Haladras

by Michael M. Farnsworth

  Skylar winced. This was precisely the wrong kind of attention he wanted from the famed captain. He hoped Arturo had been in too much of a hurry to inquire into the reason for the delayed docking.

  “I’m not a member of the Council, of course, but I did manage to secure a pair of seats in the gallery. If Skylar is feeling up to going...”

  “Absolutely!” cried Skylar.

  “It’s up to your mother, of course.”

  Skylar turned to his mother and looked at her imploringly.

  She frowned. “Well...”

  * * *

  “I didn’t want to talk about this too much while your mother was around,” said Kindor as he and Skylar flew across the Gorge in Kindor’s speeder, “but what happened at the docks yesterday? Why did you risk your life like that? You know to use the winch’s emergency release.”

  “It wouldn’t release,” said Skylar in exasperation, giving voice to the conversation he'd had countless times in his head since yesterday. “I tried over and over to get it to release, but it didn’t work. I even slammed the button with my fist. My hand still hurts.”

  Kindor nodded understandingly. “Did you try backing off the winch?”

  “Full throttle, yes. It refused to budge.”

  “Hmm...” Kindor rubbed his chin in contemplation. “Very odd. I’ve never heard of a winch failing like that.”

  “Don’t you believe me?”

  “Of course I do, Skylar. And I think you ought to get a medal for saving the dock. But I don’t think Rasbus would agree. He’s never been so irate.”

  The reminder of Rasbus renewed Skylar’s concern. He asked Kindor what he would do now that Rasbus had discharged him from duty. Kindor, if he felt any concern for himself, did not give any sign.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. I have a feeling Rasbus will come around. He hasn’t done the paperwork yet. I’m not officially discharged, yet. Things will work out—just you wait and see.”

  The Council House was a prodigious sandstone structure which stood atop the southern wall at the mouth of the Gorge. The early settlers of Haladras built it to serve as a meeting place for the Colonial Council and as administrative headquarters for the viceroy.

  Inside, the Council House buzzed with excitement. It seemed that the entire assemblage of that capacious hall was conjecturing all at once as to the nature of Captain Arturo’s imminent address. Skylar strained his ears to filter out a single conversation going on near him, but the drone of the crowd was too loud.

  Skylar and Kindor were seated high up in the gallery, which wrapped around all four walls and looked down upon the prominent seating of the Council members and center floor. The benches on which they sat were made of hewn sandstone. The seating was tiered so that all could view the center floor.

  They had arrived early, not wanting to lose their seats. At first, the Council seats had all stood empty. Within a half hour, however, they had slowly begun to fill as Council members percolated in from unseen entryways near the floor level. The seating now brimmed with its white-robed occupants.

  Skylar watched all with rapt attention.

  Suddenly, without any signal, the noise of the assemblage died away.

  Skylar craned his neck to see what was happening. Out of the far corner from where they sat another white-robed figure had emerged. This figure wore an emerald mantle, which draped proudly across his chest and a silver band around his head. He walked slowly with an air of dignity, tinged with pride.

  The Council body rose to their feet unanimously. And the rest of the assemblage followed suite.

  “That’s Viceroy Aberforce,” whispered Kindor.

  Standing in front of his seat, the viceroy motioned for the Council and audience to be seated.

  “Members of the Haladrian Council,” he said, outstretching both hands in front of him, “fellow Haladrian citizens—welcome. Some of you have traveled a considerable distance to join us, and on particularly short notice. For that, I thank you.

  “As you are quite aware, Captain Arturo has just yesterday returned with the trade convoy. Because of certain events which occurred during his travels, he has entreated me to call the Council together to discuss a matter of great urgency and concern. Captain Arturo has not as yet informed me as to the nature of this urgency. So, I will now invite him to come forward and present them to us.”

  The viceroy sat down. Another figure, which Skylar readily recognized as Captain Arturo, walked out onto the center floor. He stood before the viceroy and bowed stiffly, bending at the waist.

