Zero Star

by Chad Huskins

  Moira shrugged. “Still seems suspicious to me.”

  “And to me, as well, but we must not discount other possibilities.” He waved at the screen and the image of the Champion vanished. “On to other matters. You have both gotten acquainted with the captains and navigators of Crusade Fleet as I asked.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes, sir,” said Desh.

  “I have, yes,” said Moira.

  “And you find they respect you and will respond to your commands when you ask them? They see that you are my proxies?”

  Moira and Desh exchanged looks, and nodded a general agreement.

  “Excellent. That establishes good rapport, and gives us control over flight and navigation. But there’s still one—ah,” he said, responding to a chime. “I believe that’s just the fellow we’ve been waiting for.” He stood to receive his guest, even as Julian walked over to open the door. “Captain Lyokh, so good of you to join us. I was happy to hear you had accepted the invitation, even though I understand you must be quite busy.”

  Moira turned in her seat to greet the captain, but was suddenly struck by the man that stepped through the doorway. Even without his armor, Aejon Lyokh cut an imposing figure. He was in a black uniform, all of it pressed and clean and immaculate, without lines or wrinkles. He filled it out, but was not bulging out of it. He only looked slightly put off, like he was out of practice wearing it.

  Lyokh’s face was as hard as she had seen in the vids about him, and his short-cropped sable hair and eyebrows made him appear like a dark cloud had entered the room. Moira was immediately attracted to him, though she wasn’t sure it was all sexual. His gray eyes were pools of barely concealed sadness, and yet there was resilience embedded there. His body and bearing were that of a man in cautious control of himself, slightly out of his element but willing to test himself. There was clearly a forward momentum about the man. His record, which Moira had been encouraged by Kalder to read, suggested an indefatigable mind and spirit.

  As she watched the men make their greetings, Moira saw a collision of sorts. If she was being poetical—and what use was her year of studying poetry if she didn’t occasionally indulge?—Aejon Lyokh appeared as the unstoppable force to Holace Kalder’s immovable object. As the force and the object shook hands—something it was said Kalder never did, but did now—she immediately saw the dislike in the captain’s eyes, and the usual cold certainty in the senator’s.

  They’re doomed to kill each other, she thought, only half joking with herself. They were two killers; one killed directly, the other indirectly.

  Then Moira looked at Lyokh’s free hand. It hung at his side, holding some cylindrical object wrapped in a cloth. Kalder had told her all about what Lyokh had found inside the Kennit sepulcher. Just thinking about what secrets the Scroll might contain…A whole other adventure could be hidden inside of it.

  Kalder gestured at the Scroll. “May I?”

  Lyokh looked a little confused, then looked at the item in his hand. He hesitated, and handed it over. Kalder unraveled it, and walked away a step to analyze it in better lighting.

  That’s when Desh approached. “Captain Lyokh,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Captain Desh. We chatted over messaging?”

  Lyokh nodded, and spoke in a quite baritone. “Right. The divvying up of troops.”

  “I thought your organizational skills were superb. The senator here agrees.”

  Kalder nodded as he returned to the conversation, his eyes still fixated on the Scroll. “The Voice of Reason’s captain argued it was better to keep most of your troops centralized in either Lord Ishimoto or Miss Persephone, so that if need be, they could all be deployed at the same time, not in stages. But I like the practicality of having them dispersed among the fleet.”

  Desh nodded. “Better for us all, in case one of the two ships got taken out.”

  Captain Lyokh looked a little put off by their compliments. “Thank you. It was…just a thought I had.”

  They were already talking shop, so Moira felt a little out of place as she rose to her feet and approached with her hand out. Thankfully, Kalder noticed her, and introduced her. “You’ve probably read about Miss Holdengard in our briefings,” he said. “Our resident stellarpath.”

  Lyokh shook her hand, handling it delicately. “Of course. Miss Holdengard.” He said it in a monotone register, sounding very dismissive. She fully expected him to look away a second later, but to her surprise those gray eyes lingered on her two or three seconds longer than she would have imagined.

