Burden of Sisyphus

She stopped walking and turned toward him.

“What?” Yen asked.

“You haven’t heard, have you? The High Council received reports that a small Terran Fleet was spotted in Alliance space. They graduated my class early to fill gaps in the Fleet’s squadrons.”

“You’re already commissioned?”

Keryn laughed softly. The sound was musical and intoxicating. “I was top of my class when I graduated. It’s Magistrate Riddell now.”

“I’m impressed-not surprised, since you’re Eza’s sister, but impressed. Have they assigned you to a ship yet?”

Keryn shook her head. “Not yet. We’ll find out next month.”

“If you’re looking for a good ship to serve on, let me know. A few of us just got reassigned to the Revolution. I’m sure I could put in a good word, since I’m one of the few people onboard with real combat experience.”

“I’ll remember that.” She smiled. “In the meantime, can I ask a favor?”

“Anything.”

Her expression turned serious. “While we walk back to the Shrine, tell me how my brother died.”

Somehow, the walk took nearly half an hour. Yen told every story he could think of about Eza. Many made Keryn laugh, something Yen wanted to hear as often as possible. They linked arms as they walked, until they were just outside the Warrior’s Circle. Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, Yen.” She walked toward the Shrine’s exit. “Thank you for everything.”

As she disappeared from view, Yen walked to where Adam lounged lazily in his seat. Though he was seemingly relaxed, his eyes followed Keryn’s lithe form, as she went down the passage leading to the stairs.

Swinging his legs over the side of the chairs, Adam climbed to his feet and joined his teammate. “So,” he began, glancing at Keryn’s retreating form, “what do you think?”

Yen looked longingly after her, her gentle touch lingering on his arm and her kiss on his cheek. Remembering the burning focus in her eyes when she spoke of revenge against the Terran Empire, he smiled at his Pilgrim friend.

“I don’t think we’ve seen the last of her.”

EPILOGUE

“Captain on the deck!” the navigator called, as the small crew on the bridge of the Liberator leaped to their feet.

Captain Hallith stepped off the lift and ran a hand along the bony ridges near his thinning hairline. “At ease,” he said softly.

The cramped bridge of the Alliance cruiser was small enough that his nasal voice carried clearly across the room.

The crew took their seats, as the captain sat at the top of the tiered rows. “What’s our status, Mr. Paporus?”

The ship’s tactical officer, a large Oterian, reviewed the day’s logs, as he spoke. Captain Hallith only half- listened, knowing the review would be dreadfully similar to yesterday’s, and the day before that, and before that. The Liberator, an archaic vessel refurbished for its current mission, was assigned the duty of patrolling the Demilitarized Zone between Alliance and Empire space.

Established in the Taisa Accord nearly 150 years previously, the Zone became a virtual barrier that consisted of sparse star systems and open space, an invisible knife’s edge through which ships from neither side would cross. The captain accepted the position only as a means for promotion, knowing that, during a time of peace between two organizations, job opportunities were great potential for further advancement within the Fleet.

Until two days earlier, his job contained little more excitement than intercepting merchant vessels traveling too close the Demilitarized Zone. His crew boarded only one ship suspected of smuggling, and, even after finding only a miniscule amount of contraband, he threw the entire crew in the brig.

Two days earlier, however, he received a Top Secret communication from the High Council. The blanket message, sent to all captains patrolling the Zone, notified them of a potential new threat. Intel reported that Terran destroyers were seen in Alliance-occupied space. If that were the case, Hallith realized, with excitement, a direct engagement with the Terran Empire would catapult his career. He would be guaranteed a Fleet command position, instead of being delegated to a small, refurbished vessel like the Liberator.

Shaking away his fantasies, he noticed a worried expression on the navigator’s face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ninarath. What was that you asked?”

“I was merely asking what you thought about the rumors of a Terran infiltration, Sir,” the Avalon asked. “Do you really think there’s a possibility there are Terran destroyers in Alliance space?”

“I think about it quite a bit, to be honest.” He shifted his weight in the comfortable chair, one of the few items he was able to specifically request during the rebuilding of the old ship. “It’s hard to say how much truth there is to the rumors of Terran attacks. Need I remind all of you that this isn’t the first time Liberator has been put on alert for a potential Terran threat? You’re too young to remember, but once everyone thought the Empire would attack at any time. During those days, we were almost always on alert.”

He slid down until he rested his head against the rear cushion. “It would be a great opportunity to put the Empire in its place for violating the Taisa Accord, but I don’t really put much stock in there being destroyers out there.”

“Sir, I have a contact,” the communications officer said. “It looks like multiple ships.”

“Probably merchants off course,” the captain said dismissively. “Send them the verification code.”

“What if it’s not a drill, Sir?” Ninarath asked.

“What’s that?”

“I’m just wondering what would happen if we later found out there really were destroyers in Alliance space. What if all this isn’t a drill?”

Captain Hallith chuckled. “Son, there hasn’t been a major conflict between the Alliance and the Empire in 150 years. However, you’ve all trained extensively on how to conduct ship-to-ship combat. The Terrans might be surprised if they went toe-to-toe with the Liberator.”

“Sir?” the communications officer interrupted again.

“What is it, Mr. Chenowitt?” he asked the Uligart.

“The ships aren’t responding with any friendly frequencies.”

The captain frowned. “What are they replying with, then?”

“Nothing, Sir.” A hint of nervousness crept into the officer’s voice. “I’ve hailed them repeatedly on the major communications bands and have received no response.”

“And the FIS?” he asked, referring to the Friendly Identification System that automatically sent a ship’s designation when probed by Alliance Fleet requests.

“Nothing, Sir. They’re flying in complete blackout and radio silence.”

“Smugglers,” he muttered, bringing his microphone to his lips and turning on the ship’s internal channel. “Attention on the ship. This is Captain Hallith. We have unidentified ships rapidly approaching our positions. All hands report to battle stations.”

He pushed away the microphone and turned to his navigator. “Helm, bring us about and give me a full forward view.”

The wall at the front of the bridge flickered, revealing a wide expanse of empty space. Slowly, as the ship maneuvered, distant dots swung into view.

“Give me magnification on those vessels.”

The image grew larger in bursts, as the camera magnified in stages. They grew from distant dots to sleek, aerodynamic silver bullets. As the image grew clearer, Captain Hallith saw the shiny, silver hulls of six large ships. Along their sides, thin, colorful pinstripes painted in overlapping patterns on the silver, armored exterior of the