Our Contest

by Phillip Murrell

  “You don’t know that,” Kimmy accuses.

  “We do, Kimmy,” Darsh says. “Our foolish desire to possess one mind was all that limited us before.”

  “Just take it easy, Lottery,” Votary says. “No more than a dozen.”

  “For now, we agree,” Darsh says.

  “I want all Templars who took part in capturing this ship to train with Seal Pup and Flaimeson.” Votary shifts his attention to the new recruits at the end of the long table. “The new guys are with me and Millantra.”

  “Sucks to be you,” Power jokes.

  “Shut it, Knight Terror!” Votary shouts. “You’re already late, so follow your lead trainer to the mats now. Our little holiday is over.”

  “Wait,” Akio says.

  Votary looks annoyed that his order wasn’t immediately followed, but he sits back down to hear what Akio has to say.

  “What?” Votary asks.

  “What are we going to tell Claire to share with the rest of the planet?” Akio asks.

  “Nothing. They don’t need to know right now,” Votary answers.

  Gallery scoffs. “They don’t need to know that they have a little over a month until the world might end?”

  “It’s not going to end,” Smith declares.

  “You know what I mean,” Gallery says back.

  “What good would a panic do us?” Votary simply asks.

  “Then don’t tell them they only have a month,” Julie says. “Lie and say they have a year.”

  “Why a year?” Patrick asks.

  “Because it’s long enough to avert a panic until well after the battle we know is coming, but it still hangs a doomsday clock over their heads.”

  “Why is that useful?” Power asks through clenched teeth.

  Julie ignores Power and explains for the betterment of the full group. “People will forgive or take the long overdue trip they’ve planned. They’ll relax for the first half before the panic overtakes them. At that point, we’ll either have succeeded and set the record straight or died. If we’re dead, they’ll soon know we lied.”

  “Good point,” Votary agrees and turns to Smith. “Seal Pup, you have the best rapport with Claire. You go on her show and spread the lie.”

  “Like you already were supposed to have done,” Julie complains.

  “Not a good idea,” Smith says as he ignores The Chairman of The Enterprise. “The last time I went on that show I could sense that people thought less of me. Knowing my identity replaced hope with dread and betrayal. We need to send a fresh face, preferably one that doesn’t have a body count.” Smith stares directly at Julie. “That’s why I didn’t speak with her as I promised.”

  Julie scoffs.

  “You want to send one of the rookies?” Amine asks.

  “Not exactly. I was thinking of Kimmy,” Smith answers.

  All heads turn toward the young Templar medic.

  “Sure,” Kimmy agrees. “I’ll sell the propaganda.”

  “That’s settled then,” Votary states as he rises once again. “Now everyone to your assigned trainer.”

  “Wait,” Abel says with a raised hand.

  Once again Votary sits back down, but this time he does it quickly and without annoyance.

  “Yes, Father?” he asks.

  “You need to set up a rotation for each Templar to spend a few days with whomever they choose to do whatever they need to in preparation for the battle. It would be beyond arrogant to assume you’ll fare as well as you did with just the one ship. Even then, you still lost people.”

  Abel’s blunt declaration dampens the mood of the room, yet they’re still clearly excited by the opportunity for a few days free of Votary’s cracking whip.

  “Father, there isn’t enough time. We have to use every second of it,” Votary protests.

  “No, we don’t. Let them go over the next two or three weeks. Then you can put them through your torturous boot camp in the remaining time. They need to remember what’s at stake.”

  “He’s right,” Smith says.

  “I agree,” Julie adds.

  “Of course, you’re right, Father. I’ll put a schedule together tonight.”

  “That schedule needs to include you,” Abel insists.

  “I’m fine, Father. I don’t need a rest.”

  “Everyone needs a rest.”

  “If you insist, Father, I’ll place myself at the end of the list.”

  “Good,” Abel says.

  Votary scans the table. He slowly stands and watches. All eyes are on him.

  “Follow your trainers,” Votary repeats for the third time.

  This time all twenty Templars and Abel stand to leave the room. They hustle as both Smith and Votary bark orders. Millantra and Flaimeson appear amused by the entire ordeal. The new rookies look terrified. The remaining Templars seem resigned to their fate.

  Guntho, Vlad, and Vape sit on a sandy beach on an island near a small town in the Caribbean Sea. Evening is upon them, and the stars make the mother ship of the Malignant fleet visible against the backdrop of the moon. Vape and Vlad both wear simple comfort suits taken from the Malignant escape pod that ejected them from the Ahika. Guntho stands in full Malignant armor with her helmet covering her face.

  “Do you have a plan yet?” Vape impatiently asks.

  “Do not assume I need you,” Guntho threatens.

  Vape wisely silences himself as Vlad smirks at him. Vlad apparently decides to take a diplomatic approach with the disgraced Malignant executive officer.

  Vlad twirls his sword, then sheathes it before speaking. “Commander Guntho, I’m guessing that giant beehive blocking the moon is known to you.”

  “It is Mother’s ship, the Womb,” Guntho answers. “She is here to eliminate the ISH.”

  “It’s been there for almost a week. Why haven’t they landed yet?” Vlad asks.

