19 - Tremmilly

Beowulf whined, startling Tremmilly out of her thoughts. The room shifted and she felt herself rise. Tremmilly saw her body below her, Beowulf nudging it anxiously. Noor-5 fell away. She began accelerating. Stars blurred, leaving bright streaks across her vision. Tremmilly knew she should be frightened, but something about the experience made her calm, at peace.

After an indefinable amount of time, Tremmilly slowed. She passed a barren, desert planet, its surface sparsely inhabited. Soon, an asteroid came into view. She slowed even further. Tremmilly stopped above the asteroid, noting extensive structures. Directly below was a military-looking complex. People fought outside on the pale gray surface of what she thought of as an asteroid or moon. They were killing each other, filling Tremmilly with sorrow.

Then, she was moving again. The whole scene shifted drastically. Tremmilly wasn't herself anymore, yet she knew she still existed. Looking out of his eyes gave her a different perspective on the world she had seen earlier. Now she was inside the complex. It was in chaos. She had never seen anything like it in her life, yet he stayed calm, which soothed Tremmilly. Her new perspective was exhilarating. She could feel muscles moving, could sense emotions. Tremmilly was unable to take action or hear his thoughts, but felt totally integrated otherwise.

He was running through the pandemonium, dodging small knots of people brutally slaughtering each other. His strength was evident, and she felt he was capable of handling the situation. A deep, complex desire drove their body forward.

A man followed them, but she sensed he was an ally. Tremmilly felt their movement slow momentarily to work through a group of rioters blocking the corridor. He became nervous. Time was precious.

The mental pressure eased somewhat as they halted in front of a wide door. Above it was a sign labeled “Shuttle Service”. She sensed this was the destination. Tremmilly felt his tension rise as they crept through. Once inside, she saw many small shuttlecraft lined up in neat rows along the deck. Their swept back wings and elongated fuselages gleamed brightly in the artificial lighting.

With a jolt of awareness, he spotted a group of security guards. The small man ran into the hangar and stopped next to them. Simultaneously, the guards noticed there were intruders in the room. They drew large pistols from shoulder holsters and fired.

The first round whistled by their head, and she felt the wind of its passage on his cheek. Before the guards could tighten their aim, he dove behind the nearest shuttle. The small man was not as quick.

As he and Tremmilly watched in horror, their ally took a round directly in the stomach. His midsection exploded. A spray of blood and tissue flew out behind him in a gruesome fountain. A silent scream escaped Tremmilly's lips. He bellowed in rage.

Tremmilly became sick, dizzy, and disoriented, but she sensed he had been through much worse and controlled these emotions. Staggering to their feet, Tremmilly felt his sadness. They ran through the rows of ships in a haphazard pattern. From the small glimpses she caught, the guards were starting to spread out and lose sight of each other. She felt satisfaction and knew this was what he hoped they’d do.

Carefully moving through the ships, they doubled back behind the guard the furthest from his comrades. He had no idea anyone was there until it was too late. Tremmilly felt his flesh as their hands twisted his neck. She heard a grinding noise, then a quick pop. The guard fell to the deck, dead. Picking up his flechette pistol, she felt his happiness rise. Tremmilly found it strange they’d killed the guard without remorse. Instead, revenge felt right. Their ally had been murdered. They would have found the same brutal end if the guard had better skills.

Over the course of the next few minutes, Tremmilly experienced more killing as they eliminated each guard. Having a weapon made things so much easier. He thoroughly searched each body. Tremmilly felt his desire for something. Much of what they found was of little use, but then, he spotted it. The laser key was such a small, mundane object, but it brought so much joy.

Key in hand, they ran over to a terminal screen and began entering commands. The first opened the hangar's exterior doors. A plasma barrier kept the area pressurized and separated from the vacuum of space. The bright blue field shimmered, magnetic lines of force evident in the swirling plasma. The next command powered up the closest shuttle. It was sleek, streamlined, and looked expensive. The ship lacked a wormhole generator, so leaving the system would be impossible.

They quickly hopped through the shuttle's hatch, hitting the close button before the door fully opened. Sitting in one of the six chairs, they watched the surrounding terminal as the ship began a short self-diagnostic procedure. It listed their destination as “Bloodsport Dock” and that auto-nav was engaged. Tremmilly noticed the seats were plush and luxurious, but he seemed intent on other things. Once the self-diagnostic was complete, the ship rose off the deck and exited the shuttle bay. It passed effortlessly through the plasma barrier, accelerating. They watched out the large view window as the asteroid fell away below.

“Thank you for visiting Bloodsport,” a voice said, startling Tremmilly. “Remember to register to watch upcoming matches. If a return journey is not convenient, all battles are streamed live over the Terminal Network. Check the Bloodsport Information Channel for more details.” The farther they got from the asteroid, the more relief he felt. He was calm, at peace, and most of all, happy.

As the shuttle moved towards the large orbital ship dock, Tremmilly felt a tug. She was then outside him, moving quickly away. Stars streaked by for an indeterminable amount of time. She felt herself falling, then, a snap. It took Tremmilly several moments to orient herself. Finally, dull gray walls came into focus.

