds, everything was so far away that there was no appearance of motion.


Bertie pried off her shoes and curled her legs in so that her feet were tucked under her, then leaned back and closed her eyes. A Barry White track was playing softly over the sound system.


“Can’t get enough of your love, babe,” she sang along. “Oh, some things I can’t get used to, no matter how I tr--”


The ship jerked, almost causing Bertie to fly out of her seat and smack into the control panel. She stretched out her colorfully tattooed arms at the last minute and caught herself, then quickly disentangled her legs.


“The heck-?”


Clambering out of her chair, Bertie felt the ship jerk again. She stumbled sideways into the wall. The music cut off, replaced by a warning alarm. She could feel the ship slowing to a halt, then a deafening bang made the world go silent for a few long seconds. The whole ship shook and Bertie tripped over her own legs, falling heavily to the ground. Outside one of the little round windows she could see smoke from her engines, and past the haze, a ship much larger than her own little craft.


“Oh no. No, no, no.” Pirates. It had to be. She was being attacked by pirates, and out in the stinking boondocks of space, too. She looked around frantically for something to defend herself, but she found nothing more dangerous than a broom. No matter, she clutched it to her chest like that feeble wooden pole was going to save her. She could hear the metallic scrape and schlooping sound of a suction portal being extended from their ship to hers. Blast, the pirates were boarding! Should she hide?


No, they knew someone was piloting this ship. If they wanted to hurt her, it wouldn’t be hard for them to find her on her little caravel, and they’d probably just be even pissier.


She heard the sound of several dozen pairs of heavy feet clambering onto her ship, then a whole gaggle of orange-skinned Skorjans piled into her living chamber. They were a vicious looking bunch, that was for sure. Each and every one of them looked rough.


“You pilot?” one asked, his accent thick.


Feebly, Bertie nodded her head. Her lavender hair bobbed just above her shoulders.


“Stay out way, you live. Get in way...” He raised the gun in his hands and aimed it at her. “Die.”


Again, Bertie could only nod. She held her broom to her chest like a shield. The Skorjans were separating, exploring her vessel, going through her things to find anything they thought might be valuable. Most of them headed for the hull, but a couple wandered back toward her sleeping chamber.


The one who had aimed his gun at her stepped closer, so Bertie took a step back. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. It wasn’t a lascivious look- that she could handle. No, this look made her feel like he was weighing whether she was valuable. Slavery was illegal in this solar system, but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen. Her back hit the cold metal of the wall, which gave her nowhere else to go. He trapped her, getting close.


“Nothing but books!” one of the men called, bringing out three stacked crates of books. Skorjans, though wiry in build, were incredibly strong. He made the weight of all those books in his arms look effortless. She really could have used someone like that a couple of days ago when she had been packing up that library and hauling it all by herself onto her ship. Too bad he was a murderous pirate.


“Girl, where rest of goods? This merchant ship. Only books.”


“Th--” she had to stop and clear her throat because her voice came out as a hoarse squeak. “That’s what I trade in. Books. I don’t have anything else.”


Her eyes flicked to the two men emerging from her sleeping chamber and her pale, freckled cheeks grew red and hot. Bertie was filled with embarrassed indignation. Both had filled their long-fingered hands with pairs of colorful, silky knickers, and each had bras hanging down from the mass.


“Hey! You leave those alone, mister--”


She didn’t get to finish what she was going to say. The guy who had trapped her against the wall slapped the side of her face with the body of his gun. She felt the metal connect with her temple and saw stars for a blinding few seconds in which she thought she might fall down again. The gun had hit her mouth too, and now she could taste the bitter, metallic tang of blood.


Fine, let them have her knickers, she thought defeatedly. She brought her hand up and cupped her swelling cheek, tears in her dark, almond shaped eyes. Over the Skorjan’s shoulder, she watched the other lug crates full of books from her ship to theirs. Her life’s work... That hull full of books represented all of her savings! Her ship was still ringing the alarm to let her know serious damage had occurred. They must have opened fire on her ship. That was what she had felt. It was going to cost her a fortune to repair, and her savings were drained.


If she wasn’t sold into slavery, she could look forward to being stranded in space in a broken ship and slowly starving to death. Just flippin' fantastic.


