Heavens of Glory

Chapter XIII

It was tough. Going from a fifth-year AMA student to a full-out college student made life all but impossible. Orion was exceptionally smart, he knew, but he still barely knew nothing compared to most freshman. He, along with the other AMA transfers, had to be placed in a special remedial course, adding an extra year onto their stay at Battle School and making the days singularly long and grueling. Seedo and Scarth were the only two other people he really knew, and no time was afforded here for making new friends. Or indeed for keeping old ones.
         Orion had lost all contact with the other survivors from his class. Maria, who had also received an AMA diploma, had decided to become a medic instead of a fighter, and had gone to school on Toan. Orion hadn’t heard from her in over three months, since she left for the capital planet, or from any of his other now-lost friends.
         A bell rang in the hallway. Orion jerked himself instantly awake, as he had trained himself to do, and fumbled his way into his uniform. Time for another class on xenobiology, and then on to breakfast…

         Through their television, the three teacher-slaves watched the entire encounter between the away-team from the Neyna and the Hegemon as it was broadcasted by the unseen Mork. As he watched, something re-awakened within Orion. The defeated acceptance, the uncaring submission which had gradually taken him over during his captivity, faded, and the Captain inside him rose up. Unconsciously, Orion’s back straightened out of the careless slouch, as if he were sitting at attention, and a long-absent glimmer appeared in his eyes as thoughts of hopelessness faded from his heart. No longer did he need to put on a false façade of bravery and hope; now such emotions were verily in existence within him, and they gleamed in his countenance.
         As soon as the bonscouts left the Hegemon’s office, Orion flicked off the two-dimensional screen and looked off into the holographic window.
          “Our time to leave has come. Albeit, we have hardly been mistreated here, but we are nonetheless slaves, to be bought and sold at the will of our masters. No more. Now we can get out, we can forsake this desert planet; we can go back to the Neyna! Our crew is here. Our ship is in orbit, and so is our freedom. Now we can go home.”
         He walked grandly out of the room and turned to go down the corridor, but was stopped by the swift form of Shpil, himself hurrying to meet with the three bonscouts.
          “Did you see it? Did you see it?” The denesec seemed frantic, although the slow, creaking words, audible above the voice of the translator chip, seemed as sluggish and steady as ever.
          “We saw it, Shpil. And we’re going to go.”
          “Yes, of course you’re gonna go. The whole school is gonna go. This is a (he rumbled a long string of syllables which the translator chip couldn’t interpret). Never in my life has this happened, and it won’t happen again in the lived of my seedlings. The All-Tree has inspired this exciting day.” His preg flapping erratically, he hurried off down the halls, nearly bumping into the walls in his excitement.
         However, that was the last that the bonscouts heard of it until the actual day of the duel came. It must have been bad luck to talk about it, for none of the denesecs would pursue a conversation on the topic when prompted.
         The three bonscouts carried on as they had been: still teaching, still being observed; to all appearances unchanged. But within all three of them a secret fire, a passion for freedom, now blazed. Days went by without a word spoken, until at last the schoolmaster came to their quarters one morning while they were sitting in Eguria’s room, talking. He gave them only a brief message:
          “A car will leave in fifteen ictos (in his head, Orion automatically converted the foreign unit to 23 minutes) destined for the B’Rost’Ic Arena. Get ready if you want to see pre’gtio’inj’k’k’t-la’tin’ket.”
         Once Tringar had left, Orion Stood up from the mesh of leaves he had been sitting on. “I’m not sure what, exactly, there is to get ready, but it’s good to finally know the date, even if the notice is a little last minute.” He flashed a quick smile. “Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’m gonna head out now.” And with that, he, too, left the room.
          “I guess that’s our cue to leave,” Seedo remarked, standing and brushing himself off.
          “Right behind you.” The two followed their captain to the main entrance, where already a large group of students was gathering.
         After what seemed to be only a few joyous minutes of leisurely soaking in the double sunlight along with the students, Tringar stepped out of the doors and announced that they would now be leaving. Six very large cars, each hovering a short ways off the ground, came around from the side of school, and the eighty-some denesecs and three bonscouts piled in. Within minutes they were already cruising along the roadless grasslands, passing unfamiliar landmarks and strange towns. The fields were largely empty, with only a few tired-looking peasants still farming, and the towns were all but deserted. At last, with the World-Lake constantly streaking by on the left, a large port town appeared on the horizon, sporting buildings larger than any that the trio had previously seen. As the six cars drew nearer, they began seeing hundreds of other vehicles making their ways into the city.
