Vinaed

Tonight is Grayson’s last night on Ssujak-resk, a fact that – as she considers her last few days – brings her a surprising amount of sadness. After getting over her initial disappointment at Voss’ absence, she promptly fell in love with the dusky planet and the shining hospitality of its quiet inhabitants.

Ssujak-resk on paper, Grayson concludes is nothing like Ssujak-resk in real life.

For the third night in a row, Grayson sits alone in the common lounge. She always occupies the same chair, even though there are three others there as well as a larger bench that might prove more comfortable in the long run. Ultimately, the seating arrangement doesn’t matter – the lounge itself features a huge window overlooking the expansive forests below, and that’s really what Grayson is interested in.

The lounge rises far above the canopy, a veritable sea of boughs stretching as far as the eye can see. The planet is overgrown with all manner of plant life; the Ssujak have cut into vast swaths of it, of course, in order to accommodate their sprawling cities and various installations, but still it clings fast to the edges of these strongholds of civilization, choking the vast bulk of the landmass in leaves and vines and trees all as black as night.

In fact, just about everything is black here. The flora, the fauna, the stone, the earth…it’s uncanny, but it’s that way for a reason. The planet’s star – a slow-burning red dwarf – is barely visible in the sky, appearing as an effaced, orange-colored blur in the sky. It produces very little light, such that Ssujak-resk’s day side is perpetually bathed in a sort of fading, reddish twilight. For this reason, every plant and animal – including the Ssujak – has developed adaptations to capture all possible light, including in the infrared spectrum.

The abundance of nitrogen in the air and in the ground causes the plant life to flourish despite the lack of light. Empowered by it, the plants grow impossibly tall and strong in order to escape the thick layer of fog that sits on land floods the planet, choking the sun’s rays almost entirely for miles up. Once above the mists, however, the trees must withstand the furor of constant high speed winds.

On land, below the canopy, it’s a different story entirely. The wind is still present, but it is much more manageable. It stirs the fog, however, which bathes everything in obscurity and reduces visibility to a ridiculous degree. It never rains; plants capture moisture in their roots and from the air with specialized substances that they secrete in vast nets that sparkle like crystal veils when under illumination.

The fog is, of course, not something a human can safely breathe. It contains a nitrogen compound that the Ssujak and all other life forms here have adapted to or are dependant on, but if inhaled by a human will cause acute and almost instant nitrogen narcosis. Part of the Ssujak government’s special arrangements for Grayson and her team was to prepare a facility where both species could breathe freely; they achieved this by controlling the air composition in a large compound that reaches high above land.

A unique combination, to be sure, but now that the exotic experience is almost at an end, returning to the sterile, steel walls of Vinaed-2 seems so…mundane. It is for this reason that Grayson chooses to linger a bit longer in the lounge.

After her third hour of solitude, a voice comes from the door at her back.

“May I intrude?”

Lost in thought, Grayson’s reply is barely audible. “Sure,” she says distantly, drawing a leg up under her as the sound of footsteps from behind draws closer.

A shadow falls over her as the newcomer leans in from the side.

“Grayson,” he says with mild amusement, his face appearing before hers now. Her look of confusion takes only a moment to clear, but the moment lasts long enough to put a few, very basic things into perspective for him. With a good degree of discomfort, he remains patient until recognition dawns on her face.

“Voss!” Grayson gasps, eyes wide.

“Yes.”

She examines him unashamedly as he pulls away from her and settles into the seat opposite hers. Having spoken with a number of his kind already over the past few days, his general features come as no surprise, but still – those individuals didn’t carry any prior associations (save perhaps their names) and meeting them hadn’t required any mental re-imaging on her part. Voss is a different case. Seeing him outside of the familiar shell of his environmental suit and seeing his face for the first time is…very strange. It is also, she realizes as her gaze travels over his ebon-skinned visage and elongated skull, incredibly sobering. The thin-lipped, toothy maw, slit nose, and dark, seemingly pupil-less eyes – despite being, in combination, admittedly far more expressive than a bleak facemask – remain decidedly non-human.

“There is something?” Voss asks awkwardly, seeking out her gaze.

Grayson stares at him a moment longer and then snorts, leaning back in her chair. “Yes,” she says, managing to keep her wry smile from becoming a full-blown ironic grin, “yes there is. I’m trying to re-associate memories to a new face is all.” She reaches up to rub her eyes for a bit before looking at him again. “It’s a little challenging.” She adds, offering him a smirk.

