Free Bird Rising

by Ian J. Malone

  River City Blond Whiskey. Taylor recognized the riverboat on the label.

  “Your brother gave this to me at our last meeting,” Valawn said.

  “That don’t surprise me.” Taylor watched his host tip the jar over a glass, then hand the drink over. “River City was always Terry’s brand, especially the single stock. He had to become a merc to afford the stuff, but once he could, he rarely drank much else.”

  Valawn filled glasses for the others, then himself. “It was our intention to drink this together once the Krulig had been vanquished from my homeworld.”

  “The Krulig,” Taylor said. “Those are the guys you mentioned before. The ones who attacked us at the emergence point.”

  “Indeed,” Valawn said. “They were doubtless taken aback by your arrival in Rukori space. As you can imagine, we don’t get many visitors here.”

  “And why is that?” Taylor asked. “Hell, while we’re on the subject, how come we’ve never heard of these Krulig, or you people, for that matter?”

  Valawn sat down and sipped his whiskey. “To understand the Krulig is to understand greed and cowardice. To understand the Rukori is to understand the impact the Ancient War had on the galaxy.”

  Billy arched an eyebrow. “You mean the Ancient War? As in, the one eons ago that saw much of the First Republic wiped out by the Canavar?”

  “That is correct.” Valawn aimed a pensive stare at his glass. “Magnificent creations, the Canavar. I’ve only read of them in what remains of our archives, of course. But, as I understand it, they were the stuff of nightmares, genetically engineered by the Kahraman to be the perfect weapons of mass destruction.”

  “‘Perfect monsters’ is more like it,” Smitty scoffed. “We learned of the Canavar during Union history in grade school. They devastated hundreds of worlds before their reign of terror was ended by the Raknar.”

  Raknar. There was a term Taylor recognized. The Raknar were giant armored robots built millennia ago by a race of aliens called the Dusman for specialized combat with the Canavar. They were piloted by flesh and blood beings, a lot like the CASPers of present day, only a lot bigger.

  “What does the Ancient War have to do with you folks?” Taylor asked. “Or my brother?”

  Valawn shifted on his stool. “As is well chronicled, the number of species which comprised the First Republic was legion, with my people, the Rukori, being one of the eldest. This gave our citizens a modicum of status back then.” The alien frowned. “It also made our homeworld, Rukorilyn Prime, a target for the Canavar.”

  Taylor noted his host’s naming of a different homeworld, not the current one, called Rukoria. “I take it Rukorilyn Prime was one of the worlds lost to the Canavar.”

  Valawn nodded. “The Rukori fought valiantly, as one would expect, forsaking nothing in the name of the cause. In the end, however, our efforts proved as futile versus the Canavar as those of our comrades. By the time the Raknar arrived, little remained on Rukorilyn Prime worth returning to.”

  “So that put your ancestors in the market for a new home,” Smitty said.

  “Correct,” Valawn said. “As fate would have it, this all transpired as the Galactic Union was taking root. The new government, made of independent guilds rather than a centralized authority, would—in theory—bring with it a new way of life for its constituents—one of a more libertarian nature, where citizens were free to do as they pleased with little interference from the government itself.”

  “And the Rukori weren’t fans of that?” Billy asked.

  “The Rukori have always supported liberty,” Valawn said. “Always. At the same time, our elders recognized from the start that conflict, be it on a small scale with tribe versus tribe or a larger one with world versus world, was destined to be an inherent part of life in the new order. They wanted no part of that. Thus, given all that our people had endured, it was decided that the Rukori would look outside the galactic core for a place to rebuild in peace.”

  Smitty made a face. “You certainly achieved that out here. As Union space goes, it doesn’t get much more out in the boonies than the Cresht region of the Tolo Arm.”

  “That was the idea,” Valawn said.

  “But how have you managed to stay hidden all this time?” Taylor asked. “Again, no one back in the Union has ever even heard of you folks.”

  Valawn sipped his drink. “Unfortunately, I do not have an answer for that. The archives speak only of an arrangement with the Vergola Council prior to the Rukori exodus.”

