“When I consider that attack, the Long Winter, and all the wars that followed, do you know what I think? Those people who died in that attack are heroes! They were the first in a long line of brave warriors who have fought, bled, and died so that we could be standing here today. Now it’s our turn to be heroes. Do not wish to change the past, because without that cowardly attack, without the years of painful strife and rebuilding, we would not know with absolute certainty what our goal must be. Our enemy didn’t hesitate to murder us by the billions. That has armed us with the knowledge that it’s us or them. We know that only complete victory will bring us peace.”
He raised a clenched fist. “Victory! Victory! Victory!”
The soldiers of the War Dog Brigade chanted in response. “Vic-tor-y! Vic-tor-y! Vic-tor-y!”
Logan strode across the platform, his eyes blazing, the spirits in him craving revenge. “Who are we?” he shouted.
“War Dogs!”
“Who are we?”
“War Dogs!”
“Hooorah! Hoorah! Hoorah!” the soldiers repeated again and again. They raised their swords in the air and screamed with all their strength. They shouted their defiance to the hated Sahiradin. They screamed for their love of all they held dear. They bellowed their loyalty to their comrades in arms. But most of all, they roared their love for their young general, the vanquisher of Sahiradin, the mystical warrior who tore down the walls of the Guardians and destroyed Third Army, the man renowned for his cunning, strength, and perseverance.
For the first time in history, the people of Earth were going to war as one to fight a common enemy. Soldiers forgot about differences in language, appearance, and religion. They’d found a common cause that would bind them together like no priest, politician, or philosopher ever had. Their hearts were united in a shared desire to ensure the survival of the species and destroy a blood thirsty tyrant.
Chapter 46
The Law recognizes no boundaries between species. It is universally applicable, though its interpretation and application is limited to the chosen few. The Queen breathes life into it, her Karazan perform the ancient rites, and the warrior corrects those who stray from the path.
- Bara Visch, Third Warden of the Citadel to Queen Souk.
Khadiem drank the last drops of maliak and passed the empty chalice to one of her daughters. The heavy-browed Karazan reverently accepted the cup and took several steps backward, eyes to the floor, before turning to leave the Empress’ inner chamber. This is where the Empress still took her repose, though each day she passed through Tûrra-Zermoch and ascended to Nossegur to perform the myriad responsibilities of administering her vast empire. Through her proclamations, edicts, and appointments of her children to many positions of authority, she was sweeping away old notions of reuniting a Trade Federation under the Law and boldly declaring the dawn of a new era - a Sahiradin era. She and her children would rule from one end of the galaxy to the other. All other species would bow down before the black-clad warriors and their mighty Empress.
She watched as the Karazan, a product of her unwelcome coupling with a warrior her mother and Bakaram had chosen, quietly exited through a dark portal. Not for the first time, Khadiem wondered why her offspring did not carrying the same traits as the generations her mother and all preceding queens had spawned. Khadiem’s children were heavy boned. Their teeth were crooked and uneven. Their jaws large and bent. Ugly by Sahiradin standards, they were nonetheless utterly devoted to her, and unlike their cousins birthed by Pashira, they supported Khadiem’s desire for absolute victory without question.
Khadiem had killed her mate. This was not an uncommon result because the female of the species was larger and considerably more powerful than the male. And when caught in the throes of passion, she held back nothing of her strength or appetites. Yet, the death of Khadiem’s consort had not occurred during the coupling.
