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Marc was having a nightmare. He was standing upon the cliffs and looking down into the depths of the ocean below. He heard a rasp of metal, as of a sword being drawn behind him, but he couldn’t move – then the sea rippled, and he saw the face of Talitha, calling his name as if from a distance. There was a rush of footsteps behind him, and Talitha’s cry–
“No!” Marc tried to scream, but the wind tore it from his lungs and carried it far away, and still he was bound to the rock beneath his feet.
Talitha’s image vanished from his sight. He heard Aiyra weeping, and then the water began to rage below him. It opened into a gaping mouth, a whirlpool with depths of swirling colors like faded time –
Suddenly the cliff began to crumble, pitching him helplessly towards his grave.
“A’da! A’ma!” came a faint wail from behind him, but it was cut off when the pit prepared to swallow him -
“No! Talitha! AIYRA!”
Marc jolted upright, shaking and drenched in cold sweat. He looked wildly around at his surroundings, then realized that he was still in bed. The only light in the cabin was the moonlight reflecting off the water below, and the dim amethyst glow of the lights on his intercom and computer.
All was quiet. Marc breathed a sigh of relief and got up, pulling on his coat and boots. It was nearing midnight, the time he usually headed to the chapel in case he missed his morning prayers later. He slipped into Aiyra’s room, hoping he hadn’t woken her. He froze.
Something was wrong – both Aiyra’s bedroom door and the door to her cabin were ajar, and her bedsheets lay tangled on the floor.
He ran out into the corridor. His daughter was nowhere to be seen. The one place she was likely to be at this time of night was the chapel, and he was heading there already. He sprinted to the elevators.
Five minutes’ time found him peering into the chapel and realizing that Aiyra had not, in fact, headed to her favorite place on the Lumenara.
There was only one other obvious possibility: wherever Samantha was, Aiyra might be. Having not the faintest idea whether Samantha was asleep or working late, nor knowing where her cabin was, Marc started in the general direction of the engineering deck on the IT level. He might find her in one of the lobbies or recreation rooms.
All was still as he entered the deck. The lights were on, but dimmed. A few technicians were still monitoring the ship’s systems, but they did not notice him pass by.
Marc rounded a corner in the lobby and nearly crashed into Konstan. The boy’s eyes went wide with surprise.
“Oh, there you are, Captain –Aiyra’s with Samantha,” he called over his shoulder as he darted away.
“But where is-” Marc began, and muttered impatiently under his breath when he realized the boy was already out of earshot. He ran down the next passageway, lined with dorm rooms, and punched Samantha’s number into the nearest intercom. There was a crackle, and then Truitt’s voice came over.
“Yes, sir?”
“What, I want Samantha,” Marc replied in frustration.
“I’m here with her now, sir, and your daughter’s here, too.”
“Well, where’s ‘here’?” he demanded.
“Lobby #427, sir.”
Marc slammed his fist on the off button and winced as he heard a crunch of plastic.
“Those cheesy things,” he muttered, and sprinted to the next junction of corridors. He became confused by the numbering and room directions, and it took him nearly five minutes to figure out that the lobby he was looking for was located at the end of the first hall he had been in. He pushed open the frosted glass doors and stopped short.
Samantha was standing there, singing softly in the Almedran tongue, holding Aiyra in her arms; Aiyra was weeping, pale enough to have fainted. Truitt, who was standing nearby, motioned for the captain not to interrupt the song. It was well that he did not, for Aiyra quieted soon enough and noticed her father, reaching for him at once.
“Aiyra!” Marc breathed, pressing her shoulders. “Aiyra, what is it? Did you have a nightmare?”
She nodded, then shook her head.
“I was dreaming about working in the mines again, but then I heard A’ma calling,” she whispered. “I followed her voice, but I only found Samantha! Why didn’t A’ma stay?”
“Oh, my baby girl!” was all that Marc said, and he held her until her tears stopped coming. “You’ll be okay. . . your mother loves you. Even though you didn’t see her, you heard her voice. She must have had a reason for bringing you to Samantha, dear. Maybe because she’s the only woman friend you have, and perhaps she can help you heal better than I.”
Aiyra sighed and shook her head.
“You needed to see A’ma,” she said wearily. “Because you only had her for a little while, and I had her longer. And she is the only one who could heal you A’da.”
She straightened and carefully shook her curls over her shoulders. She looked for a second at Marc’s crucifix, which he had begun to wear openly.
“I will be alright now, A’da.”
