Deviance of Time

by Dan O'Brien

  James held his thoughts to himself.

  The door opened with a chime and five men entered, each enshrouded in a darkness all their own. Their minds were closed to the rest of the world. They fixated their energy on Rider and company. Their moves were not at all hostile, but their very presence made Rider uneasy. He turned to the others and gestured toward the men who had just entered.

  “Trouble,” whispered Rider, his hand staying close to the buckle of his plasma staff. He unbuttoned his flight jacket and exposed his undershirt, just in case things got rowdy.

  “They invaded my thoughts the moment they came in. They are focusing on us and no one else,” replied Wei, his voice low.

  “I have to agree with you guys on this one. I feel creepy.”

  Mela wasn’t as quick to judge as her squadron mates, but she had the same uneasy feeling. The bartender arrived at Alpha Squadron’s table and placed three black drinks in front of them.

  “We didn’t order these,” said Rider, calmly and politely.

  “The gentlemen in the first booth ordered them for you,” replied the bartender as he slipped behind the safety of the bar once again. A smile crept onto Rider’s face as he got up. He walked over to the first booth and threw some money on the table.

  “Thanks for the drinks, but save your money for another time.” The men got up, Rider already turning to step toward his own table.

  “We wanted to give you one last pleasure,” hissed the stranger. Rider turned and stared coldly at the group. “I am Frask. Xzin has sent me to personally disembowel you.”

  “I want no trouble in my bar,” roared the bartender, as he reached for his assault rifle. One of the men drove a blade through the bartender’s hand, causing him to fall with a loud, panicked cry.

  “Quiet, old man.”

  “Save your money to buy a drink for the devil when you meet him,” Rider spoke calmly as Wei came around with his sword blazing.

  Two men fell quickly, the blood splattered across the walls of the bar. Mela delivered a powerful kick to the third in the chest, causing it to erupt with a loud crack. She spun and drove a blade into the throat of the fourth assassin. He fell to the ground gasping for his last breath.

  Frask surveyed the carnage without emotion.

  He brought his eyes up to meet Rider.

  “That leaves you and me, Frask,” began Rider, as he removed his squadron jacket. “The way I look at it, you have two choices: tell Xzin of your failure, or die trying to complete your mission.”

  Frask let loose a primal scream and jumped at Rider, who dodged and slammed his attacker against the wall with a stiff-arm strike, breaking the glass mural in the process.

  Shards littered the bar.

  Frask stumbled to his feet, wiping blood from his mouth. Glass had shredded his clothes and hands. He spun and began swinging wildly at Rider, who merely sidestepped and broke Frask’s arm at the elbow. Frask swung around with a vicious sidekick. Rider caught his leg, and in one smooth move, he cracked the assassin’s kneecap.

  The man fell to the ground, his wrecked limbs useless. He brought a hand up and tried to pull against the bar to return to a standing position.

  “You – will – not – survive,” his words came out in short, labored breaths, his mouth twisted with pain. His hands shook on top of the counter; his eyes were glazed. He raised himself slightly and managed to look Rider in the eyes. “My master will not give up merely because I have failed. He will strike again when you least expect it.”

  “You speak too freely,” replied Rider, his tone low and penetrative.

  “I speak only the truth.”

  Mela moved close and lowered her rifle to Frask’s face, sagging against the bar. His cold eyes met the weapon and he exhaled sharply.

  “You – will never – succeed. He knows – more – than you – can imagine.”

  “Perhaps you ….”

  Rider’s words were interrupted by a sudden flurry of movement from Frask. In a surge of adrenaline, he drew his sidearm and aimed it at Rider’s skull.

  Mela moved first, firing off three bursts from her rifle in succession. Frask’s body jolted from impact, slamming against the wall next to the bar.

  Rider turned to the bartender and threw a few credits on the counter. The bartender nodded in satisfaction. The trio stalked out of the bar. Rider looked at his squadron mates, their faces now allowing the shock of disbelief to show.

