Aetheral Space

"Are you hungry?" said the pale man, hands clasped on his lap.

He was sitting on a couch in the shabby apartment Helga had been led to, and she’d been directed to take a seat on the one opposite him. They were separated only by a small coffee table. She didn't answer his question: whoever this person was, he knew full well that she was hungry.

The pale man smiled with his mouth, but his eyes remained impassive, as if he were inspecting something slightly interesting under a microscope.

To call him 'pale' was something of an understatement, to be honest - it was more like he was a drawing that someone had forgotten to colour in. His hair, his skin, even the business suit and tie he was wearing - all of it was stark white. The only trace of colour were his blazing blue eyes.

"You don't trust me," he said. It was a statement, not a question, spoken with the utmost confidence.

"I don't have any reason to trust you," Helga muttered. "Your goons cornered me and forced me to come here. Why would I trust you?"

Glancing around the apartment, the fourteen-year-old scratched at her bandage-covered arms anxiously. A few drops of blood soaked through the bandages and stained the couch she was sitting on. The pale man glanced at the stain with mild distaste, but did not mention it.

"It's fine if you don't trust me," he said pleasantly. "It would be strange if you did, to be frank. But I'd like to change that initial impression of me, if that's alright with you."

Helga shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "How's that?"

"Allow me to be quite uncharitable, Ms. Malwarian," the pale man said. "Your life, as it is right now, is exceedingly sad to witness. It pained my heart when I learnt of your present circumstances."

Helga frowned. "Excuse me?" Who was this man to judge her life?

"It pained my heart when I learnt of your present circumstances," the pale man repeated, retrieving a snow-white script from his suit pocket. He flicked it on and Helga's eyes widened as she saw on its screen a profile of herself - containing everything from birth records to recent surveillance footage. "Older brother deceased due to genetic difficulties, a young girl forced to resort to petty theft to provide for her remaining siblings. It's exceedingly sad."

She gulped. Was he from Station Security, then? Showing the evidence before he arrested her? "Where did you get all this?" she said quietly, dreading the answer.

"It's not difficult for me to gain access to most information," the pale man said. "After all, information - among other things - is a vital component in the business I partake in. I could tell you that I had a security official blackmailed so he would give me this information. I could tell you that I had him bribed. I could tell you that I had him killed. Would it make any difference to this conversation?"

Again, Helga gulped. This felt more like talking to a computer than a person. A cold, inhuman machine. She was sure that, even if this man had killed many people for that information, it would never show on his face or in his voice.

"Who are you? What do you want from me?" She did her best not to blink as she asked her questions - she didn't want to show any weakness in front of a man like this.

The pale man smiled. "My name is Jean Lyons. I work for the GID. Are you familiar with that organisation?"

Helga shook her head.

"That's not surprising," the pale man - Lyons - said. "The Galactic Intelligence Division operates clandestinely, after all, and is based in the Supremacy - very far from here. I would like you to tell me, if it's not too much trouble - what is it you think an intelligence agency like the GID does?"

Helga looked down at her lap nervously, tapped her feet against the wool floor. "Spy on people?" she ventured.

Lyons shook his head. "That's just the means. What is the end?"

Helga thought about it for a moment, then shrugged.

Lyons smiled. "The end is balance, Miss Malwarian. All things in moderation. No creature too big, no creature too small. Ensuring that nobody gains too much power. It's efforts like ours that guarantee war does not consume the galaxy."

She furrowed her brow. "Just by spying on people?"

"I won't lie. Sometimes further action based on that information is necessary. As I mentioned earlier: blackmail, assassination, things like these … nudges needed to encourage the galaxy into a certain shape."

She raised an eyebrow. "And that keeps the balance?"

"Yes. You will find, Miss Malwarian, that the majority of people wish only for the world to continue on as it is. Even if their lot in life is terrible, they would rather that state of affairs continue rather than risk their circumstances becoming even worse."

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Lyons looked deep into her eyes, as though deciding whether to continue before he went on.

"My belief," he said quietly. "Is that even if this world were to become a living hell, people would not protest so long as the temperature of the flames were consistent. Is that something you think you may agree with? Do you suffer from that disease called contentment?"

