Honor and Nobility

by JP Raymond

  “I’m opening the ramp,” he said. “Now’s everyone’s chance.”

  He tapped controls on his board. The hatch unsealed, and the ramp slowly lowered. No one moved.

  “Shinzaa, get going,” Kitekh said. “We’ll be in touch as best we can.”

  Shinzaa grimaced. Then she got up. Rischa followed. The two of them helped Lanaliel to his feet. Awkwardly, they maneuvered him to the ramp.

  “I’m only going because you ordered me to,” Shinzaa said. “And I don’t like it.”

  “I know,” Kitekh said. “Thank you. Lanaliel, thanks for staying on after we captured your ship. We couldn’t have made it this far without you.”

  “You are welcome, my friend,” he said. “But don’t speak as though this is the last time we will ever see each other. I’m not done for yet. And neither are you.”

  “Go with God,” she said.

  “And you,” Lanaliel replied.

  JaQuan rolled his eyes. Ordinarily, he tried to be respectful of people of faith. But today, after Rorgun’s revelation, he just couldn’t manage it.

  “Be careful, JaQuan,” Rischa said. “Their citizenship in the Empire notwithstanding, the Tribal Council does not like outsiders. If you choose to stay, you’ll be at risk. You too, Alan.”

  JaQuan frowned. He wasn’t sure what to say to her.

  “We’ll see each other again, Rischa,” Alan said. “Bet on it.”

  “Just don’t go waving that sword around,” she said. “If you piss off a Graur and get challenged to a duel, you won’t survive it.”

  “And don’t shoot any of your friends with that damned electroray gun,” Shinzaa added.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Alan sneered.

  “Get going,” Kitekh said. “Lanaliel will bleed out while you stand here getting misty-eyed.”

  They started down the ramp.

  “Good luck,” JaQuan said.

  “You too,” Rischa replied.

  Then they were gone. JaQuan turned to the rest of the crew.

  “Anyone else getting off?” he asked.

  “I’d be happy to,” Brody said.

  “Fuck you, Jim,” JaQuan replied. “Alan, cover our asshole prisoners.”

  Alan turned his electroray gun on Brody and Cooressa, who remained manacled to their seats. Cooressa stared straight ahead defiantly.

  “All right, I’m raising the ramp,” JaQuan said.

  He tapped the command into his board. With a hum and a whir, the ramp closed, shutting with a clang JaQuan could only hear as ominous.

  “Seal it,” Kitekh said.

  JaQuan obeyed. They watched as Lanaliel limped across the landing pad, using Shinzaa and Rischa as crutches. His hulking, eight-foot-tall frame looked impossibly small. His broken horn made him pathetic; his hobbled leg stripped him of his majesty. JaQuan saw the whole crew, Cataan’s Claw herself, in Lanaliel’s enfeebled body, limping away under assistance.

  After a minute, the three of them disappeared into the bunker. JaQuan expected never to see them again.

  No one said anything. Kitekh drummed her claws noisily on her armrest, waiting for them to be safely away before she exposed the rest of the crew to further danger. Nearly five minutes passed before she spoke again.

  “Rorgun,” she said at last. “Engage the deflector screens and power up the weapons. JaQuan, bring the engines online. If this turns into a fight, I want to be ready.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” JaQuan said.

  He tapped controls on his board. The lander’s stardrive came to life.

  “Shields up,” Rorgun reported. “Weapons ready.”

  “Give me the word, and we can blast off,” JaQuan said.

  “All right,” Kitekh said. “Rorgun, open a channel to the control tower.”

  He tapped a command into his board. Then he looked up grimly.

  “You’re on, Kitekh,” he said.

  “Attention, station control,” she said in Imperial. “I need you to patch me through to the Tribal Council.”

  “Right,” the controller said, her voice dripping sarcasm. “And who shall I say is calling?”

  Kitekh paused only a second. She leaned forward so that her mouth hovered just over the microphone. Her green eyes blazed.

  “Kitekh Galesh,” she said.

