“Charming, my dear daughter. Can I assume a no, then? Against your friends?”
Droe bared her teeth in a forced smile, “Assume what you want.”
She turned her back towards the Assemblyman to leave, but stopped short. “You haven’t changed in all these years, have you?”
He chuckled. “Seasons change. People don’t. Still disappointed in a fact you already know?”
She looked in disgust at the man she thought she had once known, or the man she wanted to remember walking with her through the gardens, and left the terrace grounds.
Data Cell 9
The red-jeweled Vrae strode forward, passing through the front ranks of the horn formation which parted before him and reformed after he passed. He looked splendid in his fine-wrought, custom fit, engraved armor. The helm, every inch covered in jewels and intricate swirling knotwork made him look like a grand fool.
A youth consumed with the need to impress.
His right hand and wrist were encased in a battle-bracelet. In his left, he held a baton made of animal bone, laced with a fine wire mesh.
He looked at Lintorth and Voskal with a cultivated look of boredom and disdain.
Tapping one of his veterans to his left on his shoulder with the baton, he bid him to move forward to stand a few meters in front of the Kryth.
The vartis stepped forward and walked with a steady gait, relaxed and unconcerned.
He was tall, as tall as Lintorth, but much less broad in stature. Lithe and taking graceful yet sure steps, the veteran Vrae warrior looked like he could move lightning fast and unleash considerable power.
The faceplate of his helmet made it difficult to tell exactly who he was looking at, but his battle-bracelet hummed with a low-pitched whine, ready to fire, and his helmet never moved from staring right at Lintorth.
Standing sideways, his left foot in front and his left hand hanging with fingers splayed in a gesture of peace, he spoke.
“Honored foes,” a metallic voice grated through the helmet’s mouthpiece. The Krythtinian sounded clipped and stilted because of the mechanical translator.
Vrael did not translate well into Krythtinian. Subtle nuances of speech were lost in the computerized data streams. “The Heir of Dal Karsis Rim and the Second Protector of Fesis Hold bids you are greeting.”
Dal Karsis? Thought Lintorth, scouring his mind for specific knowledge about the vast Vrae Empire.
From what he could recall, Dal Karsis was a minor vassal state under legislative authority of one of the Twenty-Three Sector Lords. The Pelanthus firedrops prompted a guess that the Lordlet, The Heir, he corrected himself, must be a result of a union between Dal Karsis and Pelanthus itself; possibly a Scion with considerable power as he represented both legislative and religious areas.
Lintorth waited for the Vartis to continue and further enlighten him as to why the Heir had ventured to Oxgris. He knew why, but he wanted to make the Vrae impatient and perhaps spill some more information than was asked.
One always shadowed the other’s ships in the many contested areas. Both Kryth and Vrae always seeking some advantage over the other.
Close surveillance, but no actual contact, was the most predictable pattern from both sides. Actual confrontation, as was happening now, was quite rare.
The vartis waited for Lintorth to return the ritual greeting, as was expected from subordinates. All non-Vrae were viewed as subordinates by the Vrae, who stylized themselves as the rightful masters of the galaxy after the Gashnee were vanquished.
Lintorth had no qualm about remaining silent, thus offering insult. He cared not what the young Vrae might think of him and even less of the perceived insult.
The vartis stiffened and flexed his left hand, almost to a fist.
The mechanical apparatus on his zartil bracer spun faster and the light emitted glowed brighter.
Lintorth knew the reasons the vartis had not attacked was his desire to let the Heir give him permission to strike, thus absolving him of any incident between the Vrae and the Kryth.
The Heir walked closer towards Lintorth, but stopped a step behind his fellow Vrae, as was prudent for one of his social stature.
Lintorth sensed it was not without uncertainty and perhaps a little fear. The Vrae was young and inexperienced, but compensated with his haughtiness and disdain towards Lintorth and his fellow Kryth.
“It matters not that the Kryth act churlish, Isalka,” the Heir spoke as if Lintorth and his fellows were not even present. “It is their nature to balk in the presence of their superiors.”
