Galaxy Under Siege

by Tristan Vick

  DINNER WAS A COMMUNAL experience, just as the satyr had said. When Callestra and the emperor walked into the canteen, they were ushered to the front of the line. As he moved past the line of stunned onlookers, he shook hands and greeted both Dagon and Galliforn people alike.

  He smiled pleasantly and chatted with them, making sure to show a keen interest in them and always remembering their names. It took him back to his campaign fund raising days before he figured out how to use the popularity of the games to fund his military ambitions. Luckily, it was a skill he still had in his back pocket for when he needed it. Even so, all that seemed like a distant memory to him now.

  Dakroth and Callestra took their trays and received the food from the cooks. Callestra formally said, “On behalf of the emperor, I’d like to thank you for all your service.”

  She sounded more like his publicist than anyone genuinely caring about their service, but the cooks and food servers didn’t seem to mind; they simply gazed with bewilderment at the face of the Emperor of the Galaxy.

  After receiving his allotted food, Dakroth looked down at the tray. It didn’t look like much. Some hash, a side of roasted Angorian turkey with gravy, some greens, a carton of sweetened koimen milk, and a slice of pickle on the side. Not exactly a feast, but he was dying to dig in.

  Callestra sidled up to him and then pointed over at the left corner of the dining hall. “Over there,” she said. Dakroth followed the angle of her finger and saw Grendok waving them over to him, entreating they come join him at his table. They obliged.

  No sooner had they arrived than Grendok stood and clapped his hands, drawing the crowd’s attention. He addressed the dozen or so members of his table saying humbly, “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I hate to interrupt your meal time, but the emperor and I have some official business we need to discuss. If you’d be so kind as to give us some privacy, I’ll see to it each and every one of you gets an extra dessert tonight.”

  The promise of an additional dessert caused them all to scurry away excitedly like a group of pigeons that had just been tossed some breadcrumbs.

  “There, see? Sometimes using the proverbial carrot works far more effectively than hollow threats and brute strength.”

  Dakroth grinned tersely realizing it was meant as a criticism of his past leadership techniques. “That young man you once knew was full of ambition and had very little experience with the ways of the galaxy,” he said, still smiling. He sat across from the satyr and, setting his tray down, continued on. “Were his methods a bit brutal and antiquated? Sure. Was he headstrong and full of himself? Some say I still am.”

  This uncharacteristic bit of self-deprecation drew a chuckle from the satyr and he smiled at Dakroth with sagely eyes and wisdom that far outstripped the emperor’s own.

  “It seems you’re not entirely incapable of learning from your mistakes. The sign of a true leader,” Grendok said, making sure to pay the emperor a compliment.

  “Men with great power don’t always have the greatest scope,” Dakroth stated. “I learned that from watching my father. I feel that somewhere along the way to becoming a great emperor, he became obsessed with the quest to gain ultimate power. Of course, he could never achieve it because, although he wouldn’t understand it, ultimate power doesn’t exist. There is an equilibrium, I’ve found. The Universe, it seems, has a way of balancing things out. And no matter how strong or powerful you become something will always arise to match you.”

  “Do you think this H’aaztre is some kind of universal balancing mechanism?”

  Dakroth shook his head. “No, but I think Jegra might be.”

  Callestra leaned back obviously disturbed by the mention of her rival’s name. She didn’t hate Jegra, but she didn’t like her either. All she wanted was for Dakroth to speak of her like he talked about Jegra, whom he obviously held in high esteem.

  “Power has never been my obsession,” Grendok stated, clasping his hands together and resting his chin upon them. “But wealth certainly has been a preoccupation of mine. But, like you,” he said pointing his hoary chin at Dakroth, “I, too, realized that the endless chase for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow was unrealistic.”