  “The planes of existence are held together by the Transient, although a time will come when there seems to be many paths for a single man. When this time comes, the Transient will know his path and follow it to his end.”

  -The writings of the Talmon on the final days

  Welvon walked nervously through the corridors of Xzin’s palace, his mind drifting to his actions at the meeting, as well as the fact that the Supreme Council had survived unscathed.

  The halls narrowed and the illumination along the ceiling dimmed to almost total darkness. The doors of Xzin’s personal chamber stood like gargoyles on a cathedral, large and menacing. The door opened instantaneously without so much as a creak.

  The full aroma of burning wax washed over Welvon. It was dark inside despite the candles. A desk stood on the far side of the room, and a large viewing window filled the far wall. There were no other furnishings. The cascading window looked out upon the city of Gajying, the central city of Baldor Major: once the largest metropolis in the universe, smugglers and gangsters frequented downtown Gajying when trying to locate stolen and black-market goods.

  A dark figure at the window looked over the city.

  His robes were vibrant silver. His hair was in a long, white braid, and his features were shrouded in darkness. Lord Xzin turned and sat on his plush throne behind the desk. He whispered softly in the ear of one of his guards. She rose and massaged the cruel tyrant’s shoulder muscles.

  “Councilman Welvon, what news do you bring to my humble home?” questioned Xzin who stared from beneath massive features and soulless eyes.

  Robert Welvon’s initial decision to spy for Lord Xzin had been inspired by his jealous rage the day Fael Damon beat him by a unanimous vote for the position of Supreme Council. He was only beginning to understand the potential dangers of his alliance with the dark lord.

  “The joint council has reached a decision,” began Welvon, choking back the lump that was beginning to form in his throat. “They have decided to launch a secret attack tomorrow led by those conniving fools, Alpha Squadron.”

  Xzin remained silent for a moment, contemplating his actions. He surveyed the city once more, ignoring Welvon completely. As hard as he tried to remain in place, Welvon’s nervousness brought fidgets and bodily ticks.

  Xzin grinned as Welvon squirmed behind him. His heavy gaze fell on Welvon again, knowing the man’s thoughts of self-doubt and self-deprecation. Welvon’s mind raced, fearing his own demise. He began to form plans, both diabolical and idiotic.

  “Councilman Welvon,” began Xzin, “You have done well and will be rewarded for your efforts. I want you to go back to the joint council and object to the mission. Adamantly profess that it is a poor decision on Damon’s part. When the attack fails, they will demote Damon and you will be the ideal candidate to replace him.”

  Welvon stared, stunned. He thought Xzin would kill him for having failed to sway the joint council’s decision. It was an unbelievable turn of events, but an excellent one, nonetheless.

  “My lord, I had not expected such grace.”

  “You have nothing to fear, councilman.” Xzin’s unreadable features were cold, even to his closest confidants.

  “As you wish, my lord,” Welvon bowed slightly and turned to leave. Two of Xzin’s personal guards paced him, on either side, out of the room.

  Xzin returned his eyes to the city, contemplating his ultimate rule. A smile came to his face, a cruel smile worn by a man caring nothing for life, only for ruling the remnants of destruction. The laughter of a madman rang out, echoing i
n the depths of the city below.

  * * * * *

  The military installation on Nabul stood alone, kilometers and kilometers of desert surrounding it on all sides. The rolling hills of sand were indistinguishable from one another. Constant windstorms afflicted the planet, so the only sound that could be heard was howling wind across the desert. The sound resonated off the soldiers’ domiciles, constantly battering their minds. It was a perfect training and holding facility for the military.

  The installation at Kadwe served as a training and outpost building for the most dedicated and secretive space squadron in the State’s military: the Spacehawks. On Nabul, it was difficult to tell night from day, but a certain rhythm eventually became clear to the soldiers. Their bodies adjusted to longer days without rest.

  The building was internally formed almost entirely of chromer, an extract of transansium: the strongest metal in the known universe. Each room held two soldiers, and those who held rank of lieutenant or higher had domiciles of their own.

