Alpha Centauri

Forty-Three - Raev

Every one of my hands are trembling as the stolen ship ascends through Proximia's atmosphere.

My body is wracked with deep, ragged breathes as the ship leaves Proxima Centauri's solar system. My whole body feels numb. Numb with what, I can't tell.

I've actually done it.

Suddenly my heaving chest is swelling with joy and pride. I run two of my hands through my hair. I've done what my kind said I would never be able to do. I've accomplished more in the past hour than any of my kind has in any of their lifetimes.

"Screw you guys!" I cry aloud, though no one is there to hear me. "Beat that!"

I hope my pride won't be short-lived.

I tap in a command to small Proximian ship and fall back in my seat. I want to sleep, but the emotions swirling and brewing inside of me prevent me from doing so. I recline my seat and lie awake, staring at the intricate technology on the ceiling of the ship. I then hold up my balled-up fist and take the fragment of the air filter I held onto between my thumb and forefinger.

I have no idea how I'm going to prove my feat, but I have faith that someone will believe me.

I let my two dominant hands fall over my chest, holding the piece to my heart. You had to do it, I keep telling himself. And you did what no one else could.

Soon the ride becomes smooth and I find my eyelids beginning to droop.

-----

When I wake I'm sobbing.

My body tenses with choppy, heaving breaths. I growl at myself, but that only turns into another wracking sob. I scream and furiously wipe the tears away from my face.

Still angrily sniffling, I stand, turn, and pad my way into the ship's small, unfamiliar washroom. I take in my reflection on the hexagonal mirror and grimace, which just makes me look even worse. One side of my already spiky hair is sticking straight out, while the other side lies flat. I'm shaving those off, I think impatiently as I angrily try to smooth one side down. Along with being puffy and red, my eyes are bloodshot. I just look tired and worn-out and almost defeated, not at all like I just killed off an almost impossible target.

I try to find an article of clothing to cover up my pallid torso a bit more, but nothing already stocked on the ship fits me, so I just stick with my black tank top and his borrowed cargo pants and boots.

I make my way back to the front of the ship and try to suppress the uneasy feeling that's quickly replacing the aftershock of bawling like an idiot. I blew up an entire sector of their armada. They're going to want to kill me, I realize.

I pray that someone on that damn starship will be sensible enough to hear me out before they blow my head off. And sadly, that one could very well be the one I dread seeing the most.

My shakiness doesn't subside as the space pod eases to a slow before one of the Mikuris's seemingly endless airlocks. I clamp all of my hands over the armrests to stop them from trembling. When the airlock door splits and allows me in, an alarm starts to sound when the air returns.

Hands still shaking, I steer the pod to the cold, gray floor. I don't bother to watch the Scriosians rush from all ends of the sector to confront the unfamiliar vessel—I know they're coming.

I punch the button beside the ship's hatch and raise all four of my hands in the air. I'm staring down the barrel of a plasma gun in every direction. It takes only seconds for the crew of Scriosians to recognize me. Their silence quickly turns to indignant hissing and shouting, all in the Scriosian language. I'm pelted with insults and accusations.