         The school’s cars drove right up to the side of arena, small compared to most of the stadiums in the Alliance, but impressive in its architecture, nonetheless. Once all from the school had got out, the drivers moved the cars in the direction of the lake, over which thousands of vehicles already rested, each over its own divot in the waves.
         Orion, Seedo and Eguria found it quite impossible to get lost amidst the crowd, for the students formed a tight circle around them. Perhaps to keep them safe from the xenophobic locals, perhaps to keep them from running off. They could here Tringar speaking from near the front of the group.
          “We’re late. It will start in less than one ictos. We must hurry.” Orion suddenly found himself being jostled along at a frenzied pace.
         He suddenly grabbed Eguria and Seedo and burst quickly out of the group from the school, shouting, “Scarth!”
         There was the lenothias, emerging from a subterranean hall. He turned in response to the shout and caught sight of the trio. “Captain! You’re OK?!” The nearby spectators, noticing the stunning similarity between the two off-worlders Scarth and Seedo, drew back temporarily, allowing them easier conversation. A shaft of light caught the strange, artificial preg hanging down from the back of his head like a second tale.
          “What is that?” Orion queried, seeing the growth, but Scarth nearly shook his head.
          “No time to explain. I must hurry. Eight others are here, somewhere in the stands.”
         Orion beamed. “Great! And here we are. Now call in the Neyna. Let’s drop this farce and get out of here!”
         Scarth paused. “The Neyna’s been grounded. We…” He was pushed away by the eager crowd before he could finish.
         A lump welled up in Orion’s chest. He muttered to himself, “Grounded? I… no…” The loss of both his ship and his hopes for freedom stole all speech from him. Seedo’s friendly claw was at his back, guiding him on as the mob from the school gathered around again.
          “Maybe it’s not like it sounds, Captain. We’ll talk to him afterwards.” Orion allowed himself to be led into the sunlit bleachers overlooking the huge arena.
         Down on the sand, Scarth blinked as he stepped into the light. Ten feet to his left, the Hegemon, whose real name had not been uttered since he entered office,, surrounded by half a dozen guards, was also emerging from a tunnel similar to his own. As they both stepped towards the center, leaving their revenue behind, the crowd fell silent. The Hegemon turned to face a small, obscure portion of the stands shaded by a disk, and Scarth followed suit.
         All the stands were entirely silent now as an unremarkable denesec stood up under that silver disk. He began uttering things in a language that the translator chip couldn’t understand, except for a few words, but Scarth didn’t need to know what the denesec was saying. He had already been taught by Mork all the rules, all the histories. He fingered the long blade as he waited, still tucked up against the back of his arm. The denesec weapon was a smooth, curved knife that was held to that the blade, when the arms were relaxed, extended backwards instead of forwards. Sel had been quick to catch on to the similarity between it and his own, natural blades, and many hours of lessons from all the surviving scythers had followed.
         Scarth could already tell that the Hegemon was well experienced with these knives just from the way he stood. He was completely at ease with the weapon, the blade curving smoothly over his arm. The tip was just barely visible over the back of his head. The strange, shoulder-less arms twisted in anticipation as the announcer finished speaking.
         Somewhere nearby, a loud, low horn sounded.

         The blades whisked out from behind the Hegemon, moving in a blur. Moving with surprising agility, he hurled himself in a whirl of metallic gleam at Scarth, who barely at time to bring forth his own weapons. Jumping quickly to one side, he avoided the first onslaught, but the Hegemon turned on a dime and came running back. This time Scarth ducked, throwing his two blades defensively above his head. His arms shuttered as the opposing metal crashed down and bounced off. Scarth threw himself forward and upward, thrusting his arms behind him to gain extra impetus, and head butt the Hegemon squarely in the chest. The denesec’s flesh was soft and forgiving, and his adversary barely flinched at the blow.
         The Hegemon whirled his blades around and they came crashing down. Scarth jumped backwards just in time as the knives crashes with twin thunks into the sand. Throwing his arms in wide swipes, Scarth stabbed vanely at the green flesh, but was met only by air as the opponent performed a swift spin to avoid the maneuver.
