Imperatrix of the Galaxy

by Tristan Vick

  Stunned by the injurious blast, the blistered and scorched skin on Jegra’s face slowly began to heal, the burns erasing themselves as her hyperactive healing factor mended her wounds in real time.

  Both women stood across from each other. Both women with an arm missing or mangled beyond repair.

  “You know something,” Jegra said, her voice full of disdain. “I’ve had it up to here with you.” She raised her good hand to her chin gesturing how full up she was with Ishtar’s nonsense.

  Ishtar laughed. “The feeling’s mutual, bitch.”

  “Well, you better say your prayers, little girl, because I’m about to spank you so hard your long-lost ancestors will feel it.”

  “Very amusing, Jegra. You always have some smart-ass quip in your quiver of come-backs.”

  “Why, thank you,” Jegra said, taking it as a compliment. She smiled subtly, simply to annoy Ishtar, and then sighed and looked across the carnage they’d wreaked. “Well, it seems that we’ve both played right into his hands.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ishtar snarled.

  “The Lord Emperor. Clearly, he wanted it to end like this. The two most lethal women in the galaxy fighting to the death. If you win, he gains his pawn back and is rid of his pain-in-the-ass wife. If I win, he loses this round but will have the ratings he so desperately chases after. Either way, he wins and we lose. Surely, you can see that by now.”

  “You think I do this for him? I don’t do it for him,” Ishtar sneered. “I do it because before you, he didn’t care about anybody or anything. He was everything I wanted in a man. Unfeeling. Powerful. Full of ambition. But then you came along and Dakroth lost sight of his true self. He became corrupted by you. The only man I’d ever known to be like me, became weaker the moment he became involved with you. You ruined the once great Emperor Dakroth, made him into something I despise. And for that, I can never forgive you.”

  “What in the galaxy is wrong with you? Dakroth never changed. He’s the same old vicious, power-hungry, war-mongering cock-wart he’s always been. The only difference is he stopped slumming it with you and graduated to a real woman. One who could fulfill all his needs.”

  “You lie!” Ishtar screamed, and she charged Jegra, her eyes full of a fiery rage.

  Their hands locked in a grapple and they leaned into one another. Nose to nose, Ishtar spat at Jegra’s eye but missed and hit her cheek instead. It dribbled down her cheek and gathered at the corner of the empress’s mouth.

  Jegra ran her tongue across her lips, catching some of Ishtar’s saliva on her tongue, and licked herself clean. “Mmm,” Jegra said, a spiteful grin curling onto her lips, “Tastes like grade-A, one-hundred percent bitch.”

  Crack! Jegra staggered back as Ishtar headbutted her. Disoriented slightly, she looked down to find Ishtar’s fingers still interwoven with hers. Feeling a tug on her arm, she lurched forward only to get rammed again with another powerful headbutt.

  “I’ll show you what a bitch I can be, your highness!”

  “It’s…” Jegra began, rearing back and launching a headbutt of her own, “Your Majesty!”

  CRA-KOW!!!

  The two combatants stumbled backward, both befuddled by the string of unyielding blows they’d administered to one another’s skulls.

  Light-headed, Jegra fell onto her ass with a thump, and sat in the sand trying her best not to black out.

  Ishtar, meanwhile, staggered forward in a haphazard zigzag pattern, but was too dizzy to attack. Instead, she crashed face first into the dirt beside Jegra. Rolling onto her side, she pushed herself back up, and spat out a wad of sand. “I’m going to kill you, if it’s the last thing I do,” she growled, refusing to give up. Even though she could barely get her arms and legs to move, she fought through the exhaustion and began crawling toward Jegra at a snail’s pace.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Jegra griped, throwing up her hand and catching Ishtar by her face, holding her at bay like a big sibling fending off a zealous smaller sibling. “Let it go already.”

  “Not till you’re dead,” Ishtar growled.

  Unable to shove the persistent wench off of her, Jegra fell onto her side. Still persisting, Ishtar climbed on and straddled Jegra’s waist. Picking up a large rock with one hand, she raised it high above her. “Die already!”

  The first blow struck Jegra’s forehead so hard the whole world went out of focus. Sensing another one coming, she instinctively raised her bony appendage to block it. She heard the crack of her bones breaking under the weight of the rock, but was too out of it to do much about it.

