Collision: The Battle for Darracia - Book 2 (The Darracia Saga)

by Michael Phillip Cash

  They sat in silence, the King of the Planta and the political rebel Staf Nuen. They were an unlikely couple, enemies their entire lives, their two governments never having found a common ground. Once, many years ago, Planta had been a peaceful planet, a land filled with fisherman and abundance. Changing circumstances had caused Reminda’s father to reconsider his strategies, developing a reputation for cunning and deceit. It all started with subtle climate changes. They didn’t feel it at first, but slowly resources grew tight. His home’s natural commodities waning, the land and oceans became overextended. The old king started attacking convoys that traveled nearby to make up the shortages. The people became lazy, stopped creating products.

  Soon, the Planta had forgotten how to produce for themselves. It was cheaper and easier to steal. Overpopulation and pollution continued to strip Planta of its bounty. The lush gardens, famous throughout the galaxy, withered and died. The sea became a filthy swamp, the arable land reduced to one small part of an island in a sea of poison. The planet could not support the growing populations of Plantans; it’s resources stretched to their limits. It became known as a lawless sector of space, and many were afraid to travel there. The Plantan raiders showed little mercy and attacked without discrimination.

  Talks and treaties were rebuked, and when the Darracians had approached them fifty years ago, sending a young prince to initiate peace talks, Drakko was taken prisoner. Wounded in a fray, he was nursed by the king’s daughter, Reminda, who had fallen in love with him. Drakko made a daring escape and took Reminda with him. No amount of peace talks could repair the damage. Reminda’s father went on a rampage, making this end of the solar system a very dangerous place. It became too risky to travel in the area. Trade routes dried up, and the neighboring cold planet of Venturian sunk into poverty. The Plantans didn’t care. They raided Venturian, enslaving its inhabitants, transforming the thriving society into a dismal, barren wasteland; the most important export, the slaves they plundered from the population.

  Venturian was a freezing rock of a planet that had a highly successful trade from its vast and varied wildlife. Trappers first settled there, drawn by the great beasts that supplied delicious meat, as well as warm furs. Rudimentary settlements grew into sizable towns. It was an uncivilized place, on the western edge of the solar system, a wild frontier, barely governed. It was a freewheeling territory, the last civilized outpost before deep space thrust a traveler into nothingness. The Planta raids destroyed all that. Stores and businesses closed. Law enforcement was crushed by the raiders. Vast fish farms failed, and the lively planet became a devastated way station filled with criminals who traded on violence and fear. The sprawling villages had turned into garbage heaps, filled with cheap bars and a frightened populace. Soon it was depleted to an empty shell, leaving only the rejects or infirm to live off the discarded leavings of the raiders.

  Eventually, the old Plantan leader died, and his son Lothen became king. The new king didn’t remember the old ways, their religion. He respected nothing. He felt confined by the restrictions of the Elements and their forced morality. Abandoning antiquated beliefs, he ordered them to rip out the temples for the Elements. It was forbidden to mention the Sradda Doctrines. They didn’t need it anymore; the Elements had abandoned them and the surrounding planets, allowing a new religion that encouraged the idea of taking what belonged to others without consequence or conscience. The ideology took root, growing in the dead soil. The cult of Geva changed the buried heart of Planta from the sweet land of peace and plenty, to a place filled with hatred and greed. Dancing naked around a caldron, the Planta paid homage to their new goddess Geva by sacrificing whatever she asked for. Geva was a greedy goddess, one who demanded constant loyalty, but in return, she opened the door to a new way to see things, one where Planta needs were the only ones that mattered. She urged her followers to mow down anything in their path to prosperity. A fickle entity, she punished when ignored, and rewarded the wicked path Lothen led his people. This opened a gateway for unimaginable carnage, a total disregard for goodness. It was a new age, a dark time, a time of stealing what you wanted at the expense of your neighbor, and only the strongest survived.