  “The who?” Smitty looked up.

  “The Vergola Council,” Valawn said. “The Vergola were a race of engineers and ship builders during Republic times. They were also, like the Rukori, among the Republic’s older members. As such, when the time came for the newly formed Cartography Guild to assume oversight of the stargate system, it was widely known that the Vergola would be involved.”

  “I don’t suppose your archives tell who formed the guilds?” Smitty asked. “Cartography or otherwise?”

  Valawn shook his head. “I’m sorry, but they do not.”

  Taylor drummed his fingers. “What about this arrangement you mentioned? Do your archives speak to that?”

  “Not beyond the obvious, no,” Valawn said. “They tell only of my ancestors’ desire to remain undisturbed in exile. To that end, a deal was struck with the Vergola to have Rukoria and her stargate expunged from the Union’s new planet atlas. The Council complied, and the rest, as your people say, is history.”

  Taylor bolted upright. “Hold on. The Vergola actually did it? They removed an entire world from the atlas? Coordinates and all?”

  “According to our records, yes,” Valawn said. “That was the agreement.”

  Taylor glanced across the table to find looks of equal shock on the faces of his colleagues.

  “I’ll be damned,” Billy murmured. “Half the mercs I’ve ever worked with suspected there were worlds out there that the Cartography Guild either A, didn’t know about or B, wasn’t sharing. If what you’re saying about these Vergola is true, you essentially just confirmed that at least the former is true.”

  “Which begs the question,” Smitty said. “What else is out there that no one’s aware of?”

  Taylor’s mind raced with the ramifications of this development. Hidden worlds off the grid with operable stargates? The knowledge was a gamechanger.

  A nasty looking gash on a nearby wall sent Taylor’s mind in a new direction. “This happened, what? Fifteen, twenty thousand years ago?”

  “That’s right,” Valawn said.

  “And all because Rukorilyn Prime was sacked in the War?” Taylor continued.

  “Yes,” Valawn said.

  Taylor proceeded cautiously with his next words. “So…what happened to your second homeworld?”

  The alien commander dropped his gaze. “You’re referring to the ruins.”

  “Yeah,” Taylor said. “Did one of the other races find you and attack or what?”

  Valawn took in a long breath then let it out. “No. We were not attacked. Rukoria’s fate was regrettably forged by her own people’s hands.”

  Taylor held quiet as revelation set in. “You did this to yourselves.”

  Valawn took a long pull of his whiskey. “In the centuries that followed our arrival here, my people built cities to the sky that threatened the borders of the gods. We grew our understanding of science and technology, not to mention ourselves.” He paused, staring at his hands. “Then one day, about thirty years ago, a young boy living in a remote village on the edge of the southern continent ventured into the wilderness, and it all went away.”

  Taylor watched his host’s demeanor darken with each syllable. Before, Valawn had been speaking in academic terms, as someone who’d learned of his people’s history through study. Now he was speaking from experience.

  “The boy came home early from the forest,” Valawn said in a low voice. “He claimed to have been bitten by something, an insect. The boy’s parents monitor
ed his health for several days, then went on about their lives when all seemed fine. Only, it wasn’t fine.”

  Taylor felt a chill. “The boy was a carrier for somethin’.”

  Valawn nodded. “His symptoms didn’t present for more than a week, and when they did, they were barely noticeable. A mild fever, a light rash. Nothing to raise alarm. In time, the boy’s condition progressed, first to skin lesions and fatigue, then to internal hemorrhaging and organ failure. Eventually, the sickness claimed his life.”

  “What was it?” Billy asked. “The sickness?”

  “Our scientists called it the Winter Death,” Valawn said. “Put simply, it was a virus that ravaged the Rukori immune system, thereby turning even the smallest illnesses into a death sentence. It was also highly contagious, as evidenced by the inferno-like speed with which it spread through the population.”

  “How bad did it get?” Smitty asked.

  Valawn stared into his glass. “Terry’s medical officer asked that same question. I believe the term he used after I’d answered was ‘global pandemic.’”

