by Yakov Merkin
He then opened a channel to the entire Cytan fleet, and began to speak. “I am Executor Darkclaw, right hand of the all-powerful High Lord and commander of the Tyrannodon Armada. Your system is now ours; you have no hope of victory. I grant you one chance to surrender your forces; abandon your ships and I will not fire on escape craft that head down to the planet. Should you refuse this offer, the end result will be far more unpleasant for you and the worlds you serve.
“Any craft attempting to flee the system will be destroyed. And should any craft successfully leave the system, I will destroy every city on your worlds.” Darkclaw stopped as the Hudecar’s communications officer informed him that they were being contacted by one of the Cytan ships.
“Route it to the primary display screen,” he ordered, remaining connected to the battle network. He would not have difficulty focusing on both tasks at once; the High Lord had placed particular importance on being able to handle many operations simultaneously.
“I am Commodore Zyan, commander of the Cytan Defense Fleet,” the Cytan introduced himself. He was short for a Cytan at just under two meters tall, bipedal, wire-thin, and with crystalline skin which gave off a faint red glow, as did his eyes, which resembled red crystals more than standard organic eyes. The color of a Cytan indicated their status in society, Darkclaw recalled from the library records. Red was among the highest ranking colors. “You have violated sovereign Cytan space; you are to withdraw your forces immediately,” the commodore continued, his voice taking on an ethereal quality, projected from some unseen part of his body—Cytans had no visible mouth.
“If you listened to my previous transmission, Commodore,” Darkclaw replied, “you would know that I have no intention of withdrawing, and that you have no hope of stopping me. If your forces surrender and you abandon your warships, our occupation will not be harsh, so long as order is maintained and you comply with our demands. Should you choose to refuse this order within the next twenty seconds, I will order my fleet stationed over the planet Critar to begin bombarding its cities.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” the commodore replied, his skin and eyes glowing brighter as he raised his voice. “If you commit such a crime, you will face the wrath of the entire Galactic Alliance! You will be wiped out utterly by the Legion Navy!”
Darkclaw glanced at the countdown. The fleet would be in weapons range in five seconds.
“Whether or not that happens, Commodore, the Legion Navy will not be able to save you,” he stated, then with the tap of a button on his console, ordered the fleet over Critar to open fire, while maintaining a purely defensive stance opposite the Cytan fleet. He left the channel open.
Darkclaw ordered the Hudecar’s display to return to show the battle unfolding. The formation of Cytan ships had fired at the same time as the Tyrannodon fleet, but they were not in an optimal firing position, and were only able to inflict minimal damage on the larger and stronger Tyrannodon formation which provided a deterrent against any escape attempt. It would have been so easy to simply wipe out the Cytan fleet, but that would likely necessitate some losses, and Darkclaw knew that the enemy would fold soon, given the devastation being wrought on Critar. Emotional beings were all too easy to predict and manipulate, and they were incapable of comprehending a foe that did not interact with the world as they did. He recalled, briefly, his encounter with an empathic Kareben on Atheneum Alpha, the shock and horror in its eyes when it realized Darkclaw had no emotions to play on, something which made him unique even among his own people, who experienced emotions but were able to easily keep them in check.
Moments later, Commodore Zyan spoke again; Darkclaw did not bother putting him on the display.
“We will comply with your terms, Executor,” he said in a markedly different tone of voice from before. He sounded defeated, despite the fact that not one of his ships had been so much as scratched. It was almost pitiful; these beings would likely fall even more easily than the Reizan’Tvay—the Saviors—had anticipated.
Darkclaw waited until he could confirm that the last of the Cytan ships had stopped firing, checked the status of his own fleet, then responded. “You have ten minutes to evacuate your ships, Commodore,” he said. “My forces will remain over Critar. Should there be any breaking of my terms, any attacks on my soldiers once they occupy Cytan, bombardment will resume.” Darkclaw felt nothing, neither pleasure nor distaste, at the thought of annihilating all of Critar if need be, just as he had felt nothing when ordering the occupants of Atheneum Alpha massacred nearly four weeks earlier.
“We will comply,” the commodore replied after a long moment of silence. “I will only ask that you will permit aid to be sent to Critar.”
“Very well. However, any aid must be sent on board unarmed civilian ships. If we suspect that any ship is attempting to leave the system it will be destroyed, regardless of its stated purpose or cargo.” There was no reason to refuse the request. After all, the High Lord wanted the lesser races to exist under his rule, not be exterminated. Additionally, permitting aid would make it the focus of Cytan attention, making resistance to the occupation of Cytan less likely—along with the threat of resumed bombardment. Darkclaw was neither sympathetic nor cruel; he was efficient.
“Understood,” Zyan said, then ended the transmission.
Darkclaw turned his attention to the display, and watched as small escape pods and larger shuttles began to stream from the remaining Cytan ships, which had clustered very close together as the fight had ended, likely anticipating return fire. His first fleet engagement had been a resounding success, as expected, without a single shot fired at the enemy forces, and without a single craft of his own lost or even significantly damaged.
