by Max Jager
Rem suddenly entered the room, causing Hathren to drop the blow dryer he had just turned off. He closely examined Hathren's handiwork, appearing to attempt to find any kind of fault with it.
"Hmm, we do have a slight problem here, Runt."
Hathren's heartbeat accelerated. "A p-problem?"
"Yeah and it's simply this..."
After several moments of silence, Hathren could bear it no longer. "What? Just spit it out already for fuck sake!"
"The problem, Runt, is that you're simply too good with a needle and synthetic organic cloth. Man I thought with that head of yours you could guess when your old pal is bluffing."
"I became too emotionally attached to it, I guess," Hathren responded sheepishly.
"Keep it up, Runt. At this rate, our children will live a life where they need not deal with discrimination. That's what we owe them through our pact."
"We can only hope they'll pay the favor forward," Hathren added.
A fast learner by means of doing, Hathren perfected the surgical process over the next few days, making each successive baby more and more humanlike. He only left the surgery room to eat, sleep and dispose of his waste. Within the next three days, he had managed to perform twenty-two procedures total, covering all the subjects that his fellow kin had brought in.
Hathren and Rem sat alone together for supper on the evening of Hathren's fifth day at the hideout. Rem appeared to have a large burden on his mind that he intended to clear by speaking.
"Let me first say, Runt, that you've really done us proud. You didn't seem much use to the gang back in the days you were a nerd and a bookworm, but now I can see how much that has paid off.
"I've been reduced to nothing better than a rebel and a rogue, using violence and intimidation to accomplish my goals throughout, and that is why I must die tomorrow when the government finds this hideout with the sole intent of putting you to work for Serann's new empire. By revealing your true identity to you, I have played my part in advancing the honor of our race."
Hathren quietly listened while eating his meal of rice, beans and preserved meat. He nodded stolidly at Rem's last remark.
"My final act to play," Rem continued, "will be holding a gun to your head in a feigned attempt to keep you hostage. My demise will come from behind by means of a sniper at which point you will relinquish yourself to Serann and his forces. Understood?"
"I understand," Hathren whispered.
Rem rose and turned his back on his long lost friend. "It was nice knowing you, Runt."
Hathren let a single tear fall freely from his left eye and run all the way down to the base of his neck. "Likewise to you, Rem."
6:33 a.m.
Hathren had failed to sleep the entire night and felt equally relieved and devastated with the imminent coming of the sun. A single knock on his hostel door alerted him to the discussed protocol. They're here.
As ordered, he fled toward the hangar where a single, heavily-armored tank awaited him. He recognized the silver and black-trimmed machine as one of the elite few manned by the highest officials in the army. It sported a long 120 millimeter barrel and a rear thruster that could accelerate it to well over a hundred miles per hour for brief periods of time.
The sound of an explosion above ground alerted Hathren to the presence of the imperial army and he wasted no time finding his way into the small manhole entrance of the tank. As he expected, Rem was already inside preparing to man the vehicle. The two half-orcs nodded to each other, and the tank sped out of the hangar at top speed and full boost. Liquid crystal displays inside the tank displayed barren surroundings, devoid of a single tree or wildlife. The display to the rear of the tank showed a sleek aircraft quickly approaching. Once over the tank, it twisted in midair followed by a quick retake that reversed its direction.
The displays in the tank instantly became hazy and soon afterward shut off along with all the interior lighting.
Rem sighed. "Didn't think they'd have the nerve to use EMP. This is it, Runt."
Hathren could already hear the purring of several tanks and other vehicles approaching from his rear. Rem opened the hatch of the tank and emerged gripping Hathren by his hair and holding a low caliber handgun to his right temple.
"Stay back or I shoot!" he yelled convincingly.
A projected voice sounded from the oncoming military vehicles, "Release the hostage and we promise this will end peacefully."
"You promise?" Rem scoffed. "That's just as good a guarantee as me sparing the life of this runt for you fucking two-faced bas-"
The stress on Hathren's hair lifted immediately as Rem fell to the ground, a gaping hole in his forehead bleeding profusely. As Rem had said, the fatal shot came from behind-the source being a cloaked soldier standing right on top of the very tank they had just dismounted.
Not a sniper, Hathren thought, but close enough.
"Put your hands behind your head!" ordered the booming voice coming from the military formation.
Hathren did as he was told and allowed himself to be escorted back to a military envoy by Rem's killer. He curled his fist and pressed it hard against the back of his head. Your sacrifice will not be in vain, Rem.
9:36 a.m.
In a heavily adorned court, wearing robes of white lined with purple, Serann astoundingly appeared more dignified than Hathren had ever seen him, more so than as a lawyer and even a college student whom Hathren had gotten to know personally through his six years at Ventare. Hathren received a warm smile from him as he entered the court wearing robes of a silky white. An ancient, balding man whom Hathren recognized to be the Vice Chancellor of the IFG took the podium at the head of the room and quieted the inhabiting audience with the clearing of his throat.
