The Complete New Dominion Trilogy

by Drury, Matthew J.

  “Aika! Izanami!” Machiko cried, hugging them and twirling them about. “I’m so happy to see you!” She kissed them both and set them down, then took them by the hand and led them toward Lorelei Chen. “This is Lorelei. Lora, this is Aika and Izanami!”

  The blush on the pair as they shyly said hello brought a burst of laughter from Machiko and a smile to Chen’s face, though she was equally ill at ease as the two children.

  Chen turned to Machiko then, to see that she was no longer looking her way, but had turned toward the house, where another woman, who looked very much like Machiko, was approaching. Not exactly like Machiko, Chen noted. She was a little older, a little heavier, and a little more… worn, was the only word she could think of. But not in a bad way. Yes, she could see it now, she thought, watching as she and Machiko hugged tightly. This was whom Machiko could become - more settled, more content, perhaps. Considering the amazing resemblance, Chen was hardly surprised when Machiko introduced the woman as her sister, Minako.

  “Mother and Father will be so happy to see you,” Minako said to Lora. “It’s been a difficult few weeks.”

  Machiko frowned. She knew that word of the Empyreal Sun’s activities, and the recent space battle over the planet Nommon, would have reached her parents’ ears, and that was possibly the most disturbing thing of all to her. They would have been worried sick.

  Chen saw it all on her face, and she understood it well, and she loved Machiko all the more for it. She knew that she didn’t want to bring unnecessary pain to her family. It was an admirable trait.

  “Mother is preparing dinner,” Minako explained. “As usual, your timing is perfect.” She started toward the house. Machiko waited for Lora Chen to move beside her, then took her hand, looked over and smiled at her, and led her toward the door. Aika and Izanami bounced all about them.

  The interior of the house was just as simply wonderful and just as full of life and soft colour as were the gardens. There were no glaring lights, no beeping consoles or flickering holographic computer screens. The furniture was plush and comfortable; the floors were made of cool stone or covered in soft carpeting.

  The next introductions were a bit more uncomfortable, but only for a moment, as Machiko showed Lorelei Chen Takayuki, her father, a strong-shouldered man with a face that was plain and strong and compassionate all at once. He wore his brown hair short, but still it was a bit out of place, a bit… comfortable. Machiko introduced Natsuko next, and Chen knew that the woman was her mother without being told. The moment she met her, she understood where Machiko had gotten her sincere smile, a look that could disarm a mob of bloodthirsty scavengers. Natsuko’s face had that same comforting quality, that same obvious generosity.

  Soon after, Chen, Machiko, and Takayuki were sitting at the dinner table, comfortably quiet and listening to the bustle in the next room, which included the clanking of stoneware plates and mugs, and Minako repeatedly saying, “Too much, Mother.” And every time she said that, Takayuki and Machiko smiled knowingly.

  “I doubt they’ve been starving all the way from the Palace,” an exasperated Minako said as she exited the kitchen, glancing back over her shoulder as she spoke. She returned carrying a bowl full of food.

  “Enough to feed the Silver City?” Machiko asked Minako quietly as her older sister put the bowl on the table.

  “You know our Mother,” came the answer, and the tone told Chen that this was not an isolated incident, that Natsuko was quite the hostess. Despite the fact that she had eaten recently, the bowl of food looked and smelled temptingly good.

  “No one has ever left this house hungry,” Minako explained.

  “Well, one person did once,” Machiko corrected. “But Mother chased him down and dragged him back in.”

  “To feed him or cook him?” Chen retorted, and the other three stared at her for just a moment before catching on and bursting out in laughter.

  They were still chuckling when Natsuko entered the room, holding an even larger bowl of steaming food, which of course only made them laugh all the louder. But then Natsuko fixed an imposing stare over her family and the chuckling quieted.

  “I hope you’re hungry, Lora.”

  “A little.” She looked up and gave her a warm smile.

  The look of gratitude was not lost on Machiko. She tossed a little wink her way when she looked back at her. “She’s being polite, Mother,” she said. “We spent most of this morning in the Shadowlands. We’re starving.”

