The Imperialists: The Complete Trilogy

by H. T. Kofruk

  A pang of guilt went through Heera’s gut as she said this. She knew she would love nothing more than to escape somewhere peaceful with Terry, somewhere untouched by the polluting and falsifying touch of Rendens.

  She took another step. “Put that down and help me with Bin’ja” she said softly.

  Haseeb shook his head. “I’m sorry, Heera” he said before shooting her.

  ***

  Encrusted salt blocked the slit of his breathing hole on his forehead. He exhaled hard, sending several small crystals of salt flying in the air. He hadn’t even known of his desalinating abilities before being marooned on this wet rock. He stared emptily into the sky at the two suns, one large and red, the other small and white. The giant blue planet around which the watery rock orbited showed brilliant dynamic patterns that shifted as if mirroring the water rippling in the endless salty sea.

  He had no idea how he had gotten to this world, or how long ago. The lack of food and exposure to the perpetual sunlight had robbed him of much of his intellect. Dried salt itched his thick skin. All he knew was that he was floating on a piece of red metal, that he had arrived here after an enormous explosion of blue. The underside of the metal raft was badly rusted and he had no idea how long it would stay afloat. He scratched his belly and then tried to reach his hard hunched back to get at a spot where salt had accumulated and was itching terribly.

  His recent consumption of protein had certainly helped him regain a little form. He had tried some red plant that grew in the water but had retched it all up a few hours later. He and his two brothers had then spotted some small green creatures with large bulging eyes and many long, stringy tentacles swimming nearby, probably out of curiosity. They had caught a few, momentarily satisfying their enormous appetites to fuel their incredibly fast metabolism.

  But the creatures soon learned to stay away. The first one to die was the elder. What was his name? He could barely remember. It was similar to that of the weak leader, the one who had caused this mess. It was Bin…something. Bin…ruk? Yes, that sounded right. Bin’ruk. He had been injured in the explosion and therefore had been easier to kill. The condescending way he talked had always annoyed him so ripping his head from shoulders was almost a pleasure. The other one had initially refused to eat a brother but his rumbling stomach had soon changed that. The fool had cried and repeatedly apologized before every bite.

  That lasted a while, how long he couldn’t say. He had convinced the other one to try some of the red plant, pretending that he was also trying some. When he opened his mouth to let out the poisonous contents of his stomach, he grabbed his neck from the back and strangled him to death. The monumental struggle had almost left holes on the rusty raft.

  But now he had nothing. He had killed two brothers to stay alive but now he was going to die. He no longer cared for Mother who was letting him die without even attempting to talk to him. He regretted not having killed the weak leader himself. His weakness had caused all this mess! He no longer had the strength to even raise his fist to shake it.

  His vision grew dim and blurred. The two suns were just two blurry circles in his eyes. When everything turned purple, he thought that perhaps this was what death was like. The purple pulsated and rippled like the water. The voice that boomed in his ears made him jump, at least figuratively, since he had no energy for such a daunting action. His vision was still clouded with purple but now the rippling coincided with the force of the voice.

  “What is your name?” it boomed.

  A million questions raced through his head. Should he answer? Who was talking to him? Was it Mother? The ripples surrounded and bound him like thick purple ropes as if they were trying to squeeze a response out of him.

  “What is your name?” it said again, this time in a more soothing voice.

  “Mother?” he asked.

  “Yes, it is Mother.”

  Could it really be her? Why was she talking to him now that death was staring at him. He realized that he couldn’t stay angry at her nonetheless. “I am Saj’ra” he said weakly.

  He felt the purple ropes loosen and turn into soothing caresses. “You have suffered much, my son.”

  Tears came to his eyes. He had suffered, and he had committed terrible crimes.

  “You must open your mind” she said again.