         Scarth, out of breath, stepped back. The Hegemon, however, did not seem at all fatigued by the first round of attacks, for his body took in air directly through the skin. Before Scarth had fully recovered, the Hegemon was on him again, rushing with that surprising agility which seemed to stem from nowhere. Blocking the denesec’s weapons with his blades, Scarth lashed quickly out with his tail and sliced at his left arm. The small spikes at the end cleaved neatly through the green cells, encountering no bones to resist, only a strange woody material. Scarth’s tale was back behind him before the Hegemon’s blade had left his hand, and all eyes were on the clean hole as the metal thudded on the ground.
         But Scarth, not distracted by the wound, made a quick jump forward and through his tale under him. Resting his entire weight on the muscular extremity, he kicked with all the strength he could muster directly into his opponent’s stomach, exhibiting lightening speed. The Hegemon, with a yelp of surprise, went flying twenty feet onto his back, and his remaining blade hurled in an entirely different direction.
         Before he could begin to rise, Scarth was on the Hegemon, and the Hegemon’s preg was on the ground.

         It had happened so fast that the spectators barely noticed it. One minute the two combatants were locked together in one part of the arena, the next they were both tumbling in an entirely different section. Few managed to catch the glint of steel as Scarth arced his arm in a brilliant slash, severing the preg from its life-long companion.
         Within minutes, the crowd was roaring. At first, the still living Hegemon had tried to stand up, but had shortly collapses on the ground, muttering disconnected phrases. Soon even those phrases faded into incomprehensible gibberish. He clawed frantically at the yellow sand, throwing it onto his head as if it would replenish his mind. As his arms waved maniacally over the ground, he let out one final, blood-curdling screech. A screech which embodied within it all the pain of a thousand souls being tortured with a thousand daggers, which sent the spine of every vertebrate present shivering, and which temporarily silenced the crowd.
         Then the populace began shouting again, but this time in a more rhythmic chant. It took awhile for Scarth to realize what they were saying, but eventually it dawned on him.
         Over and over, they were shouting the name of the insentient Hegemon, and the office which he had held.
          “L’Tir. Hegemon. L’Tir. Hegemon. L’Tir. Hegemon. L’Tir.”
         And then Scarth discerned another syllable altogether, one barely audible between the other two words. And an entirely new reality fell upon him.
         For the crowd was actually saying, “Hegemon beat L’Tir.”

         It had been in a state of shock that Scarth had allowed himself to be given the heavy platinum gauntlets, which the Hegemon had worn not an hour before. The crowd’s respectful silence only added to his growing fear, a fear so great that it completely cut out the internal noises of the translator chip as it relayed to his mind the drawn-out speech of the same denesec that had clasped on the gauntlets. At last the incomprehensible words ceased.
         A thin mist began crawling up from the nearby World-Lake as Scarrth was led in a daze out of the arena and stadium. He barely even noticed the other bonscouts, who had pushed their way through to the front of the yielding crowd, which was much confused about the intense eagerness of these strange off-worlders. Orion and the other two captives now stood at the front line, as quiet as all the natives, surrounded not only by the students, but also by the Bonscout delegation.
         The thought process barely made it through Scarth’s overwhelmed mind to call for all eleven Bonscouts to be brought with him.
         As in response to the new Hegemon’s summons Orion departed with the others, he discerned Tringar excitedly jabbering behind him about what a happy day this was for his school, that an alien should become the leader of the planet. A few drops of rain fell on Orion’s head as he entered the vehicle, right behind Scarth.
         The drive was silent and short. The car went only a short distance to the same Palace where Scarth had met with his predecessor only a few days before. Another crowd had already gathered here, leaving a wide passageway to the Brictipar through which their new leader could walk.
         The rain was pouring heavily upon the cloud-darkened streets as the Bonscouts filed out, but the silent crowd ignored the weather, focusing only on Scarth and his retinue. Upon stepping out of the car, Scarth, who had regained his senses during the brief ride, motioned habitually for his regained captain to go first, but Orion merely shook his head. This was Scarth’s day to be leader, and he didn’t mind taking a step back to allow it.
         As they walked up the drenched path, Seedo couldn’t help but remark to Orion, “You know? This whole silent crowd thing is really starting to freak me out. Without all the cheering, it feels like a funeral.”
         Orion merely smiled and muttered quietly to his friend, “Traditionalist,” in response.