  “My lord,” began the captain, “members of the Council, I come to you with grave tidings. Fourteen years have passed since King Athylian was murdered by our enemies, and King Tarus ascended the throne. Since that time, I have watched the empire with growing concern. It is not the empire we once knew. Until now, our small planet has been untouched by what I’ve seen on other planets. Perhaps that is because we are only a colony. Whatever the reason, we can no longer blind ourselves to the problem.

  “I need not remind any of you of the empire’s ever-increasing dependence on our teryleum mines. The growth of this Council in the past few years testifies to that fact. I also need not remind this body of our reliance on the Empire to trade our teryleum for those goods and provisions which cannot be obtained on our barren planet and are vital to our survival.

  “On my honor as a captain in His Majesty’s Space Force, I tell you that the empire has robbed us!”

  A great murmur of voices rose from the assembly. Viceroy Aberforce was forced to silence the audience by holding up his hands.

  “This is indeed a bold accusation, Captain Arturo. I hope you can explain yourself,” said the viceroy.

  “I can, my lord. Haladras, as you are well aware, holds a trade agreement with every planet in the Empire, excepting only Ahlderon. Quoryn is the nearest planet on the trade route and also the largest importer of our teryleum. From them we receive the majority of our import. It is the first stop on our trade route.

  “We had been on Quoryn two days, when my first mate reported to me that a verbal altercation had erupted between my chief of cargo and Quoryn’s director of exportation. My chief of cargo possesses a notoriously inflammable temper, so I thought little of it. I instructed my first mate to deal with the matter as he deemed fit. He insisted, however, that the matter required my attention. Somewhat put out by this, but being near the cargo hold at the time, I decided to investigate.

  “I found the two men on the verge of a brawl, my chief of cargo aflame with anger, yelling unintelligible insults at the Quorynthian director, who was gesticulating wildly with his hands from the loaded supplies to the chief of cargo. My presence quickly halted the fight, and I demanded an explanation for the disgraceful behavior.

  “Still fuming from the ears, my chief of cargo explained that scarcely a third of the provisions agreed upon had been loaded. Yet the Quoryn’s director of exportation insisted that was all they were required to trade for the teryleum. Some change had occurred, of which we were not apprised. Subsequently, the director produced a document, which indicated that the exchange rate for teryleum had been legally altered for Quoryn.”

  The assemblage broke into a low rumble of murmured voices. But Captain Arturo continued to speak.

  “The new rate agreed with the loaded provisions. And the document appeared legitimate. I, therefore, sought out Lord Braxton straightaway. However, when I arrived at the capital house, I found not Lord Braxton sitting at his office desk but some other man who claimed to be the governor of Quoryn.”

  “Governor!” cried one of the Council members in dismay, followed by an eruption of other shouts around the hall.

  Once again, Aberforce was force to quiet the congregation.

  “Governor, you say?” questioned the viceroy, when the tumult had died. “Was he not a lord, then?”

  “No,” replied Arturo, “he called himself Governor Dungrad. A name I’ve never before heard in my life.”

&nbs
p; “And what of Lord Braxton?”

  “Dead, my lord.”

  “Dead! But how? I’ve heard nothing of this.”

  “He died in his sleep, was all he told me. After Braxton’s death, King Tarus promptly appointed Dungrad as governor of Quoryn.”

  The viceroy leaned back in his chair and stroked his short beard with his thumb and forefinger. After a considerable pause, he said. “Please, Captain, continue your account.”

  “Thank you, my lord. As Dungrad was the governor of Quoryn now, I asked him the meaning of this new exchange rate. He simply handed me a letter from King Tarus. Would that I could quote that letter to you verbatim. I can only paraphrase. It stated that the commanding general was relocating twelve regiments of His Majesty’s imperial soldiers to Quoryn, to be placed under the command of Governor Dungrad himself. The letter also stated that Dungrad was granted authority to levy whatever taxes or adjust any trade exchange rates as he deemed necessary to sustain His Majesty’s soldiers.

