4. Blood and Redemption



AKIMA WAS AFRAID TOO; afraid of what might be if the plan didn't work out right, if something should happen that might betray their current luck into catastrophe. Following Korso, she forced open the stiff door to the cockpit, coming face to face with two pilots.

"Get out," she ordered.

"What?"

"We're in control now," Korso repeated. He drew a firearm just like Rasz's. Akima hoped Korso wouldn't be as trigger-happy as he was. He pointed the gun to the pilot's head. "Get out before we kill you."

Both pilots got up from their seats, but Korso didn't keep his promise. As soon as they were out of the cockpit, he shot through the both of them, cutting their bodies like ribbons, before turning his attention to the controls.

"Akima, I'll fly the ship. You just make sure no one tries to create any trouble for us."

She didn't seem too happy. "I thought I was going to do the flying."

"You thought wrong," he said. "First, I'll have to change course."

Momentarily stunned from the drama that was unfolding on board, Cale only calmed down when he felt Andrei tapping his shoulder impatiently.

"Did you hear them?" he asked Cale, half-abashed, half-afraid. "They're going to kill all of us! So, what're we going to do?"

"Right," went Christel's voice from behind. It was filled with sarcasm. "They're not going to kill us. These are hijackers, Cale, psychologically unstable, with low self-esteem. You know what I think? They just said that to intimidate us. They want money, not just sudden death."

Cale found himself jolted back into reality. His resolve seemed usually strong today; it had been wounded by the threat of death, no doubt, but that familiar stubborn defiance took control of him. The blind panic faded, to be replaced by newfound determination. Unbidden, he pictured a girl in his mind: short hair, purple bangs streaked across her face, with deep almond eyes and a haunting stare. Unbidden, his hands contracted into balls.

"I'm not going to die today," he mumbled to himself. And even if he was, he was going to die kicking and screaming, head held high.

"That's the spirit!" exclaimed Christel. Andrei still looked confused and apprehensive. "Now, there's the three of us and five hijackers. How are we going to overpower them?"

So, communicating through hushed whispers, they planned an offensive to wrestle control of the ship from their attackers. Andrei had reluctantly agreed to join in; soon, Maxell and three others were prepared to fight as well. Like Cale, they were not going to plainly lie down and die. But halfway through their discussion, the entire shuttle shook; a strange force seemed to be pushing them to their right. By the time it ended, Andrei was the only one who knew what had happened.

"We're going back to Earth!" he said, and an echo of whispers broke out within the cabin. "They've turned! We going back!"

"Then we've got less time," went Christel. "We have to wait, wait until they're distracted. Right now, they're overconfident; we need to lead them into a false sense of security before we strike. Remember - the Mantrin first."

For some fifteen minutes they waited, patiently, their minds calculating and rehearsing their actions over and over again. Once again, while thinking about their attempt, Cale's mind began to wander. He suddenly became aware of what was at stake her: his freedom, his friends, his girlfriend and - most importantly - his life.

This shot has to work, he told himself. If you fail this chance, you die, and nobody wants to die, right? They won't hesitate to shoot you once you rise from that seat of yours.

Their patience paid off when shouting came again from the cabin up ahead.

"Korso's not here now, is he?" shouted a sneering, malicious voice. "He's busy in navigation. Which means I'm in control now! I decide who lives and who dies! So get out of my way!"

Ishaq's voice came to his Cale's ears, firm and unafraid. "Wrong. As long as Korso's alive, you will obey his orders. And if he finds out that you've been killing passengers for no reason, he's going to kill you."

"Come on, Ishaq! I've been waiting for this all my life! Pure control, absolute domination over these fucking Drej sympathizers!" his face floated into view as he backed against one of the seats, gun dangling in his hand, an insane smile across his face. "Who cares if I kill them now? They're all going to die anyway!"

"Wrong again, Rasz," Ishaq responded in a silent, calm voice. "I care. I'm not going to let you butcher people like this. It's time you realise that the world doesn't owe you a living. This is a mission, not a massacre."

The boy called Rasz approached Ishaq with his gun. "I'll say it for the last time: get out of my way!"

"Make me."

BANG. To everyone's horror, Rasz had opened fire, but Ishaq was faster. He had jumped out of the way, the blast of laser grazing his shoulder. This was the distraction they had been waiting for.

"NOW!" screamed Christel.

Cale leapt from his seat to his feet, and joined his classmates as they charged at their hijackers. Both Rasz and Ishaq looked at each other, surprised that their docile passengers had revolted. A struggle would unfold, Andrei leading the charge.

