Parasomnia

"You moron, you already blabbed about the letter?" The bald man cuffed Tevin upside the head.

He stood taller than Rovan and was lean to the point of gauntness. His eyes glinted unnaturally, as if the bartender at the ‘Ice Cradle’ had been heavy-handed with the cocktails.

“I just—I thought it’d be better, guys, come on,” Tevin squeaked. “Maybe he’ll be useful.”

“And what’s with the sudden generosity, Kallinkorian?” Rovan shot me a disgusted green-eyed glare. “A thief never shares his loot—shouldn’t you know that?”

“I don’t steal, I just… redistribute. Admit it, it’s simpler.” I answered lazily, noting Tevin’s approving nod. “If the letter’s really what you think it is, there’ll be enough for everyone. I’ll take a small cut for my help, and then we scatter like strangers.”

“And what if we don’t give a damn about you?” The bald one waved his middle finger in my face, and the other three rumbled in agreement.

I let my gaze drift over the crew of thieves—five in total. Three Kallinkorians and two creatures from… hell if I knew what planet those freaks came from.

I studied them thoughtfully, these men who’d made their living the same way I had for years. Castoffs from our homeworlds, sons of destructive choices—that’s what we were. And since I was stuck dealing with them, I had to outplay the competition.

“Tevin mentioned,” I began, deliberately slow, “that your whole crew landed on the planet. Which means you left your ship sitting on the surface… unattended.”

The crowd shifted nervously, and I knew I’d hit the Kallinkorian bullseye.

"Unlike you dumbasses, I don’t leave my ship unattended," I shot back, waving my middle finger in the now-silent bald guy’s face. "So the second I press this little button here, my crew takes yours and flies it straight out of Blokays. Enjoy freezing your balls off and chewing on snot for the rest of your days." I hovered my finger over the button—which, in reality, just adjusted the heating in my suit—and prayed these meatheads didn’t have a similar model in their arsenal. Tech specs weren’t exactly their strong suit.

And it worked. After a beat of tense silence, Rovan cracked.

"Friend," the man oozed sweetness, shaking his beard as the others leaned in, mirroring their leader's stance, "no need for threats right away. We're not enemies here. Let's work together. Might even be fun. What d'you say, boys?" He turned to his crew.

"That's what I told him from the start!" Tevin babbled, only to earn another irritated smack from Rovan – who was probably cursing the dim-witted kid in his head.

"Oh it'll be fun alright," I smirked at the five of them. "Fun like a five-alarm fire."

…Apathy hung heavy in the air, and my parents… They viewed everything as inevitable, as part of some natural order. Mother would disappear for days in the vegetable garden, struggling in vain to salvage meager crops that could barely feed our family – let alone produce enough to sell. Father, as always, remained in his orbital hangar, doing what he'd always done best – fixing starships.

I was sixteen and convinced the world was ending. My home planet, once the only place I knew, now felt like some forgotten backwater of the universe—doomed to die. I didn’t know what to do. People didn’t want change. They’d grown accustomed. Accustomed to the ignorance, to the slow but certain death creeping across our world. And then it hit me—they wouldn’t fight. This battle wasn’t theirs to wage.

But me… I was young, burning with the need to change everything. I knew if I stayed, I’d become part of the stagnation. I couldn’t let that happen. That fiery Kallinkorian teenage absolutism coursed through my veins, pumping bold, reckless ideas through my fevered mind.

On the eve of my departure from the planet, I went to see the one person I still needed most – my elder brother. Mother had given birth to another child by then, and I knew this new sibling would never truly enter our sacred brotherhood. Not like we had. Not for me.

I was certain Kell would be different – that he'd help us escape, that we'd build a new life. Just the two of us.

At sixteen, I still believed my older brother possessed some deeper understanding of the world. Surely he could see what I saw – our planet gasping its last breaths, everything we knew crumbling to dust. How could anyone just stand by and watch their world disappear?

