Thinking only made it worse. If I had only known, I kept telling myself. I asked myself, why did the GM not sound the alarm earlier? Why did Otoallo not reach out to me? She lay upon her apartment floor, her body covered with a sheet. I knelt beside her afraid to look. Respectfully, those who were with me in Otoallo’s apartment gave me a place and time to say goodbye. Yet, I could not speak.

Once again, I was alone. I raised the sheet even as my hands trembled. Her face was pale and dry. It was the face I loved, as if asleep. Otoallo seemed at peace, but my heart burned in me. Would everyone I loved leave? Would I forever stand apart? I touched the cool skin of her face and fell apart.

I doubt I would have made it through that time in my life without the love of my friend, Rigil. I would have caved in on myself without the support of Khamuel, Barachiel, Bollate, and Captain Taush. 43S7 helped me sleep, but I always awakened to the same sorrow, the same numbness.

So it was that I found myself in the white room standing beside Engil. The moment was silent as I watched Rigil and Bollate place the body of Otoallo in the cof. I watched my heart dissolve and disappear. My emptiness was complete. All the fine words they said over her meant nothing. The whole fleet had stopped to mourn with their King, but I found no comfort. They were kind, their sympathy was heartfelt, but it did not reach me.

Finally, I was alone by myself, my guards choosing to stand outside. I sat on my bed, a wraith of the man I used to be. I was so insubstantial, I could not even cry. I sat there simply staring at the medication in my hands. It was a cup of medicated tea meant to help me sleep a dreamless sleep. I swallowed the bitter tea and laid back on my bed. The last thing I heard was the cup dropping from my hand.

Some rotations later, I sat at my desk watching my guards reading quietly at their table. I had adopted a wait-and-see stance. One moment, a person might be in my face trying to cheer me, the next, they might be dead. I was prepared for whatever the dark hand of my fate might drop. I looked at the unanswered messages on my node and tapped off. I drummed my fingers absently on my desk until Khamuel looked up at me.

I stood from the desk and said, “I’ll be in the property room.”

I sealed myself in the room with my father’s things. The piles of this and the stacks of that surrounded me. I walked between stuffed crates and over-full boxes. I found a chair between two tall stacks against the back wall, I sat and folded my arms. The silence pressed in on me like a heavy blanket; solitude was my new solace. I could smell the extreme age of the many handwritten notes stacked around me. I reached into the crate before me and retrieved a sheet of my father’s correspondence.

To the King, I read quietly, may eternity bless you. In response to your query, I am comfortable where I am. I need nothing more than my prison provides. I am fond of your occasional visits and look forward with anticipation to your next. Wiznchour provides for me. Until our next meeting, your friend, Nimrod of the Nakki.

“GM,” I called. “Summon Wiznchour.”

The Nakki was an unregistered race. I thought I knew them all. The Nakki was absent from all of my father’s memories. I questioned Wiznchour to discover that Nimrod had been imprisoned my whole life aboard the fleet. Initially, I was angry to think that I was not told. Then, I recalled the truth of my existence. Why would anyone tell a bean farmer? I put Wiznchour on the spot; I demanded answers.

Humbled, Wiznchour confessed at last, “Our planet was lost to war. We did not heed the advice of the watchers. That is when your father stepped in.”

I stood over Wiznchour with my arms behind my back. “Go on,” I prompted.

“I was Aman, the Warrior-King of the Anun. Nimrod was the Warrior-King of the Nakki.” Wiznchour looked up into my eyes. “Our war was bitter. Our goal was the destruction of the Nakki. I had captured my nemesis and would have taken his head, but your father stopped me.”

I sat on the corner of my desk and asked, “Why?”

“He said he had seeded our worlds and deserved a harvest. He asked us to join the armada as a member race, but there were problems.” Wiznchour seemed emboldened.

I folded my arms and looked at the man sternly. “Leave nothing out,” I warned.

Wiznchour set his jaw and forced himself to speak secrets long hidden. “We had destroyed our planets. Radioactive fires engulfed my homeworld, and Nimrod led the final assault. One or the other of us would die first. Even as our worlds fell in on themselves, even as all of us would surely die, one of us must have the final victory.”

I stood and paced, digesting the new information. I asked as I paced, “You hated each other that much?”

“Yes,” confessed the Anun.

I answered, “Yet, you seem to be alright with having your enemy live next to you.”

Wiznchour lowered his head. “Nimrod was the greatest military mind of his race.”

I turned and said, “So, you respect him.”

“His abilities were second only to my own,” said Wiznchour looking up proudly. “It took a lifetime, but I defeated him.”

“So,” I replied, considering my words, “the King let you keep him as a trophy?”

“As a reminder of a way of life,” said the Anun. “Your father was merciful where I would not have been. Your father was also cruel.”

I turned and stopped my pacing. “You accuse my father of cruelty?” I asked sharply.

Wiznchour looked into my eyes without wavering. “Nimrod’s prison is my prison,” said he. “The King allowed me to live as long as Nimrod lived. He made me my enemy’s caretaker.”

I returned to my seat on the edge of my desk. “You have lived a long time,” I said. “Do you still hate him?”

Wiznchour turned his head from me. I waited for his answer. Impatient, I stood, and I was set to demand he answer me when he turned back and said, “Honestly, no. My respect for him remains.”

“Explain to me,” I said, “if you two are now friends, why keep him in prison?”