Lintorth could hear Voskal Lat’s teeth grind in displeasure.
The Heir’s translator, as his armor, was a much finer quality than his guard’s. The spoken words of Krythtinian, emanating from the mouthpiece sounded more polished and natural.
“Such…boldness,” Lintorth finally spoke, pausing between the two words, before continuing, “For scavengers.”
The Heir stiffened at the insult, as Lintorth had intended.
“Our ancestors fought and ground the Gashnee down by unrelenting ferocity and casualties that made our worlds weep in despair.” The Lordlet’s hand clenched as he spoke. Turning his back on the Vrae, Lintorth walked a few steps away as he made the sign of aversion.
With countless dead from the war and the aftermath, one did not speak of such matters without being careful not to attract the attentions of wandering spirits.
“Our ships were torn apart and many worlds burned,” intoned Lintorth. “Yours skulked behind like yadlith, scavenging the wreckage and gleaning the Gashnee treasure from the ruins. Kryth bled while Vrae stole.”
“Vrae did NOT steal, ortuksis!” The Heir shouted behind him.
The Heir continued spitting insults at Lintorth in Vrael. The translator couldn’t translate every word into Krythtinian. “My forbearers appropriated what was theirs due to allying themselves with the Kryth Mahr and their shoddy coalition.”
Stepping between the Vrae and Lintorth, Voskal Lat had decided it was time to intervene.
He knew Lintorth’s body language and demeanor.
The situation was growing dangerous.
“Stole. Appropriated. It matters not what we call it.” Voskal shrugged. “It is all the same. We bled while your people made off with the greatest bulk of captured Gashnee technologies.”
“We formulated tactics and strategy to defeat the Gashnee.” the Heir of Dal Karsis fumed. “Our knowledge helped transform your blunt charge-and-smash method of warfare into something more effective. You Kryth are brutish, deceitful, and barbarous in your methods. Every race in the galaxy hates you!” he screeched.
“Call us what you will,” Lintorth responded coldly, turning back around to face the Vrae.
Tightening the grip on Avog’s tether, it creaked as the beast strained against his leash.
Avog’s movement was mirrored by the watchful vartis, who crouched lower into a fighting stance.
“You Vrae built your empire at our expense. No…our suffering,” he amended in anger.
The aythra snarled, reacting to his master’s anger, his ebony claws scratched against the stony ground. The sound the predator’s claws made left little doubt what they would do to soft flesh.
Its baleful eyes radiated hunger. Not hunger to satiate the need to feed and gain sustenance; rather the hunger to kill, to rip, to feel lifeblood in its maw.
Avog bunched his muscles and sprang forward with a roar, reveling in the reek of fear emanating from the young one.
Avog tasted dry dirt as something powerful and painful clamped onto the back of his muscled neck and slammed him into the ground, the snarl transformed into a wheezing expulsion of breath instead.
Kneeling on one knee, Lintorth held the struggling aythra with his bare hand on the scruff of Avog’s neck. His hand clenched to hold the beast at bay, while its hind legs kicked, fighting to break free.
The Heir put his hands, thrown up to protect himself from the beast’s furious leap, back down
.
His vartis stood before him, sword drawn to meet the beast’s charge.
The aythra still thrashed and snarled in the throes of bloodlust.
He watched, awed that the Kryth could hold the beast with a single hand. He couldn’t make out the Kryth’s muscles beneath his armor, but was dismayed how easily he held the aythra pinned and helpless. As he watched, the Kryth pushed down even harder, grinding the aythra’s face into the dirt until the snarls changed into panicked whimpers.
Although Lintorth’s muscles strained to subdue Avog, he kept himself as still as possible to avoid showing how much effort it took. He held the aythra’s head down in the dirt until it ceased struggling and lay still, panting like a bellows.
“There is something to be said of brute force, “he said, releasing Avog’s neck and standing up with the tether still clenched in his fist. “It is how we Kryth keep our subjects in check and our enemies at bay.”