  What bad could come from revealing everything to his creator? He relaxed the feeble defences he had set up in his mind and immediately felt the purple vines enter the cracks like serpents. Scenes of his memories streamed past his vision like a series of pictures; the first rays of light that entered through the crack in the egg that housed him; the gentle touch of an older Nikruk cradling him; the first time he witnessed a Sanja-Tuk ceremony where an old one would drink the blood of Mother and die; his subsequent witnessing of the birth of younglings. It seemed Mother was less interested in these precious memories. When the first memories of their encounter with Rendens emerged, he could feel her drink in the detail.

  “You are a treasure, aren’t you” she said. Did he hear a slight mocking side to the way she spoke?

  He felt her fixating on their weapons, his expertise in flying their ships, their battle tactics. Why would she be interested in such things?

  He felt her delve into a deeper level, into the memories of his forefathers. Countless images whizzed past so quickly they made him nauseous. He realized that most of the scenes were happy: adults cradling babies, younglings playing in the canopy of the great trees, adults harvesting the fruit that Mother provided, the occasional hunt for the giant ‘devil’ worms that drilled through the trunk of the trees and subsequent feasts of delicious cooked meat.

  She lost interest in the banal images. There remained only two of her ‘minions’ who could provide her with information on her tormentors and one of them was too formidable for her to crack. It almost seemed that this one wanted to be cracked; his mind was as weak and breakable as hers had been when her tormentors first engaged her. She sensed millions of other minions throughout the vast expanses of stars and worlds but their minds were somehow screened from her prying consciousness. She could feel, however, their feeble minds gravitating towards her as her rival grew weaker and weaker. The one they called Mother needed to be completely destroyed. She would soon be the only master of countless souls just waiting for her to fill the vacuum of their minds with her vengeful consciousness.

  Chapter 22: Boston

  ‘One of the greatest manifestations of human stupidity is the almost complete abandonment of the study of the seas of Earth after the launch of the age of space exploration.’ – Portia D. Banda, marine biologist, year 2655

  Captain Tito Da Silva of the IGN Caspar looked at himself in the mirror. His skin was a pasty grey hue that accentuated the blood vessels visible beneath his eyes. His thick, dark facial hair was already creating a shadow on his face even though he had just finished shaving. His mid-section was starting to bulge slightly from lack of exercise, or lack of space to exercise. In short, he found himself looking ten years older in the space of six months.

  Six months since the Caspar had surfaced in the Atlantic Ocean. Although he officially belonged to the Atlantic Alliance Navy, space-faring captains would obviously consider him something apart. After all, nobody joined the navy to sail the seas anymore. With a vast, exciting universe full of strange worlds and stranger aliens, why confine oneself to a deep pool of salty water?

  Tito had to disagree. The deep seas of Earth were veritable evolution chambers with new species still being discovered. The major climatic disturbances in the twenty second and third centuries killed off half of Earth’s flora and fauna, but once the climate was artificially rebalanced, diverse new animals evolved to replace what had disappeared. He lamented the fact that people were racing to discover what was ‘out there’ while still being relatively ignorant of what the Renden home planet still had to offer.

  His love of the sea stemmed from his love of water. Having grown up in the marshy inland delta of Pantana
l, he often boasted that he had learned to swim before learning to walk. To him, the oceans of Earth weren’t an endless, dangerous and mysterious source of adventure, but rather a pleasant wet cocoon, a place familiar yet strange, comforting yet full of surprises.

  But even he was getting sick of being stuck in the deep ocean for months without surfacing once. The mission of the Caspar was simple; make sure no enemy sea vessels got within thirty miles of the east coast of the Americas. Eleven other fission-powered military submersibles were also patrolling the Atlantic coast, giving each one a length of almost two thousand miles to cover! Luckily, the Chinese Empire had few, if, any sea vessels. Any enemy aircraft attempting to fly over the sea between Europe and the Americas could be picked off relatively easily, as could orbital drops. The Atlantic Alliance and the Pacific Federation did have some measure of control over orbit above the Americas.

