Fall of Esferus
Fall of Esferus (Captive of the Moon Prequel story)
Stepping slowly on his three legs, which kept tangling in the folds of his mantle, Danros walked down the long corridor of the starship "Wanderer".
"This is it," a hundred drums pounded in his head.
"This is it, this is it..." the Second Voice echoed back unpleasantly.
How he longed to be rid of it! Why had he hoped that as soon as they escaped the Arbiters, this forcibly implanted "feature" would vanish? Or had they flown into a coded rift that turned out to be nothing more than a trap?
"Hurry. I need to check the control center," Danros said aloud, addressing himself.
This time, the Second Voice living inside his mind remained silent.
He walked and walked—the corridor, as if enchanted, showed no signs of ending. Hundreds of doors on the left and right watched his clumsy steps in silent reproach.
He knew that behind each of those doors were the people he had promised a life—a new, happy life on another planet. They had chosen him, believed in him, followed him. The last Esferians, survivors of the anomalous catastrophes on Esferus.
Even through the closed doors, Danros felt their gazes, heavy with hope, and the two hearts in his chest began to race in a frantic game of tag.
"What if it didn't work?.."
The Second Voice remained silent again, and that offered a glimmer of hope. It was silent very rarely, usually just parroting the host’s thoughts or, more often, issuing commands.
The Voice came from the Arbiters themselves, yet the brain perceived it as one’s own. Disobeying it was nearly impossible.
Danros stopped, leaning against the corridor wall. His eyes caught a faint crack, carefully sealed by someone with dark-blue "smart glue." Just like the Great Rift... a terrifying memory flashed—the death throes of Esferus.
The small violet planet, surrounded by its five moons, had burned before their eyes. Danros knew for certain: no one aboard this ship would ever be able to erase the events of those final days from their memory.
First came the wave of earthquakes. Fortunately, they spared the most vital and populous cities, but they triggered a massive tsunami. Esferian waters were heavy, and watching a wave rise to the heavens—limitless and unending—was nauseatingly terrifying.
Crashing onto the golden muff-fields, sweeping away entire farming villages, the water - the very water praised in Esferian folk songs as the giver of life - was now taking it back. The seabed lay bare. Upon the dark-gray silt, gasping for air with bulging eyes, lay sea creatures—but the Esferians' attention was fixed on the massive rift threatening to split the planet in two.
That rift couldn't be sealed with smart glue. From it, as from the Arbiters, the only option was to flee—and they had to do it as fast as possible.
Taking a ragged breath, Danros lifted his mantle and hurried forward toward the coveted control point.
"It’s all the Arbiters," he continued to mutter to himself. "This is all their fault!"
Danros wasn't entirely sure if the Second Voice had vanished from his head, but he knew for a fact that Esferus had collapsed because of the ruling clan. Once, they were mere technology enthusiasts—and who on Esferus didn't love tech? It cured diseases, built wondrous cities, and even this powerful starship they were using to escape wouldn't have been built without those new advancements...
But it wasn't enough for the Arbiters. They went further and deeper. Replacing half of their internal organs with mechanics, they fancied themselves demigods, forgot the laws of nature, and decided to rebuild the world anew. But the world refused...
And so it cracked.
Danros suddenly let out a bitter laugh, remembering how the Arbiters were among the first to rush to their starship as soon as things turned south. How their faces, which had already lost the ability to express emotion, still glowed with the Auris—the forehead mark of the Esferians, proof of energy within the body... proof of a soul. On the Arbiters, it glowed a fierce, angry red. That color reflected several emotions at once: rage, fear, and aggression.
"Fled like rats!" Danros picked up his pace again.
The hatch—the entrance to the main bridge—was already in sight. Just a few more meters, he thought, and suddenly froze.
One of the side doors slid open: a little girl stepped out. A tornado of clashing emotions and fighting thoughts tore through him: I told them not to come out! Why on earth did she leave her cabin? It’s just a child, Danros. Calm down. He no longer knew which voice was which.
The Auris on his forehead flared with a spectrum of rainbow colors, then immediately dimmed. He took control of his emotions.
"Hello, Leader Danros," the girl said timidly, clutching a toy—a wind-up pink ping. It was plump, with short legs, covered in soft fur.
"What are you doing here, child? Go back to your cabin! Where is your family?"
"I... here... this is for you," she held the toy out to Danros. "And I don't have a family anymore."
He barely suppressed a heavy sigh as he took the gift from her small, warm hands.
"His name is Ruru. Take him. I have another one—a real one. You’ll save us, right?" The girl suddenly smiled, and her smile seemed to brighten even the dim corridor lights.
"You have a live ping?" Danros’s anger at the little rule-breaker vanished completely.
"Yes," she giggled. "Do you want to see?"
For a moment, he wavered. When he had given the order to begin boarding, he hadn't even thought about saving animals, birds, or fish... only Esferians and water. Tears welled in his eyes.
This girl saved a ping?! Could she be the only one who brought a pet along?
With a soft hiss, another door opened, then another, and another. Esferians, tired of being afraid, stepped out with bows to meet their chosen Leader—the elder from the military clan.
Danros looked at his people: exhausted, faces swollen from crying... they were smiling. And most importantly, they led pink pings and fluffy zerises; they carried birdcages, and someone even led a pair of massive Esferian horses, covered in curly wool—routaks.
"We’ll make it, Leader!" Phadeon approached Danros. He was sturdy, wiry. A "normal"—a two-legged. He had been appointed to oversee the boarding of the survivors.
Danros stood in stunned silence, unable to believe his eyes. He needed to say something, but the words couldn't break through the lump in his throat. He felt his Auris glowing and knew he looked like a weak, sentimental old man, not the leader anyone would want to follow... but he didn't care.
The smiles of women and children he didn't know, the hands of men reached out for a handshake—it let him know: he wasn't alone. They had come out, defying orders, to share this unbearable burden of responsibility with him. Danros straightened up and nodded, still unable to speak. The Esferians burst into applause...
***
He reached the control bridge with Phadeon's help. All systems were green, and to the left of their course hung an unfamiliar blue planet.
"How beautiful... it looks like Esferus," Phadeon magnified the image on the panel a hundred thousand times. "Unfortunately, it’s already inhabited... but it’s so beautiful!"
"Beautiful indeed," Danros agreed, squinting his eyes. "And large. There’s enough room for everyone."
He winked, switched the starship to stealth mode, and adjusted the course—heading straight for the blue planet.
"Enough room for everyone, enough room for everyone," the Second Voice echoed back like a cold, icy whisper.