Cale's first instinct was to disarm Rasz. While Maxell's Akrennian strength would be handling the Mantrin with Christel, he was not strong enough; he only had speed and agility. As he neared Rasz he saw the boy in front of him recoil, then fall in a crumbling heap. Pouncing on his adversary, Cale reached for the gun; his hand touched metal, and he wrung it from his adversary's grasp.

With his right fist, he drove down powerfully into Rasz's petrified face, devoid of any emotion but shock; soon the warm flow of blood reached his knuckles, straining them painfully. Anger like he had never felt before was pumping through his veins. The person he was assaulting was not a boy, but a mimic of his God-dammed, wretched father. Still grimly hacking through Rasz's face, he felt someone land a blow to his exposed ribs, and he rolled to the ground in pain.

For a split second through the numbing pain he saw the scene before him: Rasz was bleeding profusely, face plastered with fresh blood; Ishaq had driven his blade through a classmates' back; Christel was on the ground too, her face contorted with spasms of agony as she clutched her right arm which was now a bloody stump; the huge Mantrin was reeling in pain, falling with Maxell still fighting on.

And his mind could only think of one question: why me? Why, after trying his hardest to be as normal as ever, did his father's last wish catch up with him?

The pain faded quickly and his first thought was to control possession of the forgotten firearm. He reached for it, clutching its metal dearly as if it was the only thing that could earn him the salvation of living; staggering, he rose to his feet. Ishaq had seen him - and Cale knew there was no stopping that bloodied blade.

In a moment of anguish, Cale felt the blade burst through his skin, gnawing through bone and flesh to appear on the other side. A searing pain shot through him like never before, and hollering he stumbled and spluttered spit and blood to the elegant green carpet filled his eyes. The pain was as deep as the wound in his side as he rolled aside, his eyes straining to open while his body fought helplessly for life.

So when Cale's eyes jerked open, and his vision blurred so that everything but Ishaq and the pain became distant and light to him, he knew that his burning anger was fuelling a response. His face was contorted like Christel's, but in hate and wrath; Ishaq seemed the only person he could see know, everything else was a distorted blast of light that kept his eyes open. Something made him raise his right arm, where the gun was perched, and press the trigger so hard that his single shot ripped through Ishaq's face.

When Cale's vision adjusted itself, the pain came back to him in full measure, bringing him down to his knees. There his eyes met Ishaq's face: mouth half-open, an expression of both surprise and fear written across his features. The rest of it had been torn apart in a gruesome mess or splattered with blood.

Someone came bursting through the cabin in front of him; the pain had blinded his sight and all he heard was a startled cry of bewilderment and another sound of a blade piercing flesh. This was a girl's voice, almost crying.

"You killed Ishaq!" she screamed. "WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO IT?"

His rage was turning him into a vicious monster; his eyes blurred once again, his pain the only thing he could feel, and his sense of hearing amplified that voice, that screaming, by a thousand times. His eyes burning with a maddening fury, he raised his arm once again, the gun weightless in his rage and gripped the imaginary trigger like a vice. There was a cry of pain, and underneath him the floor of the shuttle shook at another body crumpling to the ground.

And again his vision returned, the pain searing through him as if every nerve in his body was being bled to death. He bit his lips, his teeth ground against each other in anguish. Wailing like a child, he dragged himself to sit upright so that whatever pain was in his body could flow out with his blood.

With the opening of his eyes, he saw Akima, slumped on a wall opposite him, clutching her side like he was, in pain, suffering from the shot he had given her.

Even as the pain intensified, Cale couldn't bring himself to take his eyes away from hers. His face, which earlier had been full of malice and hate, was blank, shocked, half-fearful. Akima's body was being ripped by the spasms of agony that came with the pain of being shot; her hands were balled into fists to withstand the pain and her purple bangs were now sprayed across her face. Her eyes were no longer written with forcefulness like before, they were filled with controlled anger and grief. For a moment, her eyes darted off Cale to a point somewhere on his body: his right hand, the hand that was still clutching the gun. Guilt swept through him, and he released his iron grip on it.

There was a lengthy pause, where despite the sobs and whimpers of fellow passengers all these two young people could hear was an unnerving silence, screeching in their ears as if it was in as much pain as they were. A ray of distant, cold sunshine speared through a window and washed them in its ember glow - they were nearing Earth.

Cale, eyes closed in pain and scarred so badly that he knew that he was draining blood and life, forced himself to speak.

"I'm sorry," he murmured under his bated breath.

He couldn't find anything else to say - he had killed her friend and mortally wounded the girl who didn't even cut his throat with the switchblade that was lying inches away when his eyes were closed. She was bathed in the sweat of pain; her forehead was wet with it and she looked much worse off that him.

