Episode 3: Fainthearted

Snow flurries whispered around Mark's shoes. Above, the statue of Captain Avatar towered over him. The courtyard lights illuminated the quiet darkness. He scuffed the cobblestones, hands in his pockets. Chill air curled around him like a phantom snake, biting through his white turtleneck and thin jacket.

His face stung with each icy flake's touch, but as he stood before the Heroes' Hill memorial, he couldn't bear to leave. Mark pulled out his comm. It weighed in his gloved hand, an anvil set atop parchment. The last message stared at him—from Wildstar. Mark's thumb hovered over the Call button. But doubt kept him from pressing it.

Mark's little brother slipped a hand into his. "It's getting really cold. Can we go home now?"

"Yeah…" Mark pocketed the comm. "Sure, Jordy." With a last, long look at the statue and grave markers, he ushered his brother down the hill to the wide parking area.

City lights glowed below, their vibrant colors lighting up the night. Mark checked the time. Only twenty-one hundred…

As Mark pulled out of the parking lot, a ship's engine roared overhead. "Look, Jordy. It's Andromeda." He pointed. "She's something, isn't she?"

"I guess." Jordy's eyes never left the row of short trees whizzing past. "The Argo's better. It beat the Gamilons and saved Earth. The Star Force is so brave. I told everyone at school how great you are. When I grow up, I want to be the Argo's engineer."

Pride swelled in Mark's chest. "I'm glad you remember, little brother."

"How could I forget?" said Jordy. "The Argo's a great ship! It's got a big heart. Not like that new ship. It's just a lot of shiny metal and pretty lights. I'm sick of hearing about it. The teachers at school talk about how Andromeda did this, and Andromeda is so great." Jordy stuck out his tongue. "Blech!"

Mark chuckled. "Yeah. I know what you mean." Derek's message bored into his brain again and Mark fought not to pull out his comm to read it again. He fidgeted, but didn't give in.

"The Argo's my favorite ship," Jordy declared and grinned as he presented the model he'd made last year. He smoothed the perfect hull.

"She's my favorite too," Mark said as they entered the city limits. The road domes warded off snow, and the white streetlights illuminated clean sidewalks and clear gutters.

Mark pulled into the apartment garage and parked.

Jordy flew his model Argo around the passenger's seat, making engine sounds.

A weight settled on Mark's heart as his brother played, heedless of anything that transpired outside the car. Mark reached for his comm. His hand itched to pull it out, but the instant he touched it, Jordy held out the model and gave Mark a toothy smile. "Here. Your turn. You get to be the navigator again."

Mark's heart skipped a beat, but he took the model.

Derek's message remained unanswered.


"It's twenty-one thirty, Derek," Nova protested as streetlights whipped past. A holographic road marker flashed. "This road leads to the old underground city."

Derek focused on the sparse traffic as he drove Nova's pale-rose pink convertible. "I know."

"Why are we going? No one will be down there. It's late."

"I… need to tell you something." Derek didn't look at her.

"Oh…" Nova whispered. "All right."

The rest of the short drive passed in silence.

Derek clicked the headlights up to high as the streetlamps thinned, growing farther and farther apart. He turned into a familiar complex and swung around to park in front of a building they both couldn't help but recognize, the old Earth Defense Force Headquarters. Derek turned off the car. After two seconds, the headlights flickered and blinked out, leaving them in complete darkness.

"Nova…" Derek forced aside the lump in his throat.

Her warm hand brushed his.

"I… I told everyone else already, but—" He sucked in a hard breath. "I wanted to tell you in person." He took Nova's hand. "I—we—the Star Force… is leaving." Derek waited for the catch in Nova's breath, the surprised gasp.

"I know," she said. "And I'm coming too."

"No!" Derek squeezed her hand.

Nova's in-car comm charger flicked on, casting a dim glow over the open cab.

"I want you here, safe, on Earth," said Derek.

"But that's not where I should be," said Nova, squeezing his hand back. "Every time I think about the woman I saw in that vision, something in me reaches out to her—something I haven't felt since I saw Starsha's message—before we left for Iscandar. I have to go with you—find out what's happening."

