by Don Foxe
“What can I get you, Captains?” He asked, as Coop and Elie walked up to the bar.
“I need a few minutes of your time. In private if we can,” Coop said. The King recognized Coop’s serious tone and manner. He returned the drink stand to the real bartender.
“Follow me,” he instructed. The three entered the castle, walked up a marble flight of stairs, and entered a private chamber. The King locked the doors.
Thirty minutes later, the doors opened. A shaken Elie exited first. Coop and Saharri stopped at the doorway and shook hands. “I appreciate your doing this for me,” Coop told the monarch.
“You practically saved my world, Captain. It appears you have a lot more work ahead of you, and I am, after all, the King. It’s a small favor, and one I am happy to do.”
“Elie, round up the Fellen. Find Anton, Genna, Tasha and Tista. Tell everyone to meet us in the room used earlier for the alliance signing-ceremony.”
“Sure, Coop,” she replied, somewhat wooden. “Is it as bad as you told the King?”
“It’s bad, Elie. But, at the moment, all we can do is make plans. Nothing will happen in the next few days, and nothing is going to happen we can’t handle,” he assured his best friend. “If you see Yauni, please tell him his father needs to speak with him, and General Postatoon as well.”
Elie left to find the others. Coop descended the stairs and entered the formal room with vaulted ceiling, stain glass windows, and crystal chandelier. He sat at the long table, rested his head on crossed arms, and considered surrendering to fatigue.
The AS tribe family members arrived first, entering in good spirits, sharing laughter that quickly died as they picked up on Coop’s grim appearance. He waved off their concerns, and asked they take seats. Storm and Sky automatically sat on either side of him; protective.
Genna, Tasha, and Tista arrived, followed by Mags and Sparks. Elie entered last, with Anton. Anton closed the double doors behind them.
“I’m going to start with the bad news, and then I’m going to finish with worse news,” he told them. “I would appreciate no interruptions, unless you have something pertinent to add. I will speak as the Captain of the SF PT-109, and not as your friend. As such, I will issue orders when I finish, and those orders will be obeyed. Is everyone clear about this?”
A pall fell over the room. The two youngest Fellen girls reached beneath the table to hold hands. No one spoke. Everyone simply nodded an affirmative.
“Patric, Silla, Stacey and Sarah will remain on Rys with Star, her crew, the CHoenor and its crew. I have spoken with King Saharri. He will provide you with housing, and make sure you have everything you need. I have assured him you will want to work for your keep. While Stacey and Sarah continue their recovery, the others will provide assistance in improving Rys technology and communications systems.
“Star, you, your crew, and CHoenor’s crew will be seconded to Rys' space navy to provide whatever tasks needed. None of you will be asked to do anything to dishonor you, or Fell. Everything you do will help in the coming conflict to repel invaders throughout the galaxy.”
He turned to Sparks. “ASparquila, I would like you to join the crew of the John F. Kennedy. Your expertise will prove invaluable in the coming weeks.”
“I would be proud to join you,” Sparks said.
“Why are we forced to stay here?” Patric asked. “If ASparquila can help you, we can certainly do the same.”
Cooper addressed the older man. “One, because I am not asking you to join me. Two, because I am asking you to contribute by helping here, on Rys. Three, because your choices are stay [left index finger raised] on Rys, with other ex-patriot Fellen and contribute, or [left middle finger joins the index finger] take your ships, and [Both extended fingers point at the door] leave. [Hand returns to the rest on the table.] No one will make you stay here. Storm and Sky, and now Sparks have agreed to become members of my crew. I can order them to do what I say, or I can have them arrested for disobeying. The three of them have the same choices. They can come with us on the 109, and by so doing, agree to follow my orders. They can remain on Rys with you, or leave, with or without you.” Cooper allowed his words a moment to fully translate. A moment for those assembled to consider their options.
“Before I continue, I need answers from all of you.”
“I’m going with you,” Sparks said immediately, and looked at Mags. Perhaps he had more than one motive for joining the 109.
“We’re going,” Sky spoke for herself and Storm, who nodded.
“I trust your judgement, Captain,” Star said. “I will remain and assist, and I am sure I speak for the CHoenor as well.”
“We will stay on Rys and do what we can to help,” Silla said. “We can do more to help Fell from here than anywhere else. Especially if it takes the fight to the Zenge.” Patric relented to his wife.
“Zenge are not the enemy,” Coop said. “The Mischene control and command the Zenge. They are the true invaders.”
PART TWO
CROSSROADS
CHAPTER 32
The captain of the Mischene trading ship, using a newly purchased chart from a Pagoran vender, departed the wormhole into a system rarely visited. Nothing of interest in the system. Certainly nothing worth collecting for trade. The system consisted of twelve planets, with three capable of sustaining life. Only one sustained semi-sentient lifeforms.
The only reason the captain cared about the system, the wormhole brought them near a second gate within the system the chart-seller promised provided a shortcut to a world they traded with less frequently than desired. Trade delegations rare due to the time needed to travel between the systems using established channels. This recently purchased chart indicated channeling through this system would reduce time in space by half.
