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

by Lawrence P White

  Veswicki shook his head. “Almost, but I can’t quite grasp it.” He shook his head again. “The meaning eludes me. We’ll have to think on this.”

  Krys looked over at Tarn who was sitting almost at attention in his chair, ignored through most of the meeting by these senior officers as their thoughts dealt with matters of such great import. Through all the many hours she and Tarn had spent together, she knew him well, and her thoughts, of late, rarely strayed far from him, but she had never seen him look quite this way. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes seemed glazed as he looked straight ahead, almost as if he was in a trance. She untangled her legs and went to him, crouching down before him. She touched his knee, and his gaze lost its glazed look to settle on her own.

  “Tarn?” she asked.

  He smiled kindly at her and covered her hand with his own. “You’ve done well, My Lady.”

  Her face lit up. “You know what it means?”

  “I might. A pattern is clear. I can’t say if it’s the right pattern.” He looked at Veswicki, then Seeton. “If I’m right, sir, she’s given you what every admiral has ever hoped for – a crystal ball focused on a campaign. I hesitate to tell you, because if I’m wrong, it could mislead you into disaster.”

  “Son, experts will study this message after you’re long gone. I’ve never been a great one with riddles. I prefer clarity. Tell me what you think.”

  “The message is in four parts. None of the parts, by themselves, means much, but if you put them together they form a pattern, and maybe a strategic plan. Let me present a scenario. A battle is brewing. Your resources are limited, they always are, and as a commander, you’re pulled in many different directions as you place these resources. Pretty standard warfare, isn’t it, sir?”

  “It’s textbook.”

  “Okay, so the battle’s shaping up, and your resources are committed. You might have losses, but that’s okay as long as you win, right?”

  “To a point.”

  “That’s the crux of the message, sir. Two follows one. I don’t think the phrase stands alone. I think it applies to the phrase before it.”

  Veswicki’s eyes widened. So, too, did Seeton’s a moment later, and a grin lit his face as he considered the repercussions. “A second, larger battle follows the first. If I’ve overcommitted to the first battle, I might not have sufficient resources for the second. It fits!” he said, smacking a fist into his other open hand. Gods, what a boon!”

  “There’s the last part, sir.”

  “Yes. Rule two wins. You said all parts of the message form a plan, but what is rule two?”

  “It’s pretty basic, sir. To win a battle, ideally a commander would want several things. After superior intellect and adequate resources, what would you most want?”

  “A location for the battle so I could set my resources.”

  “And that’s where Rule two comes in. Remember the mantra, sir? It was the first thing forced on you at the Academy.”

  “I do. A sailor’s duty comes first, preservation of self comes second . . .” He stopped talking as he considered the words. “How does this relate to location?” he mumbled. He looked to Tarn. “To win, I must save myself?”

  “Maybe not just yourself, sir. Maybe your command. To win, you must save your command. I believe the second major battle might take place right here.”

  Seeton looked to Veswicki with a look of awe on his face. They stared at each other, then at Tarn, and finally at Krys who continued to stare at Tarn in wonder. She placed a hand on Tarn’s cheek, and for a moment it was just the two of them in the room again. Then she turned to Veswicki.

  “Yours was a vision, Governor. There were no words.” With some difficulty he forced his mind back to the matter at hand and nodded. “Will you describe the First Knight, please?”

  “Struthers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Human, late middle-age, tall and authoritative, balding. Since he carries a Rider, the balding is something he chose.”

  She nodded. “In my vision you sat across a table from two men. There may have been others in the room, I can’t say. One of the men was a Knight. He’s my brother.” She glanced at Tarn with a look of triumph. “The other was a tall, dark man. A full head of black hair, black eyebrows, the dark stubble of a beard, black eyes, and a craggy face. His hand . . . it was a hard hand accustomed to hard labor . . . was just retracting from a medallion attached to a gold chain that lay on the table. The medallion was open, and the new Queen’s countenance shone forth.”

  “A First Knight’s medallion?” Veswicki asked.

