by Yakov Merkin
“Arvah?” Came the faint voice of Captain Deran Arik, the highest ranking officer among their group that had been captured, referring to her by the pseudonym Asharra had been using for the last several years. “You holding up?”
“For now,” she replied. “You?”
“The same, but I can’t speak for any of the others. I don’t think we’re getting out of this one, not on our own, at least,” he said, his voice starting to sound strained. “Even if we could plan something, everyone’s in too weak a state to do what we’d have to.”
Again, Asharra’s thoughts turned to the Shift, and her concealed abilities, as a possible card to play, but things had not changed, and she could not solely rely on them to get the group out—and revealing that while failing to escape would mean death for at least her. There had to be a better option.
“So far as we know, nobody knows where we are. If we just sit and wait for help, we may never get out of here,” she replied. “But I don’t have any ideas, I’m too tired.” Before she could go on, her throat seized up, and she began violently coughing for what felt like a good couple of minutes. The only other thing she heard from Captain Arik was to preserve what strength she could; they had to be in a state capable of both resisting interrogation and moving if the opportunity to escape came.
Once the coughing finally stopped, Asharra slumped against the wall. She was dangerously close to giving in to despair completely. She couldn’t let that happen. While it was still too risky to draw on her Noalii abilities, there had been other things learned from those years of training and service.
Asharra shifted her position slightly, ignoring the aching pain in her limbs and the rough fibers of the prison jumpsuit to sit in a cross-legged position. She then took a moment to relax herself again, closed her eyes, and settled in to meditate. It was what the Noalii did when they needed to relax and focus, whether on channeling the Shift for something big, or to try and solve a complex problem. But it also had served her well over the years when she needed to calm herself at times when things were bad. Now certainly qualified.
She let her mind float free, emptying it of any conscious thoughts; something that came surprisingly easily, given the situation, and allowed it to take her into blissful—but temporary—nothingness.
After a time, however, something went wrong. Instead of emptiness, she started seeing flashes of the past—unfortunately, they were painful moments. In rapid succession, Asharra was yanked back to that terrible time during the Battle of Kirat where she’d lost several close friends at once, then re-kindled the feeling of betrayal and disillusionment that had led to her resigning from the Guardians, and then that awful, awful moment when she’d been forced to watch, powerless to prevent it, as many more friends were massacred during the Empire’s purge of the Noalii Guardians. She saw, clear as day, the images on the video call of troopers swarming in to where survivors of the initial slaughter had sought refuge, the Noalii fighting their hardest, but being overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
No!
The helplessness, the despair, continued to build until it almost consumed her, and Asharra was thrown out of the meditative state with such force that she slammed into the wall behind her as she shouted at the vanishing images of horror again, before quickly silencing herself. The last thing she needed was for a guard to come in here.
Asharra clutched at her chest and did her best to calm herself, despite the fact that the images she had tried to suppress for so long were now all too fresh in her mind. The meditation was supposed to make thing better, not worse! She hadn’t been able to help the Noalii in their time of need; now, alone, imprisoned, how was she supposed to help herself or anyone else?
Patience, came the voice of her former mentor, as she recalled something he’d taught her several times, even while he struggled with it himself. The Shift is always in motion, and things can change in the blink of an eye. Sometimes we just have to wait for those harmonious moments, and seize them before they slip away.
He was dead too, of course, though at least Asharra had not had to see him die in front of her; he’d been on some important mission at the time, and between what Asharra knew of the purge itself and what the official report said, he had been betrayed and killed by soldiers he had known for years, and would have given his life for, as well as the man who now served as the emperor’s personal enforcer. As had so many of the Guardians, whose memory had even been destroyed, warped by the lies the Empire spewed forth. Even though vengeance was not the way of the Noalii, she felt they would appreciate her having decided then to do whatever she could to bring down the evil regime that had killed them. That mission had yet to be fulfilled, and so long as she drew breath, all was not lost. Yes, that was more the Noalii way.
Even as she was finally feeling slightly invigorated, however, Asharra had a sense that something was wrong, one too strong to just be the fatigue messing with her mind.
Then she heard it, and her heart skipped a beat. Heavy footsteps in a steady gait, distinctive mechanical and electronic sounds too artificial to be a Gurshen. The Empire had, indeed, gotten fed up with their resistance to interrogation, and brought in someone who, if his reputation was true, would get something out of them. Heart racing all over again, Asharra quickly began employing every mental focusing technique she knew to the task of preserving and concealing the one piece of information that had now become the most important to keep secret.
Then, the footsteps stopped, very close by. Asharra turned toward the door of her cell just in time to see it hiss open, revealing the emperor’s enforcer Lord Tavas, as she had feared, flanked by a pair of bodyguards.
From where she sat on the floor, Asharra stared up at the tall, masked figure, unable to move an inch as the fear truly set in along with an unnatural sense of feeling cold—but there was also, strangely, an odd feeling that she had met him before, even though, so far as she knew, she had only seen images and recordings of this lieutenant of the Emperor. What she did know was that he had killed her former master, and so many other friends.
