Schism of Blood and Stone (The Starfield Theory Book 1)
Page 17
“Or us,” Chen added. “I need a drink.”
“Lotus shuttle has landed. They're exiting the craft,” Proda reported.
“Are we ready?”
“The Hronguards have set up their choke points and put as many traps in as possible. They're as ready as they will ever be. I don't know about the Dominion troops,” Proda reported.
Chris steepled his fingers and took a deep breath, trying to calm his rattled nerves. Drayton promised that this wouldn't be an issue. The guards were there just as a precaution, he'd said. Well damn him anyway.
Chris started to feel a sick sense of hopelessness settle over him like a heavy cloak. The Black Lotus were deadly people, ruthless and efficient. They were notorious for taking no prisoners. Opposing them were a handful of civilian crew, a few escaped soldiers on the run and a handful of mercenaries beholden to money not victory. How could his little band possibly survive?
I've never felt so helpless, Chris thought. Our fates are entirely in the hands of others we've never met before. If the Lotus troopers reach the bridge, we're screwed. They'll torture and kill us just for having the audacity to fight back. Drayton will strike MacCleod from the record books and it'll be like we never existed. Just another freighter caught out somewhere it shouldn't have been. MacCleod will just join the long lists of ghost ships that dot the outer reaches of solar systems.
Chris looked over at Proda, his nerves still heightened. “Update?”
“Lotus forces have engaged the Hronguards. There are firefights across the spine and they're falling back,” Proda reported. “No reaction from the frigates, yet.”
“What about casualties?”
Proda shook his head. “A few, but no way to know exact figures until it's over. Either way, Claire's going to be busy I think. We'll have both ours and theirs to worry about.”
“Where is Claire? Why isn't she here, yet?” Chris asked realizing his twin was not on the bridge.
Proda shrugged. “Her quarters are locked and she's not receiving audio or video messages.”
“For Amrah's sake! How close are the Lotus troopers to the living quarters?” Chris snapped feeling panic well in his breast.
Proda frowned. “Nearly there.”
“I have to get her,” Chris said to himself as he launched out of the captain's chair and headed for the hatch.
“We need you here, Captain,” Proda pleaded.
Chris turned. Proda was holding his headset and his face was taunt and nervous just barely clinging to calm. Chen's head was buried in the pilot's webbing. His fingers were flexing in his control gloves and and SESE tattoos were glowing fiercely as he managed the ship's systems, slowing down the attackers at locked hatches.
Chris swallowed and got back into the captain's chair. Proda's fear got the better of him. He'd need to be here. He breathed deeply and tried to control his emotions. Maybe, if Claire kept the door locked the Lotus troopers would leave her alone and pass on by. Maybe the Hronguards and the Dominion troops would stop them before they reached the living quarters.
Chris shook his head and swiped his hand through his hair in frustration. Even through the bridge doors, he could hear the shooting grow closer and closer.
Alos
Supreme Legate of Magdeborg
21 February, 23,423
Stargate, Magdeborg, Magdeborg Commonwealth
______________
Alos wasn't sure what it was about space that captured his attention so raptly. Maybe it was the infinite nature of space or maybe it was the comforting familiar star patterns that the Azuren believed were generated by Amrah herself, providing hints to her Path. The stars themselves were the massive engines that energized his race, providing space travel and power to the stations that birthed future generations of Azuren. If he focused hard enough he could almost imagine himself seeing X-rays and Gamma-rays released by the stars with his Azure enhanced eyes. He imagined watching their trails bounce through the sun's upper layers then tear free in massive explosions. They mesmerized him, even hypnotized him at times.
But the illusion was shattered by a throat clearing loudly. Pergamon stood at the entrance to his personal quarters. She leaned against the door frame, her arms crossed over her chest. Alos smiled alluringly. He could sense her coming of course. The Azuren mind was so powerful it flooded the space around it with emotional waves that could be detected with other Azure-attuned minds. It was far from mind reading, but when Azuren spent enough time in each others' presence they could begin to identify associates' unique signals via a process referred to as Perception. Pergamon's calming waves were deep with large crests and troughs that reminded him of the deep wavelengths of light emitted by the massive stars.
“I heard you were back,” he told her.
“This morning,” she replied casually.
“And?”
“Humans are frustrating.”
“They are ignorant.”
“We are all ignorant at some point in our lives. They are arrogant beyond words,” she seethed. “Twenty thousand years and you'd think they'd have made some progress.”
Alos nodded in surrender then gestured her inside. She closed the door behind her and she walked smartly to the large table in the center of the room. Alos often ate in here, admiring the view of the starfield slowly rotating outside the huge windows.
He kept his quarters dark, lighted only by a few glow globes on the walls that mimicked starlight. The room felt like a vacuum; there was no scent and no sound which might have disturbed lesser minds, but Alos found it calming. The table was a huge dark stone blue and black with red and yellow patterns resembling lightning bolts that many associated with the Azuren's heraldry. If it comforted the humans to think they used such vain images then so be it. The table had been property of Magdeborg's former legate who had become a bit too familiar with the humans and even allowed himself to bed a few of them. Those sorts of crimes were strictly forbidden and he quickly found himself under the scrutiny of the Guardian Council, those responsible for regulating religious morality. He was spared execution due to his advanced years and placed in some backwater Fringe station to die alone and forgotten. Alos had kept the table as a reminder of those who strayed from The Path.