As her cognition formed back into the reality that was her and only her, Tremmilly felt her lungs screaming for air. It took a few seconds to realize she was holding her breath. Stale air exploded from her. She gasped, taking in huge lung fulls of air that made her head swim. How long was I holding my breath? And why? Moments passed, and her heart rate and breathing stabilized.

What was that? Tremmilly wondered, mind still reeling. Beowulf continued nudging her, whining anxiously. Looking at the room’s display clock, she realized half a standard hour had passed. Was that real? Was it a vision? She embraced Beowulf, pressing her face into his long fur.

This incident was just the latest oddity Tremmilly had been experienced. She felt she was on the cusp of a new reality, like she was touching something massive and unknown. It was scary, but also exhilarating. Sometimes it felt like she might even be able to see through reality, to view the underlying fabric of space-time. This all began when Psidonnis told me the prophecy, she observed.

Tremmilly tried to analyze the experience logically. “I left my body and traveled,” she said. Beowulf's whimpers subsided. “So that seems to lean towards it not being a vision. Why go through the trouble of moving if it wasn't my actual consciousness that was there. And since time moved normally, it makes sense I was there in real time. But how, or why, did it happen?” The last question had no answer and was part of what was troubling Tremmilly ever since she’d left Eishon-2.

Now she was on the orbital dock above Noor-5, had been for almost a week. Tremmilly smiled sardonically, finding it amusing her life was now guided by a mysterious force, just like the Dygars. The sect was peaceful, loving, and to be honest, laughable. It had seemed obvious their consumption of farcanthis leaves caused their strange experiences, but now Tremmilly wasn't so sure. She hadn't been anywhere near the hallucinogenic plant, yet had just experienced something she couldn't explain. This was different. Psidonnis had told her about the Dygar visions. They weren’t as vivid as what she had just experienced. Maybe their visions are because of farcanthis, she thought, but what caused me to leave my body?

And even if she answered that question, did it explain what she was supposed to do now? Why was she connected to the man? Was he the important part, or the location? Tremmilly felt influenced by some entity greater than herself, driven to do things she had never imagined. Leaving Eishon-2, her birth world, was never one of her goals. Thinking back, Tremmilly realized departing Eishon-2 was allowing her to explore the galaxy. Perhaps the “influence” was just a strange way of convincing herself to go. Maybe I'm going crazy... Maybe I should have stayed on Eishon. It's where my parents wanted me to be.

“Your father and mother came here a few years before your birth,” Psidonnis had told her when she was old enough to understand. “On other worlds, lower class citizens live in densely populated city-states, mostly in the underlevels. These places are unpleasant. Your parents sought to escape the urban wasteland, wanting space to live and clean air to breath. They sold every possession and used the Ashcreds to buy passage to Eishon-2. Arriving with nothing, your parents homesteaded a small plot of land away from other settlers and made life work for them.

“You were born a few years later. Your parents were delighted. Six years passed in happiness, some of which you probably remember.”

Tremmilly stopped the remembrance, wiping away tears. The terrible plague had killed her parents. She hadn't meant to remember that much. The memory was painful, even after fifteen years. What caused it? she wondered. Was it carried on a cargo ship or was it spread by the Ashamine? It had been a vicious, nasty illness, causing intense pain. The victims ran high fevers, fell into comas, and bled out shortly thereafter. There was no cure, no answers, no proof about where the plague came from or why it had died off as quickly as it began. Why did it kill my parents and not me? Tremmilly hoped she might get answers while traveling. It seems like such a small chance, but anything is possible.

After what had happened on Noor-5, she was willing to believe in small odds. She and Beowulf had been listening to a Divisionist orator rebuke the Ashamine and its war on the Entho-la-ah-mines. Tremmilly had found the man boring, but his words had some truth to them. It was unclear exactly what had happened, but an earthquake had struck the area and released a poisonous gas, killing many onlookers. Tremmilly would have been one of them, but a few minutes before, she had felt a strong push to leave the area, so she did.

When the earthquake hit, Tremmilly was knocked to the ground. Thankfully, there were no tall buildings around her, and she escaped without serious injury. The poison gas had been localized to the crowd. If I hadn’t moved...

The many deaths and her narrow escape upset Tremmilly. She felt it was time to get off the planet. The people she was looking for were elsewhere. Noor-5 was in chaos. It took time for her to find transport, but eventually she’d reached the orbital dock above the planet. Now Tremmilly was stuck there, sleeping in the cheapest lodging—which she still couldn't afford—not knowing where to go next. Maybe this experience is the key to the next step, but if I don’t figure it out soon, I’ll run out of what little savings I have left.

As she replayed her out-of-body experience in her head, more details popped out. The voice had said, “Thank you for your visit to Bloodsport.” She'd heard that name before. Isn’t that the place on the news?

Tremmilly hurriedly accessed the small terminal in her room, streaming archived footage. “We don't have much information at this time, but it appears the Enthos are trying to take back Haak-ah-tar, a world they fled over twenty-five years ago. They've broken through the Ashamine blockade, attacking several installations on-world. The nearby Bloodsport asteroid's security was compromised and the popular gaming area is now in security lockdown. Players are rioting, causing a disruption in programming. All scheduled matches are postponed until further notice. Bloodsport officials say they will release “Best Of” riot footage on the Terminal Network within a standard week. We will keep you updated on further developments.”

