Shattered Alliance

by Benjamin Wallace

  Cason was in awe. The only part of him that didn’t admire her skills was his stomach. He had been on countless spaceflights and never had an issue, but she was outflying the ship’s own computer and the artificial gravity was having an impossible time keeping up. Cason felt like he was being pulled in several directions at once.

  Through it all, guns were fired and missiles were launched and, aside from the damage to the hangar, there wasn’t so much as a scratch left on the AEF fleet.

  The Ratel finally had a clear view of the galaxy before it and Oncilla engaged the hyperdrive. The stars ahead of them stretched as the Ratel fired forward into the abyss ahead.

  Cason unbuckled his harness and fell to the deck. He was weak in the knees and had to use the floor for balance.

  Priscilla laughed and stood up from her seat. The maneuvers seemed to have no effect on her at all. “We’ll put some distance between us and the fleet before we redirect to Shandor.”

  Maze shook his head. He sat back on his legs and took several deep breaths before he was able to wheeze, “Not Shandor.”

  “So, you’re saying we’re not going to Shandor?” Priscilla asked. “It’s hard to tell with all the near-vomiting you’re doing.”

  G’Har entered the cabin looking as green as Cason felt. The master thief looked at the first mate and back to him on the floor.

  “I don’t like being lied to, Maze. I was told Shandor.”

  “We’re going to Shandor,” he said. “We just have to make one stop first.”

  10

  Rox Tolgath Malbourne stood unmoving on a balcony overlooking the palace courtyard. The moonlight made his skin a paler gray than normal, but it was his expression that truly lacked color. That had been taken by the spectacle below.

  Shandorans filled the space below him grouped into what appeared to be two mobs. Each was doing its best to trample the other. But, as far as the Rox Tolgath could tell, they were doing little else other than stirring up an odor that rose up to the balcony and attacked his sense of smell and decency.

  “What is that hideous stench?” the Lictor asked as he stepped up behind him on the perch. The man’s voice was disturbing. Even to Malbourne, who had been around it for years. It sounded like a whisper that was being choked while screaming for help.

  “That is the smell of 500 Shandorans fighting over a stick,” Malborne said. It was an oversimplification, but he felt it did the Shandorans justice as they were oversimplified themselves.

  “You’re not serious.” The Lictor stepped closer to the rail and looked into the courtyard. “What… what are they doing?”

  The sound coming from the Shandoran crush was at the top end of the audible frequency range and sounded not unlike a schoolyard full of young girls who had all just come upon an insect with the power of flight. The shrieks came in waves as each half of the mob made some form of progress that only they could perceive. From up on the balcony, it looked, and smelled, more like a net full of fish dumped onto the deck of a boat than a contest of athleticism.

  “You’ll note there are two teams—as best I can tell. One dressed in blue. The other red. And somewhere in that mass of sweat is a pole that is perhaps eight meters long. When one team controls the pole, they raise it on end and one of their team members scurries to the top like a Gabadoon in heat. There they remain perched until the other 250 shrieking aliens knock him from it. It’s not unlike our own childhood game, King of the Mount, but with more shrieking and that godawful smell.”

  “So, it’s King of the Stick?”

  Malbourne smirked. “I doubt our friend, the king, would be so gracious as to share his title with anyone. Even for a moment. Even for a game.”

  The pole appeared from within the mob as the red team hoisted it into the air. Red jerseys scrambled up on their teammates’ shoulders to support the post as another Shandoran in red scrambled to the top and sat down.

  The blue team roared and rushed forward. Red and blue team members alike were trampled under their enthusiasm to reach the pole sitter.

  The man on the pole was hardly afraid. He leapt to his feet—an agile and skillful move, admittedly— spun around and dropped his pants to reveal his rear end. There was a dance that accompanied the taunt, along with a chant that Malbourne could not and cared not to understand.

