by Lee Watts
In the expansive landing bay of the control station, thousands of troops assembled. Lieutenant Colonel Ortiz and Major Hyeon issued them equipment and instructions. When they were done, Ortiz picked up a mining torch and extended it to Major Hyeon.
Feeling the common tool beneath his rank, Hyeon protested, "But… I'm a Major."
Ortiz thrust a mining torch into Hyeon's hands anyway.
"Major, now you're a miner," he quipped. "We're both going. Come on."
Deep in the rocky tunnels below the control tower, civilians helped by moving equipment into position. When Vivica heard of Alexander's return, she desperately tried to go see him, but the impending crisis relegated her to taking cover with the civilians. Worse still, she was expected to do manual labor. In the same group as the prima donna, Aulani was busy doing her part in making preparations.
A bulky soldier handed boxes of supplies to civilians to be carried to other parts of the asteroid. When Aulani reached the front of the line, the soldier grabbed for the next box but then hesitated.
"Oh," he gawked in surprise. "This one's pretty heavy, Little-Lady, how 'bout you wait for a second and I'll find you a lighter one."
"I can handle it," Aulani protested and grabbed the container from him. It was substantially heavier than she anticipated, but she would die before letting him know how much she wanted to drop it. Blood rushed to her face as every muscle was pushed to the limit.
"You sure you've got that?" the soldier asked as Aulani changed color.
"No problem," she grunted and tried to shrug as if it was nothing, but couldn't force her shoulders up while holding the weight. A tall box, she tried to peer around it, but couldn't for too long because it weakened her already tenuous grip. The last thing she wanted to do was humiliate herself in front of all the Realm people, especially since she was already self-conscious about coming from a jungle island. Rounding the corner, she made it three steps down the hall before letting the weighty box drop… right on the foot of a man walking the other direction.
"AAHH," he yelped as the crate hit him.
"Oh… Oh, I'm so sorry," Aulani apologized, her face now red from embarrassment. "I… I didn't… are you alright?"
"Dear lady, I would be better if you'd get that thing off of me," he grunted with face contorted from the pain.
Aulani looked down at the heavy crate that was crushing one of the man's feet. His arms laden with his own items, he couldn't push it off without dropping what he carried. She leaned the box back enough for him to withdraw.
"Ooo," he breathed in relief and as he pulled free then set his arm-full down. Sitting on Aulani's now discarded box, he removed a shoe and began rubbing his foot.
"Ahh," he grunted as he tried to massage away the pain.
"I'm... I'm sorry," Aulani apologized again as she placed a hand over her mouth.
"It's okay," he forced himself to say as he pushed through the throbbing. "I needed a break anyway."
"I'm so sorry," Aulani repeated. Her repetition of words only added to her embarrassment.
"Think nothing of it. It was my own clumsiness for not getting out of your way since you have the bulkier load. Are you heading to Bravo Section?"
"I… I don't know."
"You don't know where you're going?"
"No, I know where I'm going, but I don't know what it's called. We just got here."
"Just got here? Are you with those who returned with the Prince from that island world?"
"Yes," she answered shyly - her secret exposed.
"Then it's quite an honor to meet you. I'm Nathan."
"Aulani," she replied as they shook hands.
"Aulani… Aulani," he repeated pensively. "That's Entauri isn't it?"
"Yes," she answered. "How did you know?"
"I've done a bit of traveling. Obviously, you have as well. You must have a thousand harrowing stories of adventures on the island with Prince Lyons. I'm sure-"
"There you are," interrupted a quickly approaching man. "I've been searching everywhere for you, Marquis. We must get you to your shelter area."
"Ah," Nathan said to the man, completely ignoring his plea to leave, "This lovely lady is Aulani. She's one of those brave souls who safeguarded the Prince on that island world."
"Delighted," the Marquis' assistant nodded in a polite yet hasty greeting then turned back to Nathan. "Marquis, we need to get you out of here. What are you doing anyway, Sir?"
