Cody III, Chapter 10 Cody's fingers drummed a quiet rhythm on the armrest of the Captain's chair, an echo to the intermittent chirps and beeps that punctuated the dimness of the Bridge. He swiveled slightly, casting a glance over the bank of controls bathed in a soft glow, confirming the stillness around him. Fang had been in earlier, his silhouette a brief companion as he moved with mechanical precision through his checks, but now solitude reclaimed the space. His gaze found its way through the view window, where the jagged silhouettes of mountains stood stark against the star-strewn sky. Toxic beauty, he thought, inhaling deeply the recycled air of the cabin. It was an uneasy peace that pervaded the ship, a lull after turmoil, with his family scattered across the residence deck seeking solace in slumber or the comfort of familiar distractions. He'd left his mother and Tara in the galley, their voices softly melding with the clinks of porcelain as they debated various teas and its preparations. Down another corridor, Sam's quarters were silent save for the occasional clink of glass on glass as he focused with meticulous concentration on a tiny vessel encased within. The delicate art of a ship in a bottle seemed anachronistic amidst the advanced technology surrounding them, but Sam's explanation resonated with a sobering clarity. "Steady hands save lives," he'd said, and Cody understood. Sam was retraining his surgeon’s hands to stop their intermittent shaking. It was his personal battle to overcome the lingering side-effects of the sickness. Leaning back in the chair, the creak of leather accompanied Cody's sigh. His gaze shifted to the vast view window where mountains loomed like silent guardians over a landscape deceptively serene. Poison air masked by beauty—a stark contrast that wasn't lost on him. He let his eyes linger on the peaks, drawing a small measure of tranquility from their steadfast presence. His attention turned back to his school tablet, one last equation solved, one less academic specter haunting him, he swiped the school tablet's screen to black, setting it aside. His eyes found the origami dragon perched beside him, once a harbinger of direction, now a silent testament to their dead end. They had followed its cryptic folds to the Red Dwarf, only to be ensnared by a perilous trap meant to obliterate them. One clue remained: the ransom note's enigmatic words. Frustration knitted his brow as he stared at the dragon. The clue had led them this far; could there be more they had overlooked? The question hung unanswered in the semi-darkness, a challenge whispered among the beeps and the steady hum of the ship's heart. Cody picked the school tablet up, curious what the next assignment would be. His fingers danced across the tablet, bringing the screen back to life. A new prompt emerged, its text stark against the digital backdrop: a morality assignment. He read the scenario, a hypothetical that tugged at the fabric of his current reality—a primitive society on a plagued planet, their fates poised on the edge of life or death. The question was direct, demanding an argument for intervention or inaction. The weight of the question pressed down on him. Four tribes on this very world lived each day steeped in toxicity, a silent malaise that had been normalized through generations of suffering and adaptation. Could he, in good conscience, turn away from their plight? His heart argued for intervention, yet the complexity of the situation bound his hands with invisible threads of uncertainty. With a heavy sigh, Cody stood, leaving behind the quiet solitude of the Bridge. The dim corridors stretched before him, leading towards the galley where the soft murmur of voices promised companionship and counsel. He found them there—his family—ensconced in the warm glow of the room, cups of tea cradled in their hands, a haven amidst the ship's steel bones. "Can we take the tribes of humans off this planet?" Cody's voice broke the comforting lull, his words casting ripples across the serene surface of their gathering. Sam looked up from his ceramic mug, the question pulling him from contemplation. "No," he said with gentle certainty, the timbre of his voice carrying the weight of medical wisdom. "They've been here too long; their bodies are already adjusted to this environment. Removing them at this point would kill them." Cody nodded, the truth of Sam's words settling into his thoughts like stones in water. Rescuing the tribes was not an option—their roots were too deeply entwined with the poisonous soil of their home. Earth had turned its back on them long ago, abandoning them to a fate that now lay partially in Cody's hands. He hovered by the doorway, his gaze flitting from face to face as the conversation ebbed and flowed around him. The weight of decision settled on his shoulders, compressing the air from his lungs in a silent plea for clarity. Fang's gleaming eyes met his, an unspoken understanding passing between them. "Do you think we could ask the Ara to send help?" Cody ventured, the words tasting of both hope and trepidation. Amelia's smile was a gentle beam of encouragement in the semi-darkness, her eyes crinkling with maternal pride. "A humanitarian fleet would be a wonderful idea," she affirmed, warmth lacing her tone. Two-tails, a sentinel against the wall, had been quiet—a watchful presence. His tendrils of light folded over one another, he finally spoke, "Cody would have to convince them, and that could be difficult. The Ara have become complacent, and without The First Light here to back him up, I don’t know how much influence Cody has now." "Perhaps a professional plea for medical assistance," suggested Amelia, her voice steady and assured. "Or a simple request for help," countered Cody, convinced