This Episode is dedicated to Ron Hamilton, who's been my voice for Derek Wildstar for 20 years.

On April 20th at 6:29 PM, Ron fell asleep in this world and woke in Eternity.

Episode 33: Power to the Faint

Derek led Trelaina into the Hydroponics Bay.

The deadline to leave Telezart loomed. Thankfully, the repair work was on-schedule, and their last significant fix was the main irrigation line for their supplemental vegetable plots. The line had burst during the encounter with the Gatlantean fleet. At least the system was designed to shut off at the first signs of leakage, to prevent water waste.

Tomato plants, lettuce patches, beans, carrots, and other vegetables were already suffering from lack of water. The sooner the irrigation system was repaired, the better chance they'd be able to salvage everything they'd already planted.

Over the past day and a half, Trelaina had performed dozens of repairs, and the strain of it showed in the shadows beneath her eyes, and the slight unsteadiness in her steps, but when Derek asked if she needed to rest, she'd insisted she didn't.

"Captain Wildstar." Lt. Hayden greeted him. "This way." She ushered Derek and Trelaina to a spot further inside before using her comm to show them a holographic diagram of the irrigation system. "It's right there." She pointed to a glowing red section of the schematic and tapped a boot on the floor. "We'll have to pull up half the deck plates in this section of the bay and dig through other piping and wiring to repair it. It'll take at least six hours. Unless… you can help." Hayden looked at Trelaina hopefully. "I wouldn't even have put this on the critical repairs list, but… according to KP, food stores are running low."

"Damaged refrigeration units costed us weeks of provisions," Derek agreed. "You were right to prioritize this. It won't replace what we've lost, but it will help."

Trelaina motioned Derek and Hayden several steps back. She held out both hands, palms toward the deck. The same golden glow as before flooded over her. It took a bit longer than it should have, but Trelaina's ethereal light sparked and filled the bay.

Hayden covered her eyes an instant before Derek did.

The whine of reshaping metal emanated through the floor, and the deck plates trembled just enough to make Derek think twice about moving.

In a few minutes, Trelaina's light subsided. "All is well," she said, even though Hayden couldn't understand her.

The Lieutenant opened a readout of the irrigation system as the whisper of water through pipes resumed, and the red section marked on the diagram faded to green. "Thank you." Hayden put her comm away. "My team is worn out. If we'd had to do another long repair today…" She glanced at the men and women assigned to Hydroponics. All appeared ready to drop from exhaustion. "Everything else we can work on once we're underway."

"Get some sleep," Derek said. "All of you. Launch isn't for another eight hours."

"But what if there's an emergency—"

"Don't worry, Lieutenant. You'll be notified if anything happens. I need an alert crew if we're going to make it out of here."

"Yes, Captain." Hayden relayed orders to the rest of her people, and Hydroponics emptied quickly.

In the ensuing minutes of quiet, browning plants regained a bit of their healthy green color.

"That's the last of it," Derek said. "My crew's handling the rest."

Trelaina faced him, but she swayed to one side.

Derek caught her arm to keep her from falling.

A chair peaked from behind a trellis covered with snap peas, and Derek escorted Trelaina to it.

The moment Trelaina sat, her glow flickered, and she took a startled breath.

Derek expected something to be wrong, but instead of pain or fear, wonder filled her eyes.

Opposite Trelaina was a small flower bed filled with daisies, carnations, day lilies, and other common Earth flowers. Their white, pink, orange, and yellow petals crinkled from lack of water, and several hung sideways on wilted stems, but none of that dimmed Trelaina's childlike joy.

Derek picked a white lily—the least battered flower in the bed—and brought it to Trelaina.

When she stared at the offering, Derek said, "It's for you."

With as much care as if she were accepting a baby bird, Trelaina took the lily. She studied each sad leaf and petal. "It… It is beautiful." She brushed the flower with one finger, and before Derek blinked, the flower had transformed into a glorious white bloom, more splendid than any lily he'd ever seen. She inhaled the flower's sweetness, and tears pricked her eyes.

As Trelaina whispered over the little flower, Derek's translator mediated.

"Giver of Life, Maker of Hope,

Fill me ever with this wonder.

Let my eyes behold Your glory,

My ears Your ever-present voice."

The cadence of each phrase reminded Derek of a lullaby.

Trelaina hid reddening cheeks behind the flower. "My apologies, Captain Wildstar. I am still used to being alone."

"No. Don't apologize," Derek said. "That was lovely."

Trelaina soothed her embarrassment with another brief draught of the lily's perfume. "It is a prayer my father taught me when I was very little—before the… catastrophe." She brushed a finger along one leaf. "It has been a century since I touched a flower. And we did not have ones like these." She smiled. "I will keep it as long as I live—to remember the remarkable people I have met aboard your ship."

"We'll never forget you either, Trelaina. You've done so much for us these last few days. And your warning about the Cometines will save so many lives." He hoped his words proved true. If they failed to launch tonight, they would all be dead. Trelaina had already bested one comet fortress, but that was a hundred years ago. Cometine technology was sure to have advanced. She'd promised to buy them time to get out of the area, but he didn't have the heart to ask what she planned to do.

