Annihilator drifted over the lifeless planet like a dire shadow. Its universal board clock showed the time to be three A.M., but no one even thought about rest. Mechanicians and engineers were making the last repairs in the machines standing in the hangar and did not pay attention to the person walking along the wall, covered in a ragged, brown coat. He headed towards the corner where the wrecks, that never would be repaired, were stored. He stopped in front of the hatch of a seedy ship with dingy paint and bruised edges. As he tapped the shabby button, the door opened, screeching and scraping on its tracks. The person looked back to check once and climbed the lowered gangway.


    The ship’s interior was far more clean-cut. Boxes, layered on top of each other, piled up along the sparkling grey walls, and only the grains of sand from his boots messed the black carpet. The cockpit door was open. In the pilot seat sat a forty years old Celestian, slumped over the control panel. His clothes appeared to be more civilised than anyone else on the Annihilator. Instead of a coat sewed from scraps of old material, a glossy, black jacket with golden fasteners covered the Celestian’s back, and a silver chain dangled from his neck. He had no symbols of being a Zetherion or signs of any other organisation.


    Awakened from his slumber, the man moved his head on hearing the slow steps behind him. He looked back, flipping his shoulder-length hair, which shone like copper. The complexion of his face appeared livelier than the pale visages of raw-boned Zetherionians.


    “Hello, Quirinus,” he said, turning around on his seat. Crossing his legs, he smiled innocently, and a sparkle of excitement twinkled in his eyes. “What brings my fav client here?”


    “The usual,” mumbled Quirinus and pulled his hood off.


    “Well…” The Celestian giggled under his breath. “After you said you’ll never come here again, I seriously thought I won’t see you anymore.”


    Quirinus ignored his words and began to rummage in his bag. The Celestian observed him with narrowed eyes.


    “Although, I sensed that one day you’ll come by to visit good old Smuggler. What would you do without me?” He tilted his head. “I heard your promises that you’re done with this, that you’ll tell Antares everything and start a new life… I knew you were just saying that. It’s stronger than you.”


    Rubbish! I can stop when I want to, Quirinus wanted to reply, but he refrained. It appeared as if he did not want to hear this, but he was well aware that the Smuggler was right. He brought a gilded bird figurine out of the bag, found or rather stolen from Jalandhara. Giving the item to Smuggler, his fingers trembled as if he was feeding a venomous beast from his hand.


    “What do you have for me?” asked the Celestian. “Just junk again, I guess?”


    “Gold and gems,” informed Quirinus “may be worth about ten portions.”


    Covering his mouth with his hand, Smuggler laughed soundlessly. He turned on the scanner and aimed the laser pointer at the figurine, mumbling under his breath, “Gems, of course. Just glass. And that gold…” he bit his lower lip and surveyed the graphs on the screen, “full of some scrap additives.”


    He put the thing on the control panel. Sizing Quirinus up with a leery sight, he asked, “Where’d you get this?”


    “It doesn’t matter.” The younger Celestian crossed his arms.


    “Better tell me how much is it worth.”


    Smuggler opened his eyes wider. “Did you steal it? Cos I don’t think a Zetherionian would make use of a talisman from Jalandhara.”


    “Maybe, but I’m interested in something else.”


    “Have you ever thought how long you’ll be able to steal with impunity? It isn’t your first time,” Smuggler waited for the reaction with unholy glee. Quirinus clenched his fingers on his arms and avoided the Celestian’s gaze, but he held his head high. Smuggler peeked in the metal casket. “One day, somebody will notice that the various items disappear because of you. Then Antares won’t help you. As I know Zetherionians, they don’t like when somebody takes their property without approval… especially for purposes like this.” He took three tiny syringes with dense, dark violet liquid. “Maybe you’ll find a more honest way of living?”


    “Here?” The young Celestian raised his eyebrow. He looked around with faked wonder and shrugged. “What can I do here?”


    “You don’t need to play dumb with me, Quirinus,” said Smuggler and stood up. He imitated a noble walk perfectly with his smooth moves. He approached Quirinus step by step, looking deep into his eyes with the hungry gaze of an animal starving for months and reached for his hand. Quirinus drew back. He clenched his fists when his hands started shaking. He became still as if a gust of wind had frozen his bones. His instincts warned him to run away right then.


    He knew Smuggler’s reputation well, not only from hearsays and stories. Rational people preferred not to get in his way. The ones who’d never dealt with him claimed that he was just a sly freak, but few knew that for their own good, they should stay away from him. They thought him to be a dangerous psychopath who could harass his victims for long months to get what he wanted. This time he wanted Quirinus.