Turning, the girl murmured a thank you to Samantha and Truitt. Konstan slipped back into the lobby, bearing one of the velvety blankets which were stocked throughout the ship for those on all-night shifts. He dropped it over Aiyra’s shoulders, murmuring comfortingly to her that he would walk with them upstairs, if it made her feel safe. She accepted, and Marc moved to follow them out.
“Captain!”
Samantha stepped forward, and Marc stopped as the door shut behind Konstan and Aiyra. Samantha hesitated. She looked different to Marc’s eyes; most likely due to the dress she wore, far more feminine than the uniforms of the day; it was a soft gown, the color of cherry blossoms, with beaded flowers. It might have suited her, had it not been for her troubled expression, which made it appear incongruous.
“I think she’s hiding something from you,” Samantha said quietly.
“Who, Aiyra?”
Nodding, Samantha added, “I know she’s been hiding at least some physical problems – I don’t know if she told you.”
When Marc shook his head, the engineer sighed.
“I told her she ought to tell you! So did Dr. Menendez. Something is causing Aiyra to swing from sweet and childlike one moment, to a strong, capable girl the next, and a frightened, melancholic one a moment later. It seems to me it’s linked to trauma.”
“You think that it’s something that happened to her,” Marc frowned. “Something which she hasn’t told us?”
Samantha nodded.
“I wouldn’t put anything past the Marauders! I’ve had more to do with them than you know, Captain. I might be able to help. . .”
She hesitated again. Marc had no idea that she was measuring his strength in aiding Aiyra’s problems to date; and that she was realizing that he was the only one she could trust, and that he trusted her.
Marc’s eyes softened.
“Your problem. . . ?”
The engineer smiled faintly and nodded.
“Tell me, Samantha,” Marc requested.
Reaching out, he gently took one of her hands in his.
“I’ll help you. Sit with Aiyra and I at breakfast; it’ll do both of you good. You can tell me everything, and then we’ll see if we can help Aiyra.”
Samantha looked almost relieved and thanked him. Marc turned to leave again, but Samantha’s hand lingered in his. Truitt pretended not to notice; Marc slipped out and found Konstan and Aiyra waiting for him. They rode the elevator in silence, with just the humming of the hydraulics keeping them company.
“Aiyra, is there anything you want to tell me?” Marc whispered at last. Aiyra, nearly asleep, stirred.
“Just one thing,” she mumbled. “I should have told you, A’da. . .” Marc looked down at his sleeping child and knew it would be a long night.
“Please don’t let it be much!” he breathed.
Morning finally came, but the day proved to be too busy for Samantha to join Marc and Aiyra at breakfast. The air conditioning system’s coolant was having problems again, which broke out in the worst places: the restaurants’ kitchens, the laundry facilities, and the aviary.
Konstan was absorbed with trying to keep his birds from overheating, while the restaurants were forced to forgo the usual hot breakfasts in favor of smoothies, cold bacon from last night’s BLT’s, and some sort of banana pie that no one could remember baking.
Breakfast – or the little there was of it – was interrupted before Marc could inquire of Aiyra just what she thought she should have told him. Someone accidentally rerouted all the water from the emergency sprinkler system, and the air conditioning vents all over the ship began to leak; unfortunately, whoever had designed the ship had not thought of avoiding placing vents over computers and other electronics. The ship’s data banks were half-deleted; thankfully, Marc had had the presence of mind to copy the most important files to his own computer.
He soon found himself shepherded down to the Lumenara’s computer room, where he teamed up with Samantha to attempt to transfer and restore all the files and missing data. Engineers and technicians darted in and out, until the air conditioning system was under control and they had to take on the task of fixing all the electronics that had been rained on. This left Marc and Samantha alone with the beeping, stalling computers.
Lights flashed as the systems tried to download and reabsorb the information. Several hours passed as Samantha strained her eyes, staring at the computer screen, trying to make sure that everything worked; Marc’s neck started to ache after many minutes of bending over a data console and downloading file after file. Eventually, the computer decided to begin doing its job, albeit at a molasses rate.
“Ms. Anselle,” Marc said at last.
“Mm.”
“I recall that we were to have a conversation this morning.”
“I - would rather not, sir, if that’s alright.. . . I don’t think I can tell you.”
There was a pause. Samantha wished she had never said she’d tell him.
Why did she have to freeze up? It was a terrible idea to talk about it! Now it looked terrible for her to change her mind.
The seconds ticked by as she felt Marc’s confused gaze while she gazed unseeingly at the computer screen.
Why was she doing this? She could trust Marc, she needed to tell someone – he was gentle and he could help her. Why didn’t she say something!
