by Dave Bara
I didn’t need a gilded invitation. It was obvious they wanted me on the surface with them. I searched for the exterior airlock and an EVA suit and found them in due course. I put on the suit—the highest military grade, of course—then activated it and made my way through to the airlock, taking a deep breath as I opened the outer door. The stairs automatically deployed, and I took five small steps down to the surface of Altos. I could best describe that surface as gray, gritty, hard-packed sand. I looked at the small group standing in between the four yachts and made my way toward them.
The sky was mostly gray and full of flowing dust, propelled by extremely strong winds. Occasionally a dim patch of blue would appear before being blotted out again in seconds by the dust. I was thankful that the balancing force of my suit allowed me to walk and stand in the face of the swirling wind.
Presently I joined my three adversaries: Serosian, Gracel, and Tralfane. Just as I had expected. I switched on my local com.
“Perhaps you’d be so kind as to tell me what the fuck is going on?” I said, not really caring for any niceties. In their own ways, all three of the Historians present had betrayed me, and I hated each of them for it in different ways and to different depths.
Tralfane was the first to step forward. “Follow me,” he said. With no other real choice, I did. Serosian and Gracel came behind me, and the last Historian, whom I guessed was Gracel’s assistant Lenkowsky, stayed with the ships. We walked several hundred meters, buffeted all the way by the unrelenting wind. Tralfane waved me on into a small depression, where I could see a trickle of water running down a shallow gully barely a meter deep. The water was not more than a few centimeters deep and perhaps a hundred meters long before it disappeared back into the gritty surface.
“Do you see this?” asked Tralfane, clearly in charge of the situation.
“You did all this to show me a trickle of water?” I asked. “There isn’t enough here to satisfy a dog.”
“Exactly,” said Tralfane. “And this is all the water on the entire surface of Altos.”
That took me aback. “I don’t understand what the significance—”
“The significance is that this is what is left of a world that was once as beautiful and as plentiful in resources as your own. We now stand at the most fertile spot on this entire world. Altos is only two thirds of its original mass. Every mountain, every river, every ocean or lake or city or continent—it is now reduced to this. The winds here are only 180 kilometers per hour, making this the most hospitable place for us to meet,” he said.
I looked down to the trickling stream, up to the dim sky, and then across the endless barren plain. “I still don’t understand the significance of bringing me here,” I said. Tralfane shook his head inside his helmet.
“No, you don’t. Should you tell him, Serosian, or should I?” he asked. I turned to look at Serosian, who only bowed his head in concession.
“Serosian and I are of different schools, different philosophies of the Historian Order, about how to bring humanity back out of the darkness of the ancient war. What you see here on Altos is what his sect did to the Sri and their world to end the last war.”
I looked around. “A weapon did this?” Tralfane stepped up and spoke to me in a tone that I had never heard from him before, almost like sympathy.
“The weapon was called The Press. It was of monumental power, developed by the Historian Order. A gravity weapon so powerful it essentially crushed this world into a cue ball, burned away most of the atmosphere, and left this barren rock in its place.” I turned to Serosian.
“Why?” I asked my old friend. Tralfane answered for him.
“The Sri were involved in what you might refer to as transhumanism, trying to make the human race evolve through the use of nanotechnology and the like to push mankind forward. But Serosian’s sect believed that they left nothing for the spiritual, the soul, if you will. So they manipulated a rebellion against the Empire in the same way that the Sri manipulated the last three emperors to make war on lesser worlds that resisted genetic recombination, nanite implants, and the like,” Tralfane said.
I looked at Serosian. “So the Imperial Civil War was never between two sides, but between your sect and the Sri? And you just used us as cannon fodder?”
“It is more complicated than that, but essentially, yes, you are correct,” Serosian admitted without a trace of emotion.
“Do you know how many millions died in that war?” I asked, taking a step toward my old mentor. Tralfane’s voice stopped me again.
“He knows. His forerunners left good records,” Tralfane said. I jumped back in.
“And now you’re repeating that war. Pitting the remnants of the old empire against the Union,” I said. “Why?”
“Your beliefs are incorrect. There is no ‘old empire,’” chimed in Gracel. I turned back to Tralfane.
“What does she mean?” I demanded.
Tralfane contemplated me for a second, then said, “The weapons you’ve been fighting—the dreadnoughts, HuKs, drones, and the like—have all been automated,” he said.
“What? That’s impossible. We detected life signs aboard those ships,” I responded.
“Did you? Look around you. Do you think we couldn’t fool you when we have technology that produced this? That we couldn’t make you think you were fighting men and not machines?” Tralfane said.
“I don’t understand. Why would you want us to think—”
“To test you,” cut in Serosian. “To measure your empathy, your ability to make choices based on something other than your own interests. In each case you chose your personal relationships, your personal feelings and ideologies, over the greater good of all humankind.”
“Bullshit!” I said, my rage rising again. “I chose to save my loved ones and friends from certain death. Do you know how many friends I’ve lost fighting for the Union?” My hands balled up in fists.