No, Bertie knew she was being drastic. Yes, this was a drastic setback, but as long as these upstanding Skorjans left her be, she'd make it through somehow. She'd use her satellite communicator to contact the nearest help station and report that she had been stranded, attacked, and robbed. She would grit her teeth, strip herself of all her dignity, and beg one of her friends to loan her the money to fix her ship. Then, and this was the hardest bit to swallow, she would call Ricki, the dreaded ex, and ask him if he could tail the good for nothing Skorjans who had robbed her and get her shipment back. Ricki was a bounty hunter, after all, and he did kind of owe her. Even if he hadn't owed her, he was exactly the sort of guy who would just love to rub it in her face that she needed his help. He'd be happy to help, because it meant the tables were turned and she was in his debt.


"Stupid Ricki," she muttered under her breath, which caused her Skorjan guard to look at her with a frown on his bright orange face.


"What say, girl?"


"What? Oh, nothing. Nothing, just talking to myself. Look, do we really have to do this? You're not going to make hardly anything off all those books, I can tell you that right now. You're just making work for yourself. You could just-"


White light splintered her vision, then the world went black. Bertie wasn't aware of it, but her body dropped like a bag of rocks to the ground after a sharp, silencing blow to the head from the butt of the Skorjan's gun. Apparently he didn't think much of her idea to give her her books back and part amicably.


The Skorjans stripped her ship of any and all valuables, making quick work of it. They loaded their stolen goods onto their ship and left the lavender haired merchant where she lay, her skinny legs sprawled out crookedly. Even the sound of the emergency alarm going off wasn't enough to wake her from her stupor. The siren shrieked its warning to evacuate and red lights flashed from high up on the walls. During their search of the ship, the pirates had discovered the reactor in her control room. Whether intentionally or not, he had damaged it irrevocably. The entire ship was a ticking time bomb.

 

[BlueMars]

Elran squinted at his screen, his face twisting into a scowl. Finally, he sighed, then let out a short grunt. Gweneth did not speak for some time.


“Gwen?”


“I cannot gather enough information at this distance,” she said, and Elran grit his teeth, “but if I would take a guess, we are approaching two pirate ships.”


Elran cursed softly.


“One seems to be a medium-sized cargo ship,” Gweneth continued, “and the other seems to be significantly bigger, roughly the size of Solitary Sun.” Then, the AI’s monotone, feminine voice went silent for a few moments, and Elran assumed she was trying to gather more information.


“All right…” Elran muttered, raising his hand to his face and pinching the bridge of his nose.


“I also detect another smaller cargo ship,” Gweneth reported abruptly, “I would say there’s a 60% chance it’s not a pirate ship, and is instead a victim, as it is built much differently. Awaiting further orders.”


“Get closer, and let’s see if we can tell who’s who,” he ordered in his usually calm manner. Then, he took in a deep breath and raised his hand from the bridge of his nose to run it through his messy, wavy white hair, which had a bizarre light-bluish hue to it. He was no longer lying half-sleepily in his chair, but was edging on it, his eyes straining for every bit of data on the situation ahead of him.


Gweneth reported a few other bits of information that he deemed unhelpful, then he focused on the screen as his ship accelerated another notch to reach the commotion. It would be his first contact with others in a month, almost, and he really didn’t want it to be with pirates. At a good enough distance for him to be able to distinctly make out the shapes and symbols of the three spaceships ahead—all of which seemed to be stationary—but not close enough to be easily detected, Elran edged on his chair even more, his eyes searching the screen that showed his surroundings. He concluded that, yes, there were indeed two pirate, or at least suspicious-looking ships with the same symbol.


It took him a minute or two to realize they were Skorjans. He cursed again.


For a few moments, he debated what to do, then decided that distracting the Skorjans away from their poor victim ship was a good idea. Deep down, something told him it wasn’t, but he didn’t exactly listen to that small voice that often kept people out of trouble.


His dilemma ended, however, when the two Skorjan ships suddenly took off at high speed, leaving the small cargo shipped stranded and unmoving. Elran swallowed, then sighed and hauled himself off the comfortable chair.


“Mr. Elran?” Gweneth probed.


“Head to that ship on high speed and establish a suction portal with minimal damage. Initiate emergency maneuvering sequence C, in case they or others like them return.”


“Roger. Initiating emergency maneuvering sequence. Category: C. Heading towards unknown ship at high speed. ETA: approximately fifteen minutes.”


The Solitary Sun jolted as it switched into high speed, and Elran merely swayed a little, already used to the transition from spending a good chunk of his life on his ship. While his ship made its way towards what seemed to be a half-damaged cargo ship, Elran prepared himself to board it in search of any survivors.


