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Posted on Sun Jul 9th, 2017 @ 11:12pm by Lieutenant Arkady Sjet Dr

Mission: S2E1 - Secrets
Location: Arkady's Quarters
Timeline: MD 98; 0130

Ey, ne volnuysya. Vse budet khorosho.

Ey, ne volnuysya. Vse budet khorosho.

The recording started again.

It opened on the screen as it always did: it showed a life well lived. A living room. A lived in room. Small by the standard's Arkady had seen other Federation worlds imposes as a minimum basic. But for Mars, it was a palace. Its walls were the rusting red of that world's bedrock, given a sheen by a resin coating that kept the walls from crumbling. There was room enough for a replicator, a couch, and a picture of flowers.

She entered the image from the right, settling onto the small couch with no urgency to her movements. She was dressed for comfort, baggy sweats and a chunky sweater. Good clothing for Mars, where heat was precious and the cold everlasting. They were bright colours, greens, and pinks, and oranges. She had wrapped herself in the colours denied the world of Mars. Her face had a bony, angular quality to it. A look of starvation, of hunger, of deprivation, that no feast or trick of the light could hide.

It was the face of a Martian. Not one of the pampered Federation pets who lived on the surface in their domes utopias. She was a princess worthy of ruling a city called Helium, beneath the hunting moons. She was his Red Martian. She who had given Arkady Sjet a soul worth fighting for.

Her dark eyes narrowed, lips curling upon a question. The short brown bangs that hung beside her eyes framed like perfectly.

Ey, ne volnuysya.” He said plainly, a smile curling his lips as he drank in her image. “Vse budet khorosho.

In that moment her eyes softened, her smile broadening ever so slightly. She had such trust in him that no betrayal was possible, and no lie would ever be heard. She parted her lips to speak and, the sound of a taken breath-

The file came to an end.

Arkady sat in his quarters, a bottle of vodka to one side of the communications terminal and his com badge beside it. He was still dressed in his uniform shorts and trousers, the grey jacket neatly folded on his bed. He took the glass and drank down its contents in a single pull, the sting of the alcohol no longer painful but a reminder of the life still beating in his chest. In the black screen of the communications terminal, his reflection lacked the warmth of his smile or the cheery twinkle in his eye.

In the privacy of his quarters, he could be honest, let the mask slip away to reveal himself.

In the mirror sheen was the face of a bruiser, the hard jaw that had broken men’s fists. His nose had stopped a few punches in its time, but the eyes that peered past them were as pitiless as sharks. Arkady had spent the first year of med school reading the requisite materials and had found the topics of psychology interesting in an academic sense.

In their folded words he found meaning and a better understanding of himself. Words like sadist, psychopath, and sociopath were easy enough for his fellow students to understand. But he had lived those terms, he knew the timber of a terrified scream, and he had smiled at the sound of breaking bones.

He had lost no sleep at the sound of a final breath.

But his Svetlana, his Red Martian princess...

He put the glass back down on the table and poured another. He reached out and pressed the replay button, and spoke again the words he had spoken to his wife so many years before.

Ey, ne volnuysya.

Hey, don’t worry.

Vse budet khorosho.

Everything’s going to be alright.


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