What If…

Written by Shelter

Disclaimer: I don’t own Titan A.E or any its characters. They belong to Don Bluth and Fox Animation Studios. But, this story belongs to me, and ask permission if you wish to use it. I’m using UK English to write, ‘cause that’s the only English I know. If this story has offended anyone, I would like to offer my sincere apologies.

This entire story revolves around this one question:

What if the Drej had never destroyed Earth, but merely captured it?

1. An Ordinary Life

AT THE END of the passage was yet another challenging gauntlet. From the splintered sides of the elongated pipe, the bright light at the exit beckoned attractively; for the unwary, however, this light could lead to a dangerous end to this challenge. Right now, stealthily making its way through towards the promising light, was a grotesque figure, its shadows magnified to the curved edges of the pipe wall.

It looked like a huge insect, the size of a man’s outstretched palm, but it was made of metal. It had eight mechanical legs, and it moved cautiously, pushing ahead while moving a pair of feet at each time. Its body was streamlined, bald, with ridges right in the middle. The creature seemed like a deformed crawler, a cold metallic ant with no distinguishable head or tail. At each end were what looked like steel pincers, mounted close to its smooth, unmarked frame. Tiny rubber wheels were propped just above the legs, but they had no been lowered, so the creature was relying solely on its thin, hammering feet for movement.

From his place behind a glazed, translucent screen, Cale Tucker stared through the eyes to that creature, acknowledging every movement with his pair of joysticks before him. Two small television screens lit his concentrating face; one was a map, green with grid lines and showing a glowing orange dot, continually moving upwards, the second was a live view from the creature’s eyes. The bright light was approaching; Cale could feel the excitement running through him now: what would he find at the end of the passage? His grimy hands gripped the sticks nervously, as he glared at the screen. Right now, the creature was immersed in that bright light, totally blocking out the view. Without hesitation, Cale pushed forward the sticks, egging the creature on.

For a few seconds, the creature trudged forward, the light bathing it so brightly that Cale could barely see an inch ahead. To his surprise, the dot on the grid didn’t budge. At once Cale knew his error; his face drained of colour, he watched transfixed as the light parted to reveal a bottomless chasm. The creature, already rocking on the ledge between that plunge and safety, had been pushed on by Cale. It shook for a moment, its even weight balancing it. But then the inevitable happened, and the creature slipped off the edge, falling into the gaping hole belong.

Cale was jolted from his senses; he seized the two controls, and jerked them backward. The creature could only turn back upward and stare at the ledge it had fallen off from. His hands then rushed to the red button on top of his left stick; pressing it with all his force, the creature’s hideous fangs stabbed themselves into the glossy metal wall. They had bitten the wall so hard that the creature stopped falling immediately, hanging onto dear life by a pair of pinchers jabbing. Cale pressed them, and made sure they were strong enough to support the creature’s weight. He stared at the live recording, thinking, that was a close shave!

He looked at the screen again, and this time he smiled to himself, saying: “Right way up.”

He clutched the controls, and pressed the switch that lay poised at his forefinger. Silently, the sides of the creature where the ridges once were, opened up to reveal a pair of turbines, gunning to fly. Cale turned his head sideways, twisting it as if he was horribly confident about the stunt he was about to pull. With a grin on his face, he released the pinchers.

There was a second of free-fall, then the creature seemed to defy gravity. Cale was jamming the switch with all the force he had in his hands; the turbines coughed to life, bursting flames and keeping the creature in its position. Breathing fire and producing lift, it swayed in mid-air, waiting for the motion that would propel it upwards.

Cale took the sticks, and pushed them forward. Like a rocket, the creature soared upwards, its turbines drumming steadily, leaving a trail of smoke behind. The jets rumbled, causing the view to become somewhat distorted. But Cale didn’t care – he was too preoccupied with this sudden acceleration into the air. He had experienced it before; every time he was in the air, in total control of his machine, his blood would begin to blast through his veins, his mind would turn blissfully blank and the rush of the moment would thrill him like never before. It was the flying; the mere dream of it would cause his adrenaline to rush, and nerve in his body to tingle with anticipation. He couldn’t hide this obsession: he loved to fly.

The creature blasted past its original passage, but now the chasm, moving upwards, had started to slope gently, while winding into tight turns. Cale steered his creature to the point of extreme accuracy, narrowly missing the jutting points of co0rners and the blank walls of the junctions. As the tunnel rose, Cale thrust his controls forward. The creature was buzzing with speed, zooming through with loud echoes that couldn’t be heard. Cale was in total control, nothing could stop him.

Finally, the passage ended abruptly. Right now, before Cale was an open stretch of metal, and another big drop. But a metal bridge separated the first landing to a second, which once again beckoned promisingly. Its legs moving and turbines tucked neatly back on its sides, the creature stumbled ahead, inching closer to the bridge.

This is too easy, thought Cale. And why do I get this nasty feeling that something bad will happen this far?

Something bad did happen. As soon as the creature had stepped its foot on the bridge, the front step gave way, and the creature fell forward. This time Cale saw and he reacted – just in time – to pull to creature back onto higher ground. The bridge is flimsy, unsafe. So I’ve got to cross it in double-quick time. How?

His mind thought anxiously for a moment, but the live view shook, almost as if something had hit the creature. Cale switched to a rear-view camera for a moment, he nearly fell back when he saw the view. Right behind his creature, was another. It was painted red, with the words: ‘I AM THE GOD’ written clearly on its side; it had twice the number of legs, but they were larger; this new insect overshadowed his tiny bug, being three times as large and five times as tall. Right at its mouth were a pair of huge metal spikes, and at its mouth was a sinister chainsaw, that had begun to run threateningly.

It was obvious that this giant’s intention was to destroy Cale’s creature.

One spike fell right through its side, disabling one of the turbines instantly. Cale’s hops had begun to fade, but his face was still alight in concentration. Then his mind hit it: the wheels!

At once, he hit the second switch in his right joystick, and the wheels deployed, all four of them, at the four corners of the struggling creature. He revved up the motor inside, and the creature jerked forward, only to be pulled back by the clutching metal spike. The giant was dragging him towards the chainsaw, which shone off the light menacingly. The creature lumbered ahead once again, saving its life, but no dislodging that vital grip.

Cale’s face was sweaty with determination. Wiping sweat off his brow, Cale activated the remaining turbine, boosting it to full power. Through clenched teeth, he snarled: “You want God? I’ll give you God!”

The turbine blasted off and aided, by the wheels that were spinning rapidly, the jangled mess of predator and prey surged towards the bridge. The force was straining on that remaining metal spike, and the creature, still struggling to escape, was now dragging the giant towards the bridge.

Then, with a final thrust, the creature burst into speed, its wheels pushing it onwards. The giant was forced on for a few feet, and the parasitical spike gave way. While Cale’s creature sped across the bridge, dislocating it entirely, the giant plundered ahead on its sides, and with its last breath, fell over the edge to an unpleasant crunch below. Cale, on the other hand, had steered his creature to the other landing, where it stood, bruised but triumphant.

“And that,” Cale said aloud. “Is victory through persistence.”

“Well done!” went a voice that seemed to mysteriously drift out from the walls. “A perfect challenge completed! Full marks, Tucker!”

Cale heaved a sigh of relief. Hands bathed in sweat from all his excitement, he wiped them on his shirt, then proceeded to the door at the back of the room. One hand on the heavily cushioned walls, he jerked the door-handle, pulling it towards him. The door swung open to a group of people, his age, outside, seated and watching his progress on a huge screen in front. When he presented himself, they all broke out into hearty applause.

His face turning red, Cale tried to silence them, but the more he tried, the more they cheered. A Vusstran approached Cale from his right; he wore a white coat over his dull green overalls, and had several pens jammed into his coat pocket. He stared at Cale with eyes as big as tennis balls, lip curled, with a snout for a nose, and said: “Perfect, perfect! Not even I could do it.”

“Thanks professor,” Cale replied. “It’s nothing really. Had the idea last night.”

“Why so modest, Tucker?” the professor demanded. “A splendid display of mechanical movement, perfect use of independent non-fuel boosters, clear examples of grappling and speed. And not forgetting the total combination of these effects, all in one vehicle! Stratton may be the best school of mechanical engineering in this system, but you’re the best in my class!”

Their attention was momentarily diverted when, from a door of the opposite side, a boy burst out looking troubled and hassled, mumbling something distractedly under his breath. He was human too, with flame-coloured hair and deep, dark eyes. He walked towards Cale, his windbreaker flailing out behind him, as if he was going to throw a punch at his classmate.

“Hard luck, Andrei,” went Cale.

“I had you in my grasp!” he burst out disappointed. “I had just to drag you into the claws of my creation and you’d be gone. Confounded turbine! Should’ve nailed it when I had a chance.”

“Sorry Yovov,” the professor gave Andrei a pat on his shoulder. “Now what have we learnt here today: size clearly isn’t everything.”

The professor left them to address the class. Soon Cale’s classmates had swarmed around him, each of them a different alien species, but all wheedling Cale to tell them the secret of his creature.

“Never seen anything like it!”

“Cool, man, just way cool! How you ditched Andrei’s Crusher!”

“What are you going to call it?”

The last question raised Cale’s eyebrows for a moment. Amidst the crowd of classmates, he could see that everyone else was interested in his answer. “Well, I guess…” he thought again for a moment before giving them the answer. “Slick.”

Andrei looked at him, abashed. “Slick? Why the hell Slick?”

“Why not? He escaped your Crusher didn’t he?”

The professor was now in front of them, a stack of papers in his arms. He waved his hands frantically for a moment before managing to catch the class’ attention. Some people in the class let out a big groan.

“Yes, yes,” he let out a big sigh. “I’m afraid the time has come for me to distribute the mid-term reports. I can see the bitter disappointment in your faces, but we’ve got to push it forward early this term because of the exchange trip that’s been organised. Maxell, come and get it!”

A tall Akrennian lumbered forward. Once he had gotten his report card from the professor, he let out a yell of joy, leaping into the air overjoyed.

“Yes, nice work indeed, Maxell, but not good enough to top this class. Andrei!”

One by one each of the students went forward to collect their grades on how well they performed, until finally Cale was left. Automatically, Cale approached the professor, who grinned and said: “Your father would’ve been proud.”

One glance said it all: Cale had topped the class, with almost perfect grades for his mechanical and engineering studies. He found the happiness impossible to suppress, and he thrust his fist into the air, gratified.

Right now, Andrei and two of his classmates gathered around him to check out his grades. One was a girl, with different coloured streaks for hair; instead of thin, fibre, her hair was plastic-like, in various ambled colours from red to purple. They were elastic, smooth and ropy. She had a tall, lanky frame, with mascara lighting up her sky blue eyes. Her skin was coloured a light faded blue. Apart from that she would’ve looked human, but she wasn’t. The second was a Drej; he had swirling energy pumping through him as he glowed even in the bright classroom. He would’ve seemed as domineering as any Drej Drone, just that he didn’t have a weapon mounted on his arms.