  Ishtar raised the rock again and screamed, “Why won’t you die? I just want you to die!” Again, the rock came down. And, again, it struck Jegra’s forearm. On the follow-up blow, Jegra’s radius snapped at the joint.

  Ishtar raised the rock a third time. With Jegra’s skeleton hand fractured beyond repair, another couple of blows would finish her. The red-skinned assassin stretched her arm as high as it would go, her chest pushing out as her back arched.

  “DIE!” she screamed with the biggest breath she could muster.

  Before Ishtar could bring the rock down on the empress, however, Jegra reached over to her mangled arm, snapped her radius out with a terrible blood-curdling snap, and using the sharp end of her own bone as a shank, stabbed Ishtar through her neck.

  Jegra’s enhanced, lightning quick reflexes allowed her to move so fast that Ishtar hadn’t even had the chance to react. All she could do was murmur the word, “Impossible,” as a stream of blood poured from her mouth and ran down her chin.

  Jegra twisted the bone and then tore it out of Ishtar’s neck. “I’m sorry,” Jegra apologized, knowing what she had to do. She didn’t like killing. But Ishtar was too dangerous to let live. And it wasn’t like Jegra was going to win any Nobel Peace Prizes any time soon. She was a gladiatrix. But, more than this, she was the empress. And she needed to make a statement.

  Sluggishly, Jegra forced herself to sit up and took Ishtar by the back of her neck and drew her into her, locking into an embrace. As she hugged the woman, she stabbed her repeatedly in the torso, twelve times. Twenty times. Possibly more. She lost count. All she knew was that she literally had bathed herself in her opponent’s blood.

  As Ishtar’s mutilated body fell beside Chin stained red and eyes stricken with fear, the empress finally relinquished her blood-soaked bone and dropped it into the sand. Soaked in bright red, Ishtar’s blood coating Jegra’s entire body from the neck down, she raised her eyes to the crowd.

  A hush fell across the stadium. Poetically enough, at the same moment, Ishtar’s head fell to the side, her entire body becoming limp like a child’s discarded rag doll and the life gradually drained from her eyes. Eyes that were once a fierce, sparkling topaz, were now pale and depleted. And her vibrant red skin turned to ashen pink.

  Exhausted, Jegra slumped back onto the sand, and took a moment to rest on her heels. She panted heavily as she scanned the agape expressions of the various alien species that made up the crowd. Her mangled arm dangling limply by her side, she saw something she had never seen during her entire tenure as a gladiator. Awestruck admiration.

  No jeers were made. No lewd catcalls. No shrill whistles. No booing. No shouts for more blood. No unwanted propositions. No complaints or gripes of any kinds. Just a suffusing silence that nobody wanted to break for fear of ruining a near perfect moment.

  Finally, after what seemed a near eternity of silence, somewhere in the distance, a lone voice screamed out, “Long live the Empress!” There was a pause, then another voice shouted the same. And then another. And another.

  Voices continued to join the chorus until the entire stadium was chanting those rejuvenating words. They filled Jegra with a newfound confidence and the realization that Dakroth was just one man who ruled but one world. She, on the other hand, had the entire galaxy behind her.

  At long last, the sign she’d been waiting for had arrived. A unification of all the alien races, under
one common cause, their faith placed in someone who’d fight on their behalf and never for selfish ambitions. Jegra smiled. This was just the beginning of a much bigger revolution. A revolution against Dakroth’s tyranny. A revolution she’d see through to the end.

  36

  “Unacceptable!” Senator Targon Van Morgan barked as Captain Lianica Blackstar stood before the Council, her nerves tighter than freshly tuned guitar strings as she conveyed the bad news. “What do you mean the emperor’s missing, again? Am I mistaken, or didn’t your team just recover him less than a month ago?”

  “You’re not mistaken, your excellency. But this seems to be a new, different matter.” Captain Blackstar paused, glanced around at the stern faces of the senators sitting up on their lofty bench, and then added, “He has a penchant for getting himself into trouble.”

  “Then attend to it!” Targon shouted, throwing his hand in the air and then slamming an angry fist down on his podium, which stood at the center of a long bench seating all twelve senators representing the twelve provinces of Dagon Prime.