  “Dungrad proceeded to explain that he needed the extra provisions which he withheld from us for the support of his new troops, and that he also couldn’t do with less than the full load of teryleum. I did not hesitate to bring to the governor’s attentions that Haladras needs those provisions as well. For we have no means of replenishing them on our desert planet. The governor was unsympathetic. ‘You must simply trade more teryleum,’ he told me. An absurd suggestion. It would be impossible for us to mine the teryleum at three times our current rate without more mines. But where would the provisions come from to support those new mines?

  “I threatened to reload all our teryleum and take it to Lord Rowvan of Allega. He only laughed at this and said that he would directly report me to the minister of interplanetary trade. Who would send a royal emissary to Haladras to personally oversee our trade operation. Furthermore, he promised to have me arrested for stealing the king’s property.

  “I scorned his threat of arrest, and stormed out of his office. However, wishing not to create diplomatic troubles for Haladras, I deemed it best to take our losses and hope for better returns on the remainder of our teryleum. This proved—thankfully—to be the case.

  “So, my lord...Council members, I return to you with this news. We have less than half the provisions we need until we trade again, and Quoryn has established a governor and given him a near army of imperial soldiers.”

  There was a low hum of voices from the Council seats. The viceroy continued stroking his beard, looking grave and pensive. Finally, a Council member stood and spoke out a question for Arturo.

  “How long have the troops been stationed on Quoryn?”

  “I cannot definitively say,” replied the captain. “But the streets of the city were filled with them. They seemed well established.”

  More low murmuring.

  Another Council member stood and spoke.

  “My lord, can we trust the veracity of this account? Is it not safe to believe Quoryn has rebelled against the empire and is growing an army to overthrow our king?”

  This was met with a chorus of supporters, as well as the angry cries of naysayers.

  Another Council member rose.

  “Captain Arturo’s word is unimpeachable,” he said. “If he says Quoryn’s new governor has power vested him from King Tarus, then I deem that nothing illegal is happening on Quoryn.”

  “Here! Here!” rejoined several voices.

  “Then the king has struck a blow to Haladras!”

  The hall burst into an uproar of voices. Council member contended against council member; citizen against citizen. The bedlam persisted for many minutes before Aberforce managed to restore order. He had taken to his feet and held out his arms like an enchanter casting a spell. Eventually the assemblage calmed and returned to their seats. The viceroy remained silent for some time afterwards.

  At last he spoke.

  “I, too, doubt not the veracity of Captain Arturo’s account. I will admit that this news troubles me. This unfortunate turn of events puts Haladras in a dire state. Yet I will have no man here challenge the goodwill of our Lord Protector, King Tarus. He clearly has wise motives for what’s been done on Quoryn. We are merely uninformed.

  “As to the matter of Governor Dungrad’s new trade law, I suspect King Tarus is ignorant. I shall immediately make preparations to travel to Ahlderon and make an appeal before the throne on behalf of our people. First, however, I will visit Governor Dungrad and discuss possible amendments to their trade law. In the meantime, I suggest we brace ourselves for the worst. We do not know how long it will take to correct this matter. We must more strictly ration our provisions, and if necessary draw from our emergency stores.”

  The viceroy turned to Captain Arturo.

  “Thank you for your report, Captain. And for your loyalty to Haladras. I know you did all in your power to protect our best interest. Is there anything else you wish to report before the Council ere we adjourn?”

  “There is, my lord.”

  A simultaneous shudder swept over the assemblage as everyone readied himself for more ill tidings.

  “Proceed,” commanded the viceroy with noticeable reluctance.

  “You need not fear, my lord. The worst is told. I have only some news to convey which has come to my ears through my crew. They are strange tidings. I doubt they hold much import. Still, I have heard enough sources confirm what I’m about to tell you that I feel they have merit. It is this:

  “As we went from port to port, we heard talk of some unidentified insects swarming through cities and settlements, stinging large numbers of people, then mysteriously vanishing. This hasn’t happened only on one planet. The same story was told on both Quoryn and Fenorra. Though I haven’t heard of any death or illness caused by the insect stings, the insects’ existence has inspired considerable fear in the people of those planets.

