Amateur Megalomania

Valen wandered the deck, circling his home in a slow decaying orbit, trying to avoid the inevitable.  There was nothing left for him there, but he had nowhere else to go.

Maltby had done well.  At least six Crewmen would not see their families again, with another three that yet might not survive their wounds.  The hole had been filled, but already he felt the emptiness returning.  Satisfaction grew more elusive over the years.  Maltby would be celebrated for a few days but Valen would have to start recruiting again.  Until then, he looked forward to a few days of peace down here, far from the reach of the Crew.

He wandered his way around the damp, rusting corridors, stepping over unidentified piles better left unexamined in the dim, flickering light.  Occasionally, he came across a Compact patrol, maintaining authority over the local gangs, making sure that no lesser powers were raising up to challenge them.  It never took more than a glance to identify him, allowing him to pass with a nod of respect.

Valen continued on, passing the overflowing compartments of packed humanity.  When a deck lost life support, people migrated wherever they could find room.  With livable space steadily shrinking, there was little to be done to ease the suffering.  The Crew certainly wouldn’t give up any of their precious space, even as they occupied a quarter of the remaining decks with a tenth of the population.  So long as the Culpable labored and produced, they couldn’t care less about what went on down here.

The moans of the dying washed over him.  Nearly each compartment counted at least one dying from disease or starvation.  The food yield continued to decline, while the Crew quota remained the same.  More and more of what they grew went to the Crew, in exchange for oxygen and water.  Those that could not produce could not be fed.

Most accepted it as a simple fact of their existence.

But for some, a chance to strike back was worth their lives, and Valen would continue to provide opportunities.

Finally, Valen ran out of deck and found himself in front of his cabin.  He pushed the door open, hearing the familiar shriek of metal hinges in need of repair.  The flickering light from the hall provided just enough illumination for him to pick his way around the small stack of clothes still resting on the deck, waiting to be carried away, removing the last link to a past that could not return.  The oil lamp still rested on the table, and it fired with a click of the striker.  The ruddy glow barely pushed back the shadows, revealing a man sitting on the only chair in the room.

Valen didn’t flinch.  He had accepted death a long time ago.  Should it find him, he would be ready.  He calmly held up the lamp, casting a wider circle of light.

Resnig sat there, regarding him with a humorless smile.  The gray eyes glowered beneath the heavy brow, gathering the feeble light from the lamp and casting it back. He looked at the world through light gray eyes that seemed to reflect all the light in the room.  His lean features cut sharp angles on his face, as if he was made of folded paper.  “I hope you don’t mind.”  The voice rolled out like a stream of water.  “I have another mission to discuss.”

Valen replaced the lamp on the table, preferring to keep Resnig in the shadows.  As he did, he caught sight of another pile of clothes that Resnig had dumped on the deck, clearing the chair for himself.  Valen checked his anger.  They were just clothes.  They meant nothing now.

“Maltby did well.”

“Yes, I’ve already heard.  I have something new for you.”

“So you said.  Where’s your guard?”

Resnig shrugged.  “Do I need them here?”  The question resonated on a deeper level, and Valen heard the real question clearly.  The emptiness in him seemed to expand, and he was suddenly very tired.

“No.  Not here.”  He realized he had nothing more to say, so he simply stared at Resnig, waiting on him to continue.

Resnig nodded.  “I’m glad to hear that.  Some had their doubts.”  When Valen made no reply, Resnig continued.  “I need your resources.  We have a target that requires a certain kind of soldier.”

“Is it that difficult?”

“In a sense.  It requires a devotion that is your specialty.  We have found tools that bring the impossible within reach.”  Resnig must have noticed a reaction.  He smiled even wider.  “This is bigger than you can imagine.  Do you have the right sort of men?”

Valen stared into those steel gray eyes, trying to measure the depth of Resnig’s sanity.  The emptiness of those eyes mirrored the hole in Valen’s heart.  Why not? He nodded.  The worst that could happen was death. For the first time in many days, Valen smiled.

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