Voknor holds Glarth in a choke hold, until his rival loses consciousness. He shoves the incapacitated Gamin away, then stands and gazes at the last remaining contender.
The injured Prime lifts his hand, and states, “I yield!” Then collapses.
Prime Voknor glances around, then raises his arms in the air and states, “I am victorious!”
Roggard shouts loudly, “If anyone else wishes to challenge Voknor, do it now, or swear allegiance to our new Regent!”
Both the Primes that surround the pit, and the injured survivor inside the pit, dare not face Voknor; clearly, he is a force to be reckoned with. The only Prime who does nothing is Glarth, who remains unconscious.
Command
The massive hangar on the Flagship is once again the setting for a meeting; one that will go down as a pivotal moment in Gamin history.
Almost a hundred Gamin are assembled; from Primes and officers, to other trusted clan members, from every ship of the fleet. The Flagship’s crew watches from the balconies that line the walls; their numbers seem small in comparison to the levels that stretch upward.
Voknor steps onto an improvised platform, then stands tall. He proudly states, “By virtue of my victory, I am now Regent of the clan.”
A few of those gathered cheer, the rest remain solemn as they wait for those who favored Voknor to be put in positions over those who did not.
He casts his gaze over his clan, and states, “I decree the following: The old ways are over. I met Prime Glarth’s challenge, and bested him. My father would have had him stripped of his position, but I am not my father.” He directs his attention to Glarth and, as he stares at him, states, “You shall remain Prime of your craft, and become one of my advisors.”
Glarth glances around uneasily; he had expected to be removed from all command duties, as is the way. He considers his options, then raises his fist while he looks Voknor directly in the eyes and states, “Regent, you honor me. My life is yours!”
Voknor motions to Leprax and states, “I hereby promote you to Prime, you are now in command of my old vessel.”
Leprax stares in disbelief, then follows Glarth’s lead, he raises his fist and states, “My life is yours, Regent Voknor!”
Voknor searches amongst those gathered, then points to a Gamin who is wrapped in bandages, and states, “Prime Kardoil, you shall also keep your command. I need all of my experienced Primes right where they belong.”
Though still in discomfort, Kardoil strides toward Voknor. He stops at arm’s length, where he loudly states, “You honor those of us who sought to defeat you. That is true courage,” then he grins as he adds, “and just as revolutionary as the original Voknor.” He turns to the crowd, and although it hurts, he raises his fist and states, “I offer my life to Regent Voknor!”
Those gathered shift and shuffle at the unexpected turn of events. Clearly, the leadership style will be different than that to which they have been accustomed.
Regent Voknor waits for everyone to settle down, then continues, “I have served under every Prime here, and I decree that you will not be sacrificed for the sake of the clan. The fleet will have new evacuation protocols. I will not abandon clansmen while the rest of us escape.”
A low murmuring moves through those gathered. Voknor patiently waits, then as the noise subsides once more, he speaks confidently, “I know this fleet, I know its weaknesses, and its strengths. One weakness is to be eliminated immediately. All Primes are to designate a supply officer; their role is to requisition resources, any resources. I hereby unlock the flagship’s reserves; every clan’s ship is to be brought back up to one hundred percent efficiency”
The Primes, many of whom opposed Voknor, glance at each other and wonder what he will do next.
Regent Voknor narrows his eyes as he further proclaims, “Regent Xasturz sought to gain honor at your expense. I decree that his name be struck from every record, every notation. Purge his name from the Gamin Archives! He dishonored our clan by his actions, and deserves no lasting memory. His legacy dies with him.”
Almost one hundred Gamin raise their left fists and shout, “Regent Voknor, my life is yours!”
Voknor smiles as he gazes at those gathered, at just over eleven hundred years of age, he is the youngest Prime in recorded history. With this in mind, he raises his hand and shouts, “As Regent, my life is yours!”