  “I believe so, though I’ve never seen one. That is not the most significant issue. The medallion was open, gentlemen. Do you understand the significance of that?”

  Veswicki’s gaze never moved from hers. “She is alive whenever this meeting takes place. Because it’s a vision, you believe the meeting takes place in the future, not the past.”

  “Precisely. Had the meeting already taken place, you would know, wouldn’t you sir.”

  She turned to Tarn. “I think we’re done here.”

  “Almost, My Lady.”

  Veswicki blinked, then took a step back. “My Lady?”

  Krys turned a stern expression on Tarn. He ignored her as he addressed Veswicki and Seeton. “Some are born with the title, and some earn it. I believe she has earned it.”

  Veswicki looked at him in amazement, still shaken from the revelations he had been part of in this small room. But he turned to Krys and bowed. “He’s right, My Lady.”

  Seeton, too, bowed. “We shall be forever grateful for what you have brought us. You have carried your gauntlet to us, and it is now our turn to carry it the rest of the way. We will not disappoint you, My Lady.”

  “I am but the Queen’s Seer,” she stated emphatically. “It is her we serve, no one else.”

  “But we can honor, My Lady, and we do.” He turned to Tarn. “You had another issue, Lieutenant?”

  “I do, sir. On our approach to Aldebaran I, we noticed quite a few Chessori ships, more than we’ve seen in any other system. What is their purpose here?”

  “They’re just traders,” Seeton answered. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because they are our enemy, and yours. Their presence here causes me great concern for you. We have not told you everything.” He looked at Krys. She nodded her head, and he continued. “We told you Daughter’s trade mission to Dorwall was a failure. The reason it was a failure is that the Chessori destroyed it.”

  “Lieutenant, she was escorted by two heavy squadrons,” Veswicki reminded him.

  “And I personally observed their remains with my own eyes.”

  “Surely you jest, Lieutenant.”

  “No, sir. Admiral Chandrajuski dispatched three heavy squadrons to go to her rescue when confronted with a vision from Krys. She and I watched from afar as the three squadrons, 42 ships, approached 15 Chessori defenders. A few shots were fired, then the guns of our squadrons went dead. The Chessori destroyed all 42 ships without suffering counterattack.”

  As his story unfolded, their eyes filled with alarm. “We know how they did it,” he added. Veswicki and Seeton stood, and Tarn rose with them. “They have a weapon of some kind that affects the mind. The mind weapon completely incapacitates everyone within its range except for the Great Cats. They succumb, but through sheer willpower they continue to function.”

  The two admirals could do little but stare at him. In all the history of Empire there had never been a weapon that affected the mind.

  “I cannot speak to the capabilities of individual traders, sirs,” Tarn continued, “but Chessori military ships brought three full squadrons to their knees without firing a shot, and we have firsthand knowledge of a single trader attempting to do the same to us. He was taken out by Great Cats, but without the cats the squadron would have succumbed. We were again chased by four Chessori traders as we left Orion Sector. We never came within firing range, but in our opinion, had we come close en
ough to them, we’d be dead now. I believe that four Chessori ships might have overcome even the cats. The Rebels are our enemy, but so too are the Chessori. We have surmised that they might even be working together. The mind weapon of the Chessori must be considered in your plans, sirs. Admiral Buskin is working on a plan to counter the mind weapon, but it is not yet ready.”

  Tarn turned to Krys. “We’ve done everything we came here to do. It’s time to go.” He took her arm and led her and Trist from the room. Rappor lifted an hour later.

  Chapter Fifty-seven: Gleasons

  Otis peered at the late afternoon sun as he loped across the tree-studded grassland, his gait effortless and silent. Shadows lengthened in the lowering sun, turning the shadows of trees into long-armed giants reaching toward something unseen in the east, seemingly changing shape as the tall grass undulated in the breeze. He knew what the shadows reached for: the eons old call to battle that presaged the coming struggle.

