The Renegade

by P. M. Johnson

  It appears as though a number of large space rocks had been diverted from their course and were approaching Earth. Did Kurak know anything about it? Yes, Kurak had told the scientist, he did know about it. They had only one week to act. Was there anything he could do to alter their current course? No, there was nothing he could do. Earth would soon be engulfed in flames, Kurak had said, and it was his most fervent wish that all of humanity would perish in the approaching apocalypse.

  The scientist stared at Kurak, an expression of shock and horror on his face. The absurd Humani had no doubt been under the delusion that he and Kurak had become friends. Not so, Humani, descendent of the accursed Alamani who had vainly sought to exterminate the Sahiradin species. Not so.

  The scientist left without saying another word.

  Less than an hour later, a different Humani appeared at the glass partition. This Humani was dressed in battle gear, complete with sidearm, helmet, and body armor. Using the intercom, he asked Kurak to lie face-down on the floor with his hands stretched out and legs spread apart. Kurak used one of the more colorful Humani phrases to express his refusal to comply. The door to Kurak’s room slid open and four soldiers entered. Kurak had long been dreaming of the day when he could vent his rage against his captors. He resisted with all his ability, but the Humani were not like their Alamani ancestors. Though he struck a few blows, the soldiers were quick and strong. They subdued him and secured his arms behind his back. Then they dragged him down the corridor and into the sunlight where a helicopter was waiting. They threw him inside like a sack of stinking laundry and secured him to the bench. He was flown to a facility somewhere to the east. This subterranean compound was different from the one in which he’d spent the preceding several decades. Though it was also hidden within a mountain range, the Alleghenies, it was deep below ground, secure from any attack except the most precisely aimed missile…or asteroid. This is where the government’s leadership gathered to escape the damage soon to be wrought by his hand.

  The Humani there were furious with Kurak. They were enraged beyond anything he had ever seen before. He had numerous meetings with their highest leaders, but still he refused to help, though in truth there was nothing he could have done. They alternated between threats and supplication. They begged for him to help them save the many billion’s whose lives would end in just days. Surely he possessed the secret to destroying or diverting the asteroids. They promised him anything he wanted. They would seek to communicate with other Sahiradin so he could return home. They promised him complete freedom to go anywhere on Earth he chose. He would be wealthy, honored, and beloved.

  Kurak responded by gleefully explaining to them the true state of affairs in the galaxy. He told them of their extinct ancestors, the Alamani. He told them of the war against the Lycians. And he promised them that once the asteroid strike had cleansed Earth of all Humani, he will have completed his mission and prepared the way for his Queen. She and the Sahiradin would make Earth their home. They would soon find the Apollo Stone, the last remaining Kaiytáva which the Humani had stolen from him, and use it to crush the Lycians. Adherence to the Law would be enforced throughout the Galaxy, stability would be established, and the flames of chaos and divergence would be extinguished.

  The Humani were furious with his response, but what could they do? They beat him, of course, but they could not bring themselves to kill him. They might yet have need of his advanced knowledge in the days to come. Of course, their relationship would be much different from what it had been. He was their prisoner, an agent of a hostile, genocidal species, and they would bend him to their will.

  Then the asteroids struck. One after another, they entered Earth’s atmosphere. Some of them exploded high above the planet, sending violent shockwaves in all directions. Others split apart and rained down as fireballs, striking the surface with the force of nuclear weapons. Kurak knew when they struck. He could feel their impact in his dark cell below the mountains. When he felt those vibrations, he smiled through bloody, cracked lips. He opened his swollen eyelids as wide as possible, hoping the ceiling would collapse on him and deliver him from his disgraceful condition.

  But that was not to be his fate. He soon learned that, although the asteroids had done unspeakable damage to Humani populations around the globe, they had not been sufficient to kill them all. Of course, many would starve or die of disease in the months to come, but Kurak knew that he had not completely succeeded in his mission. The Humani still befouled the surface of the Earth. To complete his task and prepare the way for his Queen, he would have to survive a bit longer. He would change tactics. The Humani government that controlled him was in a panic; it might not survive in its present form. He would need to prepare himself for whatever power arose from the ashes of the Impact.

  Kurak’s thoughts were interrupted by a group of Myr technologists as they scurried into the room, chittering in their repulsive form of communication, something Kurak refused to consider a language.

  “I am ready,” he said to them in Sahir as he stood up, slightly unsteady, and walked to the metal chair in the middle of the chamber. He collapsed into it and scowled at the Myr, who had formed a semi-circle in front of him. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Two Myr bowed their heads and reached forward to lock his arms down with the restraints built into the arms of the chair.

  “However!” he bellowed so loudly that the Myr leaped back a half step. “I will murder each and every one of you filthy beasts if you ever speak of this. Any word that I have undergone these procedures will result in your deaths. Do you understand?”