Relations with humans were crimes of the highest order. Imagine if a half-human, half-Azuren had been produced. What sort of outrage and instability would that cause? That Azuren could procreate with humans would shatter the perception that Azuren were something else – higher, better, superior, the last link to the holy Amrahn. Relations among Azuren themselves were tolerated only because the Guardian Council had not figured out how to breed out the desire for contact. An Azuren living in strict isolation should be just as capable of functioning as those surrounded by their peers. Some philosophers had attempted to cut themselves off by stranding themselves on various uncolonized worlds. They were found decades later, gone totally mad. The lucky ones had taken their own lives long before.
Pergamon seated herself gently and waited for him to respond. She was approximately Alos' age, but the computerized beads she wore in her hair were shorter than Alos' indicating her lesser status. Her face was long and skinny, but her neck was thick with enhanced muscles. Her white robes hid a strong body that had seen its fair share of combat and if Azuren bodies could bear scares she would have a veritable maze of scars.
What existed between Pergamon and Alos was different than any typical relationship. They were professionals and preferred each others' company because they worked so effectively together. Though there was something about her that drew him toward her in such situations when there was no work to be done. Pergamon's white hair was draped over her shoulders rather than tied behind her head. Her bead strand dangled behind her ear. Her bright blue eyes shown like the super giant stars he was just observing and Alos found himself staring at them longer than he should have.
Alos swept those feelings to the back of his mind where they belonged. They distracted him from The Path.
“Violence against the humans? We don't often intervene to that extent,” Pergamon pointed out.
“We don't intervene to that extent enough. Perhaps the humans would learn the error of their ways faster if we applied the stick.”
“Deploying that kind of military power would be difficult, even dangerous,” Pergamon warned him. “Are you sure you would be up to fighting?”
The Azuren had in fact made regular interventions in human affairs, Alos knew, and it always proved effective. When errant houses declared war on their neighbors and threatened the holy Precursor ruins and relics, the Azuren were forced to step in to protect their wards. Humanity was a violent race of course and sometimes it was necessary to cut out the more dangerous elements. The Azuren, however, were too few in number to handle most interventions themselves. Such instances required the use of the Averi, the humans who dedicated their lives to serving the Azuren and Amrah. Many of them ended up dead, but Amrah always provided more.
Occasionally, the Azuren took to the field alongside the Averi either out of personal spite towards their enemies or boredom. Pergamon had been in many battles and her braids had been filled with combat recognitions even more than his own. He fingered the last bead on his braid, the blue and gray one that indicated his service as Supreme Legate to the Commonwealth. It wasn't as though the warrior Azuren looked down on those who did not fight often, but sometimes it sure felt like it. He took Pergamon's note in stride and determined her rudeness to be the result of exhaustive travel even though he knew that was not the case.
“The Path is difficult at times. Succeeding in preparing the human race for ascension will be our greatest accomplishment. In fulfilling them we fulfill ourselves,” he said gently.
“You always try quoting the Akora when you get flustered. Incorrectly, I should add,” Pergamon observed.
“'When we know not ourselves turn to The Path. Amrah shall aide you,'” he said with the hint of a smile, this time quoting verbatim.
“You're worse than humans,” she grunted, rolling her eyes.
Alos turned serious. “Why are you back so soon? Were you successful so quickly?”
“No,” she sniffed. “I was recalled.”
Alos narrowed his brow. “But you were making progress.”
His Azure enhanced brain recalled instantly the reports from the Treth Federation describing internal unrest with minority racial groups as they expanded to newly colonized worlds along their border in the Fringe. Pergamon had been dispatched to quell the fighting and arrive at a consensus, preferably one that kept the ethnic minorities out of the broader Treth empire. Such a merger would only threaten the neighboring Core states and provoke a wider conflict with those who shared the minority's racial traits in neighboring states.
“I was. And now I am here,” she said sharply.
Alos mulled over the ramifications. He rejected possible theories almost as quickly as he thought of them.
“Why?” He asked suddenly before he could stop himself.
“I don't know,” she said shamefully. “I was hoping you would.”
“You were not failing, Pergamon,” a newcomer said.
Both Azuren looked at the door and the monstrous figure that stood within. Immediately they stood and bowed deeply.
“My lord,” they muttered.
Neither Alos nor Pergamon were able to perceive his presence via Projection. He was like a black hole to other Azuren minds.
Patriarch Leonidas Mazaridas frowned at them both. He wore dark blue and black cloaks of a similar design as the table. He towered over both their impressive heights. His pale skin and white hair were a white that would have made the brightest white dwarf star look ruddy. He had been bred for war, for fighting and for leading. As Patriarch, he was the link between the Azuren, humans, Precursors and Amrah. When Amrah guided, she guided through him. Leonidas and Alos shared a common ancestor back many generations and were both a part of clan Mazaridas, but he was Alos' superior. The bead braid in his hair snaked all the way to his waist revealing a lifetime of service to his goddess and his race.
