by Adam Peled
The Buchawans’ appearance only had two unique traits—black, lackluster, very long hair that was typically left loose and wild, and a tiny human bone piercing their noses. It referred to their history of cannibalism and was seen as a deterrent, despite the fact that the custom ceased decades ago. Nowadays, everyone said, there were no Buchawans who ate others.
***
Dolsa was the second planet ruled by a woman. Born on Petra, Rahav found her place as head of Dolsa, the largest brothel planet in the galaxy, after she was expelled from her home by Mia. The number of women on Dolsa was the largest number of any galactic planet, and they did the work of both men and women. For 11 months, Dolsan women lived alone. Males visited from time to time, but these weren’t family visits. Just work visits.
The Dolsan women went out to work when they turned 14, and sometimes they worked every day of the week, or for a whole month. But there was a strict rule on Dolsa that no woman received the same man twice in one month. In the last month of the year, every woman over the age of 14 who had yet to return to her forefathers received her man, who devoted that month to his permanent woman. This was the great month of conception, and the Dolsan women were only allowed to conceive from one man.
***
Darfol—the politicians’ planet—held weekly votes regarding galactic trade and industry. The planet was not ruled, but was headed by Dviv, a Deltan philosopher and author who intensely researched the first year of choice.
The planet Darfol was characterized by amazing scenery of waterfalls and tropical forests on one hand, and on the other hand, a blue, almost transparent sea whose horizon was too distant to be seen.
Jorash-green snake ,'has its own intelligence but is dominated by the very gdloarsi used for vaccination at an early age and weapons of world armies.
roll-meter long titanium rod shaped iron axes,there is rod shaped rubber spikes used in the game-rolltoy.
Chapter 3: Gray and Black
On Tuesday evenings on Darfol, the weekly meeting for military leaders was held. It had one purpose—the good of the world.
The boardroom became a battlefield where the mouth was the sole—and sometimes lethal—weapon. Attacks were mounted at every week’s meeting. Every discussion became personal, every victory raised someone’s ego and belittled another’s, but every time the meeting concluded in a positive atmosphere, with everyone agreeing, “It was for the good of the world! Of course it’s not personal.”
This week’s meeting was chaired by Bergin, a fact that resulted in full attendance—no one was late and the room sat in awed silence. A dozen military leaders, all of them leaders of their nations, arrived pale, tense, and uncomfortable with hardly any words of welcome. Only an oppressive, deathly silence.
At precisely the stated time, an orange light fell on the leaders’ faces, making them look even paler. In silence they looked at each other, realizing that one was missing. Bergin himself was late—or perhaps he wouldn’t even come.
With an ultra-thought instrument invented on Delta, their thoughts were easily read by each other. It was not surprising that the thoughts were alike: Something has really happened if Bergin, the strongest person in the galaxy, has allowed himself to be late. Being behind time was a phenomenon he condemned. Perhaps something terrible had happened to him. Perhaps something terrible was about to happen. Perhaps this is a trick to gather all of us and protest our abilities?
Fear sprouted with each thought. They knew not to say anything when the door did finally open. Hopefully that would bring the solution to the mystery. But their fears continued to gnaw away at them.
Only Pandor, with his stony face decorated by straight symmetrical lines and sharp scars from old weapons, smiled grimly in resignation. The oldest military leader present, his blue eyes had already dulled and his black beard had become shiny white, revealing his age. But others weren’t to be misled—the old man was not far from his peak ability and was still considered a fearless warrior who, despite all his years, maintained an impressive physical shape. He was a giant with a nice face, but little patience, with a special ability to speak fearlessly—perhaps because of his size and strength, or perhaps because of inner integrity. The empty conversations conducted nearby were of no interest to him. Everything about him said decisiveness and a forward view to a horizon no one besides him could see.