She had been naïve at that time and was still entangled in the spell her mother and Bakaram had woven to deceive her. She accepted their choice for a mate, a general of great renown, though she found him repugnant. Nevertheless, their joining proved to be fruitful, and millions of warrior, drone, and Karazan eggs filled the nursery. Khadiem had been happy and fiercely proud of the life she had brought forth. Then, not long thereafter, the first of her issue emerged from their egg sacks. Their appearance sent shockwaves throughout the Sacred Mountain. Khadiem had birthed monsters, mutants, hideously malformed beasts. Her mother blamed her for their grotesque appearance. Bakaram readily agreed and heaped abuse upon her head. Khadiem listened to their scathing rebukes in silent rage, still too weak to resist them, unsure if their condemnations were true and she was to blame. But when the warrior who sired them suggested that they be destroyed before they reached maturity, Khadiem unleashed her fury. She left the domain of her mother and entered Nossegur, the realm of the male warriors, and sought the scoundrel out. She found him among his warriors, regaling them with exaggerated stories of a battle against the Grenn. Without speaking a word, she went to him and took him by the neck. Lifting him into the air with one hand, she ran a long dark blade across his throat then dropped him to the floor, watching with grim satisfaction while he vainly clutched his gaping wound as blood gushed forth.
As punishment for her rash deed, and out of fear of what the unrepentant and increasingly bold Khadiem might do next, Queen Pashira and Bakaram gathered up Khadiem’s young and sent both mother and grotesque offspring into exile. They said it was to protect her and to ensure the continuation of the species, but their true aim was to isolate and control her. That had been an error. Perhaps, if they had been more conciliatory, things would have been different. Perhaps mother and daughter would have found a way to cooperate, to work together to defeat the Lycians and restore the Law to prominence in the galaxy. But it would not be so. They first sent her to Earth where they planned for her to secure that distant world as a Sahiradin stronghold. But that plan had been thwarted by Admiral Var-Imar and the contemptable Navigator, Logan Brandt. With Earth outside their control, Pashira and Bakaram decided something more isolated, more secure was needed. And so Khadiem was locked away inside a dead rogue planet. Khadiem smiled secretly with satisfaction as she thought of her mother’s fate - betrayal by her trusted servant Bakaram, long may he rot in a forgotten grave.
“You asked for me, Empress.”
Khadiem was pulled from her dark memories by a familiar voice. She looked up to see Kurak. She felt a swell of desire surge through her veins. The old warrior had saved her from death, for she knew her mother and Bakaram had betrayed her prison’s location to the Lycians. They would have let the Separatists slaughter her and her offspring, turning their dark home under the rogue planet’s surface into their tomb. What other warrior was worthy of her affections, she suddenly realized. She could trust none of her mother’s children, though she had bent them to her will. They did not revere her as Kurak did. They did not make her every wish and command their personal desire.
“What is the status of the assault on Agurru?” she asked her Master of Ships.
“Fleet Commander Taqir reports they are about to engage against the enemy. As anticipated, our ships greatly outnumber the Separatists. He expects a quick but decisive battle which will leave the enemy broken and powerless.”
Khadiem raised a finger to her chin and gently stroked it.
“I spoke with Fleet Commander Taqir about the assault on Agurru,” she said. “I needed to see his face and hear his voice to be certain he is still loyal to me following my solution to the Kisch problem.” She paused for a moment then looked into Kurak’s eyes. “Taqir desires me. He knows I am in full bloom and thinks a victory over the Lycians will garner him my favor.”
“The ability to lead warriors to victory is a desirable trait,” replied Kurak. He had no doubt Taqir aspired to sire the next generation.
The corner of the Empress’ mouth rose slightly. She leaned slightly forward and asked, “What do you desire, Kurak?”
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“You have made me your Warden of the Citadel and Master of Ships. I have gained all of the honors a warrior could ever hope for.”
Khadiem looked to the door to ensure they were alone then looked into Kurak’s eyes. “You have chosen the path of the mollag. Why?”
Kurak was startled to hear the Empress speak these words aloud. So long as he had kept this secret silent, he could endure the inner conflict of his warrior code battling against his desire to cling to life beyond his allotted time.
“I seek only to serve you, my Empress. Though you are strong beyond all your predecessors, you have few allies. These are momentous but dangerous times. I must live long enough to ensure your reign continues so you may secure for the Sahiradin their rightful place as rulers of the galaxy.”