"These people needed some help, so I thought I'd lend a hand."
"Very good of you, Sir, but I'm sure they can handle it. Now, we do really need to get going."
"Of course," Nathan relented but turned back to Aulani once more.
"I'm charmed to meet you Lady Aulani, and hope I might have the pleasure of your company again, but next time, don't bring the box, eh?"
He smiled and nodded in courteous departure then left. When the handsome man was out of earshot, Aulani asked a passerby who he was.
"You don't know? That's High Councilman Matthews, Marquis of the Estrada Islands. Where've you been?" the person remarked and walked off.
"On an island," she mumbled then picked up her box and brought it into the designated room. As Aulani entered, Vivica sized up the tanned woman. At twenty-three, Vivica guessed the other woman her same age. Overhearing Aulani was one of those who returned from the island planet with Alexander, she immediately took a dislike the trim brunette. Though the newcomer was dressed in an oversized set of fatigues borrowed from one of the soldiers, Aulani was still far too shapely for Vivica's liking.
Carrying the heavy box of medical supplies, Aulani labored for each step. Directing the positioning of the equipment, Vivica directed the workers where to place items.
"Oh Aulani, that's your name, isn't it? Yes, well over there's a good spot for those… things."
Aulani went to the area Vivica indicated. Bending over and placing the weighty box down with a puff, Aulani blew a strand of hair from her dark brown eyes.
"Don't hurt yourself," Vivica chirped. "Remember, lift with the legs."
Crate down, Aulani stood while arching and rubbing her lower back.
"Thanks for the advice," she moaned.
"Just doing my part," Vivica chirped.
Asking what he could do, Jaiden was told to report to the docking bay. He quickly made his way there, thinking he would be issued a weapon, assigned to a team, and given an important task in the defenses. He was partially correct. Upon arriving, he was issued something, a shovel; and though he was assigned to a team and given a task, he didn't consider it very important. Like everyone else, his instructions came without time to explain. While shoveling rocks, he noticed Sergeant Payton Simon on the far end of the bay. His long-time friend was welding something onto the nose of one of the four mining freighters that other shovel teams were loading. Jaiden walked over to him.
"Payton, hey, what'cha doin'?"
Turning and seeing who it was, Payton lifted his welding helmet and smiled.
"Jaiden, good to see you. Oh, I'm attaching mounting brackets on these old things so they can install some mining equipment." Curious at his young friend's appearance, he stopped and gestured to Jaiden's smudged skin and well-used shovel. "What's with the coal miner look?"
"I dunno," Jaiden huffed. "I'm almost done, and I want to really help. Can't you talk to somebody? You know I'm good in a fight."
Payton smiled and went to place an arm on the younger man's shoulders. It wasn't until he actually touched him that Payton stopped and really looked at Jaiden. So much had happened on Acatus. When they first met him was a scrawny boy, but they were there a long time. He was seventeen now. With a hand on the muscular shoulder of a young man, Payton stopped and realized how much the boy had grown up.
"Jaiden, I know you want to help, and I know how much help you can be. But this isn't the island; the rules are different here. You need time to learn how to survive in this wilderness before you take on its predators. Go be with the other civil
ians, for now, do what you can there. Trust me, it's for the best."
"I guess you're right," Jaiden muttered, clearly disheartened. "I'll see ya later," he added then returned to those shoveling rocks into shuttles.
Hector Silvanus gazed upon the troubled faces of nearly five hundred civilians huddled in the heart of the hollowed-out rock they now called home. There were four similar great rooms in the habitation asteroid, and each permeated with the same spirit of fear. Though their asteroid was now repositioned deep in the field, everyone knew the Ramillie would eventually make their way to them. No one fooled themselves into thinking that merely because their asteroid housed only civilians the invaders would spare them.