“We know,” said Tralfane. “It has been costly to you. But it has molded you and shaped you, haunted and tormented you. And now you’ve come to this point, this critical decision point.”
“What decision?” I demanded, swiveling around to face each of them in turn, my patience growing thin. Tralfane took in a deep breath.
“Our group, our united sects of the Historian Order, have brought you here to make you an offer,” he said. I shook my head in disbelief.
“An offer of what?”
“Humanity must unite under one leader, one man. If we don’t, we will likely be destroyed by outside forces that are coming even as we speak. If you don’t give up your tiny dreams of sovereignty over your own lives, of the Union and the rule of law, then you could doom our entire civilization to extinction,” Tralfane said.
“Wait, what outside forces?” I demanded, ignoring for now the broader implications of his statement.
The three Historians exchanged glances. It was Serosian who replied. “The Founders,” he said, “are returning.”
“The Founders?” I said. Serosian nodded before explaining.
“We’ve known this since before the first Reunion Day, since before you were even born. We knew that what was left of humanity—dozens of isolated planets scattered all through the old boundaries of the First Empire—couldn’t face a threat like that alone. So our sect conceived the Union, led by a single leader driven by intuition and empathy, as the best choice for our future. But Tralfane’s sect believed a collective leader, one who could lead mankind with an iron hand—such as Prince Arin—would be best suited for the task. So we went our separate ways, made our separate plans, then pitted them against each other to see who would prevail.”
This time I took steps toward Serosian with the full intent of doing him harm. Tralfane restrained me with a strength equal to my own. Suited as we were, neither of us had a physical advantage. I calmed myself and shook one arm free, still confronting my former mentor.
“So this was all just some challenge between you two? I lost a girl I loved, friends, men and women under my command, all so you could prove your pet theory that I was humanity’s best option for survival? So you could win some fucking game?” I raged at him.
“It was never that simple,” said Serosian with what I hoped was a trace of shame in his voice. “The threat to humanity is extremely serious. And there have been many casualties you know nothing about.”
“Such as?” Now Serosian truly did hang his head in shame.
“You were not the first in your family to be chosen for this role.” The voice came from Gracel and was as cold and emotionless as you would expect. I looked at her, then back to Serosian.
“Derrick?” I said. Serosian stepped forward and faced me.
“This triumvirate—the three Historians you see here—made all the decisions for our Order. Tralfane and I were on opposite sides, Gracel somewhat neutral in the middle. I initially picked Derrick because he had a strong sense of empathy—”
“You mean he had the capacity to love,” I interrupted.
“Yes, the capacity to love. And love he did. He fell in love with a young officer named Lieutenant Dobrina Kierkopf. We had put her in his path because we believed she could provide him with comfort and companionship on the journey, the test he was undergoing. But he fell too hard for her, too deeply in love. His empathy for others had not yet matured, and he focused all of it on her.” At this Serosian paused, letting his words sink in.
“So he became useless to you?” I asked.
Serosian shook his head. “Not useless. Just not . . . optimal. His emotions had swept him too far to one side, toward empathy and personal love and away from intuition. Without balance, with his empathetic emotions for Dobrina being too strong, he would never make a good choice to lead mankind. And then we began to look at you.”
“Your balance between empathy and intuition was even stronger than your brother’s,” said Gracel. “But Derrick Cochrane was in the way. We put him in a crisis situation. A dangerous one, for sure, but not definitively lethal. He acted to save his lover rather than a whole Propulsion crew. He died a hero’s death, but so did the rest of them. And Dobrina lived. And so we were left with you, and all of us agreed that although we would have to wait three more years for you to choose the Lightship service and begin training, your potential, even greater than your brother’s, made it worth it.”
“So you murdered my brother,” I said to her. In that moment I wanted nothing more than to rip off her helmet and squeeze the life from her throat with both hands.
“No,” said Serosian, stepping between us. “We gave him a chance to prove us wrong. He chose his lover and died a hero for doing it.”
This was all too much for me. I began pacing in a circle, thinking, feeling rage and anger and a burning desire for vengeance. But something stopped me.
“You said that I had failed,” I said, facing them all. “I made different choices from Derrick, but I still destroyed those dreadnoughts to save Janaan, to save Levant and Pendax and countless others. I chose my friends over all of humanity every time; you said so yourself, Serosian. And now you want to strike some grand bargain with me?”
“But you forget,” said Tralfane. “According to all the reports Serosian filed, you also chose the service over your more pleasurable pursuits. You chose the Princess Karina in a political marriage that was better for the Union over either Janaan or Captain Kierkopf, whom you were drawn to just as strongly as your brother was. You showed the ability to make choices for the greater good. That’s why we’re here today.”
“But why make your offer to me? Why not Prince Arin? You’ve groomed him from a young age to be your tool of power. Why pick me over him if I have such a spotty record, according to your belief systems?” I asked. I watched as their faces stayed blank, none of them willing to step forward and answer my questions. And then it hit me.