  “It’s finding culture such as this that makes expanding the Empire such a joy,” the Lictor said, and turned his back on the spectacle. He leaned against the rail and folded his arms. “Tell me you wouldn’t rather be back on your estate harvesting this year’s crop. Or perhaps in the reeds of Lusthar on the hunt for Winglets instead of out here smelling all of this.”

  “I serve at our Emperor’s pleasure,” Malbourne said with little enthusiasm. “I go where I am needed. As do you.”

  The Lictor took the response for what it was and let out a single chuckle.

  Malbourne knew his old friend well and didn’t need a facial expression to tell there was something on the Lictor’s mind. “What troubles you?”

  The Lictor only stared for a moment trying to determine if he should speak. Finally, he turned away and offered his opinion. “It is unwise to invite conflict with the Earthians.”

  “Conflict is inevitable. They are the only other known force we’ve encountered. It is fate that the two giants of the stars would meet. Better to remove them as a threat when they are unprepared.”

  This was the logic of the Emperor. And it was sound. But his friend wasn’t wrong. The Empire could continue growing without encroaching on the EA for centuries. Malbourne was no prognosticator and he was not one of the seers, so he had no idea if the Emperor’s moves now were purely strategic or driven by an ego that could not stand to see another presence as mighty as his existing in the galaxy. Ultimately it did not matter. It was the Emperor’s will and he would dare not question it. The course was set regardless of his own thoughts on the matter. He only went where he was told and took whichever prize his Emperor desired.

  There was a sudden surge of energy from below as Team Blue threw itself into the barrier formed by Team Red. Then they began running over one another. Half of Team Blue became stairs for the other half. They ran up their teammates’ backs and launched themselves toward the pole. In a matter of a few moments, the perched Red player had been cast down, the pole was toppled and everyone hissed. Even the king stood and booed. He was obviously rooting for Team Red.

  “Look at this fool,” the Lictor grunted as much as spoke. In the first years the man had served with him, he had barely uttered a dozen words. Even now, his trusted attendant spoke very little, and Malbourne wondered if his voice was rough from trauma or lack of use. Whatever the cause, the voice was a terrifying whisper: quiet and violent. Much like the man himself.

  “For now, he’s a necessary fool,” Malbourne said as he studied the Shandoran monarch. The man appeared drunk on kordblat and spilt the drink from his goblet as he cheered on the team dressed in red. He sat in a private box and was surrounded by a bevy of female companions and twice as many servants bearing food and drink to offer the king.

  “No king is necessary,” his Lictor argued. “And this one is insufferable. He’ll never acknowledge the Emperor’s authority. You know this. It doesn’t matter what he says or what he signs. He’s mad with this newfound power and he will not give it up for anyone.”

  “It won’t matter. We’ll let him believe he is in charge for as long as it suits our purpose. I have no interest in taking his title. He can play king. We know where the true throne lies.”

  “Oh, to be born a king.” The Lictor turned his eyes back to the match. “What the hell are they doing now?”

  The Rox Tolgath looked back into the courtyard as Team Blue performed a choreographed chant that involved many coordinated stomps, vulgar gestures and a surprising amount of spit. Team Red seemed unimpressed and encouraged their opponents to get on with the game.

  Team Blue finished their cheer and began to move. Most of the team formed a
line in the middle of the courtyard while the rest began to raise the post.

  “It appears to be Blue’s turn to climb the pole,” Malbourne observed.

  Once the pole was righted, a small Shandoran shimmied up its length and perched on top.

  A gunshot cracked. The teams grew silent and turned their attention to the Shandoran on the pole.

  The blue team member clutched at his chest and drew a ragged breath. When he pulled his hands back from his chest, the blood began to pour. The player looked at the blood on his hands and the wound registered in his mind. He fell forward off the pole and onto his teammates below.

  The king laughed and blew the smoke from the barrel of the pistol in his hand.

  The crowd roared their approval and praised the king for his strategic brilliance. It was Team Red’s turn once more. Jondak accepted this adulation and handed the gun back to his aide.

