HMS Valediction

Chapter 29

Nuna leads the way to the medical ward. I cradle my busted hand and focus on her footsteps before me. As I follow her steady pace, I allow my mind to stew, concocting a list of possible ways to break the news to my crew.

Option one: There's no NOHA for us. Sorry.

Option two: We're totally fucked. Sorry.

Or my favorite, option three, the eloquent combination of the two: Hey, I know we were hoping for a second lease on life on a new planet, but here's the thing—we're totally fucked... sorry.

None of it works. Riveting speeches were never, ever my forte. I inspired my men and my scavenger assets by yelling. Lots and lots of yelling.

I bite the crescent thumbnail off my unharmed hand. How the hell am I going to do this?

We approach the medical ward and then pass right by it.

"Wait, aren't we going to get my hand looked at?" I hold my busted right arm up even though she isn't looking at me.

"Yes. Captain Moon is insistent you see his personal surgeon."

"Oh." I drop my arm.

We pass pristine corridors in white, silver, and blue where HMS Valediction medical staff bustle about. They smile and fix their gazes on my bloody hand. As we walk by, they shrug and continue their business. Their uniforms are sharp white, a strange opposite to the dirty khaki scrubs of the medics on Level 2 or the bloody maroon of the HHP techs in the URE. A few don the white coat Knuckles is so fond of wearing. Maybe these medics are closer to the ones we had on Earth. It's strange to think that this ship that's hundreds of light-years from its home-planet observes the traditions of its heritage better than the underground dwellers did. For a group so far away, they held onto Earth in so many ways we didn't.

And they're happy.

We turn left and emerge into an empty hallway. One unassuming silver door stands alone in the passageway.

Nuna presses one of the silver buttons on her uniform lapel. "Captain, we have arrived."

The door slides right, exposing the thick darkness beyond. A cold chemical wave riding the woosh of the sliding door smacks me, making me recoil. It stinks of preservatives. Its stinging pinch is unnatural. Innately, I know it's nothing I should be smelling. 

Without fear or any hint of trepidation, Nuna enters. I follow.

We descend a set of stairs that end at an illuminated platform. There's a silver table in the middle—a naked, long, metal table wide enough to hold two bodies. Drains situated in the corners tell me exactly what this table is. Checking behind me, I view what is obviously an operation theater. The stairs form seats for the spectators of whatever body-horror theatrics happen here.

"Is this really necessary? I don't need actual surgery, do I?" I cradle my fist closer to my chest, the dried blood smearing against my blue coveralls.

"I'd like to show you something," Moon's voice slices the darkness. He appears under the bright overhead lights, the shadows distorting his face, making him more ominous than I've ever seen him before. His gruesome smirk twists his features, reflecting light from his gold eye.

Nuna backs away. Before retreating up the stairs, she claps a hand on my shoulder and whispers, "Listen to him, but, most importantly, listen to your heart. Do nothing that you would regret."

A chill courses up my spine. I stand my ground on the platform under the hot light until the door closes behind Nuna. It's only me, Moon, and this silver slab between us now.