by David Roman
“So the Republic’s controlled by the Tel Kasar as well?”
“That’s the terrible truth the people of Xenon are unaware of: that the entire Imperial Republic is controlled by an ancient group of warriors. Most people laugh at the very idea.”
“They simply don’t care!” Gaia added. “Not as long as they live their lavish lifestyles while the rest of the galaxy suffers from famine and slavery! While sadistic bastards like Zeth commit mass genocide and Barathon fills the air with his lies!”
Vincent looked at them in puzzlement, but with utmost respect. Here they were, fighting their own kind even though they could’ve lived the life of luxury by ruling the galaxy.
“It’s imperative that you remain with us, Saturn,” Duell said.
Vincent finally came to terms by saying, “Okay. It doesn’t look like I have that much of a choice anyway.” And then added, “Plus, I’m getting used to you guys. In a few hours, I’ve had more close encounters with death than I’ve had my whole life.”
“If you think the rescue was bad, wait till you see where we’re headed,” Spaide managed to sputter.
“He’s not a prisoner,” Duell said. “If he wishes to go, he may.”
Go? Where to? These absurd words made no sense to Vincent. He clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He was done discussing the issues. Now it was time to process what he’d learned.
“So, Princess”—Duell turned to Gaia after taking time to answer Vincent’s questions—“would you mind elaborating what you were doing on Urtan?”
“Observing the situation,” she replied. “The Urtans rose up against the Order last week. Thousands of lives were lost, but they managed to drive out the enemy, destroy their weapons, and kill the Order’s governor. Now the Urtans are demanding independence and recognition of their system, while Damien Dark and the Order are outraged that I brought this situation to a stalemate and stopped them from forcibly retaking the planet they think is rightfully theirs.”
“Your father regarded the Urtans with a passion.”
“Urtan’s still unbeknownst to Xenians. As far as they’re concerned, it’s an ‘off-world’ with no resources and is an interplanetary-recognized part of the Order. I’m the only hope they have in achieving autonomy. I’ve managed to bring this case before the Council, but as I was leaving Urtan, my ship was attacked…” She turned in her seat to fully face the Xenian master. “I told Galadan to contact only one man in case something happens to me—Oryon Krynne, the man my father told me to fully trust.”
“Zeth,” Duell grated, slightly frowning. “He has a hand in this.”
“Cosmos is outraged,” Gaia continued. “He’s gathering the entire Horde. They’ll wipe out everyone on Urtan unless Galadan convinces the Council. I barely persuaded Vermont to hear his plea.” She paused, her long lashes masking the sadness in her lavender eyes. “At last, Urtan will speak for itself, and perhaps the Republic will listen...”
She looked down. “They managed to keep me out of the situation, though,” she said with dismay.
“Forgive me for saying this, but the Republic cannot afford upsetting a valuable vassal state, especially during these few years of tranquility,” Duell said. “Without your presence, the conflict will no longer be frozen. They’ll simply grant the Order the right to retake Urtan.”
“I will not stand by and watch these people get slaughtered by that demonic cult!” Gaia stood up, shouting out her cause. “I will no longer condone genocide! I have ruined my entire career for this. I swore on my father’s grave that as long as I continue serving on the Council, I’ll never let the horrors that occurred on Seturcica repeat themselves!” She took a deep breath and said, “I don’t really care what happens to me. I will undoubtedly get arrested for your rescue the very second I set my foot on Xenon… but that doesn’t matter. Only the lives of Urtans matter. You have to help us, Duell!”
“Wow,” Spaide said. “Such fervor. Is it too late to apologize?”
Gaia shot the Dirsalian a scornful glance but remained silent.
“Calm down, Gaia,” Duell said. “I’ll accompany you to Urtan, as I promised—as Oryon promised—and then we shall sit down with Galadan and discuss our part in this mission. I cannot make promises just yet, for I still don’t know what you want us to do.”
