Balance of Power: The Blackened Prophecy Book 2

by Oganalp Canatan

  “So, Sim’Ra,” their host gave his goblet to the attendant waiting nearby and had a refill, “what brings you to my humble cave.”

  “We need to visit the Temple of Amasshan.”

  Archibald Cosmon’s brows raised. “You seek an audience with the Architects?”

  “An audience and a resolve.”

  “That is intriguing, to say the least.”

  Ray felt his anger building at this royal talk of nonsense. “Sim’Ra—”

  The Baeal interrupted Ray. “Dalant’has, is this facade really necessary?”

  Archibald Cosmon pursed his lips. “I like this appearance.”

  “Dalant’has?” Ray asked. “So, you two are acquainted, I got that much. What’s this all about, really?”

  “He is Baeal, like me.”

  “Oh, but no, I am not like you, Prince. No one could be like you. You were, after all, the favored one.” Archibald Cosmon washed down his words with the wine and threw the cup away. The air around him shimmered, and within seconds, the man was gone, and a dark, tall Baeal stood before them. He had ornaments similar to Sim’Ra’s, attached to his ears but lesser in number. Ray didn’t have much to tell about Baeal physiology, but this Dalant’has looked like Sim’Ra.

  “It is good to see your face again, Dalant’has.”

  “Oh, if you say so, brother.”

  “Brother? Really?” Ray turned to face Sim’Ra.

  “Dalant’has is my third-degree brother.”

  “Third-degree?”

  “It means he is the favored one for the throne if the Emperor falls, Lohil,” Dalant’has answered, stepping down from the throne platform. “He is the prodigal son, carrying his lavish ideas of running away from our judgment. He is the one who brought us all to this plane.”

  “Great,” Ray sighed. “Alien family drama.”

  Dalant’has smiled, a smile very much like sneering. Definitely Sim’Ra’s relative. “It is good to see you have a sense of humor, Lohil.”

  “The Cosmon Brotherhood was a Baeal front all along?” Ray asked.

  The dark brother shook his head slowly. “I arrived at your plane shortly after my brother did. The Brotherhood is an idealistic front, opposing the imperialistic dictatorship of the Consortium. After I arrived, their perspective had to be changed. Their eyes were blind, and I had to show them the bigger picture.”

  “You’re not surprised that I’m the Lohil?”

  “No. Our Mother told us of your arrival. We are ordered to host you to the best of our abilities. And,” Dalant’has turned his stare on Sim’Ra, “I am aware of your exploits back in Sol. Your victory against the might of Baeal.”

  Sim’Ra’s eyes narrowed, and he looked to Ray as if he was about to kill his brother. “You are in league with the Devourer? The Architects?”

  “Wake up, brother. We lost this war eons ago. The attrition you caused by fighting with the humans was, as these humans like to say, the final nail on our coffin.” Dalant’has’s smile vanished. “We were a beautiful race. The zenith of evolution. A crown jewel. And you crumbled our proud nation by waging war against the Architects. What did you expect? They would bend and surrender?”

  Sim’Ra glowered. “I did what I had to do.”

  “Ah yes, the vanguard in his epiphany, choosing to defy their will.”

  “They wanted to erase us. De-make us. Enslave us!”

  Dalant’has stood in silence, staring at his brother for a long moment before turning back to his throne. By the time he took his seat, he was again Archibald Cosmon. “I have my orders. The Great Mother asked me to assist you, and so will I. We will talk more at the evening gathering. I have matters to attend to.”

  “Why?” Sim’Ra asked.

  “Why?”

  “Why is she helping us?”

  “The Lohil is as sacred as the Great Mother. They are both divine creatures and should be shown respect.”

  Sim’Ra didn’t say a thing, but Ray saw his nostrils grow large. “I’m not done,” he intervened, getting bored of this twisted family reunion. “I’ve got questions, and you’ll give me the answers I seek.”

  “At the evening meal, Lohil.”

  “Now,” Ray threateningly reduced his voice but tensed with the sudden realization of… emptiness.

  “Oh,” Archibald Cosmon smiled, waving for the attendant to bring more wine, “your powers will not work here. I have heard of your small performance down at the hangar bay. This part of the temple is made from the ancient stones of Amasshan. The Arinar have no power here.”