Voss sniffs in amusement and relaxes in his seat, laying a dark, ridged hand atop his thigh. Ssujak clothing, Grayson discovered when she first sat with her hosts, is not unlike their already close-fitting exoskeleton and is more often than not of the same color, making it excessively difficult to tell what part of the visual ensemble is and isn’t part of the wearer’s body. Especially in low light. Having been, since her arrival, repeatedly startled by her hosts’ ‘sudden’ moves, Grayson now more closely watches the movements of their hands, legs, and blade-tipped tails.

“I understand.” Voss says calmly, eyes narrowing. He makes a pained expression. “I would have been here to greet you when you arrived,” he explains, moving on to a different subject, “but I was called away shortly after I messaged you last. I had to leave immediately and had no choice in the matter. I moved as quickly as I could, but I almost missed your visit entirely.” He tilts his head slightly. “I apologize for that.”

Grayson shakes her head. “Don’t,” she says, making a dismissive gesture, “sometimes things don’t quite work out. You did what you had to, and had you not made it, I wouldn’t have faulted you for it.” She shrugs, smiling, and stares past him. Outside, the overgrown forest canopy leans heavily in one direction, thrashing under the relentless assault of planetary gale-force winds. Indoors, that same wind is nothing but a dull, muted background sound. She takes a deep breath, comforted despite all the unfamiliar elements in her environment. “I’m glad you’re here.” She says.

Voss examines her silently for a moment and then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He gives Grayson an earnest look. “Has everything been to your team’s liking?” He asks and then, as an afterthought, adds: “Have you had a chance to see much of the city?”

Grayson shakes her head again. “No,” she says, “I’ve been here the whole time.” Voss looks irritated at this and she gives him a helpless shrug. “Maybe next time, alright?” She snaps defensively, shooing him with a hand gesture. “Besides, it’s been just fine in here. The food’s excellent – even though I don’t know what half of it is – and the view’s breathtaking.” Her eyes wander back to the window. “No one’s complained to me about anything so far, anyway, but, we’ll see if they say anything on the trip home.” She winks at him.

“What would they say?” Voss asks. The question is two parts curiosity and one part offense.

Grayson easily detects the hazard there and skirts around it. “Probably nothing of value,” she guesses, “people find the stupidest things to complain about.” She laughs. “Especially my people.” This finds Voss’ approval; appeased, he leans back in his chair.

“You leave tomorrow, is that correct?” Voss asks, studying Grayson’s casual demeanor. She is at ease; one leg gathered up under her, elbow on the armrest and chin in her palm, her face unaffected – even her speech is more natural. He has never seen her this way. The sight pleases him.

Oblivious, Grayson pouts to herself. “Yes,” she sighs theatrically, “just as I was really starting to get into the food, too.” She rolls her eyes. “Now I’ll probably not have a reason to come back here for another ten years…” She makes a derisive noise and trails off, her eyes momentarily wandering over Voss. It never ceases to astonish her how still he can be at times – like a shadow.

Her shadow.

She meets his dark eyes; he doesn’t flinch or look away. She wonders briefly what she might look like to him, given his limited ability within the visible light spectrum, and what he thinks when he’s so quiet…

An uncomfortable feeling wells up in the pit of her stomach. She lifts her chin from her palm at last and gets to her feet, then walks to the huge window behind where Voss is seated.

Holding her arms, she stares outside, watching the thick mists filter through the sea of black boughs. “I’ve done this every night.” She says wistfully, gesturing at the window. “I come here and sit and stare outside for hours on end. Sometimes I don’t even notice when it gets late – this place just hypnotizes me…” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “It’s really beautiful here, in a lot of ways. It’s amazing to think that I may never have known it,” she moistens her lips, “were it not for you.”

“Grayson?”

Grayson doesn’t reply. In her peripheral vision she watches Voss get to his feet and move over to her. She continues to face the window and swallows thickly. “I think I have feelings for you,” she admits. It takes a while for Voss to reply, and in the intervening seconds she finds breathing particularly difficult.

“There is something between us,” Voss eventually acknowledges, causing Grayson to turn to him with an enigmatic look on her face. He catches her eye and carefully chooses his next words. “What would you like to do about it?” He ventures. Grayson’s wide eyes search his briefly.

“I don’t know,” she replies, unsure and annoyed at herself for it. She breaks away from his gaze for a moment and stares down at the space between them, her mind drawing a blank. Her brow creases. “Anything,” she offers, and then looks at Voss again.  “Anything would be nice.”

Voss hisses a laugh at her tone and steps closer, tentatively reaching a hand around to the back of her neck. “I’m certain we can figure something out…” He muses.  His respectable attempt at confidence falls a bit short, however.

Amused and pleased, Grayson smiles, prudently choosing to remain silent. She slides an arm around his waist and leans into him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. He is barely warm to the touch, and his body presents many unfriendly angles.

