No Shelter Among the Stars

Chapter 11- The Crematorium

Ilias unconsciously stroked his slung combo-weapon, Selene, as one might a cherished pet perched on one's lap. He watched Sander gesture to one of the dark uniformed workers, who slid Haris's body onto a grate and lowered it to just below eye level behind a heatproof translucent screen. The Crematorium was an elaborate tunnel carved into Black Mary's asteroid ribbed with steel and tyrnium girders. Music, some kind of dirge vibrated from hidden speakers.

"I assume you have no parting words?" said Sander. Rather than looking at Ilias he stared down at the stiffened remains of their dead pilot. The heat screen surrounded a large pit where bodies were being lined up. Once Haris was ashes, at least ten more dead bodies would get the same treatment. Though, Ilias noted, there didn't seem to be any one else waiting to pay their last respects.

Ilias sucked in a breath of warm wet air. His heart pounded with a rush of anxiety. He hated that they were wasting time with this farce of a funeral for their dead pilot, but he was also relieved for a brief detour before they had to tell the others that they were all doomed. Looking down at the dead man, he said, "Farewell, you useless chat. I am sure you're still flying starships in hell, badly. We will be joining you shortly. Inferopachina." He looked over at Sander. "How was that?"

Sander folded his arms; lights flickered across his green eyes. Working his mouth he said, "Haris, you traveled with us and fought with us. You died doing your job and you were always loyal. You had no family that we know of, but you were Konsilia, and you didn't die alone. Inferopachina." He kissed the silver bullet around his neck and nodded to a nearby worker.

Ilias moved his massive shoulders and cracked his neck as Haris's body was lowered and red heat began glowing from below. It truly looked like the pale corpse was being lowered into some kind of fiery hell. They hadn't told Spiro about the Ladesic when they had returned to take the body. Ilias hadn't said anything because he didn't want to believe it was real until he had no other choice. He also clung to a vain hope of having a flash of inspiration, an epiphany that would save them. He assumed Sander was desperately holding on to a similar hope.

Lieutenant Marshal Zero had commissioned a crew to repair the Harlequin free of charge and, with top quality Syndicate Starship Repair robots, it would be done in hours instead of days. The massive things had already started work when they had left, blazing cutting tools across blackened and twisted panels that seemed barely attached anyway.

Both him and Sander had tried very hard to appear grateful for this gesture of goodwill, but Ilias couldn't help but hate the man and his top of the line robots. Up until the moment Zero could no longer provide the Ladesic, Ilias had been permitted to believe he had relative control over his existence. Now, with one conversation he was facing dissolution in body and mind, and he was powerless to do anything about it.

He looked over at Sander. "We need to talk about what we're going to do," he said, quietly. "We can't just bring this to the others without some kind of plan." Down below, Haris' dull brown clothes singed and caught fire, blackening across his skin. The heat screen, fortunately, blocked both the heat and the smell of roasting flesh that Ilias knew would be surrounding the corpse now. The thought reminded him of shivering hunger and long, bonfire lit, nights. There had never been enough supplies to go around on Carnival even when they met their quotas. Suspicions were that the Syndicate wanted them constantly on edge, fighting for survival. Ilias had always thought it more likely that their captors and suppliers were simply inefficient or incompetent. 

He breathed in chemical laced antiseptic air, it was oddly comforting.

Sander nodded, keeping his eyes on the body. "I already have a plan," he said. Red and orange light flickered across his face.