"But what about your post—your career?" Derek said.

Old fire surged in Nova's eyes, like embers reignited after a long smolder. "What about it? If doing the right thing means giving it up… then I will." Nova's hand tucked into his, like perfect puzzle pieces. "What's wrong?" Nova gripped Derek's hand a little tighter.

I can't lose you again… I can't. Images of Nova lying unconscious in the Argo's med bay after being shot in a crossfire seared his memory. "Promise me…" he whispered. "You won't put yourself in danger."

A thin sheen of light from the charger sparkled in her misting eyes. "I can't make that promise." A single tear tracked her cheek, a tiny droplet of light in the darkness.

Derek slowly nodded and touched her warm fingers to his forehead, like a knight swearing fealty to a queen in ages long past. "I won't let anything happen to you this time. Your life… means more to me than—" The rest of the words tangled.

"I know…" Nova whispered as he let go of her hand.

Those two words filled the cab, both a flood of promises, and a world of suffering.

"When do we leave?" she said.

Derek cleared his throat to focus. "Sandor and Orion will have the Argo's final launch prep done at oh-two-hundred."

"Let's get back," said Nova. "I'll put my things together."


Commander Charles Singleton logged off his computer for the night. He closed the pristine tablet and tucked it down into the shelf inset in the desk. The cover panel squeaked a little as he pulled it shut and locked it. His desk, the biggest in the building, sprawled twelve feet, nearly half the width of the office. Despite its grandeur, it lay empty except for a panel of communication channel selections and sparse personal trinkets: a picture of his granddaughter, Wendy, and a case displaying medals earned in his younger years.

Oh-one-twenty already… He stood. Winced. Why must everything ache with age? His arthritis screamed from both knees, lower back, and shoulders. Sweat trickled from his balding head and into his eyes. Though alone, he covered a yawn. Another meeting at eight hundred. His eyes drooped at the thought as he rounded the desk and shuffled toward the door and the promise of some sleep at home.

The instant he reached the door, General Stone barreled in. "Stubborn idiots! They're protesting the changes to the ship. I knew they wouldn't accept reassignments!"

"Calm down, Thomas." Charles rubbed his eyes. "Who's protesting?"

"The Star Force," Stone growled. "That insolent pup Wildstar did this—I know it. What are they going to do? Lock themselves in the ship until we give them what they want? Court martial the lot of them!" Stone stormed to the desk and tapped the option allowing him to reach the comm post downstairs. "Tell everyone aboard the Argo to disembark immediately!"

"Yes, sir," said the posted tech.

Charles focused on Stone's words, trying to ignore the pounding in his ears as he returned to the desk and sank into his chair. He retrieved the computer and logged in. A quick check of the Argo's dry dock security footage showed Stone was right. The ship bustled; men and women flooded aboard. Some examined gun placements, checked the outside hull, tested emergency doors. Charles crossed his arms and leaned into the chair.

When everyone hurried back inside the battleship, its power level spiked.

Stone's face grew redder every second.

The direct call icon on the desk lit up. Stone tapped it after the first blink.

"Commander Singleton," Derek Wildstar's voice filled the office, "and General Stone, we have no intention of leaving the Argo. No matter what the council says, these attacks were no coincidence. There's a threat to Earth's safety, and we must stop it."

Charles' fingers dug into his armrest, and Stone's face twisted in an outraged snarl.

"Lock them in!" Stone ordered the night shift tech. "They're not leaving."


Mark's chair sat empty beside Derek. According to the crew manifest, Mark hadn't checked in yet. Don't leave me to do this without your help, Venture. Derek leaned on his console, ears covered, eyes shut. He stole long, slow breaths. We've got to make it out before they shut us in. We've got to!

Where are you, Mark? Derek sat back in his chair. Who else would I get to fly this ship? No one knows her like you. He ran through a list of possible replacements, but no confident options rose.

"We need you," he whispered to the empty navigator's seat. "Earth needs you."


Mark sat on his bed. One thirty… He set his comm aside.

