“The Confederacy…?” Henry said, quickening his step to catch up with the man as he moved further down the hall. “The Confederacy fell about ten years ago. You haven’t heard?”
“We ain’t really heard much for a while. A few years back our comms went dead and no one seemed interested in going up to fix them,” replied Kip, stepping to a door. “Anyway, we’ve been expecting someone for a while, so I guess you’re it.”
“But don’t you want to know what happened?” Henry asked, stepping closer to the man and between him and the android. “I just said the Confederacy fell and you didn’t bat an eye.”
“We really don’t have much use for Terran governments around here,” Kip replied, pressing the door panel and sliding the door open. “We’re kind of self-sufficient here.”
Kip’s hand pointed past the door and into the next room. Henry stepped past the man, hearing noises beyond the entry that he couldn’t identify. The light changed as he entered the room beyond. Instead of a small alcove, Henry saw a maze of catwalks extending as far as he could see. He tried to look up, but a series of bright lights made the task nearly impossible. All around him, the sound of recirculating pumps and air recyclers hummed with activity. There was another sound too, one that he understood but could not really place. Kip and the android stepped up closer, flanking Henry on either side of the smaller catwalk.
“How big is this place?” Henry asked the man.
“As big as we need it to be,” Kip said, pointing over the railing and downwards. “It suits our needs.”
Henry looked over the rail and down into the station’s main interior area. Below, a vast plain stretched out as far as his view would allow. Rows of trees and vegetables swayed in an artificial breeze. In the distance, Henry could make out a structure which appeared to have been hand-made from real wood. The sound he had been hearing was children playing in the grassy field near the house. It was an idyllic, surreal scene to find inside a station in the upper atmosphere of a violent planet like Venus. He blinked a few more times to be sure of what he saw, and when the image didn’t fade he looked back at Kip.
“How did you…?”
“Now let’s get you two something to eat and get you changed,” Kip said with a wink. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you do kind of stink.”
8
Alliance Plaza - Vadne
The Chancellor adjusted his robes as he watched the landing platform outside the majestic window along the wall of his office. The skies above the triple towers of the headquarters of the Alliance were filled with every conceivable type of ship he could imagine. Vadne had seemed prosperous before the arrival of the Ch’Tauk, but now the planet was practically teeming with life and business. The Ch’Tauk had brought prosperity to his planet and to the alliance created in war, and that prosperity had been led almost to ruin by the rogue Admiral Chang.
Soft footsteps on the carpet behind him turned his attention back to the more pressing matters. Reflected in the window, the image of the Camerlingo was imposing but not overly so. The man was pompous and full of himself, but the Chancellor, veteran politician and statesman, was adept at handling people like him. The man’s staff, however, was an irritating affectation. He slammed it against the floor as he came to a stop, gouging another small hole in the floor and ruining the pile. It was all part of the show of strength the man insisted on every time he entered the room.
“Chancellor,” the man boomed from his vocoder. “The Emperor, long may his face light the galaxy, wishes to speak to you here upon his arrival.”
“I believe my schedule is free,” the Chancellor replied, turning slowly to address the religious man. “Do I need to order more chairs or shall we all stand around again?”
The room was sparsely populated with furniture, only a few chairs and a low couch along one wall. The Chancellor’s desk was wide, but not any taller than he needed it to be. It was a pleasure to bait the Camerlingo occasionally. The man was incredibly condescending, even for a politician, and the Chancellor appreciated seeing his anger flare. It was refreshing on a world where so little upset the population. The jibe about the chair was a favorite, as the Camerlingo and his people tended towards kneeling when the Emperor was in the room rather than sitting.
“You are aware the Emperor does not ask permission to enter this room,” the Camerlingo said. “He commands you to wait here for his presence and that of the Dowager Mother.”
“Of course, my dear Camerlingo,” replied the Chancellor. “I simply wish to extend all courtesy to our guests.”