The tense meeting’s discomfort was disrupted by the sound of quick steps approaching the oak door. All eyes looked at the silent door. In the silence of the hall on the other side of the door, it was possible to discern that not one, but two pairs of feet marched toward it with rhythmic, but not particularly rapid, steps.
Those sitting in the boardroom only watched Bergin enter, not each other. An unwritten law stated that only one representative from each planet could attend the weekly meeting, and it was always the ruler, or someone on his behalf. Bergin wore his ceremonial bright green uniform while Coldor wore his usual black, from his cloak to his shining boots.
Bergin didn’t say a word. He just looked at those seated, trying to locate the fear, waiting for the first one to open his mouth. The silence continued. Those sitting in the boardroom managed, in a fraction of a second, to hide their fear and wonder—at least from Bergin.
He blessed those present and passed his regular seat, continuing toward the podium, a heavy oak platform at the other end of the room. The silence continued, everyone watching Bergin. He adjusted his position and stared at them, one by one—forcing the others to lower their eyes, his gaze steady. His view shifted and he continued on, like a reaper in the wheat field—row by row, eye to eye with each. Only old Pandor didn’t submit. Bergin looked away and continued.
In the center of the table were a dozen collections, each with 11 small boxes—gifts from the leaders to their friends—along with a hologram of the galaxy and the name of each planet.
Bergin held up a dark green envelope. No one sitting had noticed it earlier. Now, when he opened it and removed the content, the silence was more intense. Everyone looked at him, terrified.
“In the seventh year of the choice, an all-out war will start against the planets Delta and Rosten. It will be led by the Dolsans and Buchawans. This war will be the last before the coming of the thirteenth star,” he said in Cherka, a language not understood by all those seated. Dviv, a short man with curly black hair and a childlike face—said to be the wisest of men—translated his words within seconds into a language that was clear to all.
Bergin continued. “I have proof that four months ago, a plot was hatched by Rahav and Koffee to eliminate Delta and Rosten due to their constant objections to the stars’ occupations.
“Gentlemen, some sitting among us wish the others ill. I call on you, military leaders of the planets, to halt this plot. Stop it before the coming of the thirteenth planet.”
His voice grew louder. “I leave in your hands proof of meetings between the daughters of Rahav and the ministers of Koffee. This proof will come a moment before the great war, the war of doom.”
Bergin was silent, and his silence was even louder than his words. Representatives of the planets moved restlessly, looking at each other, lowering their gazes, and raising them again as he continued. “I call on you, Rahav and Koffee. I bear the words of your friends, or anyone you see as your enemies. This war is unnecessary! What do you seek? Say it here and now before everyone. What do you want to obtain just before the war that could be the end of us all—of you, as well?”
In the commotion that erupted, not everyone heard the last sentence. Koffee, a hothead, failed to control his astonishment. He hammered the wooden table with his club and soon replaced these blows with his hands. His eyes flashed fire, smoke blew from his nose, and his right foot jiggled nervously. The club that rolled out of his hand provided a unique and sickening opportunity to observe its appearance: the end used for beating was a human head, with painful streaming eyes. But Rahab’s personality had vanished. Her face was practically transparent, her brigh
t red lipstick looking like a smear of color on the face of a dead person. She mumbled things that no one understood—and no one bothered to understand.
Coldor smiled, satisfied. Things had panned out just as he expected. He was not afraid of Koffee’s idle threats. Koffee used his appearance as a tool to intimidate, but those who knew him well recognized it was nothing but a façade.
Mia chuckled slightly, returning to her usual ways—the exposure of her former friend, Rahav. Mia would sometimes detain another leader and recount Rahav’s treacherous deeds secretly, quietly. Now she gloated loudly.
The only exception to the tumult was Pandor. Ignoring the uproar, his gaze was fixed on Bergin. He didn’t stare into space, but looked at him and waited for him to continue. He found the situation hard to believe, and so he waited.
Bergin continued to stand at the foot of the podium, fanning the emotional turmoil with words of encouragement. Coldor slowly approached. “You did your bit. Let’s hope that, like the prophecy, the scroll does not have any meaning either.” Bergin was not able to subdue his victory smile.
