Headfirst into the Abyss

The smallest ship with the smallest crew, that’s how humans do – show you’re big by going small. That’s how you make your enemies fear you.

That is, perhaps, why the entire universe is scared of the Grimgrinner, because he is just one person able to bring enormous catastrophes just by thinking about them.

It’s the Grimgrinner than meets Charybdis’ small crew, as well, and the humans cannot show how big they are, not here, not in front of him.

Charybdis lands safely and softly, as it rarely ever does if Viktor is being honest, and they’re redirected immediately to the storage space. There are already ships there – small human ones, larger, almost tourist-like ones of the Wraiths and ridged ones from the Zephyrs. There are two that stand one, needle-like and pitch black against the dark grey walls. Even without asking, Viktors know that they belong to Grimgrinner and Sundowner. The universe knows he’s seen them on news enough times.

“Change up real quick. We need to get going. The delegacy is waiting for us.” Ursa is always quick and formal; he’s the best at what he does, and that’s caring—besides, he’s probably the most responsible one out of them all.

Their ship was on its way towards their motherbase, where a sort-of vacation was in order. For them, it entailed five days free from the travel and jobs. With the intergalactic war going on, five days was more than enough – it was impressive, it was almost miracle on its own.

But war waits for no one, and even though the universe can turn back the time, the humans cannot, so the crew of Charybdis had to change their course come to the Sleeping Sun as soon as they could. They’ve made their haste; still, it seems like TIA’s other ally got there faster than they did.

Viktor and his crew watched the video about Betsalel Conglomeration. Perhaps everybody who could understand what was going on watched it. It was huge – it was terrifying; a small figure stepping out one of those two ships, standing on it like the laws of the universe didn’t apply to them. The unbuttoned suit floated in the no-air, but the mask didn’t even move. The skin didn’t react; nothing happened. The person with no oxygen on them didn’t die in the outer space.

Oh no—the Sundowner stood still for several long moments, then flicked his finger into the closest star, the one that held Bestalel Conglomeration together – and it all went in flames. The flames were bright enough to fry down everything in vicinity, even the original camera that recorded everything even though it was made to withstand the exact same conditions.

Grimgrinner’s the one who sent the existing video to the TIA; it had been recorded from within Sundowner’s ship. Within the flames and the space explosion, satellites and planets melted, taking all alien life with them, but Sundowner remained calm and impassive on his ship, unmoving, until everything had cleared, several days later. That’s how TIA’s new camera’s found him, though nobody could get even remotely close. Nobody dared.

Viktor thinks them insane, really, if they want to work with Grimgrinner and Sundowner like nothing happened. But he doesn’t call the shots – he’s one of the TIA’s employees, one of their dogs, so to speak, and he does what he’s told to. When the war is over, his life will be a lot easier than for the rest of the universe. As long as the war gets over and survives through it.

Charybdis crew all have matching uniforms – navy blue and neatly ironed, with silver and gold buttons and dark red embroidery on shoulders and pockets, not fitting with the dark exterior of the ship or its gray interior. They weren’t really useful for anything, but that wasn’t the point – they were made to look pretty. To look impressive.

That’s how they walk even now, all five of them in step and they leave the storage space for something more favourable – a well-known, brighter hallway. They’ve all been on Sleeping Sun before. It almost feels like coming home.

They navigate the hallways like they’re not in a maze. The absence of staff is absent, but after the recent events the Sleeping Sun has gotten more strict on their permissions. Only those who must be out on the hallways are there, especially with two fickle visitors.

Don’t trust anybody, the mail directed to their ship said, trust only those from your crew and not a person more. TIA was in deep shit to allow this, but Viktor bites his tongue not to make this remark.

The lights are bright, but the hallways look worse with nobody roaming around. Not a single soul in vicinity, not until they are five hallways away from the entrance. Without even talking about it, they are moving towards the conference room, although they are doing it rather leisurely. Viktor can notice some of the leftover exhaustion in his crew, the same ones he can feel within his own body. No matter; it’ll be done in few hours anyway, as soon as the medicine made for high-pressure travelling wears out.

On the brighter side, they are not allowed to travel anywhere for the next six hours because of it, so they have the time to recuperate.

Two more hallways later, nearly right by the conference room that’s closest to the ship storage space, they come across first sign of life calmly perched with feet on the desk that wasn’t supposed to be there and tilting the weak plastic chair backwards. It’s reaching the ground with only two of its legs. It doesn’t look like it’s going to give in soon.

“Charybdis?” The man asks, eyes large and bags beneath them prominent. They’re blue. They’re bright blue, nearly grey, and his hair is light brown, long and falling around his face in even fringe. There’s something on his forehead, some sort of star-like scar and it’s what catches Viktor’s attention.

“That would be us.” He says, then extends his hands towards the other person. “Viktor Fyodorov, the Captain.”

His hand remains hovering in front of the scarred man’s face for few seconds. The man looks at it with no little surprise on his face, like it’s not something he wants to touch, then leans forward. Viktor brings his hand back.

“It’s interesting to have a Wraith here.” The person sounds so laid-back when they say it, bright eyes narrowing and hands clasping together beneath their chin. Only now does Viktor notice their hands – yellowing skin around fingers and wrists and brown, long nails crusted on top of them. There’s a long, angry red line moving from their inner left forearm and moving up the arm, disappearing under the black seam of the overcoat and black shirt folded together at elbows.

The man’s looking at Zain when he says it. Viktor’s not surprised, because it’s only a little bit obvious. Like many half-race children, Zain has taken the appearance of his father, the human; human genes seem to be dominant ones in all known cross-breeding so far.

Still, Zain’s eyes are purple. It kind of gives it away. It’s just that, normally, people aren’t so open about it.

“I’m sure Aria will have a field day with it.” The words are amused.

Something sharp – hurt – runs like a snake down Viktor’s gut, but he doesn’t flinch, because the others can see him. He realises, only seconds after it’s begun, that it’s not because his sister has been mentioned. No—it’s because he’s aware, very well so, that his sister is the resident tyrant and that his sister has killed enough humans and Wraiths to know that Zain may be in danger.

He has spent half his life with this crew. He is not going to have anything stand danger to them.

“I’m afraid she’ll have to find amusement elsewhere.” Then, with more confidence than he feels, because he’s vaguely aware of who he’s speaking to. “I’m Viktor Fyodorov.” He thrusts his hands towards the monster again.

The Sundowner doesn’t take it, yet again.

“Gaige.” He says shortly. It takes Viktor a little while to realise that the tyrant is offering his first name, and he repeats it, whispers it into the cool air of the complex. Gaige. It doesn’t even sound like a name, if you ask him. “Osborn, if it means any to you. I’m Gaige Osborn.”

It doesn’t mean shit.

“You can follow me to the conference room now.” He gets up and when he does, he’s three inches taller than Ursa, the tallest of the five Charybdis crew members. There’s something Viktor didn’t notice when he’s first talked him – like the red mark on his left forearms, there are red wound-like belts burned into the heavy, crusted skin of his neck and the bottom of his chin, where the helmet fits.

Leisurely and surely, the Sundowner moves through the Sleeping Sun complex like he owns in, steps heavy and his boots clicking on the polished, even surface.

Butcher of the Western Belt, that’s what they called Sundowner before he had this name, the current one. Before he brought down a star, something he’s turned into habits, and earned himself this title. They talked to the Butcher of the Western Belt, they were – Viktor was – even cheeky with him.

And they all survived.

His heart is beating way too fast for it to be confused with anything other than fear.