None of those present have heard of, let alone witnessed, a Regent swearing his allegiance to the clan. They whisper amongst one another, all with the exception of Glarth, who stares at Voknor in a trance like state. He is stunned by the day’s events, and knows to his core, that he would die for Voknor, such is the level of his newfound respect.
Prime Roggard raises his voice to be heard above the others, and asks, “Regent, your orders?”
“We will abandon our designated zone, and travel away from all hostilities toward the periphery of the Galaxy. We must find an uninhabited world where we can repair the fleet, unmolested.” Voknor replies without hesitation.
“By your order!” Prime Roggard replies.
Most depart the hangar deck, each offering an individual salute as they go. Glarth, Kardoil, Roggard, Leprax, and Prytec are all that hang back; even most of the flagship’s crew returns to their duties, just a few remain behind to watch their new leader.
Voknor motions to Prytec before he can speak, and states, “I would be honored if you and your guard would remain by my side.”
Prytec nods, then states, “I would have it no other way, my Regent!”
Next, Glarth strides to Voknor and sincerely states, “You honor me, but know this, you are still young in the ways of leadership.”
“That is why I would have you as one of my advisors Glarth. I know our clan will benefit from all of us all working together, toward our common goal.” Voknor replies with a grin.
Glarth replies, “I doubt that I will agree with all of your decisions, but I swear on my life that I will follow your orders! You have earned that and more from me, Regent Voknor!”
Kardoil adds his voice, as he timidly asks, “Regent, why did you leave me in command? My vessel is small; my crew insignificant.”
Voknor jerks his head around as he vehemently responds, “No clan member is insignificant!”
“But why am I left in command?” Kardoil presses, “I yielded, and thus lost my honor.”
“You have honor Kardoil, more than most. Remember, I served on your ship too, and I will not have you consider yourself, or your crew, to have any lesser importance than this flagship.”
Kardoil lifts his head high, and stares at Voknor, “I owe you my life and my honor. I will prove worthy.”
Regent Voknor glances around, then lowers his voice as he states, “The fleet is a mess; we need some serious repair time. The question is, where?”
The group quietly debates their options, then after listening to their advice, Voknor issues his orders. The group nods in agreement, or in some cases acceptance; their Regent has spoken, that is enough.
Chapter Six – First Duty
The battered fleet slowly withdraws from Atlan contested space. The flagship’s damage reduces their overall speed drastically. The days turn into months, as the fleet continues to travel farther and farther away from their disastrous battle. The crew’s stress levels diminish as they travel deeper into unexplored space. Makeshift repairs continue on the Flagship, but its bridge is still not replaced, and all command operations are conducted from the engine area. Though never intended as a control center, this is now twice that Voknor has been forced to improvise.
Voknor continues to surprise his crew when he is found wandering the lower decks, examining, and in some cases, repairing damaged systems. This prompts the crew to work harder, and longer; their leader’s example setting the new standard for the entire fleet.
During the slow trek away from danger, Regent Voknor issues a series of proclamations. He suspends ‘the trial’, indefinitely, and also the Primes’ righ
t to more than a handful of eggs. In addition, each of the ships now has a supply officer, and one of their duties to make sure the Den Mothers have everything they require.
The hatcheries and newborns are crucial to the clan’s recovery, so he pays them a visit. Regent Voknor stands inside the flagship’s hatchery, and looks at the few scattered eggs, and cringes. He approaches one of the Den Mothers and asks, “What is going on? Where are all the eggs?”
The Den Mother replies sadly, “Before the exodus we would lay four or five eggs each year; If insemination occurred at the right time, then three or four would grow and hatch.”
“Okay, go on.” Voknor prompts.
“Well, as you know the hatching is a dangerous and violent time; as many as half die. Then the trial often kills half of those survivors. So out of the four to five eggs, one would make it to the naming ceremony.”
“That still does not explain why the hatchery is so empty.” Voknor prompts.
The Den Mother lowers her head as she responds, “The average female is now only fertile once every five years, and even then, is lucky to produce two eggs during her productive cycle.”
Regent Voknor frowns as he asks, “Why is this not part of the teachings?”