  The Myr chittered and squeaked their understanding. The two on the sides slowly reached for Kurak’s forearms and fastened the restraints. They rolled up the old warrior’s tunic sleeves to reveal previously implanted geometric-shaped devices on the inside of each wrist. The tattoo-like implants shimmered with green light, indicating they were working to repair dying cells and undoing the damage caused by disease. Normally, the devices already implanted in Kurak’s wrists would have performed their functions for much longer, but the Sahiradin were different from other Lycian species. When their time came, it hit them aggressively. There was no gradual decline of strength, eyesight, hearing, and cognitive abilities. Their descent was rapid and debilitating. Therefore, additional implants were urgently required before Kurak’s biology gained the advantage over the Myr technology.

  Kurak took a deep breath. Warriors should not be cheating death like this. It was repulsive to the most sacred principles of the Law. But Khadiem needed his strength and experience; she could not trust the Kisch, and her own offspring were not capable of providing her with wise counsel. She needed someone to help guide her through the dangers to come and ensure that she emerged from this war victorious.

  Kurak’s thoughts of Khadiem began to slip by like the morning mist over a wide river. He was losing consciousness as the drugs administered to him by the Myr began to take hold. His thoughts of Khadiem departed the path of duty and ventured toward desire.

  Khadiem needed someone strong to lean on, someone utterly dependable. She needed someone whose traits were worthy of the next generation of warriors.

  Chapter 18

  We are one spirit separated by false concepts of disconnectedness. Reestablish those connections to others and the universe around you, and you will discover your true self.

  - The Nondoborodon (Song of the Grenn), Scroll I.

  Logan opened his eyes and quietly rose from the bed. With a final glance at Beth, who lay sleeping, he slipped out of the bedroom and into the apartment’s living room. The sun would not rise for another three hours and the room was very dark, but he passed by the light switch without touching it. Instead, he walked to a chair by the fireplace and eased himself into it. He gently lay his arms on the armrests and shifted back and forth until he was comfortable. Then he closed his eyes, and as he had done a thousand times before, and focused all of his thoughts on a single thing, the image of a lar
ge, bright sunflower. He studied the details of its yellow petals, the rich amber color of its center, and the small green leaves gently rippling in the breeze. Above the flower was a perfectly blue sky.

  A few troubling thoughts tried to force their way into the serene image he’d conjured - concerns for Beth and her critical mission to Osh, anger with Attika’s foolishness. Logan cast them aside with practiced ease. He continued to focus on the beautiful, delicate sunflower gently swaying in the breeze of a lovely summer’s day.

  As Logan slipped into a meditative state, the image of a female Alamani drifted before his mind’s eye. Though intelligent and wise, the face was also curiously child-like in appearance. Her brown hair was thin and wispy, her large eyes caramel-colored, her shoulders narrow, her arms and frame thin. Other phantom images drifted by. Unlike the first one, these faces looked at him with expressions of apprehension and something else. Was it arrogance? Condescension? Disgust? They certainly did not hold him in high regard.

  Yet, the first spirit, the One Voice, seemed to have a greater appreciation, perhaps even compassion, for him. This was fortunate for Logan because the others had recognized her as their leader and chief ambassador to Logan. She was apparently of a higher rank than the others. Though her authority was not supreme, she used it to induce them to assist Logan by sharing with him their strength and considerable knowledge of both Lycian and Sahiradin ways.

  Logan once again envisioned the big, bright sunflower and drifted ever lower into a deep meditative state. His mind became increasingly dissociated from his body and his surroundings, though his inner awareness grew. Now he felt the spirits moving throughout his mind and body like swirling eddies in the river of his being. They explored the tissue of his arms, legs, chest, and organs. They flowed through the corridors of his mind, searching for more information about his character, his relations to others, what it means to be human. They were deeply curious about him, even aggressively so, but he did not hold back or seek to impede them. It was the price he paid in order to maintain control over his mind during the other hours of the day.

  Deeper and deeper he drifted as images of Alamani life before the Sahiradin uprising floated through his mind. Though not so different from humans in appearance and behavior, which did not surprise Logan given their common origins somewhere in the distant past, he was frequently astonished by the degree to which they lorded over the Lycians. He now understood that the so-called Trade Federation was essentially a mechanism of control the Alamani used to maintain dominance over the other species.

  The image of Sahiradin warriors boarding gunships and descending to the surface of some Lycian world flashed through Logan’s mind. It was the memory of a spirit Navigator who had been dispatched to punish some Lycian world for angering the Alamani.

  Logan resisted the temptation to chase the memories, which he had learned through past experience only angered the spirits. Any knowledge imparted to him came as a byproduct of their interactions with his subconscious or with one another while in this meditative state, not through any desire to communicate with him.

  Though he did not enjoy the process, were it not for meditation, a skill he had learned from Lena, he would have succumbed to insanity long ago. Entering this state of mind permitted him to rest without sleeping. And he did not want to truly sleep. That was when the terrors came. That was when he could not distinguish between the thoughts and memories of the Alamani spirits and his own, and he was forced to watch again and again as raging Sahiradin, their pale scale-covered skin caked in blood, ruthlessly cut down defenseless Alamani wherever they could be found.