  Ray look at Archibald’s face, his jaw clenching, then left the throne room without a word.

  ***

  “Why are you here, Sim’Ra?” Archibald didn’t raise his head to look at his brother as he entered the room. “I thought I was clear about the evening meal.”

  “I just wanted to check on my brother. Our first contact in years was not as smooth as one would hope.” Sim’Ra smirked, shifting in his place. “You really need to inquire about my motives?”

  Archibald laughed, his deep, layered voice filling the small study room at the main hall's rear. He was still in his human form, sitting behind a mahogany study table, reading from a piece of paper, but speaking in his Baeal voice. He finished the note he was writing and set the pen carefully on the desk. By the time he was done closing the inkbottle, a clerk had already entered the room to take the note away for reasons uninteresting to Sim’Ra.

  “Please spare me the fake speeches of grandeur, family, justice, and all. Vengeance, maybe. But no,” Archibald stood up from his seat, heading for the glass cabinet filled with books and dark crystal bottles of wine. He hummed and picked one of the bottles. “You were always a pragmatic, scheming politician—an ambidextrous leader, good at both winning and defeat. The sentimental approach was never your trait. You are here for the Lohil and for a bigger picture you’ve twisted so much in your mind, I am afraid to see the results.”

  “You know me too well, brother.” Sim’Ra smiled, taking the seat opposite as Archibald returned to his own. The seats were uncomfortable in his actual form, but Sim’Ra, unlike his brother, refused to embrace the human shape. His years of impersonating the character Theobald Goehring as the supreme commander of Consortium’s fleet were gone. He was Sim’Ra. A Baeal.

  “So, tell me, why are you here? Following the Lohil against the Devourer is a bold step. You are taking sides.”

  “Enemy of my enemy is a friend.”

  “You wish to become a player in a deadly game, Sim’Ra. The Devourer is a formidable adversary even without the backing of the Architects. And Lohil,” Archibald took a sip from his wine, gulping in pleasure before continuing, “he may seem lost and naive, but those traits make him unpredictable. An unpredictable man with untapped power.”

  “Which is why I am with the Lohil. He may be untapped and unpredictable, but he is not tied to our racial enemy. An enemy you are sleeping with, Dalant’has.”

  “Look at all this,” Archibald said, nodding his goblet at the books. “They are works of art. Historical literature, art, and information across centuries. Preserved even in all the chaos surrounding the human race.”

  “They are books, Dalant’has.”

  Archibald closed his eyes, drawing the still air of the room filled with the slightest hint of kindling and coal from the braziers. “It is a way of life. Peaceful.” He opened his eyes, meeting Sim’Ra’s. “A truth we have long forgotten in our battle against a stronger enemy.”

  “You are a hypocrite, little brother. Hiding behind that mask of a human does not change it. You are a hypocrite and a coward.” Sim’Ra stood up, walking toward the cabinet. “Machiavelli. Interesting. Being a good ruler and being a good person are two separate things.”

  “Not too different from our teachings.”

  “True. Tell me, Dalant’has,” Sim’Ra turned to confront his brother, peering behind his mask of humanity, “how many have you sent to their deaths? How many of those you sent w
as sent to kill innocent humans, unaware of your politics? Do you even have an agenda here? Interfering with the lives of a lesser species?”

  Archibald’s jaw tensed. “Like you, I had my orders, but unlike you, I can see change when it comes and embrace it for the greater good. What is it to you?”

  “Nothing. I was just thinking out loud, brother.” Sim’Ra didn’t push the matter. “Is it how you communicate with your followers?” He pointed at the pen and paper. “That is a rather ineffective way.”

  “The technology within the compound is limited for a good reason. I am willing to have my subjects inquire, learn, and dig rather than become mere vegetables.”

  “Interesting. Educating them before sending to their deaths.”

  “It is hardly the case, Sim’Ra. Sacrifice was necessary at times. Do not get me started on the meaning of that word to you.”

  “My apologies,” Sim’Ra bowed in fake courtesy. “What about your subjects outside the compound?”

  “I use the terminal at that wall. Why?”

