Last of the Chosen (Spirit of Empire, Book One)

by Lawrence P White

  * * * * *

  Months passed. Mike stepped onto the bridge to relieve Ellie. As usual, he found her deeply engrossed in the net, her helmet visor pulled down to cover her face. He studied her as she sat before a console, her focus somewhere in the guts of the ship doing George’s job, tidying loose ends. He resisted an urge to plug-in as well, to join her where he could enjoy her company in ways not possible outside the net, but he decided to just watch for a while.

  An ordinary person she was not. She wore authority as if born to it, always surprised when instant compliance was not a natural outgrowth of her wishes. Mike was pretty sure she had grown up surrounded by maids and servants, the exact opposite of his childhood. But once past the cold exterior that she wore like a professional, an exterior stripped away by the net, a real person remained, a person who continually surprised him with caring and insight. These past months had probably been the first time she had personally done anything dangerous in her life. It was just a guess, just a feeling, and not all the facts added up, but it was how he viewed her. She had risen to the new demands placed on her, risen well. She had fought back against the Chessori during the battle on Earth, including risking her life in an attempt to save her husband. Going into the net had been frightening for her, yet even against Otis’ advice she had sensed the need and responded without hesitation. Since then she had more than carried her weight. Most surprising to him, she had never once complained, something he would not have expected from a rich kid.

  She had that way of looking into him that chilled him to the bone, something he never forgot, but she had not threatened him with it since his first day aboard ship. With the aid of the net, a place where feelings and personalities could not be completely hidden, he had grown to know this woman for who she was. He knew when she was happy, frightened, mad, or just plain scared, and he knew her as she seemed at the moment, focused like a laser.

  She knew him, as well. She had seen him at his best and at his worst, his highest and his lowest. She had seen his uncertainties, and she had supported him when she sensed the need.

  Looking at her now, taking the time to look at Ellie the person rather than Ellandra of the Chosen, his lips pursed. He was troubled. He liked being around her, and he especially liked being touched by her. Their embraces had become more frequent, and those embraces had gone beyond the simple mechanism of two distant souls supporting each other. Her embraces had become personal, and he sought them out, not for support but for sharing. He sensed the same need from her, the same deep contentment that came from personal contact.

  In any other circumstances it would be a wonderful, wholesome exchange, but for them . . . well, it was just plain wrong. They were aliens to each other. They were not of the same species. Because of that alienness, he had to corral the feelings for her that were building within him.

  The thought saddened him. She had become special, very, very special . . . no! He had to smother thoughts of her that included anything other than friendship. Anything else was pure selfishness on his part. She was not of his species. It was okay to like the person she was, but it was not okay to entertain thoughts of any other relationship with her.

  But she could still be his friend. And he could still offer support, knowing they both needed that support. He stepped over to her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and began to massage straining muscles in her back, shoulders, and neck. Her back arched, and she leaned back into his hands. Then she removed the helmet, keeping her eyes closed, enjoying. Eventually, she stood up and turned to him, placing her arms about his waist in an embrace, burying her face in his shoulder.

  Mike responded with his own embrace, knowing that he should not. “This is wrong, Ellie,” he said softly into her ear.

  She leaned back from him, a questioning look in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “We’re aliens to each other. I don’t know what this is doing to you, but what it’s doing to me is wrong.”

  She closed her eyes with a smile and pressed closer. “It’s not wrong, Michael. Does Jake think it’s wrong?”

  “Uh, he’s as confused as I am.”

  “Then perhaps you two should do some homework.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you should do some homework, that’s all.”

  “Hey, you two! Who’s minding the ship?”

  Mike opened his eyes to discover Reba jumping off the central shaft with her radiant smile and a feisty look in her eyes. Ellie turned in his arms to look at Reba, then turned back to Mike and pressed closer. He was looking at Reba in embarrassment when Ellandra of the Chosen reached up and took his face in both of her hands. She kissed him lightly on the lips. When he responded, her kiss grew more insistent for a moment, then they both parted in shock.

  “Uh, excuse me, I’m not needed here,” Reba said, stepping back into the central shaft.

  Mike and Ellie barely acknowledged her. They stared at each other, both at a loss for words, and an uncomfortable silence filled the bridge. The silence grew, neither knowing what to say.

  She broke the silence. “I won’t say I’m sorry if you won’t.” Then her lips trembled. The smile disappeared. “What is happening?” she mumbled to herself.

  “Ellie, come here, wrong or not,” he demanded, holding his arms out. She raised her arms, then lowered them tentatively, uncertain. His arms remained out. She looked him in the eye, then slowly, almost mechanically, she stepped into his embrace. The moment they touched, she softened, melding into his arms, sensing the person she knew from the net, sensing Mike Carver, the barbaric Earthman whom she knew it was impossible to love. They both, for very different reasons, knew such feelings were wrong, but reason had nothing to do with their feelings.