“You built your empire at our expense,” Lintorth continued, as if the whole altercation with Avog had never happened. “It took the Kryth almost a hundred and thirty ronns to recover from our near ruinous casualties in the war. “You, let us die by droves in battle. We were unable to stop a handful of Gashnee who detonated plague bombs on our agricultural planets.” He pointed at the young Vrae. “Billions of my people died from starvation, sickness, misery, and most of all, your treachery.”
The Heir of Dal Karsis, still watching the Aythra, felt it was more prudent to remain silent under Lintorth’s growing tirade.
“Oh yes, youngling,” Lintorth whispered. “We will never forget your treachery.” Shrugging his shoulders and composing himself, Lintorth drew away and once again spoke in a more commanding tone, “We, my people, survived the Gashnee War as a viable civilization. After we had destroyed the Gashnee and were attempting to save our remaining population from disease and starvation, the Vrae convinced most of our allies to turn on us. ‘Do not throw off one yolk for another,’ I believe was the phrase used to stoke the revolt,” Lintorth accused the young Vrae.
Lintorth strode forward with Avog’s tether clenched in his hand, causing the beast to rush to catch up.
He stopped after covering the three meters separating the two groups of Kryth and Vrae.
“What do you want, whelp?” Lintorth asked.
The Heir had shifted a step back at Lintorth’s approach and had to check himself to stand his ground.
The Vartis did not give any ground and now stood an arm’s length from the Kryth and his aythra.
The atmosphere of the encounter crackled with tension. “I do not have time to play your games any longer.”
“Oxgris has been designated a neutral territory,” answered the Vartis, giving the Heir time to compose himself. “Open to the Vrae and the Kryth alike to use as they wish in accordance with Brantar’s Treaty. A treaty that even your Xoma Si chooses to respect, when it suits her whims.”
“We are here to train, Kryth,” interrupted the Heir, trying to keep his voice calm.
“Train? Train for what?” Voskal Lat asked.
“Discipline and combat,” stated the Heir.
“Combat?” growled Lintorth, looking at the Vrae formation behind the Heir and his guard.
The two ranks of Vrae Lordlets curved in at the ends like horns. A vartis was positioned at the end of each rank to control the line of Vrae in battle.
“This is how you prepare to fight on a field of battle? Pathetic,” Lintorth grumbled.
Angry, the Vrae Heir signaled his vartis behind him in the formation. The Vrae soldiers reacted also to transmitted commands, silent to Lintorth and the other Kryth.
A staccato of energy erupted across the two ranks of Vrae soldiers as energy shields sprang to crackling life on the right arm of every other soldier.
The front rank knelt and the rear rank remained standing. Every shieldbearer armed themselves with a longer, square-bladed sword.
The shieldless Vrae held plasma rifles, all aimed at Lintorth, Avog, and Voskal Lat.
The four vartis aimed zoltacs, pulsing with eerie light.
“Not quite so pathetic now are we, Kryth,” the Heir taunted from behind his own vartis and his humming shield he had apparently drawn.
“A classic defense, my young adversary,” Lintorth granted, smiling. “Outdated and too static for my personal taste, but adequate for untested soldiers. Bolstered by veterans, it would perhaps be tough to crack, given my current team comprises of scientists, not soldiers of my own.”
Voskal Lat nodded in solemnly, as if this were a serious consideration.
“Alas, my team of researchers are but academics and not trained in the art of warfare,” revealed Lintorth in mock lamentation.
His fierce eyes betrayed his ironic smile. “I myself am quite a formidable warrior and opponent, as is my comrade.” Lintorth gestured with his left hand towards Voskal Lat, who inclined his head at his Lord’s compliment. “Avog would revel at the chance to tear flesh from bone, as you saw. Alas, we accede to your judgement, as you hold the field with numerical superiority.”
Emboldened, the Heir of Dal Karsis stood taller, placing his hands on his hips, believing that his Vrae impressed the Kryth leader and his lackeys.