"My friends and citizens of the Intergalactic Federal Government," he began, "in light of recent and tragic events that occurred in our Capitol of Brisbane, our entire federation is in desperate need of a new leader who will put our government on due course toward repair. The tragedies I have spoken of earlier encompass the death of ninety percent of our finest public servants, including Chancellor Terry and have made running this government as a Republic impossible. The survivor of a nearly fatal injury himself, Winston Serann has courageously agreed to act in place of the government as an interim leader. I now propose a vote to all in this room and on behalf of all the innocent who were lost in the bloodshed or are currently struggling in the impending chaos. A majority rule of sixty-seven percent will establish Mr. Serann as the appointed leader of the newly formed Intergalactic Imperial Sovereignty. As a man in his final years of life, I am also announcing my retirement in this address and wish to thank those who have stood by me for these many years."
He paused as much of the audience gasped at the last statement.
"Now, I propose the vote. All in favor of electing Winston Serann as the new head of government shall stand up and raise their hand."
Several people rose from their seat and extended their arms. Several tense minutes passed as third-party counters tallied the votes. Finally, the Vice Chancellor voiced the decision, "The Republic of the Intergalactic Federal Government has hereby decided with a sufficient majority of eighty-three votes to forty that Winston Serann shall be appointed the leader of the newly established Intergalactic Imperial Sovereignty, effective immediately."
The announcement drew cheers and applause from many in the crowd. Hathren warily eyed the man he would deceive in the future as he took his position at the podium.
"Children of the Intergalactic Federal Government," Serann started. "It is my privilege and honor to be able to serve you in these trying times. As the head of the Intergalactic Imperial Sovereignty, I assure you all that I will always act on my strong sense of justice in every decision I make. The poor and innocent need no longer suffer while the criminal and cowardly who have ruled the streets for so long shall hereby quiver in fear once my mandates for the military are released. For today, I have only one man to appoint to my cabinet and only o
ne order to give. A dear friend from my days in the University and the man who merely days ago saved my life, Hathren Drel will be indispensable to my new government as head of medical affairs. I would therefore like to call that very man to the podium and request that receive the honor upon taking the Oath of Service."
The audience clapped heartily as Hathren strode toward the front of the room and went down on one knee before Serann.
"Do you, Hathren Drel, swear unwavering service and commitment toward the Intergalactic Imperial Sovereignty no matter what circumstance would prevent you from doing otherwise?" Serann recited perfectly in a strong voice.
"I do."
"Then on this twelfth day of Fall, I do appoint thee my head of medical affairs."
Hathren stood up and returned to his place in the audience amidst even more vigorous cheers.
"Now," Serann continued, "I shall issue my first order as Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces of the Intergalactic Imperial Sovereignty."
He paused for several seconds and then, "Every creature who can be defined to have so much as an ounce of orc blood in his or her body is to be dealt with as follows: those of younger than adolescent age are to be captured and imprisoned by any means of force necessary and those of adolescent age and older are to be executed without mercy."
Hathren shivered at Serann's unwavering confidence in issuing the last statement. So Rem was right about everything. If it is my duty to deceive the most powerful man in this galaxy and beyond, so be it. The fight for the independence of my kind begins now.
B2 Chapter 3
III - Reform Era, Year 1021
12:02 p.m.
"Geez, Runt, it's lunchtime for shit's sake. Why don't you put that stupid book down and have some fun for once?"
"Will you stop swearing, Rem? And for your information, reading this 'stupid book' is my definition of having fun, okay?"
Koren Seffrin, or "Runt" as his friends called him, was no ordinary orc-kind inhabitant of Planet Iltenaan. While the vast majority of his counterparts had heavily darkened skin and highly developed muscle mass, his skin was tan at best and sallow, and his muscles weak and frail. His stick-like arms and legs seemed unfit for manual labor either, a problem considering nearly one-hundred percent of his kind ended up doing something along such lines or entering the military. He had been lucky though. Through tepid support from the "human government," Iltenaan successfully established its first fully functioning school in the province of his residence.
Koren's neighborhood was primarily half-orc, an outcropping of the descendants of orc rape victims who found only rejection in the human world and had no other choice than to travel back to their mother planet. The school, he guessed, was a small offer of penance on the part of the humans, perhaps to maintain good public relations with those of his kind. They had even sent their own certified instructors to teach at the institution due to the issue of orc-kind illiteracy.
Unlike most of his friends who hadn't even bothered to try, Hathren quickly became proficient in reading and writing English much to the delight of his teachers. Furthermore, he also spoke and understood Orc as an inherent mother tongue.