  “It is beneath us to bow to this man,” the Lictor said. “This place isn’t worth the indignity.”

  “They can’t all be Mandelva,” Malbourne said, wishing they were all Mandelva, one of the Crown Jewels in the empire. Golden sands and endless skies awaited those lucky enough to lie upon her beaches. Many compared the planet to paradise and Malbourne could not argue. But the truth was that more planets were like Shandor than not. Poor in scenery but rich in resources. And the people so primitive that they didn’t even know what they were sitting on.

  “Well, you’re not going to see that on Mandelva,” the Lictor said, and gestured to the game below. Team Red was climbing the pole. The climber stopped midway and pretended to grind against it with his pelvis.

  “We’re not here for their culture. These back-world fools are sitting on enough fuel to power the entire fleet for a century and they don’t even know it.”

  “Then we should land a mining force here and be done with it.”

  “Why invite conflict, if conflict isn’t necessary?”

  “A war with this shithole wouldn’t be conflict. It would be an afternoon.”

  “You and I both know that it’s not the war, but the occupation that is so costly. If we can rule with a single emissary instead of a garrison, it would be best.”

  Team Red’s climber stopped grinding and pulled himself to the top of the pole, where he saluted Team Blue with a rude gesture that was understood to be both a command and an offer to loan the person a head of livestock if need be.

  “Our shock troops would bring these savages to heel in no time.”

  Malbourne considered the soldier’s estimation as he watched the spectacle below. The man wasn’t wrong. Many of the Shandorans may even welcome new leadership. They would almost certainly welcome the ousting of the old. But those were not his orders. “It is not the Emperor’s wish.”

  The Lictor remained silent behind his armor’s facemask for a long moment. It was possible he accepted the statement. He understood the dangers of dissent more than anyone. “I’m sure the Emperor’s plan is just and wise. From my lowly station within his command I find it difficult to see the benefit of stepping away from tyranny. It is our way. Diplomacy has its place with adversaries of greater strength, but for a world such as this the iron fist is proven. It is always more efficient to crush their wills and subjugate them. Giving them any illusion of independence from the Emperor’s control is just cruel. Or perhaps that is his wish, in his infinite wisdom.”

  The Rox Tolgath smiled. Insubordination through praise was a skill he wished more of his men would master. But, once more, he wasn’t wrong. On the surface, the treaty with Shandor seemed a new direction for the empire. And to many it seemed a departing from the old ways. But there was no reason to fear change.

  “Relax, my friend. It’s still tyranny. Just a softer form. Our empire sits upon the verge of its greatest expansion in a millennium. The more planets that join us without a fight, the more we have left over to fight with.”

  “Our enemies may perceive it as weakness.”

  Malbourne pointed to the palace tower. “Our enemies are sitting in a cell. Their most powerful warship still lights the evening skies of Shandor as the debris burns in the atmosphere.”

  “Still. They—”

  The Rox Tolgath held up a hand. “We’ve offered a hand of friendship to Shandor. But make no mistake, that hand is clad in iron and will clench shut if the need should arise.”

  Team Blue shrieked as they rushed toward the man on the pole. The king cheered, rose to his feet and fired indiscriminately into Team Blue until the gun was empty. He continued laughing and clapping as he waited for his attendant to reload the weapon.

  The Lictor clenched his own fist. “Good.”

  11

  His incredible physique rippled in the light of Shandor’s many moons as Antarius lowered himself down the banner toward the palace below. The descent would take some time, and it would take more than one banner. It was impossible to tell from inside the cell just how tall the tower had been. Outside, dangling from the fabric, it was much easier to see the prison’s dramatic height. It was at least several banners tall.

  He paused as he came to the bottom of the first one and looked out over the city of Kartoka. Even though there was sure to be a violent and evil presence waiting for him within its walls, the palace looked peaceful from above. Outside of the palace, it was quiet and still. It was quite the view.

  From there he could literally see the social strata of Shandor.

