Fall of Icarus

telltale sound of the complaining Voice, but it never came.

Sitting upright, Keryn found herself feeling strangely hollow. There was a vast emptiness, one that had been filled for so long that she never knew the extent of the bottomless pit that existed within her. Strangely, it saddened her immensely, yet scared her at the same time. The Voice was gone; silent regardless of Keryn’s internal search for some glimmer of its existence. Shaking softly, Keryn knew that a part of her heritage and genetics had been wiped away in a single act of self-preservation.

Though the loss of the Voice pained her, it wasn’t the most frightening thing to Keryn. She had succumbed to the Voice because she had been caught in a moment of weakness. Ever since she was a young child, Keryn had always assumed she was strong-willed. Yet when faced with adversity, she had caved and fled to the Voice for protection and comfort. It made her feel weak, as though she would always be reliant on others for her protection. Anger welled within her at the thought.

Keryn was so deep in her introspection that the suddenly blaring radio scared her enough that she let out another cry of surprise.

“Magistrate Riddell, this is Magistrate Xiao. Are you okay?”

Keryn frowned. The Voice had left her feeling weak and vulnerable. Keryn realized as Yen called over the radio that this wasn’t the first time she had felt vulnerable. Try as she might, Keryn couldn’t deny the fact that she was falling in love with Yen. Every time she was around him, she reveled in the comfort he offered. He filled her with a confidence that she couldn’t manage on her own. For that reason, if for no other, it frightened Keryn to know that she would soon have to be around him again. Her merger with the Voice had, in no way, lessened her love for the psychic warrior. But it was that love, and the weakness that accompanied it, that Keryn feared would leave her too vulnerable once again. With great trepidation, she activated the microphone.

“This is Riddell,” she said curtly. “I’m fine.”

“Thank the Gods!” Keryn cringed at the evident relief that she knew was coming. Yen continued, “Follow us back to the Revolution. I am so glad to hear…”

Keryn reached up and turned off the radio. Though she felt bad for Yen, she felt her sympathy quickly turn to irritation. She had put herself in this situation by relying too heavily on the help of others. First the Voice and now, she realized, the help of Yen. Had he not flown all the way to come to her brother’s memorial? Was he not responsible for her assignment aboard the Revolution? He had even provided the Cair Ilmun for her. Until Keryn could reconnect with her own internal strength, she didn’t want to feel as though any of her accomplishments were the direct result of her reliance on others. She didn’t want to feel weak, no matter how much she hated herself for that thought.

Until she could find the strength of will she had somehow lost, she needed to distance herself from everyone she knew. Yen Xiao included.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The heavy scars of battle marred the surface of the Revolution as it flew toward the Farimas Space Station. The rest of the Fleet, all at least as heavily damaged as the Revolution, flew in tow, surrounding and escorting a captured Terran Destroyer. Disabled from the battle and its crew held in brigs throughout the Alliance ships, the Destroyer no longer posed the deadly threat it once had.

Though the Revolution was the least damaged of all the Cruisers, she proudly displayed her scored hull as they flew in formation. Plasma rockets had burned deep holes through the armored plating and the metal slugs of the rail guns had gouged chasms that exposed the interior of the ship to the void of space. Hundreds of Crewmen had died during the battle and entire sections of the ship were now uninhabitable, having been automatically sealed once the atmosphere within the ship had been breached. One of the holes in the hull exposed the ruins of the former bridge, now undistinguishable aside from the twisted and melted girders that had made the framework of the room. A fire within the bridge had killed both the Navigator and Communications Officers and resulted in a shift of command to an alternate post deeper within the Revolution. Though the original bridge was now destroyed, much like the head being severed from the beast, the Revolution still flew on with Captain Hodge safely in command.

Within the hangar bay, the damage splayed across the surface of the Cruiser was echoed in the mass of damaged and destroyed Duun and Cair ships that littered the bay’s open floor. Many ships, like the Cair Ilmun, had limped back to the Revolution. They had been held together solely by the strength of will and determination of their pilots. Upon their return, the ships had collapsed in the gravity of the hangar, their metallic forms too severely damaged to return to their berths within the alcoves of the bay. Crews worked feverishly to salvage what they could from those ships too damaged to fly, as well as to clean away the dark red stain of blood that streaked the floor the full length of the hangar bay. Many pilots had returned with little of their bodies left beyond their iron will. They had died still strapped in their ships or, to the dismay of the other pilots, drug themselves free of their cockpits only to die on the floor in a pool of their own blood. Lying unceremoniously on the hard, cold floor of a hangar, gurgling and choking on your own blood, was far detached from the romantic vision of how pilots expected to die.

Keryn knew that she should be there, among the workers clearing away the debris and remains of the pilots. It had been days since the end of the battle and nearly every other pilot had contributed to the cleanup efforts. A couple times she had made it as far as one of the clear glass windows that overlooked the hangar bay before her heart lurched and a deep pain stung her in the emptiness in her chest. In the end, she had invariably turned around and returned to her quarters.

She had been hailed a hero, both for destroying an entire Terran Squadron and single-handedly decimating a Destroyer. But Keryn didn’t feel much like a hero. She smiled amicably when others stopped her in the hall or asked to sit with her at the mess hall, but conversation was always light and she left them bewildered, unsure of how to take her aloof attitude. For Keryn, it was a time of soul searching, though she still remained unsure of what, exactly, she was searching for. Her soul was incomplete, having been torn apart by her own actions.

Mostly, though, Keryn spent her time avoided Yen Xiao. She had changed her routine to avoid him; going to meals earlier or later and working out in the middle of the night. He had knocked on her door a few times and had called more times than she cared to count. Eventually, she had simply deactivated her messaging service so that she wouldn’t have to listen to his concerned and upset messages. His messages had pained her as well, knowing that she was intentionally hurting him. Keryn knew that he loved her just as she loved him, but until she could find her own way and purpose, she couldn’t imagine herself spending time with Yen.

The ache in her chest was from more than just the loss of the Voice and her distancing from Yen. Many of her fellow pilots were now dead, Squadron Commander Garrix among them. While leading the Squadron against the Terrans, his Duun fighter had been struck by a plasma rocket and obliterated. There was nothing left of Garrix to bury. His memorial had been one of dozens conducted over the past few days. Keryn had skipped most of them. There was nothing to say to all those soldiers and Crewmen who had sacrificed their lives during the first real war between the Terran Empire and the Alliance in over one hundred years. They were the true heroes, Keryn knew. And it was that knowledge that made it difficult for her to accept when others called her a hero.

Standing in front of the mirror, Keryn adjusted her dress uniform and looked at her own reflection. She kept waiting for the reflection to move; to speak as the Voice had done in her vision. In some ways, Keryn wished it would move. Though she hated herself for admitting it, she felt a little lost without the constant criticisms and compliments of the Voice. But her reflection never waivered. It was just her own image she saw. The bruising under her eyes from lack of sleep and deathly pallor that had settled over her tan skin were only the beginnings of the physical manifestations of her inner turmoil.

Taking a deep breath, Keryn looked at herself once more in the mirror. The medals she had been awarded for her actions during the battle gleamed upon her chest, though she found their sparkle a little depressing. Finally, she understood what a fellow pilot had told her after her brother’s memorial service. After Eza had been posthumously