by Cameron, TR
With a single engine, the Gagarin couldn’t resist the gravitational forces, and was dragged sideways into the tunnel. The comm connection with the Washington frayed, then dropped. Dima watched her in both schematic and real-time views as her engines struggled against the pull of the breach.
“Ideas, comrades. How can we assist?” The bridge crew was as lost as he was. This was an unprecedented event in their experience. His thoughts went on a tangent, and he realized it probably had happened before, during the development of the tunnel drive. But no one had survived to report it.
The words of Lieutenant Yegorovich at tactical jarred him back to the moment. “The Washington is going in.”
Dima Petryaev clenched his fists in frustration as the tunnel consumed the Washington and then collapsed in upon itself.
Chapter Four
“But what would the gods have us do?”
Hierarch Kraada Tak’s booming voice washed across his congregation, made up of the highest ranks in the highest castes. “The answer is present in those holy ones themselves. Creation and destruction, war and peace, pleasure and hard work. These things make up our lives, these are the things the gods demand of us. For the Xroeshyn, the gods have charted a course that requires us to soar between the currents, always aware of the forces seeking to pull us to the land.”
Kraada gestured toward the ceiling, which depicted a perfect representation of a twilight sky—the single sun in descent balanced by the twin moons rising at the other end of the cathedral’s crowning display. A careful watcher would see that elements within that sky were moving—a clever trick of technology and art that used a gravitational field to suspend autonomous representations of space objects. Seven statues, icons of the High Father and his six children—gods and goddesses—framed the display. The High Father looked down upon the altar, and three of his spawn flanked each side of the sanctuary. The eighth pedestal remained empty to remind celebrants of the final deity, Vasoi the destroyer. She was the guardian of souls as they passed between the portals of death and rebirth. The statues of her husband and children avoided looking in her direction for fear they would gain her notice and see their immortality proved false.
“That day will come, that day when the final paradise will open to us, as promised in the Dhadas Ve Xroe. But that day is not today. Today, we must adhere to the words the gods have given us in that most holy of books and set aside our petty differences in service of our greater calling.” He warmed to his speech, facing down the center aisle of the sanctuary, his broad folded wings fluttering occasionally to emphasize his statements. His ceremonial black robes trailed on the floor behind him, the dark fabric setting off the shimmering colors of his skin. He pointed at a group of congregants clustered together in the front portion of the church. Their uniforms indicated membership in the warrior caste, and they were arranged as if in defense—lower ranks surrounding the highest ranks present.
“Our warriors have their mandate, and we must trust them to fulfill it.” He pointed at another set of richly dressed congregants sitting across the aisle from the warriors. “Our leaders in matters political, bureaucratic, and spiritual have their mandate, and we must trust them to fulfill it.” He turned and spread his arms and wings wide. “And you, the creators, the traders, the laborers, the backbone of our people. You have your mandate as well, to keep the Xroeshyn in ascent, ever-growing, ever-improving, until the day when we, together, achieve the victory that has been promised to us in the holy book.”
His voice reached a crescendo as he addressed the lower castes. Then it fell into silence as he stalked back up the center aisle and took his position in front of the altar. He paused for a moment, looking up, as if in contemplation of the glory of Kidarr the High Father. In fact, he was seeing nothing, but organizing his next words. Kraada Tak believed he was the true voice of the gods. He never fully planned his sermons, relying on divine guidance to lead his congregation to the truth instead. He had yet to be disappointed, confirming his belief in his own quasi-divinity.
“But never forget that She is watching and waiting. If we falter, She will swoop down upon us without warning, bringing about the end of us, or our families, or our castes,” he gestured now at the military grouping, “or our entire people. Leaving us awaiting our next turn on the wheel. Reducing all we have achieved in this life to vapor, swept away on a strong breeze.” He felt that the proper notes had sounded and inspiration had left him, an unmistakable sign it was time to release his audience back into their lives.
“Go now, but do not forget what I have said. We may be of separate castes, we may have separate tasks, but if we fail to act as one people, we will be swept clean from the board to clear it for the next pieces.”
* * *
After the seemingly endless one-on-one conversations with his departing parishioners, Kraada Tak reclined in his luxurious office chair. A gravity field allowed him to recline without crushing his wings. He preferred it to the garish, slit-back chairs that were more common. There were perks to being at the top of the religious structure, and he had earned them through decades of diligent and aggressive service to the gods. Had he not been born to the highest caste, made up of priests and politicians, he would have been a warrior. Maybe that’s why he took a martial approach to spreading the truths of the gods.
He waved at his attendant, one of eight priests that saw to his needs on a rotating basis, spending one day each week in service to him rather than their own congregations. While Kraada was just a priest in charge of a single congregation, he’d been one of the eight to serve the last hierarch. He’d excelled in service to both and earned the right to take part in the ritual to select the new hierarch when the old one was called to the arms of Vasoi.
“Tisane for me, Bradii. Marshal Drovaa, the same or something stronger?”
“Tisane as well, thank you, Bradii. I have another long day of work ahead of me,” Drovaa requested of the attendant.