  “No one appears to know what these insects are or from where they originated. But that they have managed to migrate from one planet to another is certain.”

  Arturo then bowed and stepped back a pace, a sign that his report was finished.

  “Well, Captain,” said the viceroy, smiling, “those are strange tidings indeed. Like the stories children tell to frighten one another.”

  Laughter rang out through the hall.

  “Yes, my lord, they are strange,” replied Arturo coldly. Then, bowing once more, he turned on his heels and exited the center floor, holding his head high.

  Arturo’s exit and completed report signaled the end of the council meeting. What everyone had gathered to hear had been heard. The viceroy made a few closing remarks, repeating his promise to seek the king’s aid on behalf of Haladras, then adjourned the meeting.

  Skylar made his way out of the Council house with Kindor. Their going was slow. Skylar still could not walk without pain. The throng, all trying to exit the building at once, pressed against them from all sides. Suddenly from behind, a voice called to him. He turned around to find the red freckled face of Rolander Finch staring at him.

  “Oh, hi, Roland. I didn’t notice you.”

  “That’s okay,” replied Rolander in his nasally voice. “How are you doing? I heard about the accident at the docks.”

  Skylar flushed. How many people know about that?

  “Fine,” said Skylar vaguely. “So, what did you think about Arturo’s report?” he quickly followed up, hoping to avoid further discussion about the incident.

  “Very interesting,” replied Rolander, sounding suddenly like an academic professor. “The king’s motives for placing a governor on Quoryn and giving him additional troops are untenable—without a doubt. He’s not to be trusted.”

  “Those are strong words about the king, Roland.”

  “Maybe, but they are true, all the same. What really interest me are those so-called insects.”

  Skylar raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Why do you say that?”

  “Well,” continued Rolander eagerly, “my father told me that he talked wi
th one of Arturo’s crew members yesterday. He and my father are good friends. His friend told him that several of the insects have been caught and dissected by entomologists. They said that they’re not insects of any kind. They’re machines.”

  FOUR

  KINDOR RETURNED SKYLAR to his home just after dark. The lights from Skylar’s cave glowed warmly. Skylar imagined his mother sitting anxiously by the door for him to return.

  “I’ll stop by again in a few days to see how you’re holding up,” said Kindor, as Skylar climbed out of the speeder. “And don’t worry about Rasbus. He’ll come around.”

  So saying, Kindor flew off into the night.

  Inside, Skylar was surprised to find his mother in their small sitting room talking with his uncle Lasseter. He hadn’t expected his uncle to pay a visit, and certainly not so late in the day. Not that his uncle ever did anything predictable.

  His mother smiled at him as he entered the sitting room. But Skylar noted a touch of guilt in her eyes, as if she were hiding something from him. Perhaps it was just the anxiety she felt over him being gone and not well. He shrugged it off.

  “I’m glad you’re home,” she said. “Are you feeling alright? You’re probably tired. I hope you didn’t overdo it.”

  She was on her feet in an instant, encouraging Skylar to rest in one of the recumbent chairs.

  “I’m fine, Mother—really,” he insisted.

  He sat in the chair, nonetheless.

  “What did you think of the Council meeting, Skylar?” asked his uncle who looked rather serious. Of late, his uncle had been acting inexplicably grave. Tonight, though, he seemed even more so.

  Lasseter was the only family Skylar had beside his mother. His uncle was sort of a father to Skylar. He had been present for all the major events in Skylar’s life. Birthdays, holidays, his first day at the Academy, the start of his apprenticeship at the docks—everything. But his uncle was eccentric. Everyone in the Gorge knew it. And the older Skylar grew the more it bothered him, the more he wished he didn’t have an uncle who lived secluded in some secret desert cave; an uncle who didn’t always go about in the unforgiving Haladrian sun cloaked and hooded, like a bandit in disguise.