Zorlog’s weapon of choice hummed in the hot breeze, its disrupter settings at maximum. The bar cut clean through the drunken trooper. It was a quick death.
The guards stood in shock, the citizens in horror. Zorlog only glared back defiantly. None met his gaze.
Without a word, he resumed his march. His escorts hurried to catch up.
He had a slight spring in his step now.
It was good to kill, to vent some of his anger. But this was not near enough satisfaction. This was merely a start.
He felt his hearts triple in beat as the towers of the Zenux came into sight - the home of the Emperor.
Gulin stood waiting just before the entrance. With flat harshness, Zorlog barked his orders to his escorts to disperse, and give him a moment to confer. With fleeting hesitation, they complied, not wishing a conflict with their prisoner.
Zorlog approached his old Lavok, a twisted smile upon his face. It was surprising. He actually felt a bit glad to see Gulin.
"Good morning, my Tarvok." Gulin greeted him in his usual official manner.
"Yes. Morning it is? Good, it is not. What have you to report?"
"Full saturation throughout the planet's water supply. I've been told to pass on a message: the red sun has risen."
Zorlog's smile widened exposing his full host of fangs. "Good work, Gulin. Be prepared with the Gohk II. The time is at hand!"
Gulin glanced down the crowded street. He felt uncomfortable. There were too many eyes, too many ears around. Zorlog was much too bold.
"We have everyone in place. We are ready on your signal."
"The signal will be clear enough, Gulin." Zorlog brushed past him to the entrance of the towers, but then stopped short.
"Gulin, how would you like to become Charvok on my Xi-cruiser?"
"I would be honored, my Zuvok!"
"Then it shall be. Transfer your Tarvok role and report to the Kirbetz.”
"Thank you!" replied Gulin, a hint of excitement in his voice.
Zorlog marched on, disappearing into the massive arched entrances of the Towers of Zenux. His escorts scurried up to match his quick pace.
Zorlog made a mental note as the corridors darkened and the path descended, first as a gradual slope, then through winding stairs. The Towers of Zenux ascended into the clouds, but they also descended even farther.
He enjoyed the walk. It gave him time to think. There were no distractions. His escorts had abandoned him far above, as only a chosen few were allowed within the depths of these towers. Very rarely did he meet anyone in the cold, dark corridors, and when he did, they ignored him as much as he did them. Most of the Zigot servants couldn't even speak. It was the price of servitude to be mutilated into silence.
Just before the Hall of the Apocalypse, he stopped and faded back into the shadows. He began systematically pulling off different parts of his clothing: a belt buckle, a button from the cuff, a small plastic cylinder from the heel of his boot. When he was done, he held a small tranquilizer gun, able to be completely hidden within the palm of his hand.
For all of their searching and scanning, they had missed what was right under their muzzles. He laughed throatily.
When he arrived at the entrance, the two massive granite doors swung open into an empty, dimly lit room. Zorlog proceeded in, careful to position himself within the exact center of the Star of Domination. Exercising unusual self-control, he pulled his body rigid, every muscle taut at full attention, and waited patiently. His mind danced, preoccupied, effectively ignoring the pain and discomfort emanating from his distressed muscles. It was with pleasant satisfaction that he discovered he did not have to wait long.
"Zorlog, you incompetent razum!" The Emperor cursed at him loudly from the darkness.
"My Emperor," greeted Zorlog flatly, bowing his coiled body ever so slightly.
"I thought that you were different, Xilozak! I had thought that you would aspire to so much. But you are no different than the others that surround me! You could have become a Karvok of Domination. But now…”
He shook his massive head, still moving in closer. The obtuse lighting alternated over the fearsome mutant as he advanced. The Emperor was almost upon him now. Zorlog could stare directly into those red eyes. His hand kneaded the small tranquilizer gun. His legs ached, pulled tight as springs.
"Tell me how does one small alien craft disable the Empire's mightiest cruiser?"
Zorlog remained silent.