  Glad to make the conversation about anything but Jegra, Callestra looked at Grendok with inquisitive eyes and asked, “Why? Why is it unrealistic? You’ve amassed more money than anyone else in living memory. You own your own space armada. You colonized a ring world that had only been rumored to have existed. And you found a way to make yourself immortal. Yes, I too know all about the legendary Grendok of Galliforn. But if an ultimate trophy was ever been within reach, it was within your reach.”

  He shrugged, as if to say none of that mattered. “You see, my dear,” he continued, “it wasn’t ever about being rich. It was the acquisition of riches that I found rewarding. It was the pursuit that thrilled and delighted me. Once I held the prize in my own two hands though, then the novelty faded. It just became another thing to me.” Grendok looked down at their untouched plates. “Apologies, I’ve kept you from your dinner for far too long. Please, dig in.”

  Both Dakroth and Callestra leaped at the chance to enjoy their first real meal in over a year. They scarfed down their food like wild boars gorging themselves on truffles. Seeing as how they weren’t slowing down, Grendok raised two fingers into the air and gestured for the service staff to bring over two more meals for them. They devoured those, too.

  Her mouth full of food, a single tear trickling down the left side cheek, Callestra let out a deep moan and said, “It’s so bloody good.” Another bite later, she moaned again, this time more sensually. And then again.

  Both men paused mid-bite and looked over at her with stunned looks. She stopped chewing, gulped down her mouthful, and said, “What?”

  “Nothing my dear,” Grendok answered, waving his hand about as if to clear the air. “Eat until your belly is full and your appetite satiated.”

  Callestra let out another scandalous moan and both men briefly glanced at her before falling back into their conversation.

  “I presume the plan is to destroy this world,” Dakroth said.

  “And you’d be right,” Grendok answered.

  “May I inquire as to how you hope to achieve such a feat?”

  Grendok smiled. “We’re going to flood the atmosphere with equal parts hydrogen and oxygen. Then we’re going to detonate fifty-seven strategically placed neutron bombs. The explosions will ignite the gas rich atmosphere causing a pressure wave that will travel to the neutron star at the center. The additional mass will condense on the star, make it collapse into a black hole, and the ring should break apart.”

  “Should?” Callestra asked skeptically.

  “Well, we’ve double checked the math regarding our considerable understanding of physics. But the construction of Aldebaran eludes even our best scientific minds. Quite literally speaking, a place like this shouldn’t even exist.”

  “And, yet, here we are,” Dakroth said, gesturing with a swipe of the hand at the imagined landscape beyond the walls of the dining hall.

  “It’s a gamble I’m willing to take,” Grendok replied, his slatted eyes shifting to Callestra’s face.

  “If it can withstand fifty-seven neutron bombs and defy the very laws of physics, then maybe it’s not meant to be destroyed,” Callestra said, chewing her food softly as she talked.

  “Perhaps,” Grendok said nonchalantly. “But part of the fun is the challenge itself.” He winked at her and she paused momentarily and then looked over at Dakroth, who was mainly focused on cleaning his plate.

  “Why not just keep the planet?” Callestra asked. She turned to Grendok. “Your people lost their world because of H’aaztre. Why not keep his world as your own? It would only be fair.”

  “It’s a nice thought,” Grendok said, stroking his chin hairs. “But it wouldn’t be satisfying. Right now, my people are hurting. They’ve suffered a great loss, and it seems the only way to ease their suffering is to pay back
in kind what H’aaztre has taken from us. Besides, there are other worlds.”

  Callestra scoffed. “So, it’s about revenge?”

  “Don’t underestimate the value of revenge, my dear,” Dakroth said, raising a finger. “It can be a great motivating factor when going up against a seemingly undefeatable enemy.”

  “I’m sorry if I have given offense,” Callestra said, bowing her head apologetically. “I only meant to suggest there may be better uses for this place than simply blowing it up to send a message.”

  “That may be true,” Grendok replied, “but sometimes the message needs to be boldly written in the only thing that the enemy will understand. Violence.”

  “It sounds awfully close to terrorism, if you ask me,” Callestra said. She put her silverware down on the table as she’d grown too upset to keep a healthy appetite.