  The gleasons did not know about the presence of him and his brothers and sisters, but they didn’t need to know. They were that good. He had never personally encountered a gleason, but he knew the songs and believed the gleasons to be evil incarnate. Not much on imagination and not much on prescience, Otis nevertheless felt his soul shudder as if a demon had floated across his grave.

  The People believed in spirits good and bad, angels and demons, reality and the supernatural. They were, after all, still quite primitive at heart. Though they functioned well in the most modern of societies, age old beliefs still lurked in the hearts of the modern Guardian and Protector. Beneath the façade of civilized behavior imposed by their chosen purpose within Empire lay simple, ancient beliefs honed by generation upon generation of survivors. For the People, change came slowly. The traits most treasured among them remained strength, perfect reflexes, and the mental agility necessary to survive, all bounded by personal integrity. These traits had sustained them over the millennia.

  Today all that would be tested. Today the demons might prevail. He and his team would use every skill in their considerable repertoire to take the demons down, but their success was not a sure thing.

  Jessie and the rest of the cats had been running surveillance on the gleasons for three days and nights. They had remained outside the perimeter surrounding Chandrajuski’s home, a perimeter outlined by tall poles. The poles projected an invisible sensory field that detected motion, heat, sound, and life force itself. The cats knew how to get around the system which had been designed and built by the Empire prior to the coup, but it was not an easy or sure thing. The slightest wrong move would send a warning to the gleasons guarding the property.

  Jessie had the equipment, and it was her job to circumvent the barrier. The other cats would maintain their surveillance of the three gleasons. A number of plans had been discussed before the teams moved into position. The plan he selected would depend on what those surveillance teams discovered. How hard was it to keep the gleasons in sight? Would it be possible to surprise them? What weapons did they have? What were their patrol patterns, their eating and sleeping patterns?

  Otis slowed and lowered his belly to the ground as he neared Chandrajuski’s property. He stopped and paused to look, listen, and smell. All seemed well. He resumed his forward progress, though much more slowly now. He sensed Jessie before he saw her, and he moved cautiously ahead, emitting a very low growl to alert her of his presence. He did not want to instigate a battle out here by mistake. Her ears twitched; she had heard and acknowledged his signal.

  She briefed him on her team’s findings. Two of the gleasons were under observation at present, one on each side of the property. The whereabouts of the third was unknown, but they believed it was sleeping.

  Otis looked around uneasily, his hackles lifting in alarm. Could it be out here studying them at this very moment? The demon floated across his grave again. The gleasons were not smart, but they were cunning. The creature could very easily have circled around behind them. Jessie had reason to believe it had not, but the creatures were virtually invisible when they chose to be, and the breeze was coming from the direction of the house. A gleason outside their position would be undetectable, but they would be detectable to it.

  Her plan called for four cats to act as two-man sniper teams. She and Otis would take out the first gleason. They would have to do it slowly to ensure it had time to get a mental message off to its partners, but they absolutely had to kill it before its partners arrived. Two other cats would take out the second gleason. She and Otis would remain in the vicinity of their first kill, drawing the remaining gleason to them. Two cats would be placed strategically to defend them with sniper shots from a distance, and they would be joined by the other two if time permitted.

  Otis did not like the plan: it did not play to the strongest abilities of the Great Cats. They were at their best as individuals, using their intelligence, great strength, and quick reflexes to best their opponents. But one on one, the cats were no match against the gleasons. Close-in personal combat was to be avoided if possible. Against the gleasons’ four hands, each finger tipped with a sharp claw, finding an opening would be pure luck. Otis never depended on pure luck. The goal was to bring as many weapons to bear on each gleason as possible, preferably from a distance and preferably on all the gleasons at the same time. That would not be possible today unless the third gleason could be located, but knowing the whereabouts of even two was an advantage he had not counted upon.

  Though he did not like Jessie’s plan, he knew it was the best plan. The two of them would be bait, and that was appropriate. Of the six cats, they were the two most experienced. Three hours remained before the Queen and her party would arrive. It was time to move into position.