"I am well now, Captain Wildstar." Trelaina stood unaided, if slowly. "It is time I returned to my home and fetched the storage cube I promised."

"Don't you want to rest a while? It's a long walk back."

She shook her head. "There is no time. I will retrieve the cube and then take my rest until the comet arrives. Then, I will make my stand. Do not fear, Captain Wildstar. I will do all within my power to ensure you and your crew have as much time as I can afford. You will escape this place. I promise it. On my life." She laid what was supposed to be a reassuring hand on Derek's arm.

"Thank you," he said, even though her words were more troubling than comfort. "My crew and I—all of Earth—owe you an unpayable debt."

"It has been my honor," Trelaina said. "I will return as soon as I can." She headed for the entrance to the Hydroponics Bay, lily in hand.

Invidia planted false security footage and activated a sanitization field as soon as she made it back to her suite. All traces of Sabera's and Venik's DNA burned away in the field. To be doubly sure, she eased through the beam a second and third time. Blue light tingled her skin, expunging soil and microscopic plant cells from the gardens. Even the soles of her boots would be pristine after this.

She and Dyre had parted ways immediately upon leaving the gardens. By now, he'd be back in his quarters, taking the same—if not more—precautions.

If she were found out, her father would be furious, and she'd face prejudice from Sabera's supporters. An assassin or two might target her, but she'd weathered death threats before. If Dyre were discovered, he would be dead before morning, and he was too valuable an asset to lose.

The information network already buzzed with rumors about the attack on Sabera. Accounts varied so widely, the average Gatlantean citizen wouldn't know what was true.

A new headline popped into her media feed. Prime Minister Assaulted! Death Imminent!

She scoffed.

As much as she'd like to believe that, her sources in the Infirmary said Sabera was stable, but unconscious, and there was no way to predict when she'd wake.

Perhaps it was better this way. Sabera's supporters would be on-edge. And with Venik dead, they'd also be hyper-vigilant concerning personal safety, and political matters would be a secondary concern until the perpetrator was caught.

Once she convinced her father to avoid Telezart, she would permanently dispose of Sabera.

Inside her bedroom, Invidia prepared for sleep. Not that she would be getting much rest. If Sabera woke, she'd have to take immediate action. Her personal guards were paid well enough to out-strip any possible bribes, so she could trust them to keep out unwanteds, if only to ensure their accounts remained fat, but she would have to speak with her father before Sabera's supporters did. If she framed the story correctly it would ease her punishment. She couldn't let herself be relegated to quarters. She needed to be free to do whatever was necessary to stop the worldship from reaching Telezart.

Gatlantis was already uncomfortably close to the planet, but after last night's grutian weed incident, and tonight's attempt to kill Sabera, she needed a few hours sleep before trying to persuade her father to her point of view concerning the Diviner.

Hopefully when she woke, she'd hear of Sabera's demise from her sources.

She was ten feet from her bed when a too-thick shadow ghosted past her.

All but one of her knives were locked safely in their case. She drew the one she kept strapped to her thigh as the shadow stalked nearer, closing the distance between it and her.

An assassin? Here already?

She would have a not-so-pleasant conversation with her personal guards once this fool was dead. It would take hours to scrub the blood off her floor, and she'd have to sleep in another room to keep from inhaling the lingering fumes. Though the heady scent of blood might be worth the trouble.

Three feet from her bed, Invidia turned on the shadow and jabbed the blade toward its chest.

Instead of the satisfying hammer of blade through flesh, Invidia's hand stung as her attacker knocked the knife from her grip with a backhanded swat. An instant later, she was pinned atop her bed, staring into Deun of Gamilon's ash-green eyes.

"You're not supposed to be here," Invidia hissed before she twisted free and shoved him away. "You said you'd stay aboard the Original ship."

Sabera turned on a single light. By its drab glow, Deun's skin was more gray than blue, and weeks of red-gold stubble left a shadow across his chin and jaw.

"And you reek." Invidia brushed a wrinkle from her sleeve.

"My apologies, princess. That pilot you sent to spy on me was idiot enough to get caught. To make matters worse, he mentioned the virus you gave me. I had to kill him before the Originals learned anything useful, but they discovered my ruse anyway and jailed me." Deun poured himself a drink and savored each sip. "It's been far too long." He helped himself to a second and third drink.

Invidia snatched the decanter away before he could empty it. "Since you're here, I assume you brought information." She extended an open palm.

Deun pulled a data crystal from one pocket, but he didn't surrender it. "You know my fee." The corner of his lips tipped upward as he appraised her with an intense stare.

"I pay you in standard currency, so keep your eyes in your head." Invidia snatched the crystal out of his hand. "Besides, I've far more interest in your brother than in you."

Bitterness filled Deun's curt laugh.

Invidia knew little of the brothers' past, only that they'd warred for the throne of Gamilon and Deun had lost before being exiled, so a long-standing grudge was understandable.

She held up the crystal, and her comm implant scanned it. Detailed information about the Original ship populated her field of view. The ugly hulk still looked the same as it had in that image Desslok kept in his quarters while he'd lived aboard the worldship.

The three-dimensional rendering of the vessel rotated slowly on a vertical axis.