On this exploratory trip, the governor in charge of the trading guild accompanied the regular merchants. He planned to negotiate a more profitable exchange rate with the partner world, if a fifty-percent reduction in travel time occurred.
When they entered the system, his curiosity, and ever present desire to seek alternative ways of increasing profits, led him to order the ship’s captain to investigate the three planets. The worlds orbited proximal to one another, and the triplets currently sat near the second gate. It required only a minimal amount of time to investigate.
They began with an examination of the largest of the three. The surface teemed with flora and fauna. Giant beasts roamed the landscape. Rivers flowed from mountains. Blue ribbons stretching for miles, emptying into four oceans, or one of several smaller seas. Both polar caps deeply covered in ice and snow. Equatorial jungles with canopies densely packed, making the floor below impossible to discern. When, and if the giants died out, it would make a good world for a colony. For several colonies.
The adjacent two worlds remained in close orbit to the huge one, held near by the strong gravitational pull it produced. Classified as planets, and not moons, because they held their own paths, and did not orbit the larger sphere.
Similar to the giant, but less than a quarter its size. Similar, and with analogous plant and animal life. The governor wondered if a single world somehow split into three. Incredibly odd for three planets in a system to develop along the same timeline, and with similar biological species, and horticulture.
In many ways, this system reminded him of his own.
The Aster system, his home system, boasted three developed worlds and five inhabited moons. The Mischene believed the similarity in timelines of Aster system planets due to their ancestors developing the entire system. Other races existed on Aster Farum 3, his home world, and a variety of species and races inhabited the other planets and moons. Mischene history recounted stories of the ancient Mischene seeding these other locations. The tales meant sentient life in the Aster system owed their existence to the Mischene. Of course, these farmed lifeforms evolved more slowly than the Mischene sires.
They were inferior, even if they possessed Mischene bloodl
ines. They were adequate for populating, and helping to develop and manage the other worlds within the system. Mischene tolerated the other four races sharing Aster Farum 3. Someone needed to do manual labor, as well as the difficult, or dangerous jobs beneath the sensibilities of most Mischene.
Cognizant the other races preferred to deny their history, the Mischene maintained a strong military as a deterrent to outright disobedience of the laws. The governor’s guild funded the military.
On his home world, members within the lesser races protested their inability to improve their station. They craved equality. They desired greater opportunity. They blinded themselves to the facts. They simply were not Mischene.
The lesser races could choose to ignore the truth. The military would remind them.
In this little-explored system, the planet nearest the star struck the governor as the most interesting. Semi-sentient lifeforms of ugly, squat, lizard-like creatures with cold blood. They built villages, and raised animals for slaughter. Optical scans showed furrowed fields. Agriculture indicated the residents were omnivores, or raising crops as feed, or both. Either way, it suggested an agrarian society. They communicated, but only among each other. The current level of evolution included fire, and tools for hunting, building and farming. No indications of a written language.
The governor, an avid student of cultural development, recognized the signs of over procreation. More than a hundred civilizations in the known galaxy vanished because they overused the natural resources of their planet. Too many beings in too limited a space naturally led to self-extinction.
He read the scans, and watched the video feeds of the smaller planet. Within a few years, the semi-intelligent reptiles would consume the other animals. He saw evidence of skirmishes already occurring between villages. Fights over land and food. He actually witness a fierce and bloody confrontation. They would soon cannibalize the fallen.
“Governor, we need to continue to our final destination,” the ship’s captain informed him. The governor, fascinated by the system, realized a concept was taking shape in the recesses of his mind. He did not quite hold the handle on the idea.
“Of course, Captain,” he replied. “Did the long-range microphones pick up communications between the creatures?”
“Nothing the translator rings could decipher,” he was told. “One of my communications techs believes their vocal cords produce a pitch higher than the rings can decipher. I can have a Fellen engineer listen to the tapes when we return to Aster Farum 3, if you wish.”
“I do wish,” the governor replied. “In fact, when we return, please relay every piece of data on this system to my office.”
Amos Soren, Governor of the guild, stood before the council of elders, called together for a special meeting. The tall, dark man, with flowing white hair, white eyebrows, and dark brown eyes wore the guild emblem, a fist with star-shine leaking through the knuckles, on a red tunic. The members told the public the emblem represented the strength of the Aster System. In truth, it represented how the guild felt about the system; it belonged to them . . . or it should.
“A recent trip provided the final piece in our quest to change history. A chance to restore destiny’s path,” he told the assembled. On the table before him, he placed an ancient tome. “The Tahbita, the sacred text of the Mischene. It recounts how the Creator took dust from the air and made a mighty explosion, turning the dust into billions of stars, planets, moons and every other object that occupies space.
“The Creator, for more than a million years, experimented with life. He seeded the universe, and watched species, and races by the thousands develop. But not until the Mischene evolved, here, on Aster Farum 3, did the Creator realized his dream. He finally produced a race worthy of leading his universe.”
The Governor walked a few steps to stand before a banner, the guild emblem blazed across the cloth. The banner dominating the meeting room.