  Jessie went to work on the fence, working carefully with delicate tools and projectors to modify the field between two posts, bending and lifting the field to provide a narrow band beneath that was free of sensors. The work took a full hour. She and Otis squirmed carefully and silently through the cleared section, then moved even more carefully into the killing zone. The other cats followed, handing off surveillance one at a time.

  Jessie, intimately familiar with the lay of the land, led while Otis kept a ten foot interval behind her. Both moved with all the stealth bred into their race, their very lives and the success of the Queen’s mission in their hands. If they failed, the Queen failed.

  Having never seen a gleason, Otis was not sure what to expect, but when the gleason finally came into view, he knew it immediately. He caught a shimmer beneath a tree as the creature moved, and he instantly froze, then lowered his belly to the ground. A smell registered on his senses, and though he had never smelled a gleason, he knew instantly that it was the smell of his prey. Oily and obnoxious, the smell sickened. His hackles rose up, his jowls rose in a silent roar, and he felt the ancient blood lust rise. His deadly skills were ready: the hunt was on. Calm and focused, he felt as if his whole life had been preparation for this one fight.

  Jessie signaled to the other pair of cats that she and Otis had their prey in sight. The two cats moved off to set up a sniping position while the team from the other side of the compound kept the second gleason in view. They settled in to await the arrival of the rest of the Queen’s party, moving as the gleason moved, never letting it out of their sight.

  Ellie, her Knights, and the rest of their contingent arrived. The moment they set foot into Chandrajuski’s home, Jessie gave her signal and fired at the gleason in her sights. Two quick shots took off a leg and an arm. She and Otis moved in instantly as the creature went down silently, its ability to change color gone. It was now a dark green, a color that blended well into the shadow cast by the tree above it. In spite of its terrible wound, each remaining hand held a weapon. Two blasters and a knife were ready.

  Otis rose and loosed off another shot, hitting the gleason in the torso and throwing it backward. The gleason arose instantly and fired a blaster, but Otis had flattened himself to the ground. The shot narro
wly missed. Jessie finished the creature off, then both of them raced to its side to make sure the job was done.

  The other gleason under observation melted into the tall grass the moment its partner was shot. It’s reflexes were simply incredible. The two cats aiming at it never got off a shot. They moved out silently, grimly determined, using all their senses to track their prey. The gleason had disappeared in the direction of Otis and Jessie. The cats followed at a run, their bellies scraping the ground. One cat exposed itself to draw fire, but nothing happened. He raced a few meters, then raised up again. The gleason materialized beside it, sinking a knife into its ribs. The cat dropped, soon to die. The second cat got off a shot, creating a huge hole in the side of the gleason’s torso. It turned two blasters on the cat and fired both. The cat was hit. One front leg disappeared, and it instantly lowered itself to the ground. The gleason disappeared into the grass.

  The cat, despite the terrible wound, moved in the direction of Otis and Jessie, knowing that was where the gleason was headed. He intercepted the gleason just before it reached them and let out a howl as he fired his blaster. The gleason responded instantly. A poisoned knife flashed into the side of the cat, and he fell. The sniper and spotter reacted instantly, firing repeatedly and killing the gleason. As if rehearsed, the third gleason appeared at their side, killing both snipers with blaster shots.

  Otis and Jessie were on their own. Two gleasons were dead, but the third was fully functional. They split up in the direction of the last gleason as it faded into the grass. Otis fired repeatedly into the grass in an effort to distract the creature, and Jessie followed suit, throwing several grenades in a spread pattern. In self defense, the gleason returned fire. Otis and Jessie fired repeatedly at the area the shots came from. Amazingly, one of the shots struck home. A scream rent the gathering twilight as the gleason lowered itself to the ground. Jessie was on it in an instant, followed closely by Otis. Her teeth bit into the gleason’s neck, its most vulnerable spot, while her feet and hands tried to fight off the gleason’s weapons. Its feet tore at her body as she bit deeper in an effort to sever its spinal cord.