  “Oh, to be sure, my dear,” the satyr responded with a wry grin and a gruff voice, “it is virtually indistinguishable. The only difference is, at the end of the day, it won’t be the innocent who are unduly terrorized. It will be the villains.”

  Dakroth reached out and took his glass and then stood up. The entire canteen died down to a simmer of whispers as all eyes settled on the emperor. With his glass raised high, he shouted, “Long live the Empire!”

  It wasn’t the Dagon Empire or the Galliforn Empire. It was simply The Empire. Their empire. And one they were determined to take back at any cost.

  A brief silence followed his toast, but then something amazing happened. Satyr and Dagon all stood up, unified by their oppression and their desire to end the reign of terror that had seized them. Together, they raised their glasses and roared, “Long live The Empire!”

  KRA-THOOM!

  “What in the bleeding Helios was that?” Callestra asked, startling at the deafening noise that clapped like thunder overhead.

  Almost as soon as she had asked the question the scramble alarm came onto the speaker system.

  The fighter pilots were the first to leap out of their seats and rush from the canteen. Grendok, Dakroth, and Callestra shared a quick three-way look and then leapt up and raced outside. They all filed out into the open field in front of the building and looked up at the sky. Hanging above them was the most massive Nephilim battle cruiser any of them had ever seen.

  “It’s him,” Callestra said, her voice wavering with fear.

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Grendok said.

  “Unfortunately, my esteemed friend,” Dakroth said, turning to Grendok, “we do.”

  Dakroth raised his forearm and pulled up his sleeve. The hairs on his arm stood straight up, as if static electricity were holding them erect. But it wasn’t the static causing his goosebumps, it was the cold, unrelenting fear coursing through his veins.

  Callestra raised her arm, holding it next to his, and showed that the same thing was happening to her.

  Something about that prison they’d been held captive in changed them. Because, in this moment, they could both feel a terrible, dark presence. It almost felt like standing on the cusp of an event horizon, peering down into ultimate oblivion—only a million times more awful.

  It was a fear Dakroth hadn’t experienced since he was a small boy and had fallen into a viper pit; bitten repeatedly and left for dead—hundreds of poisonous snakes slithering over his small, frail body.

  If his father’s hunting hound hadn’t sniffed him out, he would most assuredly have perished in that hideous dark nightmare. The sensation he felt now was just like that: pure, unabating dread.

  There was another long silence between them and, then, they turned their gazes back up toward the ship.

  “Odengrat,” Grendok grumbled under his breath. This was really going to put a kink in his plans.

  11

  A blonde woman, along with thirty delegates representing the Human Martian Alliance, sat at several large dining tables in the banquet hall. Although they looked rather haggard and were little more than skin and bone, they were cleanshaven and wore their formal dress uniforms for tonight’s special occasion.

  After a bit of waiting, the empress, Jegra Alakandra, along with her entourage of officers, imperial bodyguards, and servants entered the banquet hall. The bubbly and ever cheerful Lieutenant Brei’Alas stood to Jegra’s right and Captain Lianica Blackstar to her left, while four Imperial guardsmen, two on either side, flanked them and provided protection.

  Everyone in the room stood when they entered, yet it did not escape Jegra’s attention that the slender blonde at the center of the table was the last to stand.

  Naturally, the tall blonde woman was none other than President Karina Nazimova of the Human Martian Alliance, and one of the last remaining humans in the entire galaxy. When she made eye contact with the empress, Jegra smiled at her. Karina did her best to smile back, but she was still uncertain about this woman. More importantly, she was trying to figure out how an Earth woman became an intergalactic empress in the first place.

  Jegra gave Karina a subtle nod of recognition to let her know she remembered her from the video chat they’d shared earlier. She answered Jegra’s nod with one of her own in a show of affinity but did not smile.