Cale had gotten used to the fact that his classmates weren’t human. They were more of friends to him than just classmates; the girl put his arm around Cale and glanced over his shoulder at his grades.

“You sure nailed them down,” she purred. “That’ll show those D’amarans that there’s at least someone who’s as good as them on this planet.”
“You flatter me, Christel,” Cale said, sarcasm in his voice. But somehow he couldn’t help feeling contented that one of his friends was a girl, even though she came from the distant world of Toshika. Every time he was with her, he felt something hot and heavy stir in his chest. It wasn’t the same feeling when he was in the air; this made him feel as if his veins were throbbing with an unknown urge that couldn’t be suppressed, with a twist in his stomach that made him feel a little embarrassed. His Drej friend, Gejev, Cale saw, looked a little sullen – as if he could make out that facial impression anyway.

“So –” Cale stammered slightly. “You’re going to D’amara for that exchange program this Sunday?”

Christel and Gejev turned his direction. “Yeah,” Christel replied. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, especially with the Stratton champion coming along.”

Cale couldn’t hide the sudden flush in his cheeks. Gejev then spoke in his monotonous, rasping voice. “Shouldn’t be too bad. Just a few days’ flying. I would like to see how they do their engineering.”

At that moment, the professor had cleared his throat and spoke to the class again: “You’re officially dismissed now. But don’t forget the exchange trip this Sunday. For those that are coming, you should meet me at the main counter of the spaceport by nine in the morning. And don’t forget your papers.”

“Great, no last minute cancellations,” Cale said. “I’m starving. Anyone want to follow me to that hawker’s down the street? Dinner’s on me.”

It was an offer hard for any of them to refuse.

By the time they had been dismissed, the day was over. The setting sun had set ablaze the skies of Denver. The fingers of dying sunlight streaked across the sky in bursts of amber, splashing onto the buildings at Stratton University. They pierced the darkening sky like the spokes of a wheel; the sky was now a bloody red glow, with bright sprays of orange still present amongst the heavy, black clouds.

The four of them had gathered their things and, once they emerged from their block, a rush of warm wind greeted them, caressing gently over their faces. It dispelled the cold that had settled upon them, being in and air-conditioned room for almost five hours. A soft, willowy breeze then descended, making the tuffs of hair on Cale’s head move repeatedly and ruffling Christel’s long hair.

They exited the university, still talking excitedly over Cale’s performance with Slick. Through the gates was a road; it was packed with traffic, this time being peak period, while traffic lights blinked incessantly to control this never-ending flow. Right at the end of the street, where the road would widen out into a boulevard, was a small eatery. It was packed between the small alley of two adjacent industrial buildings. The four of them crossed the road, and at once a delicious smell of frying wafted through the air at them. Despite the aroma, there seemed to be a great deal coming from the hawker’s.

Nearing, they saw the source of a din. Bright blue and their colours standing out amidst the drab and drear of the dismal hawkers, two large Drej Drones were sacking a stall. One was trigger-happily blasting through the cloth door, the utensils and, ultimately, the hawker himself. There was a sudden scream, and a man, clutching his chest, fell to the floor in a puddle of blood. The second was holding back two hollering humans, a girl and boy, who were desperately trying to wriggle free from their grasp.

“Now what’re we going to eat today that the noodle stall’s being hit?” Christel asked. Walking past the scene of desecration, only Andrei paid attention to the loud, echoing snarls of the Drones.

“Conspiring against the Drej is a crime punishable by death, human!” one of them snarled. “Where are the rebels hiding?”

“No use questioning them,” went the second. “Take the girl, they break easier.”

The Drones seized the hair of the girl, whom Andrei thought looked Asian, and began to drag her down the street, still crying for help.

“Leave her alone!” the boy had gotten to his feet, and lunged at the Drone, attempting to reach for its head. But immediately, the Drone spun around, and fired through the boy’s chest. He crumpled in a messy heap at the Drone’s feet.

“Filthy human scum,” the Drone spat.

Andrei felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Cale; the scene didn’t seem to bother him much. “Come on, Andrei, ours not to reason why. They deserved it anyway, conspiring against the Drej.”

Sitting down at the table, Andrei tried his best to keep his mind of the grisly scene that remained. He was helped by a television screen, flashing news headlines and flickering slightly. The stalls around were pining for orders, but in the end they just ordered three plates of the days’ special, ET Meatballs, from a corner stall.

The night wearing on, the streetlights along the road flickered on with showers of buzzing sparks. A neon sign above then, old and falling into disrepair, came on, illuminating the open-air eatery with acid green. It had the words ‘THE DREJ – HUMANITY’S BEST FRIENDS’ written in block letters across it, but they were now frizzling with sparks and cackling with short-circuits.

“So what’re going to do when you get to D’armara?” Christel asked Cale and Andrei, whilst swallowing a heap of green grub that were still struggling on her fork.

“Check out the chicks,” went Cale.

He nudged Andrei in the ribs, but he busy staring at the television screen, where a sentence was flashing across it at an incredibly slow speed: ‘Drej and humanity celebrate fifteen years of peaceful co-operation at Republic Plaza, Singapore City’. The screen then flashed an image of Drej stingers flying in formation as fireworks set alight the sky. In the background was a single, tall tower, with dashing blue windows that reflected the sun’s glare and standing so high that its top was crowned with clouds.

“What’s with you tonight?” Cale snapped at his friend. “What’s with you and the Drej?”

“Don’t know,” Andrei replied sheepishly, scooping some wriggling grub into his open mouth. “Just thinking how fast time really flies. Fifteen years since the Drej came.”

The rest of them stared at Andrei with disbelieving looks written across their faces, until Christel spoke: “It’s been fifteen years, and the Drej and humans are at peace now. Not like the rebellions in the past.”

“At peace, right,” he said sarcastically.

“Come on, Andrei,” pressed Cale. “Still upset you lost your brother in the rebellions? Well, he was a fool, all right, just like my father. Running at the Drej with the stupid perception of a freedom and liberation. That’s all trash, we’re with the Drej now, and its been more peaceful under them.”

Andrei sat back. “I thought you’d understand. I mean, many humans say that your fathers’ Titan project thing pioneered the rebellion.”

“He was a wrecker, all right!” yelled Cale. “Let’s just don’t talk about him and his stupid Titan project.”

Silence set over them once again, but then Cale forced himself to apologise. “I’m sorry. Lost my temper. I just hate it when I’m only remembered for my father.”

Gejev finally spoke, his cold voice settling over them, though Cale could sense disturbance in his voice. “The Drej know him too. Say he was crazy, wanted to save the human race from disgrace and enslavement., or something like that. Good thing the Drej got him before he could cause any more trouble, though they never found out where he and his radicals hid the Titan.”

Cale faced his plate of half-eaten, moving grub. He hated his father’s memory more than anything else. Why did this have to come up at dinner?

“Damn it, the Wanderers won,” Christel broke the silence as she slammed her fist on the table. Cale and Andrei heard Christel swear once as she looked up at the screen. It broke the deafening silence that had settled around them. “Did you see? The Wanderers won the match”

Cale’s face suddenly brightened. He suddenly remembered that he had taken a bet with Christel on this match, which included their two favourite soccer teams. “Ten bucks,” sneered Cale. “Pay up.”

“But I don’t have any more money!” Christel wined.

Gejev and Andrei looked up to Cale, eager to see his reaction – but his face was blank, gazing intently at Christel.

“I’ll tell you what,” Christel negotiated. “You stay patient for a little while longer…”

“Christel, you owe me almost a hundred Earth dollars from previous bets,” Cale cut in.

“…And I’ll pay you back once we’re alone without these two watching, okay?”

It was Andrei’s turn to nudge Cale hard in the ribs. Deep inside his mind, Cale’s conscience was laughing, and it showed as his face beamed into a grin. Christel was grinning too, her eyes looking down Cale tauntingly. He fixed that look in his mind as he wolfed down the rest of the meal, paying the hawker before they left.

They walked in silence; despite the relaxed atmosphere surrounding them when they set off, Cale was too immersed in his thoughts to say anything. All he could think of was Andrei, looking at him in this funny sort of way and citing that his father had once been humanity’s greatest hope with his Titan and army of rebels. These same rebels had been blowing up both Drej and humans. And his father? Cale thought. His father was a liar and a wrecker!

He had wrecked Cale’s life; he had left with the promise of them seeing each other again, but had he come back? No! He never came back! Cale’s mind seemed to be furiously burning through his skull, either in anger or hate or both. My father betrayed me, he thought. He gave up his family for a stupid belief. He could still be at my side, teaching, guiding me, but look what he gave up his life for? The more he thought about it, he had a strange desire to destroy something.

Sam Tucker, the thought went through his mind again, he was the man the Drej feared most. But he was my father. And I inherited his goddamn name. Unexpectedly, he spat to the ground, away from the rest so they couldn’t see. His mind at war, his emotions dying to crush every bit of memory that he had of his father. He had disappointed him; he had left a deep hole that was still burning through in his soul. How can I face my friends when my father actually killed Drej? He stared at Gejev; he was a peaceful Drej youth, raised among humans in the peacetime, and they had considered the races equal. Cale saw how Gejev had shuddered when Andrei mentioned Cale’s father. I’ve got a life with my friends, I don’t need the mere memory of my father screwing things up.

Cale parted with Gejev at the street junction. While walking towards the main city district, Andrei waved goodbye and proceeded down another street. Cale’s mind was slowly losing his focus on his abomination of a family and concentrating on having a private chat with Christel. Right now, Cale and Christel were walking alone down the city blocks; Cale’s place was right up ahead.

Nearing the door, Cale turned to say goodbye to Christel. But no sound came out of his mouth; he was muffled by Christel’s luscious lips, which had silenced him before he could say anything. She pressed hard against his mouth with the fiery energy that he could only dream about in his sleep; slick and smooth, he produced a subdued cry of surprise when he found her tongue searching for his in his mouth. Christel moved in deeper, before she separated, a grin across her face. Cale felt upset that this ordeal had stopped but, this seemed, thought Cale, to be the perfect goodbye.

“Be seeing you,” Christel said, her eyes, flashing at Cale. “Until Sunday.”

There was a strange afterglow that Cale felt all the way as he entered his house. Music was blaring from a nearby stereo; Iji, Cale’s adopted sister, was lying across the couch in the living room, washed with lights, one foot jiggling to the music. She lifted her head from the cushion that it was rested on as Cale walked in, even waved her hand in an attempt to greet him. But Cale didn’t care, he was feeling too lofty inside to acknowledge Iji, or even the greeting that Tek gave him as he swept past the blind creature into his room.

His heart was doing some sort of jump; it never seemed to stop racing out of control, and the same hot and heavy feeling stirred in his chest. She smiled at the mere thought of him and Christel kissing, as it fed his mind like a sort of stimulant. The pleasantness surrounded him, as if he was lost in his own happy, mellow thoughts. It wasn’t the same feeling that he had whenever he was in the air, but something close to it.