"It isn't much of a ship," she said. "Primitive design." She flicked the image so it twirled quicker than she could track. "Laughable really, as if they pulled a fishing boat into space."

Deun took a full wine bottle from her liquor stores.

Invidia frowned as he opened it without asking.

Deun sat on her couch, bottle in hand. "According to my research, the Originals were desperate during the war with Gamilon, so they resurrected a ship that once fought in an ancient maritime war. Ridiculous, isn't it? But my time aboard their ship wasn't for nothing. The Dark One virus is still in their computer system. They think they've isolated it." He pulled his comm from another hidden pocket. "They're wrong. And now that I'm free of them, I can re-activate it whenever I like without having to worry about going up in flames alongside them." He set the partially empty wine bottle on the low table in front of the couch and leaned back to look at the ceiling. "They're so simple. I'm surprised my brother gives them a second thought. Though I suppose he never could let anything go. The crown, that Iscandarian woman, this ship." He laughed bitterly. "His obsession killed him once, and it'll do it again." He sat straight. "My only regret is he didn't stay dead the first time. Your physicians ought to be flogged for bringing him back."

Invidia poured herself a drink from the rescued decanter. "It wasn't us who revived him." She enjoyed the first drink she'd taken in a full day. "One moment he was dead. The next, he was alive."

"But you said—"

"I said he died and stubbornly came back. I said nothing of who was responsible."

Deun stood, almost knocking the table. "If I'd been there, I'd have ensured he'd breathed his last. He's done nothing but shame me. I'll have his heart for a trophy, even if I have to cut it from his chest myself."

"My father put his blessing on your brother, I'm afraid. If you decide to go after him, you won't get any support from Gatlantis. At least, not officially." Invidia opened schematics and reports on the Originals' engine design. "They have an Iscandarian core." She raised a brow.

"A gift from the illustrious queen." Deun's tone turned poisonous.

"Another of your old grudges?"

"Let's say my brother and I used to have similar taste in women. But while he remains fixated on someone he can never have, I've chosen to pursue… other options." He watched Invidia's every breath with such raw, unmasked intent she almost gave in.

She closed the collected files concerning the Original ship. "You still reek. Wash off that odor and listen at the door to my suite. If anyone comes inquiring about the Prime Minister and my guards can't get them to go away, dispose of them."

Deun approached her. "So you've finally done something about that little vendetta of yours against Sabera." His arm snaked around her waist, and he pulled her against him. "I'm impressed." His lips brushed her ear. "Let it never be said Gatlantis' princess isn't a woman of action." He stepped back and headed for the door to Invidia's private bathroom.

He set the door to remain open.

Invidia slipped beneath her opulent blankets, but the bed was cold, and thoughts of Sabera ran unchecked.

A cloud of steam rolled out of the bathroom, warming the bedroom, and tempting Invidia to walk through that open door.

Deun was tactless and cruel, but he might chase away her cares, at least for a while.

After a few minutes, she pushed the blanket aside and crossed the room.

Desslok hadn't closed the ETA readout since the flagship completed its warp an hour ago. The Eratites' last known location was Telezart. By all reports, they'd be grounded until Gatlantis reached the planet, and despite his need for revenge on the Eratites, he didn't want to be in the vicinity when Gatlantis neared Telezart.

He had read damage reports from Indrisian after Trelaina crippled it a century ago. If she could inflict that much damage then, what level of destruction could she unleash now? Facing Trelaina was a foolish choice, but Zordar lived for the thrill of battle, and he hadn't encountered a true challenge since they fought the Enrithali last year. And any choice that didn't put Desslok or his people in danger was of no concern to him.

Besides, Trelaina was his blood, and he had no desire to stand in battle against kin—even distant ones—who had done him no wrong, so he would wait—see if the Eratites escaped Zordar's coming assault. Until then, he had other business to attend to.

He checked the readout again. They'd reach their destination in another hour.

Masterson stood beside him, and the man's nervous shuffling worsened as the clock neared zero.

Desslok hadn't told anyone where they were headed, and he'd kept reports of the Eratites' whereabouts to himself, so Masterson undoubtedly assumed they were going into battle against the Eratite ship. But in accordance with their agreement, Masterson hadn't mentioned the Eratites and hadn't tried to undermine him again.

No one on the bridge spoke until radar announced, "Wreckage ten thousand megameters ahead."

"Steady on course," Desslok ordered. His hands itched beneath his black gloves, and the scar on his chest burned. He'd never wanted to see this place again, but when he'd learned the Gatlantean recovery team hadn't searched the wreck, he knew he'd have to come back.

When they were within visual range, two bridge crew covered gasps, but the rest stared in silence at the shredded remains of Imperator, Desslok's former flagship. Several of this crew had been evacuated from the old flagship before the Eratites drove it through the wall of Gehenna's Bridge—the most unstable jump gate in the Aquarius Network.

Desslok broke the silence. "Ready the shuttle."

When he left the bridge, Masterson hurried after him, barely keeping pace, and as they donned EVA suits, Desslok considered ordering Masterson to stay aboard ship, but part of him was glad not to return to this place alone.

The shuttle's cramped airlock opened, allowing Desslok and Masterson into Imperator's ruins. Chunks of bulkhead floated in clusters, and only the front half of the ship was here. The rest was lost to the endless Gate corridors.