  “Nothing…” Sim’Ra smiled, glancing at the terminal. “Nothing at all.”

  THE IRON LADY

  Rebecca sipped her wine while reading damage reports. By miraculous engineering and more than a fair share of luck, Deviator was flying. She was understaffed, battered, and most definitely not in combat shape, but she was flying and saved their skins from the wrath of… Rebecca realized she had no idea what to call the Devourer. Was it a cloud? A person? A collective?

  She sighed, putting down the datapad and rubbing her temples. She was quickly developing a migraine, one of the newest gifts from the battle with Baeal and running a town—a town she had had to abandon to a cloud of insects and monsters. She felt beaten, especially when she thought of the fates of those left behind. Her right hand shook whenever she was stressed or angry—another souvenir of the last year and a half.

  “Why?” she mumbled. “Why am I doing this?” She looked at the bottle before her. The Consortium was gone, and even if remnant factions of the vast trading empire survived somehow, no one was looking for a superdreadnought and a few thousand personnel left behind. They were all casualties. She wondered if she could ever find a peaceful, silent beach cottage and get old. She was starting to feel the wine’s soothing touch. Rebecca had to admit, it felt good to be back on board and out in space. Beautiful, she thought, watching the dense, brown cloud formation in the distance from her observation window. She needed to forget—a lot of things.

  “Admiral, ma’am?”

  She didn’t notice Lieutenant Astrid coming in. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “The patrol and search reports, ma’am. No sign of Mr. Harris’s gunship.”

  “It was a long shot anyway, Lieutenant,” she said. “Mr. Harris and his crew are somewhere far away for all we know. Our priority is to find appropriate resources to refill our stock. Prepare a second wing with the wing commanders of Bravo and Iota wings. Try to find an asteroid or a suitable planetoid to mine and dig for resources.”

  “Iota wing is no more, ma’am. We had to merge them with the Hunter squad. They were down to three pilots after the evacuation of New Eden.”

  Rebecca nodded, noting to remember making a damage-and-resource assessment with her first officer. “In any case, let us keep our teams up to speed.”

  A tingling sensation. Her brain sent a pulse, burning right behind her eyes. Was that a man? Then the unmistakable sound of a gun—pop, pop, pop! The man wore an officer uniform, but Rebecca didn’t recognize his face. Shouting. She heard shouting and realized it was her voice, calling the guards.

  The man turned to look at her, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Without hesitation, the intruder threw the handgun at Rebecca. Foolish. Why would anyone… Unless? He opened his officer shirt with a harsh, single yank, and there was Rebecca’s answer: A tactical belt with explosives attached. Ah, so this is the end.

  “Bomb!” Lieutenant Astrid yelled. There wasn’t time to pull out a gun and shoot him. Astrid jumped on Rebecca, pushing her down behind her desk, covering her admiral with her body. The explosion’s blast was immense, and all Rebecca could hear was a dizzying chime. She was on her knees, leaning on the half-torn metal desk. It was attached to the floor with industrial bolts, and that had saved her life.

  Rebecca looked around, disoriented. Half of her office and two corridors to the opposite side of her restroom were gone. Whatever there was in her room had been sucked into space before the emergency barrier kicked in. Her ears were killing her, and her vision was blurry. It took Rebecca a good long minute before realizing she held Lieutenant Astrid. Most of her back burned. Her left leg was missing, and it took a real stomach to look at her face. The lieutenant’s decision to protect Rebecca had been pure instinct, sacrificing herself in the process.

  Alarms rang throughout the ship, and Ga’an’s familiar voice rallied emergency personnel to the hangar bay. “What…” she mumbled. “Guards,” Rebecca looked at Lieutenant Astrid’s deformed face, impressing every detail in her mind. “Guards!” She had no idea how long she sat there.

  “Ma’am,” a medic rushed in with two marines accompanying the man a few seconds later. Their assault rifles were at the ready, awaiting attack. The nurse pulled a medical gel tube from his field bag and applied it to Rebecca’s head. “I got you, Admiral.”

  “I am all right.” Rebecca tried to push the man’s arm away, but she wasn’t feeling her right hand, and even if she could, she wasn’t sure her strength would be enough to resist the treatment. “What has happened?”

