Chapter 7: Routine Life on a Warship Part 2

11 Earth years ago...

In the darkness of space lies a single planet and its moon that orbit a distant orange star. The hazy purple, watery world of Zhav’Tren lies ahead. The capital planet of the Gok’Shinta subclan is one of the two most important worlds of the Shal’rein. Countless purple-colored warships dot the scene, but freighter traffic seems to be almost nonexistent.

Two colossal orbital shipyards almost block out the mostly ocean-covered surface. The floating platforms are so large in size that they cast a small shadow over the planet. Special vents would be made to help open at specific time periods to help regulate the world’s global temperatures. The Trasa shipyards had seen their share of violence, being destroyed once during the rise of the Jalgren Empire but ultimately rebuilt anew after the Rototrein Rebellion.

The scene zooms closer and closer to the orbital platform, where much can be seen. There are numerous alcoves. Battleships and dreadnoughts perforate each of these construction bays, being under construction or nestled for repair and resupply. Numerous gun batteries, lights, and small craft can be seen flying around, almost as if it’s a city in itself. The entire surface of artificial construction must span for thousands of kilometers in one direction alone.

Upon zooming in closer and closer to the northernmost platform, a dreadnought can be seen slowly moving toward it. There seems to be no sign of physical damage on the vessel, yet the ship has to be tugged home.

The pair of tugs aren’t very large, being not much bigger than a shuttlecraft. They have grappled onto the front midsection of the mighty warship, where its clawed arms neatly grasp it in its slow, guided journey to port. The long purple blocky cylindrical dreadnought consists of two dual very heavy railguns mounted on its mid-dorsal and ventral sides. Numerous guns and short-range missile launchers dot the sides where it meets up to a dorsal and ventral bridgehead in the front bow. The two centripetal rings still spin together near the ship’s mid-rear section as navigation lights flash, warning other ships of the towing job in progress.

It doesn’t take long before the scene zooms through one of these rotating rings. Slipping past the armor manifolds is a habitable walkway. A simple reorientation of the view can show a livable environment. It’s not much different than how the Gular’shel’s habitat ring was established. However, the walkways are more straightforward. A similar line of watery pipes and organic-looking veins line the bulkheads, leading to various enclosed rooms on the left and right sides.

In the loneliness of the straight upward curved path of the ring’s walkway was a pair of Shal’rein. One was Veleshar, dressed in her purple and black, almost skintight uniform. She was aside Gular’shel, dressed in his white, black and slightly purple studded caped attire. His uniform consisted of a block of ribbon medals and his holstered firearm. The head covering that Gular’shel wore did not hide the fact that some of his straight purple hair was falling off.

Veleshar had a look of concern on her face as if she were slightly distressed. Gular’shel was staggering at times in how he walked. His webbed orange wrapped feet almost seemed to buckle at times as the man was doing his best to maintain his walk. On his exposed skin, there were signs of small dark lesions growing on his hands, snout, and tail. There was even a hint of dried blood on his clothing.

Despite this, Gular’shel remained strong. His left hand consisted of a wooden walking cane that helped keep him from toppling over. Yet, this wasn’t enough to assure Veleshar’s feelings that her mate could keel over at any minute. Her left arm was wrapped around Gular’shel’s to help give extra leverage in how they moved together.

“Not much further...,” Veleshar said in English to Gular’shel. The sound of anguish was in her voice.

“When will the...?” Gular’shel calmly tried to ask as he momentarily coughed. “When ... we dock?”

“Another hour,” Veleshar replied. “Dockyards are overfilled with ships ... too many ... too many casualties. They’re trying to find a place for the Leo’dedrein.”

“Good ... tell shift four to take place of...,” Gular’shel stopped in his talking as he coughed heavily to the point that he almost stopped in his walk. A look of absolute terror could be seen on Veleshar’s face. The Shal’rein man’s voice was utterly raspy.

“Don’t worry about it, my mate,” Veleshar told him. “The rest of the fleet has returned home. I’m more worried about everyone else ... about you.”

Gular’shel summoned the will to walk again. “Don’t worry about me.”

“You should be in medical ... not out here.”

“It’s too late for that, ... Veleshar,” he said.

