“Their ships cannot match the Aspis?” Eric said.
Zarok shook his head. “They do not yet have our autonomy. Each vessel needs the mothership to supply them with a constant stream of energy.”
Eric nodded, digesting all that he had learned. “Was this your plan all along? Lead them here so that we have no option but to help?”
Zarok furrowed his brow. “We are in survival mode. This is a desperate time for my species. My comm translator suggests the phrase desperate measures, though I am not precisely certain of the meaning.”
Eric fixed an impatient stare on Zarok. “Don’t pretend to be naive, Commander Supreme. If you are anything, it’s precise.”
“We are here now and soon they will be,” Zarok said.
“And now we’re all shit out of luck, as my Earth father would say,” Eric said, leaning close to the window to take in the light show outside.
“My comm translator knows not that phrase,” Zarok said. “It contains faulty constructs and contradictions.”
“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” Eric said with a grin.
Zarok’s confusion increased. “The pot and the kettle can speak to each other? I understand them to be inanimate.”
“It’s colorful language. It means you are full of shit, you are not telling us the truth, you tell us the story in pieces so that it benefits you.”
“Now I understand,” Zarok said, almost relieved.
“You want Freya and me to save the universe, you’ve given us no option and we must risk everything. Does that about sum it up?”
“Yes, I am black like the pot and kettle,” Zarok agreed. “I will tell you everything. All the pieces. You will see. There is little benefit for anyone.”
“Well, that’s an improvement,” Eric said.
Zarok punched in a few numbers on a glass screen. “Let me tell you a story about your origins and your heritage, son of Nalok.”
A panoramic view of a cityscape glided across the screen. Tall, sand-colored buildings were offset by an alien green sky. The monolithic structures featured oblong windows, tiled terraces and arched bridges that connected all the buildings.
Clusters of purple trees and golden bushes decorated the open spaces. Transport capsules hovered just above the streets. The Lagerian citizenry hurried around the city on foot, yet despite moving freely, they tended to form organized lines, not unlike ants.
“Planet Lageria as once was,” Zarok said, brimming with pride. “Bustling with civic activity. Leaders held the people’s interests in highest regard.”
Eric felt shell-shocked. The images on the screen awakened what felt like lost memories. “How long ago was that?”
“These images were captured two-hundred and fifty human years ago. In the same time, the first changes were noticed. Lagerians became increasingly susceptible to viruses and degenerative diseases. The climate changed, weather became unpredictable. The elemental power we had tapped into through the sensory receptors weakened. We experienced reduced muscle strength and weight loss. It was then we realized Lethos was compromised.”
“Lethos?” Eric said as a new image glided across the screen. The sky in the new city landscape had turned gray; the trees were dying, fruitless and dry, while Lagerians were reduced to half their size, their broad shoulders now hunched and their heads completely hairless.
“Lethos is the nest of the dark stones that fueled Lageria’s prosperity,” Zarok explained. “It was discovered many centuries ago under the foundations of Mandorra, our capital city. Once we realized the benefits of the stones, we protected them. To be a guard of Lethos became the highest honor in our society. Despite our efforts, after many years, the stones began to fail.”
“Nothing lasts forever,” Eric said, “not even magic rocks. That’s hardly an excuse to pull other civilizations into your mess.”
“You speak one truth, but there are others. Truth in one time for one people will not prove as useful in other worlds and other times. Human history, like Lagerian history, illustrates the ever-mutating elasticity of intellectual standards.”
Eric sensed regret in Zarok’s words. The Empire’s power and spirit stemmed from Lethos—like the planet had a single heartbeat.
“When one of our kind touched the dark stones of Lethos,” Zarok explained, “they were transformed. The citizens channeled into powers much larger than themselves. We all benefited from the new connectivity, but not all took on the burden of harnessing the energies into powerful force fields.”
“Your bodies suffered when force fields were created?” Eric wondered.
“Indeed, but with sensory receptor technology, they could control enough energy to power entire planets. They could turn back enemies with minimal effort, and they could heal the sick and wounded. That began the age of miracles that lasted ten generations, and which ended when the stones began to lose their glow. The strongest among us retained elements of the vitality and could still bring our receptors to life, but all others withered.”
“But not you or Nalok?” Eric said, pensively.
“Your father was born a leader. The void he left cannot be filled. In two centuries no Lagerian has been able to activate a dark stone. Maybe we used too much energy too fast. The planet is dying as a result and us with it.”
“If what you say is true then Lageria is doomed even if you defeat the Merdigors. What’s the point of fighting them?”
Zarok stepped closer to Eric. “One dark stone was removed from Lethos before the degeneration began. It was stored at the General Supreme’s manor, so he could have constant access to it. We believe abundant vital energy is concealed in the stone, but only a genetically engineered Lagerian lord could unlock the flow of forces.”
“So, you’re betting on multiple assumptions?”
“It is all we have, son of Nalok,” Zarok admitted. “Understand that whoever unlocks the stone could restore the empire’s glory and sit on the Lagerian throne. We believe that one is you. We are certain Nalok did not create you solely to maintain peace with the earthlings. Your purpose was to activate the last functioning dark stone.”
