Shadows of Golstar

by Terrence Scott

  Owens watched as the trolleys once again retracted their manipulator arms and the damaged repair-bot wobbly retreated, joining its brothers at the far end of the corridor.

  **As we have reasserted full control over the Trah-tang elemental transport system, it will be employed to disassemble your corporeal bodies into their component atoms and disperse them into the upper atmosphere. You will experience no pain; you will simply cease to exist. Your five-minute interval begins now.**

  Owens walked back to Sharné and embraced her. He had no words of comfort, no words of hope, no words of any kind. He tried to think of a way of escape, but the exits were still effectively blocked and there was nothing he could do to prevent the transport from operating. He looked into Sharné’s eyes and saw only love and acceptance. Words were unnecessary. They tightened their arms around each other. As they waited in silence, he thought it had been one hell of a ride, but as with all rides, it was finally coming to an end. Drawing comfort from having Sharné in his arms, he waited.

  CHAPTER 61

  The room held half of what it had earlier. Many of the ministers had been assigned tasks Talin had seen fit to dispense in the emergency. The remainder had broken off into subgroups and were talking quietly, creating a low buzz of voices in the background. Lauren sat at one end of the table and watched as Talin was listening to an aide who was talking to him in a hushed voice at the other end. She fervently hoped it was good news for a change, that they had discovered some way of stopping the Controllers. Earlier, they had been given some hope when the Controllers had seemed to falter in their inexorable dismantling of the planets’ infrastructures. But the respite had been short-lived, lasting less than an hour.

  Talin finally nodded curtly and the aide quickly departed. He looked up and motioned to her. She excused herself, quickly rose and went over to his side. “I do not want to give you false hope, but I believe we may have found an answer,” he said in a low voice.

  Relief flooded her senses, “Wonderful.” At his nod, she sat down next to him.

  “From what my people have determined, it seems our salvation depends on the recovery of a medallion, a very special medallion.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. She had expected something a little less esoteric. She asked, “A medallion? By recovery, do you mean its whereabouts are unknown?”

  He smiled grimly, “No, not at all. We know exactly where it is located.”

  “Where is it?”

  “It is in the possession of our ex-Grand Patriarch. It is the trinket Geoffrey wore. I always assumed it was a personal possession. He never gave any indication otherwise and not having been privy to knowledge only accessible to the royal lineage, I had no inkling that it was a part of his office. I just now dispatched an aide to Security. They will dispatch some guards to retrieve it.”

  She asked, “What does it do?”

  He sighed tiredly, “It is yet another damnable key. When it is placed within a certain receptacle located somewhere in the Sanctum, a powerful coded signal will be sent to a hidden receiver the Founder, in his wisdom, had placed within the topmost level of the Prime. It, in turn, sends a signal to a concealed repeater on the next level. The process replicates itself until it reaches the lowest level where the Controller’s core resides. There, it will activate a dormant virus program placed long ago when the Compact was first put into place. It is designed to attack the Controller’s base program and render it inoperable. Since all the other planets’ Controllers are linked, the virus should infect them as well.”

  Lauren’s elation quickly faded at Talin’s words. “But without the Controllers, what will we do? As their name implies, they control access the Primes. The Trah-tang technologies and manufacturing capabilities will be lost to us.”

  “No, their vast stores of knowledge will remain untouched. The automated plants can be manually controlled by skilled technicians.”

  “But that is not…,” she started to say.

  “I know,” he interrupted her. “As much as it goes against everything we hold dear, we will be forced to access the Prime’s vast libraries and give certain of our people the special knowledge that will be required to control the Primes. It is the only way we can resurrect our infrastructure and rebuild our military capability.”

  She looked horrified. “We cannot allow such power to be placed into hands outside of the ruling families. The Founder determined long ago the wisdom to use the alien technologies must be limited to members of the Inner Circle. The Founding Families are the only ones designated to wield such power.”

  “Lauren, I do not see where we have any other real choice. We are far too few and have neither the inclination nor the background to employ such knowledge. The Controllers were our servants, our genies in a bottle. Our wishes were their commands. If we are successful in gaining the medallion, the Controllers will cease to exist and we will be forced to interface directly with the Primes. But in order to do that, it will take tens of thousands of technicians.”

  “But think of the implications,” she sputtered in protest. “Such power cannot be allowed outside of the families. To do so, we risk yet another form of destruction.”

  He shook his head, “No Lauren, if the Way is to survive, we will be forced to make necessary, even painful modifications to our hierarchy. I envision the creation of another caste, a special but tightly managed group of scientists and technicians under the direct control of the ruling families. Of course, they will require special conditioning to ensure that the power remains properly within our hands.” He hesitated before going on, “Frankly, had something similar been done at the very beginning, when the colony was first established, we would not be in the position we find ourselves in today.”

