by Yakov Merkin
“On behalf of my colleagues and the pilots under our command,” began High Captain Felikhav, “I thank you for your actions and the actions of your forces over Darvia. Had it not been for your orders and your forces’ bravery and sacrifice, many more of us would not have made it out alive. We’re still not quite sure exactly how the Selban survived the inferno, but it is definitely in part due to the heroic actions of your forces. Rest assured that they will be remembered.” He held out a brown-furred hand to Darkclaw.
It was all Darkclaw could do to shake the officer’s hand, as well as those of the other three and look them in the eye, without some sort of reaction slipping free. How long would it be until he was ordering his fighters to shoot these Felinaris down, his ships to destroy a vessel their comrades had sacrificed themselves to save?
Darkclaw then excused himself and left hurriedly, before anything else could delay him, fleeing to the safety and privacy of the Hudecar.
* * *
Darkclaw stood outside the High Lord’s empty throne room at the center of the Hudecar, his hand hovering a few centimeters from the panel that would grant him access to the chamber. Hopefully the High Lord would understand that he had not wanted the emotions, that he was not sympathizing with the Felinaris, that some ailment was the cause of his weakness. That the decisions to sacrifice Tyrannodons for Felinaris and Snevans had been irrational, spontaneous decisions he could not control. Darkclaw had dealt with the feelings as best he could.
Still, Darkclaw hesitated. What if the High Lord determined that he had indeed had treasonous thoughts? Darkclaw did not want to die.
Enough. He stopped his worrying, the still rational part of his mind asserting itself. Whatever the High Lord decided was what would be, even if it meant Darkclaw’s death. His purpose was to serve and obey the High Lord. If he threw that away, there was nothing left for him. If the High Lord ordered him to arrange his own death, Darkclaw would comply without delay.
His mind clear at last, Darkclaw pressed his hand to the panel, and three seconds later the massive doors slid open with a quiet hiss.
Darkclaw entered the room and approached the High Lord’s empty throne as the doors hissed closed behind him. He stopped a few feet from the throne, at the communications panel, and touched the singular holographic key with his finger. Immediately, a glow began to emanate from a holographic projector above the throne. Four seconds later, an image of the High Lord at his full size appeared. Immediately, Darkclaw felt the familiar touch of the High Lord in his mind, and could feel the High Lord’s emotions, which he could now recognize as such, while the High Lord perused Darkclaw’s thoughts and memories since their last meeting, effectively making dialogue unnecessary, though the High Lord would likely still insist on it. The High Lord was not entirely pleased, as Darkclaw had suspected.
“I would hear a report from you vocally, in your own words,” the High Lord ordered.
Darkclaw remained on one knee as he complied. “The first phase of our conquest had been completed, my lord. We have a solid foothold in Alliance space near Selixan Station, and we have successfully cut the Alliance in two. Resistance has been crushed on most of the conquered worlds, and our forces are fighting to gradually complete the subjugation of the rest.
“As per your directives, I have declared a brief recess in the campaign, to allow both us and our allies time to treat the wounded, inter the dead, and repair our ships, in addition to give time to focus on solidifying our hold on the conquered worlds.”
“You have done well in the area of conquest,” the High Lord stated. “However, I see that consorting with these lesser races has had an adverse effect on you, though I admit that your assessment of their usefulness was correct.” The High Lord paused for a long moment.
“Your lapses will be forgiven, Executor, but from this point on you will forsake all contact with the lesser races apart from when it is tactically necessary. There will be no exceptions to our future domination of this galaxy. These others will be our enemies one day. You would be wise to see that they are substantially weakened beforehand, and that our forces remain at maximum strength. And you are not to set foot on the Felinaris homeworld again, no matter the reason. I will not have you lapsing again, and by your own estimates that is where it began. You understand.”
The last was a statement, not a question, as the High Lord could immediately sense Darkclaw’s understanding and acceptance. But there were still things the High Lord had not addressed. Did he mean Darkclaw to bring them up himself?
