The Renegade

by P. M. Johnson

  “A peace that would satisfy no one and soon lead to more war,” said Khadiem derisively.

  “Perhaps,” said Sahuuk. “Who can know the future? But if I may be blunt, the biological limits on our ability to reproduce will forever prevent the Sahiradin from being so numerous that we can dominate the other Lycians. I say this under the assumption that our new Queen will not undergo the same procedures that nearly killed her mother. That process resulted in your birth, but it left your mother barren for three generations, a deficit of warriors and Karazan from which we will not soon recover.”

  “You are right in much of what you say, Sahuuk. We cannot increase our rate of reproduction,” replied Khadiem. “And no, I will not undergo the unnatural treatments that nearly extinguished the light of our species from the universe. You are also correct in that we have only one Kaiytáva. But Myr and Visk technologists from our Reclaimed Worlds are working hard to enhance its capabilities. Breakthroughs are imminent.”

  “What breakthroughs?” asked Sahuuk. He looked around the table. “We were not aware of any such effort.”

  “You will learn soon enough,” snapped Khadiem, annoyed at Sahuuk’s temerity. The Queen and the Kisch were not on equal footing, whatever the old warriors gathered around the table might think. “But I did not come here to discuss research efforts or debate with you point by point the current state of affairs. I came to establish a new era of relations between us. As you all know, certain generals recently declared their independence from myself and the Kisch. I am happy to report that my Karazan dealt with those individuals just before I joined you here in the Citadel. Factionalism is intolerable. It is antithetical to the Sahiradin way. I will not allow it.”

  Sahuuk began to rise from his seat, his face dark with rage, but the strong hands of two Karazan gripped his shoulders and forced him to sit down.

  “Are we to understand that they are dead?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” replied Khadiem without hesitation. “The days of disunity are finished!” she roared as she smashed her fist onto the table. “The days of simpering indecision over whether and how to rule over all Lycians are finished! The Law demands that all Lycians must be united under one rule. There can be no other way. Do you not see that the fate of the Sahiradin is bound up in the fate of the Law? The unity of the Sahiradin depends on the unity of the Law. It is all bound together as one. Disunity, compromises, and half-measures will rot the Sahiradin spirit and lead inevitably to our ruin.”

  Sahuuk could no longer contain his anger.

  “If what you say is true,” he shouted, “and the unity of the Sahiradin depends on the unity of all Lycians, then what you are proposing is in fact eternal war! As the Law teaches us, ‘Battle is the application of force to create momentary disorder so that a more perfect order may be achieved.’ Generations of failed attempts to conquer the Lycians are proof that your proposal is neither momentary nor likely to result in a more perfect order. I tell you Khadiem, abomination of the murdered Queen Pashira, continuing this war directly contradicts the demands of the Law. And no one is above the Law, not even the Queen!”

  Upon hearing these words, Khadiem’s eyes flashed with rage. “You old fool! You are all fools, tired and faithless! We must unite and conquer the Lycians, once and for all!”

  “You speak only of the possibility of conquering the Lycians,” shouted Sahuuk, having lost control of his passions. “But you have not mentioned the possibility of the alternative. The Lycians may conquer the Sahiradin. What would happen to us then? How long will the Sahiradin survive if we are a defeated species? That is what would truly destroy our souls.”

  “How dare you even speak of defeat in my presence!” roared Khadiem. “The Lycians are splintering. The Grenn have left the field of battle. The Tullans are close to doing the same.”

  “Making this the right time to strike a favorable peace,” countered Sahuuk. “The Kisch will not support your war plans, Queen Khadiem. Now, return to Solsegur. Choose a mate and perform the sacred duty of birthing a new generation of Sahiradin.”

  Stunned silence blanketed the Citadel following Sahuuk’s rash words. Khadiem clenched her teeth and locked her icy blue eyes on the Kisch leader. “I came to you with the intention of ushering in a new era of closer cooperation and unity. I see that way is closed to me. Therefore, I shall take the only other path that remains.”

