Chapter 4
In the days following Mila's bloody encounter with Ronan, she was transported to the lower decks with the rest of the ship's prisoners to do menial work in the bowels of the engine rooms. Although she had witnessed the enforcement of physical labor at the Kyln, she was not used to it herself. Great stamina was required even in the handling of certain heavy machinery, but the effort made her forget, for some blissful moments, what she had witnessed in the Kreean's presence.
She soon found there were many people, belonging to various races, who shared her predicament. The greatest part of them were Skrulls, whose shapeshifting abilities made it hard for her to pinpoint their original characteristics. They did not respond to her attempts at dialogue. Then there were the Sakaarans, who were constantly humiliated by having to obey orders from their own people, the Sakaaran guards. Mila had thought the latter would show pity to their brethren, but they only seemed crueller by degrees. The Sakaaran prisoners were, hence, naturally withdrawn. The friendliest prisoners were the Shi'ars, with whom she had managed to strike a conversation. They were majestic creatures, whose avian descent made their looks stand out considerably. As a race, they were known for their intelligence and meanness, but the Dark Aster had changed them. They worked the hardest and complained the least.
Mila had befriended one Shi'ar woman in particular, thanks to her ability to recognize that she was an aristocrat.
"How did you know that?" the woman had asked in astonishment.
"Your feather crest is triangular, a common feature among the nobility of the Aerie, the Shi'ar Empire."
"You are someone of learning, I gather."
"I'd hardly say so. I don't know many things about your culture, yet, Mistress Alyria."
The Shi'ar had greatly appreciated the respect and humility which the Nova Corps showed her. In return, she had helped Mila carry the carburettor packages assigned to her from the provisions pod to the engine rooms. Shi'ars could lift a ton in Xandar-like gravity, which came in handy for the nimble Nova.
Mila had told her about the Kyln and her previous work there.
"I used to look over prisoners. Now, I am one. I must admit, the reversal is not pleasant."
Alyria had commiserated. "On my planet, I was a financial advisor to one of the Three Aerie Councillors. I even worked under Majestrix Lilandra Neramani. Now, I carry waste and clean orbiter cylinders."
Both of them had fallen from grace.
Mila had never thought she would feel such empathy for the dead inmates of the Kyln. She had never dwelt too much on their everyday misery, but now she had ample time to do so. Still, in healthy Nova fashion, she did not let bad thoughts overwhelm her.
"We should form a system of support among the prisoners," she suggested. "We encouraged our inmates to consolidate relationships at the Kyln. It was beneficial to their morale and it formed a sense of community."
"Didn't that encourage prisoners to hatch plans of escape?" Alyria asked, bemused.
Mila shrugged. "They would have exercised their mental skills, but they could not have done anything else. The Kyln was impregnable."
That was, until the four oddballs had shown up and inadvertently led to the Kyln's destruction. Mila wondered almost daily where the ragtag group had escaped to, what they were doing, and whether they were still alive. Deep down, she did not want them to get caught by Ronan or anyone else. Although she should have resented them, she mostly felt curiosity and even a strange sense of kinship with the outsiders. She was one of them now, and though it was ludicrous, she sometimes dreamed of their arrival on the Dark Aster. She even imagined they would break her out.
Such thoughts were reserved for her sleepless nights. She could, in theory, come up with a plan of escape. The Dark Aster was not the Kyln. The flagship was pregnable.
With Alyria and other Shi'ars on her side, she could influence the rest of their faction to support her, and perhaps, in time, she could attract more followers to consolidate a movement. But earning the trust of non-Shi'ars was excessively hard, since her physiognomy and human features betrayed her Xandarian origins, and few wanted to be seen in the company of Ronan's most loathed race.
Still, desperate times made people forget about circumstantial details and she might, after all, convince them to join her, but at what cost? And could she fully trust the Shi'ars to stand by her side? She had only befriended a handful. What if they decided she was damaged goods?
She shared some of her concerns with Alyria as they were repairing anti-slosh baffles one afternoon, but the Shi'ar seemed reluctant.
"You want to...make a union among the prisoners?"
"You don't think it's possible?"
"I don't know, but I don't think it's advisable. My people are cunning diplomats by nature, but others, like the Skrulls, will simply bite your head off."
They put on their protective masks as the liquid hydrogen tanks started rattling and cryogenic lumps of LH2 were deposited into a tube and down the pipes leading to the rocket engines.
