by Yakov Merkin
Dalcon was silent for a long time. He must have realized that Darkclaw spoke the truth. “What if I am one of those under his influence?” he asked slowly.
“As I said,” Darkclaw replied as he hoped his nervousness didn’t show, “I am quickly running out of options. I need someone I can work with within the Alliance. There was a great risk speaking with anyone. From what I know of you, Second Scion, you seem less likely to be under the High Lord’s influence. Aside from that…” Darkclaw shrugged. “How do people say it? My gut says I can trust you.” That was in truth what Darkclaw felt. Something about the Daeris Scion made him feel that he was trustworthy. “If I am wrong, then my death will simply come sooner rather than later.” That was the truth of it. If nothing could be found, if the High Lord was not killed, sooner or later Darkclaw would make a mistake, and all would be lost.
Dalcon nodded. “I understand. Thank you for telling me this, despite the knowledge that this will lead to more deaths on your side. What do you need to kill this High Lord?”
“It is not so simple. The High Lord, he—I am not sure how best to put this, but he is indestructible through conventional means. I am sure that there is a way to destroy him, and I am searching for a solution, but with more people collaborating on this, the more likely it is that a solution will be found in time.”
Dalcon nodded. “You’ll understand if I’m somewhat skeptical.”
“I realize that this might well sound crazy, and suspicious; me telling you of my desire to betray my leader, then telling you that he is some sort of indescribable, indestructible being,” Darkclaw said. “But I needed to let the Alliance know. As I said, I felt that I could trust you.” In truth, he had not been sure enough until he had spoken with the Scion. He had taken a risk, based on an irrational feeling. Darkclaw hoped it would not doom them all.
“You have a way off this planet?” Darkclaw asked, just realizing that this was all worthless if the Scion died here.
Dalcon shrugged. “I have a ship, with cloaking capability. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it past your entire fleet though.” He moved to leave, slowly, but his weapon arm was still tensed.
“Wait,” Darkclaw said. “If you will permit me to transmit it to you, I will provide you the details needed to pass your ship off as one of my own on sensors.” Of course, there was a risk that the Alliance would use this against him. But it was crucial that Dalcon survived. The additional work to ensure that the codes and designations could not be used against his forces was worth the gain. The Scion would help. If Dalcon had any true desire to protect the citizens of the Alliance, he would do whatever he could.
“Thank you,” Dalcon replied. “Feel free to transmit; I have lowered my armor’s firewall.”
Darkclaw activated his multitool, and transmitted the needed information, in addition to information on the Reizan’Tvay outposts. Maybe Dalcon would find what Darkclaw had not yet been able to. “Thank you, for listening. The fate of the entire galaxy depends on our actions.”
Dalcon nodded. “I believe that you are sincere. I will do everything I can to help you bring this war to an end, and when it is over, I will do what I can to see that your actions are made known.”
“Go now,” Darkclaw said. “Your forces cannot hold for much longer. We will speak again.”
Dalcon nodded, then exited the room.
Darkclaw stifled a sigh of relief, then checked the status of the battle in the facility. “We’re done here,” Darkclaw announced. The battle was all but over. He would peruse the spoils on board the Hudecar. He could only hope that Dalcon had made it off the planet, and that he had not made a fatal mistake by trusting the Scion.
CHAPTER 19
Second Scion Dalcon paced across the length of his living quarters as he waited for the First Scion to respond to his request for a meeting. The Tyrannodon, Executor Darkclaw, had been true to his word. Dalcon had been able to escape Daukar with no trouble at all. If the Tyrannodon had simply been attempting to lead Dalcon to doubt his contemporaries in the Alliance to cause mistrust, and therefore division, he had succeeded. It had been a long flight to the Scionate, on Tythian, a habitable moon orbiting Portestan, a gas giant in the Fortraun system, just outside of the Alliance’s core systems. Despite his best efforts to relax somewhat, all he had been able to do was think on the Tyrannodon’s words and wonder who, if anyone, was a traitor. But he had to investigate, no matter how unlikely. The Tyrannodon’s words had made too much sense, and the desperation that was clear in the Tyrannodon’s voice made Dalcon believe him. If there truly was a traitorous worm in the Alliance’s inner circle, they would have to be dealt with.