  Jegra couldn’t blame her though, for being less than enthusiastic. She, along with her people, had just lost their entire planet. They were all probably still in shock—stuck in survival mode. Jegra doubted any of them had even had time to let the devastating loss sink in—she sure as hell hadn’t.

  Karina was taller than she’d appeared on the video, and rather slender, too. Jegra couldn’t help but admire her piercing blue eyes and thought to herself that, out of the entire group of survivors, she seemed the most capable.

  Lieutenant Commander Barrion stepped forward, raised a digital whistle to his Prussian blue lips, and gave the bosun’s call. All crew came to attention and turned toward the entrance.

  “Introducing her majesty, the esteemed gladiatrix turned empress, Jegra Alakandra, Imperatrix of the Dagon Empire, Jewel of the Commonwealth, and Mother to all of Dagon.”

  When the empress’s entourage had passed by Barrion’s position, giving a slight sideways glance, Jegra couldn’t help but glean the fact that Brei’Alas did her best to avoid making eye contact with him. It was clear that Brei divulging her sexual fantasies about having a threesome with her had made her uneasy around him, given her present company.

  Given Brei’Alas’s propensity to be perpetually on edge, along with her penchant for blurting out whatever thought sprang to mind, however, Jegra felt it was probably for the best that she didn’t start up a conversation with Barrion during tonight’s proceedings.

  Karina and Jegra met face to face behind the main dining table and greeted one another.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you in person, President Nazimova,” Jegra said, extending her hand.

  Karina Nazimova didn’t smile. She seemed to have nerves of her own but, realizing her rudeness, quickly blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

  The apology seemed authentic enough, but something wasn’t quite right with Karina’s tone. Instead of sounding embarrassed she sounded frightened somehow.

  Jegra raised an eyebrow when Karina drew out a korridium alloy blade from the back of her waist and, lunging forward, thrust it into the empress’s gut.

  Everyone in attendance gasped out in horrific shock at the sudden and unexpected attempt on the empress’s life. Captain Blackstar was the first to step into the fray. She clasped onto the scrawny human’s arms and, locking her arm behind her back, held her at bay.

  Karina’s eyes welled up with tears and, again, she apologized. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Silence, Terran,” Lianica growled, her eyes flaring pink with energy from the Dygra crystal pulsing hot in her chest. “You will bite your tongue or I shall have it removed for you.”

  “It’s alright, Lianica,” Jegra said at last. Lianica and Karina turned toward the empress and watched as Jegra looked down at the blade lodged in her abdomen.
<
br />   “Please. You have to believe me. I didn’t want to do this. But she told me to do it. So, I had to...you understand, right?”

  Jegra looked up at Karina and smiled casually, which caused Karina some confusion, as that wasn’t the response she was expecting. With a grunt, Jegra ripped the dagger out of her stomach and tossed it onto the table along with a smattering of her blood. It rattled to a stop and she took a deep breath, doing her best to ignore the lacerating pain. Dismissing the transgression, she gently held her hand over the wound and then gestured for everyone in attendance to be seated.

  “Everyone, please excuse the misunderstanding. Everything is fine now. I am fine now.” To console any doubt about it, Jegra removed her hand from the gash in her dress to reveal her wound had completely sealed up on its own.

  “But I don’t...I don’t understand,” Karina said, stumbling over her words.

  At first, she had been afraid that the empress would retaliate or that her security detail would pile onto her and drag her to the brig, but now she didn’t know what to think.

  Instead of arresting her, to her utter surprise, Jegra barely flinched and seemed to be rather calm about the whole ordeal.

  “Don’t you need to see a doctor or something?”

  “I’ll be fine,” answered Jegra, rubbing her fingers along the slash in her dress and spreading it open for Karina to see that, indeed, her flesh wound was virtually gone.

  What appeared to be white traces of scar tissue slowly dissolved into the coppery undertones of Jegra’s sunbaked skin. A few moments later, her taught abs rippled with raw power beneath the tattered fabric; not a single trace of the knife wound left on her.