Ximen Benitez

[Ximen_Benitez]

Ximen Benitez was nine years old. His parents were hard workers; always trying to keep food on the table. It wasn’t as easy as it used to be. At least that’s what they told him.
His father trained taught survival skills to the new pilots. How to do basic repairs on ships. How to use the rations so they would last longer. How to improve your chances of being rescued when stuck or captured.
His mother worked for a private company, Bio-Flex, one of many companies that researched effective methods of growing food in space conditions. As much as she’d like to say that she was a lead researcher, she only scheduled meetings and shipments. It was a good job, but the hours were harsh and the rules, strict. But she did what she had to feed her family.

To this day, nobody can say why Ximen was picked. Was there a motive, or was it the luck of the draw? But in the end, had it not happened, Ximen’s life would have never changed.

The school Ximen went to hasn’t much of a school. It was the basics. Reading, writing, and arithmetic. After that, it was pilot school. And if piloting wasn’t your choice, it was up to you to find a private education firm-- if you wanted a decent job.
It happened on one of their “field trips.” Simple a ride to Tripoli and back, just for the view; that is, if you call the view from a small, cramped, transport any good.

It was raining that morning.
“Alright kids, get on the bus! You! Don‘t mess with your jump suit!” the teacher help shove the kids into the back of the transport, so they would all fit. Once they were all in, moans and groans could be heard all around. Half of the kids couldn’t even out of the windows. Ximen was one of them. Right smack dab in the middle.
The lift of the ship could be felt, like riding up an elevator, but much harsher. It was a bumpy ride till they broke the atmosphere and ascended through the rings that orbited the planet.
It was all smooth from there, for about five minutes.
“What is that thing?” one of the window kids asked.
“What is what?”
“I don’t see anything?”
“Where?”
“THERE!”
“My pap? has seen one of those! He says they’re… they’re…”
“What?”
“Tell us amigo!”
“Outcasts.”
The small cargo bay went completely silent for about two seconds, then erupted into complete panic. Nothing could be understood anymore, for it was too loud. All Ximen saw was flashes of lights, beaming through the windows. Then the hull ripped apart, and everything was silent.
Jump suits were not meant to last in space for very long. They lacked the ability to hold in warmth for more than a minute. A person was as good as dead, if not in an escape pod.
Ximen escaped the initial explosion, somehow. Whether it be luck, or an act of God. His whole body went numb. He could hear nothing. In complete silence he rotated, head over heels, away from the disastrous wreck.
How could this have happened? He was too young to die. Too young and innocent. Images of his parents came to his head. How would they survive after this? He was the only thing they lived for. Then it struck him odd, he was worrying about his parents when he was about to die. Oh well.
Images of every exciting and sad moment he had ever had ran through his mind, in milliseconds.
Then it hit him.
His whole body felt like it was ripped savagely into a million tiny pieces. Everything was gone.

“Put the dead ones over there. I can’t believe this happened.”
“It was a trading vessel, the kind they use to export artifacts. There was no way of knowing!”
“You could have scanned it first!”
“Sir, we’re pirates. We kill enemy ships and take the loot.”
“Yeah, and look what that got us now! A bunch of dead innocent kids!”
“I told you there was no way-”
“We’re pirates, not terrorists. Enough of this. Proceed with moving the bodies.”
Two large grubby hands grabbed Ximen, dragged him for a few feet, then flung him in the air. His landing was padded by the worst feeling of his life. He rolled down the pile of cold, lifeless bodies, still unable to move. He felt like throwing up, but couldn’t.
“That’s it. They’re all dead.”
“Great. Just great. There’s no covering this up. When we get back we’re as good as dead.”
“Uh oh, pilot says we’ve got more ‘sairs following us.”
“Well, what’d you expect. They probably have the whole army on us after what we just did!”
“Let’s eject the bodies. The council at home won’t find out, and they won’t believe the Corsairs.”
“I don’t really thing it’s possible to hide something like-” the ship rocked.
An automated voice sounded throughout the ship, “Combat alert. Strap yourself in. Combat alert…” The ship rumbled again.
“There’s no way we can take all of them. Just eject the bodies! The Corsairs won’t stop until they have them back!”
“The Corsairs won’t stop no matter what! Either way-”
“I’m doing it.”
There was a quick whoosh as the inner air lock door slid shut.
“Not… good,” Ximen found his voice. With all of his strength he pulled himself to his feet. He forced himself to move. To put one foot in front of the other. To accept the weight of his body without collapsing. The ship shook again.
He made the mistake of stepping on his best friend’s lifeless arm. He fell to the ground with a sickness beyond anything imaginable. He cried in pain and sorrow. But he managed to get up again. Always get up again. Always.
He approached the air lock door, which has one small square window in the center, looking toward the interior of the ship. Through the window, the two arguing men could be seen.
Ximen made his way, closer and closer. Through his teary eyes, he could barely make out one of the men, resting his hand on a lever-like object, still arguing.
His hand reached out to the window, touching it. He pulled himself closer, till he could press his face against the messy glass. He knew that any second the lever could be pulled, and he’d be out in space again.
His hands curled into small fists, and he pounded on the small door with all the strength in his barely functioning body. The lever man didn’t notice, but the other did. For a split second, his eyes connected with Ximen’s. I’m sorry.
The lever was pulled. Ximen was sucked away from the door, and out into the open, silent abyss. He cried what tears he had left, then the lightning hit.
He appeared on top of the pile of bodies again. He rolled off.
“Oh my-”
He ripped his small jump suit helmet off, sobbing, “They’re all dead. Every single one of them, dead. They’re all dead… they’re all dead…”
Corsairs were everywhere, helping where they could. Two came to Ximen’s side and picked him up. They gave him what words of comfort they could before hooking him up to life support.
“Dead…” he said, “every single one of them…”

They say he should have died that day. They don’t know how his body continued to function as it did. It had to have been more than luck. He should have died from three separate times, but somehow, continued to live.
They said he would never recover. There was just too much trauma for a young child of nine. They said a lot of things that day.
But they were all wrong. Ximen came out of it stronger than ever. It’s what pointed him towards joining the Benitez familia seventeen years later. He never thought of himself as a hero. Only a soldier, ready to fight. Ready to protect Crete. To protect the people. To protect the ones he loved most.

---