         The brictipar opened ponderously and the group entered. Using his hands, Orion brushed off as much water as he could from his hair, ignoring the puzzled stares of the nearby denesecs. Scarth continued deeper into the Palace, still following the same denesec, whom Orion had started thinking of as the Master of Ceremonies. The M of Cs didn’t stop until they had entered a small room near the back of the building. Mork, ever the eager reporter, barely made it into the room with his telecaster before the doors were shut.
         The M of Cs began speaking once they were sealed in.
          “Hegemon, you have put the entire world in an unexpected position. I daresay no one ever expected you to win. You…” he paused and didn’t continue.
          “Scarth looked over at Mork. “What’s he waiting for?”
          “He probably want you to resign, but to suggest such a thing aloud would be heresy, instantly punishable by death.”
          “Yiza,” Scarth muttered. “What is it with this world and immediate, irrevocable and life-threatening consequences?” He turned back to the M of Cs. “Look, buddy, don’t worry. You’ll have my letter of resignation before you can say ‘Alliance of Five’.”
         The Master seemed to relax at this, and his preg began swaying calmly and confidently.
          “However, before I give up my position,” the M of Cs resumed his previous scared, motionless stance as Scarth continued, “I need to do some things first. Let’s go back outside.”
         The M of Cs meekly replied, “Whatever you wish, my Hegemon.”
         Once back at the brictipar, where the crowd was still waiting silent in the steady pitter-patter of rain, Scarth motioned to Mork. “Turn that thing on, will you?” He waited as the reporter fumbled with the buttons and turned the lens towards him. Scarth spoke loud and clear, very much aware of the absence of a microphone.
          “As my first action of office, I hereby declare these three aliens,” he motioned to the once-captive trio, “by the names of Orion, Seedo, and Eguria, to completely and permanently be set free, to do whatever they wish on this planet.”
          “Seedo cracked the bones in his tail expectantly, much in the way that Orion cracked his knuckles in anticipation of a star battle. “Ooh, trouble time.” But Orion firmly shook his head no. Seedo looked a little crest fallen.
          “As my second act,” Scarth continued, apparently completely unaware of the activity among the Bonscouts behind him, “I present to you the idea of democracy. You should all have a voice in who is your leader, rather than your current barbaric system of appointment of successors and duels for office.” Mork had explained a few days earlier that the first thing a new Hegemon usually did was to declare who the next one would be. “You will hold elections for offices, and everybody will choose your leader. Each individual should have a voice in the running of this world.
          “And finally, as my last action in office, I resign my position, so that you can all bring forth a better leadership.”
         However, not a single green denesec heard the last action, for as Scarth had spoken the second, the silence had turned gradually to an outraged roar. How dare this off-worlder, preg-less despite the newly-appeared protusion, propose such blasphemy, such heresy! The crowd, now turned into an angry mob, began closing in around the Bonscouts standing at the entrance.
          “You probably should have left your second Act out, Scarth,” Orion shouted to him over the gathering roar. “Looks like we’re going to have to run for it now. Please tell me you at least have a shuttle or two to get us out of here- that those weren’t also grounded.”
         Scarth nodded and shouted back, “We landed two shuttles about half a grasec from the stadium.” Orion didn’t bother to acknowledge this statement, but rather began making hurried motions, giving up speech in the deafening roar. Somewhere nearby, silent lightening struck from the pouring clouds.
         Responding to the waves of Orion’s arms, the three montes in the group moved to the front and began running and a quick trot through the unorganized mob, plowing a path lethally to any who stepped in their way. They were quickly followed by the rest of the Bonscouts, all of whom acknowledged the fact that a crowd this angry would readily tear them apart if they had the chance.
         Looking behind as he ran, Orion was surprised to see the reporter following them closely. He shouted to Scarth as they began to leave the rabble behind. “Is he a particular friend of yours?” The lenothias bopped his head in time with his long strides. Another clash of lightening boomed down in front of them, the ear-cracking thunder now strikingly audible.
         The three montes still leading the Bonscouts made a sharp turn down a street. Orion, breathing heavily from the all-out sprint, followed right behind them, leaning heavily into the turn. One of the montes, hearing Orion’s breathing growing in volume, motioned to her back, but Orion shook his head breathlessly. Responding to his unspoken argument, the monte said, “It will slow us down even more, Captain, if you collapse. Now get on.” With strong arms, she pulled the light human onto her dorsum and allowed her Captain to sit as if on horse back. Despite his initial misgivings, Orion was relieved at the break from the running.
          “Thanks, Lieutenant Lant,” he said. The monte didn’t bother to respond as she struggled to keep up with the other two, bearing his additional weight.