That was why he had chosen to come to the Scionate, the base of operations of the Scions of Justice, rather than returning to Dorandor. If anyone in a position of power was under this High Lord’s influence, they would likely have a network of supporters on Dorandor, easy access to people who would do work with no questions asked. Here in the Scionate there were only the Scions themselves plus a number of civilians who were only able to work among the Scions after rigorous screening and background checks. It was the safest place he could be with this information.
Of course, Gendae, as First Scion, was technically a suspect. He had, after all, advocated a more defensive strategy, which the Tyrannodon executor had implied meant that they were being influenced by his leader, but so had Supreme Commander Ronner. Dalcon did not think that Ronner was the traitor, hoped not, and Gendae was even less likely. Advisor Rotam seemed the most likely suspect; his prejudices led him to rash decisions, and it could easily have been his almost manic behavior that had led Gendae and Ronner, both older and more rational men, to react against him and advocate a different strategy.
Before Dalcon could let the events on Daukar gnaw at his mind any more, his commNet terminal beeped. He practically ran to it and accepted the call without sitting down, and angled the display so that he could be seen by the person on the other end of the call.
“Dalcon,” Gendae greeted as he appeared on the display. “There was something you wished to speak about?”
“Yes,” Dalcon replied. “Though it is something I feel should be discussed in person. It is a sensitive matter.” He could never be too careful, and if the Tyrannodon executor was as concerned as he had seemed to be—and failing miserably at hiding it, upon reflection—then Dalcon should be at least as cautious.
Gendae arched an eyebrow. He looked much better than he had for the past few weeks, more awake, relaxed. “Very well. You may meet me in my office. I’ll be here for a little while yet.”
“Thank you,” Dalcon said, only just preventing himself from referring to Gendae by rank. The First Scion hated when he did that.
Gendae was silent for a long moment and stared at Dalcon in the manner he often did, as though he was attempting to read his mind, before replying. “No thanks needed. This is what I am here for, as your mentor and friend.” Gendae nodded, then ended the call.
Dalcon powered off his terminal and clipped his cloak of rank to the shoulders of his armor. He normally didn’t bother with it when inside the Scionate, but he didn’t want anyone to mistakenly think he was slighting the First Scion. Dalcon was about to grab his pair of heavy pistols, out of habit, but left them where they lay on the table. He hadn’t spent much time in the Scionate recently, so he had gotten out of the habit of leaving the weapons behind. It was considered an insult to the Scionate’s security if one carried weapons openly. Besides, if anyone was fool enough to attack, the Scions were hardly defenseless, even if they weren’t carrying weapons. Dalcon took a long drink from his canteen and let the calming coolness flow through his body as he left the room.
The walk to the First Scion’s office wasn’t long, but it was enough to further remind Dalcon how little time he had been spending here. This is where he had spent almost all of his formative years, away from the outside world and the common opinions on his kind and their tendencies toward violence, all rightfully
earned. He had been unusual in his youth, a more forward thinker. That was what led him to run away to join the Scions. And it could not have been at a more pivotal time. He was accepted literally days before the Daeris Uprising, the brief rebellion that caused more damage than any single conflict in Alliance history up until the current war, and had nearly destroyed his own people. At the time, he had felt that they got what they deserved, feeling no remorse at the suffering of his own kind. He was wiser now. There was room for pity, even when the punishment was just. And there was always hope for change. The fact that he was a celebrity on Ineffra despite never visiting and his open disdain for his own kind was evidence enough that his people were looking to move forward. And so long as Dalcon continued to do what was right, hopefully they would follow his example.
