Echoes of the Void

Darius Kaelen gasped sharply, panting and strained. In the dim cockpit of his elegant diplomatic vessel, the oxygen gauge level was dropping down, a dangerous reminder of an unwanted fate. The constant alarm piped up in his ears, mingling with the bitter flavor of desperation.

The viewscreen quivered. Before him, things seemed to be far too difficult to resolve. The oppressive emptiness of dark space was there, and this—a solitary asteroid drifting silently in the void, marred by a rusted mining station.

His shaky fingers fell over the comm controls. "This is Ambassador Kaelen of the Interstellar Union Diplomatic Corps," he spoke, voice cracking despite his practiced calm. "Requesting emergency assistance."

The channel hissed static, and at the same time, he thought he couldn’t be in a better situation: in the cabin, something smelled like burnt circuits, something acrid and sharp. Suddenly, the comm broadcasted a rough and grave voice, interrupting the background noise.

"You're lucky, Ambassador. Few ever come this way, and fewer leave."

"Who is this?" Darius asked, clutching the console to steady himself.

"Name’s Zev," the voice answered. "How bad are things there? As bad as they sound, or are you being dramatic?"

Darius gulped inwardly, his throat choked. "Worse."

A low, humorless chuckle crepitated through the static. "Then you'll need my help. But it comes with one condition."

Darius hesitated, and even though not enough time, he thought about how rapidly the thin line between life blurred. "Condition?"

Zev paused, static whispering softly over the comm. "Do you want to live or not, Ambassador?"

With no alternative left, Darius released a shaky breath. "Yes."

"Dock your ship at bay three," Zev said.

With no choice left, Darius guided his faltering vessel toward the asteroid. Through the viewscreen, the station appeared, metal walls scarred and blistered from meteor impacts. Lights flashed erratically, casting a spectral glow as the vessel jolted and docked.

When Darius went through the airlock, he inhaled deeply. Once the cool air touched his lungs, mixed subtly with rust and oil, he was relieved.

Zev emerged from the shadows—tall, gaunt. His skin was pale, probably due to being years hidden from starlight. The eyes, dark and glittering, appeared sharp. Could he really be as smart as his eyes seemed to proclaim?

"Come," Zev beckoned quietly. "Let’s stabilize you first."

The living quarters were small and sparse. The air wasn’t so different from outside, though Darius recognized a new blend. Now, the rusty metallic air was mixed with an antiseptic odor. The dim lights overhead barely shone on battered consoles and tarnished surfaces. Zev moved quietly, powering up an ancient medical bay that emitted a weak hum.

Darius slid onto the cushioned platform, feeling his limbs grow heavy as sensors and probes pressed against his skin. Zev moved confidently, fingers steady as he adjusted dials and screens. He looked like he knew what to do, or at least, his fluid movements spoke for him, showing methodical practice.

Still on the medical bed, through half-closed eyes and barely turning to the viewport, Darius watched repair drones drift silently outside, gliding like fireflies against empty space, landing softly over his vessel hull.

Zev paused occasionally, his look changing between the medical screens and the quarter viewport. “Five more minutes until the scan finishes.” He stood up and walked over, leaning against the viewport frame, eyes focused on the external drone activity. "They will repair your ship," he said. " They found a crack in an oxygen converter. You really travel without an engineer?"

Darius didn't reply, waiting quietly as the medical scan completed. A soft chime signaled his stabilized vitals. He sat up slowly. There were a lot of thoughts to process, but he made it—he was alive.

The quarter has everything one solitary person would need. A beverage machine, a little kitchenette, the medical pod, several tool racks, a radio, a command control, and the big viewport looking at the space.

Zev prepared two broth cups and handed one to Darius. He accepted the steaming cup, smelling mildly sour, but when he drank, it felt comfortably warm.

“Thanks,” said Darius.

The silence grew, filling the air, only interrupted by the quiet buzz of machines. Darius glanced around, noting human mining equipment in one corner. “How long have you been mining out here?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.

Zev’s gaze lifted slowly from his cup. “Long enough,” he replied quietly.

Darius nodded, recognizing the distant look in Zev’s eyes. “Must be difficult, working alone. Are the ore yields worth it?”

Zev’s mouth twitched into something close to a smile, though it faded quickly. “We all do what we must to survive.”

Darius decided not to press further. It would be better to recover and continue his journey.

“The drones will work all night,” Zev said, looking at the console screens.

“All night?”

“Yeah. Even in the darkest void, I set a time for day and night here,” Zev explained.

“How many hours would that be?”

“You ventured deep into the unknown, Ambassador. Is your patience running thin already?”

Darius raised an eyebrow, waiting for a clearer answer.

Zev sighed, activating the energy-saving protocol for the quarter. Seeing Darius's persistent curiosity, he finally said: “Five hours. In five hours, the drones finish their work. After that, you can continue your diplomatic mission and pretend we never met.”

“That sounds fair. You'll be properly recompensed for your kindness.”

Zev didn’t answer. Instead, he set about preparing warm tea, once, twice, three times, all the times necessary to pass the hours. Eventually, Zev began to speak, his voice low, drifting into stories of distant worlds and forgotten lives.

