Sodenia's War Box Set

by Luigi Robles

  “I’ll ask you,” Saavan said. “Is it noble when one of our own dies trying to be freed from the great Acram military? Or when someone seeking to live a normal life on Acrania gets executed in front of their family?”

  “Our cause is noble,” Maeera answered. “If the person is born with military genes, then they should do whatever they can to advance our great cause. If not, they would be betraying us all. And they should die.”

  “So,” Saavan shook his head and continued, “killing for the sake of one’s beliefs is noble?”

  “Yes,” Maeera said. “I will never hesitate to carry out our legacy or what I believe in.”

  “That’s good to know,” Saavan said as they approached the great hall. He could see they would be the first ones there. “I do have one question for you. You don’t have to answer it right now. Perhaps later, when you are sure of your answer.”

  “Sure, what is it, Noble Saavan?”

  “When you die,” Saavan said seriously, “would you like to die alone, far from home, far from your bloodline? Would you be content and pleased with what you’ve accomplished?”

  Maeera pressed her lips together as they walked.

  Saavan knew he had struck something inside of her that made her think. Whether it was good or bad, he didn’t know yet. But he was sure that he would find out. The concept of death was not really talked about in the Acram culture. Even as they died, the Acram simply assumed they had died with honor, and they felt content to have served the Acram cause. It didn’t help that the Acram often thought of themselves as invisible and undying.

  “We Acram,” Saavan said, “rarely think about these things. I am just trying to organize my thoughts.” He was lying, and he knew that his lie wouldn’t go unnoticed by her. But he also knew that she had no way to know what exactly he was lying about.

  When the Acram spoke to each other, feelings and the exact meaning of words were also communicated through their language; that part of the language was called Ancreas. It was the default language while not at war. If they spoke in the tongue of the ancients, the tongue of war, known as Acro, their language turned into a weapon. The ancient language was long ago prohibited anywhere in Aisumer due to accidents that happened during heated debates.

  “Looks like we are the first ones here,” Maeera said in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

  “They will be here shortly,” Saavan said. “We are not that early.”

  The great hall was a large open space, with clear walls that let the beauty of the surrounding landscape through. Saavan had seen other worlds in person, other planets and moons, but nothing was quite as pleasing to the eye as this moon. There were curved bridges that extended as far as the eye could see. Almost everything was covered in the glint of the crystal stones that grew everywhere. The great hall was equally as beautiful, with intricate designs everywhere depicting the Acram’s greatest battles. At the center of the room, there was a dais, not high off the ground, perhaps just a step or two. There the elders would usually gather to talk with their Nobles and ranking members.

  Three other Nobles accompanied by four high-ranking leaders of the Golden Armada entered the great hall. One of the Nobles was Telorne, the one Acram that hated Saavan more than anyone else in their ranks. At least, as far as Saavan knew.

  Amongst Nobles, the highest-ranking member was the one who had been in the most battles. Saavan led the Noble ranking by a large margin, a margin that Telorne could never hope to overcome in his lifetime. He had been in countless wars, had seen thousands of civilizations fall under the Acram’s might.

  Saavan knew that most recently Telorne had gained another reason to hate him, as he had ordered Telorne to let one of the fleeing Ochilenes ships go, the same ship that Telorne’s war cruiser was in pursuit of and about to destroy.

  “If it isn’t the greatest Noble of them all,” Telorne said, with his hands wide open. “Noble Saavan, the be all and end all of Nobles, the one we look up to, admire, and must obey. Of course, this meeting would not be taking place without you. The highest Noble in our great Golden Armada.”

  Saavan did not react to any of Telorne’s taunts. It was as if he had never entered the hall.

  “And who else do we have here,” Telorne said as he walked towards the two. The rest of the group followed behind him. “Ah, that’s right, Maeera, the great slayer, and probably the only person in this room who thinks Saavan should be the highest of the Nobles.”