Kraada’s eyes widened in mock castigation at the soldier, and Drovaa Jat put up a hand to acknowledge it. “Yes, Hierarch, even on the holiest day of the eight, duty calls. I believe the gods will forgive me when we achieve the promised glories.”
The delivery of a pot of hot tisane, accompanied by a light lunch of meat, fruits, and vegetables interrupted their conversation briefly. After fixing plates of snacks and steaming cups of the bitter herbal brew, Kraada got straight to the point, “I’m concerned. We’re nearing the end of the cycle, and we’ve yet to discover the great enemy, much less destroy it.”
Knowledge of the exact timing of the cycles was limited to the highest levels of the priesthood and the military, although they informed the emperor as a courtesy.
Drovaa nodded, frustration showing on his face. “Our exploration probes travel in as wide of a dispersion as is practical, but they’ve yet to encounter an appropriate opponent.”
“And yet, we approach the close, which is only a fourth of an eight-year away.” The Xroeshyn culture embraced sets of eight, in honor of the eight deities of their pantheon. It was acceptable to identify oneself with any of the eight, with deference given to the High Father by all. Kraada’s chest bore a detailed tattoo of the symbol of Lelena, goddess of transitions and change. She had called to him from the time he was old enough to understand the differences among the deities.
“We do.”
Kraada made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl. “Everything points to this cycle. Everything suggests that this is the moment that we will set our talons on the path that will end the cycle of rebirth and deliver us all to paradise when we cross over.”
“It does.”
Kraada gave the marshal a wry grin. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to calm me with your lack of engagement, Jat.”
Drovaa laughed. “Perhaps, Tak. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, and you do tend to get a little,” he paused as if searching for the right word, “agitated when we discuss it. Not withou
t reason, of course.” The marshal leaned forward, holding his cup in both hands and meeting Kraada’s eyes. “We’re doing all we can. We must inform the emperor of the possibility that we’ve misread the cycles, that this won’t be the one.”
Kraada Tak’s sound was clearly a sigh this time. “Yes. We do. You know he won’t listen though.”
“I do. And I know he’ll pay the price for using this event as a popularity tool with the other castes if we’re wrong. They will rend his flesh and send him to his next rotation in pieces.”
Both men contemplated that image with some satisfaction. The current emperor had ascended to the title upon the death of his older, and much more qualified brother, and possessed none of the instincts essential to the position. Mistakes both large and small accumulated in his wake, but by virtue of his rank they went officially unrecognized. Unofficially, he had lost the respect and support of both the military and the priesthood. The bureaucrats and traders balanced the scales, finding him easily led to their viewpoints, thus securing their own positions and increasing the influence of their castes.
Kraada Tak rose gracefully from his chair, his wings spreading wide and then returning to their natural position on his back. “It so happens that I’m due at an appointment with our noble emperor in six eights, which is just enough time for us to brace ourselves and then arrive appropriately, but not completely disrespectfully, late. Would you care to join me?”
Drovaa Jat rose and stretched his own wings, then nodded.
“Bradii, small glasses of the iced brandy, please,” Kraada requested as the door opened to admit his valet. The eight who served the hierarch were always listening, but would never speak of anything they heard, lest they betray their callings. It was a convenient arrangement that allowed them to better serve his needs and stay informed on important religious matters.
When they had their drinks, Drovaa raised his glass in a toast. “To our enemies, may they deliver us to paradise.”
Kraada added his own request. “And may they do it soon.”
* * *
Just after the appointed time, the two men entered the sumptuous reception quarters of Enjaaran Velt, Emperor of Xroesha and ruler of all creation. The party of underlings that had escorted them since they first set foot on the royal grounds departed, leaving only Enjaaran, his seneschal, a brace of guards in ritual armor and weapons, four servants, and the emperor’s three favorite concubines. Kraada and Drovaa avoided making eye contact with one another, as they always did in this place, in fear that their condescension would spill over.
They also avoided eye contact with the emperor, for such things were officially forbidden in public spaces.
“Ah, welcome, protectors of my children’s lives and souls.” The emperor was always on stage when in public spaces, whether his audience was physically present or not. Kraada often wondered if recording devices preserved each of the emperor’s words for the great benefit of his children for all eternity. He avoided snorting at the thought, but just barely. An involuntary flicker of amusement ruffled his wings. The two leaders mouthed appropriate courtesies. Drovaa made a small gesture, communicating using a silent code known only to the highest members of each caste, causing the emperor’s seneschal to whisper to his master.
A frown creased the gregarious face of the emperor before he gave his seneschal a small nod. The seneschal locked eyes with each of the leaders, then turned and escorted the emperor toward a hidden door that swung open at his approach. After the four men passed through, the door closed with a soft hiss behind them. They were in the emperor’s working office, a hermetically-sealed safe room that was only marginally less luxurious than his reception chamber. The emperor’s demeanor changed the moment they crossed the threshold.
“What news, gentlemen?” He waved at a low table surrounded by several couches and reclined upon the most well-appointed with a theatrical groan. “I trust that this will not make me unhappy.”
With no discernible instructions, a cluster of servants descended, placing each man’s preferred wine and a tray of elegant small bites in front of them. Kraada and Drovaa both took delaying sips before speaking.