Her small nostrils flared, but then she eased and sat down. “I care,” she said to Spaide, “because nobody else does.” She then looked back at Duell. “I am so sorry for getting you involved. It’s just…” She clasped her face, not from tears but from failure. “I seriously didn’t know who to trust.”
“It’s a difficult time for us all,” Duell said. “They might’ve won this battle, but the war’s still on.”
Vincent couldn’t agree more with Duell’s statement. In this case, the word difficult was euphemism.
“I just hope Vermont listens.” Gaia raised her chin. “He’s so wise, so magnanimous.”
Duell and Spaide glanced at each other.
“Princess,” Duell began. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but Vermont is one of them.”
She looked baffled. “Of whom?”
“The Tel Kasar.”
“I… I don’t believe it!” she exclaimed. “It’s impossible! Does that mean… no! But I’ve known him for more than a decade!”
“The truth extends beyond your knowledge.”
“But…”
“Do you not trust me?”
Gaia helplessly looked over at the companions as if she expected one of them to tell her that the Xenian was joking. But she knew better than that.
“Vermont?” she said. “I’ve had my doubts if he was even aware of them, much less being one…” Thoughts began running through her head of the councilmen that still favored democracy, of the countless Senators and Vassals, of the members of the Revolution coalition. She thought she knew the extent of corruption and treachery in the Republic—oh, how she was mistaken. Who is who? And who is a friend?
“I’m sorry, Gaia,” Duell said, “but the entire government is a hoax. Vermont is not just some idealist that is unknowingly controlled by the evil Tel Kasar—he is one of them.”
“I don’t understand...”
“You’ve said yourself that it’s just a veil of illusions over the eyes of the only people who can end this regime. The Tel Kasar are the true rulers of the Republic. Your father knew this, as did Oryon, and that’s what ultimately brought his demise.”
The mentioning of her father filled Gaia’s eyes with tears. She exhaled. “Then Galadan’s petition will be obsolete.”
“This bold act of yours nearly cost you your life; let’s just hope he survives the trip to Xenon.” Duell paused, and then changed the subject, “On the other hand, we have to figure out who’s the traitor inside the Revolution. The man is undoubtedly our mutual accomplice.”
Gaia, distraught, silently stared into space, almost catatonic. She managed to achieve the best education from the most prestigious university in Xenon, inconspicuously rose to the highest echelon of the Imperial government, tried to change the policies, to bring freedom, and only now realized that all this time she was deceived as well.
How could I be so blind? she thought.
Vincent was confounded at everything (including the fact that one of the mentioned people was named like a state), but he felt sudden compassion for Gaia. Something made him want to embrace her, hold her tight, and tell her it would be all right as long as he was there beside her. But he also knew a woman with an aura of pride such as hers would rather die than be pitied.
“That’s precisely why we fight,” Duell asserted Vincent. “To bring back the dignity of the Warrior Sage and to free the oppressed.”
Vincent then realized that he was not the only one with problems after all. Was it coincidence or truly some divine intervention that brought me to these people—perhaps the most wanted people in the known universe?
“The twins…” Duell
turned to Spaide. “They’re ready for the Trials.”
Spaide frowned in doubt. “Damocles is, but Exander…”
“He’s arrogant, I know. But wasn’t he the one who staged my rescue?”
Spaide nodded.
“Once we get back to Tetraxenes, I’ll finish their training.”
“But aren’t they too young?”
“We’ve no time.”
Spaide nodded again. “I just wish Oryon were here for this,” he muttered.
“They will pay… all of them,” Duell said, this time asserting both Spaide and Gaia. “Soon we will strike at them with fury that is beyond anything this galaxy has ever seen. As long as my soul is within my body, I promise you, they will pay.”
The cloak of quietness engulfed the room for a long period of time.
“It’s over seven hours till we reach Urtan,” Spaide said after a while.
“That’s more than we need,” Duell said, getting up. “Advise the twins. We must rest.”
“We’ll stay up.” Spaide headed to the cockpit. “After all, not everyone heals as fast as you.”