His mind stayed blissfully blank; he had long forgotten the furious rage he was in when he was sparked by the mere thought of his father. All he wanted now was having that feeling, of Christel’s warm lips being pressured against, to be repeated, again and again. He could picture the playful smile Christel had given him, he could feel the lock of hair that fell into his face from Christel’s forehead; both senses made him strangely gratified. Lying on his bed, he felt too good inside to just doze off and sleep; closing his eyes, he was dreaming now, not wanting to think about anything else but that pressing of lips against his, and the pleasure it gave both him and Christel.

His rush for flying couldn’t be explained, but this could.

He was in love.

2. A Scrap Heap Life

WHEN THE NIGHT descended upon Denver, temperatures would plummet. Fall was approaching, and now the remaining days of summer were fading away with the light of the sun. Streetlights would flicker in the streets, lighting up and then darkening the empty avenues of the city outskirts. Neon signs, showering sparks from faulty circuits and poor maintenance would scream their advertisement across an entire city block. A thick layer of fog, a by-product of the day’s polluted, hovered over the lonely avenues, its presence unnatural and sinister. At this time, and at this particular location in the city, everybody knew it wasn’t safe to be wandering around.

Where city suburbs would be, there were crumbling apartment blocks, derelict and abandoned. But from their gloomy insides burned fires, and contained people, humans, cuddled in thick blankets, who seemed to live their life around that burning stump of old furniture. Across these blocks were other buildings: industrial workshops and shop-houses, all as dilapidated as the blocks. They had been looted, left to rot; there were groups of people, huddled around fires as in the blocks nearby. Beside these scenes of poverty, were more neon signs, above buildings where the hookers and drug-pushers got their day’s salary. Oh yeah, and there were the slums and the squatters.

Shadowy black, growing wild and unkempt, was the shame of Denver. Sprawling around a polluted drain and dotted with small, enclosed fires, were the shantytowns and slums. A foul stench would reek in the air as people neared this messy clutter, the only sound heard being the hacking coughs and cackling of fires. They stretched across the entire outer district, like a horrible disease marking its territory. Among the slums, were shacks, adorned with zinc plates, and shanties, littered with refuse and mud. People, their figures dark and indistinct in the night, lived in their crude foundations. Their faces were momentarily lit by the fire, and the light had revealed dirt-covered faces: ragged features, the thin, bony cheeks of smiling children, and scraggy-clothed teenagers, their eyes glazed from inhalants. All of them living each day with the hope that someone, someday, might open a life full of promise; a life that was hidden in the depths of space untouched.

No place like home.

Half concealed in the murky alleyways bordering the slums, her face illuminated by the crimson red of an advertisement panel, Akima Kunimoto pushed aside on of her sleek, purple bangs, then buried her face in her hands. Living in the slums had taught her that she was a nobody – and on hazy nights like these, it wasn’t safe for a nobody to be out on the streets. She settled her head in between the rise of her two knees; the dim lights would cause her ragged leather pants to shine, and that might attract attention.

In the dark of her mind, she could hear sound: people were out on the street, picking their way around. Noises, teenagers talking in their dirty slang and their deep breaths for each round of inhalants, filled her ears now that the silence overwhelmed her. Slowly, they were walking towards where she was, their footsteps pounding in her brain. As long as they’re not Drej… she told herself.

The shadows cast by these figures fell upon her, blocking out what light there was completely. She heard a wolf-whistle, then some laughs.

“Hey, who’s this here?”

She was sure it was a hand; violating, cold, coming down on her skin. She let that hand part her jet-black locks; she’d thought that if she didn’t respond, they would think she had died from an overdose. But the hand went on, like a knife, cutting, reaching the nape of her neck.

At once, she seized the hand; it was warm, mild with burned-out cigarettes. Hardly getting to her feet, she flung it away as hard as she could, before plunging her head back down into the curled arch of her arms on her knees.

“Oooh, she’s a tough one!”

“Get her, Spike!”

Now there was something else on her head. For a moment, she could’ve sworn that it was just the hand again, its feel silenced by her hair. But when it moved, she felt it burn. It was flaming hot, a lighted cigarette, moving to her neck again…

She rose; with one hand she removed the burning cigarette. Her eyes slowly coming into focus, she saw five boys, all older than her. They were from the slums too, she saw, for their torn slacks and ripped shirts were coloured with dirt and grease. Her anger had turned her hard and malevolent, her bangs sprayed across her face in a wash of purple. The boy in front, an open bag of powder still in his right hand, laughed. He touched Akima again, but she snarled, pushing away the warmth of his touch. Her breathing, rapid and irregular, came in bursts that broke the silence. She wasn’t human now; no, she was a cornered, desperate animal. They all laughed.

“Feisty, isn’t she?” Spike said.

“She thinks she can beat us down?”

“Let her try,” Spike sneered.

The hand came, but Akima responded before it made contact with her hair. Her right foot, curled and ever ready, went from the ground to Spike’s abdomen, crushing it as hard as she could. Spike recoiled, his face contorted with spasms of agony as he fell to the ground. Eyes burning with hate, she eyed the others.

“She got Spike!”

“Get up, Spike!”

“Finish off the bitch!”

“Yeah, get the bitch!”

Hearing the taunts of those behind him, Spike scrambled to his feet, staggering sideways. She saw something gleaming in his hands; before she knew it, Spike had lunged at her, and caught her by the throat with his choking left hand. Switchblade drawn, he stabbed it into Akima’s thigh. She silenced the sudden pain that was threatening to paralyse her right leg, fighting on. He balled her right fist and then hit Spike squarely between his eyes. Fumbling with the switchblade, she swung her foot at him again, this time going for the crouched head and smashed it like a sledgehammer into his skull. Spike recoiled once more, his face bleeding, then stumbled headlong into the arms of his friends and collapsed.

“You killed Spike, bitch!”

“We’re going to screw you bad now!”

“Beat the shit out of…”

“Drej!”

Acting on instinct, Akima moved herself into the cover of darkness once again, seeing Spike and his friends scuttle away like rodents. Standing, listening intently for every sound, she heard footsteps again. They were heavy and lumbering; soon an icy blue glare filled the street, and two Drej Drones trudged past the darkness that had concealed her. She knew all too well how the Drej react if they saw her around at night – like the vermin she was, they wouldn’t hasten to gun her down.

When the Drej had passed, and the deafening stillness that they brought gone, she focused her attention on her wound. It was a good thing she wore that tight leather, for it had taken much of the damage. The cut didn’t run deep, and it would heal soon. But deep inside her, were wounds she knew that could never heal by themselves, and that was the reason why she was here, on this deserted alleyway, on this bleak night.

She hated every episode of the life that she was born into; it would’ve made a best-selling narrative if a writer knew her story. They would’ve portrayed me as a hero, she thought to herself nastily. And for one second, she forced herself to recall it: the Drej dragging her parents away into the night; her grandmother dying all alone in bed all because she had received the ghastly news too late; how her mentor Mohammed Bourain was gunned down by the Drej. Each waking moment of hers was filled with death, pain and misery. She forced herself to breathe the poisoned air each day only for one dream: revenge.

“Contemplating on life, I see?” went a voice that made her jump.

In the murk of the shadows, a ragged, scrawny-looking boy revealed himself. He had jet-black hair like Akima’s; at his chin sprouted a messy goatee, and his tousled hair fell down his back onto his shoulders. He looked at Akima with deep bronze eyes, which were brought out by his torn, acid green shirt and khaki slacks.

“Ishaq, you’re late,” Akima glowered at him.

“Sorry, Friday prayers,” he muttered under his breath. His eyes went to the blood on Akima’s thigh. “You shouldn’t fight those boys you know, the Drej are the real enemy.”

Akima chortled derisively.

“Come on,” he beckoned. “They’re waiting.”

Mohammed Ishaq led Akima to an old, deserted building. He fumbled with a chain for a second, before pushing open the front door with a clang of iron hitting iron. All Akima could see ahead was darkness. She hesitated at first; she had enough trust in Ishaq to abandon the thought of him luring her into darkness to abuse her, but this wasn’t part of the agreed plan. Ishaq closed the door nosily, then said: “Straight ahead, there’ll be some steps. After that, the corridor only goes one way.”

Akima obeyed. Even in the darkness, she moved stealthily silent. Although she considered darkness an enemy, it was their only ally when it came to survival. She could hear Ishaq blundering behind her and by the sound of it, he had accidentally stubbed his toe on a step. Once the flight of steps ended, the corridor was lined with shattered windows as it led onwards were a flickering light dimly lit one of the rooms. On the walls, the fire produced shadows that danced in contorted shapes. There were people by the fire, Akima told herself, and they were waiting for her.

She caught a glimpse of a scene as she strode silently along – a fire, enclosed in an open barrel, surrounded by three people. Two were human; from the glowing light, she could make out fingers, arms and coarse, rough faces. The second was a Mantrin; she had already guessed how it was. Illuminated by the fire, they looked strangely impressive; the shadows cast by the fire stretched out on the ground behind them, as if, in the dim light, they were imposingly tall.

Once she entered in the presence of these three people, they turned around, examining her with their eyes and minds. There was silence for a minute, until one of the humans spoke up: “She’s a girl.”

The Mantrin, Stith, eyed him angrily. Despite the light of the burning flame, the darkness still shrouded his face; it was impossible to tell how he looked like, but she made out a pair of thick, black eyebrows. Akima felt a surge of anger course through her; she hated being the main subject of attention just because she was a girl as, in her opinion, she was just as hard as anyone else.

“You never told us, Ishaq,” he growled. “How are we to know that she’s up to…”

“I’m ready for anything,” Akima interjected, her teeth clenched, hands curled into fists. “Anything you can throw at me.”

“A tough one we have here,” he sniggered, but it was silenced by the cackling of the fire. “So you’re not afraid of this mission? This is not some game here. You do know that it involves your life.”

Akima shut her eyes; she remembered the day, eleven years ago, when she watched the Drej Drones torch the slum with their weapons, firing upon any human that they saw. She could remember how they had turned their guns on her, ready to blast her away like they had done to countless children before her. But her parents had saved her; her father that thrown himself into the line of fire, the blast tearing through his flesh. And most of all, she could remember how she watched, tears blurring her vision, as the Drej dragged her parents into the darkness. Since that day, she had never been afraid of anything; and she wasn’t going to chicken out when the chance came for vengeance.

“Look into my eyes,” she taunted, advancing on the man. “What do you see?”

“Hate,” he responded. “Burning hate.”

“And now tell me: do you see me playing any fucking game?”

Eyes narrowed, he shot a glance at Ishaq, who shrugged elaborately.

“You trust her, Ishaq?”

