by Tristan Vick
The area on the display where his fingers touched the desk glowed bright red as it scanned his biometrics, after which the ship’s computer chirped in a pleasant voice, [*Command override complete. All ship authority now rerouted to Grendok Baphomet of Galliforn, Horned King of the Satyrs and Heir to the Eighteenth Dynasty of Silenos.*]
“Baphomet is your last name?” Raven asked, shooting Grendok a surprised glance. In all her time knowing him, she knew that his true name was his most closely guarded secret. And, now, here he was sharing it freely with her.
“That’s what you took from that?” he asked, somewhat perplexed that she ignored the whole part about him being the most notorious outlaw king the galaxy has ever known.
Able to guess exactly what he was thinking, she smiled at him. “If you wanted to be anything other than an outlaw you would have taken up that crown long ago. I somehow doubt it suits you, though. Lacking in moral fiber and what not,” she teased, throwing in a wink just for good measure.
“Ah, yes,” he replied with a chuckle. “I suppose you’re right about that.” He smiled once more, baring his yellow goat teeth and, then, together they dragged the bodies over to the sofa and propped them up.
The two satyrs slumped over and leaned against one another, but when Grendok went to correct their posture, Raven reached out a hand and stopped him. She shook her head, admiring the affectionate pose that the admiral and his favorite faun, Almathea, were stuck in.
Grendok smiled and then skipped out of the ready room and back onto the bridge. He immediately got into his command chair and began bringing all essential ship functions back online.
Raven slipped into the navigation seat and typed in the coordinates to get them as far away from Aldebaran as possible. Quite frankly, she was glad that Aldebaran, the accursed planet, was going up in flames. There couldn’t be a more deserving fate for such a heinous place.
“Ready to go on your command, King Baphomet,” Raven said. She used his actual name just to test it out. It sounded good on him. And, now more than ever, his people would need a strong leader to guide them out of the darkness. Whether he was ready or not, it was time for him to take up the mantle and accept his title of King.
Grendok chuckled. In all the time he’d known her, Raven had never let him down. Not once. For that type of loyalty, he was ever thankful and forever in her debt.
“Punch it,” he said in his most authoritative tone.
Raven pushed the two bars to the top of the panel and then mashed the FTL button. The ship’s FTL drive whined and then, in a flash, they leaped away from the system three full seconds before it went up.
The Chiron dropped out of FTL in the middle of a massive fleet of a dozen warships. Grendok stood up, the pit of his stomach beginning to tighten, when an incoming hail rang on the comm.
Raven answered the call and Lieutenant Brei’Alas’s face greeted them on the secondary monitor. It was much smaller than the first, but Grendok had blasted the main viewscreen away, so it was all they were left with. “Welcome to the fleet of the Cosmic Alliance, you guys.”
Brei’Alas leaned out of the way to reveal Jegra and Captain Blackstar standing just over her shoulder.
“I’m glad to see you both alive and well,” Jegra said, smiling at two of her most trusted allies and friends.
Grendok rose out of his chair and knelt before the empress. “My allegiance is to you, and you alone, Empress Jegra Alakandra of the Dagon Empire.”
“As is mine,” Raven said, sliding out of her chair and kneeling beside him.
On the small viewscreen, Jegra stepped forward. “Please, rise and join me aboard the Shard this evening. I have a plan I need to run by the both of you.”
Grendok and Raven stood back up and then gave Jegra the Dagon salute.
She saluted them back and then added, “See you both shortly. And, Raven...”
“Yes?” Raven asked, looking at the empress on the monitor. “Thank you for all your help. Once again, you’ve proven yourself to be our guardian angel.”
“Just doing my part,” Raven answered. There was a brief pause and then the monitor’s feed cut out.
Raven turned to Grendok who looked up at her and, with a smile on his face, extended his elbow. “Care to accompany me to dine with the Imperatrix of the Galaxy?”