“Ms. Anselle, may I ask you an odd question?
“Mm.”
“….Do you love me?”
Samantha froze. On the verge of panic, she pretended to find something useful to do with her hands, but the computer needed no help at all. The seconds ticked by as she prayed for someone to interrupt the conversation, but no one came.
“Samantha, if you don’t answer, I’ll know what your answer is,” Marc reminded her gently.
“Oh, Captain, please, not right now – I’m trying to work!” came the flustered reply.
Marc gave up. He went and put his hands on her shoulders.
“Samantha, it’s alright! I’m not angry with you. I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just trying to solve our rather awkward relationship.”
Samantha almost laughed. “I suppose it is,” she admitted.
Marc sat down next to her.
“Look – just because I’ve been married before and happen to be – what, seven years older than you? Doesn’t mean that it’s odd for you to care for me, or for me to care for you.”
Samantha blinked, then blushed and got up to fiddle with the computer’s cords.
“Careful! Let’s not add to our workload,” Marc warned her just in time.
Samantha realized what she was doing and hastily dropped the cord, which would have snapped off the filing process at an inopportune moment. Marc gently caught her hands and pulled her away from the computer.
“Captain!” Samantha remonstrated, and tugged her hands away. “Please, don’t! I don’t want anyone to think wrongly of you. . . not that my idea of why would make sense.” She shook her head in frustration.
“Samantha, please, can’t you tell me what’s hurting you now? I want to be here for you the way I wasn’t allowed to be for Talitha.” Marc searched her green eyes, which were narrowing in a depth of anxiety that was familiar. “If you don’t want me to love you, I won’t; but you can’t ask me not to help you. Can you trust me?”
Samantha looked up at him. “I can trust you,” she whispered, “but I’m afraid to tell you!”
“You already told me it was regarding the Marauders,” Marc soothed her. “That hasn’t turned me away, has it?”
Samantha smiled faintly.
“If I tell you–you won’t think the same way about me, Captain. I – I don’t want that to change. And yet-” she shook her head. “I’ll tell you, if it will prove to you why you can’t love me!”
Marc’s patient expression read, good luck.
“A long time ago – eighteen years, just before Almedra was destroyed – I used to love sitting down by the lake near our village, alone. I shouldn’t have,” Samantha admitted. “My father used to warn me not to go too far alone because of the history with the slave trade. But I was always the kind of girl who wanted the freedom the world would not allow me to have. I finally learned my lesson.”
“What do you mean?” Marc inquired when the engineer stopped. Samantha shrugged helplessly.
“An old man and his grandson found my favorite place; I was drawing the lake at the time,” she remembered. “The boy’s grandfather was of a rather veiled, cruel sort, but the boy and I became friends. We met often by the lake after that, as he was on vacation. He told me that people had been hurting him; that no one loved him. I felt sorry for him, of course, and because I found him to be a good friend, I did what I could for him. But when the time came for him to leave for his home-”
She stopped again. It took some encouragement from Marc for her to continue.
The boy had run down to the lake to find her, but seeing that she wasn’t there, came to the village church - where he had never been before, and a fact which should have been a warning sign, Samantha noted.
He had told her that he was grateful for her friendship, and that he hoped that he would see her again; but it wasn’t too likely except for one thing.
Reaching up, he had pricked himself on the sword of St. Michael.
“And he proceeded to mark my forehead with the Marauder’s symbol,” Samantha murmured, staring at the floor as if she were feeling the mark all over again. “He was Medrhos, the heir to the slave empire. . . his grandfather wasn’t there on vacation, but as a scout to choose the Marauder’s next victims. It was shortly thereafter that our planet ended up being destroyed by the meteor.”
She looked up at Marc with pleading eyes.
“Can you understand now?” she begged him. “He promised to return and take me away, whether I wished to go or not; and anyone whom I love, or who loves me, will be in his way! He’ll do anything to them if he finds me! That is why I told you it would hurt you and Aiyra. You must pretend there is nothing but friendship between us, Captain. Please. . . he’s ruthless, unpredictable, and always two steps ahead. There’s nothing you could do.”
Marc gazed at her for a few seconds in silence. He reached out and gently brushed a loose lock of hair from her forehead and saw the faint scar on her brow, as though it had been burned in.
A rush of protective anger hit him. He wouldn’t let Samantha be taken the way Talitha was. So, this was the one he needed to save as Talitha had said.
“Oh, Samantha!” he whispered, and stooping, he kissed the scar as the girl burst into tears.
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