Leonidas gesturing gracefully with his hand, guiding them back to their seats. “The Akora is a powerful guide,” he said. “Alos is correct in falling back on its teachings for guidance. As Pergamon claims, the humans are frustrating because they are ignorant. It is our purpose to teach them in the same manner as they teach their own children. We must guide them carefully, punish them when they do wrong and correct bad behavior. It is difficult and sometimes dangerous work.”
“Why do they resist us, my lord?” Pergamon asked quietly.
“Humans are prideful,” Leonidas said simply. “They don't like being told what to do and how to think. Resisting us satisfies a natural human need to rebel, but after they have their little protests and voice their objections, they'll go home and return to life as normal.”
“And the Starfield Theorists?”
Leonidas smiled. “More determined humans. Remember, Amrah says there is always balance. Where there is good, there is also evil. Where we try to help humanity find the Paradise Beyond, the Theorists will be there to lure them into eternal Ithix. We will prevail over them.”
“Because the Akora says the Good always wins out,” Pergamon said.
“No. Good triumphs over evil because there are those wishing to see good done. If Good simply won without effort, why would we be here? There is no law either natural or from Amrah that says Good must prevail. Do not grow lazy. Amrah will show you The Path, but She cannot walk it for you.”
“Yes, my lord,” the two lesser Azuren murmured.
“I do not wish for you to grow lazy which is why I have asked you here.”
Alos and Pergamon exchanged curious glances.
“Things have been growing restless in the Magdeborg Commonwealth,” Leonidas explained clasping his hands together. “Archduke Peter III has been assassinated and, according to his sister, nearly had his throne usurped by long standing retainers. Apparently their agenda includes regicide and military coups. ”
“The Sørensens,” Alos grunted. “I did not suspect them at first, but it seems harder to deny their hand in things."
“It helps when the new Archduchess executes anyone who claims otherwise. In any case, Salena Teton-Sten has called her family together for Peter's funeral,” Leonidas said.
“You mean Lord Damien Sten,” Pergamon said. “Whose background is just as hazy and questionable as the Sørensens.”
“Yes, he is en route. Damien has at his command a private army that is loyal to him and him alone. The rug was rather swept out from under him when Salena took the throne. He may not be satisfied with being the national hero and lord general. He may take advantage of the situation,” Leonidas explained.
“A civil war? In the Commonwealth? The Treth I'd understand, maybe even the Nor-Tac Region or somewhere in the Fringe, but the Commonwealth?” Pergamon asked incredulously. “It has never happened.”
“We must be wary. The Commonwealth cannot fall, it is too close to Unclaimed Space and the Tri-Sphere, our home. Therefore, I wish to dispatch you and Pergamon to attend the funeral and stay on a bit to keep an eye on things there. The Commonwealth is an old state and has generally been the most stable. We have favored their families with a long leash for centuries which we may need to shorten if things destabilize further.”
Alos frowned. “Two of us to handle a Core human state? That seems overkill. I can handle the situation alone.”
“Would you prefer I find someone besides Pergamon?” Leonidas asked, spearing him with a hard stare, his pale ancient blue eyes flashed contained fury.
Alos opened his eyes wide and looked at Pergamon. He could feel her Projection w
rinkle in consternation that betrayed the neutral expression she wore. “No, no, not at all. Pergamon and I have worked well together in the past.”
“Good,” Leonidas said placing his hands on the table. “Then I shall dispatch you immediately for Magdeborg to control the situation. It has become more serious since Salena Teton-Sten took Magdeborg. Do not let Damien meet with anyone who might aid him in a rebellion and certainly do not let the Archduchess execute him or Dietrich Sørensen. I do not wish for more of Amrah's faithful butchered in a family squabble played out on an interstellar scale.”
He smiled then showing more teeth than he would have thought reassuring. “Walk with Amrah, my friends,” Leonidas said before departing.
Kristoffer
Captain of the MacCleod
21 February, 23,423
MacCleod, Letterkenny, Caeph Dominion
______________
The loud banging and shouting beyond the bridge door caused Chris' heart to pound just as loudly in his chest. They were too close. Listening to the comm chatter, he knew the Lotus boarding force had overrun the Hronguard positions and forced them back to their last stand outside the bridge. Just outside, the surviving Hronguards had set up a blockade of heavy equipment and spare parts they'd dragged in from the cargo bay. Their weapons were pointed down the halls and they waited for the arrival of the Lotus to finish them off.
The sergeant in charge of the group, a burly female, had ordered Chris to seal the bridge door and leave it closed no matter what transpired on the other side. Chris had promised to do so and once they had set up, he sealed the hatch behind them. Over the radio he could hear the guards saying a prayer to Amrah for Her protection, Her grace and mercy, which was echoed by the spacers on the bridge. Chris turned his back on the scene, refusing to watch the final sacrifice of the Hronguards. Proda volunteered to join them, but Chris denied the request. If they got out of this alive, they'd need his service elsewhere.