In one corner a mother rocked her frightened child. Hector could tell she was as scared as the young one. Next to her was an elderly couple gingerly holding timeworn hands that shook as much from age as from fear. The husband's arm was around his now white-haired bride of fifty plus years. He tried to comfort her saying everything was going to be okay, but his countenance betrayed his true belief.
Since the evacuation from the school, Hector had become one of the Remnant's spiritual leaders, and he felt called to lead them now. But lead them to what? He was as scared as they were and had no more confidence than any of them were likely to survive the night. Nevertheless, he felt pressed to comfort them. He wrestled with and suppressed the call to speak. As he did, he remembered how the Elder had worked on the hearts of the soldiers who protected them the day the Hegemony came to take the children away. He remembered how the Elder had delivered him from the prison on Beta Omari VII, and how he was able to lead Edric to the Elder. As Hector dwelt on it, he realized that time, and again the Elder had protected him and guided his every step. Then a still small voice spoke to his heart.
I was with you then; I am with you now.
Encouraged, he climbed onto the adjacent table and began with, "My friends," then paused, unsure of what to say.
Speak, and I will be with thy mouth and teach thee what thou shalt say.
Reassured, he continued.
"I look on your faces, and I see a people bereft of hope and strength. But I tell you to be strong and of good courage, for we are not alone in this struggle. The Elder is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. We need not fear. Though the Ramillie come, trust in Him who is able to deliver us. He has protected and preserved us from the Hegemony so far, and if He wills, He can deliver us from them now. He is on our side, so we don't need to fear. I am reminded of the passage of the Codex that says, I, even I am he that comforted you: who art thou, that thou shouldest be afraid of a man… The Ramillie are but men, and they can do nothing the Elder does not permit. So don't abandon hope, for our Hope has not abandoned us."
His words to their hearts were like salve on a burn. Comforted, not with delusions the expected outcome was any different, but that the Elder was in control, their spirits lifted, and expressions of fear turned to prayers of faith.
Busy with the mass of preparations, time passed quickly for the people of The Remnant. Staring out the panoramic window of the operations control room, Alexander focused on nothing while thinking through battle scenarios. Merrick sauntered over to the uncertain general.
"There's no time for that, Alexander."
"No time for what?"
"All those second-guesses running through your head."
"How could you tell?" Alexander asked with half a humph.
"It's written all over your face. Besides, I've seen more than my share of battles over the years, and it's the same with every commander in the moments before the fight. The waiting is the hardest part, but don't fret over what's to come, it's already decided.
"Already decided?"
"Yes. War is more about brain than brawn. Most battles are won or lost before the shooting even begins. It's all in the planning. Who's out-thought whom? Your commanders have faith in you, the entire Remnant does, but where have you placed your faith? Are you trusting in yourself, or in Him?"
Before Alexander could answer, the sergeant at the sensor station reported the Ramillie were now in position.
"And so, it begins," Merrick whispered then nodded encouragingly to the young prince.
"Sire, we're receiving a hail," Grant announced.
Alexander looked to his ageless friend and smiled, then with confidence instructed to put the message through. On the screen appeared the image of the white-skinned, enemy fleet commander dressed in a spotless burgundy uniform with gold trim and prominently displayed rank insignia. Expecting a uniformed officer, but seeing a civilian, the Ramillie huffed in annoyance.
"I am Admiral Qil'Donan of the Deinodon," he began haughtily. "Put your commanding general on the screen."
"This area belongs to the United Realm of Theera-Enty," Alexander defiantly retorted "and I am the commanding general."
"No, you're not," Qil'Donan mocked.
Taken off guard by the odd response, Alexander hesitated.
"I assure you, I am."
Sneering, Qil'Donan continued.
"I don't think so. You see, you're not General… whatever your name is because you're not a general at all. You're nothing but a criminal, a renegade leading a group of outlaws and religious fools clinging to a belief the rest of the civilized galaxy recognizes as false. Your ship is gone; you're alone and defenseless. Generals lead troops in battle. What you lead is a hopeless, worthless bunch of outcasts and troublemakers who refuse to accept the truth. But here is some truth, in case you haven't heard there is no Realm of Theera-Enty anymore. It's been absorbed. Your once high nation is now a minor province among hundreds of others… a mere minor irritant. Now, here are my terms, you will lay down your dismal excuse for arms and surrender yourselves to my forces."