Dalcon pressed the buzzer on the outside of the door as soon as he arrived, and entered the office a moment later as the door slid open. He had spent so much time here early in his career as a Scion; he remembered the hours spent staring at the odd, almost nonsensical paintings that hung on the walls, an old style from Gendae’s home world, apparently meant to lead the viewer to wonder what they portrayed. In addition to the paintings were framed awards and letters that Gendae had received over the course of his long career, from peoples and leaders he had helped, as well as some letters of thanks from ordinary people that he had decided to hang up.
Dalcon passed through the forward reception room, nodding to the secretary as he passed, and walked swiftly down the short, narrow hallway that led to Gendae’s private office. The walls in the hallways were bare, with only a simple coating of beige paint. Gendae had once told Dalcon that it was originally planned to be more elaborate, but the final design had been so narrow that hanging anything would make the hallway seem too crowded. Dalcon had never found it particularly narrow, but now, with so much rushing through his head, it felt quite constricting.
He reached out and pressed the buzzer before he even reached the door, and didn’t stop walking, entering the room smoothly as the door hissed open. The lights were dimmer than usual, blurring the walls of the room, which were decorated in a similar manner to the reception room. Dalcon had never liked dark places. He supposed it had come from some old Daeris evolutionary trait. After all, they did generate fire, and therefore always had some form of light, which gave darkness an extra feeling of dread.
“Dalcon, it is good to see you,” Gendae said by way of greeting. “I apologize about the lights. My eyes have been sensitive of late, and I’ve preferred a dimmer setting. I must finally be getting old.” He moved a pile of papers off to the side of his desk. “So, what is it you wish to discuss? The battle on Daukar? It’s fortunate you were able to escape; few made it back from the facility itself.”
“It is related to the battle,” Dalcon began, deciding not to mention the lighting, which, in conjunction with the faint smell of an herb he could not name, made a small, primal part of him want to leave. “Near the end of the battle for the Solas research and development facility, I was approached by a Tyrannodon, one of the invaders.” He considered mentioning that it had been the same one he had fought on Darvia, but decided against it. It could come to close to betraying Darkclaw’s identity. “He told me that he wished to end the war. I offered him a chance to defect, but he refused, stating that the true force behind the Tyrannodon invasion is an indestructible energy being that they call the ‘High Lord’, and that he must be killed in order to end the war.” Dalcon paused. “He also told me that this High Lord has been influencing key people high up within the Alliance command structure, doing things that have made it easier for the invaders to continue to advance. I felt it would be wisest to bring this to you first, here. Dorandor would be less secure. And I could well have been laughed out of the room if I told them what I have learned. Government bodies tend not to believe things that scare them.”
Gendae nodded. “Yes, you did the right thing. One never knows who is listening there; it’s a sad fact of reality for the central worlds. But tell me more about this supposed defector. Did he state what prompted him to choose to betray his leader? What was his name?”
“He didn’t tell me why he made his decision. I don’t know if that was intentional, or if there simply wasn’t time. There was a battle going on, after all. And his name…” Dalcon paused. He had nearly broken his word without even thinking about it. Of course, the First Scion was likely one of the only people he could trust. Maybe he should tell him. No, Dalcon told himself. He had given his word. “He did not mention his name to me, and I didn’t think to ask. I was overwhelmed by everything he was saying. I didn’t believe him at first, with his sudden talk of ending the war and then going on about this High Lord, and the power he apparently possesses.” Gendae was listening quietly, no readable expression on his face. He didn’t find any of this far-fetched?
“Are you sure you don’t know his name? Do you at least know his rank?”
Dalcon shook his head. Lying to an old friend like this was difficult, but again, he had made a promise. Also, Gendae’s sudden curiosity about Darkclaw’s identity was strange, and somewhat discomforting. “No,” he reiterated. “He did not tell me anything about who he was. He was afraid of a reprisal by his High Lord. He believed that even if we took him in as a defector he would not be safe, and that if we did not find a way to kill this High Lord, then we are all doomed.”
“He is right, you know,” Gendae said, staring at the ceiling for a moment. “I have heard of this energy being, and of his powers. And my ability tells me that you are lying, Dalcon Oresh. You know more than you are letting on. Empath, remember?” he said, tapping the bony protrusions on his head.
