Towering above the dunes, two ships creaked in the wind. A Skybreaker, half buried, its wings blackened by fire. A Damavik, hull fractured, precariously balanced on its stern, its nose teetering skyward. The lone human constructs in the endless desert of a barren world, the ships were twin monuments to the battle in which they’d fallen — a battle not yet done.
EDENCOM Lieutenant Jarish Kovac kept his combat rifle raised and his enemy in his sights. His survival had been a miracle. The Skybreaker behind him had become a mausoleum filled with the bodies of those less fortunate. His crewmates, his friends, the crash had claimed them all. But not this thing that now stood before him.
It stood silhouetted against the red-purple light of the setting sun. Dark armor, a hood, and a face mask covered its body, the perfect image of the Triglavian menace from every briefing Jarish had ever attended. Its hands were empty, but a triple-pointed entropic dart hung in the air above its shoulder. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered that particular briefing. The words “slow and painful” loomed large in his memory. His finger moved into position over the rifle’s trigger.
“Give it up!” he called out, unsure if the enemy would even understand. “I’m broadcasting our location!” He jabbed at a pulsing light on his chest. “Any minute now a squadron of EDENCOM’s finest will be all over this rock! If you want to live, you best surrender now!”
The enemy cocked its head to one side.
“You don’t get it, do you? You’re my prisoner! And when they come…” He pointed to the cloudless sky as if summoning the wrath of an ancient god, “you will submit.”
“Stillness is hollow pravda. Within the flow, only direction is istina.”
“Stillness is hollow pravda. Within the flow, only direction is istina.”
“Stillness is hollow pravda. Within the flow, only direction is istina.”
As it spoke the enemy’s three voices cascaded over one another. One feminine and bold, another lively but mechanical, a third masculine and calm. Which of the three, he wondered, controlled its face beneath that mask?
“Is that a threat?” he shouted back, squinting against the stinging grains of sand as the wind whipped them up into his face, his finger tightening around the trigger. There was no response.
Hours passed, the dart pointing toward Jarish, Jarish’s finger hovering above the trigger. Behind the enemy the Damavik creaked and cracked, its great weight gently swinging in the breeze. Eventually, the sun slipped beneath the horizon, making way for a cold and bitter wind. Jarish felt it bite at him through his combat suit as the temperature plummeted. As night fell, the empty sky of Pochven came into view. Once, before the Triglavians claimed this region, uncountable stars would have shone down on this barren world. Now only thin lines of red broke the abyssal darkness. A darkness that covered the planet, rendering him almost blind. Jarish shivered. The enemy looked on.
Taking a deep breath he steadied himself, rubbing his arms in an instinctive attempt to retain warmth. Lowering his gun, he unclipped his canteen and took a sip.
“Narodnya stability is now-time priority. Exchange would lead to glorification.”
“Narodnya stability is now-time priority. Exchange would lead to glorification.”
“Narodnya stability is now-time priority. Exchange would lead to glorification.”
Jarish lifted his rifle back up, “Why the fuck would I care about your priorities?”
As it spoke the enemy raised its hand. Something flapped in the wind, a hooded jacket barely visible in the night. Jarish shivered once more.
“Oh, you want to trade? How civilized. I guess I’ll just come over there and let my guard down then huh?”
“Narodnya stability is now-time priority, not extirpation.”
“Our stability is now-time priority, not extirpation.”
“Narodnya stability is now-time priority, not extirpation.”
It was small, the break in their unison. Something human flanked by voices so practical. He almost didn’t hear it. If he had not, perhaps he would have chosen differently.
“We meet in the middle, no funny business.” He pointed to the spot between them. Slowly, the two edged towards one another. Jarish tossed his canteen ahead into the black. He heard it thud, and moments later the sound of cloth hitting the ground by his feet. Desperately he snatched the jacket, threw it over his shoulders, and clasped it tightly. He let out a sigh of relief. Across the dark, he heard the sound of pouring liquid.
And then the ship fell.
First came the thundering sound of cracking steel, then the shifting of sand. The Damavik began to fall, its great mass descending toward them with a sudden and violent force.
Jarish acted before he had a chance to think. The hood fell away from his head as he rushed forward, tackling the Triglavian and forcing them out of the way. Slamming into the dune, the two rolled downward, their fingers clasped around each other's arms in a desperate pull for survival.
With an earth-shaking crash, the ship collided with the ground, tossing waves of grit into the air. It began to roll, tumbling down the dunes, splashing and scattering sand as it went, hurtling towards the two survivors. Quickly they rose to their feet and side by side began to run. What lay ahead, how far they needed to move, these were unknowable under the abyssal sky. Each step was a leap of faith, a tiny prayer for salvation as the crushing weight of the great machine grew ever louder in their ears.
Finally, they were delivered in a rush of air as the Damavik rolled past, barely missing them. The two survivors collapsed to their knees. As they caught their breath a mighty crash rang out. The frigate had found its new equilibrium. They were alive.
Losing himself in the moment Jarish burst out laughing. At his side, the Triglavian joined in. Four voices united in relief. The Triglavian turned to face Jarish.
“Fitness has been proven.”
“Fitness has been proven.”
“Fitness has been proven.”
They slapped his back as they spoke. He was shocked by the familiarity of the gesture. Then the Triglavian stood up, facing the distant horizon.
“Direction has not.”
“Direction has not.”
“Direction has not.”
Jarish turned his head, facing the same way as the Triglavian. New lights had appeared in the night sky, three red points. EDENCOM ship engines burned blue.
He turned to face the Triglavian. The entropic dart was still poised above their shoulder. His combat rifle however had been lost to the desert the moment he rushed to save them. The beacon on his chest still pulsed, but it was only now that Jarish considered that only the victors of the battle above could intercept his broadcast.
The Triglavian stood before him, a hand outstretched.
“Poshlost require extirpation, but the flow grants glorification. Only direction is istina. What is yours?”
“Poshlost require extirpation, but the flow grants glorification. Only direction is istina. What is yours?”
“Poshlost require extirpation, but the flow grants glorification. Only direction is istina. What is yours?”
Jarish smiled and rose to his feet. He lunged forward. The dart’s tips ignited. The briefings had not exaggerated, the weapon was not kind. As pain crept over his body he fell into the arms of his enemy. Resting on the dunes above them one ship remained standing, a memorial to the fallen.