"Or?" Alexander questioned.
Qil'Donan was put out by the young man's impudence. Leaning forward in his command chair he answered the whelp.
"Or I'll come in and kill every last one of you," Qil'Donan boasted. "I do hope you chose the latter, it's far more entertaining."
He gave a wicked smile, then, easing back in his chair, changed his tone as if the battle were already over saying, "Oh and one last thing, you might as well remove that antiquated banner. You see, it doesn't mean anything anymore."
Alexander had heard enough from the pompous, overbearing Ramillie.
"Now hear this Qil'Donan, I know why you want me to take that banner down because you're afraid of it. You're afraid of what it stands for because as long as it still flies it means there's someone who won't bow down. It means as long as it waves, you haven't won. Well, the Elder has preserved the faithful, and the Realm will be sovereign again. This is our banner, the symbol of our nation, and of all we hold dear. Too many have died defending it for me to give it away to the likes of you. You want the banner? Come and take it from me."
Alexander slammed his hand against the button closing the transmission. He then turned to Lieutenant Grant.
"Launch welcome wagons," the Prince ordered.
"Yes, Sir," Grant replied and relayed the go-ahead message to the waiting ships.
Standing to the side of Admiral Qil'Donan was a Dridmor in mortal form by the name of Chiranjiv. He went to a computer terminal and called up the record of the recently ended conversation with the Remnant commander. He thought he'd recognized someone, but couldn't believe it. Pausing the playback, he glared at the image of the slightly out of focus man behind the enemy general.
"Merrick," he growled.
Chiranjiv didn't know how the Guardian managed to survive or keep that fact hidden for the past few years, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was killing the Guardian and taking the key from his neck.
In space, emerging from the thousands of asteroids lumbered six battered and plodding mining freighters. With running lights off, and spreading their formation out widely, the mining vessels slowly approached the front line of powerful Ramillie warships. Since the planet was blocking the sun, c
ausing virtual nightfall, the freighters were extremely difficult to see with the naked eye, but on the Ramillie ship's sensor displays, they were as clear as day.
On the bridge of the Deinodon, Qil'Donan laughed. As the assault force's command ship, the Deinodon wasn't on the front line, but its sensors were still able to get a clear image.
"Oh, this is pathetic," Qil'Donan mocked. "Is there no one left to even be a worthy opponent? Tell the lead ships to eliminate this rabble."
As the Ramillie powered their weapons, the large cargo bay door of each freighter slowly opened while the aged vessels continued their sluggish pace toward the invading force.
In the operations control room, the sergeant at the sensor station reported, "Sire, they're locking on."
To allow the freighters to get as close as they could, the Prince waited until the last possible moment before finally giving the go-ahead. Then, as angry Ichik erupting from a hive, hundreds of realm troops in space suits launched from the freighters. Using thruster packs, they rushed to the lead Ramillie ships. The troop's small size, relatively low power levels, and slowness, when compared to a starship, allowed them to pass right through the enemies' defensive screens.
Qil'Donan couldn't tell what was going on. In the dark, the Realm troops were virtually impossible to see. Only the glows from their thruster packs were visible, and even they appeared little more than faint flickers to his unaided eyes. He wasn't even sure of what he was looking at. Against the backdrop of the gargantuan Ramillie vessels, it appeared like insects in the night sky. As each troop passed through an energy shield, it caused a small, brief crackle of light. A crewman reported to the admiral what was happening.
"Tell the ships to lock on and shoot them," Qil'Donan ordered in irritation.
The crewman sent the message, but in a quick moment received frustrated replies.
"They're unable to lock on, Sir; the troops are too small and close."