  “An explosion. You’re fortunate, ma’am. If it wasn’t for this desk, you would’ve been sucked into space. The guards holding the door are both dead.”

  “No, that,” Rebecca pointed at the speaker. “What is that?” her words felt a ton each, getting harder to push from her mouth. “What is it saying?”

  “Another explosion, Admiral. The hangar bay.”

  Rebecca nodded, touching her communicator badge with her working hand. “Rebecca to the bridge,” she said, pausing to breathe. “I want my report and a damage assessment in five minutes. I am on my way.”

  “Lieutenant Commander Jong here, Admiral. First Officer Ga’an is on his way to the hangar bay.”

  “Get me up,” she said to the medic.

  “Ma’am, you are in no shape to move.”

  “Son, either you help me get to the bridge, or I will have you mop the floors for the rest of eternity. You two!” she called to the marines, “Pull me up.” Two soldiers held her arms, helping her walk toward the bridge, a protesting medical officer rushing right after them. She didn’t have the time to get medical attention. “You can check me on the bridge, doctor. As you can see, I am not dying this instant.” Her voice left no room for argument. She stopped and looked back at the destroyed ready room, her eyes fixing on her brave soldier. “And someone, take care of Lieutenant Astrid.”

  ***

  She observed the battered girl sitting before her. The ensign had an average face, an average height. Her personnel file showed nothing significant—no commendations or punishment records. If this ensign was an ordinary officer, she wouldn’t pass lieutenant through her career. She is not a normal officer, though, is she?

  “We found her trying to escape the hangar bay. She was trying to ditch the detonator, Admiral Conway.” Ga’an gave Rebecca the remote. “The serial matches the signal of the thermal bombs.”

  “Poor girl. You did not know those explosives had tracking signals, did you?”

  The ensign shook her head slowly.

  Rebecca leaned her head toward Ga’an, lowering her voice. “How many?”

  “Twenty-three dead, over forty injured. Two of them are critical. The doctor said they will probably not survive the day. We also lost three Avengers. They are beyond repair. Chief Ivan is salvaging whatever he can.”

  She focused her attention back on the detainee. “You know who I am.” It wasn’t a question.

  �
��Yes, I do.”

  “Yes, I do, ma’am!” The guard standing by her hit the ensign’s face with the butt of his rifle. Blood splattered across the hall, but the ensign didn’t have any more strength left to scream. Only a brief mumbling came out of her lips.

  “Do not let her fade away.”

  “Yes, Admiral.” Another marine held a bucket of iced water. She splashed some on the beaten ensign’s face.

  “Are you responsible for the explosion of the secondary hangar bay?” Rebecca’s voice was calm, emotionless. She felt no pity for Ensign Mara. Not that she knew what she felt any longer, but after they had found out who Mara really was, the remains of Admiral Conway’s compassion had disappeared.

  “I planted two charges near one of the warhead racks.”

  “What else?”

  “My accomplice, Eremite Galvin, was responsible for your assassination.”

  “Since when?”

  Ensign Mara’s breathing was shallow, and her words were choppy. “I was assigned to this ship before the battle of Earth, but my beacon activated a few hours after we left New Eden.”

  “Beacon?” Ga’an asked, his hand resting on the pistol on his belt.

  “My… necklace.”

  Ga’an reached for the object hanging from the ensign’s neck and pulled it off, inspecting it. “Looks like a transponder of some kind.” He passed it to Rebecca.

  “It is a one-way signal device. We all know our assignments when we leave the Sacred House. However, the final order comes as a signal, and we may not act before then.”

  “Why is the Cosmon Brotherhood sabotaging my ship? What does the Brotherhood want from us?”

  Ensign Mara closed her eyes, fading out and the guard with the bucket stepped in one more time, splashing the cold water on the woman’s face. “Wake up, you scum!”

  “Why?” Rebecca repeated.

  “Our—” Ensign Mara coughed, more blood than words pouring out of her mouth. “Our orders were to cripple the fleet as much as possible before the invasion began.”

  “But why now? The battle is long over. What does the Brotherhood gain by destroying a lost, damaged ship?”