There was a blast of pheromones as the Camerlingo nearly swept his staff into the Chancellor. Vadne pheromones were far less pungent to other species, and the Ch’Tauk habit of perpetually scenting a room with their emotional releases had begun to irritate him. When Admiral Chang had introduced him to the Ch’Tauk Emperor just after the war, he had been taken with the idea of being a peacemaker and quickly opened up relations with the alien species. As time went by, however, he had begun to have second thoughts. The betrayal of Chang and the Alliance fleet had forced him to strengthen the ties that bound them, but it still felt strange to have the armored creatures in his office.
“Your concept of courtesy is weak,” the Camerlingo replied. “In our society, the weak are culled and the strong survive through our wits and strength.”
“Something of which I am sure you have in abundance,” the Chancellor replied, his crest twitching but staying down. “Now, about the Emperor?”
The Camerlingo stamped his staff on the carpet, gouging another hole in the fine material. The man chuffed and clicked under the vocoder and the Chancellor suspected he had programmed the device not to translate some things. Soon, his office door was opened and a tiny armored figure stepped through. The Camerlingo dropped to one knee, bowing his head in obeisance before the living god of the Ch’Tauk. Weapon warriors marched in to either side and took up positions facing the large window and the office outside. Behind the child, a long-necked female stepped lightly with her head down and feet together.
“Witness his most glorious presence, the Emperor of the nine regions and beyond,” the Camerlingo droned on. “The Emperor of our consciousness Ch’Tauk.”
The youth stepped forward, swiveling his head around the office as he always did. The Chancellor had been fascinated with the political structure of the aliens ever since he had engaged them in battle years ago. The Ch’Tauk belief that all of their emperors were a continuous line of gods sharing the same soul was fascinating to the practical mind of a Vadne. The concept had been thrown out of alignment, however, by the appearance of the new emperor, as he appeared to have been altered before birth by the Engineers. Preternaturally gifted in language and politics, the small creature was aging even faster than his species usually did, his appearance shifting away from the smooth armored texture of his people.
“Chancellor,” the Emperor said without the aid of a vocoder. “I witnessed you ordering our fleet into battle against your Admiral Chang. Who gave you military authority over my people?”
“My dear Emperor,” the Chancellor replied, stepping closer to the small form. “My announcement was meant for the masses, to cement my control over the remaining Alliance fleet. I meant no disrespect to you or your generals.”
“We have no generals,” the Camerlingo said, extending his staff between the politician and the Emperor. “Our Elite classes have no need of useless titles when our society gives new names.”
Again, the Ch’Tauk system of renaming a person instead of a title was strange. Chang had told the Chancellor the levels in the military society and how the upper elite were given the prefix Ki to denote their status. Civilians were known by their occupations. It was a strangely ordered system, and one that made addressing the Ch’Tauk difficult when they changed names constantly.
“Quiet,” the Emperor chided the man. “My father was one of the greatest military leaders of our people. Had he been alive, he would have your head for this dis
respect. I, however, am not my father. I will be advised in the future.”
“Of course,” replied the Chancellor, looking down at the small armored figure. “My apologies. Would you will that our combined forces pursue the rogue elements that are disrupting the alliance between our two great peoples?”
“Do as you see fit, Chancellor,” the Emperor said, waving a hand towards the man. “I have come with other matters. Approach me.”
The Camerlingo retracted his staff and the Chancellor was allowed to approach. As he moved closer, the scent of the young Ch’Tauk became recognizable. Beyond the small projections lining his arms and legs, the Emperor had a pheromone profile different from any of his people. It was a pleasant scent which endeared the Vadne politician to the Ch’Tauk Emperor. When he was allowed close access, he almost thought of the Emperor as one of his own children. He was a bright child with a brilliant mind the politician admired.
“My Emperor,” the Chancellor said with a mellowed voice. “What can I do for you?”
