Omnium's Fables

Omnium 21295:Millenial Debt

At the heart of the residential sector, a small plaza opened up, a pocket of comfort carved into the cold metal of the Vienne. It wasn't large, but its warmth embraced the crew like an illusion of home, a fragment of Axis suspended in infinite space. In the center, a circular fountain gently gurgled, its waters illuminated by the golden reflections of the nefeura—small, elongated fish with swollen bodies and forked tails, creatures of Axis that, according to fishermen, protected navigators from misfortune. The air was quiet, the silence broken only by the rustling of the water.

Hours had passed since the nightmare of the meteorite, and while Jessie rested stably in the infirmary and most of the crew had retired to their cabins, Mana, the Venasian, watched tirelessly over the scanners, immune to fatigue.

But in the plaza, another figure sought refuge from the night. Captain Ross, sitting on a bench, gripped a cigarette between his fingers, the smell of smoke mingling with the sweetness of the air. Beside him, a bottle of brownish liquor, the label written in an alien language proclaiming its name. His eyes stared into the void, lost in thoughts that kept him from sleep, despite the V-crises that had tormented him for days. He took a sip, the liquid burning his throat, then a drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a cloud that seemed to carry the tension from his muscles. The sound of the fountain lulled him, a moment of peace stolen from the chaos.

Heavy footsteps broke the quiet, coming from the corridor leading to the hangar. The imposing figure of Ron emerged from the darkness, his ashen black hair and large belly making him unmistakable. "Captain," he said, his voice deep but tired, "I've finished maintenance on the Terrence Pol 3 and the Bronte TN-6. As for the remnants of the Larry Owl, I don't know where to put them for now. Disposing of them in space seems like a waste. They might be worth something when we reach Osiris."

Ross listened in silence, Ron's voice reaching him like an echo behind his back. Then, without turning, he grabbed the bottle and raised his arm, a slow gesture inviting the other to join him. Ron approached, sitting on the bench with a grunt, and accepted the bottle, taking it cautiously. "Can't sleep, Captain?" he asked, raising it to his lips.

Ross replied, his gaze still lost in the darkness. "I've been having mild V-crises for days, and I can't understand what I'm seeing." His mind returned for an instant to that black shadow, the red eyes staring at him in his dreams, an image that squeezed his chest.

But before he could continue, Ron, after a sip, coughed violently, surprised by the strength of the liquor. "Damn it, Ross, where did you get this?" he said, his face flushed as he tried to catch his breath.

A faint smile curled Ross's lips. "Leviron, it's Magnusian," he replied. "I got it years ago on Iggralith. It's actually a bit too strong for us humans."

"Too strong is right," Ron grumbled, still coughing, and quickly passed the bottle back to the Captain.

After a moment, Ron returned to the previous discussion. "Crises, huh? And what do you see?" he asked, his voice more serious.

Ross hesitated, his tone becoming confidential, as if he could lower his defenses with Ron. "I wouldn't know how to explain it to you. I don't understand what it is. It's like something is staring at me. I continuously see a shadow with red eyes, and it's as if I can't move."

Ron reflected, his face darkening. "Hmm," he murmured. "I wouldn't let it get to your head too much, Captain. After all, V-visions don't necessarily show us our future. And besides, it's not certain that it can't be changed. The Farsight are an example of this." He was referring to the military units who, by refusing the vaccine, exploited V-visions to prevent disasters, a risk few were willing to take.

"Perhaps you're right," Ross said, taking another sip, the liquor warming his throat. Then, after a pause, he changed the subject. "Listen, how are things with your son, Gabe? I see you argue with him often."

Ron sighed, his tone heavy with emotion. "Yes, I just don't know what to do with him. I know this might sound disrespectful to you, Captain, but I don't care about this war at all. I wish my son would give up being a soldier."

Ross remained silent, his face illuminated only by the glow of the cigarette. He took a final drag, then extinguished it against the bench, the gesture slow, almost ritualistic. "You know," he said, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, "history tells us that humans first appeared on Axis a thousand years ago. A primitive species that, without the help of the Meynesians, wouldn't have survived even itself. A millennial debt to that race. Some even think it's slavery disguised as coexistence. After all, President Maverick himself is a Meynesian."

Ron interrupted him abruptly, his voice rising with passion. "I don't care about that debt! I just want my son to be okay!"

But Ross spoke over him, his firm tone silencing him. "I never had a problem with that debt," he said, a slight pause adding weight to his words. "Until that very debt took away my son." His voice cracked, veiled with deep sadness.

Ron, caught off guard, lowered his gaze to the floor, reflecting. Then, with a curious but cautious tone, he asked: "You had a son, Captain?"

"Yes," Ross replied, his gaze lost in the darkness. "Perhaps you know of him. His name was Gustav. He died twenty-five years ago, in the m******e of Matteo."

Ron's eyes widened, surprised. "Gustav? You mean the hero who sacrificed himself to repel Matteo and saved the tenth division at Calypso?"

"Yes," Ross confirmed, his tone somber. "But all the other divisions were decimated on that occasion. And Calypso was retaken by the Papacy shortly after." He paused, grief carving his face. "How I wish he had never done it."

He slowly rose from the bench, his body swaying under the effect of the Leviron. "I understand you, Ron," he said, his voice trembling with sincere urgency. "Once we reach Osiris, take your son and run. Please." The words struck Ron like lightning, leaving him stunned.

Seeing the Captain stagger, Ron quickly stood up. "Do you need a hand, Captain?" he asked, worried.

Ross shook his head, a weary smile on his lips. "Don't worry, Ron. Pay no mind to my words. I think the Leviron is taking effect." He amicably waved Ron away, regaining some composure despite his uncertain steps. "I'm heading to my cabin. Who knows, maybe this time I'll actually manage to sleep."

He walked away, his figure disappearing into the darkness of the corridor, leaving behind an echo of melancholy.

Ron watched him vanish, then sat back down on the bench, his heart heavy. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it with a slow gesture, and the smoke enveloped his face as he reflected. "A shadow with red eyes, huh?" he murmured, his voice grim, almost a whisper. "So the Captain saw it too."