Akima cast a glance at her friend, grinning. Ishaq was her closest friend, and the deaths of their only guardians had brought them closer. They made a great team; for a year now they had worked together, stealing the food and cash they needed for them to survive. For one thing, Akima liked Ishaq for the security he gave whenever they were together, and he liked her for that one thing that made her different: her will to fight on.

“I’d trust her with my life,” he replied.

Silence filled the room once again until the other human spoke up.

“Best we’d better get ourselves introduced,” went the second man. He approached Akima, and extended his hand. She noticed that he had a small smile on his badly-shaven face. “I’m Joe Korso, leader of the resistance movement that staged last month’s attack. My friend here is Rasz, fresh out of prison, are you?”

Rasz moved away from the fire, but Akima was sure that he was sneering at her. “Yeah, fresh out of finishing school,” he said, sarcasm running in between every word. He was now just a few inches from her, his face right in hers. “And I need no girl in my team.”

He pushed Akima away from him; his back turned, Akima was ready to launch herself upon him when Ishaq caught her by the arm.

“I can’t stand him either,” he whispered. “But if you hit him now, you’ll never be able to get a place with us.”

Rasz circled them. Akima could feel his piercing gaze, hot on her skin; he retreated to a corner and folded his arms, head tilted to one side, frowning at the scene before him in disgust.

“If there’s anyone else that’s up to the challenge, Rasz, you tell me,” Stith demanded.

“How about Lee?” he asked.

“Haven’t heard of him since yesterday,” Korso told them, shaking his head. “I’ve got a feeling the Drej got him already. His store in the city’s been sacked, burned to the ground. If we try to contact him now, it’ll just give away our intentions. He’s out.”

“Akima’s better than Lee,” Ishaq piped. “Lee was a coward.”

Everyone turned their stares on him.

“Yeah? Prove it,” Rasz barked.

The two of them had started towards each other before Korso intervened.

“Enough!” he barked, his commanding voice firm and controlling the two of them. He stood between them, like a divider between two enemies. It served nonetheless to display his authority as their leader. “What the hell do you two think you’re doing? Fighting each other like petty animals, like blind dogs snapping at what they can’t see. You’re wasting the energy that could be used to fight Drej on people who are your allies!” he turned to Akima. “If you can’t stand Rasz being your superior, then that’s as good as showing defiance to me, so beat it. And Rasz, if you can’t stand her being with us, you can go back to your finishing school. Get it?”

There was a definite pause; amidst the unnerving silence, both Akima and Rasz eyed each other, eyes narrowed, with intense dislike. An air of hostility hung heavy around the room.

“Right,” Rasz said, finally backing away, his eyes losing some of the defiance Akima had seen earlier. “Now I see whose side you’re on. Until Sunday morning, we’ve got nothing to say about each other.”

Rasz took his coat from the dusty floor; in one swift motion, he donned it, letting the sides flail at Akima, blocking the fire momentarily. Without a word, he swept past her, eyes burning deep into hers; she followed his loathing stare, until he disappeared down the corridor, cloaked by the darkness.

“Damn asshole,” spat Stith. “Just because he’s out for revenge doesn’t mean he suddenly gets what he wants.”

“We’re all out for revenge, Stith,” Korso explained to them. “But by Sunday, not only will we have it, our names will live in history forever. The Drej won’t be forgetting us in a hurry, and the mere thought of our actions will strike them down with fear.”

“We’re doing this for humanity, aren’t we?” Ishaq retorted.

Korso didn’t answer Ishaq. Instead he stepped up to Akima, looking at her resolutely. “You’re Michio’s daughter, aren’t you? Well, it isn’t much of a surprise that you’d grow up to be as stubborn as your father. He would’ve been proud. But your eyes, you definitely have your mother’s eyes.”

“You knew my parents?” Akima exclaimed, astonished.

“Yeah sure. Your father was part of this resistance movement, until the Drej killed him with your mother. I met them a day before they were taken. I knew Bourain too; from all the stories he told me, you are the sleek, feisty girl he described.”

Akima tried to hide the sudden flush of her cheeks. She never knew that her mentor liked her that much.

“Can you fly any kind of aircraft?” he asked.

“Trained at the Aurora Flight Academy,” she replied. “Should be a piece of cake.”

“They make them all right at Aurora,” Ishaq grinned.

Korso circled Akima for a moment, then returned to his place by the fire. The night wearing on, they had become aware that the surroundings were biting cold; with each breath Akima took, the heat of her exhalation would trail out before her. Both Ishaq and her moved forward, warming themselves by the pleasant, inviting warmth of the heated fire.

“It’s settled then,” Korso said, warming his hands and placing both of them on Akima’s shoulders. “You will be a fighter for our cause.”

They all beamed at her; Stith had given her a powerful nudge on the elbow, while Ishaq had made a move to hug her. Yet Akima still felt lost in a thousand thoughts: finally, she was going to show the Drej that she was as human as everyone else.

They departed with words of encouragement; in the depths of the night, nobody saw them leave the abandoned factory and go their own ways. The street was deserted, a disturbing silence filling the neighbourhood. The descending fog wafted through the silent road, misting the weak glow of the streetlights. Akima and Ishaq walked together, back to the slums, listening intently for Drej patrols that might be lurking hidden in the midnight fog.

They walked in silence for a while until Ishaq spoke to Akima in an apprehensive sort of tone: “You do know what we’re going to do to the Drej, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure I do,” she responded.

“And you do know what’s going to happen if they find out that you’ve survived our mission.”

All colour in Akima’s face drained almost immediately; even Ishaq didn’t feel like thinking about it. “Yeah, I know. They’ll rape me, rip me, bang me until I wish I was never born and suck every living cell out of my body until I become as lifeless as death itself.”

Ishaq stopped the two of them in the middle of the road.

“So if we die on Sunday, Akima,” he said and he stretched out his right hand, clasping tightly to Akima’s in a tight grip. “I want to make sure that we die together. I don’t want to lose another person that I love to the Drej.”

He gently stroked Akima’s bangs with his hand, finally coming to rest on her lips. She wanted to say something to him, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Something was holding her back.

“I don’t want to lose you, Akima,” he said with tenderness in his voice.

“Ishaq, I …”

Shaking her head, she avoided Ishaq’s gaze and continued down the street. She couldn’t think now, her mind was blank, unable to think up of anything. Ishaq loves me, so why don’t I love him? She questioned herself. They lived together, worked together, even suffered for each other. And suddenly she was refusing his affection, she was refusing love that felt so comfortable, so tender, so pure to her.

Isn’t that what she wanted? she thought. Love; she just wanted love in her life. Her happiest experiences were when she was with people who loved her: her parents, her grandmother…even Bourain loved her; he treated her like a daughter. And when these people were gone, she had felt as empty as ever; desolate and miserable, as if her life was plunging down a bottomless chasm, and there was no redemption.

So why is this different? She thought angrily to herself, Ishaq could be an affectionate friend, a loving partner. So why don’t I love him?

Akima had been so lost in her thoughts that when she looked up, so could see the billowing smoke and ramshackle erections that told her she had reached the slums. At night, there were only boys out in the open, brooding around fires, speaking in hushed, quiet voices. Right now, she could feel their eyes on her, hot like lasers grazing her skin. But she took no notice, walking straight past them into her house.

It was more a home to her than anywhere else. On all four sides, the walls were zinc plates, propped up on the ground and supporting a large, inclined zinc rooftop. A twisted television aerial spiraled on the roof provided them with a window into Drej propaganda and a one-sided viewpoint of the rest of the human world. At the far corner was a single rusting standpipe, concealed by a dividing plate and accompanied with a bucket and a measly cake of soap. As she walked in, she nearly hit the coffee-table before her. She didn’t want to do anything else now but cry for her own betraying emotions. Tears streaming silently down her cheeks, she stepped into the bed, a meagre pile of old cushion and cloth, pulling the blanket her cold body, as a wave of both anger and sadness overtook her.

The door creaked open again; she knew that this time, it was Ishaq. Fighting to hold back the tears before he saw her, Akima wiped her face against her blanket, then got to her feet. Ishaq, too, was sobbing silently.

“Why, Akima? Why?” he questioned. At that moment, Akima felt melancholy, utter helplessness in her heart. She wanted love, but she was denying herself its warmth. “Don’t you love me?”

“Ishaq…”

They fell into each other’s arms. The warmth of Ishaq’s body made her long of the times when she felt confident inside herself; she was insecure, susceptible to emotions and feelings. As Ishaq pulled her closer, she desisted letting her hold him back.

“I do love you Ishaq,” she whispered sadly. “But not as a friend, but as a brother.”

“I’m sorry I’ll only be loving you for a few more days, Akima,” his hand slipped into Akima’s. Embracing tightly, they stood, silent for a whole minute, until both of them guided each other through the darkness to the bed. Pulling her closer for warmth, she felt a hand to her cheek, warming the cold tears that had created channels on her face. Ishaq’s breath was hot against her face; for what seemed like eternity they stared into each others’ eyes, devoid of any kind of movement, until Ishaq turned the other way, still sobbing under his breath.

She glanced at him, his back facing her, and for the first time, she realised how similar they really were. Orphans, strong-willed, stubborn, both wanted to find love and meaning in their lives… her thoughts swirled ceaselessly in her head, pondering, thinking, why had it all come to this. A dark night, in a shack, on the same bed, minds afflicted by each other, crying; standing before a sceptre haunting the coming Sunday, that cast its shadow down upon them. A Sunday where they would prove that they were going down fighting, in a universe where humans were considered filth and scum.

The Drej, she thought. They were responsible for all this hardship. They were responsible for all the broken lives, the torn families and… the pain she had brought down on herself.

In the darkness of the room, she could feel that pain going through her heart like a searing spear. It was emotional pain like no other, for she’d have given anything for this pain to cease … she just wanted it to stop…she just wanted to die.

She had refused love; what was wrong with her. Then, deep in her mind, a voice spoke:

All the pain, all the broken love… it will end this Sunday.

Staring at the darkness around her, Akima shut her eyes tightly, Ishaq’s warmth like a blanket around her as they embraced in their sleep. Yet this embrace was emotionless and she could hardly sleep. Eyes open, the darkness was all that she could see. The rapt silence had told her that dreams would not come easy with dejection and a broken heart together on the same bed.

3. Blissfully Obscure

DAWN BROKE, cold and misty, on a downcast Sunday morning. The fog that had encircled the city for two simultaneous nights had condensed as dew, turning the wind-chime on Cale’s window ledge into a spectacle of nature, encrusted with glittering, miniscule drops of water that gleamed in the obscured sun. From the window wafted, unnoticed, a fresh, natural scent – the sweet breath of a new morning – into the bedroom. It carried with it the scent of unrefined, pure water mingled with the breath of oxygen from plants and trees not far outside. It was the breath of life: clean, fresh air, purer than anything else on Earth.

It’s just air, damn it!