"Why did you do it?" she whispered.

"Because he would've killed me."

"No, I was wondering why you shot me."

Cale was at a loss for words. "Because you were going to kill me."

Akima gripped Cale's left knee as another jab of pain shot through her body. "I wouldn't. I don't kill decent people."

"But you are, aren't you."

It was Akima's turn to be at a loss for words. "Yeah, I know."

From their position, enemy facing enemy on the ground, they had a clear view of the sorry, hideous aftermath of the fight. Ishaq was slumped against a wall too, his brains strewn across the wall behind him. Christel was lying face down on the carpet, one arm shredded to ribbons and the other a foot away, blood all around her. Both the Mantrin and Maxell were spread-eagled on the floor, still breathing, but the thread of life so thin that it could hardly be felt. Andrei was folded messily across from Cale, his body nearly cut in half when Ishaq slashed through him, the windows nearby splashed with his blood. Rasz was still bleeding, motionless. Cale's other classmates were all strewn across the floor, twisted and broken, amidst other passengers who were too timid to retaliate and frightened more than anything else.

Akima turned her head in the direction of the sprawled Mantrin. "Stith? Stith, are you all right?"

Despite her calls, the Mantrin failed to move; they could see she was still breathing, by the gentle rise and fall of her bloodied chest. Cale twisted himself forcefully to glance at his two best friends. The first thing he saw was Andrei's face, frozen in pain and screaming, his half- closed eyes staring deep at an unknown horizon thousands of light years away. Christel wasn't moving, and it wasn't worth the effort to check if she was still all right. He would know the verdict: they were dead. His two closest friends were dead.

Akima managed to drag herself to Ishaq's limp body, yet she too knew what she'd find. She heard herself stifle a croak that might've contained tears; Ishaq and Stith were as good as dead - but wasn't that the gamble anyway? She found out that she didn't prepare herself for this guilty emotion of pain: her two closest friends, dead.

Staring at each other in silence, the Earth came up in full view from the nearby window. The Human Planet, with all its swirling wisps of cloudy white and its decorations of ocean blue and continental brown shone beautifully in the sunlight. Steadily, the realisation dawned on both Akima and Cale: they were going home, back to Earth, going to die on the soil they were born on and not some tin can in outer space.

Another rounds of pain came; excruciating, torturing Cale's body mercilessly. Bent backed, hacking blood from his mouth, he sat bolt upright, the pain maddening him. Akima could see the wild of that pain in his eyes - a pitiful, fruitless struggle against death.

Just as she was doing.

"Here," she said, her voice low and breathless. "Let me see what Ishaq did."

To Cale's surprise, she pushed herself beside him to examine his ghastly injury. She stretched out one bloody hand, gesturing him to remove his from the bruise. His side had been pierced badly, a yawning hole edging down to where his liver was, spluttering bursts of dark red blood.

He couldn't suppress the thoughts that were still playing in his mind. "What are you going to do with this ship?" he asked her.

Akima looked up at him. "What do you think?"

"You're going to blow us all up?"

"Something like that."

Curiosity got the better of him. "Why?"

"To make the Drej pay for all that they did to the human race."

"What did they do?"

At that moment, Akima slumped on the wall that Cale was leaning on, muttering: "Drej sympathizer."

"Why the hell do you call us that?" Cale demanded, raising his voice at her. "There's nothing wrong with the Drej!"

"Nothing wrong? That's all right for you because you've got a home, a nice job and a bright future under them that's why!" Akima rasped bitterly. "You don't know how it's like living as trash, people treating you like scraps of food waiting to rot and decompose. The Drej are responsible for all this. They dragged away my parents and killed the only mentors that I ever knew! All so that they can exploit our talent for their power-hungry desires."

"It's my father, right?" Cale said through clenched teeth. "If it weren't for Sam Tucker starting the human rebellion I wouldn't be bleeding like this, and you'd have a life! And all you did with yours was follow him."

"Shut up."

"You're cause doesn't justify killing humans as well."

"And does the Drej's?" she spat.

The entire shuttle jerked forward again, throwing both Akima and Cale painfully against their wall. Almost immediately after it gave a sudden lurch, speeding up. On either side of the shuttle turned a deep, burning red, surrounded by flames that were rapidly heating up the shuttle's protective hull. They were going so fast that the air in the Earth's atmosphere was rushing past them, screaming shrill in their ears, whistling loudly from the sealed windows and doors.