  Taylor looked away, his thoughts swirling with visions of Earth’s Dark Ages or the Jyntu outbreak that swept through Nigeria in the early-twenty-second century. “So, after all that time and sacrifice to build their new world, the Rukori civilization was done in by a bug, compliments of Mother Nature.”

  “If only that were it,” Valawn murmured.

  Taylor wrinkled his nose.

  “The Winter Death was indeed the catalyst for my people’s undoing,” Valawn said, “but it did not bring about the apocalypse you witnessed above. That came ten years into the crisis when our people began turning on each other.”

  Billy’s tone was low and even with his next question. “Bombs?”

  Valawn nodded, golden eyes downcast. “We called it the Cleansing. Ironic, isn’t it? For all our championing of peace as the cornerstone of noble society, in our darkest hour we became the very monsters our ancestors sought to escape when they fled the Union. It began when the residents of one district attacked another in a quarantine dispute. That escalated to a conflict between cities, then regions, before eventually devolving into a war of nations. By the time the bombings ended, everything we’d built—everything we stood for—was little more than sand and ash.” Valawn slumped back on his stool. “And that, my Human friends, is when our hallowed saviors, the Krulig, swooped in from the heavens to save us all.”

  Smitty raised an eyebrow. “So the Krulig brought a cure then.”

  “The Krulig brought the makings of a cure, based on a similar pathogen they’d encountered on another world,” Valawn said. “Our healers took it from there, using Krulig resources. By that point, more than eighty percent of the global population had been eradicated, either by the Death itself or the bombs meant to snuff it out. The remaining Rukori sought refuge in the old quarantine zones which still serve today as our primary urban centers.”

  “Who are they?” Billy asked. “These Krulig. Moreover, how did they find you in isolation after all this time?”

  Valawn shrugged. “We honestly don’t know how they found us. They simply emerged one day from hyperspace and made contact. As for whom they are?” He considered. “They are no one.”

  “Come again?” Taylor perked up.

  “The Krulig are no one,” Valawn repeated. “At least, that’s who the archives say they were at the time of our ancestors’ exodus. The Krulig were a minor race under the dominion of the Vergola, used mostly for labor and other menial jobs. That’s it. They didn’t even hold a seat in the old government.”

  “What do they want in the here and now?” Smitty asked.

  “Perhaps the better question is, what don’t they want?” Valawn snorted. “When the Krulig arrived twelve years ago, they were content lending their aid free of charge as we frankly had nothing to offer in return. As time wore on, however, and the Rukori recovered, that ceased being the case. Now, the Krulig take everything we have of value, from the crops in our fields to the power amassed by our makeshift solar capacitors. They leave us only what we need to survive. The rest they ship off-world for sale to the highest bidder.”

  “So why not run them out?” Billy scratched his head. “I mean, clearly that’s the point of your insurgency, right?”

  “Were the Rukori a united people, then that might be possible,” Valawn said. “Alas, we are nothing if not divided. Say what you will for the Krulig’s intentions, they still put food in the bellies of many Rukori children. Couple this with their role in retrieving our society from the brink, and there are many among us—especially survivors of the Cleansing—who have resigned their loyalty to the status quo.”

  Taylor’s thoughts returned to his original question. “How did Terry get mixed up in all this?”

  “While the Krulig are powerful, they are not, best as we can tell, many in number,” Valawn said. “At present, we estimate that there are no more than three hundred spread across the planet. Thus, in order to preserve their stronghold on Rukoria, they require help.”

  “Ah.” Billy crossed his arms. “The Krulig contracted with Union mercenaries to serve as an occupation force.”

  “Precisely,” Valawn said.

  “But why Humans?” Taylor asked. “The Mercenary Guild is littered with species more qualified than us, any one of whom would’ve been more than happy to take this gig for a proper payday.”

  “That may be,” Valawn said. “However, as Terry explained to me, Earth has been quite the hotbed for mercenary activity since their induction into the Union last century. You’re also a young world, which is to say there are many among you searching for fame and fortune in the stars.”