When the allotted ten minutes were up, Darkclaw ordered his forces to destroy the remainder of the Cytan fleet. That task completed, he disconnected from the battle network, reverted the Hudecar’s command deck to its normal configuration, then contacted Praetor Shadowpath, his second direct subordinate.
A moment later, the Praetor appeared onscreen. Shadowpath was shorter than most Tyrannodons, at only two and a half meters tall, thinner and darker in color: his small, overlapping scales were closer to black than the normal deep blue, and his large eyes were a very dark brown where most others’ were a far lighter shade of brown or yellow. The large claw protruding from the middle toe on his foot also had a sharper curve to it, which his armor mimicked. “Executor,” he said with a slight nod.
“Praetor,” Darkclaw began, “you are to take command of our forces here and on Selixan Station. Ensure that Cytan is occupied, and that their full cooperation is given. Should there be any sort of incident, resume bombardment of Critar. Only once Cytan is secured will occupation forces be sent to what is left of Critar, along with civilian relief. Once the Reathan system falls it, the Zarian system, and the Cytan system will be under your command in addition to the station. Understood?”
“Yes, Executor,” Shadowpath replied.
“I will leave with you the fleet over Critar, as well as any ships too damaged for travel. See to their repair. You may divide these forces between Critar and Cytan as you see fit, but be aware that there is a possibility of an Alliance patrol entering the system. Should that happen, they must not be allowed to escape. I will contact you once the Reathan system is ours, to prepare for the next phase,” Darkclaw concluded, ending the transmission as the praetor nodded in acknowledgement.
The High Lord would be pleased at the pace of progress thus far. The war was less than two days old, and already two systems had fallen to them, further confirming the High Lord’s assessment of Tyrannodon superiority. Darkclaw then reconnected to the battle network, the rush of information reminding him of being mentally connected to the High Lord. It was not the same, but instead the sensation of being connected to something so much larger than any individual. However, the High Lord had needed to remain behind to power and protect Selixan Station, the massive facility left to the Tyrannodons by the Reizan’Tvay. It had bu
ilt a fleet and cloned a sizeable army for them in mere weeks, and was the armada’s only vulnerable point.
Through the fleet command system, Darkclaw ordered the stealth ships to depart ahead of the fleet once again, and then instructed the rest of the fleet, apart from those being left behind under the praetor’s command, to jump to hyperspace. Once the Reathan system was theirs, the Tyrannodons would have a foothold that would make the rest of the conquest all the easier.
Soon, perhaps even sooner than the High Lord himself had demanded, this Galactic Alliance would fall before him, as all inferior species must.
CHAPTER 1
“I am sorry, Srei Felitzvah, but I cannot in good conscience approve this plan, however well thought out it is. We simply cannot risk full-on war with the Alliance. The Darvians alone we could deal with. Not them, the Legion Navy, and whoever else may join in, not even with Snevan assistance.” King Feliar, Nayasar’s father, spoke with a definite apologetic tone, while still managing to look Nayasar in the eye, but she was still angry.
“So what are we to do, then?” Nayasar replied, only just keeping her voice level as she paced in front of the throne. “Let the masterminds of the most vile crime against our people in a century walk free? How can I—how can any of us live with this decision? We will never amass the strength you deem necessary to launch this operation, and so these monsters will walk free for the rest of their days!” It had been over three months since the attack; Selban was still a ruined city, the last of the dead had been buried and memorialized a month ago, and there had been no retaliation. None! Nayasar had watched coverage of the disaster obsessively after the fact, and the lack of caring, even subtle approval, by the Galactic Alliance government had been sickening. They were not going to do anything to bring the minds behind the attack to justice.
“Is revenge against these few worth risking the rest of our people, our entire civilization?” her father asked.
Nayasar could no longer keep herself from pacing in front of the throne dais. “Twenty thousand, seven hundred and sixteen souls are calling for us to avenge them, my king. It is our obligation, my obligation, to deliver them justice. Don’t deny me this opportunity.” She had spent as much time as possible these past months working on a plan to assassinate the scum that had attacked Felinar. She’d accounted for every eventuality and variable that she possibly could. It would work. And she highly doubted that the Alliance would fully commit itself to a war. It would not be worth it for them. But apparently some still worried.
“I’m sorry, Grand Admiral. The answer is still no.”
Nayasar stopped pacing and stared her father in the eye. He was past his prime, his golden fur tinged with gray, but she knew he was not weak, and never had been. Why, then, was he so wary? “Father, please, don’t deny me this,” she said, the volume of her voice lowering. “I need to do this.” What else could she say? Should she explain how she saw the fires, the bodies, every night in her dreams? That she’d memorized the name of every Felinaris killed that day? That it was she who had failed to protect them and therefore had to avenge them? What would he say to that? He didn’t understand, wouldn’t understand. Nayasar blinked and in that instant images of death and destruction filled her vision again, only to vanish when her eyes opened.
“You made it clear when we began this discussion that you were here as Nayasar the Grand Admiral, not Nayasar my daughter. But to her I would say the same thing. It pains me greatly to have to say so, but harsh realities are something that people in positions of power must deal with, Nayasar. Sometimes we must trust that the Omnipresent will see justice served.”
