Part of her insanity?
They kept trying to get away. She shot Gallan in the back and gunned him down, shooting him to pieces with a blaster.
He died with his head twisted around, staring up at her in shock and terror.
Why?
Then she went after Jan, stalking her brother in the Spiral, slaughtering anyone who came her way. He looked so afraid.
Orbs of blood everywhere. Her arm and knife hand dripped with gore. She was splattered with it.
Get away, Jan.
A blast of blinding light caused her to draw back.
A female form took shape, comprised entirely of light, her hair like white-hot plasma, her eyes like the flare of pulsars.
Naero could barely look at her.
The glowing girl stood radiant and defiant before her, interposing a glittering hand to stop her. Her voice rang out.
“Who are you? What and where are you? Is this what you want? Is this what you want to become? Choose carefully.”
Naero snapped straight up in her bunk.
“No!” she shouted.
She covered her face with her hands and slipped back down.
Haisha! The only thing she had to console her were the happy faces of her dead parents on her walls.
They both had taught her so much. They’d taught her everything she knew.
They were her mind, her heart, her hands. They had taught her to look out and to see–to touch, taste, listen, smell, and feel. To learn and do. To crawl, stand, walk, run, and climb. To tumble and fall, get back up, and keep trying and going forward until she could go no more.
They had taught her not just to fly, but to soar.
They had taught her how to protect and defend herself and all that she loved.
To fight with great passion and controlled violence should the need arise, in a dangerous and uncertain universe. As borne out in their own fates.
Five bells gently sounded.
Naero and the crew spent the second day after morning PT in more flight simulation of various types of craft and vehicles.
Of course, she and Jan relished piloting the simulation programs of all the great starfighters throughout history to the present.
Together they were an almost unbeatable team.
Only Zalvano and Aunt Sleak could take them on, and even then it stayed a pretty fair fight.
Naero and Jan spent a lot of their extra time in the simulators, making sure they could fly most of the major rigs available to both Corps and Spacers.
Their obsession paid off big time against anyone who chose to take them on.
Naero spent her down time later that day taking it easy in her quarters. She was still moping.
Cleaning took a little while. Not much, really–just the stuff off the floor. Yet even that made her cabin seem bigger all of the sudden.
She watched some silly vids with half-interest, romantic comedies or action adventure dumps.
She got out the oldfashioned journal her dad had given her. The one that could erase or archive any sketches or writings put on the pages.
The last entry she made was from before her parents departed–for the last time.
Naero hadn’t known that then.
Her parents were always overly concerned about unintentionally bringing back some kind of deadly unknown alien plague or super virus from their explorations.
They had forced her and Jan to take all kinds of routine, boring medical scans. Some took over an hour.
Of course, they all turned up absolutely nothing.
The Cumi–one meter tall mouse-like aliens and their medteks who partnered with her parents–repeatedly gave them totally clean bills of health, plague and virus-free.
As usual, Naero had been furious with her parents for wasting her precious time again. She had fumed at them the whole while.
Instead of telling them how much they meant to her.
Naero fished out a pen and tried to write a new poem in her journal. But the words kept dying in her mind.
Her father had been a fairly decent poet, actually. He even had a few collections circulating among the Clan literary circles. But they never got much serious attention. Naero smiled.
The Poet-Warrior. The Philosopher-King.
Her father always said that they should strive to become just that. That was what the universe truly needed. The wise and harmonious mind of the inventive artist and benevolent leader to guide people into the future. Not just for the benefit of the self, but for the mutual benefit of all.
When she found herself staring at the pictures of her parents flashing by on the walls and crying too much, she decided to break out.
It dawned on her that she was famished. Naero stared at her delusional hands with their added fingers. She might as well put them to good use.
It was already late night when she snuck into the mess hall galley to cook for herself. Unlike her parents, she had drawn enough duty with the cooks to learn how to prepare several dishes that she and her family and friends cherished.
Naero made a small pot of seafood chowder in a nice creamy white sauce. A few of the ingredients she had to program in the food synthesizer. Potatoes and fresh lobster, scallops, and crab meat.
She ate it in a small, hollowed-out loaf of soft, orange Dovanian sweet bread, with the bread chunks and tiny salted crackerlets that always went so well with soups.
Gallan found her in the mess hall, eating there alone. She smiled at him. He pulled out the large spoon he always kept with him, like a knife fighter drawing a battle blade.
He sat down across from her, helping her finish the soup and then the loaf itself, tearing off delicious, soggy pieces.
“I love it when you cook,” he said. “This is so good, N. I think you should be a chef.”
“Yeah. That’s my dream.” She stood up and smirked. “To be a cook.”
The uneasy silence opened the gulf between them once more.
This time, Gallan said his piece.
“Naero, I’m sorry about your folks. Everyone loved and respected them. They treated me like I was your brother.”
Naero touched his hand. “You are, abani. You’re just like Jan to me. You always have been, since we were little.” Abani was a Ramoran word that Naero liked to use with Gallan–a term of great respect an endearment, for one’s closest family and best mates.
“I know. I feel the same way. I’d do anything for you, Naero. I...I know how much you must be hurting. Is there anything I can do?”
Naero shook her head and leaned against him briefly. “No. There’s nothing I can do either. Just keep being my friend. That’s all. Stand by me.”
“I can do that,” Gallan promised her. “I always will.”
17