that earnestness might bridge the gap where authority could not. Fang nodded, adding, "We could appeal to the Ara’s cultural tendencies towards exploration and discovery." His suggestion sparked murmurs of agreement, each family member contributing a fragment of strategy, weaving together a tapestry of persuasive narrative. But it was Tara's input that crystallized their approach—the family agreed to consider her idea. Tara spent the next two days crafting a video from the security footage with meticulous care, each frame a testament to the stark reality they faced. When they watched the playback, Tara's tears were the silent refrain to the visual litany of suffering displayed before them. "That has got to get their attention, it’s so horrible," whispered Tara, her voice quivering with emotion. Amelia reached out, her hand resting on Tara's shoulder in a silent gesture of comfort. "That is a hard video to watch, it might be a bit much," she said softly. Cody stood firm, resolve etching his features into a mask of determination. "It's the truth," he stated simply, a stoic anchor in the churning sea of uncertainty. "Send it," commanded Cody, his voice ringing with the finality of a captain charting a course through stormy stars. Every screen and device on Ara switched to the transmission sent from The First Son of Ara. Eyes widened and breaths gasped as the video played, revealing scenes of harrowing bravery and palpable despair; Whiskers' valiantly darting between Amelia and Tara, his movements precise as he shielded them from one another, the toxic madness in their eyes, and Two-Tails heroically wading into the lake, tendrils of light trying to shepherd Sam back to shore, his normally vibrant colors flashing with concern. The camera panned to Cody, First Son of Ara, the raw emotion on his face unmistakable even through the sterile lens. His arms cradled Tara, her body limp with sickness, her spirit tethered to his unwavering resolve. The citizens of Ara knew their heir to the Throne of Light to always be quick with a smile, responsible and kind with a response, and selfless in everything he did. The boy they were witnessing laid bare and vulnerable, a young man whose love for the girl he carried just beginning to blossom, stuck deep with the Ara; the same boy that had fought the Human Mining Corporations to save them from certain death, and the very boy that had delivered toys all across the Planet to Ara children. An emotion long dormant among the collective consciousness of the Ara began to surface. Frames shifted, showing the stark interiors of quarantine rooms – the canvas for a family's fight against an invisible foe. The narrative crescendoed with Cody's exhausted figure slumping to the ground, a tableau of defeat that was quickly supplanted by the determined set of his jaw as he struggled to rise again. The scene changed again to Cody framed against the background of the Bridge. "Three hundred years ago, an Earth Colony Ship landed on this planet," Cody's voice resonated, clear and authoritative despite the visible fatigue etched into his features. "They discovered the toxic chemicals in the air, and without enough fuel to escape, submerged their ship in a lake, waiting in vain for rescue from Earth that never came." A collective cry rose from the Ara. The image of the submerged ship, a tomb and sanctuary entwined in liquid stasis, seared itself into their consciousness. "The fate you just saw my family endure, is the fate the colonists have endured for generations." Cody's words were a plea, a call to arms born from the depths of empathy and obligation, his gaze never wavering from the lens that served as his conduit to the hearts of his people. "My step-father, Dr. Samuel Branson says the colonists can no longer leave the planet; they are dependent now on the toxic air that drives them into madness." The solemnity in Cody's tone spoke of truths too long untold, of suffering unseen and unaided. "Help me save them." The declaration was met with a stirring among the audience, a ripple of newfound purpose that spread from being to being. "If anyone can find a solution, it is the Ara.” As the broadcast ended, silence enveloped Ara like a shroud. It was the silence of realization, of responsibility, and above all, the silence before action. Cody’s call had been heard, and it echoed in the hearts of a once-complacent civilization now awakened to the plight of those forgotten souls, breathing life anew into the ancient creed of their people: to aid, to explore, to discover. Three weeks passed in relative quietude aboard the ship since the broadcast that shook the Ara to their core. The console that monitored the satellite they placed in orbit suddenly exploded with activity as the Ara Fleet dropped out of hyper-space. The usual routines of the Ara had been upended by a collective purpose: a humanitarian mission on a scale that the Ara had never seen before. Scientists, doctors, botanists, engineers—a thousand minds converged with technology and compassion as their banners. Cody's reverie was interrupted by the sudden appearance of the Second Light of Ara, who—contrary to Cody's expectations—offered not chastisement but commendation. A tendril of light, delicate yet imbued with power, rested upon Cody's shoulder, and the voice that followed was surprisingly gentle. "You have showed the galaxy that the Ara are a peaceful and caring people," the Second Light said, his tone carrying an unfamiliar warmth. "For an idiot, you have done well." The words left Cody speechless, his eyes wide as he watched his uncle depart. A compliment from the Second Light was as rare as a comet’s passage, and it hung in the air like a sacred echo. Before Cody could fully absorb the gravity of that moment, another significant