Khadiem smiled upon hearing these words. Kurak’s cunning and utter devotion to her was the bedrock of their relationship, but there was more. He was not immune to the powerful emotions any warrior felt when in such close proximity to their Queen, their Empress, during this time when her fertility was nearing its peak. He desired her but devotion to duty and his advanced age held him in check. Many of her most prominent warriors would soon find satisfaction with a Karazan during the Dance of Shadows when the infertile warrior-priestesses unleash their passions in parallel with their mistress’ coupling. But Khadiem knew Kurak would decline such a paltry substitution for her attentions. His desire for her was more than biological. It was rooted in sincere devotion, enduring and true.
The Empress rose from her seat and walked toward the old warrior. She gently placed a hand on the side of his face, watching as he trembled with excitement, though he dared not look her in the eye.
“Take Havoc,” she whispered into his ear. “Go to Agurru. Bring the armada more fighters. Then penetrate deep into Separatist territory. Use the Navigator to bring additional warships. Destroy their most precious cities. Fill their hearts with terror. And when you have exposed their frailty for all to see, come back to me and I will reward you. You cheat death through Myr technology, but I will grant you immortality in a way few warriors dare dream.”
Chapter 47
Data is nothing absent context. Does it matter if a comet in a distant galaxy is hurtling on a collision course toward a nearby star? Of course not. Data is transformed into information only when it can be used as a tool in furthering one’s designs or in thwarting the plans of rivals.
- Oru Sk’chet, Leader of the Y’kaska Syndicate.
“Two Humani who speak fluent Malorian,” said the female Visk. “How very interesting.”
“Earth has many languages, Sinda Hurrú,” replied Ravenwood. “If one learns two or three, other languages come rather easily.”
Sinda Hurrú’s large, round, black eyes conveyed no sign of emotion, but the subtle drumming of her long, blue-skinned fingers on the table indicated she did not entirely believe Ravenwood’s statement. She looked from Ravenwood to Beth but decided not to pursue it, instead brushing away a bit of dust from the sleeve of her gold and purple robes festooned with precious stones embedded in a stiff collar that reached up to her ears.
“And what about your companions,” she asked, indicating Lena and Cap who were standing near the door to the otherwise empty establishment, a uhuku, where Lycians could go to hear music, gamble, and find other forms of entertainment, legal and otherwise. The Visk noted the sword in its scabbard protruding from over Lena’s shoulder and the particle gun on her hip. Cap was similarly armed, though he lacked the same air of relaxed lethality Lena exuded. “Do they also understand the common language of the Trade Federation or are they here for your protection?”
“They have other talents,” said Ravenwood with a vague gesture.
“We don’t have much time,” said Beth.
The Visk opened her palms in a show of understanding. “Time is a resource that can never be replaced,” she said. “And I believe you are eager to get to Agurru before the Sahiradin fleet arrives.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” replied Beth. “But you’d better hope for a Lycian victory.”
Hurrú shifted her head from side to side in the Visk gesture indicating a complex mixture of uncertainty, irony, and amused condescension. “The Y’kaska Syndicate is prepared for either outcome. Each presents opportunities as well as challenges. Is it the struggle for Agurru that brings you here?”
“No,” replied Ravenwood. “We come to you in an unofficial capacity, as potential clients. As such, may I ask if it is true that your Syndicate, the Y’kaska, maintains contact with the Cassamar? And if so, can we communicate with them?”
“How very blunt you Humani are,” replied Hurrú. “The Lycians have offered a bounty for the Cassamar. They betrayed the Alliance and provided Khadiem with access to Halduan. We all know the result. Not surprisingly, the Cassamar are rumored to have fled to the Reclaimed Worlds. Communicating with anyone among the Reclaimed Worlds is difficult, dangerous, and of course, expensive.”
“Unless the Cassamar never went to the Reclaimed Worlds and have instead found refuge here on Xur.”
“That is a bold assertion, Ambassador Ravenwood. If it were true, it would invite the wrath of the Lycians, something the Alwen does not desire. It would be bad for business.”