But Kell had already reached that age—by local standards—when resignation sets in. When the fight drains from your bones. When it's easier to just drift with the current, eyes shut tight against the crumbling bedrock all around.

He was older, more… accepting of our world's slow demise. Unlike me, he saw no point in raging against it. No reason to gamble everything on some hazy, half-formed dream.

When I asked him to fly away with me, he just shook his head.

"You're still young, Itty," my brother smirked, raising a hand-rolled cigar to his lips.

We stood on the creaking porch of his shack while his new Kallinkorian wife clattered pots inside, her grumbling carrying through the thin walls.

"All that Kallinkor talk is overblown, I'm telling you." Kell tapped ash from his cigar and held it out to me. "You just lack the patience to slow down and look around. Believe too much in fairy tales. No wonder Ma calls you galacto-head."

"You really want this?" I knocked his hand away, the offer of cheap oblivion hanging between us. "To just… slow down? Be content like patches on your pants and some Kallinkorian woman warming your bed—that's the dream now?"

It was our people's oldest habit—smothering hardship under cheap thrills. Kallinkor had long since traded its fight for sedation.

"Watch your tone, Itty," Kell sighed, the ember of his cigar pulsing in the dusk. "I get it—the hormones, the fury. I was there too."

"And what happened to you?" I swallowed the tremor in my voice. "Where's the brother who used to dream bigger than the sky?"

"He grew up." A dry, final click of his tongue. "You should try it. Leave the interplanetary fairy tales to fools. Last thing we need is the neighbors whispering about cowardice in the Kendes bloodline."

"Since when do you give a damn about neighbors?"

"Someone's got to think straight. Not everything in life is a battle, Itty. Sometimes you just survive."

"You're right," I replied hollowly, turning toward the hangar beyond the field that once grew thick with wheat. Now it was just a gray stain of parched earth.

"Father's off today," Kell called after me. "Hangar's empty."

"I know," I said softly, without looking back.

But I knew—felt it in my bones—that Kell was already heading to tell Pa. No time left.

I'd prepared for this. Well… as much as any sixteen-year-old could. Studied ship schematics until my eyes burned. Packed a go-bag with just enough supplies to reach the nearest habitable rock. After that? I'd planned to hop from planet to planet like some kind of cosmic grasshopper, gathering skills and a real plan along the way. Genius, right?

I could already picture it—Kell telling Pa about my plans with that worried look, like I’d lost my mind. And Father… he’d probably just stay quiet. He was always quiet. Kell would turn out the same in a few years, then the youngest, then Kell’s kids—if the planet’s air held out long enough to even breathe, let alone speak.

Our language was already considered crude by offworld standards. In another generation, it’d probably devolve into grunts and gestures.

I expected nothing from them anymore. Nothing from any of them. Right then, I realized—if I stayed, I’d become just like them. Confused. Powerless. Crushed under the weight of it all.

So I made my choice.

Kell didn’t want to come with me. That was his right—agonizing as it was—but I knew: if I didn’t leave now, I’d be trapped here forever. In this place where hope and future had long since withered away.

I was ready to fly. Alone. With the weight of my homeworld at my back and a brother who’d chosen to stay, scrubbing me from his Kallinkorian life like a mistake in the margins.

The only one who helped me back then was an old mechanic from my father’s workshop. He was weathered, thoroughly worn down by life, but his eyes burned with a quiet, knowing fire—as if he still believed the universe had a few good surprises left.

The mechanic led me to the ship, its hull scuffed but sturdy. "He's spaceworthy," he said, running a calloused hand along the plating. "Ready to take you as far as the stars go."

"I meant to fly him myself, years back," the old Kallinkorian admitted as I approached with trembling hands. "Kept putting it off—'just one more ship to fix,' 'one last good deed.'" His laugh was dry as asteroid dust. "And here I stayed." Then he took my hand and shook it—the way you honor someone about to do something brave.