He was mildly surprised at his own sense of altruism. He hadn’t saved many people before, unless he truly cared about them, and those he did care about were very few and were no longer a part of his life. As he was readying a rifle and adjusting his silvery-white-and-gray spacesuit—which contrasted well with his tanned skin—he briefly asked himself why he was doing such a thing, but didn’t exactly find any answers. Confident that everything was in place, he let out a tired sigh, and with a blank expression, began heading to the airlock.

***

​

The airship smelled of something humid and damp—a smell that faintly reminded him of old books. He locked the suction porter after he stepped in, and retracted his protective mask and helmet as the built-in sensor deemed it fit for him to breathe in the ship’s interior. He held up his rifle, ready to turn anything that moved to pieces.


“Hello?” he called tentatively, his voice soft but husky. There was no answer. Gweneth did not report anything, either. He pursed his lips and continued carefully scanning the area. It was silent, save for the persistent alarm that something had obviously gone wrong, and the whole ship was bathed in the crimson light of the alarm every few seconds.


The hull was littered with books here and there—ones that he recognized in no time as being antiques, and probably expensive ones—and the place looked like a small car had crashed through it. Eventually, he decided to head to the cockpit. Perhaps the pilot was still there.


He was first greeted with Barry White’s voice, singing persistently over the sound of the alarm. He kept his rifle high, sweeping the area from left to right, but finding nothing and no one to shoot at. A bit comforted, he lowered the rifle, taking a few careful steps further into the control room. The screen showed a lovely view of the ship’s still surroundings, and a tip of his ship was even visible at the edge of it.


He stopped still as his eyes rested on a figure lying sprawled on the cool floor of the control room. He muttered a curse under his breath, then knelt and carefully moved a hand gently to her throat to check her pulse. He decided against moving her, should any of her bones be broken.


He was just about to call for Gweneth to check her life signs and see if she had any life-threatening injuries that he couldn’t detect with his normal sight, when Gweneth herself shouted through his earpiece.


“Elran, I strongly advise you to get out of this ship as soon as you possibly can.”


“What’s going on, Gwen?” he asked, rather casually.


“Lethal damage to the right engine as well as the reactor detected: high risk of combustion at any moment. I repeat: Abandon ship as soon as possible.”


Elran sighed and shook his head a little.


“Way to go, Gwen. There goes a bad omen for my ship,” he muttered sarcastically, then as carefully as he could, he hoisted the woman up in a bridal carry and headed to the suction portal, which he had previously locked. Bad decision.


“Gwen, please open the portal again,” he ordered, his voice a little bit strained as his eyes darted all over the place, as though afraid that something might jump at him. Gwen did not reply for a few moments, and neither did the portal open.


“Gwen?”


“I apologize for taking a moment, but the portal should open now” her voice returned a little bit distorted, and seconds later, the holographic door of the portal indeed opened with a click.


“Thank goodness,” he breathed, rolling his eyes, then he readied himself to head back to his ship.

 

[Scriven]

It felt like she was swaying, like when her aunt and uncle had taken her to the planet Ionus, which was ninety percent ocean, and she had floated on the waves on her back, letting the ocean carry her. She had closed her eyes and drifted further out than she had intended. When her eyelids had blinked open, land had no longer been in sight. All around her: water. She had felt disoriented and panicky, which was exactly how she felt now.


Bertie's head was also throbbing. She tried to escape the fog she was trapped in, but it felt like wading through molasses. Everything was an effort, and it would have just been easier to keep her eyes closed and let her body stay in the dream-like state of unconsciousness. She was afraid though. Something wasn't right.


Her eyes blinked open slowly, her vision blurry. She felt arms holding her, carrying her- the feeling of floating on the waves was the sensation of being carried. Above her, a peculiar looking man with shockingly white hair for one so young and a contrastingly tanned face. Her body reacted in shock by twisting violently and pushing away from him. She broke away and landed in a clumsy crouch, catching herself with her hands. Her head throbbed and for a second Bertie thought she was going to throw up and tumble sideways. Fortunately, she didn't lose her lunch. Unfortunately, the world careened to one side as she fell to the other. The wall met her shoulder, then her cheek. It felt like everything was spinning.