A small tear fell from Veleshar’s face and down her pointed snout. “I don’t understand,” she remarked. “An entire disease ... killing the men. Sons ... boys, all dead. Our people will be finished ... our ships are reduced to half operation within weeks.”

“It is the way of things ... Itreans of violence ... we become assassins of our own destiny.”

Veleshar gritted her teeth. “It had to be the T’rintar,” she said with deep frustration and bitterness. “They unleashed this to wipe out the Shal’rein ... gain an easy victory.”

“Do not blame them,” Gular’shel coughed. “The reports are the same ... Aksren and Yutilian ... similar sickness.”

“It’s impossible,” Veleshar choked with a few clicks in her voice. “What would be the strategic advantage of unleashing a disease to afflict every Itrean?”

“One that had nothing left to lose ... one of revenge ... one we cannot see.”

As the two continued their walk, they could see a single Shal’rein male. He was a stalky lad, busy doing repair work on a bulkhead panel. There were numerous tools on his black and white uniform. From his bald head was a similar set of tiny lesions developing on his rounded snout and tail. A female Shal’rein engineer with a long-pointed nose on her forehead wasn’t that far from the male Shal’rein. The anthro goblin shark briefly saw the Adjuncts not far from them, but Veleshar waved them off, telling them not to worry about their approach.

“Bravery ... bold,” Gular’shel remarked as he saw the scene before him.

“What?” Veleshar said, looking at her weakened mate.

“He knows his time is coming ... yet he still works.”

Veleshar looked ahead again, noting more about the fellow engineer. She knew Gular’shel was right. She didn’t know too much about who the male was, except that he was a recent transferal, one who moved in from the neighboring solar system of Beg’wo’tresaka.

But, Gular’shel’s commendation was short-lived. In moments, as they were closing in on the two, the male engineer began coughing in a horrific manner. He dropped the tool in his hand as the female engineer came rushing to his aid. Despite the fact that he was clearly taller than all of them, his sickness, too, was knocking him down with simple ease. When his hands reached the deck, his cough worsened to the point that he was spitting out blood.

Veleshar and Gular’shel had no choice but to ignore it. As the couple walked past the workers, the female engineer helped pick up the male engineer. The weakened Shal’rein managed to stand up as the engineers had no choice but to drop their tools and head off, most likely to medical.

It was a sign to Veleshar ... Judgment Day. This was the apocalypse ... the doom that reached trillions of souls never before seen on a galactic scale. Somehow, it all started over a week ago. All the male Itreans were getting sick, but the women were unscathed. Gular’shel still remained composed despite all of this. He paused as he reached for the ribbon placement holder and pulled out a small purple ribbon with a gold anchor on it.

“What are you doing?” Veleshar asked.

“You make sure to give this medal to that engineer’s family,” Gular’shel handed it to her. “A warrior of his clan to the very end.”

“I will...,” she said as she put it into her pocket. They weren’t that much further from their quarters. Gular’shel had to hug the wall to help further brace him. Veleshar could see the panel that led to the door.

“I wish Shira were here,” Veleshar said. “She should be here...”

“Shira is fine with Adjunct Lea’pre,” Gular’shel’s raspy voice could be heard. “She is strong. You and Lea’pre can continue to train her ... long after my passing.”

“Please don’t talk like that ... there has to be a cure ... there’s always a cure. We are Itreans.”

They reached the door to their quarters. Veleshar was quick to put her hand on the panel as it scanned it. In a second, the door slid open. The two stepped inside. Once the door closed behind them, Gular’shel grimaced and placed his hand on his chest. Veleshar knew that he was in pain. A hint of blood was dripping from one of his nostrils. The Master Adjunct managed to put his hand on the nearby grand desk of the room. Using the metal to brace himself, he found the nearby chair and sat down upon it.

The interior room was purple and blue, mixed with simple chairs, furniture, and a couple of displays. It was nothing fanciful but enough for a couple to enjoy themselves. Gular’shel tapped his fingers on the keyboard next to his right hand. The displays were activated to show the schematics of a familiar wedge-shaped warship. Veleshar stood not far from him, taking the man’s cane and placing it into the corner before turning back to be with him.