“Yes?” Voss asks after a few moments. He reaches for Grayson’s free hand with his own.

“Yes,” Grayson confirms and twines her fingers with his.

The instant the last officer leaves the COM room, Grayson turns and drives her fist straight into the side of Voss’ armored face. The surprise hit sends the Executor neatly to the ground, and Grayson follows him down, snatching at the front of his suit with what she suspects might now be a sprained hand. Despite this, her fingers quickly find adequate purchase and she brings her scowling face to within an inch of his.

“Don’t you ever,” she hisses between clenched teeth, instinctively tightening her grip on him, “ever hide anything from me ever again.” A bolt of pain tears through her hand and it threatens to sieze; she makes a face, but does not loosen her hold. “If this is going to work, we’re going to have to start trusting each other,” she explains tightly, “and you haven’t exactly been making that easy. Now, I understand that your people aren’t used to playing with others, and that what passes for a completely acceptable, responsible act back home might be slightly different than what constitutes the same here, but let me tell you something, Executor.” She leans in. “Your people and mine? We’re friends now. I know that’s a new word for you, so let me define it in case it comes up in the future.” Her dark eyes go hard. “A friend is someone you place value in your relationship with. I believe we see eye-to-eye on that at this point, but what I think you might be missing is this little part: friends don’t let friends march to their death.” She releases him at last and gets to her feet, then offers him her good hand. “Ever.”

With a conceding grunt, Voss grabs her hand and hauls himself up. “That is foolish—” he starts.

“I prefer ‘loyal’,” Grayson interjects peevishly, moving back to the conference table and leaning against the edge. She frowns and nurses her swollen knuckles.

Caught somewhere between being amused at the petty justice at play there and being frustrated with himself for having allowed his pride to make that possible, Voss stares at Grayson for a moment, then makes a short, derisive noise. “Call it what you want. From my standpoint, I was doing you a favor—” he says, but Grayson cuts him off once again.

“Bullshit!” Grayson snaps, head whipping up to glare at him. She points an accusatory finger in his direction. “You were doing yourself a favor by pulling out before you had a chance to put yourself in our debt!”

“Further in your debt,” Voss corrects, taking a few steps towards her. “We were already in your debt.” Grayson narrows her eyes and he shakes his head. “But no, you don’t understand. All of this was…” He looks away for a second, struggling to find an appropriate turn of phrase. “Bad timing.” He returns his gaze to Grayson, who raises an expectant eyebrow at him. He makes a displeased noise. “Everything came together very quickly – I suggested the course of action that I thought was best under the circumstances.” He pauses, thinking. “This,” he says after a while and gestures to the two of them with a clawed finger, “was never supposed to happen. At least not now. Allowing you to commit your resources to our cause wasn’t something we – as a people – were prepared to accept.”

Grayson shrugs a shoulder. “Resources or not, we were committed,” she says flatly. “As soon as you contacted us and we agreed to help you, we were committed. That’s how it works.” She sighs heavily and rubs her forehead, a dull ache beginning to form there. “Why didn’t you tell me about the genetic link as soon as you found out? It would have made things easier—”

“Bullshit,” Voss cuts in, using the term for the very first time. Grayson gives him an annoyed look. “I felt strongly that it would have weight with the Oban, but it was by no means a guarantee and we needed to be prepared for the worst. You would have seen it this way as well, and we would have ultimately found ourselves in the same situation.” He draws himself up. “It was time to act. I did what I thought was best – for both of us.”

Grayson pulls away from the table and walks past Voss; she comes to a halt before the large, inactive viewscreen at the front of the room and stands facing it, silent, for a long time. Eventually, she turns her head to the side to speak and, when she does, her tone is considerably calmer. “So what do you think the best course of action is now?” She asks. “You have a lot on your plate in Sector 10 now that the Oban are to share it with you, and I’m prepared to leave you to it. Perhaps, after things have settled and if your people are so inclined, we can try this again. Hopefully under less…stressful circumstances?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Voss replies. Grayson turns to face him; though he finds himself unable to interpret the particular look on her face, it compels him to extrapolate on his previous sentence. “Though we remain wary,” he says carefully, a strange weight pressing down on him as he continues on, “we are genuinely grateful to Vinaed-2 for its speedy and pragmatic response to our plea. We didn’t expect it. We had, after all, given ourselves every reason not to.” He stops here and takes a few slow, deep breaths, as though considering his next words. Finally, he comes out with it. “It shamed us.” He admits. “All of us.”

Grayson tries but is unable to keep the corners of her mouth from turning up into a small smile. “Is that an apology?” She asks delicately. There is a high probability that the question will derail the conversation and potentially ruin her chances at hearing what she suspects Voss is getting at, but she still feels it’s worth it.