David, a short Levite who wore white, his face and chest adorned with a black beard, went up onto the stage and stood to the right. In a pleasant voice, he began to sing an old song about a person who had no love or hope—all he had left was a prayer that everything would change. In less than a minute, the shouting and cursing ceased.
When he heard the silence and noticed that everyone was looking at him as if he were crazy, he cleared his throat and spoke in a pleasant voice. “God’s way is sometimes strange. We’re people of the choice, and if we choose not to fight, my planet will not take the first step. I am not a man of war,” he said proudly, “and I am not a leader,” he added apologetically. “But I will just say that if we—the people chosen to vote because we’re wise, rich in experience, and restrained—don’t let destiny occur this year, the thirteenth planet will never arise.”
Loud curses and shouts were again heard. David tried unsuccessfully to calm them. Still standing at the podium, observing the stupidity and haste of the military leaders, Coldor approached, bowed his head slightly, and whispered to David, “The strong survive. Do you think you’re strong?”
David looked at the military leaders, not at Coldor. “I’m not strong, but I’m not scared.”
Coldor took David’s hand firmly and said, “See you soon.”
David didn’t even think to look at him, never mind to turn around and face him. He knew his place in the world—and certainly in the boardroom.
***
There were only two seasons on Falcon—winter and autumn. The winter was very harsh, but not rainy. The strength of the wind was frightening, and some said that one could hear the arguments between the winds of the heavens and understand entire words. Falcon was not a planet friendly to strangers. People didn’t stream to it and few wished to settle there. The Falconites lived there in full acceptance of their fate.
Its distinctive structure resulted in interesting architecture, which was similar to the tribunes encompassing a giant stadium. Every floor in the construction spiral was unique to a predefined population. The circle with the largest radius, that in the upper part of the crater, belonged to its ruler, Bergin, and his men—the palace level. Descending the spiral toward the core of the crater, the Falconites’ pedigree and importance decreased. At the bottom, close to the core of the planet in a place that suffered the constant heat of lava, was the prison.
The palace’s ring surrounded the planet and all its needs were supplied in that range—hospital, shopping centers, entertainment, parks, sitting rooms, and other services. Bergin and his courtiers had no need to leave the area and descend the planet, unless they were asked to do so for their work.
Bergin’s palace was always dark and closed to visitors, to the point that horror stories were spread about the events behind its walls. No one dared to speak publicly about the palace or its residents.
One of the legends, whose truthfulness no one knew, described giant statues that were affixed one night to the external walls of the palace. The necks of the statues, like the heads of a monster-person, bent toward the base of the crater. Rumor had it that Bergin didn’t send his courtiers to spy among citizens of the planet because the statues would report everything. Strange deaths that occurred were attributed to the giant statues, new illnesses were associated with their anger, and unsolved disagreements that dragged from one generation to the next were caused by the giant statues. “The statues”—that was what everyone called them, but the words were never spoken above a whisper. The stories about the statues were recounted by father to son secretly.
Another legend common on Falcon, which no one saw as an insult, referred to the planet’s unique structure of being a wide crater. Some said that God didn’t want so many planets and decided to forgo Falcon, just like one squashes a pea on the table. He touched its base with a finger, and instead of shattering into trillions of tiny fragments, an enormous belly opened up, which resulted in its strange bowl shape.
In the depths of Falcon, in its middle rings, Benaya brought up Rettoul, whose name meant “putty in the hands of the Creator.” It was strange name for a small child, but no one gave it too much thought. The orphan Rettoul had been raised by Benaya since he was two months old. Benaya had known his mother, who put him in safe hands with great love, and Benaya took upon herself the task as if also being entrusted with the mother’s heart.
“What sort of name is this—‘Rettoul’?” said his mother to Benaya when the two sat together after his birth, drinking distilled pine juice. “Are you sure it’s a name for a child?”