“Thank you, my lord, for your understanding,” Darkclaw began. “But I also seek guidance on how to best repair the damage already done, how to make things as they were.”
“You will spend this recess personally carrying out a mission on my behalf.” The High Lord extended his hand, and it changed form, becoming a simple star map. “Unfortunately, you have been unable to locate a great deal of information that will lead us to the Reizan’Tvay. However, between what you have found and my own knowledge, I have compiled a list of thirty locations that may have what I seek. You will travel to each location and see what can be found. When you find anything substantial, you will contact me. During this time, you will meditate on your purpose, your being. You were created to be at my side for the conquest of this galaxy, the Reizan’Tvay, and all others. I do not intend for you to fail me.”
“I will serve as you command, and I will not fail,” Darkclaw promised, to himself as much as to the High Lord. The foray into the world of emotions had been an unfortunate failure, which would not be repeated. “What of my other concern?” Darkclaw asked. Why the High Lord had not addressed the issue of Tyrannodons acting erratically he could not guess.
“I have seen your concern,” the High Lord replied calmly, “and I think both that it was caused as well by those allies you insisted on seeking out, but that it does not pose a major problem at this point. Should the incidents continue to occur or become more severe, I will deliberate on a proper response. That will be all, Executor. Go now, and let the search for the Reizan’Tvay put you back on the proper path! Only by ridding yourself of the irrational emotions can you achieve the perfection you were meant to embody!”
The image abruptly vanished, and the High Lord’s presence vanished from Darkclaw’s mind. For the first time in weeks, Darkclaw felt like himself again.
Darkclaw rose and turned toward the door, when his eye caught one of the massive reliefs on the wall that depicted the spindly, odd-legged Reizan’Tvay, barely visible in the dim light. Darkclaw was still not completely clear on the reason why the High Lord so strongly wished to find the mysterious Reizan’Tvay, the creators of the Tyrannodons and quite possibly much more, but it was of no consequence. Darkclaw’s place was not to question, and not necessarily to understand, but to obey. And obey he would.
CHAPTER 13
Immediately after the ceremony’s conclusion, Nayasar retreated to the privacy of her ground-based office in the admiralty’s headquarters. She had to take a moment, when she entered the room, to reorient herself with its layout. She had rarely used this office, and it was configured very differently from her office on the Felinar in addition to smelling like a box that had been sealed for far too long.
Nayasar sat down at the desk, brushing off a fine layer of dust as she powered up the computer console, though she wouldn’t really need it. Nayasar rested her head in her hands. She was there to sign the piles of letters that would be sent to the fallen soldiers’ next of kin. The piles were far too tall. It would have of course been much easier to simply send electronic messages, but there was something more personal, more Felinaris, to sending a letter. It showed actual caring, which was probably the only reason the medium hadn’t completely vanished.
Once the computer had fully booted up, Nayasar searched for local news reports on the recent battle and its aftermath. It was important to know what the civilians had to say. And it would put off the signing of letters for a few more minutes.
&nbs
p; Nayasar found one quickly enough. It was a short clip of a reporter standing outside of the memorial ceremony Nayasar had just attended, along with a large crowd.
She ordered the video to play. “I’m standing just outside the Heaven’s Gate Kset, where a memorial service for all of those lost during the ongoing war with the Galactic Alliance has just concluded.
“As you can see, around me is an enormous crowd, here to pay respects to all of the souls lost during the campaign, and to support our troops,” the reporter continued, gesturing out at the crowd. Several Felinaris, noticing the filming camera, started to wave as it began to pan over the crowd.
The brief pan showed that the crowd numbered at least in the tens of thousands. They weren’t shouting, demanding to know why so many had died. They were singing. The camera didn’t linger on the crowd very long, but it was long enough for Nayasar to pick up on what they were singing.
