Zac
Commander Zac Qu'Rell paced around a conference room next to the Starship Zataras’ bridge, trying to keep his temper under control. He wanted to get back into the fight against the Xakul; to unleash his anger on the battlefield.
He wanted revenge.
Zac had barely survived that last battle with the Xakul, on some unnamed planet in the outer reaches. He’d had to endure weeks of rehabilitation following the many surgeries to repair his injuries. They hadn’t expected him to live. But live he had, giving him plenty of time to relive the decisions he had made that led to the deaths of so many.
He stopped and turned to face the warrior leaning against the wall, “T'arq, why are you still here? The gods know your experience is wasted this far away from the proper battles.”
T’arq’s normally cheerful expression turned stony. “I’ve stuck with you this long. Why would I leave now?” He shook his head, adding quietly. “It’s not about the battles for me. You know that.”
Zac grunted and looked away, frustrated at his friend’s refusal to listen… again. He couldn’t understand why the younger warrior wasn’t itching to get back into the fight and prove himself. That was all Zac had longed for since his life had changed irrevocably.
Zac shifted and rolled his shoulders, wondering if he would ever get used to the restricted movement caused by scarring and his new joints. It had taken a long time to gain confidence in the repaired limb, and that arm was a permanent reminder of what had happened, and of who he had lost. If he was truly honest with himself, he wasn’t fully comfortable in his newly repaired body, not yet.
Under normal circumstances, Zac’s injuries would have been easily treatable using Taurean technology, but the remote location of the battlefield had meant it was a miracle he had survived at all. He had helped others before himself and, by the time he’d made it to a medical facility advanced enough to treat him; part of his arm had become necrotic. Even advanced Taurean medicine couldn’t resurrect what was already dead.
That had left him with no option but experimental treatments. It was either that or never be able to prove himself worthy of carrying on the family name—one that had been revered for many generations—by exacting his revenge on the Xakul.
T'arq had stuck to Zac like glue these past months, taking leave to help Zac in his rehabilitation despite his protests. Zac still wasn’t sure exactly why his friend had stuck around. It wasn’t as if he was good company.
He shrugged and resumed pacing to shake off the nervous energy coursing through his body.
Just a few days ago Zac had passed the final test that cleared him for combat, and now here he was on the Zataras, ready to receive orders for his next assignment. He was certain that without T’arq’s help, he would not have passed the test. He owed T’arq more than he could ever repay, so if T’arq wanted to waste his talents languishing as Zac’s second-in-command, then so be it.
Maybe getting back into combat would help him feel less like an outsider. He shook his head. He saw the looks that people gave him. As time went on, it became harder and harder to ignore how people responded to the brutal scars that twisted the left side of his face and wrapped around his body. He wouldn’t admit it, but it bothered him. Zac, who in the past was an affable leader and comrade, now avoided people.
Zac looked down at the scars across his wrist and hand, and on his thick forearms. He could have had the scars removed surgically, and he had considered it, but to remove them would be like denying that his lost friends had lived at all. So, even though people couldn’t help but stare, his stubborn side won out, and he refused to hide them.
Zac adjusted the dark body armor, scuffed from years of use, which marked him as a member of Taurean Forces. Blades were hidden on his person, including in secret holsters in each heavy combat boot. He carried his combat helmet by one chinstrap, fingers idly fiddling with the clasp. He checked the multi-purpose communicator, or comm, strapped to his left wrist for what felt like the hundredth time since he’d been waiting.
T'arq cleared his throat, not meeting Zac's eyes. “You should visit your parents while you're so close to Taurus.”
Zac glared at his friend. “No, not this time.”
“They miss you.”
Eyebrows raised in question, Zac faced him. “And how do you know that?”
T'arq had the sense to look chastened.
“Leave it alone, T'arq.”
“It's been months, Zac.”
“I'm not going where I'm not wanted.”
“You don’t know that,” T’arq's voice held a challenge.
“I said leave it. I don't want to talk about it.” Zac all but growled.
The door opened. “Commander Qu'Rell?” A junior officer asked hesitantly, stepping to one side so they could enter the bridge.
Zac stalked through the doorway, gesturing with a nod of his head for T'arq to follow him. The bridge of the Starship Zataras was identical to the bridges of the other military battleships in the Taurean fleet on which Zac had served. Space on a battleship was in short supply, every bit of wall and floor used to its best advantage.
The walls of the bridge were lined with specialist controls, where operators would monitor everything needed to keep a large battleship functioning. These floor-to-ceiling multi-purpose viewscreens were inactive and dark, except for one which showed the outside of the Zataras. A pair of engineering techs were floating in their spacesuits on the exterior of the starship, completing one of the many routine maintenance tasks.
Zac strode to the center of the bridge to greet a lean Taurean who was lounging in the captain’s chair, arms draped across the armrests and legs crossed at the knee. There were no other personnel on the usually bustling bridge, the quiet almost eerie compared to the normal hustle of a busy battleship. The Zataras’ Captain, Tomas Fa'Rell, was Zac’s cousin and a formidable warrior in his own right.