  “Father must have convinced her to wait for something,” Guntho answers.

  “What?” Vlad presses.

  “It is not my place to understand Mother and Father,” Guntho snaps.

  “Why don’t you call them and have them pick us up?” Vape asks.

  “With what communicator?” Guntho demands.

  Vape holds up his hands in defense. “My mistake. I thought the escape pod would have a beacon.”

  “It was damaged in the escape,” Guntho answers. “Someone melted it.”

  Vape looks away from the blame that Guntho and Vlad send in his direction.

  “How was I supposed to know we would have turbulence when we entered the atmosphere? I was trying to keep myself from dying in a crash. Can’t you just use your helmet?”

  “Are you sure you are not ISH?” Guntho asks with contempt. “Why would my helmet have the range to reach Mother?”

  Vape clenches his fists as he wills himself not to attack the condescending Malignant officer. Vlad pats him on the shoulder and calms the situation.

  “Don’t worry, Commander Guntho, I have an idea on how to get Mother to look in our direction.”

  “How?” Vape asks. “Grenada is tiny. Mother won’t care about this place.”

  “She does not care about any place on this planet,” Guntho states. “I doubt she has any reason to suspect we even exist. I broke my transporter tag in the fight with that kaufiebuck Flaimeson. We are on our own until Mother decides to use the boreship.”

  “What happens then?” Vape asks.

  “We go on to our celebrations,” Guntho answers.

  “There won’t be any celebrations yet,” Vlad says. “Like I said, I have a plan to give Mother a reason to look for us.”

  “I am listening,” Guntho says as she and Vape lean in to Vlad.

  Chapter 2

  Abel approaches Mother in her elaborate throne room that inhabits a sizable p
ortion of her bridge. Her subdued orange robes fall over the arms of her chair, and her toned body is easily discernible through the light and sheer fabric.

  Surrounding her chair are a dozen Malignant honor guards in lava orange armor with elegant spears in their hands and numerous firearms and explosives clipped to various anchors on their armor. An impressive force for any opponent other than Abel.

  Admiral Drorus and Leebuch also stand off to the side of Mother. They both remain silent and wait for any instruction to come from her. Abel acknowledges them with a simple nod.

  Mother indicates for Abel to have an equally elaborate seat in the removable throne brought for his visit.

  “Father, if you do not mind,” Mother says with feigned politeness.

  “Thank you, Ot Her,” Abel responds.

  Mother aggressively curls her perfectly manicured fingers around the arms of her throne when Abel refers to her as Ot Her.

  Abel takes a seat and looks at Mother. His gray hoodie starkly contrasts with her elegant attire.

  “One week complete,” Mother says. “You merely have five left until the battle. I trust you will keep your word and help me force the animals off Coelum?”

  “You assume my Templars equal failure. I do not believe you appreciate how formidable they are,” Abel answers.

  Mother snorts, an unladylike action, to show her true contempt for the Templars.

  “Your ISH cannot defeat my full military. I have millions of warriors here. I have billions more that I can summon, if need be. I acknowledge shock that they defeated a corvette, but the Ahika and the Womb are two very different vessels.”

  “Are you even aware of what happened on the Ahika? It is called the Vengeful ISH now, so I know you comprehend the outcome.”

  “I do not comprehend the full incidentals of the battle,” Mother admits.

  “Then I will deliver the recordings of the fight. You may regard the results at your leisure. I am sure you will find certain aspects very interesting.”

  “Why the suspense, Father? Tell me what you require me to fear.”

  “If you prefer, Ot Her,” Abel says. “For introduction, comprehend that a mere thirteen Templars attacked your vessel. Of that number, ten still live.”

  “Impossible,” Mother says. “I have nearly 150 warriors on my corvettes. A force that small could not win. The math does not support your accusation.”

  “Ot Her, you know I do not lie. It only took thirteen. The augments of Earth are powerful beyond measurement.”

  “You consider making rainbows to multiples of ten as power?”

  “That is a fair point, but for every thousand augments with parlor abilities, there is one with enormous power. They ultimately become Templars. You will see in the recordings that the Malignant do not have warriors of the same caliber. You have the numbers, that is true, but we have the quality.”

  “Why are they so powerful, Father? There is nothing special about this planet. This system is dead. Why can they do what you proclaim?”

  “That, I do not know,” Abel admits. “Perhaps there is something in the water.”

  “What exactly?”

  Abel stifles a chuckle. “It is a human expression. I seriously doubt it has anything to do with the water.”

  Mother appears confused and contemplative.

  “You have spent too much time amongst the ISH,” Mother declares. “Now you use their idioms. That is impolite.”

  “So is chastising your elders.”

  Mother avoids eye contact after Abel’s statement.

  “Do not forget,” Abel continues, “that although you are currently the Malignant Mother, you are the fourth woman to hold that title. I am the only Father. I have seen so much in this life, and you cannot possibly comprehend it all.”

  Abel casually glances at Leebuch standing behind Mother.

  “She is your replacement?”

  “Eventually. Leebuch has only 419 years of life. She still has nearly a century of development before she comes of age.”

