The Evil That Came

Part 11: Thea

Viktor lay on his bunk, remembering what life was like before space training. He continued to remember the hate he had for his father, the resentment towards his mother for not being around enough to stop him from beating his son for enjoyment, and how his oppressive nature prevented Viktor from telling his mother. How his father just loved Victoria.

And then there was Victoria—the golden child, bathed in privilege and ignorance. She moved through life unscathed, untouched by the broken edges of pain. Viktor's hatred for her was primal, visceral—a fire that consumed reason. Why her? Why this inexplicable animosity toward the one person who shared his blood?

Perhaps it was envy—the gnawing ache of comparison. Victoria had never known suffering, never tasted the bitterness of life's darker corners. On the other hand, Viktor carried the weight of a thousand bags on his shoulders.

In the recesses of his mind, a battle raged—an ancient struggle between beast and predator. Territory, dominance—the primal urges that transcended reason. But what was he genuinely fighting for? Was it revenge, justice, or merely a desperate plea for recognition?

 Viktor gazed out his window at Earth—a distant, blue orb. Outside, darkness held no time markers, but it was nighttime for him; he was adrift, thousands of miles away from home.

But memories found their ghostly way to him. The day he left Earth, the kitchen table, worn and familiar, held a long-overdue conversation. 

"Mom, we need to talk." Viktor's voice trembled, a plea for a connection...anything. His mother, perpetually busy, waved him off—an unintentional dismissal.

"Mom!" His urgency grew, fueled by the weight of what he was about to reveal.

Amnika turned, her eyes meeting Viktor's. Raw and unfiltered vulnerability radiated from him. She softened, pulling out a chair. "What is it, son?"

He hesitated, then blurted, "I need to tell you something about Dad before I leave."

Amnika's concern deepened. "What is it, dear?"

"He's been abusing me," Viktor confessed. "When you're not home, Mom. It's been my life, just days of torment. I don't understand why he hates me, but that's not my concern." His eyes were darting away from his mother's welling eyes.  "I just wanted you to know."

Amnika's gaze locked onto Viktor's face. A tear traced its path down her cheek—a silent acknowledgment of pain shared. Words failed her.

"Oh my," she whispered, her voice frail and faint. "Viktor, I'm so sorry. I should have been there."

Running her hand through her hair. He reached for her other hand, for Robos showed little affection. Amnika withdrew her hand, her resolve firm. "I will deal with your father," she declared in a steely voice.

Viktor walked away from that table feeling lighter, having left nothing behind; he was set to take off into space and train with the elite space cadets.

The space cadets—those high-speed soldiers—were the cream of the crop: the fastest, strongest, and brightest. They ascended military ranks faster than their peers, their discipline unwavering. Their rigid posture, standing at attention like human flagpoles, irked fellow soldiers. "Why are you still standing there? We've been here for hours!" they'd grumble.

These elite men and women were predominantly human, but exceptions existed. Robos could theoretically join the space program, yet the Robos community preferred they remain grounded. Viktor definitely was an exception.

As he departed, no farewells followed Viktor. His family was an enigma—a reclusive unit that shielded its dynamics from prying eyes. His mother, a news-talker, never mentioned her children. His father, a nightly drinker, kept family secrets locked away. And then there was Victoria—an invisible presence, quiet and unassuming.