  “And what is that, Queen Khadiem?” asked Sahuuk, his eyes narrowed into slits.

  Khadiem lifted her chin and glared at the old warrior. “I am no longer your Queen,” she said loudly. “From this day forward, I am the Empress Khadiem, ruler of the Sahiradin and all Lycians! All will bow down and worship me as their sovereign!”

  Every member of the Kisch broke out in protest. Their voices quickly rose to shouts as each sought to make his voice heard. Sahuuk raised a hand to silence the other members.

  “You go too far, my Queen,” he said. “Just as the Law requires obedience, it also establishes limits. The Kisch will not forfeit its traditional rights and duties. We will never refer to you as Empress, and we will continue to seek an honorable peace with the Lycians.”

  “Very well,” said Khadiem coolly. “You have chosen your path, now you must pay the price.”

  She gave a slight nod to her Karazan, who immediately drew their swords. With blades flashing in the sunlight streaming through the windows, they proceeded to cut down the Sahiradin seated at the table. Some rose from their seats and grappled with their attackers or drew daggers to defend themselves, but the deadly priestess warriors were brutally efficient in their task. Soon every member of the Kisch had been slaughtered.

  When the fighting ceased, Khadiem looked at Kurak and noted with satisfaction that his own blade was dripping with blood. “Come, Kurak. We must issue orders quickly and decisively. What we have done here, though necessary, will cause confusion. We must show strength and unity.”

  “Yes, Empress Khadiem,” replied the Warden and Master of Ships as he wiped his blade clean on the robes of Sahuuk, whose body lay slumped forward on the table. “The wheels are already in motion. However, I regret to inform you that the invasion fleet is not responding to communications. The khâl used to launch the assault has apparently been destroyed. Shall I send Havoc to recall the fleet?”

  “No,” said Khadiem after a moment’s reflection. “The attack on Agurru will serve as a distraction for the other plans we will set in motion.”

  Kurak lowered his head. “As you command, Empress. But it will be a very costly distraction. Agurru is well defended. And we will have need of those ships and warriors to secure complete victory.”

  “The assault force consists of my mother’s children. Thinning their numbers is not entirely undesirable. And victory on Agurru, though costly, will serve to weaken the Separatists’ resolve even more. They may even yield altogether. Let the assault proceed, but to ensure victory I will send you to Osh on a mission of great importance.”

  Chapter 33

  Given their indifference, even hostility, toward literature and the arts, many look upon the Visk as mere hoarders of wealth, but this characterization is unfair. No Visk delights in wealth for its own sake, for what others considered to be wealth, the Visk view as inputs to be collected and expended at the appropriate time in order to enhance their value and usefulness.

  - Brassa Tut. Lectures from the Brevian Academy.

  A small shuttle emerged from the landing bay of the heavily-armed private cruiser in orbit above the planet of Iso Boht, one of the most ancient holdings in the Dhurlan Syndicate’s vast portfolio of worlds, moons, planetoids, and asteroids. Indeed, legends maintain that Dhurlan presence there predates the Upheaval when Geth hordes swept through the galaxy, destroying everything in their path, severing the network of khâls that wove the Trade Federation together. The Geth were finally defeated, but the widespread destruction suffered during the epic struggle ushered in a long period of isolation and decay which lasted a hundred generations or mo
re. Though untouched by the conflict itself, Iso Baht was severely impacted by the social and economic collapse that followed the Upheaval because of its heavy reliance on other worlds for basic supplies. Isolated from the wider galaxy after the network of khâls was shattered, the planet’s population of Visk soon withered away until only a handful of simple farmers, scrap merchants, and laborers remained. Further exacerbating the miserable conditions under which they suffered was the fact that, honestly stated, the Visk species is ill-suited for the rigors of working the land or manual labor. Even after the initial, disastrous shock of the Upheaval had passed, disease and Iso Boht’s harsh environment claimed the lives of nearly one in five newborns. Many more young Visk died during the precarious pupa and nymph stages following birth.