  KALDER WAS GLAD to see Captain Lyokh appear so relaxed at the dinner table. When he had last met with the man, it had not been long since the Battle of Phanes, and undoubtedly the grief over his lost comrades was too near. He had been concerned that Lyokh would not be able to get past their first abrasive meeting, but here he seemed quite at ease, with a plate full of processed meat and a glass of imported wine. He ate slowly, and thanked the stewards who had prepared each course.

  Of course, there could be no missing the resentment the captain still harbored, but there were already signs he was getting over it. And he would probably always carry a distaste for Kalder—Kalder saw that right away—but he judged Lyokh to be the sort that would always hold contempt for politics.

  The topic of conversation began, predictably, as nothing more than questions about the food, and how famished everyone was. Before too long, it had drifted back to shop talk, with Desh and Lyokh briefly going over the itinerary and the concerns they had about the Taka-Renault System. Moira spoke only once during this time, when Lyokh asked for clarification on whether or not she had come up with the itinerary on her own.

  “It’s very precise,” he told her.

  “Thank you,” she said, keeping her head down while she ate.

  Kalder noticed Moira was much quieter than usual. It wasn’t merely the presence of men that quelled her—indeed, she had been very forthright every time she spoke to Desh, Julian, or Kalder himself. He concluded that something about the soldier intimidated her.

  Desh somehow got on the subject of a mass evacuation he had helped with some years ago during a Brood invasion of some world in the Scutum-Centaurus Arm. Midway through explaining how he managed to lose three ships at once (without any shame at all, only hearty laughs that made him seem blind to the tragedy), another chime announced someone at the door. Julian opened, and Kalder was mildly surprised to see Thessa Zane den Uta stepping through in full regalia.

  Two or three layers of golden robes had her completely engulfed, save for her breasts, which remained exposed, the nipples recently pierced and bleeding. Defiled, the way Mahl would want them. Clasps around her wrists and throat rattled with precious gems. One of her hands was also bleeding, because five sharpened metal blades had been driven through her fingernails, giving her a single bloody claw. She even wore the Face of Mahl, which she thankfully removed as she approached them.

  The others in the room gaped, Moira more than any of them. Likely, she had never seen such a display, especially from one in such power. Exposed and bleeding nipples? It must seem a scandal to her.

  “Governer Zane,” Kalder said, rising with the others to greet her and pretending that her self-torture was nothing to comment on. “What a surprise. Please, won’t you join us?” He’d made the request before she could just walk into the room and assume a seat at the table like it was hers. Despite the fact that he had checked her with his own power, and likely wounded her pride, the Governor of Phanes would likely still feel the need to show superiority in mixed company.

  He would not allow her that.

  “Thank you,” she said, stepping up to an empty chair that Desh had pulled out for her. She sat the Face of Mahl on the table in front of her. She kept her bloody claw in her lap, where the blood trickled and pooled on her robe.

  They all took their seats, and if Moira had appeared intimidated before, she looked positively horrified now, looking across the table at a woman that sh
e had no doubt heard stories about. It was one thing to hear about a religious leader and dictator who reveled in defilement of both oneself and others, it was another thing entirely to be sitting across from such willful evil.

  And Kalder did believe Thessa Zane den Uta to be evil. He believed in evil as a force, as consistently spread throughout the universe as zero-point energy. He believed it was no mistake that some form of it manifested in all races, in all cultures. It served no biological imperative, and was not necessary for a species to propagate—it therefore was a deformation of evolution’s intent to preserve each species, a cancerous mutation of the very necessary competitive nature of all creatures. Evil was a practice decided upon, where the sentient mind first misinterpreted, then distorted Nature’s will and conjured up rationalizations to do things they knew were harmful to others. Such as Cenagul and his pedophilia, and Governor Zane’s demand for worship.