         Within minutes of their departure from the Palace, the band of Bonscouts covered the two and half grasecs to the shuttles and bounded in, still pursued by the somewhat sluggish mob. Apparently the intense speed exhibited by the previous Hegemon was not a universal characteristic of his race, although Mork had in fact managed to keep up with them. Seedo and Scarth, the first two to arrive at the shuttles, opened the hatches by hastily pressing their claws to the ID pads, then waited outside for the rest to pile in, ready to hold of the faster denesecs from entry into the shuttles. Once the others had run straight into the shuttles, five in each, the two lenothias jumped in themselves. Scarth shut the door to his shuttle instantly, and Seedo was about to do likewise when Mork bounded in.
         Seedo gave the denesec a look of surprise for a second. A precious second during which three more denesecs arrived at the hatch. Jumping over to help, Orion pushed the rioters back, using his feet to kick them out of the way, and Seedo manually slammed the hatch shut as quickly as he could.
         A scyther was already at the helm, and the shuttle began lifting off, quickly following the other one out of the city. Orion watched the ground whiz by as they flew over it on one of the screens in the back of the shuttle. Mork, too, who had dropped his camera during their flight, appeared behind the captain, watching the streets with interest.
          “It seems that those gathered at the Palace were not the only ones who reject the idea of democracy,” Orion said. “The streets are filled with rioters.” He shouted to the scyther at the helm. “Vera, don’t take us straight to the Neyna- we don’t want them to follow us. Lead them in a different direction until there are no more below us, then loop back to the ship. Tell the other shuttle.” The scyther nodded and did so.
         Mork was speaking behind him. “It’s only natural that Scarth’s statement would cause a world-wide rebellion. The dogma of appointed officials is millennia old, never once disputed by all the people. It’s only natural that they would hate this idea of democracy and elections, as the Alliance has adopted it.”
         Orion turned to him. “So what’s your story? Why don’t you hate us now? And how do you know about the Alliancic government?”
          “I have been staying with the Bonscouts of the Neyna. As I taught them about my culture, they taught me about yours. Although it did take me a while to get used to the idea of electing people, I eventually began to see the sense in it, providing that all the people are well-enough educated and caring.
          “Unfortunately, I don’t think such a system would ever work for my world. Even the people themselves could come to accept the idea, they have been too much blind-folded by the previous administrations that they would have no idea who to vote for. They would undoubtedly end up electing a horrible Hegemon that would bring about the total destruction of our planet.”
         Orion rubbed his chin thoughtfully, still not quite sure if he was ready to trust this little green alien. “Not all of them, though. The denesec who bought us, Tringar…”
          “Tringar!” Mork exclaimed. “That iconoclastic radical!” His preg had turned stiff and purple. Orion turned away. It took a long time to clean out all the effects of a life-time of single-sightedness and brain-washing.
          “Captain, you should probably come up here,” Vera called from the front. “Orion moved forward in the cramped space and leaned over the tactical and command seats to see the forward view screen. The sight caught his breath short.
          “The Neyna…” The once-elegant ship lay in burnt peaces on the desert rock, half buried by sand. The two forward-swooping wings were both completely broken off, and the battle room on the left one had been ruptured, causing the weapons stored within to explode and destroy most of the remains of the wing. The sleek hull was pitted and black, and the dead wires from the bottom decks were hanging out through massive orifices in the metal. A long, straight line could be seen about half way up the ship, where the engineers were cutting off the lower decks. The bright yellow blades of atomic knives of the workers could be seen expanding the ugly cut, further severing the ship.
          “Repairs have been slow,” explained the scyther. “We lost too many engineers during the crash, and the damage is too massive. We don’t have enough supplies to fully repair the engines, so we’re cutting off the lower decks so that we can get out of the planet’s gravity-well. Power has been restored to the decks that we are keeping, and most of the vital systems have been repaired and moved to new locations on the upper decks where necessary. Weapons systems are going to be entirely off-line. We were lucky that these two shuttles and the Stingray weren’t damaged during the crash.”
         Orion speechlessly watched as the shuttles closed in on the wreckage. As they begin descending to land next to the downed craft, Orion discerned the tattered remnants of the nameplate. The first two symbols, ‘A’ for Alliance, and the Warrior’s Tongue letter ‘Enga’ had been completely burned off. Only the upper half the name ‘Neyna’ remained, creating cryptic and unreadable mish-mash of lines.