The blue, translucent sparks turned her thoughts towards her executioner. She shook her head, pressing on with her argument.
"A common goal would put these differences aside. We would have a group united by the desire to return home, the greatest incentive of all," Mila argued passionately.
"You're an idealist, like your people. But these things are easier said than done. If I were you, I would keep my head low and wait for the right opportunity," Alyria replied guardedly.
Mila could not tell her she did not have much time to wait. Ronan the Accuser was bent on teaching her a lesson and the more she stayed on the Dark Aster, the more prone she was to future encounters.
"What about making an opportunity for ourselves?"
"Only a madman would try to fight these Sakaaran guards," Alyria reasoned.
"We would not have to fight them...necessarily. There are other ways to destabilize a system."
Alyria smiled benevolently. "It's already destabilized. Or don't you know that the leader of this ship is a terrorist? What weapons could you use against him?"
Mila pretended ignorance. She did not want to acknowledge her fears in front of her ally, lest she seemed weak.
She had told no one of what she had seen Ronan do. To prevent recurring nightmares, she stayed up at night and exhausted herself with complicated Nova Corps policy issues in order to keep her mind busy. When sleep did claim victory, she would dream she was standing on the ashes of the Kyln, and he was there with her, waiting patiently with his hammer. The worst part was that she had to go to him to make the nightmare end. He would only move if she did. She had to submit herself to his punishment. The pain was like nothing she had ever felt. The metal came down upon her skin hard.
Bang!
The hammer would be soaked in her own blood.
And she would wake up shrieking, heart racing, temples throbbing.
"You don't sleep well, do you?" Alyria had remarked. "Luckily, we Shi'ars cannot dream. We are not infected by such a disease. In fact, we wiped it out a long time ago."
"How did you do that?"
"We purged our bloodlines. We suppressed the impulses. You should do the same if you wish to survive."
Mila wondered if it was better never to dream, than to dream of him.
He was in a foul mood. The meeting with Thanos had not gone well. Their encounters never did end in compromise, but this time, his anger had gotten the better of him. He had killed The Other, Thanos' trusted servant, engendering only the contempt of his master.
That is what he despised most about Thanos; his indifference. Nothing seemed to affect him, nothing seemed to provoke him, he was eternally bored and whichever way Ronan's quest turned out, he would be equally unimpressed. Thanos blamed him for all failures, and gave him no credit for any success.
"You have lost the Orb, not Gamora," he had told him with little consideration for the truth.
The Kreean knew he could not trust the Mad Titan, no more than he could trust the now traitorous Gamora, but until he was powerful enough to act on his own, he would need to prolong his allegiance, painful as it was.
And there was also Nebula. She was still under his command, but for how long?
"You don't have to worry about me," she had told him as they were riding back to the Dark Aster. "Until the Orb is found, I serve you."
"How can I trust that you will do so? How can I trust that you won't run like Gamora?"
"Because I hate my sister. I would never follow her path."
"I need proof of your loyalty," Ronan had insisted.
"You'll have it. My sister pities the Xandarians. I'll show you I don't. When you're done with that skinny little Nova, I will kill her myself, along with her people."
"Bring her to me when we arrive. It's time for a second lesson."
His mood might not improve, but it would be a welcome respite after his journey.
This would not be a failure. He was going to be merciless and in that way, he was going to be just. He had prepared two chairs, one for him and one for her. He would expose her to the truth of her race.
Mila's hair was still damp from the communal showers. She could feel the drops falling down her shoulder blades through the synthetic overalls she was made to wear. Gone for good were her Nova Corps sharp looks. She would have never allowed anyone to see her in such a bedraggled state. She looked too young and vulnerable without her spick uniform, her straight, tightly coiled coif and her shining Nova sigils and ensigns.
Now when she caught a glance of her reflection in the steel doors, she saw a young girl with dirty tangled curls, sallow skin and dark circles under her eyes.
But the Nova Creed did not survive in exterior endowments. It was a state of mind, an attitude that shielded her from madness. Unbreakable, that is what a Nova Corps was supposed to be.
Her heart surged in her chest when Nebula pushed her through the familiar corridors guarded by the insect-like Sakaarans. She tried speaking to her, asking her innocent questions to test the waters ("Was your trip auspicious?", "Have there been any complaints about my work?"), all the while knowing it was pointless. She was going to see Ronan again and, no amount of goodwill would prevent that. Nebula was stubbornly ignoring her every attempt. In fact, the Luphomoid acted as if she weren't there.