Benaya laughed. “Your son is something else—a child with a strong spirit and a gentle soul. He will shape his surroundings; this child will forge all of us.” Benaya’s shining eyes swept over the dying young mother. So the boy was called Rettoul and, when orphaned, was transferred to Benaya’s care.
By the time Rettoul was eight, his eyes shone like fire and his constant smile radiated to those around him. A scar somewhat compromised the integrity of his face, but it was not enough to overshadow his wonderful light and joy of life. No one remembered its origin or knew its meaning. Rettoul was a short boy with a solid physique. His day was similar to the other youths of his age: study, football, and the company of two huge dogs who sometimes seemed human beside him.
Benaya was received with smiles and tremendous love. “What a great kid you have,” friends said. “We’re so glad our son is a friend of Rettoul’s.” Her pride was overwhelming. “Rettoul, how well-brought-up he is,” “What a kid. I wish my child was like him.” Benaya dissolved with joy, recovering a moment later. He was not just a good kid, well-brought-up and friendly; Rettoul was something else. She was the only one who could connect things.
Even the relationship between Rettoul and his adoptive mother was unique. Some said that when the two were together, the planet could split into two. Benaya wanted her son to know a lot. In addition to the sources of information available to him, she included stories and home study. The two would sit and talk, reading and going over textbooks together, missing nothing. Benaya knew she was giving Rettoul information that he might not have any use in life for, but to her, there perhaps would be the one marginal thing he knew out of everything that could save his life when the time came. Thus, she didn’t stop.
She had but one fear—that her reply was liable to kill him. She constantly cushioned him with protective systems for life.
***
Rettoul’s love knew no boundaries. Spending time with Benaya, with her interesting stories and tremendous knowledge, fascinated him. She didn’t always have immediate answers to every question, but he was satisfied. She never felt tired in his presence; hence, his eyes shone even more when they were together. For him, Benaya was everything.
And her wisdom… Rettoul thought she was the wisest of all people, and he was so jealous that at night he would ask for just half of it in his prayers. She kne
w Petrano wisdom and could speak Cherka, and taught it to him. She even knew the events of the first year of choice and the recent years, even though they had been concealed and sealed to all. He was tremendously proud that she was his mother.
Chapter 4: The War of the Warlords
Rettoul lived in his world with absolute love and tranquility, accepting everything at face value. He was a wise and inquisitive child, but generally welcomed reality with curiosity, not suspicion. The love he and Benaya shared was great and brought great benefits to both of them.
***
Among the galactic military leaders, suspicion festered. Every leader entertained themselves with ideas of how to take over the rest. Spies were sent everywhere, plots were hatched in each room, and many residents were killed or executed—sometimes for foolish reasons—as long as everyone saw and was seen. Suspicion drove the rulers crazy and they began to arm their troops. Former soldiers cleaned their weapons and uniforms as the movements toward war were evident everywhere. Hot-tempered Koffee tried to create a coalition which, he hoped, would lead to his galactic rule. Pandor was the first to follow him, although he had the same goal—to rule the galaxy. Alone.
The first planet they approached was Rosten. Lunia tried to present his doctrine of peace to them—along with the new weapons he’d developed, attempting to excite Koffee and Pandor with his innovations. He presented them with the most modern technologies, not realizing he was losing his grip on Rosten. The eyes of the other two rulers sparkled, wanting to know everything about the tiny chariots he’d developed. They were unfamiliar, but most promising, weapons of war—a tiny unmanned vehicle with three even more miniscule cars attached to the sides and behind. The chariot drew the three, and on the fateful day when the three miniature cars would be launched into the depths of a planet under attack, they would drill an internal path through the planet and install a solar network on the bottom, leading to the planet’s collapse inward. Their enthusiasm made it impossible for Koffee and Pandor to continue to listen to the next invention, of which Lunia was also proud—ice mirrors.