  Horay grinned maliciously. Six more battlecruisers, three destroyers, and an orbital command vessel had jumped into the Grakur system. Imperial High Command had taken his message seriously. They wanted to make sure the Graur did not try anything stupid. By bringing such a large display of force, they made it clear that defiance would be both deadly and devastating.

  “Ahead one-quarter,” he ordered his helms officer.

  “But, Captain,” Zin protested. “The Graur ships have not yielded passage. If we advance, they may see it as an act of aggression.”

  “It is an act of aggression!” Horay roared, whirling towards Zin. “They have forgotten who is in charge here! They must be reminded!

  “Ahead one-quarter.”

  “Yes, Captain,” the helms officer said.

  He couldn’t remember her name at the moment, and he didn’t care. The only name he cared about right now was Kitekh Galesh. He was determined she would be his prisoner.

  “Incoming transmission from the Graur vessel,” Communications Officer Los said.

  “Put it through,” Horay replied.

  “Captain Kel,” came the voice from the speaker, “I order you to cut your engines and desist in this illegal advance into our sovereign territory.”

  “You order me?” Horay said, barely able to control his rage. “You are a local constable, Battlelead Krihm. You have no authority over me or the Imperial Star Force. We are coming in. I suggest you give us passage, or we will clear a path for ourselves.”

  “Captain,” Zin said, “Horay, I beg you. Cease this madness. It will lead to war.”

  “You are relieved, Officer Zin,” Horay said. “Go to your quarters and remain there. I have no wish to send a security detail to ensure my orders are followed.”

  “Horay,” Zin said. “What is the matter with you?”

  “I might ask you the same question,” Horay said, facing him. “We are not the Imperial Senate – a body of bickering bureaucrats. We are the Imperial Star Force. We are sworn to defend the Empire and maintain order. These Graur savages are hiding a fugitive. They are giving aid and comfort to the enemy. If they persist in this treason, I will destroy them. That is not only my right as a captain of the fleet, it is my duty as an agent of the Empire. I wonder why that is so difficult for you to understand.”

  He held Zin with a fiery gaze for several seconds. His first officer looked on him, horrified.

  “You’ve lost your way, Horay,” he said. “This plan is madness, and it will lead to war. You’re not maintaining order; you’re creating chaos.”

  Horay yanked his sword from its sheath. He advanced two steps on Zin.

  “Get off my bridge,” Horay growled. “Or pay the price.”

  Zin blinked twice. Then he silently reached for his own sword, pulling it deliberately from its scabbard.

  “You dare!” Horay whispered.

  “You leave me no choice,” Zin said.

  “Captain!” Tactical Officer Gul shouted. “A massive Graur war fleet is approaching!”

  “What?” Horay said, turning away from Zin.

  “There are at least thirty vessels, Captain,” Gul reported. “They are forming a blockade between us and the planet.”

  Horay forgot his duel with Zin. He strode to the tactical station. The screens told an ugly story. The Graur ships were smaller but faster and better armed. For the moment, Horay didn’t have the firepower to defeat them.

  “Comms, order the rest of the armada to deploy around the planet. I want the Graur force spread out. All ships are to activate deflector screens and particle sinks. Have them target enemy vessels and put fighter crews on standby. If one of those savages so much as sneezes wrong
, I want to be prepared to blow them from the stars.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Los said.

  He thought he detected a note of worry in his tone. He didn’t care. For the time being, he was obeying orders and that was what was important.

  “Signal the Imperial High Command,” he said. “Inform them that the Graur are threatening armed resistance. Request additional support – a full planetary strike force.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Los said.

  “This is folly, Horay,” Zin said. “It will end in fire and bloodshed. You will be the author of the Empire’s end.”

  “I will be no such thing,” he replied. “When this is over, we will have the terrorists in custody, the hostage will be recovered, and everyone in the Empire will know better than to defy the law.”

  Horay set his jaw grimly. For too long the Graur had acted uppity, believing themselves superior to the other races, due to their military skill. Horay would disabuse them of that fallacy. If they didn’t cooperate, he would wipe them from the annals of Imperial history.