Only Jordy's slow breathing chased away the silence. The boy sprawled across the small room's second bed. One leg jutted from under the covers and hung part-way off the mattress, revealing a socked foot and spaceship print pajamas.

Mark shook his head. Ever since Jordy was old enough to walk, he insisted on following Mark everywhere. The boy's curiosity and untainted passion challenged Mark more than anything else in life. If only I could have your faith, little brother.

When Mark and the rest of the Star Force left for Iscandar, Jordy hadn't wavered. He insisted Mark would be back in time and that the Star Force would save the world. And he was right.

Jordy was the Argo's staunchest fan. He loved the TV documentaries, the models, and every story Mark told. His brother knew the crew list by heart and Mark caught him reciting it occasionally—usually just after some grand story from the Iscandar trip. But the thing Jordy loved most was the ship's engine. A few months ago—when the bulk of the Argo's original designs became declassified—Mark talked Sandor into getting Jordy some pictures and videos of the running engine.

When the Argo returned, Cosmo DNA in tow, Jordy was only eight. He'd be turning nine next week.

Mark's dark blue EDF uniform hung on his closet door, ready for tomorrow's shift—Earthside. Derek's summons seemed to peer at him from behind the perfectly pressed shirt and pants as if to say, "You know there's something else you need to do."

A maintenance drone swept by outside, scouring the new water and electric systems for problems. It's small, focused light brushed just inside the open blinds. Jordy's prized shard of Iscandarium glinted atop the boy's dresser.

Mark shoved his comm into one wide pocket of his sleep shorts. He picked up the colorful stone shard and sank to the floor, back to Jordy's dresser. The cold floor stung his bare feet as the chill air clung to his exposed arms and legs.

Within the depths of the alien stone, glimmers of gold flickered. Mark plopped the stone into his lap. The polished surface almost glowed with every memory of distant Iscandar and waned with the loss of every crewman who hadn't made it home. He clutched the shard so tight an edge bit his palm, but he barely registered the pain as he withdrew his comm and opened Derek's message one more time. "You don't need my help, Wildstar," he whispered with another glance toward the closet. "Let someone else do it this time." I've got to be here for my family. Everyone's gone through enough the past few years.

Mark shut his eyes against the phantom still lurking behind his uniform, beckoning him to answer Wildstar's summons. The funeral last year on Heroes' Hill came back—along with the names of everyone who'd earned a headstone that day.

The service ended, and each fallen member of the Star Force lay entombed atop the grassy hill overlooking the city. One extra headstone stood among the honored dead, Princess Astra of Iscandar, the woman who'd given her life so Earth could receive her sister's message of hope.

Mark trailed his family back to their car. His shoulders sagged more at each piece of cobbled path. Names stared up at him, one engraved in each six-inch stone.

Jordy's hand slipped into Mark's. "I'm glad you're okay, big brother."

"Yeah…" said Mark, "me too."

"I really like this crystal you gave me." Jordy held up the blue-green stone. "What's it called again?"

"Iscandarium," said Mark. "Queen Starsha gave it to me. She wanted you to have it—so you'd always remember the Argo's journey… and…" his eyes welled with tears as he passed over another friend's name, "… and how much we sacrificed to save Earth."

Jordy nodded and started reading the stone too. Half-way down the hill, Jordy said, "Would you do it again? If Earth was in danger, and needed help one more time, would you go?"

Mark stopped.

Another family passed them, weeping for their fallen daughter. Next came a young woman, fingering the gold band on her left hand as tears streamed down her face. Then, a boy four or five years younger than Jordy clutched his grandmother's hand and looked around like a lost puppy. "Where's Momma and Daddy? When are they coming back?"

"They can't come home, sweetie." The old woman stopped and hugged the boy close as she sobbed.

Jordy's eyes fixed on Mark. "I never want you to leave again, but…" He squeezed his brother's big hand. "You're a really great hero, and if everybody needs you…" Jordy motioned for Mark to come down to his eye-level.

Mark knelt.

"Promise me you'll help."

The boy's serious eyes gripped Mark, and he nodded. "I promise."

