I still saw my shuttle moving away from Apollo. I saw theirs moving away too. Pain and endless torment pursued me in that moment. I wanted to scream and sob, but all I could do was mourn them. I hope Reni is okay, and that Durs isn't too badly hurt. I hope everything will be alright.
In moments like these, silence and despair come. They consume you together, plunging you into their passion and a world where their kind dwells. The most important thing is not to escape from this place, but to destroy it. Erase everything that connected you to it. Perhaps even yourself.
I heard the roar of the engines and the sound of metal hitting the icy crust covering the shuttle. Despite its thick layer, we moved forward successfully—toward the distribution ship that would take us to the planets. Each of us was placed in different shuttles and sent to different ships. Our fate was merciful—thanks to the foreign diplomacy of our Empire, we weren't killed but sent to hard labor. All of this had been set in motion long before our attempt to kill the Emperor.
Fen had told the Emperor about us, and the Emperor contacted the embassy, threatening them. They, in turn, managed to convince him of their innocence and began to defend our rights and freedoms, even though we were military personnel.
Despite their excellently executed work, they did everything they could. Now I was heading into the unknown. For a long time, I didn't know which planet I was being sent to. I only found out when one of the prisoners brought with me told me where we were landing. But before that moment, I still had to clarify a few things about my journey to my future place of existence.
To the place where I found my crew and found a new family. They sent me to break me and kill me, but they made me happy. They gave me a second life.
I remember that day like it was yesterday—the day we arrived. The rain hit our faces, cutting and shedding the old shell along with sins and bodies. With blood and pain. It was as if it was washing us away.
I also remember seeing that quiet, seemingly calm young woman in a medical coat walking along the line in front of me. I remember everything about her. Her wet black hair, black as the abyss. And her eyes… if only you could have seen her eyes. Even now, as I write this somewhere on the edges of the light, where light found its beginning, where it found its essence. I remember everything.
The storm and the quiet day, our first morning together and the last night. She gave me a reason to live. She gave me everything. Perhaps this was the very feeling that makes sailors go to sea for years, saying goodbye to loved ones and friends, never to return. Perhaps it is for this feeling that pilots pull themselves together and conquer the peaks and fears of the sky—and crash into pieces, knowing that they have found it.
Is this love?
No, that would be too simple. Perhaps she was a kindred spirit—a person whose loss means suicide. Yes. That was it. That very feeling and sensation was what I lacked. This was what had been hidden from me. Or had I simply not searched well enough?
My path to the end will be long and harsh, but everything has an end. And after the end, there is a new beginning. Who can say where the end is and where the beginning is? Probably few. For the end and the beginning are the same thing. They are like two passionate lovers who change masks, hoping to hide who they are. But the truth always emerges. It gnaws through everything you hide it in. It marches in triumph when you least expect it. So it's better to tell it right away.
My truth is this, reader: this story does not have a kind and beautiful ending, as many might have thought. This story may not have one at all. But isn't that the beauty of it? By avoiding the end, we don't allow what we truly love to end. The main thing is to stop in time. Otherwise, it will take you and put an end to your path and your life. I'll tell you honestly, reader, since we've started talking about truth: I didn't manage to turn around in time at the last moment.
I hope the rest of this narrative will resonate in your soul and perhaps leave something special.
I was still looking out the window as the rain tapped against it, tiny crystal droplets streaming down, cleaning it of dust. We were landing on a planet. I was lost in thoughts and reflections. It was as if I had been ripped from the world I was in and thrown into another without any explanation. What brought me back was a shove from an old, dirty man with a dark beard and a scar across his entire cheek. He was wearing a yellow jumpsuit—the same one issued to all prisoners, including me.
"Fell asleep, did you?" he asked, sniffing.
I jerked back from the window and looked at the intruder into my world. He was calm, even smiling a little. His hands were covered in oil or some other greasy substance, which left a stain on my clothes.
"What?" I asked in confusion, not understanding what was happening.
He asked the same question again, looking me straight in the face, not breaking eye contact, as if I were some enemy who had broken into his house and didn't want to leave.
"No. No, just lost in thought," I answered, hoping that would be enough for him to leave me alone.
I was very wrong. He wasn't that kind of person.
"What are you in for?" he asked, still looking at me.
I knew what I'd done, but I didn't want to turn to him.
"I tried to change the outcome of the war," I answered, trying not to fully reveal what I had done, not knowing how it might backfire.
"What exactly did you do?" he asked again, beginning to irritate me with his endless questions.
"I can't say," I said dryly.
"Really? I tried to kill a general for raping and killing my wife. The bastard had a gun," he said just as calmly, telling such a disgusting and sad thing. It surprised me greatly.
"You speak about it so calmly," I noted.
"What can I do? What's done is done. Now I just know that monster will be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life," he said and drew out a long, silent pause.
We continued looking out the window as we landed. Clouds surrounded us, so I couldn't see what was happening below and around us. There were about twenty other men and women with us. Each of them had done something.
"What's your name, anyway?" he asked again.
"Kyle. And you?"
"Raymond," he answered and extended his hand to me. I took it and shook it. "Do you know where we're landing?"
"No idea," I answered.
"Geron," he said with longing and heaviness, sighing.
Geron.
It was a terrible prison planet for the most dangerous and incorrigible criminals and murderers. The planet's goal was not rehabilitation or serving time, but killing the prisoner through hard labor. This was the planet where the former government of the Empire had been sent. In the end, the poor souls didn't even last a week. The same fate awaited us, but we had to survive it. For the sake of what we had been through. For the sake of why we had started all this.