It was an old, religious song, one that went by half a dozen names these days. It was a song that glorified unity, declaring that there was nothing greater than being together with one’s brothers and sisters, their fellow Felinaris. As Felinaris culture had grown more military-centric, the song had been adopted by the armed forces. Nayasar remembered singing it with her soldiers en route to missions. Even now, she found herself humming the tune.
The video cut back to the reporter as she continued. “There were a number of high ranking officials at the ceremony today, including King Feliar Khariah, many of the elected representatives of the Legislative Congress, the Tyrannodon commander-in-chief Executor Darkclaw, and the entire admiralty staff. Our future queen and grand admiral, Nayasar Khariah, had this to say at the service.”
The image cut to Nayasar delivering her brief remarks during the opening of the ceremony. Nayasar could barely remember a word of what she had said, which made the experience stranger. It had been a fairly generic speech, not particularly inspired in her opinion, but it had done its job of putting forward an image of strength despite what lay beneath. Just like her initial remarks after the Selban Massacre. She could never escape that first speech; news stations had replayed snippets of it constantly, there was no way for her to avoid hearing herself. Nayasar couldn’t bear to watch it; too many horrible memories came with it.
When the clip finally concluded, the video returned to the reporter. “Inspiring words,” she said. “And on behalf of those assembled here, I’d like to say something to the grand admiral and the entire military: You have our full support. We cannot possibly express the amount of gratitude we have to all of you for the sacrifices you have made on behalf of Felinar and its people. May the Omnipresent protect all of you, and bring us a swift victory. Felikhar ad-melkhan!”
Then the video clip ended, and Nayasar didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The people were fully satisfied and supportive while she was questioning her capability, again. Even the relatives of the fallen that she had met at the memorial had no qualms with her, though they were certainly grieving.
Did they know how most of the soldiers died? Nayasar had omitted nothing from the report she’d sent to the Bureau of Information Dissemination, the board that bridged the military and the public. Had they hidden the truth to protect her?
Nayasar didn’t want protection from failure. Nayasar glanced again at the piles of letters, each representing a dead Felinaris, most of them dead because of her mistakes. Everything had gone so well until that point! Nayasar slammed her hand down on the desk. This war was supposed to avenge the dead, not create so many more!
Then, as she massaged her pained hand, Nayasar came to a somewhat comforting realization: Darkclaw had been right. There was nothing gained in obsessing over past deaths, mistakes. Her stressing over her mistake and the lives in the cost was more likely to lead to another mistake than fix anything. She still could not accept that Darkclaw didn’t care about his own soldiers—though if her guess was right, there had been something odd about him at the memorial. But if he had felt anything, it was for her own fallen and not his own. Nayasar shook her head. That was no way for a commander to behave in regard to their forces, even if they were mass-produced clones. But still, Darkclaw was right about how to deal with mistakes, and despite their differences of opinion, they were in this fight together. Without Darkclaw's arrival, all of theses thousands of Felinaris might still be alive, but the thousands of civilians, murdered in cold blood, would still be crying out for vengeance. It would not be wise to drag out an argument when there was a war to win. And hopefully, some of Nayasar’s own leadership philosophies would rub off on him. If they could learn from each other, their partnership could last a long time.
Nayasar once again turned to the piles of condolence letters. Now was the time to mourn. She would read each name and commit it to memory. It was a lot, but she had already memorized the names of the Selban victims. Another few thousand would be manageable, and, Omnipresent willing, this would be the last time she had to sign so many.
CHAPTER 14
Darkclaw exited the shuttle and took long strides across the low-gravity moon, named Xearin by the Daeris, the inhabitants of the world the moon belonged to, a name strongly reminiscent of Reizan’Tvay. A few more strides brought Darkclaw to what was clearly a door carved into the rock face.