“No.” Comes the Executor’s decided reply.

Because of course it isn’t, Grayson grumbles internally, but manages to maintain her smile anyway. “So what is it, then?” She asks.

Voss shrugs. “What it is.” He states, irritated, then moves on at once. “My people wish to continue to explore the possibility of an alliance with Sector 9, if,” he adds, taking a step towards Grayson, “Vinaed-2 and her commander are amenable at this time.”

Grayson’s smile widens. “They are,” she replies with a polite nod, “and I’m relieved to hear that.” Voss relaxes visibly at this, and the two stand facing each other for a good thirty seconds before Grayson gives a perfunctory nod and turns to leave. “I’ll meet with High—” She starts, then stops abruptly when Voss’ hand graps her wrist.

“Grayson.”

She turns back around to look at him, eyes wide. “Yes?”

He bows his head slightly. “Thank you,” he says quietly. Grayson’s smile is foreign to him. He stays still for a split second longer, considering saying something more, then decides against it. He releases her and promptly exits the COM room.

The door slides open and she steps inside, stopping only a few paces in. Executor Voss stands across the room with his back to her, facing the observation deck.

“Grayson,” he greets her, his synthesized voice extending the first vowel. Though characteristically perfunctory, his greeting is detectably curt.

“Executor,” she returns staunchly, willfully ignoring the implied warning. There is no doubt in her mind that he knows what this is about, and that this visit was entirely expected. What is confusing – considering his typical disinterest in conversation – is why he let it happen. She takes a deep breath, fighting to maintain her composure. “With all due respect, I think you’re making a mistake.” She straightens and levels a hard stare at his back.

“Yes.”

Stunned, Grayson blinks. “Yes?” She echoes, struggling to process the unexpected response. She moistens her lips and turns her attention to the peculiarly-sparse star field beyond, a frown creasing her brow. “What? Why, then? Why—”

“I maintain that you are uniquely short-sighted,” Voss says flatly, cutting her off mid-sentence, “but in this instance I cannot hold you entirely at fault for the crudeness of your assessment.” After waiting a bit for Grayson to have a moment of personality (which she curiously does not take advantage of), he continues. “Consider the likelihood that there are additional factors outside of your knowledge.”

Grayson shakes her head. “Be that as it may,” she starts, allowing the slight, “I hope you understand that this is it. Our gateway into Sector 10? All the progress we’ve been making with the Oban Moors? Those things are gone – forever – if you’re part of the launch tomorrow.”

Voss turns his head to the side. “Do not insult me with the obvious.” He replies. “Our concerns with Sector 10—”

“Are things we already agreed to help your people with!” Grayson snaps, instantly dropping the cool demeanor and taking an aggressive step forward. “Almost a year ago, when you determined the data was suspect, we agreed to send reinforcements to Sector 10. We agreed to share supply line coordinates. We acknowledged that the nebula needed to be surveyed. We told you we would back you up no matter what happened!” She gestures sharply. “None of that has changed! None of it!”

“Grayson,” Voss tries, turning to face her at last. “Vinaed-2 cannot—”

“Listen to me, Voss,” Grayson growls as she crosses the room determinedly and comes to a halt before the towering Executor. She frantically searches the dark surface of the elongated environmental mask concealing his face. “I”, she repeats, stabbing the fingers of one hand to her chest for emphasis and then stabbing them into his, “promised you.” She pauses, staring at him, then retracts her hand and nods once. “Do you understand me?”

Executor Voss remains still as always. “Yes,” he replies, “and you have my deepest gratitude.” At this, Grayson relaxes visibly and steps away from him, then turns to make her way back towards the exit. “However, my decision remains the same.” Grayson stops; her fingers curl into fists at her side. “It is an unacceptable price for the forces of Vinaed-2 to pay.” Voss states with finality.

Grayson turns, enraged. “I—” She starts, but the Executor cuts her off at once.

“Regardless of promises made.” Voss adds.

Grayson attempts one final time to bore through the inscrutable and fails. Before she can convince herself that she is in any state to continue dialogue, she turns back to the door and forcefully presses the key panel to let herself out.

“Grayson,” the Executor calls just as the door slides open.

Grayson stops and stares into the empty hallway beyond.

“Trust me.”

Grayson continues to stare forward, trying but ultimately unable to settle on a single response. During this period of deliberation, the door closes with a soft hiss. After calling it a wash, Grayson waits five seconds, curious to see if Voss will add anything more.

Of course, he doesn’t; he’s already said everything that needs to be said, and Grayson knows that. She knew that when she started the count to five. She raises her hand to the door panel once again and presses the button.

As soon as the door slides open again, she is gone.