  JaQuan wiped sweat from his forehead as the Graur guards led them into the Tribal Council’s chamber. The air on Grakur was steamy. Its only habitable continent was a vast jungle at the equator. Heat and humidity sucked the air from his lungs and made exertion difficult. He was beginning to regret wearing his jeans and leather jacket. A ship suit could be climate-controlled.

  Once Kitekh had given her name, it hadn’t taken long for things to happen. A cadre of cops arrived on a rocket sled. Kitekh negotiated briefly with them in Graul, and then she surrendered. Everyone was herded aboard the sled and whisked across the city to the Council’s headquarters.

  To JaQuan’s surprise, they hadn’t been disarmed. He wasn’t entirely sure what Kitekh had arranged, but he inferred that the police did not fear the crew’s beamers – or Alan’s sword and electroray gun. Indeed, the cops themselves did not carry any weapons. They seemed content with their teeth and claws.

  Catraal was unlike any city JaQuan had ever seen – either on Earth or in the Empire. Rather than buildings that rose from the ground stretching towards the sky, the Graur capital was woven into the enormous trees that spanned the jungle. Many of the fixtures were metal or otherwise inorganic, like he would have expected to see in any developed metropolis. But a large number of dwellings and buildings were carved from the wood of the massive trees. Branches and leaves were sheared away to allow access by both people and vehicles.

  The sled flew over this strange vista, weaving in and out of traffic, until it came to the center of the vast, vernal city. There, the largest tree JaQuan had ever seen – ten times the size of any redwood on Earth, he thought – rose hundreds of feet from the surface and towered over the remainder of the jungle.

  Their transport dove into the branches, cutting expertly from side to side on its way to a landing pad JaQuan could not determine to be artificial or natural. Among the foliage, he spied Graur warriors, standing guard at armored battlements defended with beamer cannon. The ship moved too fast, and the cover was so dense, JaQuan could not get a good look at anything. But he sensed that no force could hope to assault the center of Graur power without taking outrageous casualties.

  They were herded upon landing down a massive branch that led into the very heart of the tree’s gargantuan trunk. Within was a circular chamber. Thirty feet above the floor was a platform, behind which hung thirteen banners, all with different symbols. JaQuan recognized the one in the center, bearing the image of a clawed hand surrounding a planet, as the flag of the Graur nation. A second – depicting a feline mouth open in a roar – was the same that hung in Kitekh’s quarters aboard Cataan’s Claw. It also adorned her ship suit, on the rare occasions she wore one.

  “Each of these bears the symbol of the Twelve Tribes of Grakur,” Rorgun explained. “Each tribe sends a representative. Those twelve are then considered to have left their native tribe to form a new, Thirteenth Tribe – the Tribal Council. The Council names a thirteenth individual as the Tribal Chieftain. He or she presides over the Council and votes to break any ties.”

  JaQuan looked askance at Rorgun. He appreciated the information, but he wasn’t interested in hearing from the first officer.

  “Is it weird that they didn’t take our weapons?” Alan whispered to JaQuan.

  “Look around,” JaQuan replied. There were unarmed warriors stationed at regular intervals around the chamber. “They don’t seem too worried.”

  “Jesus,” Alan said. “How badass do you have to be not to be afraid of a beamer?”

  JaQuan nodded his agreement. The whole situation scared the shit out of him.

  He glanced around. Kitekh stared grimly ahead, her jaw set and determined. Rorgun appeared relaxed. JaQuan shook his head. The zealous bastard was too calm for JaQuan’s liking. He probably knew what was going to happen, was ready for it. JaQuan wanted to shoot him.

  Mrahr shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He held his head high, refusing to be cowed by the situation. But he was obviously nervous.

  So was Brody. All the cocky smugness that had so deeply infuriated JaQuan was gone from his visage. He was afraid. He looked like a man condemned and about to be led to execution. JaQuan supposed he was in a way. It didn’t matter that Cooressa and her allies had duped him. He’d kidnapped an Elohiman and threatened to kill her if her father didn’t capitulate to his demands. That alone was serious enough. But he’d done it as a member of a terrorist group. Sedition and treason were capital crimes in the Empire. JaQuan saw no way for him to escape the ultimate punishment.