The planet itself was rocky and sandy, with violent storms and huge chasms and ravines where various precious ores were found. The workers were forced to labor in heat over 65 degrees Celsius. Water and food were rationed: as much as you worked, that's how much you got. Quite fair for such a place.
As we descended, the shuttle shook violently. It kept hitting gusts of wind, throwing us in different directions. Even though we were strapped in, it didn't inspire confidence.
We remained in that state for a few more minutes until we finally began to approach the ground. Only meters remained, and when our shuttle finally began to land, the shaking grew even more intense. The windows were filled with bits of dust and dirt kicked up by our engines. We seemed to sink into darkness.
Silence fell around us. Everyone went quiet, everything went still. Small red lights blinked above, signaling the landing and that the shuttle was in standby mode. Voices slowly began to drift in from outside. I could barely make out what the people on the other side were saying, but I knew one thing for sure: they were talking about all of us.
Suddenly, the lights stopped blinking red, and the lights inside the shuttle came on. At that moment, the doors swung open. I heard a sharp, loud voice distorted by a mask.
Four guards in black steel armor appeared before us, carrying electric batons and dogs. These were our captors. One of them had a gold stripe across his entire helmet. The commander.
It's interesting how different units and positions have their own insignias, with what artistry and elegance they are designed and depicted. Intelligence and the military have one set, police and prison guards another. Whatever patches, drawings, or details they had, one thing remained the same: they were still our enemies, wishing us death. Just as we wished for theirs.
Each of us was taken out one by one, beaten quite badly with batons and cursed at. Raymond, my new acquaintance, was pulled out with a blow to the stomach. I was about to cry out, but my own baton found me—I was struck in the back. The blow was so hard that at first everything went dark, and then I fell to the floor. The guard started pulling me up, saying:
"Get up, you bastard," he said roughly and cruelly.
I stood up, and I was dragged toward the exit. Stepping out of the shuttle, a bright flash hit me, forcing me to quickly raise my hands to my eyes to protect them from the sudden change in light. After a few seconds, I lowered my hands and saw that the flash had been from the sun—a bright, scorching sun.
We were all lined up and forced to our knees, our heads bowed. I looked down at the ground, studying what was in it. Stones, dust, dirt, metal, wires, plastic. It was dirty ground, just like this place.
Even though we had only been kneeling in the sun for a few minutes, sweat poured from me like a river, and each breath became harder and harder. People scurried around: some with pickaxes, covered in dirt, with burns on their skin, and others lying covered in rags, being transported on carts. Dead.
Looking around, I estimated there were over twenty of us. All of us kneeling. Soon the commander appeared before us, and behind him, a soldier with a tablet in his hands, ready to write something down.
The commander walked by and examined each of us from start to finish. His gaze fell on me too, but didn't linger long. After finishing his inspection, he stopped in the middle and began announcing the rules of our imprisonment.
"Welcome, bitches. Your last free day has come to an end. Now you answer to me and only me," he began shouting. "You will be taken to the barracks, where you will be marked, then given tools, and you will go do your work."
No one dared say a word, afraid of being killed. But we had to.
"Does everyone understand?" he shouted at us.
We were silent.
"I can't fucking hear you."
"Yes," we answered almost in unison.
"That's better," he said finally, spitting in front of one of the prisoners, then turned and walked off toward another group.
Soon we were pulled to our feet, paired up, and ordered to follow the soldier leading our line. Electric restraints were placed on our hands and feet, making it hard to keep up with the others. I walked in silence, head down, looking at my feet, thinking about Reni and Durs. Were they alive? Had they gotten an easier fate? I hoped so.
After passing a couple of checkpoints and mines, we were stopped and forced to undergo a brief medical examination. They mostly checked for serious injuries and whether all our teeth were intact. At the time, I was surprised—what did teeth have to do with anything? But as I later learned, there was an epidemic here. Those infected with a certain virus called Rehotina would lose their teeth and develop mouth infections, leaving them unable to eat without assistance, eventually starving to death.
A terrible sight.
Soon it was my turn. I entered a small medical booth, the doors of which closed behind me, isolating me inside. Inside were two robotic arms, which, as soon as they received a signal that I was inside, switched on and began their work. They examined me in a few seconds, treated me with some substance, and released me.
Stepping out and rejoining the line, I heard a familiar voice.
"Bastards, turning us into lab rats," Raymond said, spitting on the ground.
"What do you mean?" I asked, not understanding.
"You think why they're treating us? To see which vaccines work and which don't," he said seriously, staring somewhere into the line.
"Maybe," I said finally, before a soldier approached and ordered us to be quiet.
Soon, as we reached the barracks, I noticed a young woman with black hair in a medical coat walking along our line with two soldiers, occasionally pointing at someone in the line and jotting something down on her tablet.
When she reached us, she looked at the guy in front of me, and then her gaze fell on me. I can tell you honestly, reader: in that moment, I felt like I was on cloud nine. At that moment, all the horror and filth around me seemed like a utopia. Everything was paradise. I didn't know what the feeling was, but I was beginning to guess. I looked at her for a few minutes, studying her entire face. Her eyes, her hair, her eyelashes, her eyebrows, her lips. Everything.
She returned the look. Despite my disheveled appearance and the mark of a criminal, she smiled at me, then discreetly looked away and continued examining the others.
My heart was ready to leap out of my chest and tell everyone how happy I was in that moment. I was ready to endure any torture, any trial.
In that moment, I met her—my dear and beloved Eli. I will carry her tenderness and love with me to the end. She gave me hope.
The very thing we all lack.