Cale paced about in his bedroom, his mind wandering to the open, jungle green, duffel bag sprawled on his bedspread. Had he forgotten anything that he would absolutely need in his two-week exchange program in D’amara? No, then why was he worried?

He glanced in the mirror that was positioned on a wall in the adjoining bathroom. A few minutes ago, he recalled how he pilled his groggy self from bed; staring into the mirror, he saw a half-alive, muddled zombie. Now, the view had changed. Right where he was standing, stood a boy, dressed in loose cargoes and an icy blue T-shirt. Strengthened and eager, with an eyebrow stud half- glimmering above his left eye. He was Cale; yeah, that’s more like it, he told himself, staring in the mirror again, the pride of the human race.

Encouraged by what he saw and the thoughts lingering in his head, he zipped shut his duffel bag and swung it upon his right shoulder. He picked up his second load – a huge, loud orange-coloured haversack; balancing its weight evenly on his shoulders, he trudged out of his room.

It was just a Sunday morning, and his adopted family scuttled around the kitchen as usual as they would on any other day. With a loud thump, he slammed his luggage onto the floor, and walked up to the table, not looking at Tek or Iji. Toast and juice, he thought, it had been the same for years. Tek was pawing around aimlessly for his mug of water; being the blind bat he was, Cale turned away from him so that he wouldn’t be given another lecture about helping his elders. Iji had her ears plugged into headphones, unaware of Cale’s presence. As he slowly finished his breakfast, not even the silence that had settled around the table seemed to bother him.

Tek and Iji, he had long realised, were hardly going to miss him if he was gone.

“Be seeing you all,” he muttered.

No response.

Cale didn’t care; he had lost whatever love or devotion he had in this bunch a long time ago. He wanted a real family, with human parents. And all he had for a family were a blind geezer and his teenage creation. His mind hurt; Cale wasn’t going to think about this again, because it involved his father – and thinking about him was painful.

Once again he had settled the load of his luggage on his shoulders, ready to leave. Tek’s blank eyes had turned at him, looking at his moving figure as he edged his way to the door, trying not to make any noise that would awake Tek or Iji from their ignorant stupour. His efforts were crushed when Tek’s drawling voice called from across the room.

“Mind you keep out of trouble now, Cale,” Tek said to him.

“Trouble?” Cale retorted in a quiet tone so that Tek wouldn’t be able to hear. “Trust me, Tek, if I wanted to go looking for trouble, I would’ve been just the riffraff my father was.”

Casting a fleeting glance to his blissfully obscure family, he set down the stairwell of his apartment block, hoping to catch the seven-thirty airport coach that stopped across the street.

After being cooped up in the apartment, the morning air felt strangely cool against his face. Its comforting breath caressed Cale’s hair, blowing it gently against his sides. The street was filled with the sound of cars, rolling by, making muffled swashing noises as they splashed through the puddles on the street; a passenger bus was parked across the street, slowly filling with passengers. People walked up and down the pavement, but nobody seemed to notice him. They displayed the properties that Tek and Iji had; Happily obscure, ignorantly blank lives, thought Cale. Well, at least I’m not living one of those.

Cale boarded the coach and barely gave his neighbourhood a second look as it sped down the highway.

Despite the spread of cosmopolitan scenery unfolding outside his window, Cale seemed lost in his thoughts – about the blissfully obscure world that he lived in, his abomination of a family and inevitably, his father. The more he tried to put his father out of his life, the more it seemed to plague him, like a bad nightmare that wouldn’t go away. Years after his father had left him with Tek, he had dwelled on the promise of seeing him return; he had been sustained on the sight of his remaining parent appearing on the porch of Tek’s apartment. Lies, all lies.

The bus had come to an abrupt halt, and Cale looked up fast enough to notice that a passenger had boarded. Ragged clothing trailing behind him, he could hardly see that man’s face beneath the scruffiness and dirt. There was a sort of hood, draped down his face to conceal it. But their eyes did meet as he brushed past him – and Cale felt the most unusual combination of thoughts go through his mind. It felt like a burning sensation, a deep unearthing of something he should’ve experienced: running breathless, surging through space choking for air, the comforting feel of security with talking and drinking, shouting as wind swept past his face, the thrill of flying through some uncharted sky… but most of all, a sense of deep respect. And something else too – betrayal.

Betrayal? Cale had felt it; among the strange emotions that his mind had so unexpectedly revealed, this one hit him like a bullet through the head. It came as a rude shock; waking him from whatever thoughts that had filled his mind, all to focus on that unnerving, distraught feeling. Cale sat, his mind devoid of any other thought: betrayal.

The man seemed to have felt it too, because he recoiled slightly. Cale couldn’t tell if he really had experienced such a feeling, or was it the sudden lurching forward of the bus that triggered it? The man sat directly behind him, his breath escaping in irregular pants. Once in a while, he would hack violently, coughing to the ground. Sometimes, he would lean close to Cale, as if wanting to ask him something, only to retreat back into his seat.

By the time the bus had reached the end of the highway, the domineering skyscrapers of metropolitan Denver had disappeared, leaving a wide, open stretch of meadow to the left of the road. But to the right, tall smokestacks towered in the distance, spewing dense clouds of smoke. The ramshackle jumbles of oil refineries and noxious colour of chemical pools filled the landscape. It was a depressing sight; Cale wasn’t spared the sight of the industrial wasteland any longer though, as the bus pulled into Denver airport right on schedule.

The man seated behind him alighted as well. Mingling with the crowd, Cale could sense him, following him at a near distance. He tried to ignore him; each time, he looked from the extreme corner of his eye, that ragged, trudging man seemed to trail into view. He tailed Cale through the airport’s main doors, then past the airline counters. Cale could feel uneasiness slowly gripping him, numbing his thoughts.

Taking his mind of his pursuer, he scanned the thick, airport crowds with his eyes, searching for any sign of his friends – a sight that would certainly stifle his nervousness. Then he heard a shout; a wave of relief surged through his mind and the anxiety he once felt faded.

“Cale!”

“Cale! Over here!”

By a bench facing the counters, were the smiling, bright faces of his classmates. Andrei and Christel waved to him; Cale couldn’t have felt any more relieved. All those feelings, the tense emotions that he had when he was on the bus, were vague in comparison to the mirth and delight of his friends. They were his real family.

Christel got to her feet and kissed him softly on the cheek. “What delayed you?” she demanded. “We all thought you weren’t going to show up.”

Cale stammered for a minute, trying to fake his reasons. “Well… I… bus broke down. The coach…you know, it broke down on the way and I had to wait for… another one.” Christel seemed satisfied, and invited him to sit with the rest; he spun around momentarily – the man had vanished. All that surrounded him now were crowds of people, idly walking past without a gaze at them.

“Is everyone here yet?” he asked.

“We’re waiting for the professor that’s all. I’ve already helped you with your ticket. With luck, maybe we could be sitting together,” Christel grinned coyly.

Yeah, he thought to himself, real lucky.

Andrei was now babbling on about some latest musical release. Everyone seemed to be crowding around him now, all except Cale – and Maxell. Right now Cale didn’t feel like talking; he wanted his mind to be at ease. He was going on a trip with his friends, and they were going to have the time of their lives. His mind tried in vain to convince him, but all he did was watch, gazing intently at the people that swept past him. His attention focused on two figures, their faces dark and obscured, disappearing behind a corridor.

“Hang on a second there, would you?” Akima called to Ishaq. She had walked down a corridor en route to the airport’s departure hall. Here, the walls weren’t dirty and splattered with mud and grime like those in her neighbourhood. Instead, the wall was a spread of marble mosaic, intertwined with intricate frescoes.

“Come on,” he wheedled. “How much money do you need anyway?”

“Just a few hundred dollars,” she replied. “And stop whining.”

Right in the far corner was an automatic teller machine; Akima knew better than to venture right into a bank where Drej Drones stood guard just behind the counters. As she approached, the machine flickered in response and its monotonous, robotic voice echoed: “Welcome to the Citizens’ Bank automatic teller machine service, please state your name and account number.”

She sighed. “Akima Kunimoto. Seven, nine, three, three, six, seven, four.”

A keyboard opened from the machine’s metal casing. “Please identify thumbprint,” it requested.

Very reluctantly, she put her thumb on the scanner and the screen glowed blue. “Withdrawal or deposit?”

“Withdrawal. Nine hundred bucks.”

“What’s this cash for?” asked Ishaq.

“The trip, of course,” she replied. “It does cost cash, you know.”

Ishaq bent in closer to her ear so that only Akima could hear his whisper. “What did you bring for the trip?”

“Switchblade.”

“That’s all?”

“Security’s going to check your luggage before you get on the ship, right?”

“Yeah, but…” Ishaq stared questioningly at her, “… you’re going to hold off several hundred passengers with one switchblade?”

Akima forced a laugh. “We’re expecting resistance?”

“Sure to be a pack of roughnecks in every crowd.”

“And what’re you going to do? Gun them down?”

Ishaq kissed her hard on her cheek. “That’s Rasz’s plan.”

“Rasz is a fool. And you know it.”

“But he’s a renegade, isn’t he? He hates the Drej more than anyone else.”

Rasz hates the Drej more than anyone else? Akima repeated those words in her mind, well, we’ll see.

While the machine continued to process the information, Akima suddenly became aware of two security cameras, eyeing her every move with their mechanical eyes, listening to their conversation with their unseen bugs. They glared at her suspiciously, and she glared back. For a moment, she wondered if her image on the bank’s security screens would jeopardise her mission. She had been caught on tape for those few moments; but then again, it would take time to clarify her identity with the Drej internal security system, wouldn’t it?

So to them, for now, she’d be another blissfully obscure person, seen laughing with her boyfriend and living life in the same ignorant way that everyone else did.

The machine regurgitated a wad of notes into her outstretched hand.

Blissfully obscure? She thought to herself. Why how wrong they were…

As she stuffed the notes into her back pocket, a voice interrupted the classical music that had been playing soothingly over the sound system. “ Will all passengers for Flight forty-one bound for D’amara please proceed to Gate seventeen. Boarding will take place shortly.”

Akima turned to Ishaq. “D’amara forty-one. That’s us.” And they hurried off to buy their tickets.

The weight of his luggage considerably lighter, Cale followed the group of chattering students towards the gate; led by their professor, Christel and himself had once again drifted to the back of the group so they could talk in private.

“Christel,” Cale began, turning to her. “Have you ever felt something that you should have experienced even though you know that the mere thought of it seems practically absurd?”

When Cale noticed that Christel had a look of complete bewilderment across her face, he proceeded to tell her about the sudden lapse in his memory when he met the man on the bus, including the part about that same man tailing him into the airport. However, he left out how he truly felt about his recollection, and the strong, anguished sense of betrayal he felt.

Christel spent their time walking to the gate deep in thought. “You know what I think,” she answered finally. “You’ve been sleeping a little too late and watching too much violence and smut.”

Cale, strangely, found Christel’s insensitive presumption appropriately cheerful for his anxiety.

