The Star Mother

by J D Huffman

  “Stop this!” he cried. “Just stop! We fucking surrendered!”

  They said nothing, keeping their hands raised toward Fred, who had long since dropped Duna’s weapon. William grimly observed that Duna had not survived unscathed, herself: her head was missing, her body crumpled in an unnatural position next to Fred. Elena and Janus remained intact, for the moment. The Totality crushed against the walls of the bay moaned and sobbed, huddling and terrified at what they had just witnessed and endured. William assumed that not all who were struck had died—if Duna was any indication, some may have lost limbs or suffered egregious wounds without yet perishing. If any of them are going to survive at all, I have to put an end to this. “We’ll do whatever you want, just stop attacking!” he declared, in case they hadn’t heard him the first time.

  “Shut up,” one of the soldiers—a woman—said. “We’re getting new orders. I’m being told to put them on audible.” Slowly, she moved one of her hands to manipulate her earpiece, then trained it on Fred again. “You’re broadcast now, Admiral,” she announced.

  “Thank you,” a female voice echoed from the soldier’s suit. “William?” she called. “Can you hear me?”

  The voice was something impossible. So impossible, William refused to even entertain the notion. She’s dead. You’re imagining things. “I’m here. Who are you… Admiral?”

  “It’s me, William,” she said in a way that begged him to deny it. “Eleanor Pearson. Your mother.”

  “You’re not my mother. She died years ago,” he responded quite bitterly. This must be the Order trying to manipulate me. Looks like Fred was right when he warned me about them. If this is what they have to offer, they’re no allies of ours.

  “William, you have to listen to me. I came a long way to find you. All the way from Earth, in fact. This was all a mistake. I had to make sure you were safe. Are these Totality holding you prisoner?”

  “No. They’re under my protection. Is that why you had your people attack? You thought they were holding me?” A long pause told him she was gauging the veracity of what he said. If you are my mother, you have to know I’m not lying.

  “We’ll put that aside for now. Are you injured? Sick? Do you need anything?” The concern in her voice was unmistakable. He couldn’t let himself believe she was who she claimed. He wasn’t sure he could believe it even if she appeared before him, in the flesh.

  “You don’t need to worry about me. It’s not like you’ve been around for most of my life. What do you want? Why are you here? Why did you board this ship?”

  “I told you, I had to be sure you were safe and not being forced to lie for your captors.” She paused again. “It’s… William, I’m sorry. It was a misunderstanding.”

  “Fuck your ‘misunderstanding,’” he growled, finally getting back to his feet. “You killed people! You want to be helpful? Send medical teams! Send a repair crew! You want to prove you’re my mother, that you give a shit about me? Help these people!”

  Again, he had to wait while she contemplated his demands. The silence told him she must have been consulting with her staff, perhaps making certain she had the crew and the supplies to help. He assumed they would have plenty of personnel and materials for his needs, so he had to wonder if some of the considerations were political, instead. Is she going to get in trouble for helping Totality? If the Order hate them as much as they seem to, that’s not an unrealistic concern. But that’s the choice she’ll have to make.

  “I agree to your terms, but on one condition,” she replied.

  William sighed. “What is it?”

  “You have to come aboard my ship, the Relentless. I must see you.”

  Chapter 35

  Routines

  Sasha soon came to understand Cylence’s intentions, at least in part. He wanted her constantly unaware of what would happen next, to fret over whether her life would end at any moment. She had no doubt that he meant to stoke such fear when he had his guards carry her out of his throne room in her cage, only to take her to a room behind it that served as Cylence’s private office. She was left there for a while with no lights, no sound, no interaction at all. She did not recognize it as Cylence’s office until he came in some time later and checked for something among his papers, accidentally forgetting to turn out the light as he departed. She found it quaint that he actually used paper, but whatever amusement she drew from it was soured by the assumption that Cylence only did it as a pretense, because the tangibility of paper carried more significance than ephemeral words and images on a screen. What bits of his documents she could see from the corner where her cage sat spoke of resource management, including fragments about Totality-held slaves. She was of two minds about such information: to know the full scope of the Totality slaving operation would give her the best means of combating it, but it would also mean that she knew the extent of its horror. Without that, she could fool herself into believing they only kept a relatively small number of slaves, that no great mass of humanity was held under the Totality yoke. It was a lie, and yet without hard numbers to prove otherwise, she could allow herself to entertain the possibilities.

  She thought of these things instead of dwelling on her predicament, since to do the latter would only lead to despair, and she never found desperation a useful mindset. This situation is bad, but I’ve been in bad situations before and come out intact. Cylence must have some use for me, and I can find a way to use that to my advantage. Ultimately, she believed him when he said she was there for his entertainment. She was his prize—the leader of a slave revolt, brought low and made his plaything. Her purpose was to amuse, but also to serve as a symbol for any who might attempt what she had. He must have considered treating her this way—stripped, shaved, caged—a more effective deterrent than a mere corpse. A corpse, after all, was no longer human, just an empty shell, a mimicry of what had once been alive. But a living, breathing human, captured and humiliated, breathing, still with eyes full of awareness, but laid bare for all to see—she couldn’t deny the psychological power of that.

