No Shelter Among the Stars

Chapter 3- Ilias

Ilias watched Tasla saunter off into his quarters and then followed Sander back to the cockpit. His combat suit creaked just slightly as he walked. It had never fit him quite right. His physique was bulkier than the rest of the crew. His torso was large and hard as cast iron. His legs and arms were thick with extra layers of bone, muscle and sinew. The Syndicate slash docs and geneticists had made him this way without bothering to customize the suit along with him.

He climbed the stairs right behind Sander. His small eyes peered out from his blunted features, following the dark trail of red drops.

"Skeeving cherry bled everywhere," he said out loud. He fell in step next to Sander. His wide shoulders took up most of the hallway.

"You should see the cockpit," said Sander, "and do try and pay more respect to our beloved pilot."

"He was never one of us," said Ilias, "but more pointedly we need to discuss phasing back into realspace."

"What about it?" asked Sander, stopping just outside the cockpit.

"We don't have to trust a malfunctioning autopilot," said Ilias.

"I already don't think I like where you're going with this," replied Sander, frowning.

"You did what you had to do to get us out of a tight spot, but there's another option to get us out of another," said Ilias.

"The option you are referring to is not an option," said Sander, his voice growing low and dangerous.

"He's done it before. Steered the ship in just by looking at the data stream," said Ilias, his voice powerful and reverberating. "His mind works differently than the rest of us."

"That's because he is insane," said Sander. "We all agreed that he stays where he's at."

"Better than trusting the Brain's sliced up A.I. brain," said Ilias. "You've heard the stories same as me, ships phasing into other ships or asteroids or just floating bits of junk. This is assuming it doesn't get us lost in hyperspace. It's no way to go, some blind accident."

"I'd rather trust mostly functioning navigation hardware over a psychotic," said Sander. "He's apt to kill us all on purpose out of spite or just on a whim. It's not even a choice."

"Just saying, we have him. We know what he can do..." began Ilias.

"He killed three of our crew!" said Sander his green eyes narrowed, his voice somewhere between a growl and a whisper. "Three of our brothers, our Konsilia! They helped us get off Carnival. Athanas saved your scragging life!"

"I remember," said Ilias.

"I do too, and there's no way I'm trusting a man who can kill family like that," said Sander. "Remember when we found him? With their bodies?"

Ilias nodded. The memory rose up in his mind, sickening him all over again.

"Don't bring it up again." said Sander, "cuviche?"

"viche" said Ilias, after a pause.

Sander nodded and stepped into the cockpit. His combat boots splashed through the shallow pool of human blood.

"I'll have Spiro send you over one of the C.Vs. Clean this chat up before it hardens too much," said Ilias turning away. He walked quickly back down the hallway. Haris's blood trail smeared beneath his boots and spread further across the geometric designs scratched and painted into the dull gray floor. He hardly noticed. His eyes slid across the walls and ceiling, following the colored lines and patterns of protection that grew across the ship's interior like the web of some giant arachnid. It had been Stathis's old art project. Stathis had always been the most fervent believer; it had taken a lot to get him off Carnival, to convince him there was even a world, a galaxy, beyond it.