"This ship’s got a hologram onboard," the mechanic said, tapping the control panel. "Programmed to assist. Just introduce yourself, give her a name—she’ll follow your orders. Might even become a friend someday, kid."

I didn’t know how to respond. It all felt surreal, like I’d stepped into one of the offworld tales Kell used to mock. But I’d come too far to hesitate now.

The old man snapped a photo of me—my face half-lit by the ship’s running lights—then popped the microdrive from his camera and pressed it into my palm. "For the road," he said, nudging me toward the airlock with a weathered hand.

"This ship’s got a hologram onboard," the mechanic said, tapping the control panel. "Programmed to assist. Just introduce yourself, give her a name—she’ll follow your orders. Might even become a friend someday, kid."

I didn’t know how to respond. It all felt surreal, like I’d stepped into one of the offworld tales Kell used to mock. But I’d come too far to hesitate now.

The old man snapped a photo of me—my face half-lit by the ship’s running lights—then popped the microdrive from his camera and pressed it into my palm.

"Move your ass," he barked, glancing over his shoulder. "Kell and your old man will be here any minute."

I spun on my heel and sprinted for the ship, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted out. By the time I scrambled onboard and whirled around for one last look—one final witness to my escape—he was already gone. Nothing but swirling dust where he'd stood, the ship's engines kicking up a storm that erased all traces.

I burst into the cockpit and immediately powered up the control panel. Thankfully, I knew this model. The screen flickered to life with a welcome prompt. I hesitated for just a heartbeat before typing the name—"Skyla."

Almost instantly, the hologram activated, bathing the cabin in an eerie blue glow. The system recognized my voice command, and the projection greeted me in a smooth, perfectly human tone:

"Welcome aboard, Ethan Kendes. Let's begin our journey."

I exhaled sharply as fear gave way to a peculiar lightness—the ship was climbing fast, tearing me away from everything I'd ever known. Father always said I'd never be a pilot. That I lacked the patience to command something this vast. Now I'd prove him wrong.

I slotted the flash drive into the console. The first cosmoglyph [3] flickered to life on the sidewall: there I stood by the ship, grinning like a kid. Its metallic hull reflected my silhouette back at me, distorted and alien—like a body I no longer recognized. The mechanic had captured me in that final moment when hope still clung to my bones.

Hope for what, exactly?

Back then, I truly believed a new life awaited me out there. Skyla and I—we were plunging into the infinite void, entrusting our fates to this vessel’s cold embrace. Where this path would lead, I couldn’t know. But one thing was certain: I wasn’t coming back.

The strangest thing? The ship's polished metal hull reflected my back with perfect clarity—but the mechanic who'd taken the photo was nowhere in that reflection. I stared at the gleaming surface, trying to make sense of it. The ship looked factory-new, its armor plating mirror-bright enough to catch every speck of starlight. So why wasn't he there?

I glanced around the compartment. Empty. Just me and Skyla, who'd powered down mid-configuration, her holographic presence temporarily dormant.

My hands settled on the yoke.

The confusion lingered, but with each passing second—as Kallinkor shrank behind us—that gnawing unease began to fade.

On the surface, it all made sense: the mechanic, the flash drive, his final words. Could it really have been just a coincidence? Had to be.

I tore my gaze away from the shimmering cosmoglyph and felt my pulse steady. Maybe I’d imagined it. Probably.

Right then, I made a choice—no more overthinking. Whatever force had dragged me this far wouldn’t let me hesitate now. All that remained was to trust this ship and its built-in hologram, which had, in a matter of moments, become the closest thing I had to company.

Yet in truth, I was alone. And I was free.

Free of that godsforsaken planet. Free of the people who refused to believe in change. Free of their complacency. Free, even, of the person I'd been.

As the ship tore through the atmosphere, leaving behind the bitter reality I'd once called home, I knew there was no going back.

But ahead—

Ahead, there might still be something worth reaching for. A chance to save myself.

And maybe, just maybe…a dying Kallinkor.