Star Chaser- The Traveler

by Reiter

  “There is an ocean east of that location, Grandmaster,” Zurkor quickly replied.

  “Yikes!” Tolarra whispered. “This guy really knows his target range. How many moons are there?”

  “Four,” Freund quickly answered. “Three of them with terra-formed atmospheres.

  “Do as you feel you must, Colonel,” Freund said, not wanting to argue and knowing that the display of such sentiment often had a greater effect than a won argument. “I have long since trusted in your instincts.”

  “I’m also going to need a suit, Deck Officer!”

  The Star Lark smiled, shaking her head as the image of Zurkor Krensteele faded. It was replaced by an image of the solar system that five Black Assassin battle frigates were slowly approaching. She leaned forward in her seat and then stood up, squinting her eyes as her sense of vision registered a number of things that mortal eyes could have never detected.

  “So, the Black Assassins are one of your chess pieces?”

  “To be honest, I cannot say for sure,” Freund replied, turning to somewhat face the chessboard. He had wanted to make the fleet a piece for his game, but while the symbol of the resurging organization remained, it did not feel as if he had a hold on the entire body so much as a few fingers of the more powerful hand. While their numbers were on the constant rise, the old blind man could not imagine more than ten of their rank coming to his aid. Freund had learned a long time ago that forcing mortals to engage in any trying ordeal, and have the matter come out the way you wanted, bordered too closely on the impossible to be considered a worthwhile effort. No, he would simply make suggestions, decisions, and declarations based solely on the responses from the initial stimuli. “But for the moment they are a tool that I do not believe my opponent sees coming. They have been so ingrained with the conflict of the Middle and Inner Rims; it is a little-known secret that I can call upon them and receive one-fifth of their fleet might at my disposal.”

  “Have their ranks thinned so much that five frigates is that one fifth?” Lark inquired.

  “These five are one-third of the ships they have fitted with the means to make themselves undetectable,” Freund advised.

  “And the weapons he mentioned?”

  “Missiles that have been fitted with warheads powered by the very star-trap Xaythra employed against me. Seeing as how these planets have been formed and fortified with her power, warheads bearing her power signature should slip past her means of detection and her defenses.”

  “So the terraformed planet and all four moons?” Tolarra asked. “All of her people have to die?”

  “Xaythra is a deity. She feeds on the faith of her followers. If I am to weaken Neve, I must first weaken this newborn goddess. Not all of her followers are there,” Freund stated as he started out of the room. “The view will remain as long as you wish to keep watching.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ve seen this sort of thing before,” Freund replied. “This move has been made and I must put my focus toward other fronts.”

  Tolarra wanted to ask if she could assist her new master, but she did not want to lift her hand to assist what she thought was coming about. She turned to look at the three-dimensional star map as the lead frigate launched a ship that could hardly be called a fighter. The engines on the craft were considerable; the armour and weapon systems did not say ‘fighter’ so much as they screamed ‘fast-moving onslaught vehicle’. It rocketed ahead of the lead frigate, shrouded in the same gravity signature that had been assigned to the missiles, and it entered the atmosphere of the intended moon. Lark could not see what was happening to the small craft, but she was not very interested in it anyway. She looked at the planet and strained her eyes to see signs of life.

  “Tau Upsilon,” she whispered, recalling the name for the system. The Terrans had been given so much room in the Middle Rim; Tau Upsilon was in the Third Quadrant and bordered on the Outer Rim. It was considered by many to be too far away from the heart of Terran activity, and only those who desired such distance from humanity sought anything in the system. Relga was the third planet from the sun and was very much like Mars of Sol, only with heavier gravity and a greater measure of surface water and vegetation… and four moons. “There must be thousands of people living there,” Tolarra guessed.