  Of course, Kalder also knew that there were still dangerous rationalizations happening within himself all the time. He still had not purged himself of all of them. Perhaps in time he would. For now, he would have to be satisfied with the fact that he at least acknowledged them.

  “I hope your recovery is going well,” he said, as they all retook their seats.

  Zane looked at him. He could tell she was wondering which recovery he meant, the one after the battle in Vastill, or the one following his attack on her. “It goes well, yes,” she said.

  “That is good to hear. I received your message yesterday, I was glad to hear that you will be joining us on our voyage.”

  “How could I pass it up, after you were so…persuasive?”

  Lyokh had just lifted his fork and was about to stab a piece of meat when he paused. “Wait…sorry, you’re coming with us? Not just your ships?”

  “I haven’t made the announcement yet,” Zane said. “But I’ve already informed my thanes to maintain control in my absence.”

  “Why are you coming with us, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “The Crusade sounds like a matter of historical significance,” she said. “A chance to study the ancients, and to see what knowledge they accrued before they vanished. I’m bringing along numerous scientists, linguists, xenobiologists, and physicists, the best minds Phanes has to offer. I think this is a very appropriate first step towards Phanes reconnecting with our lost brothers and sisters of the Republic.” She said that last part while looking directly at Kalder.

  “We’re glad to have the ships,” Desh said, as he wolfed down a forkful of lettuce, which had been shipped up from Widden on the last round of withdrawals. “Shit, the more the merrier, I say.”

  At the other end of the room, Julian opened the door to admit two stewards. They brought in a new course and set a plate in front of the Governor. There were savory hams, meats from animals that could only be found on Widden, and sauces made from some farm on Rah’zen.

  As Zane lifted her fork, she looked across the table at Moira, who was trying not to stare, then smirked. She looked over at Lyokh, and said, “And what about you, Captain? Are you pleased with our contribution?”

  Kalder watched him. So far, the captain had not seemd all that shocked by the woman’s appearance. He had adjusted well enough, and seemed to find it easy staring at her eyes rather than her tits.

  Lyokh shrugged. “I suppose more ships are better than fewer.”

  “Congratulations on your elevation to Commander of the Knights of Sol. I understand it’s a high honor.”

  The captain nodded. “Probably the highest. It’s a name that belonged to an elite group of soldiers who were lost in the Kennit campaign.”

  “To the Brood?”

  Lyokh nodded.

  “A pity,” Zane said. “But then, I understand the Republic has become quite used to loss.”

  Kalder watched to see if Lyokh would rise to the subtle jab.

  “We’re used to killing and being killed, ma’am,” he said, his face and tone as flat as a professional porhl player. “It’s all we’ve known. And we’ve had a lot of practice at it, seeing as how we keep coming to other people’s rescue and getting surprisingly little in return.”

  Moira coughed. Kalder rather thought it sounded like a laugh. She hid her mouth with her hand, gave everyone an apologetic look, and returned to her quiet eating.

  “Indeed,” Zane replied. “But I hope you don’t feel that you are getting little from my government. We are giving you what we can, but there are matters of politics to consider, business with my thanes, and the holes in leadership that were left when my daughters all died.” She nodded. “With such tragedies, and the vacuums they create, I hope you will understand if the wheels of government grind slowly at present.”

  Lyokh nodded. “My condolences about your daughters,” he said. “You and I only spoke briefly before, and you were upset, so I didn’t get a chance to say it.”

  “Thank you,” she said. Then she looked at Kalder. “It’s nice to hear someone who genuinely cares. Others have not even mentioned it.”

  “Sorry to hear about your kids,” Desh said.

  “Be quiet. It means nothing coming from you. Only leadership speaks to leadership.”

  The table went deathly quiet. Indeed, the entire room was as still as a cemetery. No forks moved. No food was eaten.

  Finally, Desh mumbled, “Well…fuck me for trying.”

  Kalder looked at his glass of wine, wondered how much of Old Staz’s Reserve they had left onboard, then downed his glass. He held the glass in the air and one of the stewards rushed over to refill it. Kalder called over to his apprentice, “Julian, if you would please, send all the stewards and staff out of the room. They’re relieved for the night. Make sure to thank them for their work.”

