by Jake Stone
The absurdity of it makes me angry. But I can’t lash out now. There’s more at stake here than just my pride. There’s the issue of my friends. And worse, Rachel. If I’m kicked out of the sainthood, I won’t be able to travel the stars, which will keep me from finding the clues that I’ll need to save her. No. I only have one chance to state my case and I have to do it carefully and now. “My lord,” I say, “If I may?”
His eyes narrow in indignation. But he’s curious, perhaps impressed that I would test his patience. “Hammering in the final nail of your coffin?” he asks with a mirthless grin. “By all means.”
“I saved lives today, my lord.”
“Lives…” Alvarium says the word with a snort. “Lives that are bought and paid for with the Republic’s glory. Your concern for lives is unimportant, Cross.”
“Perhaps his lordship would’ve preferred that I’d allowed the enemy to spill through the portal with its armies so that he could’ve faced it himself?”
Alvarium’s jaw clenches. “How dare you?” he demands. “What audacity. What gall. If not for the fact that we require as many soldiers as we do, I would have you killed right here and now.”
Cytax, reaching for his sword, awaits his general’s command, and I stand there, heart pounding in fear. I always do this. I always make things worse with my anger. My only hope is that I’m not killed before I leave this tent.
Thankfully, Alvarium relaxes. “But as it would seem,” he says in a reluctant voice, “the corfew has set you on a different course.”
“My lord?” I ask.
“What do you know about this planet, Cross? What do you know about Korath?” His eyes draw into slits as he waits for my answer.
The question confuses me. Until a week ago, I’d never even heard of this place. All that I know now is what I’ve seen. “Only that it’s a frozen planet, my lord. One that holds a strategic purpose for the Republic.”
“Strategic purpose,” he repeats absently to no one in particular. “That is true. But what if I told you that the planet wasn’t as cold as it is now, that this piece-of-shit world that we’re now forced to reconquer was at one point a very lovely place.”
“My lord?” I ask, perplexed.
“Come,” he says, resting a hand on my back as he gestures to the holographic map that’s still hovering over the table. We walk slowly, like old friends, and I realize what a manipulative little bastard this guy is.
“Korath has never been special,” he admits. “Sure, it was beautiful, but in terms of natural resources and its scant population, the republic has never really cared about the planet. To be quite honest, it has never held more importance than say… oh, how does one say, Senator Elzerath?”
“A toilet, my lord,” he answers with a laugh. He turns to Cytax, expecting the old warrior to join him in his amusement. But when he doesn’t, the politician’s laughter quickly dies, and he looks away, trying to regain his dignity.
“Yes,” Alvarium says quite keenly. “A toilet.”
“Then why’s it so cold now?” I ask.
“Why, indeed?” He lets the question hang in the air, leaving me, as well as the other men, to wait for his answer. “You see, five hundred years ago, when the scientists of our galaxy activated their machines and ripped open the Dark Horizon, our worlds were set upon by dark and magical creatures, beings of immense power. They did many things to our worlds, things of which we are still trying to undo.
“But I don’t have to tell you, do I, Xander?” he says, leaning into me. “You’ve seen the monsters firsthand. Demons who can breathe fire. Returned souls wrapped in rotting shells. Vampiric succubi with horns. They’re a formidable sort.
“But their power is only temporary. Take this blood kaster from the morning for instance. Sure he can open up portals, but they’re only temporary structures, like bridges made of twig that can be destroyed once the kaster has been killed or beheaded, or whatever….
“No, for their main army to march into our galaxy, they require the Dark Horizon, and apart from that, they require a drop-off zone, a place where they can regroup and mobilize their forces.”
“Korath.”
“Exactly,” he says. “We first realized this during the War of Darkness, when Republic worlds were being overwhelmed by vast forces, unable to repel the constant onslaught. To counter this, we sent a combined force of three legions to reclaim the planet. But for reasons that still eludes us to this day, we were unsuccessful in the attempt. And now it’s our turn.”
“Three legions?” My gaze falls to the floor. “And the Republic was still unsuccessful? But how’s that possible?”
He exchanges an uncomfortable glance with the other two members of the council and for the first time I see the speck of doubt in their eyes. “The Republic believes that the planet is…possessed.”
“Possessed?”
“By an ancient evil that still remains here to this day. Just look at the clouds, Xander, the feet of snow, the howling winds and frigid temperatures. Even the rock struggles to survive this place. Not to mention the interruptive forces that linger in the air.
“As you may know, our com links only work in certain ranges. Even then, there are the occasional disturbances, moments when we lose contact with all teams. No, to this day there are things that still lurk in the shadows, dark and evil things too powerful and too stubborn to be killed, protecting the secrets buried with its dead. And we need to find it.”
“And how do we do that, my lord?” I ask.
“How indeed?” He holds me in his stare. “Shortly after we won the war, the Republic sent an expeditionary force of scientists and clergy to investigate all possible causes for this evil. For if Zendal had truly been cast out of this galaxy, why would the planet still be ruled under such horrible conditions?”
“And what did they find?”