“Why Grendok!” Raven gasped in faux astonishment. “Are you asking me on a date?”
“If only I’d be so lucky as to find myself on a date with a woman as beautiful and supremely intelligent as you,” he replied, flattering her all the more. “But alas, I’m well beyond my prime.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, old man,” she answered, giving him a serious look. “The night is still young and there’s plenty of drink to be had.”
“Ah, yes,” he said bashfully, blushing slightly. “If only plying you with copious amounts of alcohol was enough to turn you into an unreserved, salacious, coquette of a woman.” He was only teasing, of course. He’d never dream of trying anything of that sort with Raven. Not unless he wanted to know what real pain felt like when she decided to put him straight again.
Even so, she completely surprised him when she leaned in and whispered in his ear, “You never know. I still haven’t said no.” This caused him to gulp hard, as he mulled over what to do with such information in a state of twitterpated confusion.
She stepped back and watched the tortured look on his face with a roguish grin. Then, threading her arm through his, she said, “It would be my great honor to accompany you this evening, Grendok Baphomet of Galliforn, Horned King of the Satyrs and Heir to the Eighteenth Dynasty of Silenos.”
“Oh, hush, you,” he chortled. She laughed too, and brushed her sapphire, purple and black ombre hair out of her eyes.
Arm-in-arm they strolled off the bridge together and made their way to the shuttle bay where they’d take Raven’s personal shuttle to meet with the empress.
28
The Shard monitored the fledgling black hole from a distance. If there was enough gas and dust in the sector to feed it, it would grow. If not, it would collapse under its own weight and become a rogue blackhole. Either way, the good news was that their mission had been successful. Aldebaran was no more.
Jegra stared out the windows of the observation deck at the strange anomaly they’d created. Although at a public forum, she’d sealed herself off to be alone with her thoughts.
The two guards outside the door had been instructed not to let anybody in unless it was a code red emergency. Of course, when she heard the doors open, she knew there was only one person aboard the whole ship who could override her command as empress: the Lord Emperor himself.
Without looking back over her shoulder at him, she continued gazing out at the stars, acknowledging his presence with a simple sigh. “What brings you here, my darling?”
“Your warrior’s ears are as keen as ever, my luv,” he replied, sidling up to her. He locked his hands behind his back and gazed out at the vista along with her.
After a long pause, he took a deep breath and said, “A couple dozen ships aren’t enough to go up against H’aaztre and his forces. We’re going to need more allies.”
“I know,” Jegra said.
“It needs to be you who brings them together.”
She shot him a sideways glance and then went back to looking at her stars.
“I’ve never admitted this to anyone, but I’ve done things...things I regret. Things that have made me unpopular with many of the worlds out there. It’s partially because of my actions that the Commonwealth is so fractured. I put too much stress on it and when a tyrant came, he was able to do what I could not: break the fragile ecosystem we had. I realize, now, that I may have gone about things in the wrong way.”
Jegra gave him another sideways glance. “I’m glad you’re strong enough to admit your failures, Rhadamanthus, but you can save your pitch for another time. I’ll do it. Of course, I’ll do it. Not for you. Not for the sake of the galaxy. But for
myself...so I can have my peace of mind.”
She turned back to the glass window and glimpsed her reflection looking back at her. It was her, but sadder looking than she remembered. It was as though the weight of a thousand worlds was bearing down on her shoulders, and like Atlas, she was forced to bear the burden forever—the only one able to support the weight through sheer strength of will.
“I have faith in you, wife,” Dakroth said. “I’ve learned the hard way that you’re not one to be trifled with. And those who cross you get what they deserve.”
She suppressed a laugh, which drew Dakroth’s attention to her. Without looking at him, even as she felt his eyes linger on her, she replied, “Don’t think I’m done with you, dear husband. I have several scores to settle with you. Saving my life the other day on the battlefield was appreciated, but it doesn’t even begin to make up for your wrongs.”