  Plantans didn’t need the restrictions or moral code of the Elements anymore. They were raiders, pirates, and thieves under the protection of Geva’s dark heart. Everything was acquired by trickery or stealth. The Plantan Navy attacked ships passing through wider and wider quadrants of the solar system. They were a fearsome and lawless group. Now, far gone with decay, Planta too was a dying planet. Years of abuse had taken their toll. Lothen needed a plan; his advisors warned him they had barely a year left before they must find an alternative place to live. The toxic sea was slowly poisoning the atmosphere. Venturian was out of the question; starved to a useless ball of ice, the warmth of the two suns barely touching it, it made for an unwelcome home with its year-long winter. They had to find a new home.

  The two leaders sat in silence for a long while, the whisper of the servants as they moved around the room the only sound. Night gulls called. Staf opened his eyes to stare out the windows to watch them dive into the restless sea, then resurface with a fish speared on their swordlike beak. He needed to resurface. He had to shake off this lethargy to dive back into the sea and spear that little fish, his nephew. Zayden was near; Staf felt his skin tingle with anticipation. Let him come for me, he thought boldly. I will take care of him and then his slimy little brother. He needed a faster ship than the little craft he was using. A fearsome army at his command could turn the entire solar system around. He enjoyed watching Lothen plunder any Darracian convoy stupid enough to wander into their airspace. The Plantans’ ruthless tactics ensured they were the power in this end of the quadrant. Not even the Elements could stop them. As much as he liked it here, felt at home, he was nothing more than a guest. Lothen was popular with his own species. There was no future for him here on this dying planet. Sooner than later he would have to find a new place to stay. Staf longed to go home to take Darracia from his alien of a nephew. He was full-blooded Darracian and considered himself its rightful leader.

  “You are thinking about your home?” Lothen asked silkily.

  Staf stared at the younger man, hating him for having his own throne, even if it was withering. He wanted one too. “I am always thinking of my home.” “Reminda is a traitor to Planta.”

  “She is a devious insect who controlled my brother,” Staf replied with venom.

  “You brother was a fool. You know, Staf, I have a proposition. Time is running out for me here. Planta cannot continue to sustain us for much longer. I need to find a new place for my people.”

  “What about Venturian?” Staf growled, his bloodshot eyes narrow.

  Lothen glanced up and motioned for all his servants to leave the room. Staf’s sullen Venturian slave left with a lingering glare at her master, who laughed at her rebelliousness.

  “She is hot tempered, that one.” Lothen poured another drink.

  “She is a challenge; it pleases me.” Staf sucked on the pipe, his breath hitching on the inhalation. The room took on a pink, hazy glow, and Lothen wavered in the smoke.

  “Together we could use my fleet to attack Darracia.”

  “Darracia?” Staf sat up, intrigued.

  “Yes, it would be perfect. My army is unstoppable. We are seasoned soldiers when it comes to invasion. We have practiced on Venturian for years.”

  “Darracians are not Venturians. They will fight and may defeat you,” Staf stated.

  Lothen shrugged. “Think you your nephew will lead the Darracians against me? I have the power of Geva, here!” Lothen laughed as he pointed to his hairless blue chest.

  “We are known to be excellent warriors.” Staf blew pale smoke through his nose, feeling the sting.

  “Darracian, Planta, what difference does it make? I need a new home, and so do you, my friend.”

  “There can be only one leader,” Staf stated, his eyes glittering with purpose. He sat up s
traighter, the ache in his side gone.

  “My people will not answer to you.” Lothen watched the spray swirl above the filthy ocean. “You need me.” He paused as if an idea had just come to him. “I have an idea. Your heir is dead. Make me your successor and I will aid you with the my armies. We will get rid of the Darracian ruling class, supplant it with a new one, loyal to you. I will have my men marry their daughters, take their property. What have your Elements ever done for you, given you false hope with your fire sword? We shall create a new world order. A world order loyal to Geva.”

  “A world order loyal to you.” Staf stood, slightly unsteadily. “I do not know this…this Geva. I don’t know of its power. What of the Elements? They will not stand for it. Ozre chose his side.”

  “They will be loyal to whom I direct them to be. They are not Darracians. As for Ozre, surely you don’t believe in fairy tales?”

  “You believe in Geva? Is it not a fairy tale too?”

  “She. Geva, Goddess of Power. Someday, when you are ready, I will show you Geva, and you will feel the might of her will.”

  Staf stood up, weaving, pausing to consider how to say what he felt. “I don’t see her might on this dying planet. Perhaps she will change her doctrine when you need her the most?”