He offers me an innocent shrug, pouting as he does so. “We don’t know. They were never heard from again.”
“They were killed?”
“They were taken,” he corrects in a menacing voice.
“To where? And by whom?”
He grins. “That is what you are here for, Xander. You see, according to Cytax, you’ve developed quite the reputation as a rogue. You march to the beat of your own drum?”
I cough, as I clear my throat. “My lord, I’ve always done my best to—”
“Relax,” he says. “While such behavior is usually unacceptable, it appears that in this case, it’s exactly what the Republic requires.”
“My lord?”
He silences me with a hand. “I’ve decided to offer you a way out, a chance to venture out into our little waste land and regain your honor.”
“A suicide mission,” I say.
He laughs, unable to control his amusement. “Oh, don’t look so glum,” he says, patting me on the back. He swipes a piece of red fruit from a passing metal tray, dipping it into a bowl of cream and popping it into his mouth. “Any death in the service of the Republic is an honorable death indeed. But I doubt you’ll have any trouble, Cross. A big strapping Saint such as yourself. Find me the remains of this expedition, bring back their findings, and you will be reinstated into the Republic’s service.”
“What about the Battle Saints?” I ask.
He glances at Cytax, his face an unreadable block of stone. “You will remain in the holy service of the corfew.”
I sigh, feeling a moment of relief, thankful that all is not lost. I can’t lose my place amongst the brotherhood. Not if I’m to finish the mission Elandra has put me on. But if what Alvarium says is correct, there might be far darker things hiding within the snows of this lifeless planet than I’m capable of fighting, and I’ll need to draw upon the wealth of my strength if I’m to survive. But in the end, I have no choice.
“Very well, my lord,” I say with a wary nod. “I accept your mission.”
“Good,” Alvarium replies. “In four days I will be leading the army against Lord Bantha and his mi
nions in one of the greatest battles in history. It will be a great victory for the republic, one that will turn this war around and finally earn me the respect I deserve. You have until then to discover this planet’s secret.”
“Four days?” I ask.
“I know,” Alvarium says with a bemused smirk. “But don’t worry. I’m nothing if not magnanimous. Here, this should help you get started.” He tosses me something through the air and I catch it, finding what looks to be a digital drive with blood on it, clearly a piece of vital information that was bought with some poor soldier’s life.
“What is this?” I ask.
“The last known coordinates of the expedition’s location. Unfortunately, it’s quite far from here, and due to the fact that this is a secret mission, you won’t be able to use any of the vehicles. But what you can take are all the supplies you can carry, along with your own fist-unit, which, from what I understand, are full of capable warriors.”
I pause, staring down at the digital drive in my hand. This mission will dangerous, more than what I want to expose my friends to, especially after everything they’ve done for me.
“Is something wrong?” Alvarium asks.
“This mission, my lord… I’m not sure I want to risk the lives of my friends.”
“How noble,” he says in a mocking tone. “Very well. Just get it done.”
“Yes, my lord.” Bowing my head, I turn to leave, only to stop when I hear his voice. “And remember, Cross.” I turn to look back. “Whatever you do, get me that information. Your very life depends upon it.”
Chapter Five
I exit the tent, with a heavy heart, knowing what I must do and who I must leave behind.
The roar of first-class cruisers draws my attention as the giant ships slip into the atmosphere, their vertical thrusters burning at maximum power to keep them safely above ground.
All around me the deployment of the Republic army has begun. I watch in fascination as republic troops, dressed in gray fatigues and thin plated armor, hurry to establish the base’s fortifications, not to mention the cumbersome, yet necessary infrastructure required to support such an army. Pitched tents. Feeding stations. Tiny bunkers built from assembly packages no different from something I would’ve purchased at Walmart back on earth.
The structures are quickly built by the soldiers, despite the frigid winds that do their best to disrupt their progress. Up ahead, to my left, I see Teema standing by the opened entrance of a heated tent where she’s surrounded by a group of female soldiers who appear transfixed with her every word. They burst out laughing when she says something funny, unbothered by the fact that she’s stealing glances at their breasts.
“Oy, Xander! Wait up!” she calls out when she sees me. She whispers her goodbyes to the women, shooting them a wink before rushing out into the snow, to catch up with me. I don’t slow down.
“I see you’re busy as always,” I tell her, pushing through the snow and storm.
“Jealous?” she asks.
I snort. “Never. Merely mentioning the obvious.”
“Ugh, these female soldiers and their Republic trained bodies…. It pays to be a pilot around here.”
“And I’m sure they feel the same way about you,” I say, patting her on the back.
“Go ahead, make fun of me. Not all of us can be blessed with good looks and a cock. But at least I have a future. More than I can say about you, oh Pretty One.”
“News travels fast amongst the Saints, I see.”
“Disobeying a direct order?” She snorts. “I’m surprised you’re still standing.”
“As am I?”
“So, tell me,” she says. “What’s to be your punishment? A week in the stockade? A demotion? No, you’re not that lucky. Exile, I bet.”
“Death,” I say.
She laughs. “Well, at least you still have a sense of humor.”
