Whatever the Unity had shown him before—a perspective of all things interconnected and emergent—it now showed him as power. Pure, unbridled power. That power was behind all the essential questions: How can something be alive? How can a sentient being have a soul? Where did the galaxy’s energy come from before all things began? The answers to the greatest questions of the cosmos were here, in what lay below—or perhaps above—the Foundation of all things.
So-Elku let his soul linger in this convergent place—this new place the codex called the Nexus—and risked opening his eyes in the natural realm. The task required an exorbitant amount of concentration and discipline. But the reward was sensational: a surge of power that shamed anything he’d ever experienced before. He looked down at his hands, both glowing in the strange magenta halo he’d discovered with the elders. He felt euphoric. With this new resource, he felt invincible. He would complete the mission forming in his mind. He refused to let the malevolent admiral win, refused to let him jeopardize the cause of true galactic peace—a peace So-Elku would broker. And with his newfound power, he would never let it be compromised. Not by anyone.
So-Elku began to visualize Kane’s face. In the natural realm, Kane was repulsive—pockmarked skin, orbed black eyes, twisted sneer. Instead of that face, So-Elku thought of the one he’d seen when visiting the man in the Unity. The other face.
It took immense concentration to achieve such a distance with the ever-sight—to see the admiral on the bridge of his ship. But So-Elku wasn’t the grand master for nothing. Lurking beneath Kane’s face was another visage that was darker than any he’d ever seen in the cosmos.
At that moment, So-Elku felt it—the soul-sucking vacuum that tugged on his life’s energy. That ethereal thing inside Kane knew the Luma master was there somehow. It was aware of his presence. And it was hungry, reaching out to devour So-Elku’s strength.
So-Elku’s body jerked as his life force left the Nexus, ripped through the Foundation, and stepped from the Unity. He grabbed the towel and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and the back of his neck. He saw Moldark’s face behind Kane’s. That other personality. That ego. That otherworldly being.
“Moldark,” So-Elku said with a sneer.
So-Elku ran a hand over his face then looked himself over in the mirror. He turned his chin from side to side, examining the thin beard that ran along his jawline like a wire, and noticed that he’d nicked himself shaving. He grabbed the towel again and dabbed the cut on his cheek.
“I’ll find a way to stop you, Moldark,” So-Elku said. “I’ll make a way. I swear it.”
* * *
Capriana wasn’t the Republic’s capital for nothing. If there was ever to be a gallery piece that conveyed the supposed merits and majesty of galactic harmony, this was it. It was, by all counts, the convergence of paradise and engineering, a city built from the sea, a jewel on top of a watery world.
So-Elku caught his breath on the ship’s bridge as they descended toward the capital. Hundreds of islands of varying sizes made up the enormous crescent-shaped atoll. Sleek skyscrapers rose from the islands, their heights corresponding to each island’s position. Those buildings nearest the crescent’s tips were shortest whereas those toward the interior were tallest, such that the entire city was arrayed like the ridges of a jeweled crown. The large C shape seemed fitting, given the city’s name—as if their engineers had planned it that way. They have enough power and money. Anything’s possible.
Within the city’s cradle, massive pleasure cruisers dotted the sea like glittering gems. Outside of the geometric enclave, smaller floating cities perched on giant stilts like flamingos on spindly legs. The entire picture was as stunning as it was obscene, and So-Elku would have turned away if it hadn’t been so mesmerizingly beautiful.
So-Elku’s ship approached the city’s northern curve, heading for a series of docking platforms. The buildings towered in the evening light like spires made of costly pearl, gleaming surfaces boasting more square kilometers of iridescent windowplex than he’d ever seen. Translucent tubes linked one building to the next, even across islands. Composite gantries extended high above the water to support bubble-like pods that appeared to defy gravity.