  Lothen jumped up to angrily pace the room. “You believed in your Fireblade…Can you say for sure, without a doubt, that the Elements really exist? Have you faced them?” he demanded.

  Staf considered the question, choosing his words carefully.

  “For years we were taught to practice our skills until the night you become one with the Fireblade.”

  “We do not have a Fireblade. Plantans don’t need them.”

  Staf acknowledged this with a nod. “A Darracian male is taught, well, was taught, that our strength is enhanced by the will of the Fireblade, and only because of our superiority we are able to maintain the balance of power.”

  “You believe that, my lord. We don’t have a Fireblade, yet we have the totality of power. Perhaps Geva does not believe in toys, but in the power of real men.”

  Staf closed his eyes in thought. “V’sair should not have been able to harness the power.” He opened his eyes and realized he was talking to another blood relative of his nephew. “Yet he surprised us all with great skill. It is said he looked into his own heart and found the strength to command the Fireblade.”

  “Strength is developed, not given by imagined beings.”

  “The Elements are real.”

  “It is your belief. The Elements are not real here on Planta; the only thing that matters is me, and what I think.”

  “And what do you think, Your Majesty?” “I think that the combined forces of Staf Nuen and a Plantan Army can teach young V’sair that merely closing one’s eyes and wishing for power is a dream.”

  “Then let it be his nightmare.” Staf puffed on his pipe. “Your men will be loyal to you, in a fight for a distant planet?”

  “And to you as well, my liege.”

  “You would call me your liege?” Staf pressed his face close to Lothen, their breaths intermingling, the fumes of Lothen’s drink making Staf dizzy.

  “I would call you Father, if you made me your heir…” Lothen whispered. “Do it, Staf, do it,” he wheedled. “Why stop at Darracia? We can rule the solar system. With Darracian riches, Quyroo and Venturian slaves, by Geva’s heart, we can control the entire galaxy.”

  Staf wheeled away, lightheaded. It was the answer to his dreams. Plantan might, with his leadership—V’sair wouldn’t stand a chance. He would crush him. Staf made a fist and pressed it against the window, trying hard to conceal his growing excitement. The universe was within his grasp. “What of the Elements? They will stop us.”

  “If they are real, then Geva will destroy them,” Lothen told him passionately.

  “Perhaps,” Staf told him impatiently, wondering if indeed the Elements were nothing more than a chimera, as Lothen indicated. “Maybe Geva is not real as well?”

  “Give me time to prove she is not only real, but more powerful than anything in this universe.”

  Staf slid back into the comfort of the chair, picking up the pipe once more. He clicked the pipe against his teeth, deep in thought. “You would let me do what I wanted?”

  “That is usually what a vassal does with his liege.”

  “Why? Here you are king, leader of many people. Why would you subjugate yourself to me?”

  “You know how they think. If we work together, I won’t have to be confined to this part of the system. Planta is withering.” Lothen stood up. “We’ve exhausted our food supply; the fuel is gone from the ocean. We are running out of options.”

  “Why does not your Geva act to save you and your planet?”

  “Perhaps her plan was to unite us, my lord Nuen. Who knows the mysteries of a goddess?”

  “You would not be king there for a long time.”

  “I am known for my patience.” Lothen laughed, his forked tongue visible. “I am prepared to do this with or without you.”

  “Yes?” Staf raised his dark brow.

  “I have an ally.”

  “Who?” Staf demanded, “Who did you find to betray Darracia and why?”

  “Someone very close to the throne, to your nephew, the king.” Lothen’s voice was soft and menacing. “I have spies planted there, both Quyroo as well as Darracian.”

  “Why would two opposing forces help you?” Staf asked.

  “When you promise them their heart’s desire, you have no need to search for allies.”

  “In the same way you promise me?” Staf asked quietly.

  “Surely it is not the same, my lord Nuen. We are cut from the same cloth. I could never betray you,” Lothen said with a slick smile. He slapped Staf on the back and laughed. “The weather is changing here. I don’t know how long this planet will survive. I can be your grand mestor.” He called loudly for the servants to return with fresh goblets. “Let’s drink on it.”