  Throughout that extended period of galaxy-wide suffering and decay, the Alamani used their Kaiytávae to travel from world to world in order to facilitate trade and communication, thereby maintaining the thin threads of unity while slowly weaving them together to form new ties between otherwise isolated worlds. Yet, the Navigators of those days were not overhasty in their efforts to rebuild what had been lost. Indeed, they quite shrewdly used their monopoly on interplanetary travel to forge a new trading empire that only slowly accepted other species as partners, and very junior partners at that. Eventually, after many generations, the Alamani reinstated the system of khâls which permitted other species to engage in direct trade with each other. But by then the Alamani had secured vast advantages in technology, wealth, and sophistication. This great gulf in affluence was made unbridgeable by the trade rules the Alamani imposed on all who wished to employ the khâls. And of course, the slightest infractions often resulted in the appearance of Sahiradin-filled transports in the skies above the offending world.

  That was long ago, well before the demise of the arrogant Alamani. Yet, like those nearly forgotten times, this was again an age of struggle. Civilization stood once more on the brink of collapse. And though the Visk species believed that mild disruptions in the status quo often brought opportunity, wholesale collapse was undesirable because it led to a general dispersion and reduction of wealth, often resulting in the creation of artificial trade barriers that prevent efficient access to the inputs of production.

  The planet’s rocky surface below the descending shuttle was perfectly dark. There were no city lights and no signs of other transport craft. The Dhurlan Syndicate had always kept Iso Baht a Visk-only planet, and because the Visk showed almost no interest in their natural surroundings, the structures they built were predominantly windowless. This style of architecture, if it could be called such, finds its roots in the Visk preference for privacy over openness, efficiency over opulence, and quiet cunning over bravado. Great admirers of well-designed systems, processes, and devices, the Visk happily spend day after day perfecting their innovations, delighting in their usefulness and the efficiencies they gain. But show a Visk a stream-fed valley lush with vegetation, and he would see only the potential production value of the trees, water, and land. Show him a great work of art, and he would cite the time wasted in creating such a purposeless distraction. Read to him a poem, and he would deride it for its ambiguity.

  The shuttle touched down on a small landing platform outside a darkened manufacturing facility. As soon as the craft’s ramp was extended, Veiju Thur, now officially called Veiju Dhurlan following the recent the death of his elder brother Cisca, descended the ramp. The hulking Grenn, Torval, and the Brevian mollag, Dross Faan, followed close behind him.

  A door to the facility opened, casting a sliver of light onto the landing platform. Veiju’s younger brother, Yeura, now referred to as Yeura Thur to denote his rise to Veiju’s former position, stepped out to greet the party.

  “Welcome, Veiju,” he said. “You have come at a most propitious time. The conversion process is complete. We are in the final stages of testing and training.”

  “Very good, Yeura,” replied Veiju. “I expected no less. Take me to them now. I wish to witness with my own eyes what we have created.”

  Yeura turned and ushered his elder brother into the building. They entered a shadowy passageway that gave access to a large room filled with machinery for sorting and assembling various manufactured items. The group walked past whirring machines and floating cargo haulers carrying sealed containers. They hastened through the manufacturing space and turned to the left where a transport was waiting for them. Soon they were racing down dark tunnels cut deep into Iso Boht’s rocky sub-surface.

  “Any signs of undesirable interest?” asked Veiju.

  “None, brother,” replied Yeura. “The low-grade mining equipment you saw being produced is of no interest to any other syndicate. We periodically allow one or two competitors to breach our production systems’ security protocols so they may comfort themselves with the thought that everything here is as it seems. But rest assured, our other operations on Iso Boht remain secret.

  “Very good. They will know of our breakthrough soon enough, but the timing must be right.”