"Speak, Xilozak!"
The Emperor was close, spraying spit onto Zorlog's face with each word.
Zorlog cracked his toothy grin. "Your mighty military has much to learn about designing vessels of war, Emperor. Your crews perform poorly and they lack discipline. Your Txtian filth has tainted their spirits and destroyed their ambition!"
"So now you admit your affiliation to the Purists!" growled the Emperor, hands raising to wrap around his mutinous subject.
Move! Zorlog could hear that little insane voice in the back of his mind. He brought his left arm up savagely, aiming at the Emperor's head. But, as expected, the Emperor's reflexes were much too fast. The Zigot blocked the swing effortlessly, catching its full ferocity in the palm of his oversized hand.
The Zigot laughed as Zorlog put the gun to the Emperor's midsection and fired. The tranquilizer bullet penetrated through the robing easily and buried itself deep into the flesh.
A look of shock came over the Emperor’s face as he realized what had happened. He crumbled to the floor, his limbs numb and useless.
Zorlog kicked him with contempt. "Mighty Emperor! Long on oppression, short on strategy!"
He laughed. The twisted sound of it bounced off the stone walls of the expansive hall, changing pitch eerily. Zorlog enjoyed the strange effect, and soaked it all in. He circled around the prone body of the Emperor, all the time keeping one eye peering into the darkness.
There were no servants racing in to attack and protect.
“What arrogance!” He looked down at his victim with satisfaction. “You did not see fit to bring your servants with you. You can now see how that was a fatal mistake.”
"What have you done to me, Xilozak?" rebuked the Emperor as he struggled to move.
"A small injection of gridzilliam. No known cure I fear."
Zorlog shook his head slowly. “A shame it is.” As suddenly as it had appeared, his pleased expression dropped away like a curtain. He knelt down, glaring into the eyes of the dying Emperor. "You want to know why, Zigot?"
The Emperor's breaths were quick and shallow now, his eyes already glazed and vision blurred. The poison was moving quickly. A strange emotion surged through his contorted mind. He had never felt it before - fear.
"Yes, you will know why before you die. My sire was a very prominent member of the Purist Council - a Huzan-Gaurd. You do remember the Huzan-Gaurd Emperor? They concerned you enough that you dispatched your Zigot drones to silence them.”
“I was a mere fledgling then, they would not listen to me. I knew how you would react. I warned them both what you would do. But they lacked belief. They simply could not understand that their own Emperor would kill them for a mere belief. Their foolishness became clear as your drones butchered them like common slaves. It is true, they were weak, lost to their ideals, pitifully naïve.
The irony of today, you must understand, is that the drones were sloppy. They missed me. And so I vowed as a youngling to take these towers down and leave your rotting corpse buried under the rubble."
He spit in the Emperor's face. The slime slid down off the ex-leader's mandibles, onto the cold black floor. He laughed. The most powerful being in the known galaxy lying on the floor at his feet, helpless.
"All your dreams of domination!" Zorlog howled, standing quickly, then twirling in a dance. "The Emperor's grand plan to conquer the galaxy.”
“Ah,” he stopped. The spinning was making him dizzy. “Such a pity you will never see it. See what all your efforts add up to? A helpless, dying, pitiful clima
x. Pathetic, isn’t it?"
He dropped back down to the floor. "I remember how you justified their murders, labeling it an Empirical campaign, an ordained purge!”
“Purge the Traitors!” you cried. “They and all your followers on a quest for purity!"
"You.. will.. die.. Xilozak!" The Emperor labored over every word, knowingly using up his last reserve of strength.
"Yes I will, but where you are wrong, is in the timing, my exalted one." Zorlog reached down and grabbed him by the top of his head, wrenching it askew viciously.
"At this very minute, my Purist forces are freeing our Xilozak brothers and sisters from your oppressive Txtian mind-twist. Nothing will save your kind now."