  Natsuko grinned widely and nodded, offering superior glances at Minako and Takayuki, who just laughed again. It was all so comfortable to Chen, so natural and so… so much like what she had always been wanting in her own life, though it had been so long since she had known it. This would be perfect, absolutely perfect, except that her mother and father weren’t here. A brief cloud passed over her face as she thought of her parents. She pushed the thoughts away quickly and glanced around, glad that no one seemed to have noticed.

  Natsuko and Minako took their seats and began passing the food bowls all around. Chen took a good helping of several different dishes. The food was all unfamiliar to her, but the smells told her that she wouldn’t be disappointed.

  “Machiko, it’s so good to see you safe,” Takayuki said. “We were so worried about you…”

  Chen looked up just in time to see the intense, disapproving glare that Machiko answered with. “Father, I can look after myself,” she said. “You know that. I’m a grown woman.”

  “I know, I know!” said the suddenly animated Takayuki. “But I had to say it. Now it’s done. We’ve worried about you every single day, ever since you ran off to join the Einekian military when you were sixteen.”

  Machiko cleared her throat. “If I remember correctly, father, it was you who encouraged me to sign up. I hardly ‘ran off’!”

  “Well, this is exciting,” Minako said, trying to defuse the tension. Everyone looked at her. “Do you know, Lora, you’re the first girlfriend my sister ever brought home?”

  “Oh?” Chen smiled. “I’m honoured.”

  “She was always too afraid before,” Minako continued. “You know, before she came out.”

  “Minako!” Machiko exclaimed, blushing slightly. She rolled her eyes. “It’s no big deal. Anyway, Lora’s such a great friend. I’ve known her for three years, ever since Warmaster Paramo had me released from Daam K’Vosh.”

  Chen smiled at her. “We’ve been through a lot together.” She glanced at Minako and saw that she was staring at her, scrutinising her. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

  “How lovely. Machiko, when are you going to settle down?” Takayuki asked. “Haven’t you had enough of military life? I certainly have!”

  “I’m not in any danger,” Machiko insisted. “This business with the Empyreal Sun should be over with soon enough.”

  “I wish I had your confidence,” he said. “Xam Bahr is a despicable character. I’ve always thought so, ever since your trial. These terrorist attacks… go against everything he ever stood for as Patriarch of the Holy Orthodoxy. Last I heard, there was an assassination attempt on Queen Neferneferu’aten by none other than Senator Jocle. These are dark times, Machiko.”

  She nodded. “Like I said, it will be over soon enough.”

  “We believe there is a way to stop the Empyreal Sun in their tracks,” Chen told him. “This evening we are leaving for the planet Jun’Ko in the constellation Scorpius. What we find there will hopefully give us an advantage over them.”

  Takayuki swallowed a mouthful of food. “I see. And when you find whatever it is you seek there, it will make the things we love a little bit safer?”

  Chen nodded. “That’s our hope.”

  “I don’t want anything to happen to either of you,” Takayuki said, with the gravity of a parent concerned over a beloved child.

  “I don’t either,” Machiko assured him, with almost equal weight.

  “Just come back alive,” he told them.

  9

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nbsp; 192 ND

  THE SACRED PALACE

  SILVER CITY

  Lord Damarus’ personal assistant, Sai’bot, knew his Master was dead before anyone else in the Palace. The message that appeared on his secure communications terminal left no doubt in his mind. Once he had decrypted it, using codes known only to Damarus and himself, Sai’bot knew the Terran Alliance had lost its dark centre. Like the gigantic black hole at the centre of the galaxy, Damarus had been the hub around which everything on Earth and its colonial territories revolved. Now, without him, the Alliance would spin out of control, heading for disaster. Sai’bot should have been filled with despair. He had found his life’s meaning in his service to the Holy Emperor. Without that purpose, the emptiness would surely swallow him. But the last of the Sirkharins could afford neither despair nor oblivion. It was entrusted to him to turn defeat into victory, to salvage order out of chaos, to restore hope. Damarus, his Holy Emperor, was depending on him.

  Sai’bot reviewed the contents of the message once more, as puzzled by its cryptic lines as ever.