“You don’t know, don’t you,” Cale asked, grinning. They had walked into the gate now, and joined the queue at the security checkpoint. “And I don’t watch as much smut as you do.”

Christel’s faced reddened. “Don’t you dare say that out loud!” she hissed, throwing glances at people passing them in case they heard. “People might think I’m perverted or something.”

“Well, naturally, your kind is,” Cale said mischievously.

Cale could see that the sting of his words hit Christel like a slap to her face. As they separated into two lines for their checks, Cale tried hard to stifle a grin as Christel tried in vain to reach out and grab him. They were cut apart by a solid plastic barrier, several feet across, with large screens reflecting their images on both sides. Despite Christel’s blurred image, Cale distinctively saw her mouth, “I’ll get you” through the translucent glass.

I’m sure you will, Cale thought gleefully to himself.

At the security checkpoint were two humans and a creature that was unmistakably a Mantrin. Apparently, Cale saw, the reason for the slow queue was the security officers insisting each passenger to empty their bag’s contents for inspection. While prying and poking through the mess, the passenger’s passport was checked and re-examined by the Mantrin. Only after passing through a metal detector were they allowed to board the ship.

When his turn came, Cale surrendered whatever luggage he was carrying to the two hassled security officers. Immediately they began to dissect his bag.

“Only clothes and books,” Cale insisted on telling them but he was ignored. The Mantrin checked his passport.

“Cale Tucker?” he asked.

“That’s what it says on the passport, doesn’t it?” he replied impatiently.

The Mantrin gave him a black look. He had stepped through the metal detector without any sound. But he seemed to be held back for reasons unknown.

“Human?” he leered over him unpleasantly.

“Don’t you have eyes?” he retorted, defiance in every syllable.

“I’ve got a gun, human, I can make you pay for your defiance,” the Mantrin growled.

“Oh yeah?” he countered. He was sick of being bossed around by inferior creatures who treated him like trash. “I’ve got the Drej on my side, asshole, so give me back my passport before they start hunting Mantrins too.”

The Mantrin looked ashen-faced at the powerful response; the mere mention of the Drej was enough to frighten other races, and everyone knew about their policy for zealously guarding their conquered colonies. With a low, deep growl, the Mantrin flung the passport into Cale’s hand, stepping aside to let him past. A look of triumph written across his face, Cale slowly made his way onto the ship to find his friends.

It had been quite a while since he had sat this kind of shuttle transport; he could vaguely remember Tek bringing him on board one to escape the Drej’s onslaught. The shuttle looked medium-sized for its class. It had a shade of dull brown; its back, near its huge thrusters, seemed charred black. Cale saw the two outstretched wings, slightly curved at their respective ends to streamline space travel. Hundreds of tiny windows were alight like miniature dots; propped up at a gentle vertical gradient by the take-off apparatus, Cale entered the ship, passing through a curtain of hissing mist.

The first thing Cale noticed about the ship’s interior was how luxurious it was. Apart from the chilly feeling he had when he first entered, he was greeted by the sight of a green carpet, its surface smooth on his soled feet, that ran the entire length of the ship’s aisle, diverging into smaller sections as it went. The cabin crew, dressed in their company uniforms and decorated with rank insignia, ushered him to a seat. However, Cale insisted that he find his group first. Passing other cabins, he couldn’t help notice the large, onboard television screens and the spacious distance between the seats.

“Took your time, didn’t you?” went a drawling voice.

Christel, along with the other half of the class, had seated themselves at the very end of the cabin. Cale was just about to put his luggage on the compartment above when he saw that the seat beside Christel’s had already been occupied. His face dropped a bit, and the seat’s occupant, Andrei, grinned.

“Sorry about that Cale,” he mumbled. “But Christel insisted on me having seat beside her. But don’t worry, the crew say that the journey will take just slightly more than a day.”

Trying to keep his mind clear, Cale stuffed his duffel bag into the overhead compartment and sat down on the row right in front of Christel’s, glancing sulkily out of the window. He knew that it would take some time for the shuttle to take-off, and for that thrill of flying to overtake him. Outside, airport personnel were loading cargo onto the shuttle amidst strong winds and a heavy downpour. The combination of the cool temperatures both inside and outside the shuttle were beginning to mist up the window.

Still bored, Cale resented drifting back into his thoughts; he found himself too vulnerable and helpless there. Instead, he tried to amuse himself by switching to different channels on his personal radio. But from the aisle came a conversation that drowned even the loud, heavy metal music he was listening to.

“You got your orders, right?” went a man’s voice. It sounded rather surly and harsh.

“Keep your hair on, Rasz,” went another. This time the voice belonged to a girl, but carried enough defiance in it to sound as if Cale himself had spoke. “You just start the thing, Ishaq and I will follow.”

“Right,” the first voice spoke again, sarcastically.

Out from the cabin in front, two people came into his lime of sight. One was a boy; he had his long, unkempt hair tied into a ponytail, and spotted a goatee. He seemed badly tanned, or maybe it was all because his acid green shirt and khaki slacks had brought out his colour a little better. Sweeping past Cale, hew cast him a look of suspicion as he passed, but paused before sitting down to choose his seat.

The second was a girl, whom Cale knew at once that the voice belonged too. At first glance, Cale thought she was cool – a sleek and slinky chick. She had worn a loose jacket over her tight khaki shirt; a reflection light told Cale she was wearing leather jeans. But what made her stand out was her hair: two long, streaking purple bangs, falling on either side of her face, bordering her eyes…

At once the feeling had started again; no sooner had Cale stared into her eyes than the powerful recollections wracked through his mind. In his head he felt pain like never before, splitting his thoughts to deliver a series of emotions that turned him painfully stiff. Like in a distant, vague dream, the experiences seemed so real: a face staring down at him washed by bright white light, another breathless run, an unearthly pull into a dark void, the gnawing of ice, the adrenaline of fighting a colossal battle and the joyous realisation of victory – in a distant world, bathed with rain and splashed with sunlight, gazing out at an endless sea.

Then came his feelings. Not only did he feel a sense of admiration and respect, he felt, maybe truly for the first time in his life, sad for no apparent reason. A deep sense of commitment ran through him – and understanding, a strange feeling of pure love that he never thought would taste.

It wasn’t the same love that he felt when Christel kissed him; that was assuring love, an ignorantly blissful visage of the mind. This love he felt now was more than just assurance, it was commitment; it was for all the times he and his partner had been together, for all the similar trials and dangers that they went through together to get this base of understanding each other’s covenant for each other. This was true love.

Weakened by the rush of emotions, Cale slumped into his seat, still strong enough to see the girl stagger away a few steps, then fall into the empty seat beside him.

“Akima,” went the boy’s voice, like in a faraway world, spiraling into reality. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” responded the girl. “Just a little tired that’s all. I’ll take this seat for the time being.”

The girl had stumbled into the seat, breathing heavily. But she seemed to recover faster than he did. His breathing still jagged and coarse, Cale saw the girl’s face turn to his, eyes narrowed, searching his face for an answer. There was none.

But Cale got over the feeling, just like he did before. The cabin crew were tucking them in now, and the captain announced over the voice system that it was time to buckle up. Very reluctantly, Cale strapped the seat belt across his waist; he wanted to feel the rushing thrill of lift-off at its maximum – without a seat belt – but he knew better than to break safety regulations.

“Passengers, your captain, here,” said a gruffly, distorted voice over the voice system. “We’re one minute away from take-off.”

Christel tapped him over the shoulder. “Scared?” she asked

Cale couldn’t resist a laugh. “You wish.”

Right now all Cale wanted to feel was the adrenaline, the blood rushing through his veins at the shuttle’s total defiance of gravity. Eyes closed, he waited – the captain confirmed that they had thirty seconds remaining – his mind seemed blissfully clear, anticipating the blast that would throw him back into his seat – yes, fifteen seconds, getting nearer – taking a deep breath, his hands were sweaty in excitement – come on, what’s taking them so long – seven seconds left – any time now – three, two, ONE…

As if some invisible force had been thrown against him, Cale jerked back, his body being forced into the cushion fabric. All around him there was a powerful shaking, the dull rumbling of the thrusters as it tried to blast the shuttle of the ground. Gaining lift, the force became ten times stronger; a mighty crushing sensation had fallen on Cale’s body, grinding, groaning, lifting the ship into the sky. Jabs of pain running through his body, he couldn’t have felt better; the shuttle was now in the air, and with a thunderous roar, the engines blasted the shuttle into the sky. A light, floating sense overcame him now; they were flying, they were in the sky.

It took a complete five minutes for the lumbering shuttle to make it out of the Earth’s atmosphere. Once free of that parasitic gravitational burden, the shuttle burst forth with a sudden jerk, like a bullet bursting out of a gun or a cork erupting from a bottle once its sealed grip had been broken. Cale was almost wrenched free of his seat belt when this jerk happened; now the shuttle was plowing forward into space, the speeding rush of acceleration hit Cale. Smiling, he opened his eyes, enjoying every bit of the journey.

From his right came a muffled moan.

“You all right, Ishaq?” the girl called Akima asked.

“I hate that crushing sensation,” went Ishaq. “Feels as if I’ve got an elephant sitting on my face.”

Both Cale and Akima laughed at the same time.

“Yeah well, you don’t need to get use to it,” she said.

Minutes later, the cabin crew were out patrolling the aisles again, asking people for drinks and serving the first of the three meals they were going to have on board. A steward passed him Cale a tray of food, accompanied by his requested drink. While eating silently, he noticed that the girl beside him wasn’t eating.

“You’re not eating?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she replied, without looking at him. “Not in the mood to talk either.”

Cale was silent for a while, then he couldn’t resist the urge to continue.

“You’re Akima, right?”

His question got her attention; turning towards him, she studied his face for a few seconds before speaking.

“How did you know my name?” she eyed him suspiciously.

“Oh, just heard you talking with your boyfriend, that’s all.”

Akima felt a great surge of relief flood through her. “Oh, right. So you’re not going to try and hit on me?”

Cale grinned and gestured to the seat behind him where Christel was playing chess with Andrei, deep in concentration. “I don’t think my girlfriend would be too happy.”

Akima didn’t smile. “Good for you.”

“So since we’re cooped up here,” Cale pushed aside his lunch, glancing at Akima uncertainly. “What do you want to talk about?”

Akima seemed taken aback, but gratified. Well, at least I’ll get a chance to talk to a decent person before it all ends, she thought. She searched her mind for a suitable topic before speaking: “Who the hell are you?”

Cale sat back in his seat, slowly recalling his personal history. “I’m Cale Tucker, twenty, from Denver. I’m orphaned, so I’ve got a blissfully obscure family of Vusstrans, who believe in my existence only when I’m in mortal peril. I come from Stratton, best university for mechanical engineering in the world. That’s why I’m here, going on an exchange trip to D’amara.”