    “Your eyes were always my weakness,” said Smuggler. He brushed Quirinus’s hair away and touched his cheek with his fingertips. “Accept my offer, and you’ll get as many portions as you can inject into your veins.”


    Quirinus gulped. “Will you let me think about it?” he asked, taking a deep breath with difficulty.


    “There’s nothing to think about,” muttered Smuggler and put three little syringes on the young Celestian’s hand.


    Quirinus sensed the chance to escape. He fell back to the door in a stagger. He grabbed the door handle with his sweaty hand and tugged it sideways. He felt a spasm in his stomach when the lock did not move.


    “Hold on!” barked Smuggler and added in a gentler voice, “sooner or later, you’ll have to accept my offer unless you want Antares to find out about it.”


    Staring at the Celestian with fright, Quirinus halted in his tracks. He bent his legs and clutched the door handle, but the mechanism did not work again.


    “I hear Antares does not tolerate fans of any drugs. You may be his favourite, but will he forgive you for a cowardice act like this?” Smuggler pointed at the casket.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    “You… you won''t.” Quirinus shook his head rigidly. “You won’t do this, right?”


    Looking at him with covetous eyes, Smuggler raised a corner of his lips. “I can do what I want, when I want.” He sneaked up behind Quirinus’s back and hugged his waist. Quirinus struggled, but he had no chance to tear loose of the grip of the assailant who was a head taller and twice older. Smuggler put his hand on the chest of his victim. He felt the fear in his racing heart and in his ribs, moving up and down with every trembling breath. Quirinus stopped breathing. He froze with terror and bored his eyes into the locked door. He just hoped that if he gave Smuggler a sense of control over the defenceless, the assailant would get satisfied and let him go.


    The Celestian did not want to quit the good fun too fast. He pulled his victim closer. Then he could gloat over the shuddering of Quirinus’s entire body. He leaned into his ear, breathing in the saltish smell of matted hair.


    “Are you in a hurry?” he whispered, almost touching his ear.


    “Not today,” spluttered Quirinus, holding back his tears. He felt the warmth of the Celestian’s breath on his neck which was covered in sweat drops. “Please, not today…”


    “Now you will let me think about it,” he mumbled. He tried to stall the moment, which was giving him great pleasure and satisfaction, for as long as he wanted to. He’d achieved his goal. He took total control over the weaker, horrified creature. He could do with him whatever he was thirsty for, whenever he wanted to.


    “Let me go,” cried Quirinus as if he was choking. “I… will find something valuable. I’ll pay for all of this, clear all my debts.”


    “I don’t live for money alone.”


    “I’ll pay as you want.”


    “Are you sure you know what I want?” asked Smuggler with a knowing smile.


    Quirinus nodded. “It won’t be necessary,” he gasped out. “I’ll find the money somehow!”


    “No,” barked Smuggler. He kissed his victim’s neck, then licked his lips, savouring the salty taste. He reached towards the control panel to open the door, and the cold air and metallic smell of the hanger rushed inside.


    “See you very soon, Quirinus,” called out the Celestian.


    Quirinus did not expect that his assailant would let him go right away. Not waiting for Smuggler to change his mind, he darted out. He rushed across the junkyard for the wrecks without looking back. He slowed down only on the open space of the airfield and pulled his hood on. Pain throbbed in his head for holding his breath for so long as he did not want to provoke Smuggler, and blurred spots began to appear in front of his eyes. He did not remember the last time his heart beat so rapidly.


    Never again, he kept repeating to himself the whole way, I’ll get over it, meet Antares and tell him everything. Screw the consequences, I’ll be free. This old crackpot won’t bother me anymore."


    He got to the door of Antares’s billet, but he stood there for a while before he pushed his hand to the button on the wall.


    He imagined his commander’s reaction if he found out that the best of his captains was not as brave as he pretended to be and that he owed Smuggler for the drugs provided by him for everything he achieved. The guilt of disappointing and cheating his commander was the most painful punishment for him, like scorching his heart alive.


    He dared to push the button. He did not have to wait too long for the door to slide open. Hiding his hands behind his back, he entered the room.


    “Yes?” muttered Charon Antares without raising his eyes from above the display. The blue light of the LiqBoard illuminated his scrawny face and the dark circles under his eyes. He gazed at hundreds of reports and charts with a vacuous look. He leaned over a simple, metal table, propping his droopy head up on his closed fist. Hunching on a hard chair, he brought to mind a copper coloured gargoyle, carved from marble, as seen from a distance. Even his hair was like the ruffled crest.