What he'd come for was in his old quarters.

Desslok wove through the maze of destroyed metal. Every section of ship he passed brought back the screams of his officers. Krypt was crushed beneath rubble. Comms flew through the front viewport before the emergency panels closed. Debris ripped Radar in half and impaled Weapons. Tactical… exsanguinated after losing his legs.

Each of their agonized shrieks speared him as he followed the rest of the ship's main corridor to his old quarters. If he hadn't made them stay—sent them away like the enlisted crew—perhaps they'd still be alive.

The door to Desslok's quarters only moved a few inches when he triggered the manual override, so he pointed Masterson to the lever before wedging his arm against the stubborn door.

He braced a boot against the doorframe and pushed until the door ground into his shoulder and side. His chest ached, but he refused to stop until the door gave. He rubbed the irritated scar until his discomfort eased.

"Stay here, Talan." Desslok stepped into the room. Most of the furniture was still here. The only exceptions were items that hadn't been secured to the deck, or things ripped apart when explosions tore through the ship. Half the couch was gone, and a decorative table was missing two legs and a third of its top. Scorch marks desecrated each mangled object.

He ventured into the bedroom, out of sight of the door.

Those months he'd spent aboard this ship pursuing the Eratites were one indistinct blur. Revenge and hatred had kept him from thinking of little else, and when he'd finally caught them, he'd erred in judgement more than once in his desperation to see them pay for what they'd done to his Gamilon.

He still owed them retribution. They deserved it for all the lives they'd taken or destroyed.

Desslok rifled every drawer in the room, fueled by hatred for the Eratites. The ache in his chest returned, growing until his healed scar was a line of fire. He grasped for it, trying to force the pain into submission, but with his suit walling off the scar, he was powerless.

There was fire. So much fire the day he died.

The temperature inside his suit should have been self-regulating, but it was far too high. Settings read normal, but they had to be wrong. He wanted to rip the suit off—let the cold of space wash over him. But that would kill him again, and he wouldn't voluntarily walk through death a second time.

Memories of black fire—the grip of chains—unbearable darkness—the agony of needing hope but knowing it no longer existed for him.

But then something tore away the chains and pulled him out of the darkness.

He had to get out of here—find what he needed and leave.

He'd flung every drawer's contents around the room, and it all floated in slowly dispersing clouds, but what he was looking for wasn't here.

There was one more place he might have put it.

As the temperature inside his suit remained stubbornly hot, he shoved his old bed away from the wall and found the hidden compartment he'd only used a handful of times.

It popped open, and inside lay the Iscandarian Interface Starsha gave him years ago. He retrieved the white glove. Glittering particles of Iscandarium laced the fabric. If only his suit hadn't prevented him from putting it on.

The pain in his chest subsided, and the temperature in his suit returned to normal as he tucked the Interface safely into a storage pocket.

He returned to the forced door. "We're finished here," he said as he passed Masterson and headed straight for the shuttle.

Data storage cube in hand, Trelaina returned to the Argo an hour later. Instead of entering via the hangar, she took a narrow access stair, deployed along the ship's port stern. A quarter of the way up, she stopped using the steps and floated just above the stairs until she reached the top. Even though the stairs weren't wide enough for both her and Arach to stand side by side, the angel hovered beside her, one foot hanging off the side of the railed stairs.

When she stepped inside the Argo, one of the young men who'd found her inside the mountain greeted her. His green and white uniform was sweat-stained, and the brown gloves he wore had dirt smudged across both palms. But there was no mistaking his dark, curly hair and kind, if tired, smile.

"Mark Venture?" Trelaina said, glad she'd so easily found someone Captain Wildstar had given a translator.

"You remember all your guests' names? Or am I just a special case?" Mark said.

"I receive so few visitors, it is easy to recall." She returned his smile. "Besides you, your captain, and your fellow crew, I have only had four other visitors in the past hundred years—all of them within the last six months."

Arach's comfortable presence prompted her to re-count.

"Well, perhaps six is more accurate." She held up the storage cube to change the subject. "Where might I find your captain?"

Mark checked his comm. "He just went off rotation. He'll be headed to crew quarters. We can meet him there if you like."

"Yes, thank you."

Mark fell in step beside her as they navigated toward their destination. "I… didn't know you were coming back."

"Had I not promised this to Captain Wildstar, I would not have." She indicated the storage cube. "It is a copy of what remains of the Telzarti network. Your computers could not contain it, so I offered this instead. Telezart has no more use for this knowledge, but someone should benefit from it, so I offer it to you. When your Sandor is fully recovered, he will undoubtedly investigate. He woke late yesterday, didn't he?"

Mark nodded. "He did. Right after we all finally recovered from Patel's… revival. I still can't believe Dr. Sane didn't realize he was still alive." The look of bafflement on his face melted as he continued. "Sandor still has so much data, video, and audio logs to go through from our trip to Iscandar, but once he sees this, he's going to wish he had a clone—or ten."

"Iscandar?" Trelaina stopped in the middle of the corridor.

"Yes, we had to go there year before last. Gamilon bombed Earth so badly the whole surface was unlivable. Queen Starsha offered us a machine that restored the planet. It took the better part of a year to completely fix everything, but it was amazing. If I believed in miracles, I'd have called that one."