  Images of the pillars inside the laboratory on Tarsik now appeared. Logan’s mind drifted back to that time three years ago when he and his companions had gone to that ravaged world. He saw the wraithlike images of the spirits come out of their pillars then enter his body. Of course, he had understood even then that he’d been infested with the consciousness of many alien spirits. He recalled the madness of the weeks and months that followed, how their constant activity within his mind and their desire to control him had prevented him from resting for more than a few hours a night. And when he did fall asleep, his nightmare visions of blood thirsty Sahiradin soon caused him to wake, sometimes screaming in terror.

  Those had been trying times. He became quick to anger, something that remained true to this day. And as time marched onward he had increasing difficulties distinguishing between his thoughts and those of the spirits. Alien feelings of fear, sadness, rage, and an intense longing for destroyed lives he could not comprehend drove him to the brink of madness.

  And yet, it never occurred to him to reveal his secret to anyone. Something held him back, but he could not say what, at least not at first. Certainly, one of the reasons he kept the doors to his inner struggle closed was due to his own secretive nature. Growing up under the Guardians’ rule had taught him to keep his hopes, dreams, and fears to himself, to hide behind a façade of hard work and dedication. Therefore, he did not share his situation even with his most trusted friends - Cap, Ravenwood, or Lena. Nor did he confess his fears to his beloved, Beth. None of them understood the cause of his exhaustion and fear. They could not fathom the reason for his sudden flights to rage over minor setbacks or perceived insults during the campaign against Third Army.

  It was not until a sparring session with Lena the night before the Battle of Montreal, during which he crushed the beleaguered Third Army and the last vestiges of the PRA with it, that he realized he could no longer hold it all in. As they sparred, Logan failed again and again to break through Lena’s defenses. Finally he lost all control. Madness seized him and he tried to use his superior size and strength to overpower her. This had only resulted in Lena subduing him with a well-placed roundhouse to his jaw and precise jab to his solar plexus. After recovering his breath, he broke down and confessed to her how he was suffering under the demands of commanding Second Army, and he shared his misgivings about the upcoming battle against Linsky and his PRA loyalists.

  Lena took pity and offered to teach him some of the techniques used by Masters of the Way to control their emotions and steady their minds. He readily accepted - anything to calm the cauldron of thoughts and emotions boiling in his mind and body.

  Of course, laying the blame for his deteriorating mental and emotional state on the stress of command had been untrue, though not completely so. Logan had been unexpectedly catapulted into the role of Second Army’s commanding general under extremely trying circumstances. It was the mutiny and murder of Second Army’s senior leadership that prompted the soldiers to select him as their leader. Certainly, they admired him for breaching the walls of the Capitol District, and he was well known, even in the PRA, as a tough but capable leader. But the real reason the mutinous ringleaders of Second Army nominated him to be their new general was their desire to deflect attention from their actions. They had tried Second Army’s commanding officers in a hastily convened, and legally dubious, court martial. They found them guilty of war crimes for intentionally starving the soldiers during the siege of St. Louis then using them as bait to draw the League of Free cities into PRA territory. Having passed judgment, they proceeded to execute the officers by firing squad without further discussion or right to appeal.

  These were rash acts committed by desperate and bitter soldiers swept up in their passions. Not only had they removed Second Army’s leaders from command without regard to the Code of Military Justice, they had also stained their hands with blood. Fear and confusion soon gripped their hearts and minds. Surely their actions would not go unpunished. Though only a few had passed judgment or served on the firing squad, all of Second Army had all been complicit in the revolt against their commanding officers.

  The die having been cast, the whole army threw in with the invading forces of General Longmire, declaring their support for the League of Free Cities and launching themselves at Third Army with wild abandon. Yet, even as they fought against the armies of the Guardians, the
y knew it would not be enough to redeem themselves. They needed an untainted figurehead to reinstitute discipline and legitimize their dark deeds. But who? Who could expunge the record of their crimes and restore their honor?

  That was when fortune smiled upon them. Logan Brandt, the legendary PRA defector and soldier of the League of Free Cities was once again among them. They seized upon the opportunity to declare him general and reclaimed their dignity by following him north in pursuit of Third Army, the last remnant of Guardian power.

  Logan’s mind drifted once more to the final days of the campaign against Third Army. By that time, the spirits’ insatiable need to feed on his thoughts and emotions had brought him to the brink of despair. Thankfully, the meditation techniques, breathing exercises, and training routines Lena taught him proved to be the balm he needed to sooth his weary soul. He soon regained control over himself, but the thoughts and emotions of the spirits which had fueled his rage and despair were still there.

  He continued to keep his plight a secret, though now he did so out of compassion and desire, compassion for the lost and lonely souls which now called his mind and body home and a shared desire to regain the Apollo Stone and avenge themselves against the Sahiradin. He realized that if he were to have any hope of regaining the Stone, he would need the spirits’ help.

  The gray light of dawn filtered through the window blinds. It was time to rise. He had allowed the spirits to roam freely through him for several hours, but the time had come to relegate them to the compartments of his sub-consciousness where, though still palpable, their effects on him were manageable. As always, they were reluctant to go, but armed with the techniques Lena and taught him and aided by the One Voice, they soon complied.