  “And is that time approaching?”

  “Soon. Very soon. No doubt, you’ve heard of Khadiem’s recent actions?”

  “Naturally. The Empress wasted no time in consolidating power, though she may have gone too far by murdering the entire Kisch.”

  “Perhaps, but her actions can also be seen as quite shrewd. Now the Sahiradin have no alternative but to follow her. She is the sole source of authority. What choice do they have?”

  “Seen from that perspective, I wonder why queens of the past did not dispatch the Kisch and claim sole rule over the Sahiradin,” said Yeura.

  “Tradition, my brother, tradition” said the older Visk. “The Alamani enforced that balance of power between queen and Kisch. They feared the Sahiradin as much as the rest of us and therefore desired to maintain strong checks on the queen’s authority. Of course, with their extinction it was simply a matter of time before a queen with sufficient ambition came to the throne.”

  “But why does she claim the title of Empress?” wondered Yeura.

  “Because,” interjected Dross Faan in a condescending tone, “unlike her predecessors, she does not seek a restoration of the old order with the Sahiradin quietly maintaining the proper balance of power among the Lycians. She wants explicit and absolute power over us all. All species will bow down to her and recognize her as their sovereign.”

  Yeura was about to respond, but the mollag spoke first. “Try to think before you speak, Yeura. It pains me to hear such stupidity flowing from your mouth.”

  “Watch your tongue with me, mollag!” warned Yeura. “You have my brother’s protection, but I will not be addressed in such a manner!”

  “Silence, both of you,” hissed Veiju. “Yeura, how many units do you have?”

  “Over seven hundred thousand,” replied Yeura after casting a baleful look at the Brevian mollag, who simply smiled in return.

  “And how many genetic lines did you use?”

  “Just one. Given the pace of events, we needed to focus our efforts. Nine others could be brought on line if the need arises, but it would require considerable testing of each line and retooling of our production facilities.”

  “Very well. We can develop the others later,” said Veiju. “Quantity is more important than diversity at this stage of our plans. The Empress is moving more quickly than I had anticipated. We must gain control over the Dewar and the fleet before she destroys them and ends this war. I was forced to consult with Pendu Barka and promise Visk ground troops.”

  “Take care with Ambassador Barka,” warned Dross Faan playfully. “She’s a wily one.”

  “She needs something to encourage the Dewar,” said Veiju. “The Grenn have rebuffed the Humani delegation which sought to bring them back into the war, and the Tullans are threatening to leave the Alliance if they must face the Sahiradin alone.”

  “Oh my,” said Faan. “We can’t let the Dewar surrender before we can join the game. Isn’t that righ
t, Yeura?”

  Yeura did not reply, though he turned to look at Dross Faan, studying the pale-skinned Brevian’s many geometric tattoos. The Visk closed his nostril slits to block the smell of rotting flesh that hovered just beneath the surface of Faan’s perfume.

  “You don’t approve of me,” said Faan in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “I am neutral on the subject of your existence,” replied Yeura. “However, I must inform you that the natural processes of decay that seek to exercise their effects on you cannot be masked by perfumes.”

  Dross Faan licked his cracked lips with a dark tongue. “What you call natural processes I call oblivion. I have no desire to cross that threshold. And although the bonds that hold my body together may have loosened, my mind remains as sharp as ever, even sharper.”

  “Yes,” said Yeura. “The one-time advisor to chancellors lingers on. But my brother employs you to do more than offer advice. You have other talents that, quite frankly, are of greater value to us than your wits.”

  “Enough of this,” interjected Veiju angrily.

  Ignoring Veiju’s admonition, Faan said, “If you are referring to my skills at removing impediments to your brother’s plans, I offer no apologies. In fact, this transformative state you see before you has liberated me from false constructs concerning the value we place on another’s life.”

  “Every mollag eventually goes mad. Perhaps the rot has finally reached your brain.”