  “Two million, four hundred sixty-eight thousand, three hundred and six,” Freund projected. “Make that three hundred and eleven. By the time the missiles launch, that number will have grown to three hundred and twelve. It is likely it will drop by one before the first the missile reaches its target. And please believe me when I task you with this: that I am indeed open to your response… but before you delve into what is wrong with my plan, do you possess a better one? For it is my belief that we are beyond the point of debate and hypothesis, my dear. This game, which is anything but, has already started. Neve made her first move before the game in Sol was concluded! I cannot expect a victory if I am always playing catch-up to her.”

  “So… in order to save humanity, you have to kill off some of them?” Tolarra said softly, running her hand through the image of Relga. “I don’t relish your position, Master. But I will no longer hold you in judgment either.”

  “And why is that, if I may ask?”

  “You didn’t get that number from a freakin’ census program,” she concluded. “You actually counted them! A heartless asshole doesn’t do that sort of thing. I just hope you disconnect before the first missile hits.”

  “I will, Herald,” Freund projected, choosing to lie to the woman. He would disconnect only after the first missile had struck. “And thank you.”

  Tolarra said nothing and waited for the presence of her Master to fade from the room before returning to her observations. The frigates fired their missiles and they too were cloaked. Tolarra watched as each warhead sped toward its target and away from the turning ships. The weapons traveled at different speeds so that they would hit closer to the same instant.

  Star Lark watched as the Black Assassin fighter came away from the moon one minute and forty-six seconds before the missile struck. One minute and forty-six seconds when the Black Assassins moved too fast to remain fully cloaked. One hundred six seconds before anyone or anything had an idea that something was happening. Pilots on the surfaces of planets were still on their way to spacecrafts when the missiles struck. Three of the five hit at the exact same time! Three seconds after the initial impact, the other two missiles reached their targets. The initial reaction might have been felt on the planetary surface, but nothing registered on the map Freund had created. And how could it? The missiles were not customary Payload and Delivery weapons systems. As each weapon approached the water, or softest patch of ground, they fired reverse thrusters and cutting lasers ahead of themselves to remove as much matter as possible. Tolarra shuddered as each missile went about its work, boring deep toward the core of the planetary body it had landed on.

  Tolarra sat on the floor and watched as the core of each planet received a jolt of super-gravity which caused one of two reactions: either the jolt was refused by a burst of anti-gravity that weakened the cohesion of the planetary body, or the jolt cancelled the gravity of the planet and everything on the surface of the planet was thrown; hurled away from the surface at supersonic speeds. Bodies were cast into the skies, hurled along with slightly anchored buildings (ones built before the terraforming process had been completed), vehicles great and small, livestock and wild animals… and if they survived the collision of such things, they were flung into the fabric of outer space a few moments later. Tears started to fall from Tolarra’s face as she hoped the living bodies had been crushed or suffocated before being flash-frozen in space. The more she thought about it, she knew that most had died instantly or were unconscious when the end came to greet them.

  Four of the five frigates had turned and engaged their light drives to leave the area. The fifth had turned as well but could not leave until the fighter was aboard. As one of the moons exploded, the Star
Lark jumped to see the embodiment of a female form come screaming from the debris. Xaythra! Rage was etched deeply across her face as she cried, looking at the homes of her followers. With each death, her power diminished, and Tolarra could see the KaA being siphoned off.

  “Dear God!” she thought as tears continued to fall. Up to that moment, the woman had considered the attack to be one thing. But as she saw a mighty entity quickly reduced to an overwhelmed sentient energy, she remembered the words of her first Master, the Light Priest Chiaro. Bending light to his will was, at one time, the greatest feat Tolarra had ever seen. On the day she voiced that opinion, Chiaro had quickly told her of the one he considered to be his master. The woman who would come to be called Star Lark had never denied Chiaro’s wisdom, but she had assumed that perhaps it was a form of self-enforced humility. Looking at the map, Tolarra knew Chiaro would have never have succeeded in putting Freund into the proper wording. He was a force of the universe that had to be witnessed, before understanding him could begin. “How many moves is he making at once?!”