arrival heralded change. The Aurora World Ship, commanded by none other than Captain Max Archer, sliced into orbit with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. Captain Archer disembarked from his shuttle with an authority that seemed to bend the very atmosphere around him. He moved through the corridors with a confidence that spoke volumes of his experience and command. "Well, you certainly stirred up a hornet’s nest," Archer proclaimed as he stepped onto the Bridge, sweeping the space with a critical eye. “Earth is embarrassed, and public pressure has resulted in a full independent audit of the Senate to determine if any other colonies were abandoned out of inconvenience.” The underlying pride in his voice was not lost on Cody, who stood ramrod straight, meeting the gaze of his benefactor and mentor. "Sorry, but I had to do something," Cody responded, his voice steady despite the swirling emotions within. Archer's hand came to rest on Cody's shoulder—an echo of the gesture from the Second Light, but grounded in human camaraderie. "I would expect nothing less from you, well done." Their conversation shifted to the health and recovery of Cody's family, the concern in Archer's questions genuine and probing. Cody assured him they were on the mend, though the memories of fear and helplessness lingered like shadows at the edge of thought. "Thank you for saving my niece’s life; she chose well with you, son." Captain Archer's words were solemn, the weight of gratitude apparent in his eyes. Cody felt a swell of pride, tempered by the knowledge that the path ahead was fraught with complexity and unknowns. But as he stood there, amidst the giants of his life—Ara and human alike—he knew one thing with unwavering certainty: this was just the beginning. Tara's voice floated into the room, clear and sure. "I told you he was the one," she announced from the threshold, her presence like a touch of warmth against the sterile backdrop of the Bridge. At her words, Captain Archer executed an abrupt pivot, attention snapping toward his niece as she entered. A smile warmed the corners of his mouth, softening the stern lines of command etched into his face. "Ah, there you are." His arms opened in welcome, and Tara didn't hesitate. She sprinted across the room, her steps light but swift, straight into the waiting embrace of her uncle. The reunion was brief but heartfelt, with Tara lifted effortlessly into Archer's arms—a testament to trust forged through shared hardship and familial bonds. Cody watched the exchange, a bystander to their moment, yet feeling the undercurrents of affection ripple through him. "Uncle Max," Tara murmured, her voice muffled against Archer's uniform. "Little Star," he replied, the nickname carrying years of endearment, before gently setting her back onto solid ground. Archer then turned his attention back to Cody, his eyes dropping to the artifacts that had become fixtures on the armrest of the Captain's chair. With a measured movement, the seasoned captain reached for the ransom note, unfolding it with practiced hands. His eyes darted across the cryptic words, a wrinkle forming between his brows as he considered the implications. "Hmm… interesting," he murmured, the single word heavy with experience and authority. "This could refer to several things, or places." His gaze shifted, searching for what he assumed was another piece of the puzzle. "What's the other note say?" Archer inquired, his voice carrying the expectation of a man accustomed to analyzing layers of complexity, sifting through the chaff to find the kernel of truth hidden within. Cody's fingers hovered over the origami dragon, the delicate creases a testament to its mysterious origin. "There was only one note, Sir," he replied, his tone steady despite the flutter of nerves in his stomach. Captain Archer's eyes flicked up to Cody, his brows arched up in surprise—a silent challenge to the assumption. "You haven't read it?" The question hung between them, laden with expectation and a hint of disbelief that bordered on disappointment. Cody's mind wrestled with the notion, the possibility that had eluded him amidst the chaos of recent events. His gaze shifted to the paper dragon, an enigma resting innocuously on the smooth metal surface; a riddle wrapped in an enigma, veiled in the guise of an unassuming child's toy. "Sir, there's only one note," Cody reiterated, a hint of frustration in his voice. He could feel the weight of Archer's gaze, heavy with unspoken knowledge and expectation. Archer's eyes dropped to the origami dragon, a brief flicker of insight flashing across his features before he looked back up to Cody. In that moment, his silence carried more weight than words, a silent cue urging Cody to delve deeper, to look beyond what was immediately visible. Compelled by the unspoken challenge, Cody reached out tentatively and picked up the small paper dragon. His fingers traced the edges of its folded wings, the creases sharp and precise. As the textured paper crinkled under his touch, a realization dawned on him, an oversight so glaring it stole the breath from his lungs. With careful fingers, he began to unfold the dragon, the intricate pattern giving way to reveal a flat expanse of paper. The creases disappeared one by one, dismantling the artful illusion, until all that remained was a singular sheet—a canvas hiding in plain sight. And there it was, as the last fold straightened out: a message concealed within the folds of the origami dragon. Cody's mouth fell open in astonishment, his heart pounding a rapid rhythm against his ribs. How could he have not seen it before? It had been right there, nesting under his scrutiny the entire time, an enigma shrouded in innocence but pregnant with meaning. The origami dragon unfolded