When Trelaina thought she might lose her balance, Arach bolstered her strength. "You—you've been to Iscandar… You've met Starsha—daughter of Kara and Alexander?"

"I'm not sure of her parents' names," Mark said. "Are you all right?" He offered her a steadying arm, and she took it.

"I only recently learned of the plague that riddled Iscandar some thirteen years ago. Before that, I knew of Starsha and her sisters, even attempted to convey a message to them via a passing ship, but none wish to visit a dead world, so my message went undelivered. I am glad to know she survived that plague, but perhaps it was self-serving of me to attempt to contact her."

"Sending a message to a group of strangers is a little out of the ordinary, but I wouldn't call it self-serving. You did the same for us, and I think I speak for the rest of the crew in saying we're glad you did."

"But Starsha and her sisters are not strangers, Mark Venture. They are my blood."

"H-how?"

"It is a distant link," Trelaina said. "My biological mother was also parent to one of the Iscandarian queens of old."

"That… explains a lot," Mark's startled expression shifted to curiosity. "When I first saw you, I thought you resembled Starsha of Iscandar. Now I know why. I'm just surprised the similarities are still so strong generations later." Mark took out his comm. "I… don't know if we'll have opportunity to meet Queen Starsha again, but we might be able to get your message to her."

Trelaina glanced at Arach, but he made no protest. "I would be in your debt." She tapped her translator, and a copy of the message she'd tried to send to Iscandar several years ago downloaded onto Mark's device.

"You could deliver it yourself." Mark's face turned hopeful. "You could come back to Earth with us, aboard the Argo. I'm sure Wildstar would be glad to have you aboard. After all you've done, it's only right we help you get out of this place."

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that." She held his gaze, even when disappointment filled his face. "It would be far too dangerous for me to accompany you back to Earth. It is hazardous enough to be aboard your ship. With my father's rings, I have far more control over my abilities than I once did, but I am no master of my gifts, and should they become volatile, as they did a century past, I would be putting all of Origin at risk. I am not prepared to do that." She loosened her grip on Mark's arm, and would have let him go, but he pulled off a dirtied glove and laid his hand over hers.

"There has to be something we can do—a way to contain your abilities."

How often she'd wished this were true—had begged her father to stifle her power even as every other scientist on Telezart looked for a way to magnify it. Every time she'd pleaded with him to take her abilities away, her father had said, "You are who Shaddai meant you to be." Not once had she understood that assertion until this ship arrived.

"No, Mark Venture," Trelaina said. "I don't believe that can, or should, be done." She started down the hall again.

Mark stayed at her side. "Think of all the good you could do for Earth. We're still rebuilding from the war with Gamilon. You could help us complete reconstruction, finish our defense fleets, colonize other worlds, ship resources from outside the solar system. You'd be like an angel to Earth."

Arach flickered into view beside Trelaina, and the look of amusement on his face prompted her to laugh quietly. "I'm sorry. I do not mean to be discourteous, but if you had seen a messenger of Shaddai, you might not make that comparison. They and I have very little in common."

Mark didn't pursue the topic.

Arach walked behind them as they turned a series of corners and ascended one level before reaching their destination just as Captain Wildstar arrived.

"I've brought this as promised." Trelaina stepped away from Mark and handed the storage cube to the captain. "Use it as you see fit."

"Thank you," said Captain Wildstar.

"Now, I must go. I pray Shaddai we meet again in this life, but if we should not, I will see you again in Shaddai's Realm, Captain Wildstar." To Mark she nodded farewell.

As much as she wished she could spend more time amongst the Argo's crew, Gatlantis' impending arrival didn't allow it. She needed to rest, and then it would be time to prepare for battle.

Starsha stepped into her apartments just as her communicator let her know she had a new message.

Masterson and Desslok had escaped Gatlantis and were aboard Desslok's new flagship, and everyone was all right, including a mother and daughter they'd rescued during their flight from the comet fortress.

She whispered a prayer of thanks as she pocketed the communicator.

Across the room, Adrianna's seeds waited to sprout. The small pot they occupied hung a few feet away from the sprawling window to allow plenty of sun. If only there were a way to quicken her rejuvenation, but conventional growth accelerants weren't compatible with Jeshurunian biology.

Despite receiving good news from Masterson, Starsha couldn't dispel the deep sense of foreboding that had overshadowed her since learning of the Mazone and the Living. Every footstep seemed to echo slightly longer than it should have—as if the ground beneath her feet was being chipped away by invisible claws.

Whatever lay buried beneath the palace, if it threatened those she'd promised to protect, she had to stop it. The people of Gamilon had suffered enough, and Iscandar had seen too much death in the past fifteen years. If she could prevent any more casualties, she would.

Starsha stood beneath Adrianna's buried seeds. "Please, wake up soon, my friend. I need your help."

Derek set Trelaina's data storage cube on his bunk. Once Trelaina left, Mark had followed her to make sure she found her way off the ship. He hadn't said a word to Derek in weeks, outside of duty-related exchanges—hadn't even looked at him, and over the past few days, with the crew's grueling repair schedule, Derek hadn't been able to make an opportunity to talk to Mark either. Once they launched, he hoped there would be more time to set things right.