  The truth was that the Atlantic Alliance was holding on to a thin thread for survival that was getting frayed by the minute. Most of the ground troops had been stationed in Europe since that was where the threat of a ground-based war was strongest. Most of the spatial navy, however, had wisely been located in the skies above North America. The abundance of surface-to-air facilities, fighter squadrons and ship fabrication helped them to keep control of the skies in the Western Hemisphere. But if, or more likely, when the Chinese and their Orthodox allies took over the remaining skies, the fall of the Atlantic Alliance and the Pacific Federation would not take long to be realized. The Peace Alliance, at least, would be subjected to less harsh treatment since it could say that it was merely upholding the Charter Convention. It might even be allowed to guard its independence. Slowly but surely, nonetheless, it would be absorbed into the Greater Chinese Empire along with the Afrikan Republic.

  Thoughts of what the future held made Tito want to retch. He would probably fight and die for nothing and his inconsequential life would be forgotten beneath the waves along with the thirty other crewmembers of the Caspar. He wanted nothing more than to go home to the warm seas of the South Atlantic, to his wife and two teenage daughters. Throughout the war, now in its thirteenth month, virtually no news of victory had reached his ears. First Scandinavia, Germany and France, then the British Isles, Italy and Iberia had fallen. They had lost Europe in eight months. He couldn’t think of any war in history where the loss of terrain had been so swift. And he had thought since he was a little boy that the Holy Alliance could never fall, that God would give them the strength to overcome any adversary.

  Realizing that Chinese boys and girls probably felt exactly the same about their empire, that their Walking God could not know defeat brought a sour smile to his face. He turned and grabbed a small metal flask perched on his desk. He shook it to hear how much liquid it contained before opening it and taking a gulp. The dark cachaça trickled down his throat, leaving a trail of heat as it did so. He had been saving two bottles of the fifteen-year old spirit to celebrate victory, when he and his men would be going home. Instead, they had become escape routes from the despair of reality.

  He put on his blue uniform that would convert to an underwater survival suit if needed, complete with twenty minutes of oxygen. He holstered the pulse sidearm on his waist and sighed before walking out of his quarters. Unlike space-faring ships, submersibles didn’t have the luxury of space and sailors awkwardly made room for the captain in the tight corridors.

  When he reached the bridge, he came face to face with the myriad of holographs that he hated so much. Chief Warrant Officer Tainio and Lieutenant Commander Wilson both stood on perceiving his arrival. He nodded his greeting to his two officers.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. Anything other than fish, squid and dolphins?” he asked, hoping his humour would lift the mood a bit.

  “I do believe we heard a whale four hours ago, sir” replied Chief Tainio.

  “Nothing to report, sir” replied Commander Wilson.

  Tito looked at his two officers and was reminded how different they were. Tainio was a short, slightly burly Icelander who loved the sea as much as Tito. His bushy brown moustache and round face went well with his cheery humour, something that Tito appreciated immensely at the moment. Wilson was a high-flyer with good family connections. He had served on a two space-faring destroyers before being assigned to the Caspar, possibly a punishment although Tito had yet to discover what the crime had been. Being an arrogant fuck with a stick up his arse, probably…

  “You’re relieved, Commander Wilson. Go get your rest” he said.

  The younger officer had a look of resentfulness in his eyes but said nothing and promptly left. Tainio seemed to relax without what he called ‘the arrogant pup’ on the bridge.

  “Any technical anomalies?” asked Tito.

  “No, sir.”

  “I’m feeling claustrophobic, chief. How about we get a view of the outside?”

  After a few seconds, holographs fed by exterior sensors were projected throughout the curved walls of the bridge, almost giving the impression that they were standing underwater in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Only a fraction of the sun’s light funnelled down but it was enough to illuminate the blue depth. He felt as if he was in a marine blue oil painting, an impressionist vision of life before birth. The coolness of the ocean seemed to envelope him and bring calm to his troubled mind. This was where life was born on Earth, the primal cradle.

