by P P Corcoran
“Well, at least we’ll retain the advantage for the time being.” Said Lorai.
“And time is the key factor which must drive our next move.” The solemn voice of the Supreme Leader caused all eyes in the room to focus on his back, as he stood gazing over the magnificent landscape bathed in the star’s red hue. “Until now we’ve used our fleet sparingly. Gauging our opponents’ strengths and weaknesses. However, this turn of events forces us to change our efforts to eradicate the Half-Breeds and ensure we Saiph are victorious in the final struggle for supremacy.”
The Supreme Leader turned to face them, taking the time to meet each one’s eyes individually, to engage and bolster their faith in him and their mission.
“The time has come to show these lower lifeforms, dragged from primordial slime by the ill-conceived, ill-planned and poorly executed intervention of those who call themselves our Elders and our betters.” The Supreme Leader sneered. “The Elders want nothing more, than for these Half-Breeds to regard them as benevolent gods, fawn over them and heap undying love on them for their kindness and generosity and for allowing these poor excuses for a civilization to even exist.” The Supreme Leader placed both hands flat on the table and leaned forward as his voice descended into a low, feral growl. “Well, my friends, it is time the Half-Breeds learned what happens when their gods decide they’ve had enough of their polluting ways and decide to erase them from the galaxy.”
The Saiph gathered around the table began to beat the metal tabletop with their fists, the rhythmic racket resonated around the room. The Supreme Leader raised himself to his full height, rested his hands on his hips and rejoiced in the admiration of his devotees. His saw his own fervent beliefs clearly mirrored in their faces and felt utter devotion and belief in his leadership in the sound of their beating their fists.
No one seated around that table was more enthralled by the Supreme Leader, and his goal, than the one who had not been among the Supreme Leader’s group which fled the Saiph home world many years before. Instead, Geoll, the Caretaker of the Race was a direct descendant of those Saiph who had remained awake to ensure the Supreme Leader’s plans blossomed while the elite slept their frozen slumber of suspended animation for years.
Geoll’s parents, their parents before them, and their parents before them had sown the seeds, guided by the all-knowing artificial intelligence, which controlled the functions of the Dyson Sphere- the Dyson Sphere designed by Chief Scientist Lorai and the place the Saiph called home.
Those seeds had grown into a population of 1.8 billion purebred Saiph. A population which had built and would crew the mighty fleet that Star Leader Foral was to use to gain victory over the Half-Breeds.
From childhood, Geoll learned that the Supreme Leader, and the Supreme Leader alone, was the voice of descent. The lone voice that urged the Elders to curb their experiments. To stop the combining of Saiph DNA with those of lower life forms. The Supreme Leader had begged the Elders to recognize the manifest destiny of the Saiph to colonize every habitable world in the night sky, seize those worlds for the benefit of all Saiph and stop chasing the crazed and corrupt high-minded moralistic theology of sharing the Saiph’s hard-won technical and scientific advancements with an artificially created half-Saiph, half-slime, inferior creature that was unfit to walk the same planet as, never mind dominate, the Saiph.
No, thought Geoll striking the table repeatedly with his balled fist, so hard he knew bruises would follow, but he did not for one moment care. The Supreme Leader was right. Now is the time to bring forth the Saiph destiny. Now is the time to reinforce our position at the pinnacle of galactic civilization.
The Supreme Leader bathed in the adoration of his inner circle and soaked up their love and devotion. They filled and energized him; now he was ready for the hard days which he knew were gathering like dark thunder clouds on the horizon.
Raising a hand, he waited for the rhythmic banging to slow and die.
“Friends,” he addressed, in a warm voice. “My heart sings when I feel your loyalty.” He clenched his fist and held it close to his heart, then his face hardened. “But now, we must steel ourselves. To assure final victory we will lose many. Death will come to those close to us; death will come to some of you gathered around this table right now.” Heads turned to regard those sitting next to them. “Nevertheless, this price is one we must be prepared to pay. A price which will, undoubtedly, in the days ahead to question whether the cost is too great.” The silence in the room as the Supreme Leader paused was palpable. “Star Leader Foram.”
