Sodenia's War Box Set

by Luigi Robles

  A few hours later, Sodenia landed on Earth on Soden Island in the Pacific Ocean near the U.S. mainland.

  The supplies operation had gone smoothly, with almost no setbacks other than some of the machine lifts breaking down. But Larissa’s cool head prevailed and was able to handle the situation as if nothing had happened. With all hands on deck, they were able to beat the estimated load time by half an hour.

  Fain walked up next to Larissa as she was doing her final count before takeoff.

  “You know,” Fain said, “we probably couldn’t have done this without you. I mean, we could have, but not this fast. Thank you.”

  “I’m sure you exaggerate,” Larissa said. “But I’ll take the gratitude. You are more than welcome, Captain Fain Jegga.”

  “I’m actually pretty serious,” Fain said. “When you are actually out there giving orders, people obey you without blinking. But what’s striking is that they don’t just turn around and follow the order. No, they try to surpass your order, try to do the best work they can do. Getting someone else to work hard is a difficult thing. I’m amazed.”

  “Maybe they are just trying to be like their captain?” Larissa suggested.

  “No,” Fain said. “It’s not that.”

  “Yeah, perhaps not,” Larissa said, now fully turning to Fain. “You know what I think is happening?”

  “What is it?”

  “I think that everyone on this ship believes that they are important.”

  “And they are.”

  “Exactly. You’ve made everyone feel like they matter, like they can really make a difference.”

  “That’s because they can.”

  “Fain Jegga, stop interrupting,” Larissa said with a smile.

  Fain smiled.

  “And we count on them, like, really count on them. Our crew isn’t just numbers. Our crew is the survival of humanity, the survival of Earth.”

  13

  The Jump

  Noble Saavan was a part of the forty-seven Nobles commanding the Acram’s Golden Armada of one million and one ships. As the highest Noble, he himself commanded 200,001 of the ships, while the rest of the Nobles’ command varied from 30,000 to 20, depending on their respective ranks.

  The Armada had just emerged from the first of thirty-two jumps it would take to reach Earth. As the Armada lined up for the second jump, a feat that took quite a large amount of time, Saavan gazed out of the main viewer on his ship.

  His ship was the most imposing of all the ships in the Acram fleet. It was known as the Iveria, the immortal ship, the one that could not die. The Iveria was not the largest ship in the fleet, nor the fastest, nor the newest. Quite the contrary; it was a medium- to small-sized ship with a rugged look, it wore its battle wounds with pride. The Iveria was special, and it was the flagship of the Acram fleet. It was special in that it had never seen defeat. Nothing had ever come close to penetrating its hulls. The structure of the ship was almost mythical.

  “Noble Saavan,” an Acram guard said as he neared Saavan and bowed.

  “What is it?” Saavan didn’t look away from the main viewer.

  “We have a request for boarding.”

  “A request for boarding?” Saavan said, already with a good guess about who came knocking on his door. “And who would that be?”

  “It’s Noble Maeera, sir.”

  Saavan still hadn’t gotten used to calling Maeera a Noble. Nobles earned the right to be called a Noble by the battles they fought and won. Maeera was named a Noble only because she was taking someone else’s place in the Armada. Pathetic. Although she was only taking someone else’s place because it was Saavan himself who had slain one of their own.

  “As long as she doesn’t interfere with our next jump,” Saavan said as he turned to half-face the Acram guard. “She may come on board. Direct her here.”

  “At once, sir,” the guard walked away.

  Saavan turned to gaze out of the main viewer once again, but he was not looking towards any stars or shiny objects. Instead, he focused on the emptiness of space. He wanted to find the darkest place in the view dotted with stars. As he did so, he got lost in thought.