         Orion stepped out of the shuttle once it had landed. Followed by Seedo and Eguria, he made is way to the gaping hole at ground level that was the only plausible entrance. Once inside, he found himself surrounded by the few remaining survivors that had stayed behind. He motioned to Scarth and his Chief Engineer Tom. “I want full reports of everything that has happened since we left, including the extent of what must be left behind and when repairs can be finished.” The two moved off quickly to prepare their reports. The one surviving doctor approached Orion.
          “You’ll need a physical, Captain, to check that you weren’t infected with any alien viruses or anything.”
         Orion dismissed the doctor with a wave of his hand. “Later. Once we get back into space. We left a pretty mad group of denesecs out there, and I doubt we have much time before they find us. We need to work on getting this ship ready for space as soon as possible. We need all hands to start working round-the-clock. They’ll be given three ten-minute breaks for eating and one four-hour break for sleeping each day. Seedo, get a shift schedule made up.” He grabbed an ensign by the shoulder. “Has a proper funeral been held for those that we lost yet?” The questioned officer shook her head no, sadly. “Then we’ll hold one tonight. It will have to be a cremation, unfortunately. We can’t afford to carry the extra weight of their bodies when we leave, and I doubt they’d want to be buried on a foreign planet.” He looked at the same ensign as before. “See what containers you can find for the ashes. We’ll put them in proper urns once we get home. Everyone else, start working!”
         Even Orion himself joined in with the repairs. He afforded himself even less of a break than he gave the rest of the crew, for within him the drive to get home was huge. He had a promise to keep to Tournia. He would get back to see her again, and these pre-space plant-people weren’t going to stop him.
         Under the leadership of its returned Captain, the tattered crew of the Neyna found new speed in its work, new efficiency. They needed no motivational speeches, no promptings or bribes. The sight of their Captain laboring beside them, growing emaciated and enervated was enough to drive them on. For five and a half days they labored strenuously before Orion and Tom where both completely satisfied that the ship was safe to take into space. However, before he would agree to take it into orbit, Orion felt there was one more thing he had to do.
         Climbing out onto the shredded all, he slowly scraped off the last of the lettering from the nameplate and cleaned it of the black scars. With a small bit of paint, he wrote in its place “Dead-ship.” Seedo asked him about it when he came back inside, but Orion merely said, “The Neyna is no more. What we are flying now is but a relic, a ghost of her. Nothing more.”
         With the luck of never having seen a single hostile native during the long struggle, Scarth finally powered up the engines and lifted the Dead-ship off the ground. “Well, she doesn’t quite handle as well as she used to,” the helmsman remarked, “but it will do.” With both the engines and Scarth whining about the difficulty, the ship slowly ascended through the atmosphere until at last it was free of the grasping gravity of the hostile planet.
         The crew celebrated their departure with a long, twelve-hours sleep followed by a joyous party which spread throughout the entire ship. Orion, however, stayed constantly awake, sitting in his quarters and going over again and again the names of the crewmembers he had lost, with countless worries floating through his mind.
         The knocker rang on the door and Seedo stepped in. “Haven’t you gotten any sleep?”
         Orion shook his tired head. “I haven’t been able to, although Schoona knows I’ve tried.”
         The lenothias held out his claw. “Here, take these.” In it were two small capsules.
          “You know I hate forcing these things on my body, Seedo.”
          “And you know that much more of this insomnia and you’re going to keel over on us. Now take them.” He dropped the pills on Orion’s desk. The Bonscout looked at them disgustedly, but gave in and popped them in his mouth, swallowing quickly.
          “Good,” Seedo said. “Now lie down. Those’ll keep you out for half a day, at least.”
          “Half a day!” Orion exclaimed. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” He tried to force himself to cough up the pills by punching himself repeatedly in the stomach.
          “Hey! Stop that! You probably need to sleep for an entire day, with the way you’ve been keeping up. Now go to sleep.”
          “Hold on Seedo, at least tell the crewmembers to start scouring the ship’s database, or what’s left of it, for any information they can dredge up about Epsilon space. Get as many people as you can working on finding a way home!”
          “Fine, Orion, if you just agree to stop fighting those pills- and yes! I can see that you are trying to fight off the effects from here.” He ordered the computer to shut off the lights as he left. “Goodnight, Captain.” But Orion didn’t respond- he had already collapsed asleep on his bunk.