Mark sucked in a shaky breath and opened his eyes. Derek's message greeted him. "02:00."

The stone's colors swirled as it caught the moonlight. Sapphire and emerald split into equal halves for three short seconds before they melded into one inseparable whole again.

"You gave up everything too, didn't you, Starsha…" Mark whispered. "The price of offering us help was your sister's life, but both of you paid it, anyway." He stood on freezing feet and replaced the stone. One gentle toss, and his comm thumped onto the bed. Mark went straight to his closet where the standard-issue blues blocked his way. He threw them onto the bed and pulled the door open, careful not to wake Jordy with his shuffling. From the bottom of the closet, Mark pulled a plain gray case. He set it on top of his EDF uniform—now wrinkled—and popped the latch.

The green and white Star Force navigation corps uniforms looked up at him as if to say, "Been a long time, old friend." Mark withdrew one of the uniforms and grabbed the matching boots from the back of his closet. Quiet as a cat after a mouse, he changed and gathered his things.

Finally, ready to go, Mark stepped to Jordy's bedside and brushed the boy's hair from his eyes. "Bye, little brother," he whispered and tucked a piece of paper under the Iscandarium shard. "I'll see you again soon."

Jordy didn't stir as Mark slipped out.

At the other end of the hall, his father's light snore sneaked from under his parents' bedroom door. He lingered a moment and then slipped a note under the door.

Don't think too badly of us, Mom, Dad. They'll call us mutineers—traitors. Don't believe any of it.


An alarm blared as the water vents inside the dock locked shut.

"Sandor?!" Derek gritted his teeth. Not good. No vents, no water. No water, no launch.

"Working on it," Sandor, ship XO and science officer, said, bionic arms moving faster than Derek could track. "Overriding lock-down."

The nearest vent, twenty feet above the ship was clearly visible out the front viewport. Come on. Open! Derek leaned forward in his seat until the console jabbed his ribs. He gripped the chair arms so hard his fingers ached.

With a grinding wail, the stubborn metal vent leaves jerked open.

"Yes!" Derek pumped a fist in the air as water poured into the undersea dock. "Five minutes to launch," he announced throughout the ship after another quick check of the still unmanned navigation terminal.

The deck lurched at another loud clank. "What now…?" Derek looked to Sandor.

"They engaged the door locks. The water's getting in, but we won't be able to leave unless we tear through the exit door." Sandor pointed to the thick metal hatch that barred their path.

"Get it open," Derek said.

Sandor nodded. "Yes, Captain."

Captain… Derek froze a second as the responsibility attached to that title rolled over him. Outside, the water level rose above the bridge viewport. "Status on that door?"

"Almost there," Sandor replied. "Five seconds."

Derek tapped his console as the murky water closed over the ship like sand over an ancient desert ruin.

"Opening gantry locks," said Sandor.

A dozen groaning clanks released the ship, and the Argo floated free of her stabilizing clamps.

"Door opening in three—two—one—"

The iris door swirled out, leaving a trail of bubbles and a tiny cyclone as the water inside the dock whooshed into the wide tunnel leading to the ocean.

"Engage auxiliary engine," said Derek as he slipped into Mark's chair. Unfamiliar readouts stared at him like children testing a new teacher. He reached for the steering yoke.

A gloved hand settled over Derek's, and he jumped three inches out of the chair. "I'll take it from here, Wildstar."

"Mark!" Derek grinned. "I thought you weren't coming."

"Wouldn't miss it," replied Venture as he swiped away the water trailing down his face. Wet shoes slapped on the deck as Mark took his station.

"You swim here?" Derek quipped as he settled into his own familiar seat.

"Something like that." Mark's lopsided smirk said it was a long story. "All ahead, one-quarter speed."

"All head, a quarter speed," Orion echoed from his engineering station toward the back of the bridge.

Argo eased through the door, into the warm waters of the Western Pacific.

"Engage flywheel," Mark said.

"Flywheel is engaged," Orion echoed. "Main engine online and up to seventy percent power. Eighty, ninety, one hundred percent."