Darius stared at the tea grounds every time the cups were empty, but he never left to hear the stories. Zev's words provoked something restless within him. His own obligations, past decisions, and the burden of endless diplomacy suddenly felt suffocating. He exhaled slowly, setting the cup aside. "Do you think it's ever possible to leave it all behind?"

Zev paused, walked to the viewport, and gazed at the scattered stars. "We never really leave anything behind," he said quietly. "We just trade one memory for another."

"And when memories become too heavy?"

Zev glanced back, eyes sharp but weary. "Then you become someone else."

Darius shifted, studying Zev closely as the soft murmur of the mining station filled the room. He hesitated, then spoke quietly:

"Why are you here, Zev? Alone, in this place. Is it the payment?"

Zev went still, his gaze slowly drifting toward the shadowed corners of the room, as if searching for something he'd lost long ago.

"Out here," he finally said, voice low and distant, "there's no one to disappoint. Solitude simplifies things."

Darius watched Zev quietly. At some point, he understood. And he also knew he wouldn’t disturb the fragile boundary they'd formed.

“Time to rest,” Zev left the empty cup on the console table and stretched his tired muscles. Thus, he pointed at a narrow cot set into an alcove recessed into the quarter's curved metallic wall. A dim, yellowish lamp illuminated the small sleeping area. "Sleep," Zev murmured, a slight smile briefly softening his rugged face. "You'll need strength for tomorrow."

Darius nodded wearily. Settling onto the thin mattress, he closed his eyes, exhaustion quickly pulling him into darkness deeper than the perpetual night outside the viewport.

When he woke, the station lights had brightened slightly, simulating a gentle dawn cycle. He sat up slowly and saw Zev hunched silently over the main console, sleeves rolled up, absorbed in calculations. Pale skin caught the stark glow of the console screen, revealing faded tattoos snaking down Zev's forearms—intricate genetic patterns etched deeply into flesh.

Darius jumped out of bed. A chill surged through his chest. The pulse accelerated as recognition shattered the fragile bond they'd built. His breath caught painfully.

“You’re not a miner,” he whispered. “You’re Zev Remmer—the geneticist.”

"Convicted criminal geneticist," Zev corrected, turning to face him, a side smile on his lips. "You diplomats know your monsters well."

Darius took a half-step backward. "Then what is this? Some kind of trap?"

Zev’s gaze remained steady, reflecting cold artificial lights. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be gone."

"Then why help me?" Darius asked, heart pounding.

Zev leaned closer.

"Remember my condition?" He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "I need your DNA. More precisely, I need your clean diplomatic profile, and you'll take mine."

Darius froze, his heartbeat crashing violently against his ribs.

Zev's smile disappeared. "I have the skills to rewrite who we are—down to the genetic markers. You'll become the convict Zev Remmer, hunted relentlessly. Meanwhile, as promised, you’ll leave here—or rather, I'll leave here—as Ambassador Darius Kaelen."

Darius couldn’t reply; he only clenched fists involuntarily, knuckles whitening as cold fear seeped into his bones. His gaze flickered briefly toward a nearby tool rack, contemplating escape, violence—anything to avoid this fate.

Zev tilted his head slightly, catching the glance, and stepped casually between Darius and the rack. "There is no other option, Ambassador," he said low. "It's this or death—but you've already chosen. You chose when you accepted my help."

Reluctantly, Darius nodded, his chest tight.

Zev turned toward the corridor. “Follow me.”

Darius hesitated, but Zev stood beside the door, gesturing with the palm of his hand the way. Finally, Darius passed through, following Zev down the narrow corridor. Their footsteps sounded sharply against metallic walls. As they moved deeper, the air became different, warm and suffocating.

Darius’s pulse started to quicken. This couldn’t be the end—not after a lifetime spent fighting corruption, resisting tyranny! He was an Ambassador, not some expendable pawn. He stared at Zev's back, just two steps ahead. An easy target, within his reach, and he would act now. He inhaled determinedly, and without warning, he lunged forward, grabbing Zev’s shoulder and spinning him around with desperate strength.

Zev stumbled backward, momentarily off-balance. His jacket shifted, briefly revealing the metallic glint of a concealed sidearm at his waist.

In an instant, Darius lunged for the weapon, fingers touching its grip, but Zev spun sharply, knocking his hand aside.

Zev drew the sidearm and powered on instantly, its emitter glowing mere inches from Darius’s chest.

“Don’t,” Zev warned, voice low and steady. “It doesn’t have to end like this.”

Darius’s breath came in ragged bursts. He didn’t have alternatives, the winner hand was on Zev’s side, and he’d just lost his last good card. Slowly, his shoulders dropped, fingers uncurling as they fell to his sides.

“Move,” Zev said, lowering the weapon slightly, motioning ahead.

Darius moved forward reluctantly, aware of Zev’s presence at his back as they traversed the dim corridor. They continued silently until Zev signaled him to stop at an unmarked door. Zev opened it, revealing a medical room bathed in white light.

Zev motioned with his weapon. “Inside. Stand beside the pod,” he ordered.