Dakroth sniggered and then turned toward the windows. “I suppose not. Until then, however, I place my full confidence in your capable hands.”
“I appreciate that,” Jegra replied.
Her words were followed by another long silence and, eventually, Dakroth withdrew himself from the conversation and took his leave. As he left, he looked back over his shoulder at her. He felt as though he should say something, something to console her, maybe let her know that he was sorry about the loss of her child. Ultimately, though, he decided against it.
The Mother of Dagon, like any mother, was fiercest when she was fighting for the safety of her children. And with her natural born child ripped from her very arms, her friends and her crew became her surrogates. It would be these people she’d fight for and die for, if necessary.
Dakroth no longer wished to test Jegra’s limits—for he couldn’t do anything to her that she hadn’t already endured. She was ready to become the warrior he always knew she had the potential to be.
His arms still linked behind his back, he turned and continued on his way. The observation deck doors slid open and the two guards outside stiffened at the sight of the emperor. His arms still locked behind his back, he disappeared out into the corridor and the doors drew shut behind him.
Jegra let out a long, drawn-out sigh and checked her wrist. The implant lit up, revealing a digital clock interface just beneath her skin in orange numerals which read 19 hundred hours 45 minutes. She shook her wrist which, consequently, turned off the display and slowly swiveled about as she began to make the long walk back to her quarters to change for dinner.
As she approached the door, it chimed and she froze in the center of the room, wondering who else might need her so desperately that they couldn’t follow her strictest of orders to be left alone. “Enter,” she said.
The doors parted and to her surprise standing in the doorway in her dress uniform was Callestra Van Morgan. She had on hot orange lipstick and neon blue eye shadow that made her look electric. The daughter of perhaps the most dangerous man in the galaxy—after Emperor Dakroth himself. She was stunning to behold, and Jegra could see exactly why Dakroth had taken such a liking to her.
“I brought you your dress for tonight. Of course, I had Lieutenant Brei’Alas help me pick it out for you, since I don’t know you that well, and she seems to be rather close to you.”
“I see,” Jegra said. “Just leave it on the bar,” she informed the woman, gesturing for her to set it on the countertop.
Callestra did as asked and then turned around to find Jegra standing directly behind her. In fact, when she’d spun around she’d almost collided with the empress.
Jegra took a step closer and Callestra leaned back into the edge of the bar. It filled the small of her back and as she leaned there she let out a nervous laugh. “What are you doing?”
Not explaining herself, Jegra grabbed Callestra, drew her in, and kissed her on the lips long and hard. Callestra resisted at first, but then, with an equal vigor, wrapped her arms around Jegra’s waist and pulled her close.
“Mmm...” Callestra moaned as their kiss grew deep and wet with all the hallmarks of those kisses you only experience but a few times in your life.
Jegra abruptly stopped the act of seduction and withdrew herself, leaving Callestra light-headed.
“What was that for?” she asked, still dizzy from the kiss.
“I’ve implanted nano-bots into your bloodstream,” Jegra informed her.
“You did what?!” Callestra’s eyes widened with a sense of violation and glared at the empress.
“Calm your blue tits, sweetheart. It wasn’t anything nefarious. They’ll improve your healing factor, supply you with vital medicines, and boost immunity.”
“You modded me without my consent,” Callestra growled. She’d never felt so irate in her whole life. Without thinking, she reached up and slapped Jegra across her face. Then realizing what she’d done, she drew back.
“Apologies,” she said, immediately feeling remorse for her sudden emotional outburst.
Jegra turned her half sunken gaze on the Vice Admiral. “Allow me to relieve your worries. As your empress, I command you to accept the nano-technology. You don’t have to like it, but you will accept it. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” Callestra said, her amber gaze flickering pink with the rage-sparked energy broiling inside her. “Will that be all, Your Majesty?”
She said it with so much malice that Jegra raised an eyebrow and turned to her with a look that said just try it and see what happens.