"Incoming missiles," Nova announced from the radar post.

"What?" Derek flew out of his seat. "We're not even out of the exit tunnel yet. They could bring this whole section of the complex down! Dash, take them out."

"Firing to intercept," said the gunnery chief. "Two missiles down."

The deck shuddered.

"What was that?" Derek whirled toward Nova.

"One missile attached to the hull," she replied.

"It didn't go off?" Derek's brow furrowed. Why didn't it go off?

"They're weighted," said Sandor. "Headquarters is trying to ground us. I can dislodge the weights by disrupting their magnetic field with a quick hull charge."

"Do it fast, or we're not making it out of here." Derek sat and pulled up the radar data.

"Three dozen more inbound," Nova said.

"On it!" said Dash, and his team shot down all but three of the weighted missile swarm.

Sandor grunted as the remaining three fastened to the hull. "They're shielded." He shook his head. "Looking for their shield frequency now."

Mark coaxed a little more speed from the engine and winced at his readouts. "We can't keep his up much longer."

"Twenty more incoming," said Nova.

"Sandor?" Derek glanced toward the science station.

"Almost—There!" Sandor cut through the missiles' shields and triggered the hull charge.

The Argo shot out of the tunnel, free of her burden.

The moment the bow broke the surface, Derek's heart skipped. Night—clear and peaceful—greeted them. Ocean waves splashed against the hull as the old resurrected battleship cut through the water. Each crest bid the Argo and her crew farewell as they left the surface and soared up into the welcoming stars.


"Captain Gideon." General Stone pressed his comm close to his ear. "Take Andromeda and go after those fools! They've stolen the Argo. Bring it back however you can—shoot it down if necessary."

Commander Charles Singleton leaned back in his chair, stomach churning with guilt as he let Stone give the order.

Stone hung up. "They think they can do whatever they want."

"I'm sure that isn't true," Charles defended.

"Then what are they doing, Commander? Their claims are ridiculous!" Stone leaned over Charles' desk, dark eyes clouded with stormy wrath.

"They're… doing what they have to," Charles met Stone's gaze.

"They won't make it past Jupiter," Stone growled. "Gideon will stop them." The General stomped out of the office.

Charles bowed his head and shut off his computer for the second time that night. Each one of Stone's furious steps still rang in the empty room.

He checked the time—two twenty-nine. Charles swallowed hard. I should've tried harder to sway the council—done more to prevent this. I never meant to force them into an impossible situation. I just want peace—quiet. That's all. But if I speak against the council, it could jeopardize my position. The last thing Earth needs right now is an upset in military leadership. And who would take my place? Thomas? He snorted at the thought of Stone leading the EDF. Every officer at Headquarters would be at Central Hospital for stress after a week. Charles pulled open a hidden bottom drawer. Still… I couldn't just do nothing… Printed reassignment orders for the Argo's crew cluttered the draw—every one, unsent.


Episode 3: Notes

Editing pass three completed 1/9/2021.

The title for Episode three was taken from Isaiah 7:1-7

"And it came to pass in the days of Ahaz the son of Jotham, the son of Uzziah, king of Judah, that Rezin the king of Syria, and Pekah the son of Remaliah, king of Israel, went up toward Jerusalem to war against it, but could not prevail against it.

And it was told the house of David, saying, Syria is confederate with Ephraim. And his heart was moved, and the heart of his people, as the trees of the wood are moved with the wind.

Then said the LORD unto Isaiah, Go forth now to meet Ahaz, thou, and Shearjashub they son, at the end of the conduit of the upper pool in the highway of the fuller's field;

And say unto him, Take heed, and be quiet; fear not, neither be fainthearted for the two tails of these smoking firebrands, for the fierce anger of Rezin with Syria, and the son of Remaliah.

Because Syria, Ephraim, and the son of Remaliah, have taken evil counsel against thee, saying,

Let us go up against Judah, and vex it, and let us make a breach therein for us, and set a king in the midst of it, even the son of Tabeal:

Thus saith the Lord GOD, It shall not stand, neither shall it come to pass.