Helga thought about it for a second. Thought about Olga and Nicolai's gaunt, hollow faces. Thought about Oskar's armless corpse, blood still pouring from the melted stumps. Thought about the hunger in her stomach.

"No," she said.

"I'm sorry," Lyons said. "I didn't quite catch that."

"No," she said, louder, her voice firm. "I don't want things to carry on like this."

Lyons smiled. "Then I believe we have a great deal to discuss."

-

"Helga!" rang out a voice, cutting through the chaos of the crowd.

Helga's hand stopped inches away from Dragan's eye - at the speed it was moving, it would have easily smashed through his skull if she hadn't hesitated. Dragan didn't miss his chance: he leapt backwards as far as he could. With Helga's speed, that still wasn't a safe distance, but it gave him more room to maneuver.

Malwarian didn't pursue. Even though her body remained poised for combat, she glanced to the side, to the source of the voice.

Mila stood there, looking at Helga sadly, a clenched fist against her heart. Dragan had offered her one of the stun-sticks he'd passed around, but she'd refused. That was no surprise, though.

The doctor looked like she had a lot of things she wanted to say. To be honest, though, what could she say? Dragan had spent the last couple of hours before this confrontation trying to come up with arguments to talk Helga down depending on her motivations, but none of them seemed to fit her situation now that he knew it. Her family were effectively being held hostage, so there was no way she would give up.

Mila clearly had come to the same realization. In the end, all she could say was: "Don't…"

Helga bit her lip, glared at her, but there was no real anger in it. More frustration than anything else. "Don't?" she spat out. "Don't? What would you have me do, then? Give up and lose everything?"

Mila blinked, and her eyes were full of tears. It was as if a veritable flood of words were competing to come out of her mouth, but all that she managed to let out was another quiet: "Just...don't…"

But Helga didn't let up. Her expression was pained as she continued, as though begging Mila for some reprieve. "And do what instead? Tell me. Tell me and I'll do it, if it's you."

"I'm sure there's a solution to this," said Dragan, cutting in. "If we talk this out a little more, there could be a way we -"

Helga shot a glare at him - dark red Aether crackling around her - and he promptly shut his mouth. He clearly didn't have the right to talk - in Helga's mind, he'd been demoted from person to obstacle. Any protests he came out with would be rejected out of hand.

Mila, on the other hand...

He glanced over at her. The doctor opened her mouth, and at first no words came out. Then, as if forcing out a cough, she began to speak.

"Hel...Helga … you're the first person I've trusted in years. Probably ever, really, to the level that … that I trusted you before this. I love - I love trusting you. But… I'm having trouble trusting you right now."

Understatement.

Mila went on, taking a step forward out of the crowd, hand still over her heart. The certainty in her words grew as she spoke. "I want to trust you again. I really do - more than anything, I think. If you just stop fighting and - and we can just all decide the best thing to do, I'll trust you. I'll trust anything you say, even if I know it's a lie. Just … that Aether stuff, just turn it off. And we'll talk. Please."

Helga faltered, looked for all the world as if she desperately wanted to do as Mila asked, to turn off her Aether and surrender.

Being honest, Dragan didn't see that as being very likely - and he silently tensed himself, ready to let loose another series of shots at Helga if she continued attacking. He'd have to infuse Aether into them if he wanted them to have any effect, clearly. If she moves, he'd have to activate his Aether, raise his gun, and infuse his shots all in the same second. It wouldn't be easy.

Helga opened her mouth. "I…"

There was a flash of blue light. No more words left her mouth - the only sound she made was a sudden, bloodcurdling scream. Her body began spasming wildly even as she stood, limbs shaking with such force that Dragan was surprised they didn't snap. He could see smoke rising from her body.

Her eyes, dilated to pinpricks, were fixed on Mila's horrified face - and then they closed. She collapsed into the mud in an undignified heap.

Directly behind her, clutching a stunstick in his tense white hands, was Aiden. The heterochromic boy was shaking with rage, and as the unconscious Helga fell he gave her a kick in the stomach for good measure.

"Traitor!" he screamed at her, as if she were in any state to hear what he was saying. "Coward!"