“As you know,” Kraada began, “we have long believed this was the cycle in which the promise would be fulfilled, in which our divine enemy would be revealed. All the portents, all of our interpretations of the holy word, even the alignments of the stars themselves pointed to this conclusion. And yet—”
The emperor interrupted. “And yet, you are here to tell me that somehow the two of you are responsible for the most enormous mistake in the history of Xroesha, and that I must now inform my children that their infallible emperor is not nearly as infallible as we all hoped?” He rose with an incoherent shout, hurling his wineglass against an antique vase, causing both to shatter. “Unacceptable,” he yelled. “Absolutely unacceptable.”
The servants moving in to clean up shards of glass and porcelain caught his eye, and he growled, “Get out.”
The emperor turned and pointed at Kraada. “You promised me that the divine day was at hand.” His finger tracked like a laser to target Drovaa’s face. “You promised me that we would find and destroy our foreordained enemy before the current cycle ends. Are you both completely incompetent?”
His agitation was apparent as he paced, before finally regaining his composure and taking a deep breath. “Gentlemen, your actions bring us to a dangerous point. We must consider the responses of the mob,” he gestured as if to indicate the entire known universe, “to this dramatic reversal of the promises we have made for the past six years. What are your suggestions?”
Drovaa looked at Kraada and then cleared his throat. “Your highness, I’m sure we could make the claim that an undiscovered part of the Dhadas has been found, or some such excuse, to clarify that we acted on our best information. We can amplify this perception by making a show of sending probes and ships on a new vector suggested by this ‘discovery’.”
Kraada nodded in agreement. The emperor’s face ran through a kaleidoscope of expressions as he considered the plan.
“That just might work,” he began, but was interrupted by his seneschal entering the room. The man bowed to the emperor, then faced Drovaa Jat. “Marshal, your presence is requested in the Defense Center. Two ships are invading our reliquary.”
Both Kraada and Drovaa stood in reflex. The emperor nodded toward the door.
“Do your duty, gentlemen. We’ll continue this discussion at a less pressing time. But we will continue it.”
* * *
The Defense Center protected first the palace, then the city, then the planet itself. It was dominated by a mammoth three-dimensional holograph, currently showing the holy site at the distant fringe of the solar system. Arranged around the central display were stations similar to those found aboard capital ships, overseen by specialists in offense, defense, sensors, and communication.
“Report,” snapped Drovaa as he entered the room. Junior officers at each of the stations stood and saluted, holding their positions as the duty officer brought the two leaders up to speed.
“Two ships appeared inside one of the reliquaries within the asteroid belt. A sensor scan suggests they have been involved in combat recently and that one is heavily damaged. They have done nothing aggressive since appearing in the area. Our passive defenses are functional.”
Drovaa took only a moment to think. “Regardless of what they’re doing there, they are not welcome. We must protect the remains of our holy ones.”
Kraada nodded.
“The ships appear to be a touch smaller than our cruisers according to the display. Tactical, does this match your assessment?”
The officer dropped his salute, moving to a parade rest with his hands clasped behind his back. “Affirmative, Marshal. Our estimates put them at six-eighths of our size. Initial analysis concludes that their weapons are likely less powerful than ours, although this is based purely on visual inspection and cannot be entirely relied upon.”
/>
The marshal’s lips quirked at his subordinate’s attention to detail. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Defense, dispatch the four closest ships.”
Kraada caught Drovaa’s gaze with a questioning look. Drovaa’s smile widened. “Better too many, then not enough, Hierarch.”
Kraada nodded in acceptance. Overwhelming force was not his personal strategic choice, preferring the hidden dagger to the obvious sword. He listened as the marshal repositioned support ships to act as a second line of defense.
Kraada placed a hand on Drovaa Jat’s shoulder. “Your thoroughness is a testament to the rightness of your command, Marshal. I’m confident that you’ll quickly sort out this trespass threatening the bones of our sainted ancestors.”
Drovaa bowed his head as if receiving a benediction, which wasn’t far from the truth, given their respective positions. Kraada had chosen his sermon voice so that every person in the room would hear his show of support over the distractions of their duties.
Drovaa stepped closer to the huge hologram that filled the center of the space. “Shift all defense reports to alternate displays,” he commanded. “I want to see an area that includes only the Reliquary, the enemy, and our incoming ships.” Turning to Kraada, he asked in a low tone, “What do you make of this?”
Kraada’s expression was thoughtful. “I hesitate to ascribe more importance to it than random happenstance, Marshal. Then again, perhaps time will show us that it is the fulfillment of a promise.”
At that moment, it was impossible to keep the hope out of his voice. Drovaa’s eyes, bright and focused, showed that he shared that hope.
The duty officer spoke up again. “The Jade Breeze is entering the field.”
Chapter Five
The lift glided to a smooth stop, and the door to the bridge slid open. Kate Flynn stepped out into chaos barely hidden beneath a thin veneer of ritual and order. Cross turned his head as she entered. Long experience with one another allowed her to see the suppressed fear he would never acknowledge.
