by A. L. Bruno
Conrad blew out an exasperated sigh. “As we can be.”
Boothe turned and favored Roberts with a steady stare. “Mr. Roberts?”
Not like this! Roberts thought, but instead said, “Yes, ma’am. I’m ready.”
Boothe nodded. “Very well. Let’s introduce these people to the galaxy.”
4
Kionel’s Palace
Elite Guard Parade Grounds
Leonathier, Tenasta
Haturina, 12th of Sardua
Avindair fought the urge to run; to cross the freshly painted parade field behind the Kionel’s tower at a full sprint. But running would only draw attention from the surrounding three-story buildings of the Kionel’s Elite Guard’s barracks. More than ever, the troops need reassurance, Avindair thought. His hands flexed in and out of fists. His heart raced, even as he refused to let his body do so. Steady, strong, and assured, he thought. That’s what they need now.
A whistling whine filled the air, and Avindair stopped. He strained his eyes upwards, trying to spot what he knew had to be the approaching craft. All he saw was the towering brass bulk of the palace. They’re approaching from the east, he admonished himself. Of course, you won’t be able to see it from here! He shook his head, frustrated, then strode ahead, quickly closing the distance to the polished stone steps and two-story arch of the palace entrance.
A deep bass hum reverberated off the courtyard buildings and punched through Avindair’s body armor like a sustained explosion. He didn’t stop this time. The noise clearly came from nearby, likely the front of the palace, and meant only one thing: whatever had dropped from the skies above was here.
A sharp tap on Avindair’s left shoulder startled him, and he whirled, surprised at the unseen approach.
There was no one there.
Avindair closed his eyes. He knew what that meant.
“What you doin’ walking?” a voice to his right asked.
Avindair turned and as expected, the lanky form of Deputy Commandant Garash Jagrav trotted backwards beside him. Like Avindair, he wore the dark, blue-gray body armor, muted black boots, web belt, and sidearm consistent with the Elite Guard’s daily uniform. His black beret—replete with the red-rimmed, gold lion symbol of the Kionel’s Palace—sat on his close-shorn head at an angle that wasn’t strictly regulation, and his silver-flecked red beard curled at a length that begged to be trimmed. Jagrav stared at Avindair, his golden eyes almost as wide as his outstretched arms.
Avindair snorted and strode past him.
“Trim your beard,” Avindair growled.
Jagrav trotted alongside. “Seriously?” he said, ignoring Avindair. “You’re going to walk right now?”
“The troops need calm.”
“There’s a spaceship on the lawn!” Jagrav retorted. “We left calm five blocks back.”
Avindair favored Jagrav with a hard stare. “Which is why we need to set an example.” His voice came out as a threatening rumble. “Start. Walking.”
Jagrav got the hint. He stopped his backwards trot and fell in, walking in step with his superior.
The thrum suddenly stopped. All that was left were the sounds of distant traffic, the buzz of nearby electrical transformers, and the steady rhythm of their boots against the parade ground concrete.
“They’ve landed,” Jagrav said, speaking Avindair’s thoughts aloud. Even his perpetually cheerful second sounded shaken.
“Why are you out here?” Give him something else to think about, Avindair thought. Make him focus on his duty. That his own gut felt like ice didn’t matter; his people needed him, and his duty was to them.
“It’s the press,” Jagrav said. His voice caught momentarily, but he cleared his throat and continued. “They’re at the gates, demanding to enter.”
“Demanding?” Avindair snarled. “Like hell.”
Jagrav chuckled mirthlessly. “Thought you’d say that.” He smacked the heavy black rectangle of a secure communicator into Avindair’s chest. “You wanna tell them?”
“Gladly,” Avindair grumbled, taking the communicator and slipping it onto his belt.
The pair trotted up the steps leading to the massive wooden entrance of the Kionel’s palace and stopped at the postern door used for everyday access. The single guard, Adrit by his nametag, held up his hand in a practiced “halt” gesture.
“ID?” Adrit asked. He, of course, knew both Avindair and Jagrav on sight, but his duty dictated the challenge.
“Are you serious?” Jagrav snapped. “Do you know what’s happening out there?”
Though he made no overt move, Adrit’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly.
Avindair shot Jagrav a dark look. “Show him your damned ID.”
Jagrav shook his head annoyed, but begrudgingly pulled out his ID card. Avindair did the same, and Adrit stepped aside smartly. “Thank you,” he offered.
Avindair gave the young guard an approving stare. “Well done,” he said. If Adrit appreciated the compliment it didn’t show.
Good, Avindair thought, and they entered the palace.