  “Yes, sir. As the senate wishes.” Captain Blackstar crossed her heart with her right fist and bowed humbly. Then, returning to her rigid posture, she clicked her heels, spun, and marched out of the senatorial chamber.

  Senator Mykos leaned over and whispered into Targon’s ear, “Dakroth is becoming increasingly unreliable.”

  Targon frowned, the corners of his mouth pulling downward and his fingers rapping at his podium. “I hate to say it,” he finally agreed, “but perhaps it’s time.”

  A pleased grin spread across Senator Mykos’s face as he leaned back in his chair. The other senators all looked to Senator Targon to clarify himself.

  Senator Targon ran his fingers through his short, spiky tufts of white hair and, then, clearing his throat, he addressed the Council. “My fellow council members, as you well know, the emperor’s behavior has been growing increasingly erratic ever since the human female’s arrival. And although not all of you agree with me that Jegra is the root cause of this questionable behavior, the fact remains that the Lord Emperor’s judgement has been compromised.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Senator Tivian, a young but ambitious and extremely loyal Dagon woman, asked.

  “A vote of no confidence!” Mykos blurted.

  Targon lowered his eyes. It wasn’t shame so much as disappointment. The young Rhadamanthus Dakroth had been the leader he’d always hoped for. But the recent Dakroth was becoming something of a threat to the stability of the Empire.

  “I’m afraid Senator Mykos is correct. We have no recourse but to take a vote of no confidence.”

  “But won’t that mean the human will become the reigning sovereign over all of Dagon Prime?” Tivian asked, a frown forming on her face. “Like many Dagons,” she added, “I too am a purist. Allowing an outsider full reign of the Empire, let alone our homeworld, is unthinkable.”

  “Here, here!” another senator chimed in, praising Tivian’s devotion to Dagon heredity.

  “Which is why, in addition to a vote of no confidence, I am going to issue a decree of martial law. The Imperial forces will fall under the command of our newly instated fleet admiral, Admiral Callestra Van Morgan,” informed Senator Targon, clasping his hands behind his back as he scanned the surprised reactions of the senate council.

  “Your daughter?” one of the young senators at the far end of the council bench asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

  “We will be in good hands, then,” Tivian interjected, reassuring the senate of her confidence in Callestra’s capabilities. Seeing that not everyone was convinced, however, she quickly added, “I, for one, will sleep well knowing we have a Morgan as the guiding force of justice in the Empire.”

  “And justice we shall have,” Mykos added, his crow’s feet wrinkling around the corners of his graying eyes as he smiled at Tivian and then nodded reassuringly for the rest of the council.

  “But martial law can only be declared if there is an imminent threat to the Empire and the emperor is deemed unfit to continue to lead the Empire. What threat, pray tell, my esteemed senators, do you suggest we tell the people is the justification for this extreme shakeup?”

  All faces turned toward Senator Proxima Cortana, a full figured, if not stout, Dagon woman with a tight ponytail and dark painted eyebrows that gave her a permanently critical appearance.

  “Maybe I can be of some help answering that,” a voice said, reverberating from down the chamber corridor. The faces which had been locked on Senator Cortana now quickly turned themselves to the entrance.

  Gasps rang out when the dark silhouette of a woman stepped into the light streaming down from the glass domed ceiling. Senator Targon, the only one not taken by surprise, smiled and slowly rose to his feet.

  “Respected members of the Dagon Council,” Targon proceeded, “allow me to present to you, her Eminence, the Administratrix of Nyctan, Anaïs Nin!” He fanned his hand across the room and gestured for them all to behold the tall, pale figure with elongated skull and black eyes sauntering up the isle toward the council bench.

  Hushed whispers broke across the council and even Tivian, who was on Targon’s side, gave him an astounded look. It was one thing to think up a valid excuse to declare martial law, but to invite the Empire’s longest enemy was a different matter entirely. “What is she doing here?” Tivian asked.

  Anaïs Nin, composed and regal, addressed the chambers. “What I am about to reveal to you, many will find shocking. I swear upon the Enchiridion of H’aaztre that my words are true; believe me or not, it makes no difference. It was your Lord Emperor, Rhadamanthus Dakroth, who lured me here, to Dagon Prime, under false pretenses.”