  It took only seconds for the room to be emptied of all but the five of them. Kalder remained seated at the head of the table. Julian was by his side. The three guests had not moved since the Governor’s outburst.

  Once the door was shut, Kalder turned to Zane.

  “You are an uninvited guest at my table,” he said. “I did not have to admit you at the door. I’ve shared my meal with you. I even rose when you entered, though I abhor the artifice of such ritual. And you speak to me like that?”

  “I was not speaking to you, Senator,” Zane said sweetly. “I spoke to this captain here.”

  “Who is my proxy in all things on this ship, and in this fleet. If you disrespect him, you disrespect me. Further—”

  “You speak to me as though you are an equal—”

  “Further,” he stressed, “you make a passive-aggressive statement about the Republic’s considerable losses, then suggest that I ought to be more caring about your own personal loss?”

  “I only highlight the disrespect you’ve shown—”

  “I don’t give a shit about your daughters,” he said. “There. Now what do you have to say?”

  Zane lifted her bloody claw, and slowly placed it on the table. Was it meant to be a threat? Kalder could not say. Kalder could not care.

  “I don’t give a shit about them, and neither did you,” he said, radiating calm and confidence. “You were a cruel, cruel parent, who only procreated so that you could continue your family’s wicked history, a legacy of treachery that is more destructive than productive. You’ve ruled out of fear, and nothing else. You are a vile woman, and the universe cannot be satisfied with merely the purge of the Brood, but only when likes of you are erased from the gene pool. Only when the last temple has collapsed onto the last priest—or priestess—can we know true freedom. But until then, we are all stuck together, aren’t we? All battling the Brood or the Ascendancy or the Ecophage or whatever else swims up out of the abyss to see if we are easy pickings.

  “I execrate word games, so let me be clear, just so you know me. Creatures like you are a blight on all existence, and, if I live long enough to help it, I will see all your heads dashed against rocks, and your bodies flung into black holes, so that your atoms may poison some ot
her dimension.”

  If the room had been a cemetary before, it was a vacuum now. Zane’s upper lip was quivering, forming an almost-snarl as she tightly maintained her composure. The others looked between one another, unsure of what to do.

  “And the only reason I haven’t decided to give up on diplomatic negotiations with you, despite the two times you’ve insulted me, is because of the fact that you were raised, against your will, into a religion created by vile xenos. You are stupid. And ignorant. Ignorant of what power has truly been bestowed upon you, thinking it is Mahl’s grace, and you are oblivious to what power humanity might yet achieve.”

  “You blaspheme my god in my presence?”

  “I can only blaspheme something that exists. And Mahl doesn’t.”

  Zane’s eyes flashed for a moment, then narrowed. Such a baleful stare would have killed him if it were possible. And Kalder did feel her reaching out, testing the invisible energetic barriers all around him. Let her test, he thought.

  “You are only alive because of what we brought you,” Kalder concluded. “You are here, eating my food and drinking my wine, because I pulled uncountable strings to bring the Brotherhood here. You only breathe now because of the heroics of men and women like Captain Lyokh. He has friends whose lifeless bodies are being shipped away, even now, or else were obliterated entirely, all to defend you.

  “And since our last meeting, you have begun to realize the truth. That you are small. But your mind denies this truth, like an immune system fighting off a foreign agent. You reject this simple truth—that you are, and always have been, a big fish in a small pond. Now you are in the ocean, Governor Zane, and you swim with sharks of a size you cannot comprehend.

  “So, test me. Test every ounce of power that I have. And when you lie broken and bloodied, defiled the way Mahl would have you, remember this, and remember this always: I came here to ameliorate your problems, but I do not give a shit about your daughters. Nor do I care for your subterfuge, your passive-aggressive manners, your haughty air, the artifice of your rituals, or the respect you think you can command from me, or from the others at this table.