“Our alliance is mutually beneficial to both our people, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Of course,” replied the Chancellor, kneeling to look the young Emperor eye to eye. “Our people are stronger for the treaty and the shared territory. The Gizzeen are a grave threat to all of us.”
“Your people are not sharing your opinion of our benefits,” the boy said, moving towards the window. “There are reports of rebellion in some of your cities.”
Doubt began to creep into the mind of the Chancellor. He had heard of some protests in the southern hemisphere, but not outright rebellion. The Barathists were defeated and exiled with the rest of Chang’s fleet, which meant the last vestige of resistance from his own people should be gone. The talk of rebellion seemed ominous. The Chancellor stood and followed the young alien to the window, thinking of the conditions under which the two races had joined together, and decided to accept the Emperor’s opinion.
“My people enjoy freedom of expression, my Emperor,” replied the politician. “They will accept the change soon enough as the war is ended and the enemy is defeated.”
“I agree,” the boy replied. “The enemy of our alliance must be defeated and with extreme prejudice. Will you allow my Centurions to patrol the districts where these protests have taken place?’
“Of course,” the Chancellor replied, taking a deep breath of the child-god’s scent. “I shall order it.”
“And would you agree that our people are beneficial to yours?”
“No question about it,” the Vadne replied. “The Vadne were a people in need of strong allies. The humans are so submissive and easily defeated.”
“Chancellor, have you been educated in our classes?” the Emperor asked, turning his back to the window to address the taller politician directly. “Were you aware that a class exists beyond the warrior class?”
“I … no, I wasn’t,” the Chancellor replied with a hint of confusion. “I was aware of your levels of service with the Centurions. Was there an omission in my training?”
“Your Majesty, I must protest this,” the Camerlingo said, using the staff to raise himself to his feet. “This … feline creature is not worthy of what you are—”
“Silence!” the Emperor ordered. “You will not interrupt my work. Step away, Camerlingo.”
The Chancellor felt a flash of something as the Camerlingo’s scent crossed his nose. For a moment, he had an urge to run. Memories of his time fighting the Ch’Tauk and others floated through his perception. The hatred he had once felt for the insectoid creatures was so complete and yet so far away from his existence.
The Camerlingo stepped away, taking his cloying scent with him, seeming to shrink under the child’s orders. The Emperor looked back up towards the Chancellor with concern. A wave of calm washed over the Vadne and he settled back to listening to the Emperor.
“As I was saying,” the boy continued, “there has been no error in your training. Few know of the existence of these castes I speak of. They are a secret known only to the Emperor and select Elites.”
“I am honored to hear this, Lord,” the Chancellor replied. “Do these honored warriors have a title I can call them?”
“They are the Chosen,” replied the boy. “They are the most disciplined of my kind.”
“Perhaps these honored may be deployed to keep the rebellion at bay?” the Chancellor suggested, feeling happiness at the thought of using the most honored warriors to control his people. “Surely the rebels shall not stand against this force.”
“That is an excellent suggestion,” replied the Emperor. “Make this plan so, Chancellor.”
“When shall the Chosen arrive?” asked the Chancellor, seeing the boy beginning to leave. “I shall prepare the home guard.”
“They will not need your home guard,” the Emperor replied. “And they are already here.”
The Chancellor’s head swam at the thought. The Emperor had described a caste kept so secret only a few knew of them. The honor of using these Elite to control the threats to the Alliance and to Vadne was immense. The Chancellor stepped closer to the boy in his excitement. With a swift move, the Camerlingo’s staff swept under his feet, dropping the politician to his knees again at the feet of the boy. The Emperor turned back to look into the pained eyes of the Chancellor for a moment. Despite the black on black nature of the child’s eyes, the Chancellor thought he saw pity. The feeling lasted only a moment before the boy raised his arm to indicate the doorway to his office.
