Remembrance

Chapter 4 - Aurelia

I'm dreaming again. 

I'm sure of this because my parents are here, and they're both dead. Still, I'm not prepared to see their smiling faces. I don't remember falling asleep—that's when I usually ready myself. 

I'm laying on a warm patch of grass. The plants tickle my skin and push up into my clothes like a springy carpet. Above is the night sky, dotted with thousands of stars. I must be at our large house outside the city, because the sky's never this clear back in Reno. 

I remember this memory. Dad had just rotated home for several days from offworld service, surprising us. Mom looked happier than I'd ever seen, during those three weeks. 

Sure enough, I hear my father in the distance. "What are you up to, Aura?" He asks. His voice is smooth, like honey, and I let it flow over me. It sends a comforting warmth rushing through my chest and limbs. I can almost feel myself grow calmer when he speaks. 

"Looking at the stars," I call back. My voice is higher-pitched than it is now.

It doesn't play out on my lips, but I feel like frowning. I was younger in this memory (maybe around eleven?) but I can't remember my exact age. And I usually remember everything. 

I hear Dad's heavy footsteps as he traverses the lawn. His gentle face and large brown eyes appear overhead, blocking my view. The sight pulls on my chest and causes my throat to tighten on itself. You're not alive, I tell myself. But he seems so real. 

I hear myself giggle. "Stop, dad," I say. 

He grins and moves out of sight. He's still wearing his black navy uniform, with a neat Captain's rank plaque.

Then he appears laying beside me. He ruffles my hair with his large calloused hand, and scoots up close. His uniform's thick, but I still feel a comforting warmth as he lays beside me. 

"Which one's your favorite?" He asks. 

I reply almost immediately, pointing at a particularly bright star. "There. Alpha Centauri, right?" 

He laughs. "When did little Aura get so smart?" Dad points at another twinkling light. "Tell me, smarty-pants. What's that one?" 

"Jupiter?" I asks. 

He nods, a proud look on his face, then gestures at another. "And that one?" 

"Venus." I point out the other two visible planets. "And there's Saturn, and then Mars." 

He becomes really quiet after I mention Mars. I remember this conversation. Several seconds of silence pass before he speaks again.

"But Mars is a bad planet." He says. "Right? We don't want to talk about that one." 

"Why?" I ask, my voice still playful. 

He props himself up with an elbow. "I'm serious, Aura. Martians. . . aren't even people. They would do bad things to us if they could. Do you understand?"

I don't say anything, or move at all. No nodding even. Just silence. 

"Do you understand? Ms. Virtutem?" He asks, trying to playfully use our last name. 

I don't reply. 

"Ms. Virtutem?" He repeats. He's starting to fade, and his voice is steadily become more unnatural. I want to plead with him to stay, to name every bright light, but I can't speak. 

"Ms. Virtutem?" 

That's when the dream falls apart. My eyes fly open, and suddenly everything comes rushing back to me. Viztula. The airship. Our mission. Where am I? 

"Are you all right, Regiment-Leader?" 

Adam's hovering over me. There's a mildly concerned (if it could even be called that) expression on his face. Of course his hair is somehow still neatly parted to the side, but there's a grey layer of dirt coating his face. His armor has even turned black, almost as if it was scorched by invisible flames. Not entirely perfect anymore. 

His face, I think to myself. I can see his face. He must have removed his helmet. 

"Yeah. I'm fine." I slowly begin to sit up, then freeze, gasping in pain. It's like I was thrown into the food processing machine in my apartment and spun around for days. My back throbs in agony, and it feels like someone's pushing a searing needle into my right ankle. My limbs generally feel shaky, like they're made of jelly. I'm still wearing my armor, which is likely the only reason I'm still in one piece. 

I'm in a small dark room (twenty-two by fifteen feet); I can only see thanks to one flickering bulb dangling in the corner. Viztula's factory, my brain says. I'm here. I take a deep breath of the stale air. So this is what it's like. 

Eight other agents are sprawled out around me. I sigh in relief. None look dead; I can see their chests gently rising and falling and the occasional twitch, as if to say: life! 

There's a large hole in the room's wall, and I can see the twisted metal of what must've been our gunship beyond it. It's a miracle that this entire building hasn't already collapsed. There's a loud ringing in my ears. Hopefully nothing too serious. 

I bite down hard on my lip. Come on, Aurelia, I tell myself. Get up. 

Placing an unsteady hand on Adam's shoulder, I manage to drag myself onto my feet. My ankle is sprained, maybe fractured. But if I can move my feet, at least my back isn't broken. That's a good sign. 

I instinctively pull my handgun from its holster (somehow it stayed attached), and switch to the lethal setting. We planned on capturing as many prisoners as possible, but that no longer seems possible. Now, this mission has become a question of survival. 

"What's our status?" I ask. "How many survived?" I reach for my helmet and gently pull it over my head, tucking my hair back into my armor. It makes a small hiss as it seals to my suit. 

Adam doesn't miss a beat. "I've confirmed seven ISP casualties, ma'am, including the pilot, First-Officer, and Weapons-Officer." He nods. "A total of ten." 

I feel like I've been punched in the chest. Ten dead. Nearly half those on our ship. And my attempt to save the First-Officer didn't work either. 

You're going to survive, Aurelia, I tell myself, for those agents. And when you make it back to safety, you are going to honor their heroism. That's my motivation to stay alive.   

I gesture at the bodies around me. "These are the others?" I ask, pushing my feelings away. "No one's awake yet?" 

Adam shakes his head. "I managed to remain conscious, ma'am, and I assembled the survivors here. You are the first to wake."

I don't bother asking how he possibly endured all that, without passing out. It must take superhuman levels of strength and power. I guess I should take back what I said before about Adam not being perfect. 

I open my mouth to ask about the other gunship (the one that didn't crash) but he replies before I have a chance to speak. 

"Ship three managed to land their agents in the building, ma'am. They've established a small staging area, until the reinforcements you requested arrive." He tilts his head to the side. "I believe we should join them."  

I press a hand to the side of my helmet, but hear only static. The transmitter must not have survived the crash. Adam must have some means of contact, though, to know that information. 

I glance at the small group of men and women sprawled out in this small room. We can't just leave them behind. But deep down, I know Adam's right. The old expression again rings in my ears: ruthlessly attack until we win, or die.

The ringing is starting to calm down in my ears, and I can hear muted shouts and gunfire. They need our help, or more Viztula terrorists will escape. 

"Okay," I gently say. I holster my sidearm, and reach up to grab my rifle. The motion causes a well of pain to explode in my shoulder, but I force myself to continue until the gun is in my hands. "Let's go."