The temperature inside the cabin began to rise; passengers were beginning to cower in their seats for fear that the shuttle would erupt into a super-heated fireball and explode in the air. But for ten whole minutes, the air whistled in their ears, and the droning to the engines seemed to cease. Through the window, they could see a vast stretch of blue - the ocean - unfolding before the shuttle.

"We're back on Earth," someone muttered.

Cale and Akima looked at each other; both of them knew that it would be a matter of minutes before everything would come to an end. Their argument was long forgotten, now they were each pondering, thinking, for the last moment of their lives.

"Where this pilot taking us?" Cale questioned.

"A place called Singapore, the Drej's most developed city," she ran her hands over Cale's. "Don't worry, I'm prepared for this. It'll all be over in a matter of seconds."

"I'm not afraid," went Cale. "I'm just deep in regret for my life."

Regret, pain and anguish. All laid before their eyes; blocking the hideous illusion that was life in itself.

Soon the ocean gave way scattered fragments of land, interrupted by blocks of colours that could not be mistaken for ships. Then a massive patch of grey rose from the window. It was a metropolitan island, dotted with millions of skyscrapers stretching into the sky from below. It was bursting with buildings; its borders lined with dusty yellow coastline and the dark green of marshes near the city; thousands of docked ships were in the shimmering blue harbour below. From the window they could make out the endless asphalt roads, the concrete seawalls, the Singapore River and its tributaries winding their way past its historical district and the quays and the idle customers sitting in their posh cafés, a hundred miles below, all blissfully ignorant of the screech of impending death speeding towards them. Cale and Akima found both their eyes glancing in awe at the hundreds of dazzling colours beneath them, a jungle of human development mixed with the electric, icy blue of Drej installations, all ablaze in the midday sun. Singapore - the island state, the Lion City, their last destination.

In her mind, Akima knew the end was near. She was prepared for this death; it'll all be over in a matter of seconds, she repeated. But Cale wasn't; she could sense his fear taking over his pain, a pain that bent her body under its torment.

Turning her almond eyes away from her wound, she looked to Cale and feebly extended her hand.

"Hold it," she croaked. "Ishaq and I wanted to hold each other before we die, but he went before me. So now at least I'll be holding a decent person before I die."

Through the torment of pain, Cale couldn't suppress a weak grin. He grasped Akima's blood stained hand and with his last ounce of strength pulled her to him. She rested her head on his chest, coughing bitterly, eyes clamped shut from the pain. Right now, Cale couldn't care less what his actions were; he was going to die anyway, and since neither Christel or Andrei were around to support him, he guessed that dying in the company of the girl that had so suddenly changed his life would be good enough.

From the windows, they felt the shuttle turning, picking up speed as if to gain maximum thrust. Then they saw it - a towering column of blue and beige glass, extending from the far ground into the clouds, the tallest skyscraper they had ever seen. It was a human structure, massive with its touch of urban beauty. Cale had seen that tower before - the memory was now vague: in a hawker, talking with his dead friends, watching a television monitor, a report of friendly human and Drej ties and the Republic Plaza in the background. Akima remembered the sight too - when her dead friend had told her it was their target. Now, they had succeeded.

It would be a matter of seconds. Passengers were cowering behind their seats, some with their eyes closed, holding on tight to their loved ones on board, lost for words. The shuttle was plunging straight at those dashing blue windows, going to rip through the heart of Drej and human friendship. Cale looked to Akima, his hands trembling slightly; hers were steadfast and strong, holding tight to his.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah."

As they gripped each other's hands as hard as they could, a strange feeling overtook both of them. Just like before, their eyes went glazed, and in their mind experiences, now clear and assuring, played across their minds. Emotions, real and powerful, surged through them. They had been together - once - in a deep whirlwind of space and time - in a mystical phase of remembrance.

And Korso, in the cockpit, felt it too. He had been part of this three human gathering, which somehow shared an unusual bond that could never be broken. Created for a mission, successful for salvation, in a memory twisted into time, older than time and science and religion itself.

And even as the shuttle slammed into the building, and as Korso felt the rage of fire, force and glass break his body, he smiled. Strangely, he felt happy to leave his world behind.

And as the shuttle compressed, bending into furnaces of burning flame and suffocating air, Cale and Akima gripped each other's hands though this living hell. The last thing both of them saw was a scene, both of them gazing out of the sun-kissed ocean of a new Earth, their hearts gratified, victorious; their hands holding each other like they did in their last bittersweet moments while dwelling on that scene.

Fully regenerated.

Fully empowered.

Fully one.





1.1.1 THE END



Shelter thanks all who have taken their time to read. A review would be very much appreciated.