by John Dizon
~+~
Grav Drachna met with his bridge crew along the runway as shuttlecrafts prepared to ascend to the clouds where a cruiser awaited. Only they found themselves in a very unfamiliar situation. They were saying farewell to their captain, who was departing without them for the first and final time.
"Captain, is there anything we can do or say?" Andromeda Aries said, a tear rolling down her cheek.
"I told each and every one of you, you'll be fine," he looked at each of them. "The President is going to enlist every one of you into the Federation Starfleet. You'll maintain your ranks and be assigned to starship duty. You may be split up but you'll have the choice to live wherever you want. Your lives will continue in any direction you choose."
"You know that all of us want to go with you," Dr. Sardonicus spoke up. "We've been together throughout our careers. We want to fight against the Empire alongside you.
"We've burned that bridge," Drachna said quietly. "Now it's time for you all to build another one. Together."
"I wish it would've ended differently," Ken Mazola spoke ruefully.
"Why?" Drachna asked them. "You saved the Invictus. Our ship is still intact. Decommissioned, yet still in outer space. You've let the old girl retire in peace. Let's hope we'll all do the same."
He then shook hands with each of his former comrades before taking leave in going on to his next adventure.
~+~
The cruiser entered the orbit of the unnamed moon located at the furthermost regions of the Scorpion Empire. Along the border of the Betan Frontier, it was largely uncharted and considered uninhabited. The crew was certain they had reached their destination but deferred to their Captain's judgment as to how to proceed.
The landing party descended in shuttlecrafts, heavily armed with xaser rifles and disintegration grenades. Yet they were filled with trepidation, unsure of what awaited. The Captain had assured them that things would go as planned, but most had spent enough of their lifetime in space to know that the unexpected was more than likely to occur.
Their fears were realized as a great mist suddenly began to form, obstructing their visual capacity. They switched to sensor mode, relying entirely on radar and sonar detection for a successful landing. The pilots grew frantic, fearing a trap, but they were able to alight safely without further ado. The riflemen were quick to exit the crafts, taking up defensive positions as the rest of the crew debarked.
They waited until, out of the mist, a squad of female riflemen emerged from the haze with rifles trained on the visitors.
"I am Grav Drachna," the hulking captain strode fearlessly before them. "Your superiors are aware of my arrival. Take me to them at once."
The women lowered their rifles and beckoned the visitors. The squad joined their ranks and were cordoned as they made their way to the cliffside ahead.
They approached a massive iron gate which gave way to a titanium steel door over three meters in height. To the visitors' surprise, it slid open as smoothly as a door on a military ship. They followed the guards to the threshold where an officer appeared.
"I am the commandant of this stronghold," the scar-faced man announced. "My staff has conveyed your correspondence, and I have processed it accordingly. Your lives are accepted as deposit for this audience. The two of you will accompany me. The rest will place their weapons at their feet and remain here until the audience is ended. Any violation can and will result in your disintegration."
"Enough of this," Drachna demanded. "Take me to your leader."
The commandant led the visitors down a long corridor carved into an enormous mountainside. They walked nearly twenty meters before the officer stood aside, allowing them access.
Styrena and Grav beheld a man standing upon a mosaic veranda made of priceless jewels that appeared as if he stood on a great nebula. He was dressed in a cerulean starsuit, wrapped in a black hooded cloak. They gazed upon his face and admired his youthful features, as a man in his thirties with the face of a child. A golden lock fell across his ivory forehead above his radiant blue eyes.
"Hail, my Emperor," Drachna hammered his chest, thrusting his fist forward in the Hyperancient Roman salute.
"Captain Grav Drachna," the thin man smiled wryly. "What brings you here?"
"With all respect, my lord. I am Star Marshal Drachna of the Imperial Starfleet."
"Star Marshal? Were you promoted? I was unaware."
"I speak of your Starfleet, lord. I am the Star Marshal of your Starfleet."
"And is this Styrena Stone of whom we've heard so much? Does she join you in this fantastic quest?"
"Not so, lord," Styrena spoke, her beautiful countenance rivaling the magnificence of his veranda. "This is reality. We have come to restore you to your throne and end the brutal reign of the devil worshipers."
"Is that so?" Emperor Scorpius grinned. "Well, I suppose we have a lot of work to do."
*END*
About the Author
J ohn Reinhard Dizon was born and raised in the Cobble Hill section of Brooklyn, New York. He participated in local and high school sports at Bishop Loughlin MHS and was a key figure on the Brooklyn rock scene during the Punk Revolution of the '70s. Relocating to San Antonio, Texas in the '80s, he moonlighted as a pro wrestler before pursuing a BA at UTSA and degrees in Korean martial arts during the '90s. He currently lives in Kansas City, Missouri where he is studying for his MA in English at UMKC. Mr. Dizon has been studying and writing about American and European society and culture for over twenty-five years.