  “Noble Telorne,” Maeera said, narrowing her eyes. “I can think of one Acram who doesn’t deserve the title of Noble at all. You should think of a different title, a title better suited to the likes of you.”

  “What did you say?” Telorne asked between gritted teeth. “Say that again; I dare you. You low-ranking—”

  “That’s enough,” Saavan said in a stern and audible voice that echoed in the great hall.

  Telorne fell silent and did not advance from his spot. He was visibly fuming in anger, clenching his fists. Saavan knew if it weren't for the Acram code, a fight would have erupted, and surely it would have been to the end.

  “There will be no discussions of any sort until the elders get here,” Saavan said as he walked towards the dais in the middle of the room.

  Maeera also made her way towards the dais and stopped right beside Saavan. The other high-ranking leaders of the golden army also neared the podium but stood a few body lengths away, while Telorne stood in place.

  Only a child allows himself to be hurt by simple words, Saavan thought. A wrongly cultivated ego will often suffer the hurt of words. But cultivate an ego based on how you see yourself, and simple words will never touch it.

  The Acram elders, surrounded by a large crowd of governing bodies from the Acram’s home planet, entered the great hall. Saavan tried to see who he recognized, and as he did so, he counted them. There were seventeen governing bodies and all four elders. He recognized most of the governing bodies that accompanied the elders, except for one or two new faces.

  The elders looked much younger than those that surrounded them, even though they were five times as old.

  As they neared the dais, the elders were the only ones who stepped foot on the low platform. The rest encircled the dais.

  “Let the discussion begin,” Wendea said as she raised her hand and then slowly lowered it.

  “I will go first,” Thromos said with a stern voice as he looked directly at Saavan. “I understand that a Noble,” he cried the word Noble, “took deliberate action to let a rebel Ochilenes ship pass by our blockade. Is that a true statement, Noble Saavan?”

  “It is. Your Eminence,” Saavan added without looking down.

  “Why?” Thromos asked, prolonging the word. “This is punishable by no less than death.”

  Saavan was ready to die, and if he were going to die, he would at least take half the room with him, starting with Telorne. But he knew that it wouldn’t come to that. At least, not in front of the elders; they were smart enough not to take that risk.

  “It was a way to teach the builders a lesson,” Saavan said. “Your Eminence.”

  “What lesson could be as valuable as your life,” Thromos asked. “Noble Saavan.”

  “That no matter what they do,” Saavan said, “no matter how much they try to help the next civilization over, they will all meet the same fate at the hands of the Acram’s Golden Armada. One ship won’t be enough to change the tide of what we have in store for the humans. It would hardly make a difference. Your Eminence.”

  “You are aware that the Ochilenes called themselves the great builders, are you not?” Thromos said in a condescending tone. “And are you aware that the next civilization over, as you call it, is in possession of a Herrion warship? The same ship we have sought throughout half the galaxy?”

  “I am aware,” Saavan continued. “But it doesn’t matter how great their ships or their talents are; they will make no difference to the Golden Armada. Let this lesson be shown to the galaxy. Civilizations c
an unite all they want, but it will all end the same way. Your Eminence. Let us not go in pursuit of those who try to defy our rightful position in the universe.”

  “As always,” Wendea said in a more soothing voice, “Saavan is just thinking about the future of the Acram. But I must say, I notice an uneasiness in you, perhaps even contempt. The Acram cannot lie to one another.”

  Yeah, that’s what you think, Saavan thought. But I’ve gotten quite good at it over the past dozen wars or so. And it’s only going to get better. He smiled internally.

  “I’m still shaken up over an earlier encounter with a fellow Noble,” Saavan said. And half of that was true. He was more than shaken; he was furious.

  “Remember that we are all Acram,” Wendea said. “We all fight for the same cause.”

  “We will be watching you closely,” Thromos said, looking directly at Saavan. Surely, he was trying to figure out if he was lying or not.