  Chapter Nineteen: Warriors Talk

  Mike drove himself relentlessly as he computed jump after jump. His fear of a gross miscalculation never left his thoughts – a major blunder by him could kill them all. Every time he stopped to think about what he was doing, that he was navigating a starship across unimaginable gulfs in which light years were bandied about as easily as miles on Earth, his stress became apparent to everyone.

  Jake was a lifesaver, always tuned-in to Mike and always there with the right words or feelings to help him. A dark sense of foreboding had begun clouding Mike’s thoughts, and it was growing darker as they moved farther and farther from Earth.

  >Hey, want some help?< Jake asked.

  >I sure could use some. I’m starting to lose the picture. Can you do the driving for a while?<

  >Just tell me what you need.<

  >I need you to take us to our jump point while I finish up the computations. It’s right here,< he said, showing Jake the coordinates. >We need to be there in, let’s see . . . twenty-eight minutes. I got a little behind. Can you speed us up, then make whatever adjustments are necessary to hit the insertion point on the proper vector and at the right speed? Here are the numbers you need . . .”

  Ellie and Reba pitched in as well, knowing the responsibility for reaching Gamma VI rested squarely on Mike’s shoulders. They frequently massaged straining neck and back muscles as he sat sprawled in his seat.

  In spite of having left the Chessori scout behind, they lived in constant fear of an enemy fleet suddenly filling their screens. Mike always had a short jump programmed and ready, something he could execute two or three times if necessary to confuse the fleet. He thought about making a few really long jumps to Gamma VI, but Otis and Jake convinced him it was too risky. They would have to keep plodding along as best they could. They had already used up a large amount of luck, and further tempting fate was not the best way to protect the Heir.

  Resolve needed George to manage her systems. Since he was gone, Jake, Ellie, and Reba covered for him, keeping the screens alive, keeping the net alive, and keeping every system on the ship in the best working order they could. That meant opposite shifts for Ellie and Mike, leaving little time for the enjoyment of merged feelings on the net and very little time
out of the net. Mike began sleeping more and more, and he needed little help from Jake to do so.

  The crew practiced battle stations regularly at Reba’s insistence, and they stayed tight. Whenever she found someone to practice on, she demanded language lessons, as well. The lessons, in addition to teaching her a smattering of Galactic High Standard, provided needed companionship. Ellie, too, demanded companionship, as much as everyone would give. Mike was learning the language quickly, so quickly that he wondered if Jake was teaching him in his sleep. He didn’t ask, just left Jake to his own devices.

  They remained a good team and got even better. Ellie allowed no opposition to her ultimate ownership of Resolve, and though hers was the choice of destination, Mike commanded. Everyone participated with ideas and suggestions, but he made decisions when general consensus could not be reached. Jake supported Mike in everything, and he supported everyone else when on the net. Reba ran interference, bringing the right amount of humor into conversations when necessary, letting herself be the brunt of jokes, making everyone laugh, and just generally offering encouragement. To her, they were always on schedule, always on plan, always making forward progress. She never tired, never allowed negativity, and she aggressively insisted everyone be their best.

  Otis spent most of his time prowling the ship, making adjustments and minor repairs here and there. Reba took to spending time with him at his gun, receiving lessons in manually operating the gun, and they talked as well. Both were warriors, and as such, they had many common interests.

  “What does it mean to be a Protector, Otis?”

  “There are many species who offer protection within the Empire,” he replied. “True Protectors, and I include Guardians in this category, come only from my home world of Brodor. We are in great demand.”

  “I suppose it takes many years of training.”

  “Not necessarily. More than anything else, it takes growing up on Brodor. The planet is quite primitive compared to Empire standards, but it’s the way we choose to live. To eat on Brodor, one must catch one’s meal, and the creatures that inhabit our world have evolved just as we have. Many are clever, they often operate in packs or teams, and they are always hungry. Reflexes, cunning, and a strong survival instinct are needed by everyone who survives on Brodor.”

  “What about your children? How do they survive?”

  “They don’t all survive. We have our methods for introducing them to their inbred talents and we teach them thoroughly, but it is still a matter of survival of the fittest.”

  “Is everyone from Brodor a Protector?”

  “No. Not even most. Those that choose the path of Guardian are given the necessary training, then they go out with other more experienced Guardians to fine-tune that knowledge. A small percentage of Guardians make it to the level of Protector, and they receive the most challenging jobs.”

  “Who hires you?”

  “The rich and powerful. Our services do not come cheap. We do, on occasion, offer free services to those we choose.”

  “Can you teach me any of your skills?”

  Otis pondered her question. “I cannot teach you to be a Guardian, but I might be able to help you improve your skills. You’re already good with the guns. Do you have any other special skills?”

  “I took some basic self-defense classes. Maybe you could help me improve in that area.”

  “No. You would only get hurt, but you will never need to know how to fight a Great Cat, not so long as you continue supporting Daughter. My people will never turn against the Empire. However, I could probably help you in other areas. You’ve probably never fired a hand-held blaster. Now that I think about it, Mike hasn’t either, not ours. You could both use some training. I wonder if he has the time?”