A sudden shiver raced through Eric. He let the chill sink into his bones, hoping it would provide some much-needed clarity. He could not deny that he was intrigued, that something inside was awakening.
“My purpose is with my people, the ones I know and love. A man’s purpose is his to choose,” Eric stated. “You hope that I can save your planet—that I can save you, but that is not my purpose.”
“But as you said, there is little choice now. You will lead us back to glory and for that you will be named General Supreme. The throne is your blood right. You can shape new laws and decide how our two worlds will work together. You can reactivate Lethos. We are confident we can defeat the Merdigors with you by our side.”
Eric knew there was more to the story. Zarok’s words fit too perfectly together as if rehearsed. “If it all depends on me, why take Freya?”
Zarok considered the question. “We didn’t want her to be a distraction. We have taken into account the feelings you harbor.” He raised a hand as he said this, asking Eric to hear him out. “We have ways to evaluate different levels of human emotion. We have watched you for some time. We understood that if we left the girl behind, there would be little chance you would comply and fulfill your destiny.”
Eric laughed. “You think I would take Freya to Lageria against her will, so I can become your king or whatever? You think I crave power that much? You people are deluded. Lacking respect for the individual and for nature is what brought about your demise.” He turned to go.
“Words can be empty vessels,” Zarok said to stop Eric from leaving. “Perhaps it would be better for you to see with your own eyes.”
“See what?”
Zarok waved his hand. Wall panels slid apart slowly, just wide enough for the two of them to walk through.
Eric followed Zarok down a dark passage, wary and restless, until they reached a r
ound door engraved with the Lagerian three-edged sword crest.
Zarok placed his right index print under infrared light. “Behold.”
The door unhinged and opened. Inside, a crystal orb glistened upon a glass pedestal. Eric stepped into the shining glow of the display. He squinted to focus on something encased in the crystal, a black stone.
“The dark stone,” he said under his breath.
Zarok reached out to grab Eric’s shoulder. “One moment,” he said.
Eric stopped moving as he noticed electromagnetic beams guarding the pedestal from all sides. The shining light from the crystal was actually a white force shield protecting the orb. Zarok had left nothing to chance.
The stone was smaller than a grape and emanated dark glitter.
Zarok turned off the security mechanisms to allow Eric to walk closer to the pedestal. The stone grew brighter with each uncertain step he took.
“It is no longer an assumption,” Zarok whispered with reverence in his voice. “The stone responds to you—to you and no other.”
Eric focused in on the crystal orb. From within the gloomy depths of his gut, an impulse urged him to snatch the dark stone and consume it.
His eyes glazed over the written text in Lagerian characters around the lower part of the orb. His heart filled with desire—a limitless desire as deep as the starry sky and as enchanting as Freya’s brown eyes.
Everything he had ever felt—every promise, every regret, every sorrow, every joy—it was but a sliver of the jolt he now felt surging through his veins as he reached inside the crystal orb.
Take it, my son, an inner voice said. It is yours.
It was Nalok’s voice whispering to him—that voice that had always been inside Eric’s head, telling him he was destined to rule the world.
“One touch and it will be yours,” Zarok urged.
Eric’s right hand lingered above the dark stone. His fingers stretched out, lusting to feel the stone’s power. The glistening crystal mesmerized him. He felt dizzy. Instead of powerful, he felt helpless. His left hand jumped to action, grabbing his right hand just in time and pulling it away from the stone.
Zarok watched in shock as Eric dashed out of the room.
CHAPTER 11
FREYA
Nothing felt right. She had conceded to Eric and his buying time tactic, but that didn’t feel right either, not at all. Sure, Eric might regain his full strength by waiting, but their hosts could also put in place multiple methods of defense before Eric agreed to act.
The last time Freya underestimated the Lagerians, children died. She paced back and forth beside her bed. Confinement in small places always drove her crazy. The aliens were hiding something. Why else would they deny her access to the main sections of Aspis?
She preferred not to go behind Eric’s back, but if he did not come up with a plan of action soon, she’d have no choice. She wasn’t here of her own free will—she didn’t have to agree to anything the Lagerians said.
Her stomach twisted at the shuffle of feet outside her door—then the footsteps stopped. She stepped quietly toward the door to listen when someone knocked loudly.
Freya took a breath to calm herself. “Yeah, come in,” she said.
Lada, the female who had escorted Freya to her room, stepped inside carrying a tray of food—human food by the looks of it, featuring a pot roast, salad greens, bread rolls and vanilla pudding with a cherry on top.
Freya forced a smile as Lada set the tray on a small side table. Her prosthetic arm moved with natural ease, but the limp was worse now. Freya noticed that Lada’s left leg was shorter than her right. A thin veil covered the burned half of her face.
Lada finished setting the table and gestured Freya to sit.
“You first,” Freya said.
Lada tilted her head, blinking. “I understand not.”
Freya shrugged. “I won’t eat unless you try it first. I’d rather not get drugged today—or poisoned.”
Lada lowered her head. “I understand not,” she repeated.
Oh boy. “Is this the only phrase you know? No chit-chat for the prisoner today?”