  My old friend, the fact that you are reading this means that the worst has come to pass. I have reached the nexus I feared, and have not survived. But you must not surrender. If ever you have been My servant, you must serve Me now. You must bring Xam Bahr to the hidden citadel on Reria. No one, not even Xam Bahr at this point, must know the reason for the journey, but if you succeed, I can be restored. The fate of the One Religion, and the Terran Alliance, is in your hands. When you have done this, return to Earth. You still have a part to play in events to come here. Believe in Me, Sai’bot.

  Your Holy Lord and Emperor, Damarus.

  With one bony finger, Sai’bot touched the erase key. He knew that no one else must see the message. Bad times were coming. Now, a power vacuum existed, and someone would undoubtedly rush to fill it. The armies of the Resistance Movement were already marching on the Silver City, and would reach the Palace soon. No one had the right to the Throne except his Master. Not even Sai’bot himself could claim it. But those who would steal the Throne would also kill to hold it, he knew, and that meant Sai’bot’s life could be in danger. Doubly so, if the usurpers knew of this message. Not that Sai’bot understood it. Damarus was dead, after the long-prophesised confrontation in the Throne Room. He had faced a human from the future, and that had led to the ultimate ruin. His supreme Power, the Power of the All, had not availed him. Yet, Sai’bot trusted that somehow, appearances were deceiving, and that there was hope. Damarus was a scheming ruler, able to plan events far into the future. He would trust in his Master, and he would trust in the All.

  Suddenly, Sai’bot felt very old, very alone, and quite overwhelmed. He regarded his own frail frame.

  “It isn’t fair,” he muttered. “These weak bones cannot bear such a great burden. I must restore you, when you were all that kept me going… but what have you done? You’ve staked all on a Sirkharin, whose only strength left is his love for you. Well it may not be enough. But, I… I will die trying to save you, if need be. There is no other way for me.”

  Sai’bot hung his head. Now, he must deliver the terrible news of the Holy Emperor’s fall to Mathieu Tamar. He did not look forward to that duty in the slightest. Tamar was not a man who took bad news well.

  Still dwelling on his feelings of inadequacy, Sai’bot knocked softly at the door of the Holy Emperor’s Chief Advisor, Mathieu Tamar. He had walked slowly through the ornate halls of the Palace, staring disconsolately at what he perceived as a terrible emptiness. The advisors and government officials he passed knew nothing of the disaster that was occurring. They went on about their business in blissful ignorance, and the vast body of the Alliance continued to lumber along, not realising that it had been decapitated. The news sat like a hot stone in Sai’bot’s gut. He had to share it or it would sear his innards. The first person who had to be told was Tamar, who took care of so many of the day-to-day details of running the Alliance. After Lord Damarus and Patriarch Xam Bahr, Tamar had the most power in the government. He would know what to do to prevent a panic. All too soon, the forces of the Resistance Movement would pour in, with the intention of seizing control. The government had to be prepared lest the blow shatter it.

  The door opened, and for an irrational moment, Sai’bot thought he saw Damarus, miraculously returned from the dead, standing there cloaked in a black robe with a deep hood. But young hands reached up to pull the hood back, revealing the face of Mathieu Tamar. Unlike the other advisors, Tamar dressed in a manner similar to Damarus.

  Not catching Sai’bot’s disorientation, Tamar smoothly asked, “To what do I owe the honour of your presence, Sai’bot?”

  Recovering, Sai’bot replied, “Chief Advisor Tamar, I need to speak with you privately, about a very grave matter. May I come in?”

  “Enter,” said Tamar, and stood aside, beckoning with his robed arms. Sai’bot entered a suite of rooms that, unsurprisingly, mimicked the asceticism of the late Holy Emperor. He faced Tamar, uncertain of how to begin. How to put such a calamity into words?

  Tamar waited patiently, and after a few moments, Sai’bot said the only thing he could. “Lord Damarus is dead, and we must prevent the Terran Alliance from collapsing.”

  Tamar stared at Sai’bot, speechless. Long moments passed. The Chief Advisor looked stricken, but his thoughts were racing. “What happened?” he demanded, speaking in a hushed tone. “How is it even possible? No - don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter how. Reports from the battlefield indicate that our flagship, the Malevolence, has been destroyed, and now… Damarus is dead? I warned him not to underestimate this Resistance Movement. I warned him!” He turned away, trembling in his robes. “I never really thought he would die, you know. I thought I would be able to serve him for the rest of my life - longer, if he shared the secrets of his power with me… I would have been content.”