“Two reasons.” replied the Anun. “With a tree in his prison, he refuses to go beyond cycle nine and must breathe his native atmosphere. He is old and willful. He has awaited death for many revolutions.”

I prompted, “And the second reason?”

“If our people knew that Nimrod lived,” said Wiznchour, standing close and speaking in a concerned hush, “they would destroy the fleet to get to him. I beg you, please command the GM to strike out our conversation.”

I felt a sudden chill at Wiznchour’s prediction. The Guild of Navigators could do real harm to the fleet. My pause was thoughtful, as Wiznchour looked steadfastly into my eyes. I sighed and answered, “I will want to meet him. GM, strike out our conversation.”

On the following rotation, I sealed myself in my office under the pretense of feeling weary. I asked 43S7 for medicated tea, but I disposed of it in the water closet. Then I shifted to Wiznchour’s abode. He stood nervously in the middle of his spartan residence. 

Startled by my sudden appearance, he smiled sadly and said, “Your father always scared me in that manner. You will need to wear this.”

He placed a breathing cup and canister in my hands, and as I affixed the cup over my face, Wiznchour tapped a node beside a large Anun tapestry hung conspicuously on his back wall. A portion of the wall slid to the right, exposing a door.

He turned to me and spoke softly. “There is a node inside that will let me know of your intent to return.”

I entered through the door behind the tapestry. A light came on to illuminate a small room. Vents in the walls removed my atmosphere and replaced it with gases Nimrod could breathe. A green light flashed and the opposing door slid open. I stepped into a dim and misty apartment; I blinked to adjust my eyes. As it was crowded between the Anun apartments and the outer hull, Nimrod’s prison was a series of compartments running left and right of my entrance.

“Hail the King,” said Nimrod.

I looked left and right before spotting the Nakki Warrior-King seated just in front of me. He rose from his couch and impressed me with his height and build. He would be a formidable enemy, I thought.

I asked, “Do I address Nimrod of the Nakki?”

Nimrod answered politely, “Yes, Your Majesty. Please come in and sit with me.”

I sat beside him and studied the man up close. Like the Anun, his skin was slightly grayish. His elongated skull was more vertical than those of his former enemies. With close eyes and a broad mouth, his nostrils were almost completely hidden beneath a nose quite alien. Yet, his expression was amiable as he turned to me with a sad smile.

“You have my sincere condolences,” said Nimrod, “for the loss of your father.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “With the discovery that you existed, I was equally surprised with your relationship with the King.”

Nimrod looked away from me, perhaps into memories, then turned back to reply, “Your father was my very dear friend.”

I looked at the man with renewed admiration. The last of his race, imprisoned, and with a single friend in all the broad universe, my father. Unique in our fleet, and kept secret out of an abundance of caution, the tall Nakki with wide shoulders seemed gentle and kind. Nimrod seemed very much at home in his prison, and at peace with his fate.

I asked, “How often did my father visit?”

Nimrod sighed. “As often as he could. We would sit on this couch and hold exhaustive conversations. I spoke of life on my homeworld, he spoke of plans for my release. I spoke of my childhood, Godeli laughed. He spoke of his problems, and I consoled him.”

I said, “I have spoken with Wiznchour. Aman. I understand that the two of you were bitter enemies.”

“We were,” was his quiet reply.

I asked, “And, now you are not?”

Nimrod answered, “We have put the past behind us.”

“Does he treat you well?” I was curious.

Nimrod spoke from his heart. “I could ask for no better keeper.”

I adjusted the mask on my face and was reminded I sat in a room with an atmosphere I could not breathe. I asked, “How could you attack the Anun on their world if you cannot breathe their air?” I immediately felt foolish since I sat beside him in a mask.

“Come,” he said. “I’ll show you.”

I followed the big man through several chambers under a floating light. His prison felt comfortable and home-like. In the final chamber stood a crudely fashioned dummy dressed in gold-colored armor. The helmet bore the likeness of an eagle with fierce eyes and an open beak. Nimrod lifted it and placed it on his head. I could see his eyes through the open beak.

“You see my eyes,” he said. “If my armor was powered, there would be a complex view screen inside. It would show a man standing before me, and tell me everything about his physical condition. It would allow me to see him in multiple wavelengths.”

Nimrod removed the helmet and replaced it. He touched the gold-colored suit as if he reminisced. Again, he turned to me with a melancholy smile as he continued to speak. “The environmental suit is practically indestructible. The cape, when charged, expands to give the impression of wings. Obviously, I cannot show you the weapons we used, but this is how we trode the Anun.”

Nimrod walked to a shelf and turned back to me with three items in his hands. He handed me a wristband with an inert display and said, “We monitored our breathing supply and health status with this.” He placed something like a pine cone in my hands and said, “With this translator, we could communicate in the Anun language.” He held up a small bag and finished, “The remote battery kept our armor, weapons, and equipment powered.”

I was fascinated. I had never seen the like. Handing them back, I said, “I am happy your warring is behind you. I would like to see you free, but Aman assures me you would not last long.”

Nimrod answered, “True. The hatred between our peoples was absolute.”

I looked into the man’s eyes and wondered what freedom might bring out in him. If I freed him, would the hatred return? I tried and failed to judge his nature. I could read nothing in his calm features.

Despite my uncertainty, I said, “We near our new seed world.”

He replied, “You offer a larger confinement.” He smiled warmly. “I have found freedom in my spirit. I do not need a bigger prison, but I accept.”