CANAISIS ∞ Chronicle One ∞ 2: A Captain's Journey

48 ∞ The Crisis Point

Long Ago and Day 00008 Mission Nilex

The memory waited to take Ayla as she floated in the darkness, but she had control now. It could not own her anymore.

She had a choice. She could break free if she chose, but she hesitated. There was more to understand in the memory—she knew that with certainty. Her heart ached with all she had seen. But then, it was called a burden for a reason. She would not shy away from this.

«Canaisis? Are you there?»

«Yes, Ayla. I'm here.»

«There's more to know—I can feel it.»

«Only you can decide that, Ayla.»

Ayla sought her center as she had been taught, calming her fear. «I am ready, Canaisis.»

«I'll be here with you.»

The cold came first, cold hands and feet, then the sound of the never-ending wind. It was barely audible, but it was there outside.

Outside... the wind was outside. Outside of the mausoleum.

Captain Gareth Levant opened his eyes to darkness lit only by a single lamp. It lay where he'd dropped it by the broken far wall, casting long shadows. His wife's urn still stood beside it on the floor.

He forced himself to get up. "Canaisis?"

«Yes, Captain, I'm here.»

"How long was I asleep?"

«Twelve hours and thirty-six minutes.»

Reaching with his right hand, he keyed the wrist plate to check his suit status. Diagnostics scrolled past his eyes as the heads-up display fed him information on his visor. All systems were optimal, but what he focused on was the battery. It read <52%>. He turned his gaze to his sled. Knowing only one battery remained, he counted his odds as slim in making it back to the shuttle.

He turned on the helmet lights, strode across the mausoleum floor, and picked up the lantern. Toggling the off switch, he attached the lamp to his belt as he looked down at the urn. It shone in the light, white porcelain inlaid with blue scrollwork. He stooped down to grasp it with both hands and carried it back to set it down beside the sled.

Removing the tarp took some doing. Then the sorting began—what to keep and what to leave behind. The largest and most heavy item was the kilometers left of rope. No need for that anymore. Discarding the rope made room in the sled, and a short coiled length of rope would cradle the urn. After carefully packing around it, all seemed ready, and he could secure the tarp again.

He sat down against the wall next to the sled and picked up the nutrient pack he'd dropped on the floor. He slapped it into his chest plate socket and waited for his suit to acknowledge its presence. He would need his strength. While he sucked the bland syrup from the suit's straw, he couldn't help but check his belt pouch.

They were there, the precious seeds he'd recovered. At least he hadn't dreamed that. Content to rest for a while, he sealed the pouch tight, then ordered his suit to maintain its temperature.

When he felt ready to set out, he dragged the sled toward the mausoleum door and felt trepidation at the journey ahead. He'd made it this far, and that had been all he'd planned for. Now, new purpose filled him, embodied in seven acorns. He thought of a world covered in forest, a place where he could rest and look across a valley of trees. His wife would have liked that. He'd loved her, even after she'd left him.

It was a pleasant thought. But even one thought, laced with bitterness, was a miracle. First, though, he had to make this journey back to the shuttle. He couldn't afford dreams or hope, or any emotions, right now. Canaisis awaited him, and she didn't deserve what had happened to him. No one did. He would not be the one to teach her the pain he'd been taught.