  Proximity to power was everything in Shandoran culture, and its importance could be seen in the layout of the city. The homes closest to the palace walls were large and well lit. They were clean and cared for. But the farther one traveled away from the palace, the more decrepit and gross everything got. The colorful walls faded into shades of sand. Lush rooftop gardens near the palace walls gave way to boxes of dirt and a considerable amount of clotheslines—an intergalactic sign of poverty if there ever was one.

  The line between the haves and have-nots was clearly laid out in Kartoka, and the haves didn’t get very far from the center of power.

  Beyond the city itself, there was nothing but a single road that narrowed like a needle as it approached the horizon and disappeared. Kartoka wasn’t the only city on Shandor, but it was the largest. The countryside beyond its walls was as barren as the rooftop gardens. Almost all the wealth was located directly beneath his feet in the palace.

  Antarius shook his head in disbelief. “This planet is so poor that they still have poverty.”

  He reached the end of the first banner and found himself several stories shy of the ground. With catlike reflexes he sprinted along the tower wall and leapt for another banner. This was nothing for him; his only lament was that there was no audience to witness the feat.

  He slid down the new banner and repeated the process twice more until his bare feet finally touched the massive wall that surrounded the old city. The rock that formed the barrier was smooth and cold on his soles. It was then he realized that he could have kept his boots on. The Johnson corpse didn’t need them to pull off the charade. But he was a firm believer that boxers and boots was never a good look, and as he took his first steps on the wall, he realized he would be much quieter barefoot. It was because of this advantage that he decided stealth would be a crucial element in his ever-evolving plan.

  He was able to employ stealth not a minute later when he snuck up on a Shandoran guard that patrolled the wall not far from the base of the tower. Unlike the Royal Guard, the palace guard were Shandoran males and had their nipples covered. Thurgood was relieved to discover this. He didn’t want to hit a woman. Of all things men and women could do together, fighting with them was his least favorite thing to do.

  The Shandorans were slight beings by nature or skipped the gym out of laziness. Either way, there wasn’t much to them physically. They were slender and spun easily, as Thurgood soon discovered. Now facing one another, Antarius made sure the guard saw the gleam in his grin before dropping him to the ground with a right cross. His
fist made a satisfying thwack like a baseball seating firmly in a well-worn mitt.

  The sound brought a smile to his face. It was the little things.

  He placed the guard against the wall as if the sentry had dozed off. Every organization in the galaxy knew a goldbrick when they saw one, and he was certain his ruse would buy him time.

  Pleased with his subterfuge and delighted by how well the stealth had worked, he moved silently along the wall and snuck up behind a second guard walking patrol. The stealth was working like a charm. The guard didn’t see him until Thurgood began his clever repartee.

  “Hi there,” he said.

  Startled, the guard spun and Thurgood launched a mighty foot into what may have been the alien’s testicles. It was at that moment that he wished he had worn his boots.

  The guard doubled over with a sound that made Thurgood positive that those had been his testicles. Antarius felt a twinge of what he assumed was guilt. He always fought to win, and in a situation such as this, all options should be on the table. But a kick like that was dirty pool and he wasn’t proud of himself.

  Antarius dropped a haymaker on the guard’s neck and rendered the Shandoran unconscious. Or, the more he examined the man, possibly dead. He wasn’t quite sure how to check for a pulse on a Shandoran, or even how to see if he was breathing with those weird gill things so he put a toe in the guard’s side and said, “Hey, are you dead?”

  There was no answer. Thurgood wasn’t a doctor but he did know that no answer, while not a good sign, didn’t necessarily mean death.

  “Hey, dude. Don’t be dead,” he said with another kick to the alien’s torso.

  There was still no response.

  A wave of guilt washed over him and mixed with a blushing of pride. It had not been a fair fight and he was no murderer. But, at the same time, he had hit something hard enough to kill it with a single punch. This was a new PR and he couldn’t wait to share it with his personal trainer. But the guilt outweighed the pride and he felt terrible, so he kicked the guard once more for good measure.