Foram raised his head, his spine ramrod straight. “Yes, Supreme Leader.”
“Prepare the fleet for battle. Let us show our enemies the true power of the Saiph.”
CHAPTER SIX
TURAK COUNCIL OF WAR
HOME | STAR SYSTEM 389267 | 28,109 LIGHT-YEARS FROM EARTH
The small craft with its distinctive scarlet band completely circling its boxy hull exited fold space and flashed into existence a scant 500 kilometers from the surface of a planet whose dense, murky clouds completely obscured the view of the surface.
The pilots took the few seconds required to orient their vessel and, aided by the on-board computers, they locked onto the homing beacon which guided the craft and its four passengers to their destination on the hidden surface.
On learning of their selection for the honor of piloting this mission, the small craft’s crew had spent hours in the simulators preparing for what was ahead. For, in living memory, no-one had called upon Clan Orlak to visit this most sacred of places.
Following the beacon, the pilots dived headlong into the clouds and placed all their trust in the homing beacon; for in this most hallowed of places, ancient law disallowed active scans of any kind, even navigational radar.
Through the sea of clouds, the craft fell leaving the bright sunlight of the system’s star behind. Acid rain pummeled the armored glass of the cockpit windows and hurricane force winds buffeted the craft as the pilots fought to retain control. Lightning flashes lit up the dense clouds for fractions of a second only to disappear and leave the craft in complete darkness once more.
Lower and lower until the craft breached the cloud base.
Visibility increased from a couple of meters to perhaps tens of meter as the pilots activated powerful lights mounted on the nose and extending wing roots.
The howling wind masked the high-pitched whine of the landing struts extending from the smooth hull. Still the pilots had no visual on their destination, they shared a nervous glance which turned relief as the homing beacon’s tone changed to an ever-quickening beep.
On final approach and still the pilots could not visually confirm their height or destination.
Trusting in their training and the procedures, dating to the Clan’s earliest recorded history, they pulled back on the power and slowed the small craft; keeping just enough forward and downward momentum to retain control of their ship against the gusts of wind and the relentless rain.
In their earpieces the homing beacon became one long, piercing tone and from out of the darkness emerged a landing pad its bright strobe lighting only now becoming visible. Faultlessly the pilots settled the craft dead center of the pad keeping the engine power up to hold them in place until they heard the reassuring clang of metal on metal as the landing pads claws securely locked around the crafts landing struts.
While beginning their shutdown procedure, the cockpit door slid to one side and Vek, Clan Lord of Clan Orlak, entered the cramped cockpit. Each pilot paused their movements and waited as Vek bent forward and looked out of the rain lashed windows.
Vek’s grandfather had described this hostile world, they had landed on, to him as a child years before; though, his grandfather had retold the description Vek’s great grandfather, the last summoned Clan Lord of Clan Orlak, had told him as a child.
No member of Clan Orlak had set foot upon Home in over a century.
Vek’s intense red eyes stared out, piercing the g
loom and pouring rain.
There, at the edge of his vision he made out a shape, a flash of lightning further illuminated the small craft and he saw the circling band of jade green around the hull.
So, Clan Akalu had heeded the summons of the Guardians. Another flash of lightning and he caught sight of more shadowy hull shapes, each secured firmly to a landing pad spaced equidistantly around a low, bunker like mushroom cap at the center. From the cap a hardened personnel access tube reached out connecting each craft to the cap allowing access without having to dress in protective clothing for the acid rain would strip any unprotected flesh from the bone which the howling wind would then spread among the boiling, dark clouds.
Reaching out Vek grasped the shoulder of each pilot with one salmon pink colored three fingered hand. “Can you feel the spirits of the dead crying out to you, brothers?” He asked. “Can you hear them demanding the clans set aside our fractious ways to fight our common enemy?”