  “I hypothesize that Leebuch was selected because she has the same power over weather as you?”

  “Of course, it is the sign of a new Mother.”

  “Why not have her join our conversation?”

  “Perhaps on a future visit. I will not have you lecture me on my own ship. It is true that I am the fourth Mother, but that still makes me Mother. I rule over real people, not the barbarians whom you choose to protect.”

  “You have barely conversed with the humans of Earth. Why do you hypothesize them to be barbarians?”

  “I have regarded their recordings and their literature. Even their entertainment focuses on violence for no reason other than to titillate.”

  “They are excited by danger. It is no different than Gudz and Malignant reveling in a battle.”

  “They split atoms. That is destruction well beyond approved levels.”

  “They are young. Our people have been around for eons. Their timeline must be measured in millennia.”

  “They murder their prisoners. They do not attempt to rehabilitate them, even if some claim they do.”

  “Give them time. The humans of Earth will see the error in that,” Abel says.

  “They likewise slaughter their unborn children. Do you approve of this? I understand medical complications may happen, but rarely. Embryonic children as young as eight weeks nearly always survive outside of the womb.”

  “Not on Earth. They have not advanced enough to save them younger than perhaps twenty weeks. Many are outraged after this mark.”

  “But not all of them. The fact that the mildly intelligent ISH do not immediately eliminate the foolish ones is another reason to purge the galaxy of their rashness.”

  “Then teach them,” Abel says. “Show them the errors and give them a chance to prove their worth.”

  “Teach people who constantly enslave their peers? Impossible. They do not live long enough to truly learn. They consider a century to be a long life; we know it to be a gust of wind.”

  Abel stands. “I can see you have become agitated. I will come back in a week for another discussion with you. Forever enemies.”

  “Wait,” Mother instructs.

  She turns her head and gestures for Leebuch and Drorus to step forward. The two approach. They bow before Mother.

  “Yes, Mother?” they ask in unison.

  “Take Father on a tour of this vessel. Make sure as many of the crew as possible get to see him. It will inspire them.”

  “Yes, Mother,” they say again.

  “Forever enemies,” Abel repeats.

  “Until our celebration,” Mother responds.

  Abel follows Leebuch and Drorus as the pair escort him to the long corridor outside the throne room.

  Leebuch wears a full smile as she looks at Abel. Her grin is like a child next in line to speak with Santa Claus.

  “Father, I am Leebuch. This is a stimulating day,” she says.

  “Thank you, Leebuch. Please call me Abel.”

  “I would never presume to do such a thing,” Leebuch answers.

  Abel smiles. “Fair enough.”

  He reaches and shakes the hand of Leebuch, then Drorus. Both appear surprised by his initiation of physical contact.

  “I am Admiral Drorus. I command this ship and the fleet for Mother.”

  The trio slowly walks down the hall. The corridors of the Womb are an efficient grid. All hallways intersect at precise ninety-degree angles and a constant interval of one hundred meters. Whenever they pass Malignant crewmembers, they slow to allow each a chance to observe their Father. Abel patiently walks for hours through the Womb as Leebuch and Drorus take him deeper into the engineering section.

  Unexpectedly, the two stop and seclude Abel in an inconspicuous supply closet.

  “I
assume there is a purpose for this?” Abel says.

  Leebuch and Drorus each kneel before Abel.

  “Father,” Leebuch says, “Our Contest is no longer needed. Our numbers have depleted since the contest began, and we do not need to slaughter each other.”

  “Interesting,” Abel says as he rubs his chin. “I have known this for some time, but I do not believe in making people listen to my opinion. I am surprised to see that Ot Her’s successor and her military leader are approaching me with this.”

  “Mother is more militant than the three before her. She is almost fanatical,” Drorus sheepishly admits. “The animal races are explorers, not warriors. We did not need to abandon Coelum. We could have shared it, but she is unwilling to mix with sentient life that is not humanoid.”

  “That is unfortunate. What do you expect me to do about it? The rules are clear that I cannot be your savior. In fact, this conversation alone skirts the limits of what I may do.”

  “We understand, Father, but we regarded your attack on Agent Cooerloo. Captain Jillarni sent it to us when he made aware your location,” Leebuch says.

  “We know you will do the honorable thing to save our people,” Drorus adds.

  “My people are humans now. The Malignant killed or subjugated the Gudz,” Abel says.

  “Only in Mother’s opinion,” Leebuch says. “Many of us preferred the old ways and want to go back to Our Contest. Others want to abandon the contest entirely.”

  “Us?” Abel asks.

  “We consider ouselves Gudz in spirit. A substantial portion of the fleet concurs,” Drorus answers.

  “How large of a portion?” Abel asks.

  “It depends on the vessel,” Leebuch answers.

  “Close to forty percent as an aggregate,” Drorus adds.

  “Interesting. I suggest you find a way to make sure my Templars know this,” Abel says.

  “Lieutenant Flaimeson comprehends,” Drorus says.

  “Then I will make sure he shares this information with the other Templars.”

  Abel listens for Malignant walking on the other side of the closed supply room door.

  “Unless you have anything else to tell me in confidence, I suggest we continue our tour,” he says.