  Smitty shook her head. “Why Swamp Eagle Security, though? Why not bring in a legit heavy hitter for this? Someone like Asbaran Solutions or the Golden Horde?”

  “Because the hiring of a Horseman would’ve been far too high profile in Union merc circles,” Billy said. “A redneck outfit out of Jacksonville, North Florida, on the other hand, would’ve barely made news on Earth much less around the galaxy. That presumably would’ve made them easier to manipulate.”

  “Only the Krulig didn’t count on Terry bein’ a turncoat,” Taylor said.

  The XO answered with a you got it gesture.

  “Terry’s people had only been planetside a few weeks when my operatives first encountered them,” Valawn said. ‘It happened during a food raid outside of Nyo Colony. He had us dead to rights, your brother did. Then he saw that our prize that evening was a trove of fruit to feed our families. He let us go. We began working together shortly thereafter.”

  Terry. Taylor thumbed the edge of his glass. “I take it you liked my brother from the start, then.”

  “Oh, lords no.” Valawn laughed. “At the risk of offending, I thought Terry Van Zant was a loud-mouthed arrogant braggart at first, sent here by the gods to get us all killed.”

  “Sounds like Terry, all right.” Billy smirked.

  “But then I got to know the man,” Valawn said. “I saw the good he was capable of, and the results he could deliver in the field. Terry was a born fighter, through and through. He went to great lengths, at significant risk to himself and his company, to help the Rukori, be it through illicit supply runs for weapons or an extra cache of food when we needed it. Terry was a good man. He will be sorely missed.”

  A momentary silence fell on the room, causing Taylor to risk a glance at his XO from the corner of his eye. Billy was just sitting there, eyes on the table and thoughts clearly someplace a lot further away than that. I’m sorry, man.

  Smitty cleared her throat. “Forgive me, Valawn, but none of this explains how our crew came to be here today.”

  “Ah, yes.” Valawn shifted. “Terry and I realized after about a year that for my people to truly be free, we needed two things: a legitimate fighting force of our own, equipped with real weapons and ships, and a way to bring that force here to Rukoria.”

  “Why not aboard the Eagles
’ old flagship, Bogrider?” Taylor asked. “She’d have offered more than enough space to haul a force of that size, plus her navigator would’ve known the way back after the initial drop.”

  “You presume that your comrades arrived here of their own volition,” Valawn said. “They did not. No non-Krulig ship, mercenary or otherwise, has ever emerged directly into our system, not even the Krulig themselves twelve years ago. Rather, they did so by way of the Behemoth you saw in orbit, and it’s on that ship that they’ve shuttled in aid for their cause ever since.”

  Billy scratched his head. “That’s actually pretty smart. Why compromise the location of your cash cow when you can ferry in the help and be done with it?”

  “Exactly,” Valawn said. “The Eagles were no different. So, Terry and I devised a plan to sneak our RFC operatives onto the Behemoth for the purposes of cloning its nav data. That information would then be returned to Earth for download into a ship of our own.”

  Taylor’s grip tightened on his chair. Osyrys.

  A nearby wall terminal chirped out an alert.

  “Excuse me, Commander,” a low voice called through the speaker.

  Valawn rose from his seat and tapped a button on the console. “What is it, Douron?”

  “We just received a communique from one of our contacts,” the Rukori sergeant said. “She asked to speak with you at once.”

  “Pass it to Balar,” Valawn said. “She’s cleared to handle this.”

  “Sir,” Douron added. “The communique came from Flower of the Sands.”

  Valawn’s golden eyes widened. “I’ll take the call in my office. Valawn out.” He spun to face his guests. “Please excuse me for a moment.”

  The group watched from their seats as the RFC commander took his leave.

  “You buyin’ all this?” Billy asked.

  Taylor pointed to the mason jar on the table. “Seems to me the evidence is pretty irrefutable at this point.”

  Billy heaved a sigh. “Well, I guess now we finally know what Operation Hammerhead was.”

  “Looks like,” Taylor agreed.