  “Chief Advisor,” Sai’bot urged, “The reason I came to you first - ”

  “Yes, Sai’bot. The Terran Alliance must not fall.” Tamar began speaking rapidly. “You were right to come to me. It needs a Holy Emperor. A strong person must be placed on the Throne as soon as possible, someone whom the people know and respect. Once the battle is over, we must convene an emergency meeting of the Twelve Factions, and the leaders of the Colonies… to deal with the crisis of leadership. Fear not, Sai’bot, we will come through this with the Alliance intact. I shall see to it immediately. Right now, we will have to contain the information flowing in from the battle itself, and prevent the Resistance Movement from reaching the Sacred Palace. I will take personal command of our remaining military forces. There is a great deal to do. These heretics will not succeed in their evil coup. And so, Sai’bot, we must both keep our hopes intact, even as we struggle with our despair. Go in peace.”

  And before Sai’bot knew it, he had been ushered out into the hall. He hurried back to his quarters, his thoughts in turmoil. A new Holy Emperor! It was unthinkable. Damarus was a part of God Himself, a divine manifestation of the All, and the only living entity who had been worthy of ruling the Alliance for the past three centuries. The idea of a human being, or other sentient creature taking his place and ruling in his stead… it was inconceivable, even blasphemous. He could not allow it to happen. But did he have any power to prevent it? And would he be placing his life in danger if he tried? Tamar had a well-earned reputation for dealing ruthlessly with his enemies. But could they even defeat the Resistance Movement at this point? Wasn’t it too late? Right now, Sai’bot’s life was not his own. His Master depended on him for his very survival.

  When he reached his rooms, he sat down at his private terminal. He breathed slowly, trying to calm down. He simply had not expected this, but in retrospect, it was predictable, from the way Damarus had often spoken of events to come. Well, there was little he could do about it for the present, so he had best turn his efforts towards finding Xam Bahr as quickly as possible. He waved his hand over the Zara’moth computer system, pulling up the det
ails of the Patriarch’s current whereabouts. Unsurprisingly, the leader of the Holy Church was at the Sacred Cathedral nearby, probably deep in meditation.

  Without delaying another moment, Sai’bot went to find him.

  Xam Bahr and Sai’bot descended into the secret tunnels far below the Sacred Palace, in a bid to elude capture. The Resistance Movement forces had now penetrated the Sacred Palace, and were taking prisoners of all personnel loyal to Damarus. The Silver City had been built up like rock strata upon the structures of days gone by, so that going down these hidden tunnels was like going back in time. Soon, they passed beyond the gleaming, modern corridors with artificial light, and entered halls of stone where the only light was the glare of Xam Bahr’s torch. Now and then, they saw mutated creatures in the shadows that resembled large rats, but these were evidently scared of the light and quickly vanished into their hiding places. Bahr hurried along, followed by a puffing Sai’bot, who was pushing his scarecrow-like, monstrous body as fast as it would go.

  “What… what are we rushing for?” Sai’bot croaked heavily, “Surely we would never face pursuit down here!”

  Bahr turned, realising for the first time how he was struggling to keep up. “I’m sorry, Sai’bot,” he said. “We can rest for a moment. I’m not worried about being followed. I’m worried about them closing the space ports to keep me from escaping.” He paused, looking pained. “I can’t help but feel that this is all my fault.” He started to weep softly. Sai’bot put a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. Bahr turned to him, and said, “I gave Lord Damarus my word that I would protect him with my life, and I failed. I failed. And now he’s dead.”

  Sai’bot felt the deep hurt of this white-skinned Nasak Yamanian, and he knew he could help with at least part of it. “It wasn’t your fault, Patriarch,” he said gently. “We all gave our word to protect the Holy Emperor. Lord Damarus must have known he might die here today, and he had a message prepared in advance to send to me if it happened. In it, he told me to get you to a safe place. He knew it wasn’t your fault, and he didn’t blame you. Our Master’s death was something he chose to face. You had no part in it.”