Now that all critical repairs were done, nothing separated Derek from a long, well-deserved sleep. But he needed to see Nova first.

He leaned against the metal post holding up the top bunk and shut his eyes, trying to rehearse what he wanted to say when he got to the infirmary, but instead of the words he was looking for, his own reply to Dash's accusation of a day and a half ago invaded.

"I'm not the man I used to be." He whispered it, and the words took hold of him, as if speaking them again had given them life. He couldn't explain how the change occurred, or why it left him with this quiet knowing that everything was different now. But there was still something off—something that didn't quite fit with who he'd become over these past weeks.

Derek went to the small sink and mirror at the back of the room. The same unruly brown hair he'd had for the past decade surrounded his face, obscuring both ears and half of one eye.

He swept his face clear, but within moments, his vision was compromised again.

This time, he ran a hand across his forehead and held back the encroaching tide of hair.

Experience and a deeper, steadier strength had replaced the angry fire that filled his eyes a year and a half ago.

As they returned from Iscandar, he'd often wondered how Captain Avatar dealt with knowing his death was imminent. Now, he understood. In his discussions with Alori over the past weeks, he'd learned things he'd never imagined possible. The first time Alori asserted death wasn't something to fear, Derek had laughed at him, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was true.

Death had no power over him anymore, and here on Telezart, with a comet fortress bearing down on them, he wasn't afraid. He was concerned for his crew, but he'd done everything he could for them. The rest was in God's hands.

Derek let his hair fall back into place, but the urge to clear his eyes remained.

Maybe it was time for another change—one that would afford him a second new perspective.

He opened his footlocker and searched the sparse personal possessions he'd brought from Earth until he found an old pair of scissors. His dad used them years ago, to cut Derek's hair when he was just a kid. The last haircut Derek had was a few days before his parents died. Growing out his hair had been a way of mourning that loss, and though the ache of his family's absence would always be there, he couldn't hold onto past grief forever. He had his brother Alex, back on Earth, his friends and mentors aboard ship… and he had Nova.

Derek took the scissors with him to the sink.

He made the first cut, and a lock of dark hair fell away from his eyes. With every cut, he exposed more of his face until his ears and neck were visible for the first time in over ten years. It wasn't a spectacular job, but it would do until he could recruit Dr. Sane to smooth out the ragged edges.

Cool air brushed his skin as he washed the cut hair down the drain and put the scissors away.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he left his quarters and headed for the med bay.

Instead of returning to the bridge, Desslok sent Masterson with orders to leave the area at best speed.

But Masterson followed him as he headed for his quarters. "Sire, shouldn't we search—"

"No, Talan. Go," Desslok snapped.

Masterson hesitated but obeyed.

When Desslok reached his quarters, he locked the door, took off his right glove, and put on the Iscandarian Interface. The white fabric glowed as it powered on.

He remembered the first time he'd worn the device, as a young man back on Gamilon. His only concern then had been reclaiming the throne. But when he'd discovered Starsha and Iscandar were also in grave danger, he'd determined to save them too. It was the first time he'd seen Starsha of Iscandar.

The night he'd met her was one of his clearest memories. They'd spoken via Interface, and he'd kept his identity secret, but she had announced herself with an understated confidence.* He hadn't seen her face in a year and a half, but she was undoubtedly just as beautiful as the night he'd promised to do all he could to protect her.

A holographic list of available Interface connections appeared. Starsha's still glowed green.

"Interface 4," he whispered.

"Interface 4 is available. Do you wish to connect?"

He wanted to say yes. But he couldn't manage that single, daunting syllable. If he contacted her, would she respond? She'd told him repeatedly that she didn't support his war against the Eratites, and her actions had contributed to his failure to secure a new homeworld—for Gamilon, but also for her. Perhaps her ideals were too different from his.

But not once had she rejected his calls, not even when he was hunting the Eratites.

"Do you wish to connect?" repeated the Interface.

He said nothing for the next four minutes as the device repeated the question every fifteen seconds. He wanted to see Starsha's face more than anything, but the thought of speaking with her again, of seeing the sadness in her eyes when she learned he'd renewed his hunt for the Eratites… He'd weathered Gehenna's Bridge, worked in cooperation with the Cometines, even stepped through death, but he couldn't endure another rejection from the woman he—

"No…" he said.

"Connection attempt terminated."

The finality in those words made the scar on his chest burn again.

He pulled off the Interface and flung it onto the couch.

The intense heat he'd experienced aboard his old flagship rolled over him again in a choking wave. He ripped off his collar of office and threw it beside the discarded Interface before letting his cape drop to the floor in a pool of black and crimson. His shirt he yanked off, but the left sleeve caught on the glove he still wore. He threw that aside too, adding to the growing pile on the couch.

He would have discarded the light gray undershirt, but when he had the hem partway up, the bottom half of the scar on his chest stared at him in the wide viewport on the other side of the room.

He sat down hard on the couch without taking off the undershirt. Sweat ringed his collar, and a damp patch clung to his back. The abandoned pieces of his uniform shifted toward the lip of the couch. His black glove hung off the edge, ready to fall.