    “It’s important,” said Quirinus, lowering his eyes.


    “Quirinus?” asked Antares, opening his eyes wider and getting up, “something’s happened?”


    “Yes… I mean, no, not that,” he answered and shook his head, but he did not know what to say next.


    “You can tell me.” Antares put his hand on the young Celestian’s shoulder. “You have to.” He’d observed Quirinus’s behaviour all along. He’d sensed that something was wrong. His muscles were uptight and tensed, and he sighed frequently but faintly like it was an excruciating effort. A sense of fear loomed somewhere deep in his entreating, apologetic sight.


    “I was going to…” began Quirinus. He hesitated. He could not give Smuggler up. He did not know any other dealers brave enough to deliver Waves of Lethe or similar drugs aboard the Annihilator, knowing the threat of punishments for this. “I wanted to apologise.” “For what?” asked Antares, lifting his eyebrow.


    Quirinus lowered his eyes to the ground and tightened his lips. He had no idea how to get out of this yet keep up the appearance of honesty, both at the same time. Regretting showing up here, he sighed. I should have known I never would have had the guts. He ran his nails over his forearm to stop his fingers from shaking or sputtering futilely.


    “I was supposed to find out who finances the SynthBreed Project and… I didn’t get that info.”


    “Fine, I accept,” Antares replied in a calm voice and firmed his grip, “but why did you remember it so suddenly?”


    “Not suddenly… I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.” He glanced at his Commander. “I feel terrible that because of me, we won’t solve this thing.”


    “It’s Chandri’s fault, not yours. She drew the Union’s attention to us,” said Antares. He knew that they both were guilty, but he wanted Quirinus to start trusting him.


    “I know, but if I had watched her better…”


    “I don’t blame you. It just sounded like that.” He shook Quirinus’s shoulder, making him look into his eyes. “I just want to know what do you really mean.”


    “I mean, I was doing something else and…”


    “No,” he barked. He grabbed Quirinus’s wrist when he tried to step back. It felt hot and slippery from sweat and his muscles trembled. Antares moved his finger closer to the palm and came upon a rapid pulse. Now he was sure that Quirinus was lying. He sighed and said in a calm tone even though an annoyance was rising in him, “Stop these games. I know you want to confess something that is bothering you, but for some reason, you’ve changed the subject.”


    “No, that’s all,” interposed Quirinus. He wrenched himself from Antares’s grip and approached the door, but the Commander stood in his way.


    “Otherwise, I can’t help you.”


    “You don’t need to, I’ll be fine,” muttered Quirinus and marched past him.


    “Why are you doing this to me?” growled Antares, sitting on the edge of his bed.


    Quirinus halted at the doorway. He twisted his lips and shrugged as if he did not understand what he’d just heard.


    “Why do you want to make me sit around in suspense and guess what’s your problem?” Antares snarled, “I’ll protect you, but you need to help me help you.”


    The young Celestian walked away. Antares did not even try to stop him. Fury at Quirinus washed over him. He covered his face and dug his nails into his skin. He closed his eyes, bleary and searing from gazing at the screen for a long time. He analysed all the recent events in his mind, searching for the cause of Quirinus’s strange behaviour. He regretted he could not get an answer out of him, but he was unable to pressurise him long enough. He feared that, because of methods like this, Quirinus had lost confidence in him and considered him an enemy. Antares would never forgive himself if he failed the only loved one. Instead of listening to him quietly, he let him go as if he forgot about the promise he’d made seven years ago. There was no blood ties between them, Antares didn''t even signed any adoption papers but he treat Quirinus like his younger brother who needs protection.


    I left him, he thought, pressing his temples to cast his headache aside, right when he needed me the most. He wanted my help, but he couldn’t tell it. Or I couldn’t listen.


    The LiqBoard sent him an alarm with a click signal. Antares stood up shakily, and leaning against the table edge, he read the message. Commodore reported about the beginning of the final phase of preparations for the attack.


    The Celestian rolled up the display and slipped it into his pocket. He tilted his head back and wiped his eyes, but it did not help him get rid of his sleepiness at all. He dragged a backpack, filled to the brim, out of a locker and stood in front of the door.


    His gaze went up to the tattered flag on the wall. Antares reached his hand and brushed the rough, dusty material with his fingertips. He clenched his lips and bowed his head with both respect and disgrace.


    Forgive me, all of you, he begged in his mind, tightening his eyelids.


    He walked out, feeling as if he’d dipped his hands in the blood of his betrayed people.