There seemed to be great relief on the male Shal’rein’s face and body. His weakened down energy was nearly sapped of all strength.

“Tell me about the status of the fleets...,” Gular’shel requested of her.

“You ... you already read the reports...,” Veleshar tried to say, but Gular’shel briefly closed his eyes.

“Tell me again.”

“Operating at half crew ... Fleet Hij, Kio, and Gol are on standby, but they don’t know how well they can handle undermanned.”

Gular’shel looked at a recent set of orders in the Itrean language. His breathing was staggered, but Veleshar could read it as well.

“I have received word...,” Gular’shel said, coughing. “This news is an hour old. All fleets return to bases ... remain on standby.”

“Are we surrendering?”

Gular’shel shook his head. “No ... ceasefire all fronts. All clans ... ceasefire. Last final order directly from the Autarch.”

Veleshar couldn’t believe it. With the collapse of the United Itrean Republic and the Itrean Civil War in full swing, the unknown disease had crippled all sides.

“Final order?” Veleshar asked.

“Confirmed...,” Gular’shel pulled his hand away from the table and rested his back on the chair. “The Autarch died an hour ago ... his mate is taking over as the new Autarch. Your orders ... will come from her.”

More startling news. Had it truly reached this point? All her thoughts went to every male who held an important place of leadership ... and they would all be dead.

“I ... thought Galtatok would have died from old age,” Veleshar remarked, putting her hand to her snout. “Fisagrend is a stubborn mate ... she is a traditionalist...”

“Then you know that this ceasefire is temporary,” Gular’shel concluded. “Autarch Fisagrend ... Empress Itsis ... they will resume their war when they find a solution to this illness.”

“Even with the fleets at half operation?”

“A detriment to all sides equally is one that leads to no path to peace,” Gular’shel said, lightly grasping his throat. “The creator of the disease ... struck out of emotion ... no logic in the action made.”

“Pure hatred...”

“It would appear so. The individual had only made us vulnerable ... to the Emphra’s return.”

“Please don’t talk that way, my mate,” Veleshar pleaded. “They’re gone ... we wiped them out.”

“One ... can only hope that is true, for we have made ourselves weak... ‘lambs for the slaughter... ‘“

Veleshar had never heard of that phrase or known what animal Gular’shel mentioned. He said it almost out of pure nostalgia ... almost as if he were reciting someone else’s words.

Gular’shel wheezed a little bit as he turned to the schematic. “This ship ... will be my last design,” he told her. “You will have to finish it...”

“I will do my best, my mate,” she replied.

“Including ... what you wanted out of this,” his shark-like eyes looked around the room.

“The Surface Hotel of Ghen’da’ja.”

“Where we first met...”

A tear fell down Veleshar’s snout as Gular’shel remained collected. A new series of coughs began to hit him. This time, it got worse. Blood hit the table as Veleshar knew that Gular’shel’s time was soon.

“Please...” He told her. “Bury me next to Eliza’treta ... overlooking the horizon of Shal’tar,”

“Yes, my mate,” Veleshar replied.

Gular’shel reached into his coat and fished into his front pocket a small data chip of some sort. He placed it on the table and pushed it toward Veleshar’s direction for her to take.

“My final words to Shira,” Gular’shel said. “Give it to her when she reaches adu...” He paused as he grimaced again. The pain became so intense that he stood up, but that only hastened his demise. He fell to the side as Veleshar came running up to him. She kneeled down and sat down as she was debating about calling up medical.

“Ack...,” Gular’shel reacted.

“Mate!” Veleshar replied in distress.

“Nngh ... Don’t ... let ... your emotions rule you, mate,” he told her. “You are a master ... str...,” he coughed again.

Veleshar knew it was coming. She sat next to him and cradled Gular’shel’s degrading state. His body was being eaten inside out, but Veleshar made sure his head rested on her leg, her hands held close to embrace the man. Even as she remained close, something drove her to a line of questions. It came down to Gular’shel’s prior mate.

“My mate,” Veleshar asked. “I must ask this. What do you wish to add to your graves?”

“‘Mate ... to Eliza’treta’...”

Veleshar did her quick nods. “My, mate. Why did you cremate her remains?”