  “He’s pretty busy, but with our species a change of focus can be refreshing. It might even help him focus better on his navigation. He’s been having a little trouble there lately.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just a comment Jake made. Mike’s gotten pretty good at computing jumps, but Jake has noted a few mistakes recently. He actually missed an entry point yesterday and had to abort the jump. All the calculations had to be reworked. It’s probably nothing to worry about, but a change of pace might do him good.”

  “Then we’ll ask. Resolve has a special room for training with weapons of all types. Daughter, too, is in need of a refresher. We can work on various weapons, and we can discuss weak points on body armor, that sort of thing. It’s a good idea, Reba.”

  What has Daughter done for all these years?” Reba asked, changing the subject. “Why has she visited so many worlds with problems?”

  “The Chosen are few in number, very special, and deeply bound by duty, Reba. Imagine the needs of hundreds of thousands of worlds, needs that can be satisfied by only a few individuals. The demands of Empire are constant, forcing the Chosen to be selective and demanding of everyone around them. Other than their closest advisors, everyone has a hand out, always asking for something. Friendships within that setting are always suspect. Daughter and the other Chosen of her line represent the Queen when they travel, and those travels are usually at the request of the world, or worlds, in question.

  “The Chosen resolve disputes, Reba. When all other means have failed, the Chosen are called. Worlds that request royal assistance do so under one set of grounds only: they must agree to abide by the decision of the Chosen. The Chosen study the dispute from all angles, they interview the principal parties, and they Test those of their choosing. Results of those interviews and Testings are never made public. Then the Chosen decide, and there is no recourse to the decision.”

  “It’s all up to one person, and there’s no recourse? That’s brutal.”

  “It is brutal. Because of that, the decision to call the Chosen is always a last resort.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot of power for one person. Too much power, I would think.”

  “I, too, would not want such power. The list of Chosen is very small, Reba, and it is only to them that we give this power. Surprisingly, I think you would find that the Chosen do not want it either. I know for a fact that Daughter considers it a yoke about her neck, and she would gladly relinquish that yoke if she could, but she cannot. It is her calling. I, personally, am grateful for the Chosen and their Knights. Without them and their unbiased decisions, the Empire would not have lasted for the many thousands of years that it has.”

  “Knights? You have knights in your Empire?”

  “A few. Their numbers, too, are limited, very limited. They represent the Chosen when they travel.”

  “Wow. How cool! Does Daughter have her own Knights?”

  Otis squirmed, as if he did not want to answer the question. He finally relented. “She does. Only one.”

  “One! How many Knights are there?”

  “At any given time, around 100.”

  Reba paled. “In the whole Empire?”

  Otis nodded. “There are not enough Chosen to go around. Knights of the Realm represent them whenever possible.”

  “Who is her Knight?”

  “He shall remain unnamed, at his own choosing,” Otis declared. “Few besides the Chosen even know who they are. They do not advertise their presence. But know this: The word of a Knight is the Queen’s word on all worlds. Their decisions cannot be overruled by anyone but the Chosen. Even Imperial Senators must abide by their decisions.”

  “Are they elected?”

  “No. Each one is hand-picked by a Chosen, usually by the Queen herself. In every case, the Queen must confirm the Naming of a Knight. Without Knights, the burdens on the Chosen would be unconscionable.”

  “And because of those burdens, because of those decisions that cannot be appealed, Ellie has to surround herself with Protectors.”

  “Always. I’ve seen some very creative resolutions engineered by the Chosen, and as often as not, neither side wins or loses. The Chosen are revered for their fairness, and in some cases both sides win, but def
initely not in all cases. There will always be some who consider themselves cheated. We Protectors have been very, very successful at keeping them at bay, but Daughter is well trained to protect herself, as well.”

  “She is?” Reba asked in astonishment.

  “Very definitely. That’s why your suggestion for a refresher course is such a good one. There is no telling what dangers we might encounter over the coming months, but we could easily be walking into a trap. I cannot bring myself to believe Daughter and Alexis are the last of the Chosen. It simply defies logic that someone could wipe out the whole Family, but I have never seen Daughter wrong when it comes to matters of State, and she believes the others are gone. It’s one of her Talents, one of the Talents shared by the Chosen. The Empire has not chosen them without good reason.”

  Mike, Reba, and Ellie jumped at the chance for a change of pace, and the additional challenges, so at odds with their other duties, sharpened their minds as a result. Since they were in deep space, there was little threat of discovery, so Otis manned the bridge while all three devoted a full hour to hard exercise each day. Then Otis joined them to direct practice with firearms of all kinds, and they spent a fair amount of time on physical defense. The training room was well-equipped with holographic projections of various combatants and settings, and Otis directed practice with short and long-barreled blasters that simulated the real thing. Since everyone was an accomplished shot already, it didn’t take long for accuracy to reach an acceptable level. They even practiced with flash grenades and stun grenades. Then Otis took them out into the corridors to practice the skills needed to defend against borders, something they would not need, but the skills were similar to what they would need to defend a building if they came under attack after landing.