Yes. His soldiers were impressive.
Their coordination and ability to deploy and array themselves into many kinds of fighting formations was the envy of many of his peers at Conservatoire. The long grueling hours, drilling until their movements were crisp and synchronized, had been worth the effort.
He now had an opportunity thrust into his lap that he must seize and create his own legacy. Something of his own, not buried beneath his sire’s prestige and victories.
He did not know who this Kryth was, but possessed enough intellectual ability to surmise that his own ornate armor, less magnificent than his, marked him as an important ranking officer in one of the various Kryth Mahr military orders. Which one, he didn’t know, because those lectures had been onerous and boring.
Besides, his underlings would always provide him with the appropriate knowledge as needed. Today, he would gain a victory over his people’s hated foes. The first of many, he was sure. He could already hear his sire’s praise and even the grudging respect from the Prelate of Pelanthus.
Feeling emboldened, he stood taller, placed his hands on his hips, and announced with all his young voice was capable of, “Then it would be foolish for you not to acquiesce. After all, we…I mean I have control of the field. My soldiers outnumber yours five to one.” The Kryth looked nonplussed and…amused? “I hold your fate in my hand,” the Heir continued, gesturing, “My vartis will strike you down before either of you can move,” he threatened, avoiding looking at the fearsome beast the Kryth held onto.
He hadn’t enjoyed almost being scared witless. “And your mongrel too.”
Data Cell 10
The white, half-lit planet hung in its circular orbit, second to last, around the Mydian star.
The bright rays from the sun came way of the planet’s glistening surface of snow and ice.
This uninhabitable planet was called Awanon.
Its entire surface was an icy wasteland locked in an endless death throw of lifeless cold. Not a spec of life or movement existed in its barren landscape, save the torrent winds, which beat and shaped the unending white dunes strewn about her surface.
It is here, under the frozen shell of this planet, that lies mankind’s greatest secret.
Project Starwatch.
The facilty was designed and conceived in the rebirth years of Humankind, Awanon became the Ordinance’s key to the known secrets of the galaxy. It was the primary secret facility in which the Ordinance forces would practice the art of spying on other races and systems.
This project was given oversight over all others, including the formation and training of the Reaver Regiments. Starwatch was an engineering marvel; and it would need to be, if Mankind’s future ever depended on it.
The year was 152
P.E. when the construction of the secret installation for intelligence-gathering began on the planet’s surface. The installation would be the deepest, largest, and most secret structure in Human history. The construction began as a mineral mining field on the frigid tundra of Awanon. The Facility, as it was now referred to, was burrowed three miles below the planet’s surface, near the warmth of the core which could be used as an energy source. Once there, the second phase would begin as a large cavern was carved into the solid mass. The tunnels and main chambers would take six years to complete, but the external facilities would cease to exist and the planet’s surface would once again be unblemished.
In 160 P.E., the Ordinance took control of this intelligence facility. The builders were given over to scientists for the eradication of their memory for such events. The Starwatch project was soon forgotten to all except those who commissioned its creation.
All knowledge gathered across the quadrant from the secret resources set up through space, would be the early warning system for the Ordinance.
∞∞∞
Deep inside the planet, the Facility came alive. A large black spherical room was highlighted with white lighting along walkways and monitors on the walled surface.
Along the perimeter were twelve translucent bubbles with suspended seats in the middle. The facility’s operations personnel worked their stations within each of the spheres.
The personal holo-spheres had multiple holo-imaged sections surrounding its operator in a field of information.
Each operator could touch the holo-images within the spheres to view the displayed data.
A door parted open along the wall near a walkway of lights embedded into the floor leading towards the center of the chamber.
A tall male officer walked in with a black Ordinance uniform on.
The ceiling above the officer’s head was a vast map of solar systems. The map had trajectory lines that connected labeled systems, along with distances and the Facility’s passive deus devices as, they called them spread throughout the sectored areas.
Annals of the Keepers - Rage Page 6
