The Key of Astrea

Anchors Aweigh

Victus leaned back in the cockpit of the Celestial Strider and reviewed the scans Jack had sent. Images of a concrete platform and dozens of small green islands flashed across the display. These look like Selkan homes, but it's not enough, he thought. After all, his fate was tied to the success of this mission. He focused on a brown smudge standing on a small green island and silhouetted against the blue water. As Victus increased magnification, a Selkan filled the frame. A sliver of hope slipped into his mind. This is it. He smiled. The infallible proof I need to bring the Tamarack. Time to go home.

Possessing a body was like flexing a muscle. Most Æons could only maintain a connection for a few minutes. Keeping this connection for three days was a feat unique to Victus. As he prepared to leave Hocco's body, an idea came to him: a way to experience something that usually ended in death. He knew it was an addiction. One that he had developed during his time as an assassin. And like most addicts, he was unable to stop himself.

Victus floated down to the belly of the Strider and removed his space suit. In nothing but a thin bodysuit, he entered the airlock and locked the inner door. A computer's voice warned him that a space suit was required in the airlock. A rush of endorphins caused him to shiver with excitement. Victus overrode the safety, and with shaky hands, he opened the outer hatch.

At once, the vacuum of space sucked him out of the airlock. His lungs squeezed shut, and his skin burned from the unfiltered power of the sun. Within seconds, the mucous membranes in his nose and mouth cracked and split. He looked upon the Earth with red eyes covered in frozen tears. Victus opened his mouth in a silent scream as his skin stretched out like a balloon. Through the strength of will alone, he held on to this experience, savoring the tearing of flesh and the burning in his lungs. This was the rush that Victus was addicted to. You feel the most alive when you're this close to death. With reluctance, Victus released his bond to Hocco's dying body.

* * *

The agony evaporated in a rush as Victus woke alone in a small, dim room. His skin felt dry, and his mouth tasted like cardboard. He lay on a plastic bed in gray scrubs. Nearby, monitors beeped and displayed his vital signs. Victus pulled a plastic tube out of his throat and let it drop to the floor with a wet smack. He pushed himself upright with atrophied muscles.

The door to his hospital room swung open, and two nurses in white scrubs rushed inside.

"Sir." The male nurse grabbed a wheelchair and rolled it to the edge of the bed.

"Food," Victus croaked as he pulled an intravenous infusion out of his arm.

"Yes, sir." The female nurse took Victus's hand and helped him into the chair, and pushed him to the mess hall.

Both the sick bay and the mess hall were located in the central core of the Tamarack. The core also included the bridge, living quarters, and gym. These areas had the luxury of artificial gravity, which was maintained by an Æon who could manipulate gravitons. Its hangars, weapons, and engineering sections made up the rest of the ship and were subject to zero gravity and the stress of rapid momentum change.

Victus passed several crew members, but nobody saluted or even acknowledged him. But why would they? Victus thought. I'm not myself right now. His body was in a state of distress. Though he could possess another body longer than any other Æon, it took a massive amount of calories, causing his body to cannibalize itself to maintain the connection. Even with rapid healing granted by nano-organisms, it would be a few days before his lost muscle tissue could be restored.

Once he reached the mess hall, Victus spent the next two hours, eating until he was full, resting, and evacuating. As his strength slowly returned, Victus rose from his wheelchair and left the mess hall under his own power.