Ineffra, the Daeris home world, was still within Alliance-controlled space, but was essentially unprotected, surprising given the violent history between the Daeris and the rest of the Alliance. The Daeris had been forbidden from constructing a fleet beyond a miniscule one for local security, and the Talvostans had only ceased occupying Daeris space some two years past. Now the Daeris were left to themselves, humbled from the mighty force they once were.
Darkclaw stopped and gingerly touched the door, which now that he was directly in front of it, stood out even further from the surrounding rock. He searched for a handle or switch with which to open the door, but found it to be completely smooth, apart from an unfamiliar emblem subtly carved into its center.
Darkclaw raised his hand, and using his claws, cut a neat rectangle in the metal, then maneuvered the slab so that he could pull it out and toss it aside. Darkclaw then stepped inside, activated his armor’s illuminator, and the interior of the outpost came into focus.
On the one hand, this had most definitely been a manned outpost, unlike nineteen of the other twenty-two locations he had previously visited since the war recess had begun, which had all been automated listening or sensor posts, or simply decayed equipment caches, while the other three had been completely abandoned. On the other hand, however, this was clearly not the central base the High Lord had hoped to find.
There was a small room off the side of the main area, likely the living quarters for whoever had manned the outpost. The main area was approximately ten meters by eight meters in size, and it contained a computer console with a large screen built into the wall, and an empty set of closed shelves that, based on the previous outposts Darkclaw had searched, would have held specimens and small experiments. Finally, on the opposite side of the room there was a large metal cabinet that looked suited to hold both physical and electronic records, the single most useful object in the outpost, provided that the records were intact.
Darkclaw first entered the sparse living area, both out of curiosity and to see if anything else useful could be found. As he passed through the pair of doors—the living area seemed to be sealed like an airlock—Darkclaw stopped short. Against a wall that held a collapsible bed and storage closet, sat a long, rounded object that could only be a coffin. Darkclaw slowly approached. There had been no physical remains in the other outposts. On the top of the coffin was an inscription in symbols that appeared closely related to the language that the Reizan’Tvay had given the Tyrannodons for their own, close enough that Darkclaw could make sense of what it said.
I Gladly Serve The Empire To My Dying Day, And Beyond. There Is No Greater Duty. May The Empire Endure Forever, In All Of Its Might And Glory!
Darkclaw found
a seam in the coffin, and carefully pried it open. The smell of burnt flesh immediately assaulted him, and Darkclaw had his armor filter out the smell as he looked inside.
There was unfortunately no intact body. The coffin must have had some sort of automated cremation function, though Darkclaw could not see anything inside the coffin that would have done so. Inside were ashes in a roughly bipedal form. However, they were not all the coffin contained. Laying presumably where they had been on the Reizan’Tvay’s body were what appeared to be bladelike metal parts, including the distinctive bladelike appendages that served as the species’ lower legs, but a closer inspection showed that they were in fact organic. And yet somehow they had survived the immolation of the rest of the body. There were three longer objects for each leg, six shorter ones for each hand, one where each elbow and shoulder would have been, and six small ones that appeared to have been located on the Reizan’Tvay’s back.
Far more interesting was the small, metal, 30-sided rhombic triacontahedron lying where the Reizan’Tvay’s chest would have been.
Darkclaw picked it up and the object immediately glowed to life. Darkclaw held it still as the top section of the device flowered open, revealing a small projector, which immediately created an unexpectedly large image of a Reizan’Tvay, seated in the chair that still sat in the main area of the outpost. It was the first time Darkclaw had seen a proper image of a Reizan’Tvay, and he took a moment to take stock of the species that had created his own, and was venerated by most Tyrannodons. The Reizan’Tvay was tall, but very thin, which made him look much smaller than any Tyrannodon, and his skin, a very light, washed out green, made him look almost like an ill Tehlman. However, his bright yellow eyes and confident stare hinted at great intelligence, and the blades that were visible on his major joints and the pair of blades tendrils that extended from his back gave the impression that they were formidable fighters despite their frail appearance.