  I have grown tired of the Acram cause, Saavan thought as he sought out the nothingness. Or perhaps not the cause itself; perhaps I am just tired. Tired of destruction, tired of death, and tired of war. Some have gone as far as to call me the world ender. If they only knew how far from the truth that was, just how many of them I have saved. But it all matters not at this point. Even if we do conquer this galaxy and unite every planet under our leadership, I fear that in the end, the cost will be too great. I fear that the void of space will come down on us, striking with all its might. The machines cannot be stopped.

  “Noble Saavan,” Maeera said as she walked into the room. “I extend my gratitude for granting me passage during our Armada’s alignment. I assure you, I do not belong.”

  Saavan was able to pick up other intentions in the way Maeera talked.

  “Leave us Nobles to talk,” Saavan said.

  The ten or so Acram manning their posts scurried out of the large room without hesitation, not saying a single word.

  “So, the elders sent you here?” Saavan asked.

  “No,” Maeera said. “Not entirely, or not directly. Although, they did make me think.”

  “Speak your mind like a true Noble,” Saavan said.

  “The elders have a hard time trusting you,” Maeera said as she neared.

  “They are afraid of my power. Of the command I wield over the Golden Armada. I’ve known that for many years now. But I have always done what is right. I have always followed our cause.”

  Maeera nodded slowly.

  “So far,” Maeera said. “But will you continue to do so?”

  “I will always do as I see fit,” Saavan said. “I am resolved to follow the path I’ve chosen, and I will see that I do so until my dying breath.”

  “Even if it means going against orders?”

  “What are orders, I ask you? Especially those coming from a group of Acram that think of themselves as better than the rest of us. They will never know the true face of war. They will never experience what it is like to rob a young being of its future, of its family’s future, of its world’s future. They will never experience necessity, malady, or famine. So, I ask you, what are orders?”

  “I won’t argue the opposite,” Maeera said as she stopped just a body length away from Saavan. “Your feelings are quite clear, and I do sympathize with you in many ways, noblest of Nobles. But I do have one last question for you, and forgive my bluntness.”

  “I welcome it. And I’ll answer all the same,” Saavan said as he crossed his arms loosely behind his back.

  “Do you plan on betraying the elders?”

  “I have no such plans. But you should keep something very clear in your mind, if only for your own sake. I won’t hesitate to do what I think is right for the survival of the Acram race. For the survival of the galaxy.”

  “I am glad we both think the same way,” Maeera said with a slight smile.

  Saavan knew that he was being threatened. He paid little attention. He knew that it was just the magic tongue of the elders working on her ego. Maeera used to be level-headed and capable, but now her ego had jumped so far out of her body that she completely overshot her capabilities. Perhaps if the elder Acram hadn’t been so deeply involved, she would have stood a better chance against Saavan.

  But the realization that one of his own was willing to put the elders before him wounded Saavan. In many ways, that kind of wound was far more painful than any physical one.

  “Maeera,” Saavan said softly as he took one step closer to her. “You’ve been my friend for many years. Throughout those years, I have done my best to protect you, to guide you, to be there for you. We’ve shared the spoils of countless wars, and we’ve known only victory and never defeat. And I am afraid that perhaps that was a mistake.”

  “A mistake?” Maeera asked.

/>   “It would all have been for nothing if I had to kill you.”

  Maeera’s eyes widened as she jumped into a defensive stance. Her mouth clicked and began to make noises, a clear sign that she intended to use the language of the ancients.

  “Let’s not waste any more time,” Saavan said, dismissing Maeera as a threat. “You have a fleet of your own to attend to. The time of the jump is getting near.”

  “How dare you?” Maeera yelled. “How dare you not consider me a threat? I will not let you do that to me. You won’t.”

  Maeera launched at Saavan, but all it took was one direct look from Saavan to stop her in her tracks. Unable to continue, she fell to her knees and began pounding the floor. Saavan felt the power of her hits as the floor trembled under his feet.