Each pilot felt a chill run up their spines as they looked out upon the world which had been the cradle of the Turak civilization so many millennium ago desolated by their own hand, forcing the handful of clans that had survived the war to come together in peace, merging and sharing their pitiful resources to seek a new life among the stars where each clan could once more claim their heritage and rebuild their strength without ever forgetting the mistakes of the past that had so nearly seen the Turak become but a footnote in the never ending cycle of birth, death and rebirth among the countless stars.
Now, rather than allowing a dispute between clans to spiral into a war to threaten an entire clan’s existence, they settled major disputes here; on Home, under the ever-watchful eyes of the Guardians, the clansmen who were randomly selected at birth from each clan and raised on Home.
The Guardians became the impartial arbiters trained to interpret the ancient laws and settle disputes; and they had the power of life or death, even over a Clan Lord such as Vek.
Today, however, Vek was not here to settle a dispute. He had appealed to the Guardians to gather the other clan lords to hear the troublesome news he carried.
Evidence that the Saiph scourge still existed.
Blinking red and white lights warned of the approaching personnel tube easing up to seal with his craft. Vek left the cockpit and joined the other two occupants of the craft.
Kal, his uncle, and his oldest and most trusted adviser, stood patiently by the airlock seemingly perfectly at ease. Dressed only in a gray colored, long sleeved top, and matching pants. His single adornment, a scarlet sash tied around his waist, identifed him as belonging to Clan Orlak.
Vek’s eyes moved to his second companion. Yue did not look as comfortable as Kal and this brought a slight, fang baring smile to Vek’s otherwise flat face. His eldest son, future Clan Lord once Vek passed, had jumped at the chance of accompanying his father and great uncle to the fabled Home. Stood here now though in simple clothes and bare of any weapons. The youth’s uncertainty was obvious for all to see.
“Fear not, my son.” Said Vek “The Guardians ensure our safety, as they have since the time of the Great Conflagration. No clan dare bring weapons to Home; such an act would breach the ancient law founded by the Guardians and would sign their own death warrant. The Guardians would wipe the clan’s name from our collective memory, they would strip the clan of all their goods and disperse the clan’s people among our remaining clans.”
Yue straightened his shoulders as he swiveled in the cramped aisle to face his father properly. “Please, Father, do not mistake anticipation for fear.” The youth replied in a voice which did not quiver one iota.
Behind him Kal allowed a proud smile as he spoke. “Said like a true clan lord in-waiting, young Yue.”
Yue gave his uncle a gracious bow from the waist. “And I wish that wait to be a long one, Uncle, for Clan Orlak could not be blessed with a more fitting head at such a pivotal moment in the history of the Turak.”
Kal let out a bellowing laugh as he slapped the younger man’s shoulder playfully while addressing Vek. “And such an eloquent speaker too, my lord. Perhaps, he should lead our delegation rather than two old battle-hardened warriors like us.”
“Indeed.” Said Vek. “I believe he’s been practicing his wordsmith-ing on a certain daughter of Clan Lord Mynut.”
Yue’s face turned the same scarlet as his sash as he swiftly averted his eyes from those of his father. A high-pitched double beep saved Yue from further embarrassment, the alert indicated to the passengers and crew that someone was trying to gain their attention from the other side of the sealed airlock.
With the pilots under strict instructions not to leave the cockpit it fell to Kal to operate the locks mechanism. Both inner and outer doors parted in unison to reveal the imposing figure of a lone Guardian resplendent in his, Vek assumed the Guardian was male, form fitting slate gray full body armor which appeared to absorb the bright overhead lights of the personnel tube without reflecting a single erg of light. A ceremonial Boka blade hung in its sheath from his waist.
However, Vek was under no illusion that a simple single blade was the Guardians’ only method of defense. Undoubtedly powered, the armor he wore multiplied the Guardian’s natural strength a hundredfold; easily enough to rip Vek apart like a straw doll.
“Clan Lord Vek of the Orlak.” Said the Guardian in a steady, unwavering voice. Respectful though not subservient. “Quarters have been prepared for you and your aides. Follow me.” Without waiting for acknowledgment the gray armored Guardian spun on his heel and set off down the equally drab corridor.