  There were seven floors above ground and two below. Every floor below level five held fifty soldiers. The sixth floor housed the Hawk’s Nest, a holographic training simulator for specific space missions. It was the most advanced training simulator in the universe. The seventh floor was the armory, and the two basements held ships and other transportation devices.

  Supremator Nama was in charge of the Spacehawks and this installation. Anything that happened was reported directly to him. He had overseen the construction of the installation for eight years, and had remained to see the Spacehawks grow into the premier force in the universe.

  Lieutenant James Rider was the most decorated man in the State’s military history; the first Spacehawk to attain the rank of lieutenant. He held the record for most successful space missions. A superior pilot and brilliant tactician, when it came time for promotions, he refused captain, not wanting to separate the superior team of Wei, Alvarez, and himself. Together, they formed the most efficient military force in the galaxy and the most successful, as well.

  Rider’s alarm went off, and he rose sluggishly from bed to pick it up, launching it halfway across the room into the receding wall, smashing it on impact.

  The fourth I’ve had to replace this month, he thought.

  His chrono read 500 standard hours. Walking to the sanitizer, he washed his face. It was immaculate, much like the rest of the domicile. Spacehawks were not allowed to have personal belongings in case of mass evacuation. The door scanner sounded, and he reached to the glowing panel and turned on the intercom.

  “Who is it?” he said, wiping his face and turning on the shower. The shower kicked up steam, a drifting fog covering the miniscule room in clouds of billowing condensation.

  “It’s Mela,” was the short response. Her voice sounded commander-like as usual, always the first one up and the last to leave, making her the ideal candidate for leadership. “Why weren’t you at the morning training session? Nama supervised it himself. He was disappointed that you didn’t show.”

  He opened the lock from the panel in the sanitizer. He could hear the door slide open and her footsteps as she entered. The door closed, and the sound of Mela jumping on the bed could be heard.

  The bed was a standard mattress and was furnished with a single sheet, bedspread, and pillow – all a soldier needed. Mela lay on her side, positioning her body to get comfortable on the ruggedness of the sleeping quarters.

  “This is no way to treat your fiancée, you know,” she called from his bed.

  “How rude of me. I’ll be out in a minute,” Rider called as he stepped out of the shower. Mela hummed softly and looked through the pictures on his shelf. There was a picture of the two of them on Fasen Minor.

  The sound of running water stopped.

  James came out dressed in his military fatigues and his Spacehawks jacket. He bent down and gave her a kiss, then picked his weapon off the top of the dresser and holstered it. Sitting down beside her, he rubbed her stomach.

  “When this is all over, we’ll go away and get married on some distant planet. We’ll start our life together,” said Rider.

  “Once we’ve made it safe to do so,” Mela sighed as she spoke. “Nama called a meeting today after the test simulation. He said it is important we see him before the mission.”

  Rider got up from the bed and slipped his boots on. “I wonder if this has anything to do with the attack on the Supreme Council?”

  “Perhaps. I imagine they received some information from the Baldorian captain,” replied Mela, pushing herself into a sitting position.

  “Captain Kawe Sadon…”

  “What about it, James?”

  Her question was filled with concern.

  “Nothing. Let’s get going, we have a long day ahead of us,” he replied as he walked out the door.

  She sighed and got up, following him to the simulator. They walked down the hallway to the lift and called for the sixth floor. Lights came on as the doors slid closed, and the lift started to accelerate.

  “Do you think Xzin will mount a defensive on the moon?” questioned Mela as she stared out of the lift tube to the sandy wasteland of Nabul.

  “There shouldn’t be any resistance considering this is a covert mission. In theory, Xzin should possess no knowledge of the time or place of the assault.” After a pause, Rider continued. “I never know what to think. Most of the time Xzin knows exactly what we are planning, and this time it just feels as though something is dreadfully wrong. The attack on the Supreme Council during the vote had to be more than a coincidence.”