The reporter went on to interview several celebrities and highly placed Ashamine officials. They all complained about the interruption and the fact Bloodsport wouldn't be streaming live riot footage. Tremmilly switched off the terminal in disgust. It made her sick, thinking about what occurred at the “games,” even if the combatants were convicted criminals.

The backdrop of violence and rioting in her experience made sense now. I was seeing a Bloodsport participant escaping in real time. The fact he was a convict gave her pause. He was helping the other man escape though. He only killed the guards because he had to.

Am I supposed to go to Bloodsport to help him? That seemed like the obvious conclusion. It was beyond risky, but Tremmilly was developing trust in whatever had been guiding her. She didn't know if it was coming from within or without, but if it had taken her this far, why wouldn't it guide her the rest of the way?

“Come on Beo,” she said, gathering up her few belongings. “We've got somewhere to go now!” Leaving the decrepit room, Tremmilly and Beowulf made their way down to the docking sector of the orbital facility. Tremmilly knew it would be challenging to find a captain willing to take her into a war zone.

“I'm seeking passage to Haak-ah-tar and the Bloodsport asteroid,” she told one captain, trying to sound casual.

“Are you a buggering blighthearted idiot?” he said, laughing. “The Enthos are back. Founder curse you as a fool.” Beowulf's ears pinned back and his lips rose in a snarl. He moved between Tremmilly and the aggressive captain. The man fell back, angry. “Get your buggered dog away from me!” Several other seedy captains and crew began to take notice. Tremmilly decided it was time to move on.

After asking several friendlier looking captains and receiving negative responses, Tremmilly sat on bench, realizing this required more craftiness and deception. “Who would be going to that asteroid?” she wondered aloud. “Military personnel maybe, but there is no way they'd let me join them. And I don't think we'd be able to slip through security and become stowaways.” She continued thinking, scratching Beowulf behind the ears in his favorite spot. “Let's walk around some more,” she said finally, hoping it would give her a chance to think like she used to while wandering the great open spaces of Eishon-2.

After an extended period of travel through the facility, she came to a ship she had missed on her first pass through the area. Looking closer, she realized why. It was small, stuffed into a corner. A derelict.

Tremmilly was amazed at the terrible condition the ship was in. Maybe the mechanicals were fine—she didn't know about that kind of thing—but the hull was mottled with corrosion and needed a new coat of paint. Presumably the interior was even worse. The vessel’s captain was probably too lazy to work for what little money Tremmilly could offer. She had to try though. “He certainly won't be worried about his ship getting damaged,” she said to her friend.

“Hello?” she asked into the darkness of the open hatch. No answer. “I would like to speak to the captain of this vessel.” Still no answer except for a faint echo. Stepping further up the ramp, she peered into the interior, but could see nothing in the blackness.

Waiting a few moments longer, Tremmilly backed off the ramp, brows furrowed. Thwarted again, she thought. Then, inspiration dawned. Tremmilly knew how she was going to get to Bloodsport.

No captain will go near the Haak-ah-tar system, so I need a ship without a captain. And since I can't afford to buy a ship, I'll have to borrow one. Here it was, unguarded and empty of personnel. She had no experience piloting and knew almost nothing about ships, but she could figure it out. Maybe there would be a vision or someone would come along at the right time to help her. I have to try. I feel like this is meant to be.

She walked back up the ramp with Beowulf, entered the ship, and groped around in the dark looking for the interior light switch. This was made difficult by the large amount of what felt like refuse strewn about the floor. The stench was terrible. Those who break a wheel shouldn't complain if the spare one squeaks, she thought, a saying her father had told her many times.

Finally managing to hit the illumination switch—more by accident than design—the pale lights revealed what her nose had already suggested. Piles of junk and refuse littered the floor, coming to knee height in the deepest places. Dust sat heavy on the bulkhead support structures. Grime caked the dingy walls. Beowulf sniffed one of the piles and Tremmilly had to command him to return. “You don't know what nasties are in there, Beo. Leave off.” The wolf-dog looked disappointed, but returned to her side.

Carefully picking her way around the worst of the garbage, she stalked towards the command deck. That might be an overly grand name on a ship like this, she thought, trying not to breath too deeply. Upon entering the deck, she was glad to see garbage and refuse were absent from this area. It wasn't clean by anyone's standards, but at least it wasn't full of rotting whatever-they-weres.

Tremmilly sat in the captain's chair and tinkered with the ship's terminal, wondering if she could pilot the vessel on her own. The menus seemed easy, but she wondered if there was more to it. She tried to remember her trip to Noor-5, but she had been in the passenger compartment, unable to see what the captain had done. “No help there,” she said. She began navigating menus, hoping something would stand out. A file labeled “Checklist” caught her eye. She opened it. Scrolling down past headings for “In-System Travel”, “Worm Travel” and “Arrival”, she finally found “Departure”. Tremmilly began reading.