Despite his animosity toward the bloated underbelly of organized bureaucracy, So-Elku admitted that it knew how to build a megalopolis. Knowing the construction had been funded with the blood of a hundred sentient species, however, kept him grounded, just like the ship as it touched down with a slight jostle. He would not be shaken by their charms, not dissuaded by offers of power. Their power really belonged to him, anyway. They’d ruled for too long and at the end of a blaster muzzle. The galaxy deserved something else, something new. It deserved peace, and those who resisted it deserved exile.
“If you’re ready, Master,” the flight steward said from the bridge entrance. So-Elku turned. The young man gestured toward the exit, inclining his head.
“I am ready. Let’s proceed.”
* * *
So-Elku walked with twelve Luma elders in his entourage, each committed to his cause. They strode through the great hallways and corridors of the Forum Republica, making their way to Proconsul Tower where they’d be meeting.
His elders’ robes swept over the white marble floors like undulating ocean waves rippling in the twilight. Each step his retinue took was methodical—soft shoes silent in the cavernous spaces, clasped hands hidden beneath long sleeves, heads lowered beneath hoods, eyes forward. Senate staff stepped aside as the Luma passed, evoking hushed conversations and pointing. The Senate was no longer in session at this hour, but the work of running the Republic never ceased.
So-Elku’s entourage passed the Senate chamber, White Gardens Court, and Representative Hall until they reached the Proconsul Tower’s elevators. The ride up provided a panoramic view of the city’s seaside cradle, the setting sun filling the bowl with pink light. So-Elku’s thoughts turned toward the Nexus, the warm hue reminding him of the energy that flowed beneath the Foundation. He could sense it. It called to him—longed for him. And he would use it. He would learn to master it, and he would usher in a new era of ultimate peace.
The elevator doors opened, and So-Elku turned, his retinue emerging from the pod into an atrium. Even from here, So-Elku could see the larger dome of Proconsul Chamber rising outside the clear ceiling.
He looked down to see a woman behind a grand shell-like desk, the chamber doors sealed shut behind her. Her hair was pulled tight in a bun, and she wore the white dress coat of the Senate staff, trimmed in light blue.
“May I help you?” She sounded inconvenienced, as if she’d just been interrupted while reading a particularly engrossing novel or holo-vid.
One of So-Elku’s elders stepped forward. “Master Luma So-Elku of Plumeria, Worru, to see the members,” the man replied, his voice echoing off the walls.
The woman looked down and scanned their group. Then, as if she’d no more than read some disappointing headline on a news feed, she said, “It seems they’re not expecting you.”
“No,” So-Elku agreed, stepping forward, “they most certainly are not.”
The woman looked confused. “Then I don’t see what you expect to—”
“We will see them now.” He walked around her desk, followed by the elders, and headed toward the doors.
The woman leapt to her feet, attempting to impede their progress. “Excuse me,” she said, hands on her hips, “but what do you think you’re doing?”
“I thought I made myself clear.”
The woman suddenly froze in place, suspended as if in a wide-eyed trance. He’d release her when they left.
Satisfied, So-Elku returned to the doors and caused them to open. A darkened room—the windowplex adjusted to block the light—was illuminated by soft lights spaced around its circular perimeter. Nine figures sat at a circular table, all of them turning to see who’d interrupted their meeting. Each held up a hand to block the glare from the anteroom.
So-Elk
u smiled.
“What’s the meaning of this?” a man asked.
“You’re supposed to use the intercom,” another said, apparently assuming the secretary had walked in.
So-Elku spread his arms, and his twelve elders spread out to surround the table. The senators rose in surprise as their room was flooded with guests.
“What’s going on?” a third man asked. So-Elku sensed the man’s unease. The question was followed by several more of the same kind, each demanding an explanation. Their voices were still authoritarian, confident, and proud. But that would change.
Without turning, So-Elku shut the doors. With the glare gone, the senators lowered their hands, their faces emerging in the soft light.
“Sit, sit,” So-Elku said, beginning to circle the table. “Please, gentlemen.”
“What is the meaning of this interruption, So-Elku?” asked a stocky man with thick shoulders. It was Senator Blackman.