The Den Mother lifts her gaze to meet Voknor’s, and says, “I remember carrying you out of the hatchery. You were keen to learn back then, and I am pleased to see that nothing has changed that in you.” She sighs, then continues solemnly, “The Emperor has decreed that no one be told of our worsening infertility, but I trust you. Look around the fleet at how many ships are under crewed. With only one egg in four hatching, and then only one quarter of those surviving to the naming. This is on a five-year cycle, and thus we are not replenishing our ranks.”
Voknor’s frown deepens as he asks, “But we live for six thousand cycles, and I know the females are fertile for half that time, if not more. That’s still seven to eight hundred eggs, probably pushing one thousand, in a female’s lifetime.”
“Yes Regent,” she replies, then adds, “For every thousand eggs, we get between two and three hundred who end up standing at the naming ceremony.”
Voknor’s jaw drops as he asks, “How many females do we have in the fleet?”
The Den mother nods as she replies, “Now you understand. Out of five thousand in the clan, we only have seven hundred fertile women left.” She anticipates his next question and says, “We are lucky to see two hundred eggs each cycle, and that number is steadily dropping.”
Voknor is staggered by the implications as he mumbles, “Fifty survivors per year, perhaps one hundred now that the Trial is suspended.” He stares at the Den Mother as he states, “It will take us twenty years, just to cover the losses from that one battle!”
“The Emperor has to know that we are a dying race!” The Den Mother mourns.
“How could he not?” Voknor responds, equally despondent. He had no idea the situation was that dire, especially as it seems to be empire wide, and not just an issue his clan is having. His father’s wastefulness with their lives angers him all the more. Genocide! The thought comes unbidden, and is accompanied by renewed determination.
New Lands, New Ideas
Regent Voknor stands on a wind-blown hilltop with Glarth, Roggard, Gentak, and Prytec, their shuttles resting behind them. The fourth planet of this system is habitable, barely by Gamin standards, but habitable none-the-less. The air is thin and tolerable, its scent unexpected, but not unpleasant. They take in the panoramic view before them with wonder and hope. The hill is covered in long grass and small bent shrubs. The lower lands, protected from the harsh winds, house enormous trees which rise up from the lush ground. Although there is no intelligent life; massive creatures populate the land, seas, and even the skies above. Sounds emanate from all around, the flying creatures above screech shrilly, while strange deep grunts come from a herd of plant eating animals which move through the trees below. Smaller animals leap onto branches to avoid the herd, or scatter through the undergrowth. Waves break against a distant sandy shore, beyond which, a pod of ocean creatures leaps out of the water, creating colossal splashes as they fall back. They seem to be playing.
Regent Voknor grins as he comments, “One day this planet may harbor an intelligent species, but not for many eons.”
Glarth continues to gaze around as he asks, “What are your thoughts, Voknor?” His familiarity is not out of disrespect, but out of friendship instead. When the few trusted friends gather, Voknor wants no special treatment. But in public settings, he is rightfully address by his title.
Roggard adds his comments, “So this is what a world looks like that has not been touched by us, or the Atlans!”
Prytec snorts, “It won’t stay untouched for long!”
“Plenty of resources here!” Gentak gleefully states.
Voknor nods his head as he considers his fleet’s needs. He continues to take in his surroundings as he says, “We should find an isolated area, one where we can easily mine for resources.” He pauses for a moment, deep in thought, then ventures, “What would you think of landing the entire fleet?”
Prytec shifts uneasily, then replies, “The risk is too high. If we were ambushed…” He lets his words trail off.
Roggard tilts his head as he suggests, “My ship is tough, as is your old one Voknor. Leprax and I could stay in orbit.”
Voknor smiles, then says, “We have no means of detecting the Atlans at any great distance, and they seem equally in the dark, or we would have been pursued.”
Glarth chuckles as he states, “We did change our direction a lot, in case they were following our debris trail.”
Voknor shares his thoughts, “I think we should ground the fleet, and perform a complete refit and repair of all vessels, including power units, engine overhauls; the works.”