  “You are a powerful Acram,” Saavan said. “No doubt about it. But I am afraid you are still a lifetime behind me. Perhaps after I am gone, you will ascend to my rank. But as long as I am alive, you do not stand a chance. Don’t toss your life away following the words of the elders. For now, you can take my word that I will do the right thing for the Acram race. As I’ve said before, don’t make me kill you.”

  “Damn you.”

  “Now, please return to your fleet,” Saavan said as he returned to gazing out the main viewer of his ship.

  Moments later, he heard footsteps and then the slight whisper of one of the doors opening and closing behind him.

  “Return to your posts,” Saavan said in the tongue of the ancients.

  Speaking the tongue of the ancients on board an Acram ship could send a message anywhere on the ship instantaneously.

  Doors all around the room began to open and close, and footsteps were heard, but Saavan didn’t bother to look; he knew it was the Acram returning to their posts.

  “How long before the jump?” Saavan asked.

  “We’ll be ready for the jump in a rotapor,” said the Acram in charge of communicating with the rest of the Acram Armada.

  A rotapor wasn’t a large amount of time; the Acram planet took twenty-eight rotapor to fully rotate from light to darkness. He felt satisfied with the answer, as it would save him from the agony he was creating for himself with his own thoughts.

  Since before Saavan knew anything about war, anything about Nobles, he already knew about the Acram cause. A cause so great, so pure, that it allowed the Acram to kill, to destroy, to conquer. Many times, he had tried to ask what the supposed cause was that allowed the Acram to do whatever they wanted with the galaxy, but as many times as he tried to ask, he was reprimanded.

  And just as many times, he heard the saying, ‘A true Acram does not ask, a true Acram only serves.’ He hated that saying; he wanted to know the truth.

  But eventually, knowing that he couldn’t do anything to break the system, Saavan gave in and did what every other Acram did. He trained for war, he trained to become a warrior, but he did so with one goal in mind: to find out the truth about the cause.

  He had heard from many of his kin that the only way to learn about the Acram cause was to come back victorious from battle, as only those who were the saviors of the galaxy would know the truth.

  As time passed, Saavan rose through the Acram ranks, and before he knew it, he was on his way to his first battle. The mission objective was simple: conquer the moon Obia, no matter the cost.

  The moon Obia was a caved moon, with most of its residents living inside the moon’s surface. This was one of the few times where the Acram would have to abandon their mighty ships and charge by foot and using some armored vehicles.

  But conquering the moon turned out to be younglings’ play for the highly trained and well-organized Acram. Once the Obia defenses were obliterated, the Noble in charge of the operation, Noble Liniarle, ordered a verbal allegiance pledge from the survivors.

  “A verbal pledge is not standard Acram practice,” young Saavan said as they rounded up the natives using an electric rod. “They never taught us that in the training grounds.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Felior said. “We have to obey. Whatever the Noble wants is what she’ll get.”

  Felior was one of Saavan’s closest kin from the training grounds. They had trained tirelessly together and were considered top-tier Acram.

  “But how will we even communicate with the natives?” Saavan said. “We don’t speak alike.”

  “Don’t worry,” Felior said as he kicked one of the natives that was falling out of formation. “It’s not our place to worry. When we lead our own army, we’ll think about the small details. I’m sure the Noble has already thought of that.”

  The native began to limp and lag behind after the kick, falling outside the group.

  “Stupid Obian. You are so weak.” Felior kicked him again.

  This time, the native cried out but managed to catch up with the group, though every time he took a stride, a cry could be heard. The Obian was in severe pain; perhaps he even had a broken or dislocated limb.

  “See?” Felior said with pride. “All they need is a little push, and they will become obedient.”

  Saavan said nothing. He burned with fury over the cruelty the Acram were showing. But it wasn’t just Felior that was acting this way. Anywhere he looked, Acram warriors were pushing and shoving the natives.

  So, this is conquest? Saavan thought. Careless, primitive, forceful actions? This is what I’ve trained for, this is what I’ve strived to be the best at?

