Fire and Ice

Trip Von Dyke kept his eyes on the floor, averting them from the large cylindrical tank in front of him. He was kneeling awkwardly on a large bronze platform and couldn’t help but notice the complex system of cables and pipes which ran along the ground and into the adjacent room.

Trip had choppy brown hair and was wearing the blue of the Royal Space Fleet. A little emblem on his shoulder pronounced him as a captain. Despite his elevated status in the fleet Trip was nervous on this occasion. It was the first time he had consulted her in person. He began to perspire and his eyes darted about the chamber, everywhere but at her.

Something brushed away the silence in the chamber: a soft, heavenly sound – so sweet, so pure. It was her voice.

‘Trip Von Dyke.’ The way she said his name warmed the cockles of his heart. Each syllable rolled off her tongue like velvet. ‘You are here regarding the Galian battlefront at Centari-9 are you not?’

‘Yes Miss, ah ma’am…your highness.’ Highness? he said to himself, you numbskull, she’s not a queen; she’s an oracle; although she’s as good as royalty.

‘The likelihood of victory on the Galian front is very good.’

Technically that’s all he needed to hear. That’s all anyone needed to hear when they went to consult The Oracle. It had been that way for almost a century. Every major conflict which had arisen had been taken before her and judged. If the probability of victory was good then troops would be deployed and a battle would commence. In the past 100 years, they had fought in three major wars, and a handful of smaller conflicts. They had initiated every single one, and had been victorious every time.

‘Um. So should we deploy then?’ He was stalling now, fighting the urge to look up. The curiosity was clawing at him, like a baby tiger. Unrelenting. Maybe just a peek, he thought, just a split second.

‘Of course,’ she said,’ you may return to your ship now Trip Von Dyke.’ Her voice held no emotion. It was sweet and pure, but emotionless.

He got up from the floor and for a moment, just a spilt second, his eye flickered upwards.

                                                                      #

Trip left the chamber immediately without saying the formal goodbyes or thankyous. He felt guilty. He had broken one of the most sacred commandments: thou shalt not gaze upon thy Oracle, her divine beauty is to be shared only with her magnificent creator.

Regardless of whether he felt guilty or not, the result was still the same. He had looked inside the tank, and what he saw there was so terrible and frightening his soul ached just to think of it. A girl, no older than 14, stark naked and submerged in a vat of translucent liquid. The lighting in the chamber accentuated just how pale her skin was. But the part that etched itself deepest into Trip’s brain was the tubes that wrapped around her like serpents and buried themselves in her skin and fed into her mouth. They were probably there to provide sustenance as the poor girl could hardly be expected to move. 14! The poor girl. Is this the price we pay to win wars? Trip thought to himself. Then a horrible thought crossed his mind, in the 100 years they had been under the guidance of The Oracle, how many innocent young girls like her had they sacrificed? Their pale white, fragile bodies served up on a silver platter; the vat of translucent liquid always ready to dine. And for what? So we can scavenge our precious minerals and mount the skull of another conquered race in our trophy cabinet?

It was a long walk back to his ship, so Trip had a long time to reflect. He traversed the seemingly endless labyrinth of cold grey corridors in complete silence, except for the sound of his combat boots against the metal floor.