  It was an indirect criticism of the Founder, and Lauren found herself reddening in indignation. But before she could say anything further, she was interrupted when a woman of high rank rapidly approached their position. Her rumpled uniform and the dark circles under her eyes testified to lack of sleep. She bowed stiffly and said, “Forgive the unannounced interruption, your Luminance, but I must convey more bad news.” She looked at him straight in the eye. “The former Grand Patriarch has escaped. The original sentries posted to guard him are missing. They were replaced by loyalists of the ex-Grand Patriarch. They were killed when they attempted to prevent our entry. As we have no one left to question, we cannot determine how long ago it was when he escaped.” She looked up. Fear was plainly etched across her features.

  Talin’s face became white with barely controlled fury. He abruptly stood up and without warning, he struck the woman across her face. She was staggered by the unexpected force behind the blow, but she quickly straightened and stood silently before her leader’s enraged countenance. She waited for him to hit her again, but he did not. Instead, the acting Grand Patriarch, said in a rasping voice, “On your life, Colonel, on your very life, find him, find him now!”

  ● ● ●

  Owens and Sharné held each other in an almost painful embrace. He felt her rapid heartbeat, his own matching hers, as they waited for dissolution. He glanced down at his wrist-comp and saw that their time was nearly up. He couldn’t help but watch as the final seconds ticked down.

  ● ● ●

  His hands were shaking. The former Grand Patriarch clenched his jaw in determination, willing the spasms to stop. He was bathed in a cold sweat. His skin seemed numb. He had entered a private office next to the Sanctum’s master control room. He was standing beside a plain, rather battered-looking wooden box, which rested on the corner of a small round table. Unremarkable in appearance, it shared its perch with equally mundane items, an empty crystal decanter, a tarnished silver tray and a burnished, unadorned gold ring. He tentatively touched the box. It did not move; it was firmly attached to the table. With hands now sure, he lifted the lid on the box.

  Inside, was a ruby-red satin pillow with a round indentation breaking its smooth surface. He slowly, with ceremony, removed the medallion
from around his neck, undoing the clasp, grasping the medallion firmly while letting the heavy chain fall to the floor in a small golden heap. Then, with unmistakable reverence, he gently placed the medallion in the indentation for which it was designed. He watched as the medallion began to glow and the lid on the innocuous-looking box smoothly closed of its own accord, snapping shut with a clear audible click. With this one deceptively simple act, it was done.

  He stood there motionless, staring at the innocuous box that would bring forth so many changes. An errant thought flashed across his mind, ‘The surgery was successful, but the patient died.’ For a just moment, he wondered where the thought had originated. Then he kneaded his forehead, trying to erase the macabre words that seemed to burn into his brain.

  He reached for and removed the weapon from his waistband, the one Sharné had dropped. He looked at it. His icy fingers stroked its cold hard surface as if it was some animal needing to be gentled. Then, with the same reverence in which he had placed the medallion, he brought the weapon slowly to his temple. He waited for a few more moments in silence, appearing to pause for some divine hand to intervene. When no forgiving, heavenly apparition appeared, he said in a broken voice, “I am sorry.” He squeezed the trigger.

  ● ● ●

  Owens and Sharné waited.

  ● ● ●

  A minister was shouting, “Something is happening! Everyone, listen to me, something is happening!” Every eye in the room turned toward the video panels lining the walls. The hordes of Sentinels that been attacking various installations throughout Berralton’s cities stopped their methodical acts of destruction. They were now flailing about, without apparent direction. They looked like children’s toys, spinning slowly, winding down, some already beginning to stop and topple over.

  ● ● ●

  Owens and Sharné waited. The five minutes had come and gone. Owens continued to stare at his wrist-comp; the seconds continued to pass. A sudden commotion at the end of the hall drew his attention away from the flashing numerals. The three repair robots were gyrating wildly, crashing against the wall and each other. Overhead, the trolleys were moving on their rails, starting and stopping with short jerking motions as their arms quivered. It looked like the machines were having the equivalent of a mental breakdown.

  “Owens, what is happening? Why are they acting like that? And, and how is it we are still alive?”

  Owens shook his head, “Dammed if I know, but to me, it looks like Hec is back and fighting for control. It’s probably the only reason we’re still breathing.”

  One of the spherical maintenance-bots chose that moment to break away from the others still battering themselves, and began to careen wildly down the corridor towards where Owens and Sharné still embraced. Owens quickly broke his embrace with Sharné and ran to intercept the out-of-control robot. As he neared it, he saw it wasn’t the one that he had tackled earlier. All of its limbs were functional and wildly flailing. There was no intelligence behind its movements and owing to its spin, he couldn’t anticipate where the limbs might strike next. He dropped to the floor, sliding feet first, aiming a kick at the repulser collar at the bottom of the sphere. He lashed out with his leg and his foot connected solidly. Simultaneously, he felt a flailing, hard metal arm strike him across the forehead, causing him to throw his head back, forcefully striking the floor. He barely heard Sharné screaming his name.