  Xaythra was too overcome with agony, and feeling the fear, doubt and lack of faith of her flock, to engage in trying to save anyone. Then again, it might have already been too late for her to save anyone. She was not so overwhelmed, however, that she did not see the last Black Assassin frigate as a fighter sped its way to the aft-port bay. The doors to the bay were not all the way closed when the drives engaged. The gigantic hand swung through the visual image the frigate had left behind, but Xaythra knew she had missed, forcing her to scream again. Tolarra could feel her pain, and did nothing to shut out the agony. She let her head drop between her shoulders as she bawled at the tragic loss of life. She allowed her eyes to see the faces of a few that had perished, including those who had called to their goddess with their dying breaths, only to have their prayers go unanswered. Lark pounded her leg with her fist and cried even harder. She did not weep for those who had taken to Xaythra knowing what was going to be levied against all of humanity in her name. She cried for the naïve and the innocent. Only one of the knowing and guilt-ridden would Star Lark cry for, and she did so because she knew he would not... he could not. He was too busy cursing himself and seeing to his pledge. In destroying Tau Upsilon, he had failed to protect humanity. All he could do now was see to its continued existence. She was truly the Herald of Freund. She would announce his arrival, deliver his messages, immerse herself in his plans and aims… and occasionally, she would cry for him.

  “Game on, Master,” she whispered, believing that Freund had indeed managed to slow down the progress of his opponents… and he had used their greatest power against them to do it! The weapons signature would never read as anything the Black Assassins had ever used before, and even if an inspection of their ships were allowed, no such weapon would be found in their stores. Freund had found a way to hand the Black Assassins a means by which to assassinate a planet and four moons! As soon as word got out, their numbers would swell tremendously … but even that was part of Freund’s plan. As their numbers increased, so would the portion they would dedicate to answer a summons from Freund. They would do so out of respect for the ancient ones who had saved their ways and cause… and they would do so because they would recall the results when last they volunteered their military might to the call of Freund. Tolarra could envision a Pawn being moved to the back line and turned into a Knight or a Rook… if that was her master’s plan. “Game on!”

  Hide nothing, for time, which sees all and hears all, exposes all.

  Sophocles

  “Begin.”

  The lights in the room came up, but not too brightly, and Dungias stood behind Danatra who looked down on her sleeping protégé. She had been given ample time to ready and steady herself, but she took another moment and pressed her lips together before reaching down to nudge the deep-sleeping Malgovi.

  “Jamille,” Danatra called to him, “I need you to awaken now.” The body stirred for a moment and then rolled over.

  “This is… unexpected.” Dungias was surprised to see a man older than Danatra. His green eyes batted three times before they remained open long enough for Danatra’s protégé to try and see.

  “Danatra?” he called softly to her. Dungias’ left eyebrow lifted from its normal position. The Traveler folded his arms and sighed.

  “You would have us rail against one social stigma and cling tightly to another?” Danatra asked, feeling her Vu-Prin’s reaction to Jamille speaking informally to her.

  “The perspective with which we have the most conflict is an unsubstantiated fact while the other is a sign of respect!” Dungias returned, speaking low enough for only Danatra to hear him. “Teacher, if nothing else. But to be called by your given name?!”

  “Jamille, it is time,” Danatra quickly said. She made it very clear she did not want to continue the conversation. “I want you to meet someone.”

  “Dungias!” Jamille whispered, looking up at the towering figure.

  “I cannot say I like being popular,” Dungias remarked as his arms dropped to his sides. “But time grows short, Vi-Prin. We have managed to penetrate Palace Security. If we do not move quickly, we will not be in position when the Queen arrives.” Danatra wanted to make eye contact with her Vu-Prin to see if she could glean what he was talking about. But she had spent a great deal of time inside the mind of the Star Chaser, and it did not take her long to hypothesize what he was doing; what he was getting at with the words he had chosen. She just hoped that he was wrong!

