No Shelter Among the Stars

Chapter 3- Ilias

Much good it did him. The thought cut through his brain like a bone saw. He pushed it aside. It did no good to dwell on the past, on the Lost. It had been everyone's choice to get out. Nobody had been forced. His eyes slid to a collection of symbols made in dull red. He pulled off one glove and touched one of the symbols as he walked by. Cool, painted metal grazed the back of his knuckles. For a moment he could almost see Stathis carving and painting for days on end, muttering his little incantations picked up from the Commandant. He didn't have to remember finding Stathis's remains in the bowels of the ship, mixed with the others. He didn't have to remember Stathis's wide, empty sockets staring at him from the shadows.

He turned left and walked up to another smooth wall in the ship. A rumble of recycled sounds vibrated against the hallway. A painted pattern swirled around one section of the wall forming the curved symbol of wisdom. Ilias pressed his hand to the center and watched the hidden door in the wall slide open. He stepped into a room filled with exposed wiring and repurposed data screens. 

They spread across the cut up metal floors and walls like a technological rat's nest. Heavy cables hung from the ceiling, feeding blocky bits of hardware that Ilias couldn't even name. Sounds of squealing machinery and digital synthesizers pounded through speaker systems set up here and there. Lights flashed to the beat like a mad kaleidoscope forming odd patterns and sequences. In the center of it all sat Spiro. His upper torso was bare, thick black hair stuck out from his chest and down his belly. His heavily muscled frame glinted from the lights in the room.

The bottom half of his body was encased in a sealed nutrient tank. A glowing screen on one side showed the long, thin nerves and veins that made up what was left of his legs. A crystalline pattern of growing white bone stretched out in the center of the sprouting bits of flesh. In the dim light, the glowing reflection of Spiro's slow regeneration spread across Ilias's hands and stomach. 

He glanced down at the red lines flickering across his hands with a blunted distaste. He was almost used to the novelty of amputated limbs re-growing, but not quite. The rhythmic pulse of spliced sounds made the nutrient fluid ripple in its sealed tank.

"Ilias," said Spiro. He was glancing at laid out patterns of numbers and lines spread across his many data screens. His fingers slid across a console of numbers, buttons, symbols, and switches. They tapped and flicked almost of their own accord, as if each finger had a mind of its own.

"Haris is dead," said Ilias, his large frame made it difficult for him to move without touching some hanging or mounted bit of rebuilt hardware.

Spiro paused and turned his head. His bearded face was thoughtful. "How long was he with us again?"

"Couple months," said Ilias.

"Ah," said Spiro, turning back to his work. "Never did get it right, did he?"

"No," said Ilias. "He was cherry right to the end. Cut his head open on the shacking control panel."

Spiro's mouth creased into a small smile. "It appears fate wanted to grease him even more than we did."

"Sander wants to intern him correct, in a crypt or something," said Ilias. He backed up to lean against the open doorway.

"Righteous Sander, heart and guts," said Spiro, "I don't have a problem with disposing Haris with dignity. The man did serve us loyally, that counts."

"Sure it does," said Ilias, "the crank almost crashed us last time. Remember that? Thought he'd slag us all."

"Sander might finish the job for him," said Spiro. His fingers clicked and stabbed minor adjustments across a geometric map that blinked across his data screens. His head bobbed, just slightly, to the beat of his self engineered music.