Every breath was a struggle, and he gripped his chest hard enough to feel the raised scar through his shirt. The rippled skin gripped his hand. He wouldn't even have the scar if the Gatlantean physicians hadn't failed to save him. He'd seen the recordings. Once they'd removed the piece of viewport from his chest and controlled the bleeding wound, they'd used temporary measures to close it until they could stabilize him. When they failed to do that, they hadn't bothered with cosmetic concerns.

According to the one witness to his resurrection, his skin had knit together of its own accord, leaving him with a bold reminder of his death.

Other scars, from battles long past, ached now, reminding him that he had to survive—live—fight and never give up fighting, for his home, his people, himself.

The glove hanging off the edge of the couch fell to the floor as he bunched his discarded shirt in one hand. The thick fabric was cool, and it didn't hold wrinkles—an improvement made by the Gatlantean tailors.

His hand itched to put on the Iscandarian Interface again, and though he resisted the urge, he couldn't bring himself to walk away from it either.

As the burning in his chest slowly eased, he wished he'd had opportunity to destroy the Eratites at Gehenna's Bridge. It would have been so much easier—so much less… complicated. And he would be home now, helping his people rebuild. Instead, he sat alone, watching the stars pass and vainly trying to keep Starsha's face from flooding his mind.

A quiet chirp drew Starsha into her bedroom. She unlocked the Interface's drawer as the device chirped again. It had to be a malfunction. There were only two Interface units still functioning, hers and…

"Desslok?" She quickly donned the Interface. Unit 3's status was green for the first time in almost two years, and when the device asked her for connection information, she almost answered, but in that instant, every ounce of courage abandoned her. Masterson had said Desslok was alive, but she hadn't dared hope to speak with him again—not face to face.

Yahweh, I can't. Her hands shook as she pulled the fabric glove off her wrist, but the device stuck to her palm and fingers, and a warning message flared.

"Incorrect shutdown measures detected. Please exit the connections menu before powering down."

Starsha pulled the Interface back on long enough to correctly put it back to sleep. It would wake only if she requested it to, or if she received another notice.

Once the Interface was safely locked in its drawer, she sank onto her bed. She kept stealing glances at the drawer. If she received a call, she would answer it. Lazarus, Iscandar's last Historian, had entrusted the Interface unit to her, and she would fulfill that charge as long as she lived—or until the Interface network dissolved.

But duty wasn't the only reason she answered Desslok's calls. She was grateful to him for all he'd done on her behalf, in curing Iscandar of the terrible virus that had killed her people, in exiling his brother Deun, in offering her a place on Gamilon after the death of her people, in trying to send her sister home to Iscandar.

And though gratitude was another powerful motivation for why she never turned him away, there was one more reason, one she'd only confessed to a single person, aside from Yahweh, and didn't dare think about, because it threatened to rip out a piece of her heart.

She loved him.

But his desire for vengeance consumed him, and he refused to see past it.

To keep from dwelling on what she couldn't control, she left her apartments, and minutes later, she knocked on Elisa's door.

"Come in." Elisa circled the wide living area, holding a drowsy Delina. "Sasha's asleep." She nodded toward the next room. "You're crying." Motherly concern filled her voice, and she handed Starsha a clean handkerchief.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt," Starsha kept her voice low to avoid disturbing Delina or Sasha.

Irii tiptoed out of the small kitchen. Patches of flour covered her apron, and bits of white dotted her face and hair. She held up a cookie and loudly whispered, "We made these. They're really good." She stuffed half the crumbling cookie into Starsha's hand and ate the other half.

Starsha hadn't thought about baking in over thirteen years—another of life's simplest joys the plague had stripped away.

"I hope you don't mind," Elisa said. "She wanted to do something together, and there were plenty of ingredients. We'll clean up."

"Please, don't apologize." Starsha's voice cracked. "I'm—I'm glad you're feeling at home here."

"Queen Starsha?" Irii tapped her arm. "Aren't you gonna try it?" She pointed to the broken cookie in Starsha's hand.

As a little girl, Starsha had loved anything sweet. She and her sister Astra would often talk the kitchen staff into giving them cookies and other things between meals.

Starsha broke a corner off the partial cookie. Hints of vanilla and cinnamon peppered the small bite, and for just a moment she was six again. She could almost hear Astra's delighted giggle as they ran back to their rooms, crumbs on their faces and clothes.

"You don't like it." Irii's face fell.

Starsha pulled Irii into a hug. "Yes, I do. It's wonderful."

"Then why are you sad?" Irii said.

Starsha dried her eyes with the handkerchief Elisa had given her. Irii didn't deserve to shoulder her sorrows—especially not the one she'd come here to momentarily escape—but the compassion in the girl's face convinced Starsha to share the lightest of her burdens. "I had a sister who loved cookies just like this."

"Did she… die?" Irii said.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry." Irii returned Starsha's hug.

"She is with Yahweh." Starsha brushed flour out of Irii's hair and smiled through tears. "And I know she is happy there."

"So, you really like the cookies?" Irii said.

Starsha nodded.

Irii grinned and raced around the living space with childlike joy. She grabbed Delina's toy horse and galloped it along the walls and furniture.