  In the distance, a shoal of small fish was rising from the deep. Although they were merely black specks on a dark blue canvas, he could sometimes see the weak sunlight glinting off their silver scales. Thousands of small fish swirled and twisted in a vortex of life. Another shoal rose from the blackness, this time much closer to the Caspar. Tito had seen these kinds of shoals a hundred times but they never lost their wonder. Tiger Shark fighters tried to imitate the way individual fish would seemingly know which way to move at what velocity, completely in synch with its neighbours but their manoeuvres couldn’t compare to the real thing.

  A pod of common dolphin was detected near the surface, creating bubbles and songs as it approached the first shoal. Shadows that fell from the surface indicated that this was a large pod, probably over a hundred strong. How they knew the pilchards were going to emerge at that exact location was still beyond him.

  When two more shoals of small fish and several hundred squid emerged from the deep, Tito knew that something was wrong. He had never seen such an abundance of life appearing at the same time and the same place. The ocean was just too big to brush this off as a coincidence. Perhaps a deep-sea earthquake was about to erupt. Tito asked for a reading but not even mild pre-tremors were detected.

  It was too dark to make out exactly what was going on but it seemed the squid were attaching themselves to the exterior of the submersible. When one of the dark figures started using a laser torch, Tito knew these weren’t regular squid.

  “Rise! Rise!” he yelled. “We’re under attack. Red alert!”

  The red light from several hundred laser cutters illuminated the water. As the Caspar rose and the sunlight lit the sea from a deep blue to a lighter hue, the amplitude of the situation became clearer. The squid were in fact some sort of marine alien species with several flexible limbs and large, intelligent eyes. They were all wearing bronze coloured mechanical gear on their red and purple skin.

  A portion of the wall went blank and gave way to static.

  “They’re targeting the sensors!” shouted Chief Tainio. “Communication is down. They’ve taken apart the Web-Com sender-receiver.”

  “Deploy drones” said Tito. “Target the squids.”

  Two dozen black deep water drones emerged from a hatch. Shaped like mechanical dolphins, each one immediately started to chase the aliens and shoot torpedo rounds. The aliens, however, were extremely nimble in the water and easily outmanoeuvred the drones. They were obviously aided by the metallic equipment they were wearing which seemed to amplify their movements. Tito couldn’t see how many they were able to take out.

/>   The sensors continued to go blank, blinding the crew. The sea surrounding the Caspar was bright from the noon sunlight as it rose rapidly. Tito understood how the enemy had found them; they had simply delved deeper than the submersible and searched for large shadows above them. The simplicity almost made him laugh. Who knew from which corner of the universe the Chinese had brought these intelligent aliens that were tearing his beloved submersible apart.

  There was only one section of the wall displaying a holograph of the exterior. It showed two squid-like aliens attaching something to the ship before disappearing down back to the deep.

  Tito felt the shock of multiple bombs going off around the ship. When the Caspar emerged on the surface of the Atlantic Ocean, it was in no less than sixteen large fragments. The survivors of the explosion met the water with their uniforms transformed to pressurized suits. Each and every one of them felt tentacles enveloping their bodies from below before being dragged down to depths where their suits could no longer withstand the pressure.

  ***

  High Chancellor Giovanni Morgante slipped through the Grand Celestial Gate, past the two Celestial Guards standing watch in their pure white suits of armour. His hair was unkempt and stubble covered his cheeks. Months of stress and lack of sleep had sipped the unnatural tan he had had and revealed his pale wrinkly skin that was more suited to relatively advanced age. His untidy condition contrasted sharply with the immaculate bureau of the Representative of God on Earth. Everything was so unnaturally white it almost hurt his eyes. A massive cross carved from Bahalar ivory hung on the wall above an equally large oil painting of Saint Andrew Palini, the father of the One God movement. The man sitting underneath the painting looked small and insignificant in comparison.

  The Man in White sat in a beautifully ornamented chair with angel wings for a backrest and lion paws for legs. To his side stood a younger man, the chief chamberlain.