  The lift stopped, and the doors slid open.

  “I guess we’ll find out,” said Mela, as they walked toward the simulator room, the Hawk’s Nest.

  * * * * *

  On Verdule, the lush personal chambers of Supreme Council Damon were completely silent. Erinana paced gracefully, her robes never touching the ground. Her delicate features were carved into a frown, her hair pulled back tightly with a band, only a few stray strands draping her face.

  She wrung her hands and her arms rippled from the pressure. Her blouse was low cut, revealing ivory skin. She exited through double doors that led to the balcony overlooking the green, billowing landscape of the planet. Her crimson slippers glided across the marble floor. The mansion itself was far from the city in the outskirts of Garefe.

  She rested her slender hands upon the railing, and the diamond-encrusted crest that hung from her neck glittered in the lowering sun. Her eyes settled on the distance, reflecting back to a time when the universe was much simpler.

  Her birth name was not the eloquent Erinana, but a feral name, Leona Castina: a name synonymous with bounties. When she had first landed on Nemodtia she had been far more adapted to war than peacekeeping.

  Supreme Council Damon, dressed commonly, arrived behind her. “I see that you are admiring the scenery, ambassador,” Damon said, his words running smoothly from one to another. He held two glasses, both in his left hand, cradled by their long necks. He handed one to Erinana, and she accepted with a nod.

  “Yes, it is quite beautiful here. It reminds me of home,” replied Erinana, her thoughts drifting again to the past.

  “I did not know that Nemodtia had landscape resembling this.” Damon tilted his head in confusion.

  “Oh no, but Nemodtia is not my birthplace,” replied Erinana, her eyes never leaving the view before her. “I was born on Fasen Minor, near the city of Tertin, a place of green beauty like this one. It has much of the natural beauty of Verdule, only fewer cities. Fasen Minor depends very much on isolation. It does not attract undue attention.”

  “I see. I have heard about the splendors of Fasen Minor from many of the squadron members. I believe Lieutenant James Rider is from the very same world, if I am not mistaken.”

  “You are correct as usual, Master Damon.”

  “Please, call me Fael. To be referred to in the formal sense is quite unnerving.” Damon’s face took on a rosy color for a momen
t as he felt the flush of embarrassment. He had always been a bachelor, focused consistently on the needs of the State.

  “Fael.”

  “I really abhor having to destroy a perfectly serene moment.” Damon moved back toward the main chamber. “However, we are needed in the council chambers to make final arrangements for the Baldor mission.”

  “Of course.” Erinana allowed herself to be led back inside, slipping her arm through Damon’s. A wind picked up suddenly and rushed through the open balcony doors. Curtains flew out, brushing Erinana forcefully against Damon. Damon automatically grabbed her waist, steadying her. When she recovered, her face still flush with embarrassment, Damon merely smiled, looking into the depths of her eyes.

  * * * * *

  Xzin moved slowly, his every move calculated and in precise motion. The comm panel glowed red as he ran his hand over the flashing light and activated the view-screen. Xzin turned his throne toward the screen, his full height leaning against the rest. The screen came to life in a series of green blips and materialized into the face of a middle-aged woman who could have passed for her early thirties.

  Her eyes were almost black, like the coals of a planet’s core, each reflecting the interior lights of the capital vessel. Her hair was deep black and shoulder length. Her lips were pursed, ready to respond. She flicked her hair and adjusted the small frames that sat centered on her face, resting on her perfect, sculpted nose.

  “Admiral Reckson, always a pleasure.” Xzin’s voice echoed across the comm frequency. “I have summoned you because we have a mission of the utmost importance.”

  “How may I serve you, my lord?” she responded. Reckson was a woman of tremendous intelligence, never allowing herself to succumb to petty fears and stereotypes.

  “As always, to the point, an important quality for this mission.” Xzin knew better than to try and flatter the woman, for she was beyond such things. She lived and died for battle, the raw power associated with war. “Is your fleet assembled?”