was just a piece of paper, and yet, it was so much more. "Ah, the light just came on," Archer mused, a hint of triumph lacing his voice, though he made no move to intervene. There, in ornate script that seemed to dance across the surface with an elegance befitting the most royal of decrees, was a single word that held the weight of galaxies: Checkmate. Cody stared at the writing, the stark black ink of the letters a sharp contrast to the pale parchment. That one word echoed in his mind, resonating with the gravity of their quest and the stakes that had just escalated beyond measure. Cody's gaze lifted from the unveiled message, meeting Archer's scrutinizing eyes. The captain's face was a map of experience, each line etched by years spent navigating the stars and politics alike. It was a visage accustomed to unraveling the threads of the universe’s most intricate puzzles. “Well then, that solves that mystery, now you know what this is all about,” Archer said, his tone carrying the weight of shared understanding, as if the word 'Checkmate' was a key turning in the lock of an age-old door. Cody’s confusion must have been clear as day because Archer's brow furrowed slightly with expectation. “What are you talking about?” Cody asked, the word resonating hollowly between them, bouncing off the bridge's control panels and the cold metal walls. There was a momentary flicker of surprise in Archer's eyes, a crack in the seasoned facade of the captain who seemed perennially a step ahead. Cody felt the frustrating gap of knowledge, like standing on the edge of a precipice with no bridge to cross. Cody's fingers hovered over the unfolded paper, tracing the intricate script spelling out "Checkmate" as if he might absorb its meaning through touch. He glanced up to find Captain Archer studying him with patient expectation, his eyes glinting with a hint of anticipation. “It’s a myth, Cody,” Archer began, his voice carrying the reverence one reserves for legends woven into the fabric of civilization. “On display at the World Central Library on Earth, there’s an ornate table with a chess set placed upon it. The pieces are dragons, each carved with meticulous detail. The Queen of Light clutches an orb in her talons, a symbol of victory and creation. The game is frozen in time, with the King of Darkness cornered in eternal checkmate. It’s a depiction of an ancient myth.” Cody’s attention was captive, his mind attempting to sketch the scene from Archer's words, the dragons poised in silent battle on a field of black and white squares. “The story tells of two great Dragons, deities of a sort, engaged in a celestial game of chess. They played with living pieces, each move rippling through the cosmos. They were playing for the fate of the Universe itself,” Archer continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper as if sharing a sacred secret. “Above their game board hung the Orb of Draconia, a radiant sphere of untold power. When the Dragon of Light delivered the decisive blow, the orb descended, to be cradled by the victorious queen, and thus, creation unfurled from that moment.” The silence that followed seemed to stretch, binding Cody within the threads of this beguiling narrative. He blinked slowly, trying to connect the dots between the legend and their predicament. “So, do you understand now?” Archer asked, an eyebrow raised in question. Cody shook his head, his brows knitting together in frustration. “No,” he admitted, feeling the weight of his ignorance like a tangible force. The clue they had sought for so long was rooted in a tale that felt both impossibly distant and eerily pertinent. Yet its true significance danced just beyond his grasp, elusive as the shadows cast by the dim lights of the bridge. Cody's fingers traced the intricate folds of the paper that had once been the origami dragon, now laid out flat and revealing its hidden message. The word "Checkmate" seemed to pulse with significance as he wrestled with Archer's explanation. "Someone fancies themselves the Dragon of Darkness and wants a rematch," Archer said, his gaze steady and serious. "But, The First Light of Ara is not a dragon; he’s a non-corporeal ethereal being of energy. You are the closest thing to a Dragon of Light there is. Your father is being used as bait to lure you." The pieces fell into place for Cody, each revelation hitting him like the shockwaves of a supernova. It was a game set on a cosmic scale, with stakes higher than any mortal could comprehend. His father, The First Light of Ara, a beacon of guidance and wisdom, now reduced to a mere pawn in this twisted recreation of an ancient fable. Cody's heart pounded against his ribcage, the gravity of their situation settling over him like a shroud. He looked up from the unfolded paper, his eyes locking with Archer's. "I’m going to have to play a game of chess for the fate of the Universe?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper but laced with a mixture of incredulity and resolve. The dim lights of the bridge cast long shadows across the room, mimicking the dark and light squares of a chessboard. In the quiet, the hum of the ship's engines became the underlying score to their dialogue, a reminder of the vastness of space that surrounded them. Cody felt small, yet pivotal—like a single star illuminating a patch of the endless night sky. Archer's expression softened, but his eyes remained sharp, reflecting a lifetime of navigating the stars and the politics between worlds. "No, Cody, you’ll only be playing for the fate of your father. You must find the delusional believer that set this up." Cody nodded slowly, his mind racing through potential strategies and outcomes. "Find the delusional believer," he muttered under his breath, the words coalescing into resolve.