"I wonder if you would have disliked me so much had I been...well, not Xandarian."
Nebula wrinkled her nose in disgust. She finally spoke.
"I would've still hated you."
Mila smiled sadly. "Does this mean that you see beyond my race? That you just hate me? I'd take that over discrimination."
The Luphomoid scowled. "Shut it."
"I'm not trying to manipulate you –"
"Keep quiet."
"I only think you are more than you appear -"
She was on her back before she had time to finish her sentence. Nebula held a foot over her throat.
"The only thing preventing me from breaking that pretty Xandar neck is that I couldn't break it again."
Mila panted. "I don't believe you."
Nebula's eyebrows furrowed with rage.
"Try me."
"I don't believe you were made for violence," Mila continued, struggling to breathe. One hand coiled around Nebula's foot.
The Luphomoid stepped back as if burnt. Her black eyes mirrored her turmoil.
Mila raised herself on her elbows.
"I'm sorry I made you do that."
Nebula opened her mouth, but she seemed unable to respond. She could not understand what it was about this Nova Corps that confused her to such a degree. It made her sick and dizzy, a feeling that she thought had long been programmed out of her.
I'm sorry I made you do that. It didn't make sense. Why would she apologize for something she had not done?
Mila picked herself up and they continued walking in silence.
The large screen in front of her was a canvas of horrors. Mila was forced to watch without hope for relief. The Nova Corps had prepared her for enemy propaganda, but they had not prepared her for this.
She was confined to a chair and her head had been placed in a contraption that made it impossible for her to turn away. If she dared close her eyes, Ronan was nearby to discourage her.
He was sitting in the chair next to hers, a poisonous shadow waiting to attack, should she disobey. He was speaking with righteous satisfaction about the crimes of her people, while his hammer rested menacingly at his feet.
"There is your great civilization. Destroying Kreean outposts, setting fire to Kreean homes, dispossessing my people for their pleasure."
Mila swallowed thickly.
She recognized the Xandarian built of the soldiers on screen. They were shooting down a much weaker Kreean battalion that was trying to defend a village. She knew the protocol for such cases. The enemy footage was usually shown out of context and therefore, manipulated. Falling trap to such cheap ploys was beneath Xandarian thinking. And yet, his presence imbued the narrative with terror and she felt herself succumbing to it. The burning Kreean houses reminded her of the Kyln's ashes.
She watched as Nova Corps separated Kreean children from their families and embarked them on aircrafts en route to Xandar. She had heard of this practice before, but in the capital, it had been presented as a good and generous deed. Almost a duty. They were doing those children a service, taking them away from hostile war environments, providing security, rehabilitating them back into galactic society. They weren't slaughtering them, like Ronan did to Xandar younglings.
"And what happened to those children the Xandarians took from us years ago?" Ronan asked in a darkly humorous voice.
The next scene showed a mass exodus of all Xandar citizens of Kreean-descent. Some were resisting arrest, others submitted humbly, nodding their head in foreknowledge.
"That's not fair! We had to implement that measure after your terrorist attacks!" she blurted out, feeling a sharp pang of anger in her chest. "It was you who did this. Not us."
She could not see his face, but she felt his sharp fingers, digging into her hair, pushing her head forward.
"The more poison you speak, the harder it will be for you."
She yelped when he tugged painfully.
She had never deceived herself into thinking the Nova Corps were faultless. Their past was not stainless, but they were the ones who tried to fix their mistakes. They were repentant. Were others? Was he?
He let go of her, but her scalp felt like an open wound.
The screen had now changed and she was looking at a sumptuous feasting ceremony, taking place in a Kreean temple of worship. Mila recognized the famous religious outpost at the very edge of the Kreean empire. She had read about it in the Nova history books. It had been turned into a military camp by a group of Kreean radicals.
Mila watched in morbid fascination as the procession of important men and women, all dressed in silver robes, circled the temple, bearing blue sceptres and chanting an ancient-sounding song. Their alabaster heads shone ethereally in the cold rays of the Hala's artificial sun. The capital planet could be seen from miles away like a bright star in the yellow sky.
Right in the middle of this procession, she saw a young man turn and wave at the sky spasmodically.
"Look up!"
She did not recognize him at first, but then she heard Ronan's booming voice beside her.
"I was there when it started."