“Because ... she wished it.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” the Shal’rein woman shook. “I never encountered Aksren religions that performed such actions. I researched it ... This language we speak ... it doesn’t exist. Your prior mate ... please tell me ... why does she speak it?”

He paused for a moment. “Because ... she wasn’t ... an ... Itr...”

Gular’shel wasn’t able to finish his sentence. In seconds, the man grunted and gave disheveled breaths. His lungs were shutting off as he struggled to breathe. More blood was dripping out of the man’s nostrils. Then, there was one last final gasp. He shook a little bit and fell completely still.

It was quick ... it was what Veleshar kept telling herself as her eyes filled with tears. Her hands went to Gular’shel’s uniform and felt the chest, realizing that her mate’s heart had given out. The Master Adjunct was dead...

“No...,” Veleshar’s hand shook. Her hand went up to the man’s snout. She used her two fingers to close the man’s eyes, to let him forever sleep. Upon doing so, Veleshar leaned down and broke down on Gular’shel’s body, weeping dearly for the man she had just lost...

Today...

“Ok...,” Scott said as he walked down the passageway with Gen’wi almost in tow. “Our next repair job will be in...,” he paused as he read the list projection from his augmented hand: “Section 2C-21.”

It had been the following morning. Scott and Gen’wi were taking care of additional repair work that was needed. Rows of tools lined their pockets, along with a tool belt that Gen’wi wore on her hip.

The fresh scent of Scott’s newly clean uniform permeated the man’s nose as he looked at the closed doors in the centripetal ring passageway. The hint of a smile could also be seen on his face.

Gen’wi seemed to be trying to decipher what the man had just said. The translation program linked up to Scott’s augmented hand wasn’t perfect. The utter complexity of the language made translation challenging. Gen’wi used her clawed hands to gently pull Scott’s hand down to her eye level as she read the original untranslated Itrean text and the translated English words.

She made a few clicks in her voice. “The ... nursery room,” she said.

“Nursery room?” Scott questioned. “Our repair work will be in the ship’s nursery?”

“Yes.”

Scott nodded his head as Gen’wi walked ahead. “Hey ... wait for me.”

The anthro-reptilian woman slowed down a little bit as her tail swung back and forth. They made a few turns before they reached the main door from where Gen’wi stopped.

“The nursery...,” Gen’wi stopped as she looked at the panel.

“Ummm...” Scott wondered. “This feels a little odd for me. I mean ... why have a vital conduit in an area where kids are present?”

“I don’t know ... Shal’rein ship ... ship unique ... hard to make.”

“Hmmm ... I guess they had to cut certain corners to make this ship work. Alright ... let’s head in.”

Gen’wi walked up to the panel and reached her hand toward it. She tapped a few buttons before the door slid open.

As the door slid open, Scott noted the interior room. It wasn’t that big per se, being smaller than Veleshar’s room. It consisted of a few desks that linked up to a large display on one side of the room, cribs that lined the opposite corner, a restroom, and an oversized couch.

There were four individuals in the Gular’shel’s nursery. Two of them were children not being no more than eight years old. Scott recognized one of them as the anthro hammerhead child he saw earlier when he first came onboard the ship. She sat in the small row of desks next to a Yutilian girl who was watching some sort of Itrean children’s learning programming. The Yutilian had dark green scales and orange feathers. They barely glanced over to Scott as they seemed fixated on the display.

The other main individual in the room was a Shal’rein woman sitting down on her couch. She had dark blue smooth-scale skin, a rounded snout, and light green hair and must have been around eight feet in height. Scott noticed that she was topless and was currently breastfeeding a baby Shal’rein, gently patting her and quietly singing to herself.

Gen’wi was the first to enter, while Scott followed closely behind. She made a few clicks in her voice as the Shal’rein was awakened from her feeding. It was here that Scott noted a lot about her appearance.

She was stacked. Scott did his best not to look down at the large-chested woman. Her breasts were even bigger than Veleshar’s. It was probably for the best as the Shal’rein infant was practically asleep in the nursing process. Only her pointed head and tail hung out from the white bundle.

“Human?” the Shal’rein wetnurse replied in a slightly butchered English.

“Yes,” Scott introduced himself. “My name is Scott, transferal from the UHN.”