Chapter 13
TASK
SFS POLARIS
The first day is drawing to a close, though now that they have crossed into true outer space, it is dark and time feels different.
It always feels strange when they are floating through the galaxy, where they aren’t heated by the same sun, don’t see glimpses of the same moon that they do on Lumaria, or the two moons of Nexarium.
Task sits in the third-floor lounge, nursing a glass of whiskey, trying to drown the strange emotion that flared to life seeing Kit and a tall, brown-haired man in the mess hall.
He shouldn’t have gotten himself a drink, if he’s being honest with himself.
He’d managed to kick the habit years ago, but it’s always a slippery slope, even though he’s convinced himself he’s in control.
He eyes the Lumarian citizens clustered around the room.
He has to give it to Oraxia — they have created a luxurious passenger ship, one that has almost anything one could require on a long journey.
A lounge on every passenger floor, an entire wing dedicated to the medical bay and research facilities, a sundome on the fifth deck for Lumarian citizens to recharge when they feel low on Vitamin D or miss the feeling of grass between their toes, a mess hall that takes up half the lower deck, and passenger rooms tucked into the spiraling corridors and passageways.
Task’s quarters are located on this floor, close to the bridge in case he’s urgently needed. He doesn’t expect to be urgently needed on the journey back to Nexarium; he’s intending to bide his time learning more about Kit and her power.
While Draven was adamant about respecting quarantine protocols, Task is worried that Draven has misjudged the severity of his own illness. He isn’t sure Draven has four months left in him, and he wonders about breaking the protocol and kidnapping Kit sooner. It could be worth the risk.
He slumps further into his chair, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
What is he thinking? Nothing is worth that risk when they have limited information about the Fever and its origins.
Yet, even if he waits until they dock at the Port of Aetherion — seventy-five klicks south of Xaria — to execute, he wonders if the tradeoff is worth it.
Kit seems to be playing a fairly significant role in the research for an antidote.
Could he really kidnap one of the three key Luminaries responsible for potentially curing an entire planet of a pandemic?
He could, he supposes. He has to. And he’s done worse. But something about seeing the pandemic firsthand, the way the ambassador has been crippled, families ripped apart, gives him pause in a way executing on prior orders hasn’t.
He shakes his head a bit, as if trying to reset. Task follows orders. Gives orders. Extinguishes people — entire planets if necessary. That is what he does. To go against orders would be treasonous, would potentially put all of Nexarium at risk.
Of course he’s not going to go against them. He’s just contemplating what the best approach is to executing on them.
He takes another sip of his drink, senses someone new moving into the room.
It’s Knox, Kit’s younger brother. Task groans inwardly, hoping Knox will somehow miss him.
He tries to blend into the shadows further, though his hair will give him away, he knows.
It’s not something that’s easily hidden, which is why he usually wears a hood when taking care of problems on Nexarium.
Sure enough, Knox sees Task and comes toward him, grinning. “Hi.”
“Hello,” Task says, looking up at Knox from beneath his lashes as he takes yet another sip of his whiskey. In addition to masking uncomfortable feelings, it helps to numb the pain, especially when weaving isn’t sufficient.
Knox sits down on the gray sofa adjacent to him. “Can I ask you something?”
Task raises an eyebrow, as if to say shoot.
“Have you heard of the sock trick?” Knox asks, crossing an ankle over his knee and leaning back.
Task almost spits his whiskey back into his glass. That was not the question he was expecting. And why does the boy feel comfortable asking him about this? They’ve barely exchanged two sentences. What kind of vibe is Task giving off that would invite such a question?
“Sorry,” Knox says, chuckling. “None of my friends are on this ship, and you were in here sitting alone, so I figured I’d give it a shot. You look like someone who would know.”
“I look like someone who would know?” Tasks sets his drink on the table in front of him, raising both his eyebrows at Knox.
“I just mean you’re older, obviously, and a major of the Force. Consortium women must chase you all the time. And you all live in barracks while at the Seminary, so I just assumed…”
Task eyes him, pressing his lips together. He’s trying not to smile. If he smiles, he breaks character, shatters the mask. He’s worked so hard to cultivate a specific image —menacing, fearsome, cold as ice. But somehow, Knox is seeing right through all of that.
“I know the sock on the doorknob trick,” Task confirms.
Knox throws up his hands in disbelief. “Why am I only just learning about this today?”
Task actually laughs then, despite himself. Objectively, Knox would be considered handsome, if not a bit nerdy. “Is this something you’ve had need of in the past?”
Knox flushes, his freckles blending into the pink on his cheeks. “Well, not exactly. I’ve never had to share a room before. But it’s better to be prepared, wouldn’t you agree?”
Task frowns. Is he now supposed to be following up on whatever sex education this kid has had previously? That is certainly not in his job description. He realizes Knox is waiting for him to say something, so he says, “I agree.”
Knox nods, as if this is the answer he was looking for. “Cool, thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Task says, standing up from the couch. “Enjoy it.” He winks at Knox and strides toward the door.
Task
SFS Polaris
A week has passed since they started their journey to Nexarium, and Task is uneasy.
He’s always had a task to execute on behalf of the Governor — a law to enforce, a rebel to hunt down, a criminal to round up.
Without that, he feels adrift. Of course, he’s in charge of Security and Intel aboard the Polaris, but thus far, there hasn’t been much for them to do.
Many of his men are bored and restless, he can tell. And Task does have a task to execute upon, but it’s not something he can just do on a whim. It takes strategy, planning, consideration.
He sighs, loudly, and Voss turns to him. “Alright, man?”
