Narzack

It’s quiet, now, Harlan Lincoln.  You’ve won. 

Sinner.

Walk.  Run.  Move faster!  You carry this weapon in your hand.  Its weight is unfamiliar, its shape barely remembered. 

Civilian.

Tighten your grip.  Check the safety- off.  Move quickly!  Move silently!  There is at least one more.  Surprise is your only hope.  You’re too tired and too weak and you don’t know if you have any skin left on your back.    The nightmare that walked in your skin won’t help you now.  It’s just you. 

FASTER.

There, resting on the counter in the medbay.  The Captain’s shotgun.  Your Captain.  You heard her scream.  Follow it. 

You have the shotgun.  You haven’t fired a weapon in six years.  Remember its kick.  Remember the spread, you want to be close. 

A pistol and a shotgun.  It’ll have to be good enough.

Check your corners, marine.

Civilian.

There.  The leader.  Move quietly.  You can do this. 

A flurry of movement.  It’s the doctor.  Hold your fire.  Get closer.  You can hear the other captain speaking.  It doesn’t matter. 

“Hey,” you say.  He sees you.  He sees the gun.  He surrenders.  Others swarm out.  Somebody takes the pistol.  They bind the man, Vetrone.  You don’t see them move past you.  They are alive.

You see the Captain.  Your Captain.  She’s hurt.

She needs you.  She doesn’t belong her, laying in a pool of blood.  Her blood, his blood, their blood. 

The Captain belongs in the bridge.  At her proper place.  The command chair. 

Take her where she belongs.

You see her.  She barely acknowledges you.  Doesn’t matter.  This is important.  You pick her up, she’s not heavy.  Left arm under her leg, right across her back.  She loops her left arm around your neck.  She looks at you.  Her eyes see into yours.  She understands.

“Come on, Captain.”

She nods.  The shotgun lays across her stomach.  You carry her out.  Past Gully, the doctor, past Sadie.  Down the corridor.  Past medbay.  Into the bridge.  You carry her.  Her strength flows into you.  You will not falter.  You will not fall.  You will be strong, because she is your Captain.  And she needs you.  You are strong.  Your arms are tireless. 

You set her gently, tenderly in her command chair.  You put the shotgun across her lap.  Weary, wounded eyes search out yours.  She’s grateful.  You understand.

“This is where you belong, Captain.”  Again, she nods.  You’ve done the right thing.  It’ll all be okay, now.  The Captain is where she belongs. 

Your Captain.

Everything will be okay.

You remember the lieutenant.  Shame and misery clench your soul.  Guilt digs its claws into your heart.  Black, vile loathing creeps over your mind.

Your Captain straightens. 

Everything will be okay.