Page 10 of Broken Triad

Her faces goes white. She slowly puts the jar down. The rest of the women are looking at me with a combination of awe and horror. Macey gives me a weak, nervous smile, and goes to the row of hanging meat, counting out loud. It’s reassuring listening to her counting. It makes me feel like we’re a tiny, little bit in control of our fate.

I clear my throat. “Macey, I collected over a hundred rations. Can we spare half of one each to dip in the jam?”

She looks over at the jam on the floor, and the bag of rations, and nods. “Yes, I think that’s okay.”

“Alright everyone. Careful of the glass, okay?”

4

KRAZAK

The first shift was nothingness. We stood in our ranks in the meeting hall, and everyone made it through alive.

Then General Ra’al ordered us to emergency positions. He knew the second would be a hurricane, far from Obsidian’s guidance. We spread out over the ship. Most of us climbed into Reavers, often three triads to one. I sat in the pilot’s seat with my triad, ours the only Reaver filled with just a single triad, because it is us who have been trusted to pilot the Generals. We gripped our controls, waiting for Ra’al and his battle-brothers to join us once we finished the shift.

We fought at his side for centuries, and I am the only man he trusts to fly him into battle.

I held the controls tight, strapped into my seat, the auras of my triad burning up with anticipation. We knew the second shift was going to be brutal.

We weren’t prepared for what happened.

Reality disappeared. This one was violent, sudden. We came back from the shift and my head slammed against the front viewport, making me roar in pain as every alarm bell in the ship went off.

The hangar bay we were in was full of Reavers. When we came back to reality, it was contorted, the floor warped, pieces of the bay winking out of existence, never to return, the rest of the material forming instantly back up to fill the place, reality unable to process a vacuum. I saw a Reaver that only made it halfway through the shift, split clean in two, an Aurelian stumbling out and falling to the ground as blood spurted from his missing arm.

I didn’t have long to think.

The anti-grav of the Matador didn’t survive the shift.

Now, we’re plummeting to the ground. My Reaver hums to life, shields operational, engines ready to punch us out of the ship bay before we crash and turn to dust. Tools and wielding torches fly through the air as we plummet, but the Reaver stays steady under my guidance. The Matador is twirling as we fall, so that through the air-shield of the hangar bay, I can see the sky whirling, clouds, sun, smoke and fire, a disorienting cacophony.

“The ship’s doomed. We need to punch out!” Bolden’s voice is urgent, but not panicked. It’s the first thing he has said to me in months. His voice is unused to words, raspy and deep.

“We wait.” I clench my hands tight around the armrest. My head is spinning from where I slammed it against the glass.

Ra’al told me that his triad would meet us in the hangar bay. I trust him.

“Altitude dropping fast. The Matador’s shields are down. Collision in forty seconds.” Khra clears his throat. There’s no fear in his voice. His aura is blank and grey. He doesn’t care if he lives or dies.

I bare my teeth, staring straight forward, as every operational Reaver punches out through the hangar bay entrance, shooting out into the smoke-filled sky.

“Kriz will get the shields back up.” Kriz is the third of Ra’al’s triad, with sharp features and a keen intellect. He was the one who spoke with Obsidian, guiding us through the rift.

He got us to Trebulous, and he’ll land the Matador safely.

Destiny is not done with me yet. The Priests told me I have a role to play.

I am not allowed to die until it is done.

“Collision in ten. Brace for impact.” Khra’s voice is ice.

“The Matador’s shields are still offline!” Bolden snarls, shocked, unable to accept that this is the end, even as the ground is welling up in front of us, our sensors showing the earth ready to embrace us and turn us to dust.

“Kriz will restore the shields.” I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.

“Three. Two—Matador’s shields online,” states Khra, and everything goes black.

I wake up seeing stars, Khra grabbing my shoulder and shaking me. The Reaver’s doors hiss open, and Ra’al, Kriz and Orr pile in, big beasts of men ready for war. My head is ringing from the impact. I smashed it against the glass again, the straps of my chair broken, but I clench my teeth together, tasting blood from where I bit my tongue, willing myself to focus.

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