PHASER: FRACTURED OATHS

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, and incidents are of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2026 by Greg Dragon

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  Thirsty Bird Productions

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  1

  In Genesian space, Celith system, a sole shuttle made its way toward Cesare Station, a three-ringed mining colony orbiting the planet. At the rear of the compartment, near a window, Rafian, a shadowy hulk of a Vestalian sat alone. He looked both patient and pressured due to a pair of hard, dark eyes, glaring out from an otherwise neutral face. His blast-resistant cloak draped over broad shoulders. Beneath it, he wore a lightly armored vest and a temperature-regulating 3B-XO suit.

  The shuttle was a zoo of destructive behavior and anarchy, with the passengers trading jokes and playful insults. One of the three organic shuttle attendants, an attractive, full-figured Genesian woman, made her way through the lively compartment to where Rafian, sat brooding with his eyes low. He saw the desperation when their eyes met and knew she was coming with news that would ruin his quiet trip somehow.

  “Sorry to bother you, sir, but you look like you’re Alliance Navy. We have a situation developing up front, and I could really use your help.” She was polite, but obviously concerned. Something in her manner made him want to help, regardless of the doubts.

  Most attendants were Cel-toc androids, and patient to a fault, but every crew demanded an organic mate in charge, and it was a difficult role for anyone. Peace and time were among the only advantages these shuttles offered to a traveler. It was the least owed after they’d nearly caused him to miss his trip when an overly eager security officer detained him. An apology and a discount on a future trip hadn’t been enough, so he couldn’t fathom what they would want from him now.

  A commotion several rows ahead won his attention. There was a stranger towering over another passenger, berating her loudly. A thought ran through his mind, a quote he himself had often repeated to his subordinates: Jumpers are to remain impartial to the universe’s petty squabbles and disagreements. A simple rule, but one of the toughest to uphold.

  “Sit down and allow us all to enjoy our trip,” someone yelled, and when the response was, “Come over here and make me,” Rafian, picking up that this was an interspecies rift, felt even more compelled to act.

  Two Cel-toc attendants, modeled to appear as young Vestalian men, approached the troublemaker to diffuse the situation. When the first one received a violent shove, they both retreated to report the incident to the captain as the shouting all around dissolved into violence.

  “Former Alliance Navy,” Rafian finally replied, without looking away from the altercation. It surprised him how unfazed the passengers around the conflict were, despite the man shouting obscenities at any and everyone.

  “Our security officer is in medbay recovering from a serious injury,” the attendant quickly explained, looking even more desperate now than when she’d first approached the dark man. “You’re the biggest bloke here, and you look capable. If you could help us restrain him, we can place him in stasis cuffs and remove him from the compartment.”

  With a nod, Rafian undid his restraints, bit down on a sigh, and stood up. Gesturing for the attendant to follow him, he started forward to where the angry man and his neighbors were still hurling insults back and forth. Rafian took him in at a glance: a Genesian, taller than everyone but him, and with the physique of a Marine sergeant. It was both disappointing and expected; Alliance spacers on leave were notoriously horrible company for civilians.

  Despite the difference in size, the Vestalian woman, who had been the original target of his ire, snatched her arm away from the Genesian suddenly and retaliated by spitting in his face, earning her a punch and a shove.

  “Will you stop, or do I have to make you stop?” Rafian walked up to the end of their row to ask the man, interrupting what would have been a savage retaliation. And if his voice and intonation weren’t convincing enough, he sidled past the closest stunned passenger to stand before him.

  “Who are you supposed to be?” the Genesian growled, and though Rafian sensed he’d meet him swinging, he willingly surrendered to the gut punch. The malleable plates of his armor absorbed the blow. This was an underestimation by his opponents Rafian had learned to rely on. Choosing a uniform that easily resembled a rich smuggler’s travel attire had its advantages. Thugs and Geralos in the past had made the same crucial error, and like them he let the Genesian have it.

  His elbow slashed forward so fast its speed was second only to the cruel intent behind it. Rafian, annoyed at having to play Master at Arms, decided not to check his swing and let it fly with everything behind it: irritation, disappointment, and rage. It struck the man’s jaw with such impact he nearly toppled backward into the row behind him. How he still breathed was a mystery, but Rafian checked his vitals and found him unconscious but alive, and able to ruin more cross-system trips.

  A growing dark purple bruise under the Genesian’s eye made Rafian remember the armored suit ran down to his wrists. The meaty elbow meant to stun the man had instead been a near-deadly battering ram. It spoke volumes about the Genesians’ toughness, but there were limits to his sympathy. Just a touch too much thrust, he thought, amused at his slip of control over his emotions, and at his luck for not having killed him.

  He walked around to mount his unconscious bulk and pinned back his arms so the attendant could slip a set of stasis cuffs on him. Now, when he came to, his only weapons would be his words.

  “We’ll reimburse your trip for the help,” she whispered to Rafian in confidence after the Cel-tocs collected the Genesian and dragged him out to resounding hoots and cheers. “Could you remain seated up here in case I need your help again?” she asked meekly, and he acquiesced.