“Do not try and resist,” he said in a deep, mechanical voice as he approached. “One way or the other, you will reveal your rebel secrets to me. The only question is, how will your mind fare, Captain Arvah Saral?”
He crouched down in front of her, reached out a gloved hand, and after a flash of intense pain, Asharra’s world went dark.
CHAPTER 12
It had been several long, sleepless days since that fateful meeting that had forced Corras Revval to make a decision he never could have predicted. It was ironic, in a sense, that his last actions before he intended to abandon his post and try to enact change from without would be to prepare, with the assistance of his friend and assistant Lothaer, what was possibly the most immoral thing he had attached his name to. And depending on how one viewed the IRSS and its enforcers, that could really be saying something. But as much as he abhorred what he was preparing the Empire to do, Corras knew that delaying would only hurt his overall objective. He needed as few questions asked as possible, and for that, he had to shunt aside his feelings.
“I just received the confirmation from the high marshal’s aide,” Lothaer said as he entered Corras’s large, well-lit office. “All planetary garrisons will be made available, should their assistance be required, and the army will also keep a portion of the reserve call-ups on standby should additional manpower become necessary. But this means we’re good to begin setting things in motion.”
“Excellent, good work,” Corras said, then rubbed at his face before raising his head to face Lothaer. “Praise the Spirits.” He smiled. “I think I’m finally starting to feel my age catching up with me. I can’t work for days on minimal sleep like I used to. Which reminds me, if you’ll recall, I mentioned that I planned to take a leave of absence once everything was ready, and let you oversee the operation.”
Lothaer nodded. “I do, and I’m grateful that you’re entrusting this crucial mission to me. However, your timing c
an be seen as somewhat convenient, as though you do not want to be associated with the execution of the plan. Some might see that as a loyalty issue.” Of course Lothaer would have suspicions; he was an IRSS veteran as well. However, he fortunately seemed to have the wrong ones.
“I’m already on record for opposing the plan for several reasons, and maintain that it is not in the spirit of the Empire I have dedicated my life to,” Corras replied, “and yes, I do not want to be the one to oversee its execution. However, that does not have anything to do with my loyalty. If that had been an issue, I might’ve delayed work on the plan, or something of that nature. No, I fully recognize why this was the decision our leadership came to, and as such, I have done my job to prepare, and while I choose not to personally oversee it, I will be leaving everything in quite capable hands—hands which I imagine will take the reins of the IRSS once I’m actually too old for the job.”
“Don’t run out on us too quickly, boss,” Lothaer said. “Spirits willing, this will enable us to put a quick end to both the war and the rebellion, at which time you can lobby for lessened restrictions and their reforms all you want. I can start setting things in motion now, and let you head out.”
Corras nodded, rose from his chair, and held out a hand, which Lothaer shook. “Best of luck. And please, keep the place clean. I’ll leave you the keys to my office so that you have full and easy access to anything you might need.”
“Thank you, sir, and don’t worry at all. I’ll get it all done, and as painlessly as possible.”
Corras smiled. “I look forward to hearing of your—our—success,” he said, then watched Lothaer head out of the office at a fast walk. They might be friends, and worked well together, but the younger deputy assuredly had his eyes squarely on the Director’s chair, and would no doubt use everything he had access to as evidence he was a better choice. Good. If he was focused on fulfilling his ambitions, he’d be blinded to what was really going on. Lothaer was a very good agent, but Corras had too many years on him.
Once he was alone again, Corras sat back down at the desk that had been almost like a second—or third—home for years and years. This might be the final time he got to sit at it.
For a few moments, Corras sat back in the familiar, soft chair, and stared at his computer monitor, contemplating sabotaging the entire IRSS network on his way out. It would be quite doable, and could not only prevent the Nihluran plan from being carried out altogether, but pretty much stop the IRSS in its tracks for a while.
However doing so would make it patently obvious just who was responsible, and that would prompt a massive manhunt that would likely end in the arrest of both him and his family, and deprive the rebellion of information that could be used to help take on the Empire. Between the strengthened rebellion and the Galactic Alliance, a settlement could be reached that would see the Revittan Empire return to how it had been in the past, on brighter days.
Corras powered down his console for the last time, and retrieved the stealth drive on which he had copied more confidential information than the rebels, or anyone, could possibly ever make use of. He slipped it into a concealed pocket inside his uniform jacket and took a long glance around the room. All along the walls were framed images, still and moving, of him with important Imperial figures, various medals, citations and awards he had received, along with several trophies from particularly memorable missions. And along one side of the office, the magnificent capital city was visible through the large, clear steel window, arguably the best view from any point in the city. Was he really about to throw away all this history, all this hard work?
Do I want the Empire I loved to exist again, or let it spiral into a cruel, immoral regime?
Corras itched badly to take at least something as a memento, but people going on leave didn’t take keepsakes with them.