He noticed something in the Zigot’s eyes. He had seen that familiar look - many times before. He laughed outrageously at the realization. He slammed the Emperor's head down on the granite floor. “Many Txtian’s have tried their mind-twist on me. Try, try, try. Try as you might, mutant!" He laughed with contempt.
“Oh, but you never knew! I am more than a mere slaver, more than your eager to please Karvok. I am special, you see. I was born with a gift, shall I say, my own natural defense. I saw but never felt what brought my brothers to their knees. But I knew enough, even as a child, to mimic it. They never suspected. Not even the headmistress at my school. And she was such an evil geretok of a Txtian.” He grinned coldly.
“Because of my gift I knew what I was born to do. So I scoured the worlds looking for a cure to your cursed ability. A slaver has access to so many planets, so many resources. It is truly glorious.”
The Emperor was fading now, death was coming.
Zorlog viciously slapped him across the face. “Stay alive, Zigot, I’m not through with my story yet. You must stay alive for the climax! You must know that I found it. And I have introduced it into Xilo's water supply. By now, most of the planet will be immune! You can take that to your grave."
The Emperor closed his eyes. It was over. Nothing left but to die.
Zorlog glanced down at his chronometer. "I must leave now, my Emperor," he stated quietly, giving the almost dead, once invincible leader, one final glance. "And we followed your kind," he growled with disgust. "You are pathetic!" With one last savage kick, he turned and moved quickly out of the gloomy hall.
The Emperor muttered a small phrase of native Txtian with his last breath, and died.
* * *
This was the start of the Xi-Empire civil war - the collapse of a thousand zadii of peace. It sent ripples tearing into the very existence of the colossal Empire. Both sides eagerly embraced the fight. Segregation of the races followed and the great cities of Xilo divided. The Txtian's mind-twist no longer affected the Xilozak population, as the drug had become widely available through Purists channels. The secret was out. The old fear was gone. Txtian control deflated into chaos. Old familiar hates between the two races sprung up like a plague. The streets turned into havens for riots and bloodshed.
Surprisingly, there were those that remained cool in the heat of internal strife. They had realized there was too much to be lost by fighting amongst themselves. These idealistic individuals were in positions of power, heads of corporations, institutions, rich merchants, and government leaders. Not without irony, many were Xilozak.
Their denouncing of the Purists and their backing of the Zigot league swayed the public opinion. It helped, somewhat, to slow the Purist movement.
The common citizen resisted change. Xilozaks and Txtians, conditioned through the generations, simply did not see the need. They retreated into their homes and waited.
The Zigots used this to their advantage. They moved quickly, taking advantage of the temporary confusion, knowing this was a momentary quiet, the undercurrents of a building storm.
The Zigot League was practiced in the art of manipulation. Propaganda was a powerful weapon. It was easy to convince the average citizen of the dismal effects of an internal war. The public's eyes and ears were already barraged with troubling realities: the drop in the standard of living, the loss of assets, not to mention the prospect of losing their slaves.
Their campaign was working.
Confusion and fear beleaguered the Purist movement, holding back its momentum. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Zigot League turned the population's opinion in their favor. The Purists were painted as rogues, enemies of the Empire, common criminals working against the well-being of the average citizen. This did little to regain control of the divided military.
But beyond Xilo, like a plague impossible to control, the war was spreading. Every Xi-colony within the known galaxy was affected. Expeditions were canceled, ships recalled, expansion efforts recalled. The Empire withdrew into itself.
Returning Tarkovs made their decisions enroute, declaring their alliances openly. Some suffered the insult of mutiny, while the majority reinforced their standings with their crews.
Txtians had a habit of abusing their power, especially outside of Xilo’s influence. This reinforced the Purist cause with vigor. Young, eager Xilozak warriors rallied to the Purists’ strongholds.
During the confusion and chaos, Zorlog launched his own campaign, countering the League’s with his own. He attracted recruits with poisonous words that rang of many truths, as Xilozaks’ memory of the mind-twist was all too recent, swaying previously neutral Xilozaks onto the Purist path.