“A marvelous question,” So-Elku said with a chuckle.
Blackman let out an exasperated breath and leaned over to the comm panel on the table. “I’m calling security.”
“I said sit.”
With a sudden wump, all the senators fell into their padded chairs, hands clamped to their armrests. The men glanced at each other, eyes wide.
So-Elku steepled his fingers and looked around the room at the others. “So this is the Circle of Nine. How exciting! I’ve heard so much about you.”
The senators looked among one another.
“Oh, don’t worry,” So-Elku continued. “Your secret meetings aren’t public knowledge. You’re safe.” He let out a laugh. “Relatively speaking, of course.”
“What do you want?” Blackman asked.
“What do I want?” So-Elku raised his eyebrows, though he doubted the gesture would be noticed. “Well, now, that’s an interesting question. My assumption was that these meetings were all about what you wanted.”
Blackman glared at him but kept his mouth shut.
“And what is it that you want?” So-Elku asked, tapping a finger to his chin. “Oh, that’s right. You wanted me executed.”
Recognition dawned on the faces around the table. Eyes darted away from So-Elku and stared at each other.
“Yes, that’s right. Your pet project—Admiral Kane, is it?—was sent to kill me, by order of the Circle of Nine.”
“We don’t know what you’re—”
“Please, Senator… what is it, Senator Miller? I see your thoughts like a holo-vid. You do know what I’m talking about. In fact…” So-Elku paused to examine a loose thread in the Unity. “I believe you were the first to affirm the motion.”
The man blanched and jerked back in his chair.
“And you, Senator Long—you gave Kane complete latitude to take my life by any means necessary, isn’t that right?” The senator refused to look at the Luma master, his eyes remaining fixed straight ahead. “That decision cost hundreds of lives—all students in the dormitory.”
At this piece of information, the senators looked frantically at one another for verification.
“So the news hasn’t reached you yet? Well,” So-Elku said, shrugging, “it seems we can’t be as all-knowing as we’d like, now, can we. In any event, I assume it’s clear that Kane did not kill me, and you should be wondering why.”
“You killed him?” Blackman asked.
“For all the mystics!” So-Elku spat. “Why is everything always about killing, killing, killing with you people? You do realize events can change without having to kill someone, right?” He waited for an answer. “Right?”
No one moved.
“No, I did not kill him,” So-Elku continued. “We struck a deal.”
“A deal?” Blackman asked. “What kind of a deal?”
“What kind of a deal, yes! What a marvelous question. Isn’t that a marvelous question, senators?” So-Elku began moving around the table, brushing the top of each chair back with his hand. “It would seem, senators, that your puppet has gone rogue.”
“Rogue? What do you mean?” Blackman asked.
“As in, he’s no longer yours, he’s no longer following orders, and he’s no longer interested in doing your bidding! That kind of rogue.”
“And how would you know this?”
“Because he sent me here to assassinate you.”
Gasps filled the room as So-Elku moved behind Blackman’s chair. The senators squirmed, still unable to move their arms.
“Fabrication!” one senator cried.
“Yes,” echoed others. “Here, here!”
So-Elku marveled at how easily political power fought to preserve itself in the face of certain death. At least their Republic Marines knew how to face defeat with honor. Instead, these snakes would look for every other way out but honor.
“Fabrication,” So-Elku repeated softly. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
He snapped his fingers, and one of his elders sent a holo-pad sliding to the middle of the polished table. An image burst to life over the black-stained wood, glowing in the dimly lit room. In it, Admiral Kane could be seen surrounded by two dozen black-clad troopers. They faced So-Elku and his elders, discussing something.
“Listen,” So-Elku said, “this is my favorite part.”
“They have betrayed me, betrayed their own,” the admiral in the vid said.
So-Elku watched the senators’ faces as they tried to connect the strange voice to Kane’s face. It was an exercise in futility.
“They deserve to die. All of them. And you will do this for me. You will execute the Circle of Nine one by one by one.”