Duell ignored the Dirsalian’s witty remark and said to Vincent, “Come… you must be exhausted.”
Vincent got up, distrustfully looking over at the sleeping compartments.
“Don’t worry,” the Xenian said. “They’re quite restful once we turn on the sleep regulators.”
“Sleep regulators?”
“They make sure you get the best sleep.” Duell opened one of the bunks and slid in.
“How long should I time it for?” Gaia asked, standing by the panel at the side of the compartments.
“Six hours precisely,” Duell replied, and then turning to Vincent said, “I suggest you do the same.”
Vincent was so fatigued that he wouldn’t have cared if they’d put him in a coffin—he had to get his sleep. The compartment’s bottom was made of padded rolling bars, and its top and walls were encased in soft leather. Vincent followed the Xenian’s example, rolling inside and turning on his stomach.
Gaia closed the door to Duell’s bunker and approached Vincent’s. He looked up at her sad face.
“Goodnight,” was the only thing he managed to blurt out.
“I promise to help you find your system once we reach Urtan,” she said.
“Thank you, your highness.”
“No, thank you, Vincent Saturn. Thank you for saving my life… And please call me ‘Gaia.’”
“Only if you call me ‘Vince.’”
A smile formed on her face. “Okay then, Vince. Goodnight.” She closed the door.
Vincent rolled on his back and stared at the darkness, his mind beginning to wander, the thoughts of the exotic beauty not leaving him, Did I just flirt with her? It’s crazy. But she is… so amazing. Why can’t I meet a girl like that? You’re losing it, Vince. You have to get back… but what of this power…? More alien mumbo-jumbo… His limbs felt weak and his eyelids became heavy. There was barely enough room in the compartment for him to even bend his arms, but nevertheless he felt a sudden urge to sleep. Must be those regulators… he thought, drifting off.
*
Exander sat in the co-pilot’s chair, elbows on the control panel, face buried in his hands. His body shook with convulsions as he cried harder than he had ever cried before.
Damocles approached and laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder. The gentle giant wept as well, and with that touch, he tried to take away some of his sibling’s pain, although fully aware it was impossible.
Exander didn’t budge, didn’t shove away his brother as he would any other time.
“I knew it, Damocles,” he sniveled. “The very second I saw Vincent, I knew it. Curse this day! How I tried to deny it… oh, how I tried!”
“If we only had a chance to say goodbye…”
“I don’t know if I could have. Can you imagine him dying on that faraway world?”
Distraught, Damocles sat down behind the helm and stared at the void, unwilling to continue any more conversation. The thought of something so disastrous had never even occurred to them. Unlike the others, they had never lost someone so close. They remained seated in cold silence that was only disturbed by a random sob. That moment seemed to last forever, and it would be imbedded in their memories: the moment they accepted the death of their grandfather.
Spaide entered and sat down behind them. “We must get some rest,” he said after a minute.
“He doesn’t even care, Spaide,” Exander said.
“He cares more than you think, Ex,” the Dirsalian replied. “It’s your way—the way of the Tel Kasar. Duell’s now responsible for this team.”
“What did he say about payback?” Damocles asked.
“He promised. That, he did… passionately.”
“And Urtan?”
“He doesn’t guarantee anythin’ yet. We must first see the problem upon arrival.”
Damocles nodded and spoke no more. And they remained there for a long time, the three of them, sharing that silence.
CHAPTER IX
The Galactic Council
Galadan clutched his staff, worriedly pacing back and forth in the small room. His convoy of three Urtan warriors stood in the corner, unwilling to comment on the situation and being fully aware that no matter what they said, their King wouldn’t soothe down. Everything was going according to the plan—so far. But where was she? Where was Gaia, the person who fought so hard in order for him to state their cause? He knew that Oryon’s team managed to rescue her from the Order, but wasn’t she supposed to be here by now?