There had been a time, far back in Avindair’s youth, when the domed expanse of the of the Kionel’s palace foyer had awed him. The gleaming marble floors, the dark wooden pillars arcing towards the intricately carved rotunda, and the circling overlooks of the higher levels had seemed to him like something from the fantastical vids he’d enjoyed in his youth. The hustle of the palace’s staff—some in ceremonial dress, but most in professional attire—had reminded him of a royal court, with all the scheming and intrigue that implied. Now all he saw were sniper locations, arson targets, security leaks, and even tripping hazards from the twin grand staircases that led to the second level. That’s the price of success, he thought. Innocence must be lost.
The thought reverberated and he shot a dark look at Jagrav.
“What the hell was that about?” Avindair snapped as they strode towards the nearest staircase.
“Gotta keep those kids on their toes,” Jagrav said, chuckling.
“There’s a spaceship on the lawn,” Avindair said. “If that boy was any higher on his toes he’d fall over.”
Jagrav’s full-throated laugh reverberated around the rotunda. Avindair shook his head disapprovingly, but a smile pulled at his lips.
“Hey, there,” Jagrav said, his laughter dying, but his eyes still sparkling, “can’t let that stone face move. Gotta put on a brave front, right?”
The smile vanished even before it formed, and Avindair turned, his brow furrowed, towards Jagrav.
He didn’t get to speak.
“That is excellent advice,” a lilting voice called from above.
Avindair and Jagrav’s gaze turned upward in unison. Approaching the landing on the second floor was Adishta Adelisa Urmah of the Kionelaite. The first thing Avindair noted was her dress. Rather than the semi-formal business suits she usually wore in public, she was instead bedecked in a flowing gold, black, and crimson gown. Though modest in every way—no untoward decolletage was visible, and her legs were entirely covered—the design flattered her slim figure. The second thing that caught his eye was her hair. While she normally wore her long blonde locks in a more casual coif, it was now braided in a fashion that suggested the female warriors of the Kionel clans of old. Lastly, her makeup—not that she needed any, in his opinion—was subdued. In place of her preferred deep shades of red on her full lips, she instead wore a natural tone. The sole exception were her eyes. Black liner made their piercing gold almost glow in the early morning lamplight. She was, as always, the most beautiful creature Avindair had ever laid eyes on, and his heart leapt as he watched her.
Avindair and Jagrav stopped their ascent and bowed their heads in unison. “Adishta.” The honorific was both practiced and meaningful.
“Commandant,” she replied. Then, with the hint of a smile on her voice, “Jagrav.”
Acknowledged, they both raised their heads. Avindair wasted no time. He moved to the landing, Jagrav in tow.
“A moment, Commandant.” Her words made it clear that this was not a request.
Damn it! Avindair thought. “As you wish,” was, of course, what he said.
Adelisa smiled, then turned to Jagrav. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be?”
“Almost certainly,” Jagrav replied, grinning.
Adelisa only raised one perfectly formed eyebrow, and Jagrav shrank. “I’ll bugger off over here.”
Jagrav meandered away, Adelisa watching as he went. When she turned to Avindair, her eyes flashed fury.
“What the hell were you doing?” Adelisa said through a gritted smile. Though her words were harsh, her tone—should anyone only hear that—was genial and pleasant.
Avindair knew instantly what she meant.
“Trying to save us,” Avindair replied.
“By throwing a spear at a tank?” Adelisa pressed.
Avindair looked away and took in a deep breath. “What would you have me do?”
Adelisa straightened. She favored him with the practiced half-smile of one of the Kionel’s line. “Your duty, of course,” she said. Then she stepped aside and gestured to the waiting elevator.
Avindair nodded. “Will you be accompanying me?”
Adelisa shook her head. “I’m off to speak to the media. They need to be reassured.”
Avindair’s eyebrows raised despite himself. “Wearing that?”
Adelisa’s right eyebrow arched again, and she shot him a sideways look. “It was the Kionel’s directive that I present a more... traditional appearance.” Her tone made it clear that she disagreed, but she knew better than to disobey the leader of her line.
“They’re at the gates,” Avindair said, “demanding to enter.”
“I know,” Adelisa replied. She raised her chin imperiously. “I’m on my way to let them in.”
“What?!” Avindair’s voice boomed from the recess of the elevator lobby into the rotunda. Adelisa whirled at him, her eyes aflame, but he didn’t care. “We have no idea what’s in that ship!” He continued, his tone restrained. “Whose idea was…?”
Adelisa’s stare answered his question for him.
Avindair took a deep breath, and he bowed his head. “Adishta, regretfully my duty awaits.”
“And I will no longer keep you from it,” Adelisa replied, her tone neutral. There was the sound of whirling skirts, the steady beat of heels against marble, and she was gone.