“Chancellor, may I introduce the saviors of your people … the Chosen.” Something about the sound of the Ch’Tauk word for “chosen” triggered a memory in the Chancellor’s head. Again, the moment passed and the thought was lost in the scent of the young ruler. As the Chancellor looked towards the door, a new shadow fell across him. It was as black as the Ch’Tauk, but without the shiny smooth surface. For a moment, the Chancellor was enraptured by the sight. The Emperor moved off then, and left the politician on the floor kneeling at the feet of the Chosen warrior.
It took nearly a minute for the scent of the Emperor to drift away. By that time, the Chancellor, leader of the Alliance and the Vadne people, had begun to scream a howling cacophony of fear and rage.
The Camerlingo watched. If he could have, he would have smiled.
9
Octopod Station
The sound of the bedpan echoing from the wall of the med-bay was muffled by the algae growing along the bulkhead. The sound made Alice think of the sound of a Ch’Tauk skull cracking under her boot. It was at once satisfying and frustrating to hear. She wanted out of the bay and away from the strange medical instruments she had been enduring for the last twenty hours. Beside her, a small stone made soothing noises to try and calm her blood pressure. Had her hands not been strapped to the cot she was resting on, she would have torn it from the table and thrown that too. Instead, she satisfied herself with the orange shade her nurse had turned and the sound of chuckles from the cot nearby.
“Commander…” Farthing’s voice sounded smooth and calm even as he suppressed a chuffing laugh. “I do not believe the pan will bother you again, but now where will you relieve yourself?”
“I’ll go wherever I damn well feel like it,” Alice said, throwing Farthing a look which melted steel. “I don’t really care about this place.”
“That explains the smell,” Farthing muttered as he turned away from her rage.
The voice of Doctor Demsiri startled both of the patients. “She could go where everyone else goes if she hadn’t knocked the admiral on his ass. At least if she could figure out what passes for toilets on this station.”
The man’s dark black skin and expansive face was a welcome sight. She had been staring at the strange, liquid fleshy shapes of the Octopod nurses for the last few hours and wondering if there were any other humans around. Demsiri’s face was lined and he had a three day growth of gray stubble under his sunken eyes, but his voice was strong. She realized he must have been
working constantly to deal with the injured from both Resolute and the survivors of Kongo. The fact he had taken time to visit her on the station represented his dedication to duty.
“Then why don’t you just untie me before I make a mess of myself,” Alice replied with a smile. “I won’t tell anyone. I’ll just get back on my feet and get the hell out of here. The admiral can wonder what happened until hell freezes over.”
“There’s nowhere to go,” Demsiri replied, a grave tone entering his deep voice. “We’re all stuck here until Chang figures out where we go next.”
“Earth,” replied Alice, lifting herself up on her elbows and trying to get a better look at the doctor. “I don’t see why we don’t go back. Lee would want us to go back or else he … well, he would want us to go back.”
“Alice, I tried to explain why that isn’t feasible,” Farthing said, sitting up and displaying his bandaged leg for the doctor to examine. “The Ch’Tauk have already set up a perimeter around your home planet and we don’t have the resources to stage that kind of attack.”
“Resources?” Alice said indignantly. “The human race is teetering on the edge of extinction and he’s talking economics.”
“The captain’s right,” Demsiri replied. “The fleet is in no shape to mount anything more than a picture frame right now. The casualties are staggering. If we attacked now we’d be—”
“Then Resolute will go in there and clear the way,” Alice said, cutting the man off. “We’ve done it before and we’ll do it again.”
“Alice,” the doctor replied, turning to face her directly. “Resolute isn’t going anywhere. The admiral has … well, he’s declared her unfit for duty and begun to reassign the crew.”
“He did what?” Alice screamed, practically tearing the straps holding her to the bed. “That ship and her crew have saved his bacon more times than I can count. Was he just waiting for Lee to be gone so he could mothball it? He threatened to do it once before, that bastard. When I get my hands on that son of a—”
Resolute Glory (The War for Terra Book 8) Page 6