"What are you doing on my ship?" she asked accusingly, her voice garbled by the wall she still had her face pressed against. Pirates, she remembered. She had been attacked by pirates. They had raided her ship (the pain and loss of all those books felt fresh again) and one of them- an orange Skorjan- had slammed his gun against her temple to make her stop talking. It had worked. Bertie tentatively reached up one hand and felt her temple. There was a little gash there and a small amount of congealed blood, but she had one heck of a lump. That was good, right? A lump was good, someone had told her. It's when you don't get a lump that you should worry. "Are you with the Skorjans? Look, I don't have anything else, okay?"


Only herself. Was he taking her to their ship to sell her into slavery? Tears pricked her eyes, partly from pain but mostly from panic. She pushed them away with the side of her palm and shakily pushed herself up, relying heavily on the wall. She wasn't going without a fight, gosh darnit! She tapped her pockets to see if she had anything stabby-shaped, but came up empty. Not so much as a pen.


"Bring it on, Buster, if you dare. I'll have you know I'm tougher than I look."


Lies. She was bluffing, but she wouldn't give up. She would bite and scratch and scream bloody murder.

 

[BlueMars]

Elran almost instinctively jumped back when he realized that the woman had awakened and violently thrashed at him to move away. He took a few steps back, but seemed calm and composed, only that internally he was close to screaming out at the woman to run before they were fried alive. He winced a little as he watched her painfully and helplessly prop herself against one wall, knowing how the effects of such a blow felt all too well himself. Yet, he did not move a muscle to catch her, for fear that she might lash out at him again--and he knew also from experience not to be deceived by looks. Ah, hell, that didn't matter. The cursed ship was about to blow up--what was he thinking?


He noticed the colorful tattoos on her arms, and they reminded him of something. Rather, of someone. He squinted his eyes suspiciously at the neat, intricate artwork on her skin and almost shivered. Of course--how could he forget? His heart lurched at the memory and he took in a sharp breath.


Why, Ellen had a similarly colorful tattoo on one shoulder. He remembered how he so stupidly complimented her about it once, a long time ago, when a small part of it peeked out from under her sleeve.


No. He quickly stopped the crushing train of melancholic memories in its tracks. He couldn't allow a fragment of it to reach him. Not now. Maybe late at night, when he was alone in bed. Maybe.


When the woman spoke, his doubts were confirmed. He took in a deep breath, as though to calm himself.


Elran made a face that almost conveyed disgust and offense when she asked if he was with the Skorjans. He thought he didn't look like a criminal--well, at least, not anymore. A part of him told him that the woman was in shock, and that it was okay for her to assume he was a Skorjan. The other part told him that he was probably so ugly, he scared her.


"What?" He blurted out "I'm not--"


The woman seemed to fidget around, as though looking for something. Gweneth said something almost in annoyance, and perhaps even joked about him wanting to commit suicide and he ignored her. The AI was not without her strange sense of humor. Then, out of the blue, the lavender-haired stranger had her fists ready and was clearly trying to show him how strong she was. Elran wasn't alarmed, considering how she chatted with him, then fidgeted around for a weapon first instead of mindlessly attacking him as many might do. A few precious seconds later, Elran still did not show any interest in taking up her offer. He sighed slowly, then shook his head.


"Listen here, young lady," he began, looking her straight in the eyes, "I am not a Skorjan, first of all. Second of all, I have no intention of fighting or killing you. I saw the Skorjans leaving your ship and thought I'd come to look for survivors, help out, report the incident to the Intergalactic Police force, that kinda stuff, y'know? But things aren't that easy," he jerked a thumb back towards her ship, " your reactor's down, and sadly your pretty little ship's about to blow up any time now," he pointed behind her with an index finger, where the door to his ship wasn't that far off. A green rectangle placed in the middle of the holographic door blinked green, signalling it was open.


"And, unless you're willing to stay behind and get blown to bits, my ship's that way. Welcome abroad. I'd suggest you head there fast if you accept the invitation."


Gweneth yelled impatiently in his earpiece.


"Elran? Did you receive any injuries to your head on planet Z-29? Why aren't you and the survivor that you found moving?"


"Sadly not, my head seems fine. I'd have an excuse for my unusual behavior if I did," he snapped.


"That is very true. Do I have to courteously invite you into your own ship?"


He rolled his eyes once again and grunted. Gweneth took that as a sign that the conversation was over, and that some sort of human interaction beyond her understanding was taking place. Humans were certainly strange, and she often expressed that thought to Elran. His responses typically made it worse.