“The sacred Tahbita tells of the Creator’s love of the Mischene. He dispatched messengers to open twelve portals around the Aster system. More wormhole gates than any other system. Aster Farum 3 would become the center of commerce in the galaxy. Aster Farum 3 would become the epicenter for art, science, and learning for the universe. In time, as the Mischene continued to evolve, and followed the path laid before us by the Tahbita, we would realize our manifest destiny . . . we would become the stewards of the Creator’s universe.
“If we remained true to the teachings of the Creator, and the laws as set down in the sacred Tahbita, we would amass wealth beyond measure in this life. We would earn eternal peace and bountiful rewards beyond imagination in the spiritual life to come.
“But the Mischene did not remain true,” and he slammed his hand down upon the table, startling the assembled.
“We built ships to travel across space. We built battleships capable of destroying any adversary. We, the Mischene of Aster Farum 3, united the system, and began the colonization of the five moons. Mischene guilds brought wealth, and the admiration of alien worlds to the Aster system. Guilds on the other Aster planets copied our formula, and found success. For the past 5,000 years this guild, our guild, remained the most powerful. We represent Aster’s guilds. We finance the construction and maintenance of a fleet of ships. Ships used to carry goods to and from the Aster system. Ships that patrol the skies over our planets and moons. Ships that protect the space from our star to the system rim. Battle ships escort our traders, to show others we protect our own.
“But we strayed from the path. We accepted the paltry profits of trade goods, and turned our backs on eternal wealth and ultimate power.”
He began to walk around the table, placing a hand on the shoulder of each council member as he passed their seat. Eyes glued onto the gifted orator. People listened, accepted, and agreed with his vision.
“We allowed moderates to gain positions of power. We allowed Tahbita scholars with weak spines to corrupt the teachings of our sacred text. The laws are exact, but we allowed interpretations,” he spat the word. “Interpretations of the laws, allowing non-Mischene access to positions they have no right to hold. We allowed them to tell the unworthy they were worthy, and the Mischene were not the chosen. We allowed other races access to government positions, schools, and jobs to provide equality. We even allowed a tolerance for heretics who practice other religions. Many of these false religions preach directly against the Tahbita.”
He returned to the head of the table. “Perhaps our worst mistake; we consented to Mischene males and females lying with other races, even other species,” he added with disgust. “Their bastards now wish to claim full rights and privileges of citizenship, even though their blood is weak and tainted.
“The current administrators seriously consider changes to our constitution to bestow bastards with recognition as Mischene. These progressives are discussing giving lesser races access to traditional Mischene schools, hospitals, and positions of authority.
“We must begin today to take back our world . . . our society . . . our religion. Our destiny. It may take a century or more, but continuing to permit moderates, and progressives a voice will completely destroy Mischene heritage, and corrupt our future.”
The Governor brought his message home, knowing the council lay in his hand.
“I have discovered a species we will co-opt into our own messengers. We will train them to obey. We will train them to fight. We will set them loose on our enemies. Just as the Creator’s messengers built the wormholes used to connect the galaxy, our fighters will act as the messengers we send forth to rebuild our destiny as the one supreme race. In the Tahbita, the messengers of the Creator are called Zenge. We named this race of warrior-servants in honor of the Zenge.
“As we cultivate and train the Zenge in their system, on Aster Farum 3, we will retake what we ceded these past one-thousand years. Power must return to pure Mischene. Our guild will become the conductor, assisting true believers rise to positions of importance in politics, society, and wit
hin the military. We will work to take complete control of every guild. We will compile lists of those whose politics and beliefs are abhorrent to the Creator’s will. We will eliminate all who oppose us, and disdain the future promised by the Tahbita.
“As I stand here with you, my son is on the Zenge home world. He begins the process to save these heathen abominations. He will relocate millions of them to other worlds. Our clerics will indoctrinate them in the teachings of the Tahbita.
“My agents are acquiring the broadcasting rights for the agencies providing news to the people throughout the system. My communications professionals are designing media content for all platforms. I am in contact with others who think as we think, believe as we believe.”
Coming to the conclusion, he sat at the head of the table, his hands folded atop the ancient text.
“The twelve seated here today will take measures necessary to safeguard Tahbita law. We share one goal, the rise of the Mischene, as foretold in the Tahbita, at the will of the Creator.
“The emblem representing our guild’s mark will take on a second, deeper meaning. We are now the Fist of Tahbita.”
Thus began the Mischene Supremacy movement. Its continued growth dependent on the radicalization of Tahbita followers. A twisted interpretation of ideals would be the only interpretation allowed. Followers would sweep aside anyone who objected, through extortion, blackmail, corruption and assassination.
On the Zenge home world, Atticus Soren, son of Amos Soren, Supreme Governor of the Mischene Collective Guild, introduced himself to his future subjects by appearing from the sky in a blaze of fire and light.
The ebony skinned, white-haired fanatic used a translator ring redesigned, and re-engineered by a Fellen communications professional named THierren. He would have made a fortune from the design modifications required to translate extreme high-pitch vocal communications, had he not been executed as soon as the ring proved effective.