He stuck out his hand to Akima, who reluctantly looked at it, before saying, “I’m Akima Kunimoto; orphaned and feisty. That’s all you need to know.”

Once Akima took Cale’s hand, the surge of experiences began again for the two of them. Like touching hands sent some electric shock through their nerves, they were gripping each other’s palms tightly as blinding, flashing scenes played across their minds. Blasted forward into some kind of distant dream, both of them recalled flashes of light and sudden emotions – of running, of adrenaline flooding through their veins, of anger and disbelief, of intense pain and blood, of an elated feeling of victory and of bliss, committed love, deep true affection. A scene stood etched out in their present memory – the two of them, holding hands, wind kissing their faces tenderly, gazing across a vast stretch of ocean, never happier…

The recollections ended as soon as they began, and both of them, panting, broke the vice-like grip that had held them together for the last twenty seconds.

“Did you feel that?” Cale asked her.

Akima wasn’t too inclined to answer.

“Feel what?” she lied.

“That…thing… you know, that strange flashing…recollection. You mean you didn’t feel it?”

“I felt something.”

“There!” went Cale, unable to control his excitement. “You felt it too! I’m telling you, this is damn weird. It’s the third time it’s happened to me today and I…”

Cale was interrupted by some shouting that was taking place in the cabin up front. Looking over the seat in front of him, Cale saw bodies squirming, fighting to overpower each other. Three men were in the struggle; one was a muscular, tall boy like himself, who had punched his assailant in the face. With a sickening thud, his assailant fell to the ground, face bleeding. Those watching gasped as the boy drew a gun, then fired heartlessly upon his second assailant. For a second Cale thought this was all some film show gone wrong, or a tragic end to a minor argument. But it wasn’t.

As a third passenger began screaming and urging everyone else to fight, the boy shot straight through him. Others got up, but from out of nowhere rose a huge, towering female Mantrin. As their attackers tried in vain to disarm the pair, they were either gunned down or beaten aside. Cale knew at once who they were: hijackers.

Cale was watching when, to his surprise, Akima got up from her seat.

“You can’t take them on!” Cale protested, fear slowly creeping into his eyes. “They’ll kill you.”

Akima wore an apologetic grin on her face. “Sorry, Cale, but I’ve got to help them.”

Cale’s mouth fell open; slowly, bit by bit, numb disbelief began to flow through him, hampering his ability to say anything. He wanted to call her back, but he seemed to have lost his voice. But deep in his mind, his common sense summarised everything that had happened in the last ten seconds into a stray, abstract thought: So she’s one of them as well!

Akima and her friend walked over to the pair, who was joined by a third man. He seemed to pass out instructions before they dispersed. Watching intently, Akima disappeared in the direction of the cockpit with that man while her friend, Ishaq, cleared his throat. He took his fellow hijacker’s gun and shot into a chair for silenced, as he addressed the whimpering, terrified passengers in a clear, final voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as hijackers we are taking control of this shuttle from this point onwards. Please phone your last calls to your family and friends on Earth right now – because all of you are going to die.”

There was a mortified, sobbing gasp that spread through the entire cabin, but Ishaq wasn’t finished.

“And anyone who tries to take control of this shuttle since we are in command, will die.”

He mercilessly drew a huge, glistening blade and struck the passenger beside him. With a rip of fabric and the slicing of flesh, the passenger slumped into his blood-soaked chair, an alarmed, afraid cry going out from everyone.

Cale saw, and his heart missed a beat. For once in his life, he was going to meet death. Blind panic, pure fear numbed his body, fuelled by the disbelief he had experienced earlier. The taste of fear seemed new to him, alien and powerful; if this Ishaq meant what he said, he was helpless, scared and going to die.

Fear; its curse was upon him and its outcome led to his death.

4. Blood and Redemption

AKIMA WAS AFRAID TOO; afraid of what might be if the plan didn’t work out right, if something should happen that might betray their current luck into catastrophe. Following Korso, she forced open the stiff door to the cockpit, coming face to face with two pilots.

“Get out,” she ordered.

“What?”

“We’re in control now,” Korso repeated. He drew a firearm just like Rasz’s. Akima hoped Korso wouldn’t be as trigger-happy as he was. He pointed the gun to the pilot’s head. “Get out before we kill you.”

Both pilots got up from their seats, but Korso didn’t keep his promise. As soon as they were out of the cockpit, he shot through the both of them, cutting their bodies like ribbons, before turning his attention to the controls.

“Akima, I’ll fly the ship. You just make sure no one tries to create any trouble for us.”

She didn’t seem too happy. “I thought I was going to do the flying.”

“You thought wrong,” he said. “First, I’ll have to change course.”

Momentarily stunned from the drama that was unfolding on board, Cale only calmed down when he felt Andrei tapping his shoulder impatiently.

“Did you hear them?” he asked Cale, half-abashed, half-afraid. “They’re going to kill all of us! So, what’re we going to do?”

“Right,” went Christel’s voice from behind. It was filled with sarcasm. “They’re not going to kill us. These are hijackers, Cale, psychologically unstable, with low self-esteem. You know what I think: they just said that to intimidate us. They want money, not just sudden death.”

Cale found himself jolted back into reality. His resolve seemed usually strong today; it had been wounded by the threat of death, no doubt, but that familiar stubborn defiance took control of him. The blind panic faded, to be replaced by newfound determination. Unbidden, he pictured a girl in his mind: short hair, purple bangs streaked across her face, with deep almond eyes and a haunting stare. Unbidden, his hands contracted into balls.

“I’m not going to die today,” he mumbled to himself. And even if he was, he was going to die kicking and screaming, head held high.

“That’s the spirit!” exclaimed Christel. Andrei still looked confused and apprehensive. “Now, there’s the three of us and five hijackers. How are we going to overpower them?”

So, communicating through hushed whispers, they planned an offensive to wrestle control of the ship from their attackers. Andrei had reluctantly agreed to join in; soon, Maxell and three others were prepared to fight as well. Like Cale, they were not going to plainly lie down and die. But halfway through their discussion, the entire shuttle shook; a strange force seemed to be pushing them to their right. By the time it ended, Andrei was the only one who knew what had happened.

“We’re going back to Earth!” he said, and an echo of whispers broke out within the cabin. “They’ve turned! We going back!”

“Then we’ve got less time,” went Christel. “We have to wait, wait until they’re distracted. Right now, they’re overconfident; we need to lead them into a false sense of security before we strike. Remember – the Mantrin first.”

For some fifteen minutes they waited, patiently; their minds calculating and rehearsing their actions over and over again. Once again, while thinking about their attempt, Cale’s mind began to wander. He suddenly became aware of what was at stake her: his freedom, his friends, his girlfriend and – most importantly – his life.

This shot has to work, he told himself. If you fail this chance, you die, and nobody wants to die, right? They won’t hesitate to shoot you once you rise from that seat of yours.

Their patience paid off when shouting came again from the cabin up ahead.

“Korso’s not here now, is he?” shouted a sneering, malicious voice. “He’s busy in navigation. Which means I’m in control now! I decide who lives and who dies! So get out of my way!”

Ishaq’s voice came to his Cale’s ears, firm and unafraid. “Wrong. As long as Korso’s alive, you will obey his orders. And if he finds out that you’ve been killing passengers for no reason, he’s going to kill you.”

“Come on, Ishaq! I’ve been waiting for this all my life! Pure control, absolute domination over these fucking Drej sympathizers!” his face floated into view as he backed against one of the seats, gun dangling in his hand, an insane smile across his face. “Who cares if I kill them now? They’re all going to die anyway!”

“Wrong again, Rasz,” Ishaq responded in a silent, calm voice. “I care. I’m not going to let you butcher people like this. It’s time you realise that the world doesn’t owe you a living. This is a mission, not a massacre.”

The boy called Rasz approached Ishaq with his gun. “I’ll say it for the last time: get out of my way!”

“Make me.”

BANG. To everyone’s horror, Rasz had opened fire, but Ishaq was faster. He had jumped out of the way, the blast of laser grazing his shoulder. This was the distraction they had been waiting for.

“NOW!” screamed Christel.

Cale leapt from his seat to his feet, and joined his classmates as they charged at their hijackers. Both Rasz and Ishaq looked at each other, surprised that their docile passengers had revolted. A struggle would unfold, Andrei leading the charge.

Cale’s first instinct was to disarm Rasz. While Maxell’s Akrennian strength would be handling the Mantrin with Christel, he was not strong enough; he only had speed and agility. As he neared Rasz he saw the boy in front of him recoil, then fall in a crumbling heap. Pouncing on his adversary, Cale reached for the gun; his hand touched metal, and he wrung it from his adversary’s grasp.

With his right fist, he drove down powerfully into Rasz’s petrified face, devoid of any emotion but shock; soon the warm flow of blood reached his knuckles, straining them painfully. Anger like he had never felt before was pumping through his veins. The person he was assaulting was not a boy, but a mimic of his God-dammed, wretched father. Still grimly hacking through Rasz’s face, he felt someone land a blow to his exposed ribs, and he rolled to the ground in pain.

For a split second through the numbing pain he saw the scene before him: Rasz was bleeding profusely, face plastered with fresh blood; Ishaq had driven his blade through a classmates’ back; Christel was on the ground too, her face contorted with spasms of agony as she clutched her right arm which was now a bloody stump; the huge Mantrin was reeling in pain, falling with Maxell still fighting on.

And his mind could only think of one question: why me? Why, after trying his hardest to be as normal as ever, did his father’s last wish catch up with him?

The pain faded quickly and his first thought was to control possession of the forgotten firearm. He reached for it, clutching its metal dearly as if it was the only thing that could earn him the salvation of living; staggering, he rose to his feet. Ishaq had seen him – and Cale knew there was no stopping that bloodied blade…

In a moment of anguish, Cale felt the blade burst through his skin, gnawing through bone and flesh to appear on the other side. A searing pain shot through him like never before, and hollering he stumbled and spluttered spit and blood to the elegant green carpet filled his eyes. The pain was as deep as the wound in his side as he rolled aside, his eyes straining to open while his body fought helplessly for life.

So when Cale’s eyes jerked open, and his vision blurred so that everything but Ishaq and the pain became distant and light to him, he knew that his burning anger was fuelling a response. His face was contorted like Christel’s, but in hate and wrath; Ishaq seemed the only person he could see know, everything else was a distorted blast of light that kept his eyes open. Something made him raise his right arm, where the gun was perched, and press the trigger so hard that his single shot ripped through Ishaq’s face.

When Cale’s vision adjusted itself, the pain came back to him in full measure, bringing him down to his knees. There his eyes met Ishaq’s face: mouth half-open, an expression of both surprise and fear written across his features. The rest of it had been torn apart in a gruesome mess or splattered with blood.

Someone came bursting through the cabin in front of him; the pain had blinded his sight and all he heard was a startled cry of bewilderment and another sound of a blade piercing flesh. This was a girl’s voice, almost crying.