  One day that will not work on me, he thought, chiding himself. Still, the scuffle had made his heart come to life in ways that were euphoric. It both shamed and attracted him; combat was like that, and everyone he knew who excelled at it secretly embraced its draw in their own way. He knew his casual display of violence would cull any additional agents of chaos. In fact, several passengers came over to thank him, which he barely acknowledged before taking the seat of the man he’d only just savaged.

  “Which ship are you from, Spacer?” someone asked, and he turned slightly to see it was the woman who had spat on the rambunctious Genesian. She was a young Vestalian in her mid-twenties by his estimation. Her short dark curls and an untraceable accent reminded him of Tayden, a fellow Jumper and friend. Her impressive physique and earlier display of fearlessness hinted at an Alliance Navy background, but it still took him a moment to respond.

  “I’m not Navy,” he began, before rethinking his approach. “I’m Alliance Navy adjacent. Let’s call it that.”

  “ESO then,” the woman mused. “You remind me of my brother. Never answers what you’re asking him, like he expects you’re trying to trap him with words. Friends call me Elia. Funny, you say you’re not Alliance Navy, but I can tell a boomer from a league away. It’s the walk... Still, you have your reasons, and I’ll respect that. We’re lucky to have you… well, some of us,” she remarked, glancing toward the door where the Cel-tocs had taken the Genesian.

  Rafian followed her eyes and cracked a smile, making light of it. “The name’s Rafian, and I’m traveling to meet a friend on Cesare for some business—Alliance business.”

  “Sounds ominous,” Elia commented, and Rafian agreed, providing no further explanation. He asked her about the Genesian, and she told him their spat began with a disagreement regarding Vestalia’s future and the war. “You know how it is. A Genni sees a Tali and they feel compelled to remind us we’re all refugees and a burden on his planet and the rest. Like, who is he to talk?”

  “The trouble between our species is superficial. It’s spurred on entirely by frightened wealth mongers who would rather meet the lizards at a table than join us in eliminating them. Genese is our ally, but fools like the one that attacked you are merely reacting to the propaganda they’re served. I was a Vestalian born on Genese. Children like me were subject to their lies. Physically, you will find no differences between our species, but all you needed was to be labeled a refugee, and it sticks for life.”

  Elia sat back and exhaled heavily as if through his words she had experienced some of his life. A small hand came up to her chest, and she closed her eyes, silently thinking for a moment. “So, you’re returning home as well then. Two Tali ‘fugees who made it out are coming back. Begs to question, why. One would think once you’ve managed to unstick your boots from the iron planet, you would find work on the far side of the universe, yet, here we are.”

  Rafian didn’t know what to say. His business made no exceptions regarding time or place, despite the executors’ history or particulars. Returning to Genese was never a joyous affair; he had no family, and all of his friends were accounted for or long dead. “Genese for me was two lifetimes past of which there are only a spattering of memories. There’s no warm embrace or aromas of my youth for this to be anything more than a job.”

  “Well, it’s an apt response for the current state
of our world. Everyone’s hunkering down and looking out for themselves and their families. We’ve gotten used to eating our own, and any added variable helps to isolate an easy mark for the rest. All over the common theme is we’re the neighbor’s unwanted children, displaced from our own negligence. It’s a thing we can’t complain about because then they could point to the war and say: how can I be speciesist when there are Genesians dying to save your planet.”

  “That’s rubbish,” Rafian said under his breath. It was a comment he had heard before. “All that my planet, your planet, nonsense goes out the thruster with our Alliance. The Geralos are the enemy, period, and the bad civilians who aid their taking of Vestalian captives. There’s no greater scum, but all that to say, a loud misinformed man is hardly a comparison to the very real threat of the lizards’ corruption.”

  The rest of the trip was uneventful, and the pair continued sharing their thoughts on the treatment of Vestalian refugees in the various systems. Eventually, the young woman fell asleep; she and most of the compartment had been up for several lively hours and were exhausted. Soon, snoring replaced all the chatter and the muffled wails of children.

  Rafian shut his eyes but delayed his sleep to dwell within the darkness of his mind, enjoying the calm. This was a trick he’d mastered over the course of a hundred voyages, where he was stuck with loud strangers while needing to collect his thoughts. It was the mastery of shutting out noise while remaining aware in case of danger, but inside this space he felt comfortable enough to let sleep in for a few minutes.

  When he opened his eyes, he was one of the few people still awake inside the dimly-lit cabin. He signaled for the closest Cel-toc crew member to come over and had him summon the woman from before. Through a series of whispers and universal hand gestures, he asked for permission to visit their new prisoner.

  System-crossing shuttles always presented an unpredictable mixture of peaceful, well-meaning travelers and pushy, antagonistic villains. However, he had heard some of the language the man used when attacking Elia, which hinted at a deeper Vestalian resentment. He wished to learn whether they were empty threats or if the Genesian was part of a larger group, which he would find out through interrogation.

  He followed her back to a tiny mess room, which had five chairs around a table, and a food processor near the rear. The Genesian sat with his back to the door and his head resting on his arms. Stasis cuffs were still on his wrists, keeping him sedated and barely conscious.