That late-Spring afternoon, as the rest of his friends flocked to the playing field in the relentless heat, Koren sat in the shade of a spruce tree, absorbed in a book detailing the human understanding of a humanoid body.
"Notice in the diagram given by Figure 6.23 that the pulmonary artery is responsible for delivering blood from the heart directly to the lungs where it is oxygenated. As implied from its purpose, this artery is integral to the function of the human body."
Koren didn't know the meaning of the word "integral" but surmised that it probably meant important or indispensable based on the context. He read the section of the textbook further, learning of the intricate connections between the heart and the lungs and how basic bodily function depended on them. After about half an hour into his read, the school bell rang, marking the time for his math class.
Although Koren had gotten to the stage where the material covered by the teacher was elementary to him, he was still among the few who showed up to the class. As he expected, the turnout was low by the time class had begun - ten students in a class meant for forty.
The teacher, a fairly young brunette with her hair done up in a bun, seemed unaffected by the low turnout. "Why should she care if she gets paid the same salary no matter how many of us show up?" Koren scoffed.
"Today, class, we'll be continuing our study of rational numbers, but more specifically, fractions."
Hathren sighed and looked around the room for any sign of Rem or the rest of his friends only to have his search come up negative.
"Koren!" the teacher chirped, "Would you mind telling the class how the reciprocal of a number is obtained and what happens when you multiply any number by its reciprocal?"
Koren groggily rose from his seat and recited the answer his mind had generated, "The reciprocal of a number is the rational number obtained from dividing one by the number. For instance, the reciprocal of two is one-half. You can do this safely for all numbers except zero, because zero can't really be divided into any number. Now the result of any non-zero number multiplied by its reciprocal will always equal one, because the numerator of new frac-"
"Very good Koren!" the teacher lauded in a cloyingly pleasant voice.
"But I haven't fin-"
"It's alright, I don't quite think the rest of the class quite understands what you mean yet. Perhaps you can show us an example on the board?"
Koren sighed. "Alright."
3:51 p.m.
Given that most student's minds were too shallow and weak-willed, teachers at the school neglected assigning out-of-class work, a fact that Koren resented greatly. He also despised that he could not take home any of the textbooks he would find in the library. For now, he sat alone at a crummy wooden table in the establishment, engrossed in a Chemistry book, dreading the four o'clock bell that would mark the closing of the school to all students for the day.
"Since Hydrogen has only one electron in its orbit, we observe that it has an electron configuration of 1s1. Looking at Helium, we see that its configuration is 1s2 and hence its entire orbital is full because the s-orbital only holds two electrons. It is due to this property that Helium can be considered an inert, noble gas."
Koren especially loved seeing mathematics applied in a scientific field and, on a paper he had set aside for practice, calculated the full electron configuration of a few other basic elements. The school bell he dreaded so much finally rang, and he returned the book to its place. Dammit, he cursed as always after hearing the sound.
Brooding on the things he had learned from the textbooks, Koren walked home in a half stupor. At his house awaited an abusive father and older brother, and a nonchalant mother. He received lashes and beating regularly from his father for being too unfit to work in the fields and help make a living for the family, but he was used to that. Koren had learned from his older brother that his father had attempted to kill him as a baby because he was too frail out of the womb but that his mother had somehow prevented his death. Still, his mother showed no outward signs that she truly cared for him. She would never nurse his bruises from lashing and always gave him meager portions of food at meals. "He does not deserve that which he did not work for!" his father raged once.
Koren clenched his fists, wishing the school and library would be open all day and all night. The books, and the knowledge he sought to gain from them every day, had become one of his only reasons for existence. His other was some sort of pact he had made before the establishment of the school with Rem and the gang. He remembered stating solemnly, his blood linked to theirs through an intentional cut in his thumb, that he would preserve the honor of his kind in the face of human discrimination. Koren knew perfectly well what that meant, but wasn't exactly sure how he, let alone his peers, could fulfill it. He assumed getting a solid education and acquiring as much knowledge as he possibly coul
d would lead in the right direction toward doing so. Looking up from the dry, dusty ground, he halted at the sight of a human wearing shades and a suit approaching him.
Rem cursed out loud. "Damn him! Now we don't have an even number of us to play ditch 'cause Nerf's out in the fields today." Rem's body was dark and well-built for his age. He had quickly developed muscle mass as he grew and therefore weighed in at a stout but healthy one-hundred and thirty pounds for his age of ten.
"What d'you think we should do, Jofal?" he addressed a similarly built and colored kid.
"Dono," Jofal replied, "But ya seriously can't count on Runt to handle the brutality of ditch, can you?"
The expansive game of ditch that Rem and his gang played after school covered the school playing field area as well as the cul-de-sac that they called their neighborhood. Often they would hide in trash heaps, pot holes and in some extreme cases, around piles of discarded dung, putrid under the baking sun.