Callestra turned away when Jegra reached out and grabbed her arm. Callestra looked down at Jegra’s hand and then up at her and waited for an explanation.
“I intend to win this war, Callestra. Losing is not an option for me. Everyone who serves under me will undergo enhancements. If they don’t, they will have sided with the ambitions of the enemy and I will deal with them as I see fit. Does that answer your question of why I dare trample your people’s purity laws into the soil beneath my feet? They are holding me back. They’re holding you all back. And it’s time to open your goddamn eyes and see the truth.”
“Yes,” Callestra said. She jerked her shoulder and pulled her arm away from Jegra’s grasp and stared at the empress, who stared back at her. She couldn’t gauge whether Jegra was simply staring her down or merely waiting for her to respond first, but the tension was overwhelming. Instead of coming to blows, however, she smacked her teeth in disappointment and then stormed off the observation deck.
“If you want my opinion,” a weaselly sounding voice came from the other end of the bar, “she has a stick so far up her ass that she can barely function as a person.”
Jegra turned to find a toad-looking creature sitting at the end of the bar, helping himself to a bottle of Tri’laxian brandy. He had on what appeared to be a golden tunic and robe and looked like an old hermit monk with white whiskers sprouting from his chin that were braided into a long rope-like beard.
“Ah, I was wondering when we’d meet. After all, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your other two siblings. But they were, how shall I say this, a disappointment.”
“Ha!” the toad man laughed. “Right you are. Muscles and good looks only get you so far in life if you don’t have brains.” He tapped his temple, bringing attention to the fact that he was the brains of the operation, and grinned a wide amphibian sort of grin.
“If any of you had any brains at all, then I wouldn’t be winning this war at the moment.”
“Is that what you think is happening? Ha! Ha-ha!” the small creature laughed, clutching his abdomen and rocking back on his stool. He glanced at her from over his shoulder and his eyes filled with black ink and then a golden ring flashed in them. The mark of H’aaztre.
“Let me show you something,” Giddion said, extending his hand for Jegra to take. She hesitated but for a moment and then boldly took ahold of his hand.
The entire room spun out of control and continued spinning, only slowing briefly to stop. When everything returned to normal, they were standing next to Jegra’s bat
htub as she lay in it, both her wrists slit.
Jegra watched herself bleed out into the tub. And she looked over at Giddion and shrugged. “This was a week ago. So, what?”
Giddion smiled and reached up and touched her hand again. And, once again, the room spun out of focus for a minute before slowing down again. When the world around them refocused, they were standing in Jegra’s personal chambers. In her bed was Danica and...
“Raphine?” Jegra asked, genuinely surprised.
“Apparently the affair has been going on since before you proposed.”
Jegra shot the toad a harsh look. “That’s a lie.”
“Is it?” he asked, reaching up to touch her hand again. She pulled it away.
“It’s inconsequential,” she said.
“That’s not why I brought you here,” he explained. He pointed out her open balcony window out at Arena City. In the distance, the lights of the stadium flooded into the sky creating a warmth and glow that was inviting.
“Never forget, dear woman, that you were but a slave. And although you’ve been granted great powers, your mind is still that of something so infinitesimally small that you can’t even begin to fathom the power of the Almighty H’aaztre.”
“You’re probably right,” Jegra admitted.
This seemed to throw Giddion off his game. After all he was trying to intimidate her, but upon seeing she wasn’t bothered by any of it, he stroked his chin and studied her for a moment.
“In that case, I only have one more thing to show you.”
This time when he reached out for her hand she didn’t slink away. At his touch the room blurred out of focus.
In a series of flashes she saw every single death that had been directly or indirectly tied to her. First, it was her boss, Donald Bloom, being vaporized by a ray gun aboard the slave ship the day she was abducted. Until that moment she hadn’t even known ray guns existed, let alone entire alien worlds.