  “What are you trying to say, Madam Administratrix?” Senator Cortana asked in a sympathetic, almost motherly tone.

  Anaïs Nin looked away from the curious faces gazing down at her from their high perch upon the Council bench and stared down at the floor, appearing to feel ashamed or embarrassed about something. “Emperor Dakroth convinced me to perform the Ceremony of the Chosen One with him. But, I see now, his intentions were less than honorable.”

  “Just to set the record straight, are you saying that the emperor tricked you so as to lure you into his bed?” Tivian asked, her scowl tightening. “Before you answer that, let me remind the administratrix the serious nature of these accusations.”

  “Yes,” Anaïs Nin answered. “That is correct. Emperor Dakroth raped me.” Her answer was followed by an eruption of astonished gasps and an exchange of concerned whispers.

  “A criminal offense if there ever was one,” Senator Targon said. He tried to hide his smirk, as his plan was unfolding exactly as he’d hoped. Inviting the administratrix to convince the council that Dakroth has not only committed a heinous crime but had also put the Empire in danger meant he could wrangle power away with a vote of no confidence.

  The only thing he hadn’t anticipated, however, was how willing Anaïs Nin was to perjure herself. She really must, he mused, hate the Lord Emperor with every fiber of her being.

  “The defilement of the royal head of a neighboring empire is nothing to take lightly. We cannot overlook this grave offense,” Senator Mykos added, piggybacking on Targon’s point.

  “What is it you suggest the Council do, Senator Targon?” Tivian asked, scanning the faces of the other senators who were all thinking the same thing.

  “I believe I can answer that,” Anaïs Nin replied. “If Nyctan and Dagon Prime go to war over my defilement, a war to regain my honor, then not only will a vote of censure be most reasonable, it allows you the justification you need to declare martial law.”

  “It is settled then!” Targon said, slamming a wooden mallet on his bench. “We shall take a vote. All those in favor of removing Emperor Dakroth from sovereign reign, thus issuing a vote of no confidence, say ‘aye.’ Those not in favor, say ‘nay’”

  The ayes were unanimous. Senator Targon grinned and slammed the mallet twice then hel
d his hand up to silence the murmurs filling the room. “Now, those in favor of declaring martial law and handing gubernatorial power over to Admiral Callestra Van Morgan, say ‘aye;’ those not in favor say ‘nay.’”

  Again, the ayes won by a large majority. With a whack of the hammer, Senator Targon announced, “The ‘ayes’ have it!”

  Anaïs Nin bowed reverently, and Senator Targon returned the gesture in kind. Having no more pressing business on Dagon Prime, she turned and stormed out of the council chambers. Her first issue of business–return to Nyctan and make a declaration of war against the Dagon Empire.

  Senator Targon convened the Council and dismissed the council members, himself leaving the senatorial hall with the rest. On his way back to his chambers, however, he heard a voice call out his name and turned to see Senator Tivian hurrying toward him.

  “Senator Targon,” she repeated, panting lightly as she tried to catch her breath, “may I have a word with you?”

  The senator paused briefly and looked up and down the long passageway to see if there were any eavesdroppers. Confident they were alone, he turned back to Tivian. “Why, yes, of course,” he said in his rigid, senatorial, voice. “Anything for a fellow senator.”

  “In private,” she said, grabbing Targon by the elbow and pulling him into the ladies’ restroom with her.

  The moment they disappeared into the women’s bathroom, Targon and Tivian’s lips mashed together and they fell into the tiled wall, clawing at each other’s clothes with carnal desire.

  “I’ve wanted you so badly since the Council convened this morning. I could barely contain myself.”

  “I felt the same way,” Tivian said, letting Targon slip off her panties from under her black miniskirt. Grabbing his hand, she guided it back up between her glistening thighs. “See?” she said in a seductive voice, letting him feel her for himself.

  He kissed her mouth again and then pulled away. “As much as I’d love to finish this, I’m afraid another matter has come up.”

  Upset by his sudden rejection of her, Senator Tivian reached down and pulled her underpants back up. “More important than us? What could be so urgent?” she asked.