Whatever could be described as “behind them” as since shut closed. What few of them remain are now completely alone as they shoot through the unreal, passing many thousands of light years with each passing minute.

  The journey this time felt rather unusual compared to a typical gateway trip. As the three Ulminhan ships floated together with the gunship tightly packed in the middle, everyone conscious and present could witness the spectacle from outside their windows. It genuinely felt that they were rushing in every single direction in time and space simultaneously. Whatever perspective could be seen out there ceaselessly morphed, distorted, folding inwards, outwards, unto themselves, never with a moment in which their eyes could grasp any visual anchors to make sense of. It began to set on them that this was far more than a simple physical distance that they were traversing.

  “Vertan!” Lym exclaims again. “Vertan! Please. Please. Please.”

  She moved quickly to desperately patch him back up. She had found some form of healing rag and has since wrapped his bleeding head, but truthfully, she has no idea if his biology could make any use of its benefits. Her mechanical eye continued to monitor his vitals signs, and yet for some reason, even this has become unclear. She felt increasingly and despairingly frustrated with her own self. She should immediately know how his wellbeing is, why doesn’t she have the answer? Or perhaps did she find herself unaccepting of what’s in front of her?

  Hiau stood by, watching the situation unfold in front of her from the cockpit. Behind her, some of the Ulminhans in the ship in front of them could be seen trying to peer in to get a view, equally worried.

  It wasn’t until this moment that she understood the emotional potency of what was transpiring. Perhaps Vertan did mean it when he told Hiau that he would kill her should she try anything that harmed Lym. The moment left Hiau in a state of shock and awe. She had grown so used, accustomed, and indoctrinated into believing that she was fighting against irredeemably evil demons for the greater good of the Coalition and the Myriad Worlds. Even with their earlier encounter, it hadn’t yet nearly set in for her, having just witnessed a near-death experience at Lym’s hand.

  And here Lym is, nearly on the verge of tears over the man. A man that Hiau had also come to thoroughly believe is a non-negotiable threat. A terrorist. A radical extremist.

  Yet this is the reaction playing out before her. Do the two mean something more to the other? What an unspeakably, unfathomable combination. She couldn’t have foreseen something like this in a million eternities.

  Lym knelt completely on the floor now, cradling an unconscious Vertan in her arms in an attempt to nurse him back to life. Though she was too hardened to ever admit to tearing up, she found herself quietly humming ancient melodies of her people to him, in a tongue unknown to everyone else.

  *****

  Across the other Ulminhan ships, a somber mood begins to encroach the atmosphere.

  Communication lines continued to be maintained through each ship. All expressed generally the same sentiment: there is no going back now. Either this truly worked, or they are condemned to float out here for all of eternity with no salvation.

  It was only here that their unspoken sentiments at last came out in full. Confessions of each person’s reasons for defection came out in full trust. Honest opinions regarding the situation and of their former leader Admiral Gahn came through in unfiltered discourse. So too did their thoughts and views on Vertan, Lym, and Hiau.

  For the many of them here, it was a sense of relief intermixed with a growing anxiety. This is the bigger mission that they felt morally obligated to beyond their initial mission’s parameters. They all understood that there is a greater sense of justice above them that they must allow to follow through and not impede with in their aid of Vertan and Lym. They are all similarly affected in witnessing the recent uprising, rebellions, and insurrections taking place amongst the stars.

  Yet still, it took a moment for these discussions to come out. It took a moment for them to finally realize that they were all out here alone, and that nobody would punish them beyond their own selves as they raced past increasingly foreign starfields. The rest of the Myriad Worlds are all far away and inaccessible, as are the many systems currently running it. The silence in all, felt oppressive within the hulls of their ships.

  There is still a strong distrust towards Hiau, even if they trusted Vertan’s instincts with her. So far, no sabotage has taken place, after all. But the bad feelings couldn’t be shaken given her past actions towards them, and many of them have seen their comrades slain on Ritus by her troops’ hand. Many of them joked that it was good riddance and cosmic justice that her troops all met their fate back in Olmona. Many others talked of killing her off for good once she is no longer of use to them.

  Unbeknownst to them, Hiau did hear all of this through Lym’s gunship and its acute systems. In fact, the more the ship repaired itself, the more clearly she could listen to it all. But she voiced no objection to it. Perhaps there was a sense of guilt involved, that she had been involved in such destructivity. Perhaps, she believed that she was even deserving of such a fate, and it would serve as final penance for her sins after such a worthless, worthless life.