The door opened, and a young brown-haired Xenian man entered. He wore a frock coat pinned with an Imperial insignia at the lapel, a waistcoat over a white shirt with a cravat, suede gloves, and long boots: the attire of a Xenian aristocrat.
Galadan approached the man with the air of hope. “Baron Treimar… any word?”
“No.” The Xenian lowered his gaze. “None...”
“I’m so sorry. It’s my fault…”
The Baron remained still. “We can no longer wait,” he said after a moment. “Your hearing’s coming up in a few minutes. I’m afraid you must go on without her.”
Galadan released a hushed groan. Here he was, more than halfway across the galaxy at the mercy of people who’ve never even heard of or seen his kind. And Gaia? How could they’ve gotten to her in the first place? It couldn’t have been Damien alone: the Order didn’t have the routes of the Imperial envoy. There is someone within the Republic who sought to prevent her to speak on my behalf. “I hope you’re alive,” he whispered.
Several armed soldiers entered the room.
The Urtan party quickly gathered around their king.
“You must come alone,” the Xenian said.
The Urtan warriors looked at Galadan and only complied after he gestured them to remain behind. Raising his staff, Galadan exited the room and made his way down the busy tunnel.
With each passing moment, he expected an attack, even though he had a full-clad escort. Hundreds of noblemen, senators, governors, lobbyists and businessmen bustled through the corridor, at times throwing him a menacing look for being a reptilian—a reptilian humanoid that tainted their atmosphere. Occasionally, a random nobleman would stop to check out his golden armament—and Galadan knew if given the chance, they’d certainly kill him for it. It seemed that money and power seized their sociable nature, turning them into greedy machines.
They were all dressed in the most exquisite apparel from all four corners of the galaxy: the men in suits, frock coats, and military outfits; the women in evening gowns with the hemlines extending to the floor and wearing the most expensive jewelry.
These people, Galadan thought, rich, spoiled, insatiable, with a soaring essence of self-importance—are the ones who are deciding the fate of those like me.
The thousands of voices from the chamber above manifested into a blatant noise that gradually grew like that of a roaring monster awaiting its ch
ow. Galadan was suddenly gripped with fear. He was under the impression that all of the people in the audience were out there to tear him apart the very second he stepped his foot on the speaker’s platform.
The huge domed stadium seated over a hundred thousand spectators, its seats arranged in a semicircle around the stage which had a lectern in the middle of its black marble floor where the speaker could face the judges atop the gigantic tribunal. An oversized monitor was perched above the tribunal, visible from every corner of the arena.
Angry roars were thrown at Galadan as he boldly took his first steps to the stage.
“Order!” cried out one of the judges atop the tribunal.
The commotion subdued, and Galadan approached the lectern. This is it, he thought. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, whispered a prayer, and then looked up at the board of his adjudicators.
At the head of the judges was a Xenian man clad in a double-breasted military coat with epaulettes and covered in medals of achievement. His long black hair was slicked back and fixed in a ponytail, sideburns, carefully trimmed, lined up the sides of his intelligent face, and his long goatee was twisted into a small braid.
Beside him sat a dark-haired Xenian woman of matchless splendor, wearing an artistic dress and evening gloves. Her hair was pulled back at the sides and worn atop in a cluster of ringlets.
On either side of the couple sat the other judges, mostly of Xenian origin but including members of other races as well. This was the Galactic Council, the highest court in the galaxy. These judges passed, amended, repealed, interpreted laws and simultaneously solved disputes between planets.
“The Council recognizes Galadan Dox, the unsanctioned King of the Urtan system, a province of the Order of Cosmos,” declared the Xenian man in the martial outfit. As he began the case, Galadan’s image appeared on the monitor.
“Much obliged, your eminence, Chancellor Vermont.” Galadan bowed.
Vermont nodded in return and began, “Your case was brought to our attention by Senator Gaia Ferra. Where is she?” He turned to one of the judges to his right. The judge shrugged. Vermont then leaned over to his female companion, and the tribunal engaged in an inaudible dispute.