  “Moving on from unpleasantries,” Enenna said as she took a step forward out of the elder group. “Let’s discuss the real motive for this gathering. Our Golden Armada will set out once more.” She gestured behind her to point at the massive wall of ships gathering behind her. As the ships fell into formation, the blaze of the nearby star glistened on the battleships, heavy cruisers, and dreadnoughts, turning them gold. “One million and one ships at our disposal. The best ships, the best pilots, our most brilliant tacticians, our deadliest weapons; our Golden Armada.”

  Even after a lifetime of seeing the Golden Armada, Saavan had yet to get used to the mesmerizing appearance of the ships forming an ocean-like wall in space.

  The sizes of the ships ranged from giant dreadnoughts to large battleships to slightly smaller but still powerful six-limbed cruiser ships. Intertwined between these giants were thousands of medium-sized frigates. It was a sight to behold. Entire civilizations had surrendered at the mere sight of it.

  “We will send our Golden Armada,” Enenna said as she began walking around the dais, “to eradicate the new menace that has risen in the galaxy. The human race. Somehow, they have gotten hold of a Herrion ship, and they have turned it against us. As rulers of this galaxy, we do not condone their actions, and we must not allow this sort of behavior to popularize, to infect the remaining galaxy that we have yet to conquer.”

  “I agree,” Wendea said.

  “The time to act is now,” Irah, the elder in the back, said. “Even if decimation of that sector of the galaxy might be the outcome. We will act. And we will conquer.”

  “Send out the Golden Armada,” Thromos said.

  Almost everyone is the room erupted in cheers. Saavan stood quietly, and so did Telorne.

  “Wait,” a voiced boomed through the cheering. “Wait, I demand it.”

  Everyone turned to face Telorne, who was standing on the outskirts of the crowd. He was visibly angry, with creases showing around his face and tension rippling through his body.

  “Wait,” Telorne shouted once more. “Your Eminence, and great leaders of the Acram.”

  “This better be of importance,” Thromos said.

  “How can you reward such behavior?” Telorne said. “How can you even allow it, Your Eminence?”

  “I suggest that you do not question the elders’ orders,” Wendea said as she took a step forward.

  “Question, no, no,” Telorne said, half-laughing, “It’s beyond question at this point. You clearly favor the so-called highest Noble. You bend to his will. You seem weak next to him. The elder order is weak. Non- existent at this point. You might as well just let us do what we please. All my life, I’ve been taught that we have one simple task, and that is to follow orders without question. Noble Saavan’s orders were quite simple: to destroy any Ochilenes ship that tried to leave. And yet he disobeyed that order. I demand punishment.” He gritted his teeth. “It’s the Acram way!”

  “Noble Telorne,” Wendea said. “You are one word away from being stripped of your rank and sent to the abyss. You are no one to demand anything from the Acram elders.”

  “Yes, yes, I agree,” Telorne said with spite. “I have never been anyone of importance to the Acram cause. I am just a number. And I am now making peace with the fact that I will only ever be just a number. At least as long as Noble Saavan is alive, I will never amount to anything more than just a number.”

  Telorne’s words were filled with hatred, fear, and the intent to kill; that much was clear. Saavan turned to face Telorne.

  “Combat is prohibited here. Call the guards,” Wendea said. “Have Telorne removed from Aisumer. We will deal with him later.”

  “I have a better idea,” Telorne said as he crouched. “Why don’t I deal with the problem myself?” He hesitated for a second, then he launched at Saavan. “Your limbs are broken,” he said, switching to Acro, the tongue of war.

  Saavan was already running towards Telorne trying to negate the effects of the Acro tongue. Nearby high-ranking leaders all yelled in pain as their limbs broke. They began falling to the floor or leaning on each other.

  Telorne launched himself towards Saavan. “Die,” he said in Acro, again disobeying the rules of Aisumer.

  Saavan felt something tear in his insides. It was as if someone had squeezed and pulled his organs. He screamed in pain as he ran. He pressed on with firm conviction. It was clear what he had to do, and he was going to accomplish the task at hand no matter the cost.