  As for Cooressa herself, she appeared indifferent to her surroundings or her fate. Like Rorgun, she was a zealot. She was on a mission from God, and she didn’t care where it took her. So long as she’d accomplished her mission – and in her mind, she had – what happened to her didn’t matter. Bitch. JaQuan hoped they tortured her.

  A horn sounded from somewhere JaQuan couldn’t see. Its tones were low and gurgled, like the roar of some great beast. They echoed through the chamber as if the tree were a vast monster and they all were imprisoned in its belly.

  Thirteen Graur filed in solemnly on the platform above. They stood before the banners, each representative under his or her tribe and, JaQuan guessed, the Chieftain beneath the national flag.

  When they all had entered and taken their positions, the horn ceased its fell song. The twelve members of the Tribal Council seated themselves, while the Chieftain took a single step forward.

  She spoke in the melodious but threatening voice typical of Graur. Her words came so fast, the only ones JaQuan understood were “Kitekh Galesh.”

  “Mighty Chieftain, wise Tribal Council,” she replied, “for the sake of my companions, I request you address us in Imperial.”

  “You have a hell of a lot of nerve requesting anything from us, Galesh!” the Chieftain roared.

  She leered down at them from the platform, a furious look on her face, which was golden like Shinzaa’s. A red, sleeveless robe embroidered with the symbols of the Twelve Tribes covered her shoulders and cascaded regally to the ground.

  “‘For the sake of your companions,’ let me remind you of the position you’ve put us in,” she continued. “Your father embarrassed all of Grakur with his clumsy affair, forcing us to level judgment against him and his family. Rather than accept your fate, you pirated an Elohim freighter and flew around the galaxy seeking revenge. You at last found it by conspiring with a cowardly band of terrorists to kidnap the Emperor’s daughter.”

  “The Emperor’s daughter,” JaQuan muttered. “Oh, shit.”

  So. Cooressa and Haneeta’s insane plan to put Idrib Mol on the throne had somehow succeeded. They were already fucked.

  He glanced over at Cooressa. She was smiling. He wanted to choke her.

  “But you are as clumsy as your father was,” the Chieftain went on. “You were caught. You’ve enflamed the whole Empire against humanity and against your family name, your tribe!

  �
�And now you have the unmitigated gall to come here and request anything? How dare you!”

  JaQuan scanned the tribal elders. They sat with folded arms and scornful expressions. Not a one of them appeared remotely sympathetic, especially the orange tabby sitting beneath Kitekh’s tribal banner. She was going to have a hard sell. JaQuan saw no way out of this.

  “Mighty Chieftain,” Mrahr called. He took one step forward. “Your anger with Captain Galesh is fierce and, on the surface, justified. But all is not as it seems. Indeed, little of it is. As an agent of this Council, I tell you the captain’s story should be heard.”

  “Your agency is under question as well, Governor,” said one of the elders, a grey-coated male with a thick, bushy mane. “From where we sit, it looks as though you are a part of this treason as well.”

  “The Governor is here under duress,” Kitekh lied. “He has no part of any conspiracy.

  “But I tell you, my elders, the conspiracy here is not one of my making or participation. It is the brainchild of the Emperor himself and of several accomplices, not all of whom are known to us.”

  “You accuse the Emperor of treason?” the Chieftain roared. “Your personal vendetta knows no bounds, Galesh. We demand you release Haneeta Mol to us immediately or face our wrath.”

  “I am in no position to turn Ms. Mol over to you or anyone,” Kitekh replied. “That is not my purpose here.” She dropped to her knees. “I formally beg mercy from the Tribal Council.”

  A gasp went through the elders and a few of the guards. It was obvious no one had expected that from Kitekh. JaQuan grimaced. Throwing them off-guard was a good sign. He knew from his experience in the boxing ring that surprising your opponent led to him making a mistake.

  But they were still deep in the shit with no way to climb out. He had no idea what Kitekh’s game plan was or how she intended to execute it.

  “No,” the Chieftain said, folding her arms.

  “What?” Rorgun cried.