Their momentum was unstoppable.
The Purists’ fleet continued to grow with each arriving defection. Its fleet had absorbed beyond a third of the entire existing Xi-forces, and at its helm was Zorlog, in the cruiser flagship Kirbetz. Three of the Seven Zuvoks of Domination now enrolled under his command.
The Zigot League made the mistake of first strike. Zorlog’s reaction was swift and merciless. The Purists left the engagement with minimal casualties but the League lost their fleet. Zorlog’s reputation, once tarnished, was now restored. But this did little to satisfy his thirst for power. Ports and colonies were attacked, and ships, equipment, and supplies were seized.
Zorlog was hungry for more.
The Zigot League's military prowess was fractured. Action needed to be taken. A new leader was appointed to the precarious position of Emperor. Not surprisingly, it was the brother of the late Emperor. He was enthroned in a quiet ceremony within the depths of the towers of Zenux. The news spread quickly throughout the planets, but it did not ease unrest. The discreet ceremony left many unanswered questions in the minds of the Empire’s citizens.
Was this new Emperor so weak as to hide from the Purists? Did this appointed Zigot lack the will and charisma of their previous?
The new Emperor carried with him years of study, the knowledge of the scholarly. That was unheard of in the previous tyrannical types that had preceded him. He led with a firm and confident hand and quickly earned the reputation of lacking any tolerance for incompetence. Within the span of one zanii, the old inherent corruption within the Empire was literally annihilated. The collection of ‘additional’ non-sponsored taxes and levies was outlawed. Heads rolled, literally, within the towers of Zenux. No one in the position of power was allowed to abuse his privilege under risk of death.
The new Emperor again broke with tradition - he delegated. He designated his loyal and capable followers to their own areas of responsibility, making the day-to-day running of the immense Empire that much more efficient.
The failing Empire began to show signs of stabilization. The citizens had a leader who dared to walk upon the streets of Zenux, who dared to step beyond all pre-established boundaries and establish new order, new procedures, new traditions. His abilities were unparalleled by any and all who preceded him.
Once the Emperor completed the foundational changes of the Empire's new order, he turned his attention to the war, and to his brother's killer. On that sadii, Zorlog's campaign became much more complicated. Victories of the Purists rebellion turned to losses under the gigantic war machine of Xilo.
Zorlog saw all of this and could do not
hing but laugh at the knowledge that he alone had seeded this change. He had killed the old Emperor and caused a brother, who should have never known power, to be appointed.
He alone had brought forward his own greatest enemy.
* * *
Ryan enjoyed the trip back to Xeronia.
Aviore was getting better with the passing of each day. He could tell she was in less pain. She seemed happier, more carefree, and less haunted by her past.
He outfitted her with a less constricting brace for her jaw and removed the cumbersome bandages from her fingers. They were healing so well that there was virtually no sign of the reconstructive surgery that had taken place.
She was feeling so good after the first week that she could not sit still. Ryan drafted her help in managing the passengers. Since she had a background in psychology, she was able to help them through the horrors they had suffered. Aviore asked Ryan to join them, but he refused, citing the large amount of work he had to do before they arrived.
She knew him well enough not to push it.
Ryan had handled things in his own way, and he had managed to survive. For the first time in years, he felt strong again. He wasn't going to trade that off by baring his soul in some group session. It was better to leave the past buried - for him, that is.
He wasn’t particularly proud of himself for eavesdropping when it came to Aviore’s turn to talk. But he was busy, otherwise, he would have been right there, in the group, listening like the others. So having Gem patch the audio over wasn’t really doing anything wrong.
He had to know what happened to her.
The first few times, she spoke only of cursory details, avoiding anything that would take any strength to work through. As the group opened up, so did she, and the stories became more horrific. She started at the beginning, enroute to Earth. Their ship had been attacked and the survivors enslaved. She told them of the slavership conditions and of the subsequent transfer to a military detention ship.
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