  As they neared each other, Telorne tried to grab hold of Saavan, but he was no match for Saavan’s experience and skill. Using his momentum, Saavan jumped out of the way and passed Telorne, twisting his body as he did so, but not before grabbing hold of Telorne’s head. There was a loud crack as Saavan twisted and pulled before letting go. A muffled thud was heard as the limp body fell to the floor.

  Saavan gasped for air. It was hard to breathe, and he felt pressure inside his chest. His insides burned with excruciating pain. But he did not complain.

  “Get the recovery team up here now,” Maeera yelled out.

  “A true Noble stands before us,” Wendea said in a loud enough voice for everyone in the room to hear above the commotion. “He will be the one to lead our Golden Armada to victory.”

  Saavan turned his head towards Wendea and looked at each of the elders one by one.

  Maeera waited for the elders to arrive at the steps of the ancient statues of Acrania. This was the place where most of the Noble rituals took place. She was absorbed by the feeling that she would finally become what she had been working towards all her life.

  The statues were large depictions of the founders of Acrania after the darkness. There were three statues. The two to the side held different ancient Acram weapons, while the one in the middle held a chart. The statues were at least ten times the size of Maeera. Behind the statues was the temple of knowledge, where the elders were conducting the first steps of the Noble ceremony.

  It’s finally going to happen, Maeera thought. I will gain the title of Noble before my name. I’m about to achieve one of the greatest honors in the history of Acrania. I’ll be part of the Golden Armada and get to command my own fleet. I wonder how many ships will be at my disposal. How many warriors? Though, isn’t it too soon for me to become a Noble? I still have many battles to win before I can become a Noble.

  Maeera’s enthusiasm began to plummet, as she suspected that there was something else behind her sudden elevation in rank. Rage began to take over.

  As the elders came out from the temple, she tried to brush aside her feelings. She needed to focus.

  “We gather here,” Thromos said with a grandiose tone as he spread out his arms, “to elevate a brave Acram warrior to the highest of the ranks.”

  Maeera bowed her head.

  “But first,” Thromos said, his voice now flat, “there is an important matter to discuss. It is early to award you the rank of Noble, but a special assignment should more than make up for it. That’s if you can pull it off.”

  I knew it, I knew there was something
else, Maeera thought as she attempted to control her temper. But there is nothing I can do, nothing I should do. These are our great elders, the ones who know best, the ones who are leading us to victory. Perhaps, there being something else might make me all the more special. Whatever they ask from me, I will do it. No matter what it is, I will not taint the Noble name.

  “There’s a Noble amongst the Golden Armada who concerns us,” Irah said. “We suspect this Noble has gone insane with power and is no longer fit to be the highest of the Nobles. If you should find the slightest hint of betrayal towards us, kill him where he stands. If you should accept this, we will proceed with the ceremony.”

  “I accept it with great honor,” Maeera said as she stooped to the floor.

  “Perhaps someday you will take his place,” Thromos said. “Let the Noble ceremony begin.”

  10

  The Builders

  It had been two days since the Ochilenes rescue, and things had slowed down a bit for Fain on board Sodenia. There was no rescue in progress, no aliens attacking Earth, and no end of the world crisis, at least in the next hour or two, that much he knew.

  Fain wanted to clear his mind, perhaps even to feel normal again, before entering another meeting with the Ochilenes, and there was nothing better to make someone forget reality than a good old book. He read while leaning back on his comfortable desk’s chair in his quarters. He had read this book several times before, and he didn’t mind reading it once more. He had always admired how close the author had gotten to the actual reality of how things in space would be.

  With hot coffee and cinnamon cookies, he devoured the book, turning page after page with the same enthusiasm as the first one.

  It’s hard to find good sci-fi books nowadays, Fain thought as he read. Authors often prefer to write about the past instead of the future, since we are in the future and all that crap. After all what else was there to write about? We’ve already got the hover cars and all that, we've been to Mars, nano tech is boring, and the idea of a utopia is nice but no one would really read it. If only the old great authors had known what kind of mess we’d be in.