It was obvious what he was doing. Drowning fear and shame with anger. Dragan glanced at Mila's tear-streaked face, and their eyes locked.

They both understood. That sneak attack would have been useless if Helga's Aether had still been up. At the very last moment, when it came down to it, she had intended to surrender.

Aiden spat at her limp form and turned to the crowd. Still running on adrenaline, he spoke with a kind of feigned authority. "G-Get her on the ship!" he said, raising his stunstick high as if it were a standard he was planting on the battlefield. "We'll use a medical pod to freeze her, get her to the fleet, make her face justice!"

With that, he raised his stunstick higher, and an uneven noise of victory and sadness ran through the crowd. A few Humilists - younger ones, like Aiden - detached from the crowd and began dragging Helga away by the legs.

"Well," said Dragan, shuffling awkwardly as he tried to avoid Mila's sorrowful gaze. "I guess that's that."

Aiden looked at him, turning away from Helga's shrinking form. "You can get out of here, too," he said, with surprising harshness.

Dragan raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me? I just saved you all."

"From a problem y-you caused," said Aiden, jabbing a finger towards him. "If you outsiders hadn't shown up, neither would that Special Officer. If you hadn't come here, Dian would still be alive. You as good as killed him yourself!"

A murmur of dangerous assent rang through the crowd. Dragan understood: the enemy they'd been provided with wasn't quite as despicable as they needed, so they were making a new one. If he wasn't careful, things might end poorly for him.

He suppressed the urge to sigh. Like he'd thought before, why couldn't problems ever just be solved?

"That's fine," Dragan said, as calmly and reasonably as he could. "We'll part ways after Skipper and Ruth get back, and you won't ever have to see us again-"

"No," scowled Aiden, gripping his stunstick a little tighter. "We part ways now. We're leaving - you're on your own."

He couldn't allow that.

Taking a cautious step forward, Dragan spoke. "That's not going to work for us. We need Mila here to treat Bruno and Serena once we have the medicine."

Aiden scoffed. "That's not my problem. You can treat the freak yourself."

A hot flare of anger went through Dragan's body. He had much preferred Aiden when he'd been too timid to show off what a dick he clearly was. Looking at the harsh gaze of the crowd around, Dragan could tell he was quickly losing control of the situation.

Mila spoke up, sniffling still: "I could stay behind a little while, get a ride from them back to the fleet -"

"And you can shut it, too," Aiden said, still staring down Dragan. "I'm still not convinced you weren't w-working with Helga. It'd fit, with the way you always were around her."

The words came out awkward, an accusation not fully believed, not fully formed. An intentional kind of paranoia, used as a shield. The whole thing was a grab for authority: Aiden was even holding the battered stunstick as though it were a sceptre.

Mila glared daggers at the boy, but more than a few people in the crowd returned the favour. The public mood seemed to be for the person who had taken down the mole, and not the one who'd offered to trust even their lies.

Dragan opened his mouth to say something - but was cut off by the sudden sound of a boom in the sky, a sudden vibration of the air. He didn't even have to look to guess the shape and size of the ship that had just broken through the atmosphere.

An unconscious grin of relief came to his face. Skipper was back.

-

Skipper took a swig of an energy drink he'd snagged from the market as he strolled into the cargo bay, a little uncertain on his feet. That made sense - he'd been running on fumes and five-minute naps for quite a while now.

Ruth followed after him, clearly concerned, box of Rospolox clutched between her hands. She bit her lip and tapped her foot impatiently as the cargo bay began the procedure to descend the ramp.

Despite himself, Skipper couldn't help but feel the same. Had they made it in time? They must have, mustn't they? But what if they hadn't?

Still, he couldn't worry Ruth. So, as the cargo ramp descended onto the Yoslof soil, Skipper sauntered down it with all the confidence of a videograph star, offering the waiting crowd a friendly finger gun. Ruth followed after him.

"Long time no see, boys and girls," he said, grinning. "Nice to see ya, nice to see ya. How's tricks?"

He looked over the crowd, saw the tense anger in some of their eyes, saw the caution of Dragan off to the side. Something was wrong. Something had happened. He'd need to approach it carefully.

"Hey," he said, scratching his head with a smile. "Why the long faces?"