It was all Dalcon could do to keep still; how could Gendae have such knowledge? All of his instincts were warning him that there was something wrong, but he could not believe that Gendae was a traitor. Still, he surreptitiously activated a recording program on his multitool.
“But as I said,” Gendae went on, “this Tyrannodon is right. The High Lord is indestructible. The outcome of this war is inevitable. His power is unmatched. His army and fleet grow daily. All that can be done is to ensure that as few die as possible. Surely servitude to a higher power is preferable to the death of over a dozen civilizations.”
Dalcon pushed his chair back slightly and readied his power. He had to get out. His first instinct was too attack, but that could prove disastrous. Even if he won, there would be little evidence of the truth. Dalcon could well be framed as the traitor. No, Gendae had to be publicly exposed, and soon. “You?” he shouted. “You’re the one? You’ve dedicated your life to protecting the Galactic Alliance and its inhabitants! And now you’ve gone over to an invader that wants to subjugate us all? The man I have admired for decades would never do that.”
“You don’t understand, Dalcon. I am doing what is best for our charges. If the Alliance fights to the end, it will still lose and more will die. This is the better way. And even more, the High Lord can give us so much. He is a life form beyond our comprehension. A superior being. And he does not seek to destroy, only to take what is rightfully his. He has extended a hand to all Scions, as ones closer to his perfection than all others.” Gendae held out his hand.
Repulsed, Dalcon stood up, knocking his chair over backward. “I will not join such a creature! You can still fix this. Help me work with this Tyrannodon. Help me find a way to stop the High Lord.”
“It cannot be done, Dalcon. Besides, I like this new facet of the universe I have been exposed to.” Gendae shrugged. “You are too late, my friend. The High Lord has accomplished his goals here. He would prefer for me to kill you now, but in honor of our friendship I will give you one more chance to change your mind.” He rose slowly, and Dalcon prepared for an attack, but Gendae simply walked past him, toward the exit. Dalcon kept his face to the old Kareben as he moved, but no attack came. “If we are done here,” Gendae continued, “I will be off. I depart shortly, and I have several matters to take care of be
fore then. Meet me in the arrival hall if you mean to join me. I would not attempt anything else.” Without another word, he left the office.
Dalcon half collapsed against the wall. This wasn’t happening. He pressed a hand against his head. Ashmouth’s flame, this wasn’t happening! But what could he do about it? He remained where he was for a few minutes, and had just decided on a course of action when his armor’s computer informed him of an incoming transmission. He accepted it on his multitool, and the face of Supreme Commander Ronner appeared. The Tehlman looked panicked, and exhausted.
“Dalcon!” he gasped. Was he running? “The First Scion! He’s betrayed us all!”
“How do you—” Dalcon began to ask before Ronner interrupted him.
“He’s been controlling me for weeks now, leading me to agree with whatever he said. I’m sorry, Dalcon. He was too strong. Something must have enhanced his abilities!” The Tyrannodon High Lord, no doubt. “I’m so sorry.” Ronner glanced behind him. “I don’t have much time. Once Gendae realized I had broken free of his control he sent assassins after me.”
“Get somewhere safe!” Dalcon shouted as he dashed past the confused secretary and into the hallway.
“It’s too late for that. Dalcon, you’re the last hope for the Alliance. You have to stop him. And stay close to my replacement. Doubtless our enemies will try again. May our bonds of Alliance never falter!” The link abruptly went dead. Dalcon tried to contact the supreme commander again, but something was blocking him from accessing the extended commNet.
What should he do now? How many other Scions were under the enemy’s sway? Dalcon sent a call to Solcon, an old friend of his within the Scions of Justice. If anyone could still be trusted, it was the unflappable Cytan.
“Dalcon?” Solcon asked as he appeared on Dalcon’s small display, his almost featureless face growing its steady yellow. “What is it? You don’t look well.”