Roggard shifts uneasily on his feet as he asks with mild disconcertion. “How long do you think we will remain here?”
“I am unsure. It’s a shame we’re unable to build new craft.” Voknor utters forlornly.
“We could if we had the right facilities,” Gentak states matter-of-factly.
Voknor frowns as he asks, “What would that take?”
Gentak lowers his head as he replies, “As this planet is devoid of any existing infrastructure, we have to conduct our own mining. We’re just not equipped to collect the vast amount of resources required to build new craft.”
“What about our fleets’ losses, surely they have been replaced over time!” Voknor comments naively.
Glarth replies, his tone solemn, “I am the eldest here,” He glances around as he laments, “I recall the Den Mothers telling me that during the great exodus, our clan consisted of thirty-seven vessels; we were better than ten thousand strong. Now look at us; twenty-two craft, with fewer than five thousand remaining.”
Voknor considers this new information, then says, “That is something we will have to change.”
“It is not possible,” States Roggard in a defeated tone.
Voknor puts a hand on Roggard’s shoulder and states, “Who expected me to live, let alone become Regent? We can do this, and we will be strong again!” he states with conviction.
Glarth narrows his eyes as he shares his thoughts, “When we head back, we should contact other clans to find out how they are rebuilding their fleet, if they are, that is.”
Voknor takes in a deep breath, then issues his orders, “Land the fleet, repair all vessels. Glarth, contact the other clans to learn how they have adapted. I expect we will be here for quite some time, but time is something we have in abundance.” He narrows his eyes as he gazes at the animals below, then adds, “How long has it been since the fleet ate freshly prepared meat?”
Gentak grins as he cheekily states, “If you had followed your own orders, and assigned your ship a supplies officer, you would know!”
Voknor chuckles, then replies, “That is true.”
On a whim, Prytec states, “While we’re on this planet, we shou
ld reinstate the Trial, but monitor each youngling in secret. The trial adds strength to us, it’s our way!”
Voknor considers his own experience, and how proud he was to survive. Suddenly he recalls the Oglan who saved his life, and remains quiet for some time. Finally, he replies, “Reinstate the Trial, for now; monitor the younglings at your discretion.”
Glarth stares at Voknor for a moment, and ponders; There has never been a Regent so willing to listen to advisors, and yet be able to issue such decisive commands. A chill runs up his spine as he realizes, these are the traits of a true ruler, an Emperor! He turns away, fearful of his own thoughts, and where they are leading.
Twenty-two city sized spacecraft enter the atmosphere of the planet; for many it is the first time they have landed on a planet since their launch long ago. Most craft are three kilometers long, and almost a third as wide, while the reclamation and construction craft are both roughly one third this size. However, the flagship is a behemoth, at sixteen kilometers in length, and following the same proportions as the other craft, is almost one third as wide as it is long. Larger than five frontline vessels, even the Atlans hesitate to attack one directly.
The sun is high in the sky as the fleet approaches a dry desert region. Local wildlife scatters in all directions as the enormous craft come in to land. No one in the fleet can recall the last time the flagship landed on a planet. Its landing struts and pads are enormous, and they crush the bedrock as the craft’s weight settles, driving them too deep to be effective. The flagship lifts off, then lands once more, again crushing the ground as its immense weight is brought to bear. Giving up, the mighty flagship hovers as engineers fill the holes beneath it with dense material, essentially armor plating, in an attempt to support its vast bulk. Eventually the flagship settles down, its landing pads supported, and for the first time since its launch, the craft is powered down to minimal levels to allow repairs.
Engineers walk over the outer hull of the craft and are amazed by the pitting that has occurred from so many years in space. Just as ocean waves eventually erode rocks on the beach into sand, tiny space particles have worn down the nose of the forward hull. Combat damage has inadvertently repaired much of the erosion, but in some areas deep pitting, and minor cracks are evident.
Initiation Series: Series One Compilation (Terran Chronicles) Page 146
