Sea of Stars – Chapter 1 - Phantom

The Arcadia emerges from a routine, navigational IN-Skip and detects an emergency beacon from the orbit of Mars. Captain Harlock and his crew arrive at a crumbling space station, just in time to rescue the sole survivor of an unexplained catastrophe.

Strange, how the existence of one person can change the course of lives around them, for better or for worse. A life is saved, but the repercussions of that decision may be too great to bear. One life may irrevocably alter the course of the Arcadia and the lives of her crew, sending them hurtling toward a fate no one could anticipate.

"I fight only for what I believe in...For no one's sake...Only for what's deep in my heart."

–Captain Harlock, Space Pirate Captain Harlock, Episode 4

She awoke suddenly. The screeching howl of straining metal echoed through carbon fiber walls. Sparks trickled like rain from torn pipes and loose wiring along the ceiling. Faint flashes of light briefly illuminated the destruction around her. Then, mercifully faded before her mental being could grasp the meaning of what she had seen.

The station was listing. She could feel the slow, laborious tilt beneath her. It was gradually losing its grip on its orbit. Her vision was blurred, but she could see the red surface of Mars creeping into the massive windows.

She tasted blood in her mouth. It was bitter, metallic, and all too familiar. Slowly, she turned to her side, trying to prop herself up with one arm. She felt stunned, almost drunk. The sudden movement made her dizzy, so she froze.

Her fading sense of reality clung helplessly to strands of humor. Something about a truck and being hit by it. No. She didn't get the number on it.

Something oozed down the bridge of her nose and dripped on the floor before her. She touched her forehead and drew back blood on her fingers. She regarded it with inquisitive wonder. It was curious how it seemed black in the dimness.

She knew what was happening. No panic. No flood of adrenaline to bring her to her feet and push her forward. She understood the seriousness of the situation, but had no desire to fight it.

Concussion? Jessica thought. Hypoxia?

She could smell the smoke of fire. Something growing, burning, sucking the oxygen reserves. Its soft roar was mounting.

She was going to die, and she didn't seem to mind.

Would it be so bad? Jessica thought. Would it be so bad just to give up? She bowed her head, staring at the glistening, black drops on the floor. I could just close my eyes, lay back, and let it happen.

She sunk to the floor, overwhelmed by exhaustion. She turned on her back to watch the sparks fall from the ceiling. They were beautiful, like falling stars. She was content to be one of them soon.

There was a faint clink of metal hardware with the familiar cadence of the human stride. The eerie howling and the roar of flames were growing ever louder, yet somehow this faint, almost hopeful sound, reached her over the din. Her feverish mind recalled the sound of spurs on cowboy boots in old westerns. She remembered watching them as a child with her father. The cheerful sound of spurs was such a contrast to the heavy footfall of a determined soul. It was something she never forgot.

The entrance to the room was ripped open. She could see metal twisted and shaped into grotesque effigies by the superheated hands of the explosion. They seemed to dance in the oscillating light of the approaching flames. The smoke was becoming thicker now. She could hardly distinguish the true human form which approached her. Only the curious, soft clinking sound forced her to look harder. It forced her to see.

It was a shadow, a faceless ghost. With the flames rising behind it, it was cold, hollow darkness. A long, ragged, black cape billowed behind it in the heated, swirling air. A tall, muscular frame slowly took shape with its approach.

Jessica caught her breath. A white skull and crossbones crudely painted across a worn leather suit emerged from the smoky haze. For the first moment since she awoke, she felt a twinge of fear. Her heart was suddenly pounding in her ears.

Brass buckles, shaped with the same symbol held threadbare, leather belts in place over lean, yet sinewy, hips. A long, silver saber hung from one; a holstered gun from the other. The buckles clinked together, catching the light, with long, confident strides.

The body moved like a predator. Slow, silent, with ominous, unpredictable intent. It was almost graceful, almost beautiful. The boots were large and dense, yet they made no sound when they connected with the floor. The shoulders were broad and determined under the weight of the heavy, flowing cloak. Only the thin, hollow clinking of brass gave away any movement.

Certainly this was him. This was Death coming to claim her. No comforting white light. No familiar faces. Only this strange creature. She was trembling.

It was standing over her. She could feel it staring down at her. Her breaths were shallow and rapid as her eyes slowly traced the length of the body, taking in each terrifying detail. She didn't want to look into its eyes, but she knew she had to. Wavering light from the showering sparks chased the shadows from a pale, ghostly face, partially obscured by unruly, dark hair.

Her vision was tunneling. She was becoming hypoxic now. She sensed her time was running out, and she desperately searched the shadowed face to meet its eyes. A sudden electrical discharge lit up the room. The shadows flew away like frightened birds. When she finally met its eye, she found something she didn't expect.

Was it concern?Pity?

The eye was dark, intense, almost angry, as if it had seen far too much. It was a shimmering pool of blackness, and she felt as if she would fall into it. The dark hair wafted in the thermals, revealing more of the face in the slowly fading light. The sharp angle of the clenched jaw. The subtle shape of the nose. The prominent bones of the cheeks. In her desperation, she couldn't see the black patch over one eye, she couldn't see the jagged scar which extended from the patch, over the bridge of the nose, across the pale cheek. She didn't want to. She only saw the face of her dead husband.

She wanted to say his name, but she hadn't in so long. Her body was so heavy, so weak, but she managed to extend a trembling hand. She extended her arm and reached out to it.

A gloved hand gently grasped hers and held it tight. This creature… this man, knelt down beside her. She felt him gather her broken body into his arms. He held her close to him, so she could rest her head against his chest. She felt a pounding heart beneath the painted skull. His long, thick hair brushed against her forehead. He smelled of worn leather, of exertion and perspiration. She could see his face, despite the shadows, and she felt herself smiling. She touched his hair, his cheek, with gentle, exploring fingers. The skin was hot. It glistened with sweat, even in the dimness.

So human, for a ghost…

"Have you finally come to take me home, my love?" she spoke softly. She knew she was close enough to be heard.

"Is that what you wish?" he asked. The voice was strong in return, but beautifully tender.

"I've missed you so…" she whispered.

With the final surge of her diminishing strength, she grasped the high collar of the cloak and pulled herself closer to him. Ever so gently, ever so sweetly, she touched her lips to his. She felt the heat of his breath, his tightening embrace, his hand in her hair. She tasted the sweetness of his skin with the salt of his perspiration.

So human… she thought before the blackness closed in.