Yue was aghast at the Guardian’s perceived lack of respect for one of such high prestige as a Clan Lord however, a warning look from his uncle, stilled his tongue. His father appeared outwardly unperturbed by the Guardian’s actions simply following a step behind the man. Yue flashed a questioning glance towards his uncle who raised a hand and indicated for the youth to proceed him. Setting his jaw, Yue stifled his anger and set off after his father’s receding back.
The small group made their way along the corridor until they came to a junction where the single corridor split into four. At the entrance to three of the corridors stood a Guardian dressed and armed identically to their own escort. Pausing without turning the Guardian pointed one at a time to each of the guarded corridors before speaking. “You will not enter these corridors.”
Again, the lack of respect shown by the Guardian to his father, a great clan lord, shocked Yue, and this time he could not hold his tongue as the blood raced to his cheeks. “How dare you speak-” The Guardian cut short his angry retort as he effortlessly stepped around Vek, drawing his Boka as he did in one easy motion. The razor-sharp edge of the Guardian’s blade pressed into the side of Yue’s throat. Yue had no chance to move aside.
“Forgive my son’s disrespect, Guardian.” Said Vek hurriedly. His father, to Yue’s amazement, went to one knee and bowed his head in submission to the gray-armored Guardian. “The fault lies with me for not instructing him correctly before our arrival.”
“You submit yourself to my judgment, Clan Lord Vek, in place of your clansman?” Asked the Guardian whose voice bore no indication that he held Yue’s life in his hands.
“I do.” Answered Vek without raising his head.
So quickly Yue could not be sure he witnessed it the Boka blade flashed in the corridors naked lights and returned to its sheath on the Guardian’s waist. Yue swallowed heavily and released a small sigh before the small, bright red splashes of blood on the otherwise bare corridors surface drew his eyes. Blood which was dripping from a precise incision on his father’s neck.
The heavy hand of his uncle, Kal, grasped Yue’s arm preventing him from going to his father aide. “Stand still, boy!” Kal whispered harshly through gritted teeth. “Lest your ignorance bring forth your inheritance quicker than expected.”
Vek remained kneeling with head bowed. Blood dripping from the barest of incisions precisely a centimeter to the left of the a
rtery which, if severed, would have seen the clan lord bleed out in a matter of minutes without immediate medical attention. Yue’s piercing red eyes fixed on the unmoving gray Guardian, its armored helm regarding Vek impassively.
“There shall be no second warning, Clan Lord Vek.” The Guardian’s head turned in the direction of the still restrained Yue and the voice was as equally impassive as its gaze though the words it uttered could not be mistaken for anything but a final warning. “If my blade is called to leave its scabbard again, it will show no mercy.”
Conversation ended; the Guardian set off once more down the bare corridor. Vek followed, head held high, making no attempt to halt the slowly dripping line of rust-red blood which steadily spread along the collar of his gray shirt leaving a dull brown colored line. Kal retained his grip on his tight-lipped nephew’s arm guiding the enraged youth along behind his father. Yue may have been heir apparent to Clan Orlak however, his uncle’s demeanor left him in no doubt that any further indiscretion would result in a more physical act than simple restraint.
The group came to a halt beside a simple, unadorned door, which retracted into the wall as the Guardian touched his gloved hand to a sensor pad concealed below the wall’s surface. “Your quarters, Clan Lord Vek. I shall return in one hour and escort you to the Hall of Equals.”
Vek nodded his thanks to the Guardian who remained unmoving by the door until the three members of Clan Orlak entered their quarters upon which the door slid closed behind them sealing them inside. Only as Kal heard the locking mechanism give a small click did he release Yue and take the two steps to his brother’s side. Gently pushing Vek’s head to one side and inspecting the wound. The Guardian’s strike had been as precise as a laser scalpel. The cut halted within a hairsbreadth of the artery and, though superficial, it continued to bleed. Hurriedly Kal pressed the flat of his hand firmly against the wound temporarily halting the flow of blood.