Mila froze. She only caught a glimpse of the young Ronan before the sky was invaded with aircrafts. He was just another Kreean in a crowd, nothing threatening or terrible about him. He stood out in height and built, but he wore no headgear, no black makeup. He was soon lost in the midst of hysteria and she could not make him out again. The only thing she remembered was the lost look in his eye.
The aircrafts were Nova Corps of Kyln design. Dozens of spiraulics, of the kind she herself had ridden on the night of the security breach, burst out of the crafts' mouths.
She was expecting to see fellow Corpsmen and women driving them, but she was shocked to find that they were packed with inmates. They all wore their prison uniforms. And they carried weapons.
"Wait. This isn't possible. No dispatch like this could have been approved. No prisoners are ever allowed off premises," she spoke mechanically, refusing to believe that what she saw was real.
Our past may not be stainless, but...we show remorse. We fix our mistakes, she repeated numbly in her head.
Ronan laughed a cold, sinister laugh.
"Your second lesson in persuasion, Xandarian. Everything you believe in is worthless. Everything you know is wrong."
Mila tried to wrench her head away, but she was stuck. Her muscles were crying out, but she could not move.
The prisoners shouted with happy rage and, disembarking their spiraulics, proceeded to shoot at the Kreean priests and priestesses.
"This - this is not our fault. We wouldn't teach them to do this," she mumbled, closing her eyes. "It must have been an accident. It's not - real."
"Open your eyes," Ronan spoke harshly.
"The Nova records would not write falsehoods. They would not tamper with facts. We have a duty to uphold. Please! This is a lie."
"Open them!"
She did, and she saw Kreean blood pooling on the steps of the temple.
"Do you know who foresaw this operation?"
Suddenly, the screen changed and she was looking at the Nova Prime, Irani Rael. Her mother. She was sitting down with two Kyln emissaries. She recognized them. Rhomann Dey and Denarian Saal. The two Nova Corpsmen she had looked up to ever since she had been transferred to the Kyln.
Corpsman Dey pointed at a piece of paper, lying on the table before them. Her mother signed her name at the bottom.
"No. No, this isn't right! Why are you showing me this? This is forgery. This is false! She would never do this! She would never condone this!" Mila expelled in a spasm.
Her outburst made her forget where she was. She grabbed hold of Ronan's gloved hand and squeezed hard.
He returned her grip and crushed her fingers inside his.
"Everything you believe in is worthless. Everything you know is wrong. And everyone you admire and love...is a murderer," he spoke in a chilling voice that made her blood stop in her veins.
He let go of her hand. Mila crumbled inside herself. Her mind was running in circles, trying to find the logic behind these images, trying to put the pieces back in order. The Nova thinking worked, you just had to talk your way through it, patiently. Isn't that what she always said?
He's wrong...these are lies...there is no proof...it can't be true. Our past isn't stainless, but...
"This is only the beginning. In time, you will beg me to end the misery your people. You will beg me to rid the Galaxy of their crimes."
Mila looked at her mother's calm face, the snow-white hair, the brilliant grey eyes. She knew it wasn't true. She wanted it not to be true.
The Nova Creed was good, the Nova Creed was kind.
Yet in the pit of her stomach, he had planted doubt.
The hair. It was a child's hair. Coarse damp curls and ringlets that did not belong on a Xandarian's head. A strange compulsion had made him want to touch it, to pull at it and see whether it falls. She may have lost her Nova garb, but she could not fool him. Beyond these layers of fragility lay a perverse creature.
He tugged at it, wrapping the locks around his knuckles, and dug his fingers into her scalp, feeling the pressure, the blood pounding inside her skull. A delicious warmth.
When he pulled his hand away, he saw beads of water on his glove.
And when she reached out and grabbed his hand, she wiped them away.
He gripped her hand tightly in his, feeling again that warmth; a small animal caught in a trap. After the lifeless encounter with Thanos, the pulse of dwindling life was almost intoxicating.
He released her before he broke her bones.
He wanted to break her spirit, first. He had already chipped away at it, but he wanted more.
A/N: Hello again. I'm sorry for the late update, I've been swamped with school. I was really floored by all your supportive reviews and comments, they were very helpful and constructive! Thanks to the anonymous reviewers Friendly Anon, HarleyQuinn (very true about the quote & thanks for checking weekly!), Yul, zoe24, Guest, Dancing Gypsy. Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed. Most of the names, places and characters are taken from the Marvel canon. I hope you like it!