Nayasar felt her hands ball into fists, and was about to reply when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Felivas. She’d practically forgotten he was with her; he’d been quiet since she’d started talking. “Think carefully about what you say,” he whispered.
Nayasar understood what he meant, even if she wanted to ignore him. They were not the only ones in the room, and it would not do for her to start shouting. It would make them all look bad, and it probably wouldn’t accomplish much. She still did not relax her hands.
“Then there is no point in continuing this discussion,” she said, barely suppressing a growl, then turned on her heel and stalked out of the room. She heard Felivas quickly apologize and properly request to leave—he would do that—before following.
He caught up to her quickly. “Where are you going?” he asked. There was concern in his voice.
“Back to work,” she replied. Maybe if she kept tinkering with the plan she’d find a way to make it palatable to the king.
“Not yet, you’re not,” Felivas said. He grabbed her by the arm and led her into an empty room just off the hallway, which smelled of dust and disuse.
“What are we here for?” Nayasar asked.
“To talk, without anyone interrupting and no screen for you to stare at. He glanced across the room, at an old, unpowered computer console. “No functioning screen, at any rate.” Felivas brushed off a chair and sat down.
“Talk about what?” Nayasar asked as she pulled herself up onto an abandoned desk, ignoring the dust that the movement sent into the air. “Please don’t repeat what my father just told me.”
Felivas smiled. “I know better than to do that. I want to talk about something more important—you.”
“Me? What do you mean?”
“I’m worried about you, Nayasar. You haven’t been the same since Selban. I’ve barely seen you these last few months at work, let alone in private. You’re neglecting yourself. You’ve barely left the command center, and most of your time there you spend staring at screens planning, and when doing anything else you’re hardly acting like the responsible, dedicated officer I know you are. You haven’t been sleeping; I can see it in your eyes. I would’ve said as much sooner, but wanted to find a way to not be blunt. “
“Seems pretty blunt to me,” Nayasar replied as she crossed her arms. He was exaggerating. She wasn’t neglecting herself, just working hard. Surely Felivas had known her long enough to realize that.
Felivas glanced around the room. “Yes, well, I’ve come to the realization that this couldn’t wait any more. As much as it hurts to say this, there really isn’t much we can do now. Omnipresent willing, circumstances will change to give us an opportunity to kill those damned kerakhil, but until that time comes we, have to live our lives, not relive that awful day. It’s not healthy.”
Nayasar pushed herself off the desk and stood leaning against it. “You say that like it’s easy,” she snapped as she began to pace across the room. She waved her hand through the air. “Just wish the memories away and everything will be better. If that works for you, fine. But I don’t work that way. When I close my eyes at night, I see it all again. I see everyone that was lost. I know all the names by heart. I will not be able to forgive my failure until I see them avenged.” She stopped and faced Felivas.
“I need you with me on this,” Nayasar continued, her eyes feeling dry, “and I need to do something or I…” Nayasar turned, and with a growl punched the top of the desk, which accomplished nothing other than making her hand throb.
She couldn’t think; the desire to do something was not going away, and she knew she couldn’t force it away. What am I going to become? Nayasar wondered. She needed a way to channel the desire into something productive or else…. If she couldn’t think straight, how could she command the army if anything else happened? At least Felivas seemed to understand, somewhat. She couldn’t remember when she’d last heard him use such a strong curse. But how could he really understand? A moment later she felt Felivas’s arms around her, and she turned and returned the hug.
“Of course I’m with you Nayasar. I love you more than anything in the universe. And that’s why I’ll be right here beside you, helping you through this. You’re right that I’m different when it comes to dealing with what happened. I can’t completely identify with what you’re feeling. But I promise you that we will find a sol
ution. Together. I don’t want you hiding your feelings from me. And please, no more torturing innocent tables like that.”
“I know,” Nayasar replied, unable to suppress a slight smile. She closed her eyes and held him tighter. “I might not always act like it, but I know you’re with me. Next time you see me about to torture a table—or maim a wall—feel free to do whatever you need to stop me.” She really was lucky to have him. Slowly, she felt herself relaxing, and after another few long moments they separated.
“So now what?” Nayasar asked as she wiped her eyes, which had become wet at some point, and opened an closed her hand in an attempt to make it stop hurting. Maybe they could go to the command center and work on the plan, or—
“First, we need to get you some sleep. Be honest, when was the last time you slept?”
“Two days ago, maybe three?” Nayasar wasn’t completely sure herself. She smiled slightly up at Felivas. “But the joke’s on you; before we went to meet my father I drank a whole energy drink. I’ve got at least four hours before I could possibly sleep.”
“Figures.” Felivas was quiet for a long moment. “Come with me.” He took her hand and led her out of the room toward the front of the palace complex.
“Where are we going?” Nayasar asked as she pulled her hand free, but stayed alongside him.
“It’s a surprise,” he replied with a grin. “I’ll tell you when we’re close.”