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  What is there to look forward to afterwards, anyhow? She’s seen the masses for herself. Nobody has anything to look forward to. That is in fact the best case scenario, that there will be people left to mope about hopelessly on burning planets. She knows that the success of this mission to inform the Happians of invaluable intel will for all intents and purposes speed up this process, beating the elites to it before they can get back at them with their copied genes. What can she look forward to but to be worthless meat, now for somebody else? Perhaps a blazing death would be the preferable option.

  Maybe, at least, she can rest easy knowing that she is fighting for a future in which the next generations might have the option to carve their own paths, rather than predetermined by the system, like hers and so many others.

  It’s just such a heavy shame that she might not be around to see it.

  *****

  Amidst the quietness of their hyperliminal transit, Lym continued to kneel there on the floor, not having moved an inch from her place for the past several hours that she’s cradled Vertan. Every now and then, Hiau would come back to look at them, but has since never uttered a single word, completely unsure as to what to say. She found herself instead maintaining comms between the other ships in the rare instances that it happens.

  Lym still found herself stuck, blind and without an accurate reading on Vertan’s vitals, her internal systems calibrated and specialized for Happians, not Humans. Instead, she found herself suspended in paralyzing anxiety and despair, seemingly for perpetuity. Each passing hour felt longer than every millennium she has thus far lived.

  Yet from the outside, she remained as stoic as she possibly could, not wanting to admit the existence of such an attachment, especially in Hiau’s presence. Perhaps, even to herself.

  Given the mortality of everything, she should clearly know this by now, after over ten thousand years of war and suffering. Why would she hurt herself like this, in spite of that knowledge?

  For a moment, she finally allowed herself to stop attempting to analyze Vertan’s vitals from every single angle. There was no helping it. Her eyes calmed, returning to their normal state after spending hours ceaselessly shifting between different modes in endless denial.

  From the corner of her eye, Hiau continued to stand where she was, watching them hesitantly from afar, not risking any involvement in her uncertainty. Slowly, her sight shifted until she stared blankly ahead at the gunship’s door in front of her. She began the slow road of acceptance that maybe, he is truly gone.

  A movement is detected.

  Immediately, Lym turns back to Vertan. But he remains still, as motionless as ever.

  Her initial sense of hope faded, and she once more began turning away.

  Another movement is detected.

  Turning back more slowly this time, Lym’s eyes began to widen, and slightly glistened.

  Vertan’s eyes flickered as he fought his way back up to consciousness, until finally, with great pain, he brought himself awake. He swallows for a moment, before painfully coughing up a few drops of blood.

  “Ow, god,” he mutters. “What happened? Did we make it—?”

  “Vertan!” Lym exclaims with an overwhelming rush of relief. She immediately brings him into an embrace, tightly wrapping her arms around him.

  “Wh—what happened?” asks Vertan. “How long was I out? You’re acting like I died.”

  “I thought you did!” exclaims Lym. “You’re alright, thank goodness you’re alright!”

  Realizing the weight of the moment, Vertan finds himself squeezing Lym back in relief. The last thing he remembered from consciousness was their vessel being struck by the impact of a high-velocity round, having instinctually pulled Lym away just in time.

  Slowly, the details flooded back into his mind. The battle. The struggle. General Hiau. Gahn. The gateway. What else had happened?

  “Lym,” he began. “Where are we now? Did we make it?”

  “Yes, Vertan,” she replied, a smile of release coming over her. “We made it through.”

  Vertan couldn’t help but smile for a moment, letting out a laugh in the overwhelming sense of relief that they had both made it through alive.

  “Holy—,” he began again. “We made it. We made it!”

  The two’s eyes met for a moment at this final realization. Overcome with the high of their emotions, they couldn’t help but find themselves both laughing, embracing each other tightly once more on the verge of tears.

  Still standing from the corner, Hiau watched on, her typically stoic self, for the first time in what felt to be an eternity, beginning to feel some type of emotion. The cheers cut her both ways; she found herself reminded of those she condemned, and yet, she couldn’t help but to smile ever so slightly at the two’s relief over such a monumental effort on their parts.

  Turning to the gunship’s comms by her side, she pressed down the switch.

  “Vertan Zviedal is alive,” she announced to the other ships.

  Across the vessels, everyone was at first confused and in disbelief, before finally bursting into cheers of celebration in spite of their exhaustion. There was still much ahead of them, and they were still in transit across many millions of light years to a destination previously unseen.

  But for the moment, it felt like they had made it. It felt like they had truly done it, and that all of their pains and sacrifices were not in vain.