“Fine,” Task says. He steps closer to Voss, and then says under his breath, “Draven has indicated the rebellion is worsening.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible. He commands the greatest Force in the galaxy.”
“He’s missing his two greatest assets.” Task smirks, his reflection staring back at him from the glass viewport. Some might say he has an overinflated sense of self, but he’s got the power and the kills to back it up.
The bridge is silent, save for the quiet murmurs of Claiborne and Dobbs. The ship is largely on autopilot now, though the two continue to scan their surroundings in case of any unexpected space detritus or a sudden weather change.
Task sits in the small alcove situated behind the captain’s chairs, scrolling through the data his Prism projects in front of him. He’s tapped into the Polaris’ mainframe high-side system, looking for the latest cable from Draven, which should provide them with a status update on the Low rebellion.
He hasn’t been able to connect with Draven via Chronogram or Prism, which unsettles him.
Perhaps something has gone very wrong. Perhaps Draven has been killed.
Perhaps chaos reigns. He’s pondering whether to break quarantine and send two from his unit to investigate and report back, or whether he should go himself.
He scans the digital files that have come through over the last day, catching on an update from his second, Atari, who he’s put on tracking the rebel movements on Nexarium.
He’s been trying to find out more information about their leader.
At the moment, they’re still an enigma, as elusive as the nox parrot.
“Major Canmore,” a voice interrupts his thoughts and he closes the file, turning.
Caelinus stands at the door, awash in blue light from the hallway. His face gives nothing away. “We have a problem.”
Caelinus, Task and Voss stand in front of the Prism in the conference room where Voss and Task spoke with Draven only a handful of days ago.
Alexander lurks behind them, arms crossed against his chest, a slight grimace on his perfect face.
He’s been taciturn since boarding the ship, annoyed at his station aboard, given his position on Draven’s High Council.
Task isn’t surprised that he’s behaving this way — of course Alexander feels entitled to a role more than a mere political officer.
He’s also secretly pleased that, as always, he ranks slightly higher than him and can give him orders.
“This just came in from Balbas,” Voss says, gesturing to the cable displayed in front of him. “Things seem to have deteriorated further on Nexarium.”
“Draven?” Task asks, heart surging into his throat as he thinks of his uncle, already weakened, potentially further harmed by rebel forces while he’s here on this ship.
“Fine,” Caelinus cuts in. “He’s been on the front lines of the response efforts. The Revs managed to cut all comms on planet. Balbas had to go into orbit to get this cable off.”
“Fuck,” Task breathes. “All comms? How?”
“They’re smarter than we give them credit for,” Voss murmurs, hand on the hilt of his lumi-dagger.
“They targeted our central comms hub, launched a cyberattack, and brought the whole grid down. This was a far more mature operation than we’d initially been led to believe.
The pink salt mine was merely a diversion. ”
“Is Draven recalling us?” Task asks, a mixture of relief and fear tangling in his gut. Draven is alright, but it seems Nexarium is not. He would recall them if it was urgent, if the threat was real, magical pandemic be damned.
“No,” Caden cuts in. Task’s head snaps to him; he’d momentarily forgotten he was there. “I spoke with him earlier. He’s serious about the quarantine, Canmore. You should be taking it more seriously too. The Fever is deadly; you want to bring that back to Nexarian citizens?”
Task feels the lash of a retort at his lips, but keeps silent.
Getting into it with Caden is never a good idea, even if he feels a deep need to show him that he is Draven’s heir apparent.
Nothing Caden does will ever be good enough to replace the blood that binds him and Draven.
A call with the governor doesn’t mean anything at all.
He opens his mouth to reply with something that would have undoubtedly been passive-aggressive, but is cut off by an alarm blaring, the room suddenly pitched into darkness.
“Shit,” Task hears Caelinus swear behind him as the emergency lights come on, casting the room in an eerie shade of red.
“What?” Caden demands, already reaching for his surge-saber.
“I need to go down to the engineering room,” Caelinus says, scrolling through his Prism, looking at diagrams of the ship. “Main electric is down, not sure why. The backup generator appears to have kicked on.”
“I’ll alert Dobbs and Clairborne so they can tell the citizens to remain calm.” The door slides shut behind Voss as he retreats, leaving the three of them in stilted silence.
“It’s odd for the electric to simply go out,” Caden says, glancing around the room. Task feels uneasy as well. Power goes out when a ship is attacked during battle, or on very rare occasions, during a bout of severe weather.
Caelinus shrugs. “Probably just a glitch. I’ll go check now.” He moves to exit, eyes still on his Prism.
Task casts a glance to Caden, who has walked toward the door. “Stay with Dobbs and Claiborne.” Then, to Caelinus, “I’m coming with you.”
“I’m coming —”
Task cuts him off. “That’s an order, Caden.”
The man looks irritated, but follows in Voss’ footsteps, toward the bridge deck.
When he’s gone, Caelinus turns to Task, grinning. “You worried about me, major?”
“Of course not,” Task says, though if he was being honest with himself, he’d have given a different answer.
They wind through the mid-ship, passing through a lounge where several citizens are gathered, looking around the room anxiously.
“Guardian, what’s going on?” one of them asks Task as he passes.
“Stay calm,” Task says gruffly, eyes on the corridor at the back of the room. “We have it under control.”
“Have what under control?”
Task ignores them, pushing the door to the galley open and crossing through to the ship belly, finally reaching the engineering room with Caelinus on his heels.
“Do your worst,” he says, placing his palm on the biopad and gesturing Caelinus through the door as it slides open.