Once again, Corras took a moment to steel himself for all of the challenges to come, then exited his office, waving to Lothaer, hard at work in his own office, as he passed by.
While he may be old, at least by some measures, Corras Revval was the best, and longest serving agent in IRSS history. There had never been a challenge he had not met and overcome, and that was not about to change, no matter how difficult the path ahead would become.
This was not a betrayal, he reminded himself. What he did was still in the service of the glorious Revittan Empire, and he would not stop until it once again became the Empire that it could and should be, until it was truly great and just again.
CHAPTER 13
Ayil stretched leisurely as she exited the public transport and began to walk along the bustling street in Sindellar, the capital city on Ilvaness, at the very center of the Revittan Empire. This was, without a doubt, the best job she’d ever taken on, she had decided. What could beat getting paid—a lot—to go and do things she’d have done on her own, for fun? All they had to add was to ply their company for information, or find other sneaky ways to obtain it. Luckily, both Ayil and Liya had spent a decent amount of time on the streets in poor areas of Alliance worlds, and they knew a few things about making… acquisitions, which was a large part of how they currently had enough local money to rent a nice room and mingle with higher class folks. She’d really taken a liking to Revittan fashion, which was by and large form-hugging clothing with sharp-featured designs, reflecting the sharp features of Revittans themselves, and bold, contrasting colors that often brought to mind the starkness of their red facial markings—which Ayil now knew firsthand often was a misnomer, as several Revittans she’d met had similar markings elsewhere on their bodies, in places often not open to the light—against their pale skin. Maybe once the war ended, they’d come here for regular vacations—they would have the money for it.
However, there was more to this than fun, nice new clothes and other pleasures aside. She’d arranged to meet someone who was not a Revittan for a change, but rather a Svetoran, another pretty, and common species in this part of the galaxy. Fortunately—or unfortunately—this wasn’t someone Ayil would need to coax information out of.
Something they’d been hearing brief mentions of for some time now was an apparent rebellion against the Empire, currently based mostly in the outer reaches of Imperial space, for obvious reasons, but with cells or sympathizers in most places. The Empire had worked hard to suppress as much information about it as they could, but even before Ayil struck her bet-winning felinite-mine of a source, they had heard some talk of it. Now, finally, they would get to speak with someone apparently involved in it herself. Well, technically only Ayil would be, as it was a safer bet, in case this was a trap of some sort, for the other people to only know of one of their little group, and of course for all three to not attend the meeting together.
Ayil had drawn the short straw, so here she was while Dran and Liya were still in bed. There were far worse times to be the loser in such selections, however. It was a bright, sunny, and a very pleasant temperature outside today, and exploring the bustling metropolis in which they currently resided had yet to get old. A place like this would have more security and surveillance, of course, but there were also so many people that it was easy to find cracks to slip through and pass unmolested. There was always the perfect balance to find between caution and confidence in this type of thing, whether fancy spying like now or pick-pocketing back in the day.
Once she reached the entrance to the park where they were supposed to meet, Ayil pulled her attention completely away from the eye-catching shops and people to focus completely on finding the contact.
A few minutes later Ayil spotted her approaching: striped orange, green, and white skin, horns and tendrils both marking the Svetoran as distinct from most of the other pedestrians and reminding Ayil of poor, dear, Dalcon. Wherever he was now, he was surely looking down with approval at what she, Liya, and Dran were doing. It was his doing, after all.
Now that she’d spotted the Svetoran female wearing the green shawl she had been told to watch for, Ayil took a glance around to be sur
e she wasn’t the subject of any unwanted attention, or rather, any potentially official-looking attention.
Spotting nothing that looked amiss, Ayil strode over to the Svetoran with a wide smile, and took hold of her in a one-armed hug once she was close enough, as though greeting an old friend. “So, where to?” She asked quietly as she slowly let her arm drop back to her side.
“Walk with me,” the Svetoran said, and led Ayil into the park itself, past the front area where there were several people sitting or walking with pets, to a quiet spot further back where it was just them and the well-groomed foliage.
“Are you really a Galactic Alliance spy?”
Ayil smirked. “Are you really a rebel?”
“Of course. And, and well, I’m sorry if I came off as too confrontational. It’s just that, no offense, one doesn’t usually think of Nihlurans when they think of spies.”
“Technically I’m more of an information gatherer than a spy,” Ayil replied. “And yes, if I would be caught that would be my line as well. But enough small talk, dear. I’ve heard little rumors and remarks about your apparent rebellion, and I suspect you may have heard some things about the Galactic Alliance, where I am from. Ideally, we would both benefit from any sort of arrangement, as a strong, active rebellion here obviously helps our war effort, and I am sure you could use additional supplies, weapons, funds—though that might be more complicated—and so on. Let’s start with you, as we’re on your side of the galaxy. In brief, what can you tell me about your rebellion?”
The Svetoran laughed. “Easier said than done. I suppose we can start with—”
Before she could continue, they were interrupted by a blaring noise that seemed to be coming from everywhere.