  A new libation was brought over, this time with a blood-red fish swimming furiously in it. Staf looked at the creature and realized it had human head, chest, and arms but a fishlike tail. He could hear the sound of its screams.

  “The Talis. They live deep in our oceans and are quite a nuisance. A sacrifice on the altar of your success.”

  A keening wail rent the air behind him, and the king spun, sloshing his drink.

  A female servant covered her eyes as she screamed, pointing to the night sky. “An omen, Sire, surely’tis the end of the world.”

  The king and Staf edged close to the window, spying a careening comet spinning wildly across the vast sky, it’s reflection lighting the waves.

  “A portent of doom?” Lothen watched the jagged trail of the comet streaking across the horizon.

  “A sign of change. Change for the better.” Staf held up his glass, laughing at the horror on the creature’s face as he down his drink in one giant gulp. He felt the being slide down his gullet as he smacked his lips with appreciation. “To Geva!”

  “To our partnership, with Geva at the spearhead!” the king agreed.

  “Death to all who defy us.” Staf watched with fascination as the king devoured the helpless sea creature.

  Chapter 5

  Zayden bent over the chassis of his ship and blew gently against the sand that layered the engine. The ship was made especially for him, the curved chassis white with green and blue racing stripes. It was a sweet goer with plenty of muscle that got him in more than a little trouble with its speed. Wiping his greasy hands on a torn piece of material, he jumped into the bucket seat and tried to turn over the turbo. He heard the squeal and grind of the sand against his gears and winced as it stalled once again. Cursing, he swung out of his cockpit and searched the sky angrily. He had waited too long. His engine was pitted with rust, his gears dried, the thrusters clogged with the ever present sand that covered the beaches where he landed. He hadn’t cared back then. It had only been a week, and he wa
s careless. He had landed here so he could regroup, think of how he was going to proceed.

  He had Denita with him, and he needed to figure out what to do with her. Going back to Venturian was out of the question. Together, they had watched her home burn. Though she had marked him with a tattoo, she was the one who was really marked. By helping him, she had given up any chance of being safe there, and while she thought herself to be tough, he refused to leave her to their brutality. He would take her home; Reminda would know what to do with her. Then he would go after Staf and kill him. He could never rest until the deed was done and both his father and Hilde were avenged.

  It had been a long journey so far, and the older man eluded him everywhere. He had followed Staf to Venturian, an icy shit hole in the back end of the solar system, to wander the shadowy brothels and graphen dens where some went in, but never came out. Venturian was a tough place to be asking questions. The population was as unhelpful as they were unfriendly. He combed the gritty stores and dens, asking too many questions. He drew all the wrong attention, and it didn’t take long before he knew he was being tailed. He dodged in and out of the freezing doorways, trying to lose his pursuers, but they remained hot on his trail. It had swelled to a group, and he realized he was vastly outnumbered. He needed to get back to the harbor, to the safety of his ship. He withdrew his pistol, ducking in and out of the winding streets, and saw they were coming from two different directions. He was in big trouble. He feinted left, but ran to the right into a deserted alleyway, panicking when he realized this one was a dead end. Doors slammed shut; it seemed the citizens of Venturian had a laissez fair attitude toward crime, especially when it wasn’t happening to them. They were on him in an instant, the pistol snatched from his hands, but not before he got off a shot and heard a howl of pain. A two-by-four hit him in the stomach, followed by someone kicking his head, hard, really hard. Before his eyes rolled backward, he heard a female shout, and the sizzle of another gun. Something the size of a Darracian hit the back of his head, and then nothing until he woke in a run-down room in the rear of a graphen den. He ached everywhere, his skull and ribs most of all. Sounds were muffled, and he saw everything in a distorted lens. He knew there was a woman taking care of him with the efficiency of a competent nurse, but everything else moved in slow motion. Smoke filled his head, and he burned with fever. Cool hands had soothed him. He had a faint memory of searing pain in his shoulder coupled with whispered words that he was marked. He woke with a throat so dry it hurt to swallow. Iron bands constricted his ribcage. His head ached with an intensity of a thousand banging drums. Soft fingers brushed his hair back, and a wavering vision of a beautiful, black-haired, sloe-eyed female with skin the color of caramel appeared in his line of sight. She held his head up for a drink, a smile on her wide, carmine-colored mouth.