"You didn't come here for cookies," Elisa's tone was serious.

"No." Starsha slipped out her comm and showed Elisa the concerning passages she'd found in the library a few hours ago. "Something's growing beneath the palace. I found it this morning." She recounted discovering the strange woman encased in crystal. "I fear something horrible has awakened."

Delina had finally fallen asleep, and the little girl's brown hair lay in straight locks across Elisa's arm and shoulder.

Irii ate two more cookies and resumed playing with the stuffed horse.

"I've never heard of the Mazone, or the Living," Elisa said. "Not even in myths. Is it possible they arrived with the first ships to settle Iscandar? A millennium and a half is a long time to wait, but it's not impossible for something to live that long, especially in a suspended state." Elisa brushed Delina's hair clear of her face. The little girl didn't even stir. "After reading what you found, I understand your unease." She held Delina a little tighter and watched Irii with worried eyes. "I'll help you find the truth, even if we have to pry it from the planet's core, because I will not lose the family I have left."

Irii flopped onto the couch, stuffed horse in hand, apron still tied around her waist. Her innocent smile was a vivid reminder of just how much was at stake if this new threat was real.

On the way to the med bay, everyone Derek passed stared. Most tried not to, or looked away quickly, but some failed to disguise their shock.

He pretended not to notice.

When Derek stepped into the med bay, Dr. Sane glanced his way just long enough to say, "Take a seat over there." He pointed to a row of chairs, already mostly filled with crew who'd come for follow-up treatment on non-critical injuries.

"Thanks, but I'm not here as a patient."

Dr. Sane dropped the bottle of antibiotic tabs he was about to hand to the man he was treating. "W-Wildstar? What possessed you—When did—?" He gestured to Derek's hair.

Stunned silence, from those waiting to see Sane, evolved into murmurs.

While everyone whispered, Derek said quietly, "I'm here to see Nova. Is she still in the same room?"

Sane nodded.

Derek headed for the patient rooms. He knocked before stepping inside.

The moment he entered, Mimi, laying beside Nova, greeted him with a startled meow and backed away until he offered her a hand to sniff. Content Derek wasn't a stranger, Mimi settled into a comfortable ball and tucked her nose under her tail.

Nova was asleep, and her broken leg was still sleeved and tractioned. The fluffy sock covering her exposed foot was pink and white, adding a dot of color to the sterile patient room.

The only other patches of brightness were Bahn and Silesia, stationed in the corner. They hadn't acknowledged him when he came in, so they were probably asleep—dormant—whatever the Jeshurunians did to recover energy.

He took the chair beside Nova's bed, and the fatigue of the past few days settled over him as he laid his hand across hers before he lost his nerve.

When Nova's eyes fluttered open, she brushed his shortened bangs to one side. "You… cut it."

He ran gloved fingers through uneven hair. "Yeah."

She studied him hard.

Maybe this had been a mistake—a decision made in sleep-deprived haste.

Nova smiled. "I love it. You just… need a little shoring up here and there." Her hand lingered on his cheek, and the words he'd come here to say crowded into his mind. Once he said them, there would be no going back.

He had to say it now. If he didn't, he might never have another chance. But fear made him hold his tongue. What if she didn't care about him the way he cared about her?

He'd lost most of his family in the war with Gamilon—even thought for half a year that he'd lost his only brother. Friends, other relatives, even classmates had died without warning, either in the bombings or shortly thereafter, from severe radiation poisoning. If he or Nova died in their efforts to leave Telezart and escape the coming comet, he wanted her to know what she meant to him, wanted her to hear him say it. Even if she didn't return the sentiment, he would deeply regret never telling her.

"I love you."

Nova sat perfectly still.

Joy gathered in her chest, but she wasn't sure if she should let it out.

Derek had worked with her since they first boarded Argo. They'd fought side by side, walked alien worlds together. He'd looked for her tirelessly when she was kidnapped, done everything he could to protect her and be there when she needed help.

But did she dare reply in kind to what he'd just said.

Her broken leg was a glaring reminder of what happened when she withheld the truth. She'd been injured because she was obstinate and unwilling to surrender her post to someone who—in the moment—was more capable of filling her role than she was. She'd been wrong not to speak up then. Would she be wrong not to also speak up now?

This man she'd come to care so much for over the past two years had just said he loved her.

She'd thought about him more and more as they'd taken the journey to Iscandar. Even when they'd parted ways for a while afterward, her prayers had gone with him, and she'd sent him as many letters as she could write.

She remembered the night Derek had chosen to share her Faith. She'd been so ecstatic she almost hadn't slept, and since then it'd become increasingly difficult not to smile every time she saw him.

"I… I love you too, Derek."

Gladness brightened his face for several seconds before his eyes slipped closed, and he slumped forward, asleep.

His head came to rest beside her, and Nova whished her fingers through his battered hair. He wasn't the same man he'd been last year or even last week. But he would always be Derek Wildstar, the man she loved a little more every day.

Episode 33 Notes:

To read more about Desslok and Starsha's first meeting, read The Right of Kings, Chapter 22: The Contact.

The title for Episode 33 was taken from Isaiah 40:28-30

Hast thou not known? hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary? there is no searching of his understanding.

He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.

Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall:

But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.