  “Attention,” Noble Liniarle yelled from one of the heavy armored vehicles. “We have thirty translators from our most recently conquered planet, Evegia. They can speak both Acram and Obianant. Each group take one and get them to pledge allegiance to the Acram cause. If they refuse, don’t hesitate to kill them.”

  Here it is, once again. The cause, the cause. No one seems to know what it is, but we won’t hesitate to kill over it.

  “This is going to be fun,” Felior said. “We get to test our training a bit more. Don’t you think, Saavan?”

  Saavan said nothing, nor did he bother to look towards Felior. He was trying to control his temper.

  The translator approached their group and stood just a body length away from Saavan.

  “Don’t be shy,” Felior said, clearly enjoying himself. “Come and get a little bit closer. Let’s make sure these weaklings can hear you loud and clear. But first, tell us your name.”

  “They call me Ichuben,” the translator said.

  “What a trash name,” Felior said with a mocking tone. “Your name is trash. But I’ll tell you what. If you do a good job here, I’ll go ahead and give you a great name.”

  Felior wasn’t like this during their time at the training grounds. He was a good Acram, well-mannered and actually pleasant company. The taste of blood had changed him.

  “Ichuban,” Felior said, mispronouncing Ichuben’s name. “Tell them to pledge their lives to the Acram cause. Whatever the Acram need from them, whenever the Acram need them, they will not hesitate to oblige. From here on out, their primary purpose will be to fight when called upon. Those who agree are free to go form a line by that heavy vehicle over there.” Felior gestured towards the Noble’s armored vehicle, where there was a line already forming. “You’ll be injected with a tracking chip, to make sure you obey. Those who agree, raise your hand.”

  The translator began speaking slowly in the Obianant language. When he finished translating, most of the Obians in the group raised their hands instantly. But three remained: two adult Obians, with one of them carrying a youngling.

  “Well, well, what do we have here?” Felior asked as he turned on his electric rod. “We have some brave ones. Ask that one there.” He gestured towards the Obian that stood alone. “Why does he defy the Acram?”

  The translator spoke to the Obian and then turned towards Felior. It looked as if he had gotten a direct answer.

  “Well, don’t just stand there. Speak,” Felior said impatiently.

  “The Obian says…” Ichuben said, hesitating, “that
he’d rather croak than serve any one of you scum.”

  The Obian spat at Felior, but the fluid never got close to reaching him.

  “I can fix that for you,” Felior said, walking over to the Obian without hesitation. With a firm grip, he thrust the electric rod through the throat and into the chest of the Obian until it came out the other side, killing the Obian instantly.

  The Obian carrying a youngling began to panic, saying various different things in their language.

  “While we are warmed up,” Felior said, retrieving the rod from the corpse, “ask that one the same thing.” He gestured towards the panicked Obian. “Let’s see how brave it is. Let’s see if he dares say the same thing.”

  The translator spoke to the Obian hesitantly, saying a few more things than the last time he translated.

  “Well?” Felior said, looking like he was beginning to lose his patience.

  “He said that you have already taken everything,” Ichuben said with reluctance. “That he is not a warrior. He is just a farmer, trying to live a peaceful life. If he agrees to your terms, he will only prolong his life until the next battle, where he will surely die. He is only a farmer, he keeps repeating. And for his offspring, he can’t decide the life he will lead. He can’t condemn his own blood to a miserable life.”

  “Very well,” Felior said, firmly gripping the electrical rod. “I can facilitate things for them by not giving them an option.”

  “Felior, stop,” Saavan said.

  “What did you just say?” Felior asked, sounding incredulous. “Is it me, or are you protecting these filthy soil-working beings? You should be ashamed to call yourself an Acram.”

  Saavan rushed Felior and thrust his rod through the center of Felior’s chest, where most of his vital organs were located. The Acram’s limp body fell to the floor.

  In that moment, Saavan made the decision that if he could help it at all, he wouldn’t let cruelty run rampant, even if it meant risking his own life.