“Would it?” said Ravenwood. “All syndicates specialize in something. Mining equipment, propulsion systems, spacecraft construction, communications systems.”
Hurrú’s long blue fingers slowly moved up and down as she calculated the possibilities of Ravenwood’s line of inquiry. “Yes. Specialization is necessary to succeed in a sharp and competitive environment. A fundament rule of trade.”
“But the Y’kaska Syndicate does not deal in such things.”
“No?” replied the Visk, her fingers slightly altering their pattern of movement.
“No,” repeated Ravenwood. “Of course your engineers do build a wide variety of things, but you’re not nearly as good at it as other syndicates. Yet, you thrive. You’re one of the wealthiest of all the Syndicates.”
“What are you trying to say, Humani?”
“Isn’t it clear?” replied Ravenwood. “The Y’kaska deal in something that cannot be touched but can be counted among the most precious things in the galaxy - information. With Xur as your home, you hear and see many things from both the Trade Federation and the Reclaimed Worlds. Ships come to port, and your spies feed you information about their cargo. Dignitaries arrive for high level negotiations, and the details of the meeting are in your hands before they have returned to their home worlds. Spies from either side of the war pass through Xur’s khâls, and you take note of their activities and destinations. You’re careful not to reveal too much lest you expose yourself to retribution, but for a price, a very high price, you can be persuaded to share some of your carefully acquired knowledge.”
“If what you say is true,” said Hurrú, “what is the information you desire? I do not ask because I admit what you say is true, but because I am curious about what you, a representative of a newly discovered species from a distant world on the far rim of the galaxy, would wish to know.”
“The Sahiradin will soon reach Agurru, so I will speak plainly with you, Sinda Hurrú. I need you to convey a message to the Cassamar Syndicate. I know they have representatives here on Xur, though they wisely keep to the shadows.”
“They may or may not be present on Xur,” said the female Visk.
“I’m convinced of it. I’m also convinced that you can get a message to the Cassamar leadership through these representatives.”
“And what message might that be?”
“First we must agree upon terms,” said Ravenwood.
Hurrú clicked her teeth in delight. “Oh, how interesting. You tempt me with intrigue to raise my interest then pivot to bargaining over terms. A very effective technique. I’m sure there’s profit to be made here somewhere.”
“I have no doubt of that. In fact, I’m sure you’re already calculating the potential gains of s
haring with others the fact that I have approached you.”
“Perhaps. I doubt the Chancellor or Pendu Bark know both of Earth’s representatives to the Dewar are here on Xur.”
“What would you charge for conveying this message and keeping silent?”
“Do you have any denosh?”
“None,” said Ravenwood.
“Then what do you have worth trading?”
“A favor for a favor. If you pass this message to the Cassamar, I will give it to you unencrypted. You will know what I am saying to them.”
“Ravenwood,” said Beth, trying to hide her alarm. “Are you sure about this?”
“No, but the time has come to risk much if we are to defeat the enemies of peace.”
Hurrú looked back and forth between Ravenwood and Beth, noting the tension between the two Humani. “And how can I gauge the value of the information?” she asked after a few moments. “Is it worth the risk of communicating with a syndicate the Alliance has declared to be traitors and outlaws?”
“Every business venture contains risk. As my friend, Consul Styles has indicated, I am risking a great deal by giving you the message unencrypted. You will have to bear the risk of sending the communication.”
Hurrú clicked her teeth once more. “I like bargaining with you, Humani. You are willing to gamble much and entice me to do the same.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” said Ravenwood with a smile.
“Oh, I am,” replied Hurrú. “The Visk are suspicious and the Brevians frustrating and manipulating. Rahani are arrogant and aloof and the Tullans belligerent. But you Humani are quite intriguing.”
“What about the Myr, Grenn, and Cistacians?” asked Beth.
“Inscrutable, simple, and damp,” replied Hurrú. “However, you inject an element of intrigue like no other species does. I accept your terms, Ambassador Ravenwood, if only for the experience of embarking on a joint venture with an Humani.”
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