  The attendant left them alone with a look of cruel satisfaction on her round, tired face. Rafian waited for her to leave and took his time pacing the room to get the circulation flowing in his limbs. Their trip had taken the better part of six hours, and he felt restless. When he was ready, he sat across from the prisoner, watching him closely.

  “I’m going to reduce the effect of those cuffs to allow you to answer my questions,” he said to the unmoving man whose ragged breathing was loud inside the otherwise silent compartment. “Any attempt to escape or harm me will be met with a heavy hand. This will be your only warning.”

  He leaned forward and manipulated the cuffs to keep him weakened, but not so much as to limit speech. The Genesian sat up slowly, struggled, and only after finding his efforts futile, glared at Rafian, whose face betrayed no emotion. “Let’s see you try it now when I’m ready. Coward,” he taunted, sounding pained, but Rafian ignored him, focusing instead on his mannerisms and inflections. Knowing an enemy’s tell when they’re provoked was a useful weapon he intended to keep stocked, just in case this was a part of a larger plot.

  “I was born on Genese,” Rafian began, speaking reflectively from where he squatted before his sole, unwilling audience member.

  “Are you even human? That elbow you gave me—”

  “There are three kinds of Genesians,” Rafian raised his voice to cut him off. “I learned this quickly as a child, and that was the key to me making it out. The first kind is like the attendants. They’re hardworking citizens, capable of giving a neighbor a hand. The second are the elite class; owners of air-cars, station homes, and all the shipbuilding enterprises. They come in all shapes and sizes, but they employ and exploit refugees all over Anstractor. The third and last are the rebels who believe Genese should not have joined the Alliance. This third group have a habit of going out of their way to harm Vestalians. It makes them an enemy of the Alliance.”

  “So, you’re Alliance then? Just my luck,” the Genesian commented, laughing at a private joke. “I don’t stomach disrespect, least of all from a ‘fugee cruta making demands from me on a trip I paid for. You’re prodding me for nothing. I’m restrained, injured by you, and slurring. Do you hear how I’m talking right now? Show me the arms you keep tucked under that coat, huh. At least then I can describe the weapon you used to assault me for having a stiff conversation. I’m not after Vestalians or whatever the hell you’re on about.”

  Rafian didn’t respond but let him ramble, observing his demeanor, and the conviction with which he pleaded his innocence. He felt disappointed that the man appeared to be sincere about his being a violent drunk. While they spoke, he looked for any signs the man was more than he let on. Nothing presented itself, and in the end, the only new data was that this individual had tried and failed as an Alliance Navy recruit.

  To go from wanting to fight in aid of Vestalia to attacking her citizens on shuttles simply for existing was a dramatic turn. However, he knew well how much the war demanded of the galaxy’s resources, making recruitment the only path for many young, impressionable individuals. Rejection took effort, which spoke to the unstable nature of the Genesian, but Rafian found it difficult to pity him.

  “The woman you assaulted is Alliance Navy. As soon as we dock, you’ll be handed over to Satellite Security. You’re going to miss this quiet room and those uncomfortable cuffs once they learn what you’ve done. If you’re telling the truth that you’re no enemy to the Alliance, then I would make it a point to clear the atmosphere with our lovely attendant.”

  He stood up and left the compartment, satisfied with the outcome, but disappointed it had amounted to little. Cesare station had a reputation for harboring slavers who made their profit by shipping out Vestalian captives to the Geralos. The thought of one exposing himself so openly had made him practically excited to mete out quick justice, but it had all come apart, thanks to this drunkard’s unchecked rage.

  When the attendants announced the approach to Cesare station, the terminals came alive, projecting an image above their heads. Rafian noted its peculiar design, surprised by the ingenuity and vastness. There were three parallel rings spinning slowly around a near-perfectly round asteroid, giving it the appearance of a miniature planet.

  Each ring was its own city, bearing all the necessities of a self-sustained hub. Thin metallic beams supported by small, anchoring thrusters tethered all three to the rock. Meanwhile, shuttles and small craft zipped in and out of multiple docking ports on the rock’s surface. In the distance, gray Genese hovered like a large, unblinking eye, bringing with it complicated feelings for the traveler.

  “It still gives me bumps, seeing the old planet,” Elia remarked, and he wished he shared some of the sentiment, but all he could do was play along. The cabin was electric with excitement as the weary travelers grew anxious. Loud but happy chatter returned, as well as did the attendant, thanking him some more. However, Rafian felt his mood growing darker with each meter they closed.

  Genese had been the equivalent of an abusive parent, who gave out as much love as hurt, and it had always felt better to stay away, but duty had no respect for trauma. So, he emptied his feelings and allowed the wave of euphoria from his neighbors to wash over him completely. Genesians have their good points, he reminded himself. They’re the iron planet, the ones who supply the Alliance’s fleets with ships.

  For the next four hours, he sat silently, absorbing it all when he wasn’t responding to Elia, who was practically bouncing at the sight of the station. Despite their short-handedness with the crew, the Cel-toc attendants saw them off efficiently with all luggage accounted for and apologies for the disturbance. For Rafian, the captain, a well-groomed Genesian with an easy smile, came out to give him his personal thanks.