  “The Palace?” Jamille asked, looking at Danatra who quickly put her hand on his shoulder to console him.

  “For what needs to be done, we cannot trust the Queen to lead our people into the Light,” Danatra said as she stood straight up and stepped back away from the side of the cot. “The First Princess is even worse, so we are left with two targets for this mission. I am going to need your–”

  “Salvigaron,” Jamille said aloud as he sat up in the cot.

  “What?” Danatra asked, confused by the word.

  “Salvigaron!” Jamille shouted, looking up and around.

  “A name, or trigger word of some sort,” Dungias concluded as he started to advance. One step into his approach and his head snapped back as claws of ThoughtWill ripped into his mind. Danatra was also caught unawares by the onslaught and dropped to her right knee, crossing her wrists in front of her face.

  “You think you are the only one who can come to a quick conclusion, shay-spawn?!” Jamille spat as he slowly stood up with the fingertips of his left hand pressed against his temple as he maintained his attack. “Do you truly think what you did so long ago at the feeble Iro-Games makes you ready to face a true Malgovi?!” Dungias’ head came forward slowly as his hand flew to Jamille and took an iron grip of the man’s throat. As Jamille gasped for air, the raking of the minds stopped.

  “Lifetimes have passed since the Iro-Games I attended, my confused friend,” Dungias said calmly. “But more to the point of your question, yes, I was ready for you even then!”

  “Im-impossible,” Jamille choked out as he struggled against Dungias’ choking hand. His eyes glowed with generated iro-form.

  “This should be interesting,” Dungias said softly, looking at Jamille as he drew back his free hand and slowly made a fist.

  “SALVIGARON!” Jamille cried, his voice empowered by the generated iro-form and echoing as the room shook from the outburst. Dungias’ fist silenced him. Blackness overtook them and things remained dark.

  “How could you have known?!” Danatra asked as she opened her eyes. She lifted her head from the pillow and then looked around, using her talent to ensure she was not still inside her Vu-Prin’s mind.

  “I didn’t,” Dungias admitted as he too sat up from his reclined position. “But it was a necessary precaution against the assumed norm.”

  “I always thought it was a weaker standpoint to assume anything,” Danatra said, looking over at Jamille who was now in a very deep sleep. The blow that
Dungias had landed was merely a suggestion, but Jamille’s mind had interpreted it as an immeasurably powerful thing. He had had no choice but to follow the reaction he had assigned to the event.

  “It really depends on the assumption,” Dungias said as he put his feet on the floor. “Blind assumption is, as you implied, not a very helpful exercise. I, however, assume that whomever I am facing is my superior in every facet of the engagement in question. In this case, I assume that those controlling the Savanté, if it isn’t the Savanté themselves, are smarter than both of us.”

  “There are far too many possible scenarios to consider, Dungias,” Danatra argued.

  “If the assumption is allowed to serve as a stimulus and not a response,” he countered. “As a response, you keep from going insane with paranoia as you go about doing and becoming whatever you are geared to do and become. But, when you encounter someone or something that can assist you in your goals, or if meeting that someone is one of your goals, then you can use the assumption as a safeguard.

  “More to the point, you are younger than Jamille,” Dungias remarked.

  “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “In your mind, nothing,” he replied, checking Jamille’s body. He was breathing in a manner customary with and induced by deep sleep.

  “Apparently, I do not know my own strength,” he thought as he moved away from the man.

  “But you cannot presume that someone thinks the way you do,” Dungias continued. “Jamille may have presented himself as an even-tempered person, but what if he had a measure of resentment that a child had contacted him… mentally, I might add, and asked him to become her student. What are the chances that he sought some measure of confirmation? What if, in between the times when the two of you shared the same mind, Jamille came across a Savanté or someone who knows of them? Given your current operational status, I can presume that Jamille only recently came to know who you really are.