Lada straightened her neck. “You are not a prisoner,” she said.
Okay, that was better. “So, you do speak English?”
Lada touched the comm device clipped to her collar. “We can adapt to over two-thousand languages.”
This amused Freya. “I wish I could speak Spanish or Chinese to you, but then I’d need one of those mystic translators.”
“Not mystic,” Lada said. “There are no gods in our translators.”
“I know,” Freya said. “I’m just saying.”
“Yes, I’m just saying, too,” Lada agreed. “Please, eat. This is food.”
Freya now liked Lada too much to poison. That, combined with hunger and the scrumptious pot roast, caused her to sit and pick up the fork.
She dived into the steamy beef. To her delight, the meat was just right. Juicy yet not greasy. Soft yet not soggy. Biscuit would be a fan. He’d march back to the kitchen to demand the recipe even if the cook was a service robot.
“If you are to stay, you might as well eat,” she told Lada. “Don’t just stand there staring, there’s plenty for us both.”
Lada cleared her throat. “Forgive me. I will leave you in peace.”
Freya sat up, surprised that she wanted Lada to stay longer. “Please. Have lunch with me. I mean, we are not prisoners, right?”
Lada returned to the table cautiously, stealing a glance at the door. “We are not prisoners, no.”
“Speak freely,” Freya said.
Lada exhaled. “Your food, it is strange,” she said. “You are also strange.”
Freya smiled. “Okay, well that’s a start.”
“I do not mean to offend,” Lada said. “You are strange in a good way.”
“You as well,” Freya said.
“Your face is interesting,” Lada said. “I like the way it changes many times from one moment to the next.”
“We call them emotions,” Freya said with her mouth full.
“Those are emotions?” Lada said, enthralled. “They dance on your face?”
Lada fascinated Freya as much as the other way around. “On some faces,” Freya said. “Where do you show emotions?”
Lada covered her mouth. “In our society, that question is impolite.”
“Oh, okay. My apologies.” Freya wiped her lips with a napkin. “Can I ask… how did you receive your injury?”
Lada’s eyes did not blink now. “A long time ago,” she said.
“You have been in stasis for a long time.”
“Thirty-two years,” Lada clarified.
“Thirty-two years? That is a long time. You look younger than the others.”
“I’m sixty-two in your years.”
There wasn’t a shred of calculation or self-importance in the way Lada talked. In that regard, she was unique among Lagerians.
“That’s hard to believe,” Freya said. “You look very young.”
“I am very young for my people,” she said.
“I’m nineteen,” Freya said.
“You are only a baby,” Lada said.
They both smiled. “You sound like Eric. He treats me like a baby.”
“Men protect,” Lada said. “It is their nature.”
“Men and their nature,” Freya said. “It’s a bit much.”
“I understand, but the men of Aspis care for me even though my face is not easy for their eyes. You are different. You look at my eyes always. Others are curious of my unique damage.”
“Your eyes are more unique and all that they should look at,” Freya said. “If they cannot see that, then they are boring and wrong.”
Lada lowered her eyes. “You are kind, Freya, even when you bend truth.”
“I am sorry I asked about your injury, Lada,” Freya said.
Lada was pleased to hear her name spoken. She removed the veil from her cheek. Discolored patches cov
ered the whole of the left side of her face, interrupted by blue pigmentation here and there. The edge of her nose and left ear were scarred to the point of disfiguration.
“How?” Freya asked without filter.
“Torture,” Lada said, almost eagerly. “When I was young and pure.”
“What?” Freya said, growing furious. “Who? Why?”
“Merdigors,” Lada said.
Freya shuddered. The images of the alien fiends were still fresh in her mind. She couldn’t imagine the horror of being in the hands of such vicious savages, feeling helpless and at their mercy. She felt the agony as if it were her own.
“I was very young. A Merdigor ship broke through our shields to land on Lageria,” Lada went on. “They captured as many as they could fit on their ship. They took us to a desert planet, Bonovia, a gray wasteland with a viable atmosphere. We had to work, digging for minerals and making their guns. I tried to escape on a cargo ship.”
“They caught you?”
“Yes, and they burned me. They broke the bones in my legs and feet. They cut me everywhere. They gave me no food, no water. I was half-dead when our fleet rescued us. Commander Supreme Zarok healed my internal injuries with his white light. The arm was lost. Many others were also abused. Commander Zarok did what he could with limited energy.”
Freya’s chest heaved with desperation. Her back tightened. The universe grew even darker around her. She had been through a lot—but nothing as horrible as Lada had experienced.
“I’m so sorry, Lada.”
Lada nodded. Even as she narrated her terrible ordeal, her expression betrayed no emotion. She remained detached as if the atrocities she described had happened to someone else. Her voice was matter-of-fact, untouched by intonation or nuance. There was neither drama nor blame in her tale.
Another knock on the door interrupted the moment. Lada rose to her feet, picking up the leftovers from the table. She bowed to the second Lagerian attendant who entered the room. Her eyes searched Freya’s. “Thank you,” she said before she exited with the tray.
[scifan] plantation 06 - plantations origins Page 6