My feet slow, as I come to a halt, turning to meet her stare.
“You’re not joking,” she says. “Are you?”
I shake my head.
“How then?” she asks, her voice full of concern. I’ve never seen her so serious before, and the appearance of it brings a shocking realization to my core.
“A mission,” I say, glancing at the mountains in the distance. “A one-way ticket to hell.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to,” I say.
We stand there in the snow, the harsh wind whipping at our faces, while Republic soldiers work around us to erect tents and food stations. With a deep sigh, she nods, then holds out a hand for me to take. “Where ever you are, Xander Cross, in this life or the next, I’ll find you.”
“And I you,” I say, taking her hand.
After a moment, she turns to leave, forgoing the women of the tent to return to her Republic Jet that’s parked a few yards away.
Gazing over the erected tents of the base, I peer through the hazy air to find the golden banners of my order flailing in the frigid wind. The image of it makes my heart heavy, and I know that I must say goodbye to my friends before I set out on my journey.
Let’s just get this over with.
Each legion of Sainthood has its own emblem, a symbol to represent its strength and the deadly attributes with which it can draw upon whenever faced with death.
Ours is that of the Xeraxes. A powerful beast whose scaly appearance is reminiscent of a dragon. The image of it has always inspired me. Though, at the moment, it does little to strengthen my steps.
Using the banner as my guide, I push through the busy camp of soldiers to reach the perimeter of our sector, where I’m met by a pair of armored saints wearing the traditional green robes of the sentinels.
They inspect me through the visors of their helmets, their gauntlets tightening around the shafts of their spears, as they see my face.
“Who goes?” one of them asks.
I peer at him, unmoving. “Xander Cross of house Xeraxes,” I say, “soldier of the seventh legion.”
He says nothing.
As ridiculous as this process may seem, it is in fact quite necessary. Demons, as they’ve done in the past, can possess soldiers with little more than a touch. If one was able to infiltrate a Republic base, they could set off a bomb or assassinate an important leader.
Saints—for the most part—are no different. They think and feel and suffer from the same bothersome emotions that regular soldiers do. Albeit, they can block it out using their meditations and cerebral augmentations. Still, it’s happened before. Which means, it can happen again.
The sentinel angles his to the side, while his partner, a woman of my height, holds out a mini scepter, that she presses to my forehead like a crucifix. It touches my skin, and I await in silence, letting the test run its course.
When nothing happens, when I don’t scream out in pain and drop to my knees, cursing the entire camp in demon tongue, she steps away in relief and nods to her partner, signaling that everything is okay.
“He’s safe,” she says.
The male isn’t satisfied. His gaze lowers to my right hand, noticing how it’s clenched around something he cannot see—the device.
“What’s that?” He reaches for my wrist, but I pull away, refusing to show him.
My action puts them on guard, and I’m suddenly faced with their spears pointed at my chest.
“It is forbidden to smuggle anything into the holy sector of the saints,” the female proclaims. “You know that.”
“I’m not smuggling anything,” I say. “This was given to me.”
“By whom?” he asks.
For a moment, I’m tempted to tell him, “Your mother.” But I know better. Saint protocol is strict, and any deviation can result in punishment. Instead, I rely on the titles of those who gave it to me. “General Alvarium of the war council. So if you have any concerns, bring it up with him. Otherwise, step out of my way and let me pass.”
The guards exchange a glance.
“Fine,”
the male replies.
I brush past them as I head toward my quarters where the rest of my squad should already be waiting for me. The last I saw of them, Atia was having them clear out the remaining hellions in the surrounding areas. The work shouldn’t have been too difficult. But when it comes to demons, one can never be sure.
My chest tightens as I remove the gauntlet from my right hand and press the palm of it against the sensor monitor recessed along the door. I do my best not to worry about my friends. But it’s difficult. We’ve already been through so much together. It would kill me if something happened to one of them. I wonder if they feel the same about me?
The door slides to the right, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that the women are already inside waiting for me.
“He’s here!” Petronelous declares, drawing the attention of the other women.
They turn around to look at me, seeming relieved that I was allowed to return, and not sent away on some transport back to Dardekum. I barely make it a couple of steps before I’m attacked by them.
“Where were you?” Petronelous asks
“Did they hurt you?” Chu Hei signs.
“Did they rip off your cock so that you can never use it again?” Zorel asks, on the verge of tears.
I quiet them down with raised hands, taking my time as I answer each of their questions in turn. “First of all, I was with the war council,” I say pointing at Petronelous. “Second of all, no they did not,” I sign to Chun Hei. “And thankfully,” I say, turning to Zorel whose eyes are as wide as saucers, “I’ve still got it.”
Zorel lets out a sigh as she hears the news, appearing as if she was about to faint. Her long blond hair flows majestically over the shoulder pads of her armor, adding to its already illustrious shine. “Thank the corfew,” she says, grabbing my cock piece. “I didn’t know what I was going to do without little sexy.”
“That is good news,” Petronelous agrees. Her mane of red hair is tamed by a ponytail, that allows me to admire her slim face and fiery green eyes. “We were worried.”