The holo-vid stopped and faded to black. No one moved. So-Elku let the tension hang in silence. Finally, he asked, “So, what now? What’s the Luma master going to do?” He placed his hands on Blackman’s shoulders, and the senator sucked in a startled breath. “Don’t worry, Senator Blackman. I’m not going to kill you.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Why, isn’t it obvious?” Again, So-Elku waited for someone to reply, but no one spoke. “Because I’ve been given a gift. You see,” he said, moving to kneel beside Blackman, “I hate that monster. Maybe more than you, maybe less—who knows? But I hate him. He’s already disobeyed your orders more than once, and you can’t afford to let him off his leash. I can’t afford to live in a galaxy where he roams free, so we both want the same thing.”
“That’s your gift?” Senator Miller asked.
“No, Senator. That’s the context. The gift is that your admiral doesn’t know I’m going to let you survive.”
“And do what with us?”
So-Elku smiled, glaring into Senator Blackman’s eyes. “Whatever I want, Senator. Whatever I want.”
7
Magnus sat beside Abimbola in the front seat of a skiff that resembled a welder’s psychotic break more than it did a reliable transport vehicle. The monstrosity was three times the size of a dune skiff and sported rusting plate armor on all sides. An angled cowling with slats covered the cockpit, while a spiked battering ram protruded from the front. The skiff’s sides and rear were clad in reinforced metal with razor wire welded to the surface.
Above and behind them, a Marauder in a shielded turret rested against an M109 twin-barrel blaster, a lit roll of snash hanging from the corner of his mouth. Another man sat inside the skiff at a holo-station with targeting screens. The images came from four different rocket bays around the skiff—two forward, two in back. Six more Marauders lay in wait in the rear cargo bay, their weapons at the ready.
Magnus listened to the skiff’s engine growl against the sand and the wind. Like everything else on the contraption, the power plant was heavily modified, boasting nearly five times the energy of a normal skiff’s. As a result, not only could Abimbola’s ride carry the crew and armament with ease, but it also soared six meters above the ground. That meant less driving around debris and much more driving over it—or, as Magnus noted, through it. Hell’s Basket Case, as Abimbola had du
bbed her—the moniker stenciled on the tail in red and yellow paint—was made for one thing: doling out death with extreme prejudice.
Magnus looked to his right at the line of similarly constructed vehicles that angled toward the horizon, the dust cloud blotting out the sky behind them. Some of them were smaller, sporting missile silos that left little room for a driver. Others were monstrous troop carriers, their front ends donning hydraulic wedge plows used for tearing into and separating solid walls for entry. Still others had second levels for added weapons arrays and observation lookouts. To an enemy, this was a ferocious sight.
* * *
“So, you sure about this plan?” Magnus shouted over his ear comm. He wore a black bandana, sunglasses, and the armor Abimbola had provided. His MAR30 rested on his lap, the Z and several grenades in his chest armor.
The giant beside him wore the same cut-off shirt and green pants as before. The skiff’s controls seemed so small in the shadow of his hulking body. Sweat beaded on the man’s smooth black skin, and the old scar that ran from head to collarbone was swollen in the heat. Against his seat, Abimbola rested some sort of enlarged blaster that Magnus had never seen before, presumably a piece from his home world of Limbia Centrella. Its main barrel, twice the diameter of any hand weapon Magnus had ever fired, was housed in a boxy vented stock with two assault grips.
“You like it?” Abimbola asked as Magnus regarded the weapon.
“She looks like a handful.”
“Ha, she is. She really is.” Abimbola patted the weapon. “A BFT6, known as the Tigress where I come from.”
“Yeah, well, that’s known as a wrist breaker where I come from. Better you than me.”
Abimbola smiled and flicked the pair of dice that hung from his rearview mirror. “So, you asked if I am sure about the plan. Yes, I am sure about the plan, buckethead. We will enter the city from the east then meet up with the mwadim for permission. He will provide us with the intel from his sources.”
Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6 Page 41