“You killed Ishaq!” she screamed. “WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO IT?”

His rage was turning him into a vicious monster; his eyes blurred once again, his pain the only thing he could feel, and his sense of hearing amplified that voice, that screaming, by a thousand times. His eyes burning with a maddening fury, he raised his arm once again, the gun weightless in his rage and gripped the imaginary trigger like a vice. There was a cry of pain, and underneath him the floor of the shuttle shook at another body crumpling to the ground.

And again his vision returned, the pain searing through him as if every nerve in his body was being bled to death. He bit his lips, his teeth ground against each other in anguish. Wailing like a child, he dragged himself to sit upright so that whatever pain was in his body could flow out with his blood.

With the opening of his eyes, he saw Akima, slumped on a wall opposite him, clutching her side like he was, in pain, suffering from the shot he had given her.

Even as the pain intensified, Cale couldn’t bring himself to take his eyes away from hers. His face, which earlier had been full of malice and hate, was blank, shocked, half-fearful. Akima’s body was being ripped by the spasms of agony that came with the pain of being shot; her hands were balled into fists to withstand the pain and her purple bangs were now sprayed across her face. Her eyes were no longer written with forcefulness like before, they were filled with controlled anger and grief. For a moment, her eyes darted off Cale to a point somewhere on his body: his right hand, the hand that was still clutching the gun. Guilt swept through him, and he released his iron grip on it.

There was a lengthy pause, where despite the sobs and whimpers of fellow passengers all these two young people could hear was an unnerving silence, screeching in their ears as if it was in as much pain as they were. A ray of distant, cold sunshine speared through a window and washed them in its ember glow – they were nearing Earth.

Cale, eyes closed in pain and scarred so badly that he knew that he was draining blood and life, forced himself to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured under his bated breath.

He couldn’t find anything else to say – he had killed her friend and mortally wounded the girl who didn’t even cut his throat with the switchblade that was lying inches away when his eyes were closed. She was bathed in the sweat of pain; her forehead was wet with it and she looked much worse off that him.

“Why did you do it?” she whispered.

“Because he would’ve killed me.”

“No, I was wondering why you shot me.”

Cale was at a loss for words. “Because you were going to kill me.”

Akima gripped Cale’s left knee as another jab of pain shot through her body. “I wouldn’t. I don’t kill decent people.”

“But you are, aren’t you.”

It was Akima’s turn to be at a loss for words. “Yeah, I know.”

From their position, enemy facing enemy on the ground, they had a clear view of the sorry, hideous aftermath of the fight. Ishaq was slumped against a wall too, his brains strewn across the wall behind him. Christel was lying face down on the carpet, one arm shredded to ribbons and the other a foot away, blood all around her. Both the Mantrin and Maxell were spread-eagled on the floor, still breathing, but the thread of life so thin that it could hardly be felt. Andrei was folded messily across from Cale, his body nearly cut in half when Ishaq slashed through him, the windows nearby splashed with his blood. Rasz was still bleeding, motionless. Cale’s other classmates were all strewn across the floor, twisted and broken, amidst other passengers who were too timid to retaliate and frightened more than anything else.

Akima turned her head in the direction of the sprawled Mantrin. “Stith? Stith, are you all right?”

Despite her calls, the Mantrin failed to move; they could see she was still breathing, by the gentle rise and fall of her bloodied chest. Cale twisted himself forcefully to glance at his two best friends. The first thing he saw was Andrei’s face, frozen in pain and screaming, his half-closed eyes staring deep at an unknown horizon thousands of light years away. Christel wasn’t moving, and it wasn’t worth the effort to check if she was still all right. He would know the verdict: they were dead. His two closest friends were dead.

Akima managed to drag herself to Ishaq’s limp body, yet she too knew what she’d find. She heard herself stifle a croak that might’ve contained tears; Ishaq and Stith were as good as dead – but wasn’t that the gamble anyway? She found out that she didn’t prepare herself for this guilty emotion of pain: her two closest friends, dead.

Staring at each other in silence, the Earth came up in full view from the nearby window. The Human Planet, with all its swirling wisps of cloudy white and its decorations of ocean blue and continental brown shone beautifully in the sunlight. Steadily, the realisation dawned on both Akima and Cale: they were going home, back to Earth, going to die on the soil they were born on and not some tin can in outer space.

Another rounds of pain came; excruciating, torturing Cale’s body mercilessly. Bent backed, hacking blood from his mouth, he sat bolt upright, the pain maddening him. Akima could see the wild of that pain in his eyes – a pitiful, fruitless struggle against death.

Just as she was doing.

“Here,” she said, her voice low and breathless. “Let me see what Ishaq did.”

To Cale’s surprise, she pushed herself beside him to examine his ghastly injury. She stretched out one bloody hand, gesturing him to remove his from the bruise. His side had been pierced badly, a yawning hole edging down to where his liver was, spluttering bursts of dark red blood.

He couldn’t suppress the thoughts that were still playing in his mind. “What are you going to do with this ship?” he asked her.

Akima looked up at him. “What do you think?”

“You’re going to blow us all up?”

“Something like that.”

Curiosity got the better of him. “Why?”

“To make the Drej pay for all that they did to the human race.”

“What did they do?”

At that moment, Akima slumped on the wall that Cale was leaning on, muttering: “Drej sympathizer.”

“Why the hell do you call us that?” Cale demanded, raising his voice at her. “There’s nothing wrong with the Drej!”

“Nothing wrong? That’s all right for you because you’ve got a home, a nice job and a bright future under them that’s why!” Akima rasped bitterly. “You don’t know how it’s like living as trash, people treating you like scraps of food waiting to rot and decompose. The Drej are responsible for all this. They dragged away my parents and killed the only mentors that I ever knew! All so that they can exploit our talent for their power-hungry desires.”

“It’s my father, right?” Cale said through clenched teeth. “If it weren’t for Sam Tucker starting the human rebellion I wouldn’t be bleeding like this, and you’d have a life! And all you did with yours was follow him.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re cause doesn’t justify killing humans as well.”

“And does the Drej’s?” she spat.

The entire shuttle jerked forward again, throwing both Akima and Cale painfully against their wall. Almost immediately after it gave a sudden lurch, speeding up. On either side of the shuttle turned a deep, burning red, surrounded by flames that were rapidly heating up the shuttle’s protective hull. They were going so fast that the air in the Earth’s atmosphere was rushing past them, screaming shrill in their ears, whistling loudly from the sealed windows and doors.

The temperature inside the cabin began to rise; passengers were beginning to cower in their seats for fear that the shuttle would erupt into a super-heated fireball and explode in the air. But for ten whole minutes, the air whistled in their ears, and the droning to the engines seemed to cease. Through the window, they could see a vast stretch of blue – the ocean – unfolding before the shuttle.

“We’re back on Earth,” someone muttered.

Cale and Akima looked at each other; both of them knew that it would be a matter of minutes before everything would come to an end. Their argument was long forgotten, now they were each pondering, thinking, for the last moment of their lives.

“Where this pilot taking us?” Cale questioned.

“A place called Singapore, the Drej’s most developed city,” she ran her hands over Cale’s. “Don’t worry, I’m prepared for this. It’ll all be over in a matter of seconds.”

“I’m not afraid,” went Cale. “I’m just deep in regret for my life.”

Regret, pain and anguish. All laid before their eyes; blocking the hideous illusion that was life in itself.

Soon the ocean gave way scattered fragments of land, interrupted by blocks of colours that could not be mistaken for ships. Then a massive patch of grey rose from the window. It was a metropolitan island, dotted with millions of skyscrapers stretching into the sky from below. It was bursting with buildings; its borders lined with dusty yellow coastline and the dark green of marshes near the city; thousands of docked ships were in the shimmering blue harbour below. From the window they could make out the endless asphalt roads, the concrete seawalls, the Singapore River and its tributaries winding their way past its historical district and the quays and the idle customers sitting in their posh cafés, a hundred miles below, all blissfully ignorant of the screech of impending death speeding towards them. Cale and Akima found both their eyes glancing in awe at the hundreds of dazzling colours beneath them, a jungle of human development mixed with the electric, icy blue of Drej installations, all ablaze in the midday sun. Singapore – the island state, the Lion City, their last destination.

In her mind, Akima knew the end was near. She was prepared for this death; it’ll all be over in a matter of seconds, she repeated. But Cale wasn’t; she could sense his fear taking over his pain, a pain that bent her body under its torment.

Turning her almond eyes away from her wound, she looked to Cale and feebly extended her hand.

“Hold it,” she croaked. “Ishaq and I wanted to hold each other before we die, but he went before me. So now at least I’ll be holding a decent person before I die.”

Through the torment of pain, Cale couldn’t suppress a weak grin. He grasped Akima’s blood stained hand and with his last ounce of strength pulled her to him. She rested her head on his chest, coughing bitterly, eyes clamped shut from the pain. Right now, Cale couldn’t care less what his actions were; he was going to die anyway, and since neither Christel or Andrei were around to support him, he guessed that dying in the company of the girl that had so suddenly changed his life would be good enough.

From the windows, they felt the shuttle turning, picking up speed as if to gain maximum thrust. Then they saw it – a towering column of blue and beige glass, extending from the far ground into the clouds, the tallest skyscraper they had ever seen. It was a human structure, massive with its touch of urban beauty. Cale had seen that tower before – the memory was now vague: in a hawker, talking with his dead friends, watching a television monitor, a report of friendly human and Drej ties and the Republic Plaza in the background. Akima remembered the sight too – when her dead friend had told her it was their target. Now, they had succeeded.

It would be a matter of seconds. Passengers were cowering behind their seats, some with their eyes closed, holding on tight to their loved ones on board, lost for words. The shuttle was plunging straight at those dashing blue windows, going to rip through the heart of Drej and human friendship. Cale looked to Akima, his hands trembling slightly; hers were steadfast and strong, holding tight to his.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

As they gripped each other’s hands as hard as they could, a strange feeling overtook both of them. Just like before, their eyes went glazed, and in their mind experiences, now clear and assuring, played across their minds. Emotions, real and powerful, surged through them. They had been together – once – in a deep whirlwind of space and time – in a mystical phase of remembrance.

And Korso, in the cockpit, felt it too. He had been part of this three human gathering, which somehow shared an unusual bond that could never be broken. Created for a mission, successful for salvation, in a memory twisted into time, older than time and science and religion itself.

And even as the shuttle slammed into the building, and as Korso felt the rage of fire, force and glass break his body, he smiled. Strangely, he felt happy to leave his world behind.

And as the shuttle compressed, bending into furnaces of burning flame and suffocating air, Cale and Akima gripped each other’s hands though this living hell. The last thing both of them saw was a scene, both of them gazing out of the sun-kissed ocean of a new Earth, their hearts gratified, victorious; their hands holding each other like they did in their last bittersweet moments while dwelling on that scene…

Fully regenerated…

Fully empowered…

Fully one…

THE END