“Arin has gone rogue,” I said. “You can’t control him any longer, and you need me to take him out because your philosophies, the rules of your Order, won’t allow you to after what your Order did here on Altos.” I looked to Serosian, who answered for the group.
“Essentially you’re correct. The Iron Hand has broken free, and he now controls the AIs that were running the Imperial ships. We could arrange a small party to assist you in attacking him, but our resources are gathering elsewhere,” Serosian said.
“Elsewhere? For what?”
Tralfane cut in. “My sect of our Order is leaving human space. We are going on a voyage in short order and leaving you with the gifts, the weapons, we have already given you to survive. But you and Arin must determine who will lead humanity before we depart.”
“And where are you going?” I asked.
“To meet the Founders. To join with the remnants of the First Empire, who left here to seek them after the war. They have a three-century head start on us, but we will catch them, face our creators together, and ask the questions humanity has been asking for millennia. But all this will happen half a galaxy away. Someone must remain behind and rebuild human civilization in this ‘human’ sector of space,” Tralfane said.
“So what is your offer?” I asked, finally getting down to it. Gracel stepped forward.
“Become emperor of a new, more just Second Empire, or live under the harsh collective rule of Arin,” she said. I shook my head.
“Me? As emperor?”
“This is our compromise,” said Tralfane. “Both you and Arin have shown tendencies that we could not control or stop. But if you say yes to assuming the mantle of emperor, we have a way of rendering the prince regent helpless, as we did your ships.”
I turned to my former friend and mentor. “And you, Serosian?”
He faced me with courage, and I admired that. “I have nothing to offer except my friendship.”
“That’s the only thing of yours I don’t want,” I snapped back at him.
“You should go easy on him, Cochrane,” said Tralfane. “Everyone else, every Historian on Earth, has chosen to follow us to seek the Founders. The man standing before you is the only one who believes you have a chance to survive the encounter with our forebears.”
I looked at my former friend and pitied him. “An army of one?” I asked.
“It is all I have to offer,” he replied somberly. I looked at him, remembering our time as friends, perhaps too optimistically. I doubted we could ever be that close again. But he could be valuable to me.
“Then I accept your help, Serosian. You’ll have a lot to make up for,” I said. He said nothing, only bowed his head slightly.
“And our offer?” pressed Gracel.
I looked down at the trickle of water that represented what was left of life on Altos and made my decision.
“I made a promise to the grand duke before he died. A promise I intend to keep. Justice for Carinthia, justice for Arin,” I said. Tralfane stepped forward.
“And after that? Union or Empire?” he asked. I didn’t hesitate.
“Union,” I said defiantly. He shook his head.
“A regrettable choice,” Tralfane said, and then he handed me a small metal disk.
“What’s this?”
“Instructions for how to reprogram the jump gate at Levant and galactic coordinates for Corant. You’ll find the prince there. And I can only wish you good luck in defeating him. You’ll need it,” he said. Then Tralfane and Gracel went to their separate ships and departed along with the other yacht, leaving Serosian and me alone on the surface of Altos.
“I would be honored if you would let me pilot you back to Defiant, Captain,” Serosian said, looking to me.
“Honor aboard my ship will be in short supply, Mr. Serosian, especially for you. I suggest you keep yours and just get me off this wasteland.”
Back to Levant
I called to Babayan from the yacht and told her of our situation and of what had transpired on Altos. Then I called Maclintock and repeated the same. I watched from the yacht’s command deck as the three yachts of Tralfane’s sect jumped freely away to parts unknown.
“Good riddance,” I said aloud.
“They would have made powerful allies,” Serosian said. I looked at him.
“Allies in building a Second Empire? No thank you, Historian. One massive failure is enough of a blot on humanity’s history,” I said.
“So you favor your tiny Union?” he asked. I thought about that.
“I favor a republic of some kind, even a constitutional monarchy, guided by men and women of goodwill over any other structure, yes. And one I’m not prepared to lead. Ever.”
“You think I chose wrongly, that I chose totalitarianism over your Union. You feel like I betrayed you. But I didn’t, Peter. I was forced to choose between the Union and what was best for all of humanity. I chose humanity,” he said. “You have no idea of the powers you will have to face in your lifetime, of the threat to your existence. My sect used to have as many followers as Tralfane’s. But as events played out, the consensus shifted. I was left essentially alone. And now my Order, all that I have ever known, is seeking out the Founders, praying that we have something of value to offer them so they don’t destroy us at their whim.”
“If they destroy you, at least we’ll have three centuries to plan for their arrival,” I said. Serosian laughed at that.
“Oh, they’ll be here much more quickly than that, young man. You may have a decade, no more.” That took me aback.
“But you said the First Empire has been seeking them out for that long.”
“And that shows you the difference between their technology and ours. They will be here soon, Peter. Count on it.” Those were sobering, unpleasant words.
“Just get me back to my ship,” I finally said, then crossed my arms and determined not to talk to him again until we arrived.
Ten minutes later, he skillfully docked the yacht into the port vacated by Gracel. Full power immediately returned to all of Defiant’s shut-down systems. I insisted he do the same for the other ships from his console, and he complied.