  So, she was not surprised when Cylence finally had her brought out of his office and into the throne room once again. She was given a cup of water and a small plate of food, both of which she consumed too quickly to notice whether they tasted like anything at all. She despised being reliant on her captors in such a way, but survival was survival. She didn’t care to imagine what response Cylence might have had to a hunger strike, if it threatened the well-being of his prize.

  The guards placed her off to the side of the throne and slightly forward, as they had last time. This allowed anyone who approached to take notice of her before they addressed Cylence. She asked herself how much thought Cylence put into things like this. He must spend a lot of time thinking about how to maximize the propaganda value of someone like me. Isn’t that funny? Back on his ship, Cylence told me about the advantages of absolute power—not having to answer to anyone, doing everything his own way. But he must care what people think of him, too, or he wouldn’t put any effort into displaying me. He could just have me taken off to the side and shot, my body thrown out an airlock or something, and that’s the end of the revolt. But he didn’t do that. He wants people to fear him—including his own kind, maybe. And he wants to remind them why they should fear him. It could be someone else in this cage next time.

  She almost didn’t notice Cylence taking up his throne as the first visitor of the day approached. It was an elder gentleman with long, silver-white hair and an ample beard to match, shuffling slowly along the plush, purple carpet that led to the foot of the dais. He wore a light gray uniform, similar to what the Totality sported, but clearly distinct. A bright red stripe ran down the shoulders to the wrists, and that was visible from a decent distance. It wasn’t an outfit she’d seen before.

  “Begging your pardon, Your Magnificence,” the man groveled. “I come with your weekly report.” He didn’t even look at Sa
sha.

  Cylence slouched in his chair, appearing quite bored. He waved his hand in an exaggerated circle. “Get on with it, Zotz. How progresses Project Mu?”

  “The data you brought back from the field test has been invaluable. We’ve confirmed that the dimensional barrier weakens over an extremely large area when quintessence is energized at the appropriate levels. We have been experimenting with varying those levels to find the optimum, as well as devising a general formula for the diminishment of the barrier over distance. It appears to function rather like gravity, reducing via an inverse square relationship, but over a much larger radius than gravity can be felt.”

  “I don’t need the math lesson, old man. What’s the effective distance?”

  “With the current device configuration, the barrier is weakened enough to permit unfettered Totality passage over a radius of roughly two parsecs. As I said, we are still refining the formula based on the field test data.”

  Sasha listened intently to what the old man said. She wasn’t sure she understood all of it, but she did her best to piece it together. If that man is saying what I think he’s saying, the device Cylence tested on Arkady’s planet—the one that infested the people on the ship with Totality—is being refined and works over a long distance. Another test must be how a Totality came to occupy Angel, if Totality can’t normally inhabit women. I still wish I had a good explanation for that quirk.

  “How soon will you be prepared for a new field test with finalized, or close to finalized, parameters?”

  “A few more weeks, I believe,” Zotz bowed.

  Cylence flexed his hand, spreading out his fingers, then making fists, as if to intimidate the old man—or Sasha. “Fine. What about using the Source, as we discussed before? A complete erasure of the barrier. My other scientists have told me it’s possible.”

  “’Possible’ suggests a quicker path to practical application than is currently realistic. The issue is not one of energy or even technology, but the sheer danger involved. The Source draws on something akin to quintessence but distinctly not quintessence, and while we have managed to harness very small quantities of quintessence for these field tests, even those remain extremely fraught. I hope I need not remind you how you began this course of research, by examining the aftermath of another quintessence accident.”

  Cylence rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, that poor solar system, with all the dead people. They did that to themselves. All you and yours did was complete the destruction by way of your carelessness, is that not right?”

  “You are correct,” Zotz admitted. “All the more reason that we should tread carefully now.”

  “You always wish to ‘tread carefully,’ Zotz!” Cylence scolded, now leaning forward menacingly instead of slouching. “If I listened to you, we wouldn’t have even done the field test. You’ve warned and complained and cautioned all the way through this. I placed you in charge of this project because of your deep and vast knowledge in these areas. You are a wise man of many talents, but you are overly apprehensive. Sometimes I wonder if you are deliberately attempting to delay me, as if you hold out hope someone will come for you. But no one is coming, Zotz. No one even knows you’re here—certainly no one on your pathetic backwater of a homeworld. The Order have made no mention of you, and I’m certain they would have if they cared at all for your whereabouts. I monitor their communications quite thoroughly. Now, I want you to get back to work. I want a feasibility analysis of using the Source for a complete dimensional break by the end of the week. Do you hear me? Five days. No more. I want the report on my desk, with all the necessary details. I intend to perform a preliminary test in the next few weeks—don’t even try to argue with me. Do you understand, or shall I seek your immediate replacement?”

  “Your orders are understood,” Zotz said quietly.

  “What was that?” Cylence snarled.

  “I understand,“ Zotz repeated, loud enough to hear this time.

  “Good.” Cylence leaned back in his throne again. “Now, have you had a peek at my latest acquisition? This is Sasha. Come on up, take a closer look.”