Two rusted metal pods emitted a quiet purr, their blue lights pulsing rhythmically. Zev kept the weapon steadily trained on Darius, ensuring he took his position. Without lowering his gun, Zev approached the nearest capsule, swiftly activating its controls with his free hand.

"You'll need to leave your attire outside," Zev said firmly.

Darius hesitated, fingers frozen at the edge of his clothing.

"Now," Zev repeated, the subtle hum of his weapon reinforcing the threat.

Darius felt exposed beneath Zev's unwavering gaze and the weapon's steady aim. But he didn’t have a choice, so he removed his clothing slowly. Approaching the pod, he lay down, the cold surface pressing sharply against his skin, synthetic cushioning molding around him.

The pod sealed shut, plunging Darius into darkness broken only by his rapid breathing. Without warning, a viscous liquid poured into the capsule, rising over his body. In the time it reached his neck, he started to scream, but when it covered him completely, he muffled a gasp. An electric thrum vibrated through the dense fluid, tingling across his skin until he was overwhelmed with a heat wave. Darius clenched his jaw when he felt every nerve burn. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably.

But the physical pain wasn’t all.

Suddenly, Darius’s mind fractured open, and images flashed wildly before him. Memories—foreign, sharp, and vivid—pierced his consciousness. He saw faces he had never known yet somehow loved fiercely: a woman with gentle eyes, children laughing softly in sunlight he’d never felt. Then, darkness crashed over him, angst and desperation flooding his senses. He witnessed as they were torn from him, screams roaring endlessly as merciless agents of the Interstellar Union inflicted suffering beyond comprehension. He felt Zev’s raw agony, the torment of being forced to watch as his family was brutalized, the helpless rage as their lives were extinguished.

Darius twisted silently, the torment unbearable, the grief infinite. He felt the bitter poison of Zev’s loss, the crushing weight of guilt as Zev escaped alone, leaving behind a world ravaged by a terminal virus unleashed in retaliation by the Union. Zev had fled, surviving—but at an unimaginable cost.

With a final heating surge, the pod opened, flooding Darius's senses with cold air. He stumbled out, coughing violently, lungs spitting out the viscous, sour liquid. When he stood up, he frenetically searched for a mirror, something to look at himself. He found his reflection on a polished console nearby. His face was etched with unfamiliar marks, and his eyes were darkened. But the external changes weren’t all. His neurons, his cells, his heart, now they carried Zev Remmer’s past sins and unbearable grief.

Zev stood quietly nearby, now wearing Darius's face—familiar yet strangely distant, shoulders squared, expression heavy with unspoken sorrow.

"Now you know what they wanted from me," Zev said.

Darius looked at him, with a huge weight pressing his heart. He’d never felt it before, and he would never know how to quiet it.

Darius finally answered, voice raw. "They wanted you to engineer a virus to exterminate an entire planet—Oclasius."

Zev nodded slowly. "They're still at war with them," he murmured. "But I refused. And because of that, you saw what they did." He stepped forward slowly, eyes meeting Darius's. "I truly regret you have to carry my memories now. Believe me, I know how heavy they are."

Darius stood frozen, heart overwhelmed not only by Zev's grief but by the devastating realization of betrayal, murder, and atrocities committed by the Interstellar Union. Everything he'd trusted was collapsing around him, crushing him beneath unbearable truth and a pain he hadn’t claimed—yet it was undeniable his now.

Finally, his voice emerged, ragged yet firm. "Now I know. Now I can help."

Zev regarded him sadly, shaking his head. "How? By being me? Who would ever believe you?"

Darius didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached slowly behind his left ear, pressing lightly until a tiny hidden panel opened beneath his skin—a personal implant the genetic conversion had left untouched. Carefully, he removed a slim crystalline data shard, embedded with symbols glowing in blue.

"Take these," Darius said low, extending it toward Zev. "They're special access codes to the Union Central Command. They'll open every security gate, every database. Everything."

Zev hesitated, his eyes widening in quiet surprise. "You know what that means?"

Darius met his own familiar gaze reflected back in Zev’s new face. "I do."

Zev took the shard carefully, closing his fingers around it, nodding slowly.

"You know what to do," Darius added quietly.

Zev's eyes sharpened with newfound resolve. "Yeah," he said quietly, gripping Darius’s shoulder firmly. "I’ve got it from here."

Without another word, Zev turned and disappeared from the medical room, his footsteps fading down the corridor until the silence returned. Darius waited for minutes before stepping out, moving through empty passageways back toward the quarters. This place would be his now—his sanctuary or his prison.

From the viewport in the quarters, Darius watched the docking bay. His former diplomatic ship, now fully repaired, powered up. Its engines ignited, illuminating the darkness, and in a powerful surge, vanished into the vast, star-speckled void.

Left behind, Darius stood motionless in Zev Remmer’s body. He looked at himself in the viewport reflection, and he felt the memories awaken within him. The ache of a family he’d never known filled his heart. Yet, beneath that borrowed grief, he felt something entirely new—a whisper of hope, a quiet sense of relief. And in that fragile clarity, he finally understood: justice, fierce and absolute, was finally on its way.