Line-A-Day Short Story (September)

Prompt: Write about a space ship going to a distant galaxy.

The ship was a sleek and glorious space craft. It was the crowning jewel of the Nova Space Program. With a capacity of some 500,000, it was the largest ship in the fleet.

The decks Amara sought would be near the core, far out of the way. As the strobes overhead began to flash red, she knew she was running out of time. The Pharaoh’s men would be on her soon. Each cell she passed, Amara peered through the glass of the port hole in the door. The white glow of his suit would be shining like a beacon for her to follow.

Thundering of boots on metal echoed down the corridor behind her. She had no more time; she would have to fight her own kin. Metal hissed against leather as Amara unholstered her phaser at her hip. With her thumb, she set it to stun and took aim at the shadows forming at the far end of the corridor.

“Amara,” called Alefax, “it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“We both know the Pharoah says I’m on the wrong side,” Amara shouted in reply.

Six rapid fires rang out along the metal walls and Amara heard Alefax and his team drop to the floor.

Amara continued on, the third cell from the end on the left emitting the while glow she sought.

She pressed her hands to the cold metal on either side of the glass; “Neil!” she shouted.

The man sitting on the floor against the back wall of the cell slowly looked up, his dark hair falling over his pale blue eyes. A twinkle sparked in his eyes at the sound of his name on her tongue, his thin lips quirking into the hint of a smile at the sight of her.

Her fingers flew across the keypad; the door slid open and Neil leapt towards Amara, his lips hastily finding hers.

She smiled against the kiss, her hand trailing down his arm, her fingers looping through his; when they pulled apart, breathless, a thick oily smear of purple marred Neil’s white suit.

Neil’s eyes widened in horror as he saw the stain, his hand dripping. “Amara,” he said slowly, “you’re bleeding.”

Glancing at her shoulder, Amara spotted the graze wound; she covered it quickly and said “It’s nothing.” She hadn’t recalled being shot.

But Neil’s gaze was not fixed on Amara’s shoulder, it was fixed on her abdomen. Looking down, Amara saw she stood in a pool of her own blood; she remembered the six shots from earlier, she had only fired four times.

She swooned at the sight of her own blood, so much of it, and her knees began to buckle beneath her. In the blink of an eye, Neil caught her and was lowering her to the floor.

She smiled weakly, her teeth stained purple with her blood; “Neil, with your strong arms,” she choked out a laugh at her own poor joke. Her hand cupped his cheek, her second thumb tracing his jaw line as the other left a trail of blood across his pale cheek. “Go,” she said simply.

“I won’t leave you,” said Neil firmly, clutching her hand to his cheek as a strange, clear liquid formed in his eyes.

“You must,” said Amara, “there is no place for you among my people, as there is no place for me amongst yours. Now GO, Neil, the Pharaoh will hunt you once I die if you are still here. Return to your lander, forget me.”

She waved her hand before Neil’s face, his eyes going blank before he rose and moved automatedly down the corridor, leaving her behind.