AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“It doesn’t feel like enough.”
“We’ll get through, we have to.”
“I know.”
“We’ve been lucky. We haven’t had to resort to Alliance-bagging like some of the other girls.”
“That’s true,” she says, rising. “I've got to get to work. I’ll pick up today’s rations on my way back.”
“Okay. Be safe out there.” As Isa turns to leave, I find myself watching her from the windows. I've been doing a lot of that lately. Watching the roads, hoping for the sound of a knock on the door. It’s hopeless, I know, but I'm only human. Wouldn’t it be a real Christmas miracle if Drex appeared today?
The thought takes me back to my dream this morning. Despite five long months without a word from Drex, I just can't let go of him. The hope of seeing him again has long shifted into daydreams, the prospect of which seems less likely as time goes on. Undeterred by that fact, my dreams are as reluctant to let him go as I am.
Night by night has me filled with thoughts of him, mixed with memories of our time together. What results is dream after dream, meshing truth with my deepest desires. So close, only to wake and find that I am once again so far away. He said we had a connection, and though it seems Isa was right about him all along, that connection won't be convinced.
I want to let it go, but that inner voice calls me back into the daydream time and time again. Between the lack of food and impending doubts about our future here, it still rises as the only glimmer of possibility. So despite myself, my better judgment, Isa’s opinion, all of it, my heart remains true.
I will see Drex again if only tonight while I lay sleeping. If it's the best I can hope for here on Armstong, I'll take it while I still can. I know it's all in my head, but I would do anything to wake up and find that the dream is real someday.
18
DREX
The impatient click of my boots as I stride down the hallway is the only outward expression for me. Stiff and sturdy is the military way, and the combat gear I wear is part of that standard.
Click-clack, click-clack. The sound seems to reverberate through the bare halls as I stride to Commander Kyltic’s offices. Even my typical pace sounds both sedate and loud, the only noise in the otherwise still chambers of the military base where we are now stationed.
Everything that was once organized and efficient about my platoon life has now become cumbersome and dull. My actions only whittle away the hours while I wonder helplessly about the unknown fate of my mate.
How is she? Where is Sophia now, and are she and her mother safe? It’s been about half a planetary year, and I still haven’t been able to find a single way to find out if my Sophia is even still alive. These thoughts haunt me daily, but especially so as I approach Kyltic’s office.
The guard spares a brief glance at my ID before inputting the access scan that allows the door to open. As a commanding officer, Kyltic has his own retinue of personal guards, many of whom I’ve become familiar by sight with over these past few months. Their names mean nothing to me.
There isn’t much of anything that holds any significance to me anymore, and most days I’m just going through the paces as my hope continues to dwindle. The Centuries War is still raging in other parts of the galaxy, but we lost the only location I care about.
Being part of this unit used to mean something to me. It was a chance for a successful career, the opportunity to see new places. But all of that has dried up since I had to abandon Sophia at the behest of orders.
Since the fall of Armstrong, as the newscasts have termed it, my thoughts and actions have been preoccupied with how to get back to my loved one. Meeting Sophia was discovering a kind of happiness I never knew could exist, and now that it has been ripped away from me, it’s all I can do to maintain survival until I can find her again.
The doors slide open, and I walk through automatically, propelled by habit more than anything else. Like everything else in my life these days.
Kyltic is seated before me at his large desk, a utilitarian monstrosity that only serves to emphasize his size. It may intimidate the new recruits effectively, but I’ve been here too many times in the past few months to be impressed.
“At ease, Private. Have a seat.” The big Odex motions to one of the chairs, and I accept his request for the order it actually is. Our relationship has gotten more contentious since we pulled out of Armstrong, yet I still hold a shred of respect for the man that has carried me through more engagements than either of us care to admit.
Not only that, as the direct liaison to the standard military, this man is still my greatest chance of being able to get back to the city. Whatever is left of it, that is. Keeping that in mind makes it easier to follow his orders, even when every report of Armstrong’s debilitating status makes me want to file a discharge notice.
“You sent for me, Commander?” It’s worded as a question, even though we both know the answer. Men at my rank aren’t even supposed to speak unless ordered to do so, but I’ve gotten in Kyltic’s face enough times over the past months that we’ve developed a strange bond of more equal understanding. Even if I am still his subordinate at the end of the cycle.
The Odex gives me a long, assessing stare before he answers. I know what he sees. The long months since Armstrong fell have taken their toll. I’ve grown gaunt and more haggard, despite keeping up with the drills. Where I used to have a more friendly, optimistic demeanor, it has been replaced with someone more sullen and taciturn. Without addressing it, he knows the reason why, and it sits between us like an invisible force field.
“Yes, I summoned you for a reason, Private Drex,” he confirms, startling me out of my thoughts. “We’ve had word from the powers upstairs about a new assignment. Thought you might want to take a look at the dossier.”
He throws a slender capsule at me, a cylindrical info-port that fits easily in my palm that most reports and sensitive documents are transcribed onto. I catch it instinctively and can tell from the make that it is indeed directed from the Main Office. The official Coalition heads, or the ‘powers upstairs’ as Kyltic unofficially labels them. Depressing the cap and giving it a twist allows me to unveil the projection parchment of the mission assignment that has been handed down, and I take a moment to read the lighted words on the file.
What the assignment entails has my gut twisting into a knot, even as hope blooms in my chest again. “This is a mission to return to Armstrong,” I breathe into the calm room.
“They’re sending a diplomatic envoy to Armstrong,” the Commander states. “To negotiate an armistice and reevaluate trade opportunities. It won’t end the conflict, but it may lift the planet from the blockade exclusion. I’ll be going to Armstrong with a small squadron in order to provide the ambassador with protection and to assess any potential tactical vulnerabilities.”