  Sharné watched Owens successfully stop the robot. His kick connected forcefully on the collar. The collar had bent under Owens’ blow and the sphere had halted its forward progress. It was now drifting backwards, its arms still moving erratically, but slower than before. But the cost of Owens’ success had been a dear one. Flat on his back, he lay on the floor, moaning. As she went to his side, the robots unexpectedly stopped all movements. She reached him and knelt down. His eyes were a little glassy and he had a large red knot on his forehead, but he registered her presence.

  Before she could ask how he felt, he said quite unexpectedly, “Ouch. I think I dented the floor that time.” He moved gingerly to raise himself.

  An involuntary smile curved her lips as she helped him into a sitting position, “With your hard head, it is entirely possible.”

  He winced, alternating between delicately rubbing the back of his head, and lightly touching the growing lump on his forehead, “Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a painkiller…” He looked down the end of the corridor, at the motionless repair-bots. He wondered out loud, “Okay, what’s next?”

  CHAPTER 62

  At a fast pace, Talin headed toward the entrance to the Founder’s Sanctum, his two ever-present guards trailed after him, trying to keep up with his long strides. Earlier, the lifeless body of the former leader of Golstar, his one-time dearest friend, had been carried out of the Sanctum. His remains would be prepared for public viewing. His body would lie in state for ten days during the prescribed public mourning period. To the general populace, he would be portrayed as a fallen hero.

  He supposed that in a way he was a hero, not that the public would ever know of the exact circumstances. In the end, he had activated the Founder’s fail-safe program and successfully halted the Controllers’ rampage. Of course, no mention would be made this, nor of his role in instigating the catastrophic events that forced his act of heroism or the fact that it was by his misguided actions, Golstar was in its current deplorable state. He grimaced at the thought. The truth could never be revealed.

  His mind briefly turned to the fate of Sharné. She had gone missing during the crisis and her whereabouts were still unknown. They had searched the Palace and found no trace of her. In her rooms, they found the opening to a secret passage, its door ajar. They surmised her father might have taken her to the Sanctum for reasons known only to him. Talin had personally scoured the Sanctum’s maze of rooms without finding her. However, what he did find was troubling. There was a large amount of damage to a number of inner walls that could only have been caused by a Sentinel mech. Had she been taken? And if she had been taken, why? He could only pray she would soon be found alive and unharmed.

  He forcefully redirected his thoughts to the more pressing matter at hand. While he strode toward the control center of the Sanctum, Minister Joselé, the heads of the military branches and senior ministers were meeting in secret to formulate the provisional plans that would lead them back to greatness. Creating a new caste was no small undertaking and assembling the core members loyal to the Founder’s original ideals, might take some time. However, if anyone could help lead them back into the Light, he was confident it would be Lauren.

  He sighed. It was now time for him to play his part. He would make the announcement of the Grand Patriarch’s death, describe the new challenges that stood before them and appeal for calm in the interim period. Though it had all been carefully contrived, more fiction than truth, he knew his news would be received with mixed results. The cessation of the soothing influence normally provided by the control orbs was already beginning to manifest. Angry gatherings of people demanding explanations by the government were on the rise. The unprecedented occurrences of civil disobedience had local police agencies barely coping with the sudden influx of arrests. Getting the control orbs back online was first in order.

  Another problem that would soon need to be addressed was Janus Owens. Having not found plausible evidence that any ships had left orbit around Berralton, it was assumed Owens remained in hiding, secreted somewhere within Berralton’s Prime complex. Without the Controllers to interfere, the Sanctum’s portal should be accessible. The force-field protecting it shut down. He was confident the Prime would be breached within a relatively short time. An army unit was readying a search squad.

  On gaining entry, they could then begin the search for the Outsider in earnest. He hoped they would be able to capture the cursed man alive. A live execution of the one who could be blamed for the recent catastrophic events might help allay some of the smoldering emotions of the populace.

  Still
, he must do his part. The people needed the reassurance their Grand Patriarch would lead them forward, back into the Light, the Light of the Way. He entered the Reception Room. From there he would access the Sanctum and activate the planet-wide and inter-planet communications systems. He cleared his throat, on the verge of giving the verbal command codes for access into the Sanctum, when he was startled by a gravelly voice.

  *I really hate to interrupt, but I’m afraid that some changes are going to have be made to your grandiose plans, actually you’ll have to scrap them entirely.*

  With a sudden feeling of dread, he sputtered, “What is the meaning of this intrusion? Who is this? Controller?”

  *I prefer to be called Hec, but I suppose you could say I control the Primes. And as such, I have a certain amount of power to influence the way in which Golstar will recover. I have been tasked to exert that power. So, before you step down as His Most Inflatedness, there are a whole lot of changes that first have to be implemented. You got something to take notes with? Of course, I’ll provide a written and aural transcript, but I have always found that it’s easier to remember when you personally take notes, don’t you? Now make yourself comfortable, this could take some time.*

  ● ● ●

  Back in the Trah-tang quarters, Owens sat on a plush cushion at the low table with Sharné nestled beside him. He smiled, remembering Hec’s voice when he had sat up after hitting his head on the corridor’s floor.

  *Damn, Boss. You should have rammed it with your head. That would surely have stopped the bot for good.*