  Zotz finally looked at her. His eyes met hers for an instant, then he returned his gaze back to Cylence. “I can see her just fine from here, Your Magnificence.”

  Sasha winced at the emphasis he put on “Magnificence.” Based on their interaction, she didn’t assume Zotz to be any great friend of Cylence’s. Perhaps not a slave, as such, but clearly pressed into the service of the Totality against his will. She wondered how he’d come to be in this situation, and what Cylence meant about his homeworld. Then, it struck her that she may have heard the name before. “Zotz” wasn’t one of those names one encountered every day, after all, and she tried to remember who’d mentioned the name. Was it William? That would make sense, wouldn’t it? William said he had some companions on a ship that was destroyed, when he was sent off by himself. Maybe he was wrong, and there were survivors, or at least the one. If I could just get him alone and ask if knows William, maybe he would help me.

  “You are a tedious old man,” Cylence scoffed. “Fine, begone with you. Back to your work. I’ll show my prize to someone more appreciative.”

  Cylence next took the report of a man named Martan, who he explained to Sasha was his “Grand Vizier.” Since Sasha seemed unimpressed by the title, Cylence elaborated: “It’s an ancient title. Martan here manages the day-to-day affairs of the Totality, apart from whatever projects I am overseeing personally. He has served me well for many years. Haven’t you, Martan?”

  The man was tall, narrow-framed, with a sharp jaw and cheekbones, light bronze skin, and a head shaved so closely it practically gleamed in the bright lights that shone down from the top of the throne room. He wore a tight-fitting purple garment that left his neck, head, and hands bare and his feet were in the same gray boots that the rest of the Totality wore. Sasha assumed that his uniform was meant to match the carpet, signaling the fact that he represented Cylence’s power.

  “Yes, Your Magnificence,” Martan bowed. “Shall I proceed with my daily report?”

  Cylence gestured for him to continue. “Go on, then.”

  Martan did not read from any handheld notes or electronic device. His hands were clasped behind his back and, to Sasha’s surprise, he recited his entire report from memory. “We’ve continued to monitor the movements of the Order fleet as best we can, per your instructions. We confronted them once at Hestia, and again at Melus. They broke ranks and retreated with only a few parting shots. We lost track of them in the Imett Cluster. As you are aware, our scanning technology cannot penetrate the stellar nursery, and to pursue the fleet within would risk an ambush for which we would be ill-prepared.”

  Cylence nodded. “Position vessels such that, whenever they emerge from the Cluster, they will not go unnoticed.”

  “We have already done this with the number of ships you agreed to make available for this mission, Your Magnificence. But the Imett Cluster is large and we would require double the contingent to make an effective snare.”

  Cylence narrowed his eyes, his expression one of irritation. “Then put them on random patrols so the Order can’t easily predict where they could make their exit. I shouldn’t have to tell you how to do your job, Martan.”

  “Even with such a strategy, there is a moderate likelihood that they will evade detection. We simply do not have the vessels on hand.”

  “I’ve already assigned you as many ships as I can spare. Khazour is watching us closely—you know that. The fleets I had you send on maneuvers near the Hegemony are there for good reason. Khazour knows of the rebellion and he knows of the Order incursion. If he believes our position is weakened, he will not feel it necessary to uphold our agreements.”

  Martan bowed in acknowledgment. “As you say, Your Magnificence. We will do the best we can with the resources available. Would you approve my redeployment of one quarter of the fle
et to defend the Centrality, should the Order break free?”

  Cylence shrugged. “Fine. We can’t have the Dominix completely defenseless, can we? Have you seen any indications of additional Order ships?”

  Martan shook his head. “None whatsoever. It appears to be only a single fleet. While we cannot account for the entire number due their use of nullspace masking, they have at least one dreadnaught, three destroyers, and five frigates, with various smaller support vessels. It is a formidable contingent and looks to represent a current level of Order technology.”

  “So, they may be a challenge to subdue. We’ve endured worse,” Cylence noted.

  “Indeed,” Martan agreed. “What of Khazour? Since you mentioned him, I’m afraid I must bring up the fact that he has sent additional communiques to us. He is pleading that he needs more time to supply us with more slaves from the outlying worlds. The core worlds, he claims, are already depleted of spare labor.”

  “Is that so?” Cylence glanced to Sasha. “Do you see what I mean, Sasha? Khazour thinks he sees an opening, an excuse to abrogate our long-standing contract. It is written entirely in the letter of Hegemony law—as his predecessors demanded—that we can request additional slave shipments under so-called ‘exigent circumstances.’ Now, I would think a slave revolt combined with an Order offensive would qualify, but he wishes to play games with me. He fails to realize that I have already put down your little revolt, and while I would hesitate to label the Order fleet as nonthreatening, a force that size would only be capable of harassment, not devastation or conquest. Khazour would euthanize a patient suffering a mild insect bite. He is a gutless idiot.”

  “Your Magnificence, I would hesitate to characterize Aman Khazour as lacking in fortitude or courage. He has crushed rebellions of his own with extreme prejudice, and he was educated in the same grand tradition as his father, whom you knew and respected.”