“Get up,” Unle said, resting her cutlass under her son’s chin. She could feel the eyes of the crew, watching her every move.
Hulan looked up at her with hate and defiance in his eyes. Even from here, she could see the tell tale sign of the star sickness, the bruising down the neck and slightly purple lips. How he had been infected, Unle had no idea.
But there were rules against star sickness. Before the carrier went completely mad and killed them all.
And that was to push them out of the airlock.
“How could you have been so stupid,” Unle hissed. She was trying to force back tears. She could not show weakness, not in front of the crew.
Hulan grinned at her, bloodied teeth making his smile a horrific grimace.
“You always underestimated me, Mother,” Hulan spat, “I’m stronger now. Stronger than you’ll ever be.”
Unle took her cutlass away from her son’s throat and sheathed the sword. She looked up at her First Lieutenant, Hichkess.
“Do it,” she said.
She spun on her heel, marching out of the room. Her son’s cries echoed down the corridor as he was dragged towards the airlock. It was only when she reached her quarters did she allow herself to cry.
This flashfiction was first posted in 2019
Featured Image by Alice Hampson on Unsplash
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