Avindair turned and strode purposefully towards the gold-doored elevator recessed away from the others. He pulled out his ID, tapped it against the unassuming black, wall-mounted pad, and entered as soon as the doors parted. Once inside its ornately carved wooden walls he entered his private code into the burnished metal number pad, and finally, the elevator rushed upwards, pressing his stomach to his feet.
The media? Avindair thought, his head spinning. We have no idea what to expect! They might be walking into a killing field!
As the elevator slowed, Avindair raised his chin and straightened his shoulders. It would not be seemly to greet the Kionel in anything other than a composed state.
The doors whispered open, and the expanse of the Kionel’s chambers sprawled before him.
In his youth, Avindair had read about the appetites of past Kionels. He knew that they once adorned their chambers in gold and silver, spoils of war displayed like hunters mounting their kills. Stories—possibly apocryphal, but just as likely true—of drunken revelries and the most carnal indulgences in the Kionel’s private sanctum abounded. There was even a tale of one Kionel who insisted that his closest advisors only be the most beautiful women that could be found across Tenasta. Though this legend had been firmly denied by the court, Avindair had not at all been surprised to learn that there were dozens of portraits of lovely young women in various stages of undress hidden away in the deeper recesses of the Kionel’s archives.
None of this was true of Avindair’s Kionel.
The space before him was simply laid out. Yes, there was a fireplace (“A reminder of my youth,” the Kionel had once explained.) and the simple blonde woodwork that made up the chamber was the best a master could offer, but no hint of opulence could be found. His desk, his chairs, and even the couch on which his advisors would sit when summoned were composed of clean, elegant lines. It was a place of meditation, study, and reflection. Only the wraparound windows that placed his perch atop the Kionel’s palace spoke to the inhabitant of the space.
There, standing by the windows, looking down at the garden lawn below, stood the Kionel.
Avindair stepped out of the elevator and immediately fell to one knee. He bowed his head reverentially and offered up the obligatory one word greeting: Kionel.
“Stand up, Avindair.” The Kionel’s voice, once a booming, mellifluous baritone, had cracked with age, and his once ramrod-straight posture had crumbled under the weight of his years. His face, always thin and angular, was now gaunt, his nose jutting forward like a bird of prey’s beak. Even his once-flowing mane had vanished, replaced by a receding crown of deeply peaked white hair. The long ceremonial gold and gray robes in which he’d once cut a commanding figure now draped over a frame too small for the fabric. Yet when he fixed Avindair with his golden eyes, the years faded away and all the commandant saw was the man to whom he had pledged his life.
“You shouldn’t be near the window, Hikasa,” Avindair said, rushing towards the Kionel, worried.
The Kionel raised a single eyebrow, unimpressed. “Really?” His voice came out like a rough velvet purr. “I was under the impression that these were my quarters.”
“Of course,” Avindair conceded, “but it’s my duty to keep you safe.”
The Kionel nodded, and took a sharp breath in. “Indeed.” He turned and gestured with his ring-adorned right hand to the palace grounds far below. “And how do you intend to protect me from that?”
Avindair, moved to the window, looked down, and laid his eyes on the spaceship on the Kionel’s lawn.
The vessel was cruder than Avindair had expected. Since the first talk of worlds beyond their own had entered the popular imagination only a handful of years earlier, people had written eloquently of shapeless beings that rode in devices that defied description. Yet there on the lawn was the same curved, winged trapezoid he’d spotted in the Early Warning Center. The engines he’d taken as blowers were, in fact, something far different, with closed domes at their front and rear, and the wings were lined with shining black rectangles that gleamed in the early morning light. The four curved windows in what he took as the bow were polarized and thus impossible to see inside, and the writing on its hull was of course incomprehensible. Only the shape of what he took to be the doors at the fore section of its hull offered anything approaching familiarity. Everything else was alien.
A spaceship.
A spaceship from another world. There, sitting on the ground below him.
“They probably ruined the lawn.” The words were out of Avindair’s mouth before he realized he had spoken them.
The Kionel let out a single, humorless chortle. “I suspect they don’t care.” He turned to Avindair; his hands clasped behind his back. “Ideas?”
“We restrict access,” Avindair replied. “Keep as many people away from that ship as we can.”
“That,” said the Kionel, nodding his head towards the lawn below, “will be a challenge.”
Avindair turned and looked back down at the garden. A half dozen news trucks rushed along the roads that ran up to the palace. Avindair blew out an exasperated sigh.
“Hikasa,” Avindair said, struggling to maintain his calm. “I wish you hadn’t let the media in.”
“And what do you propose I should have done ?” The Kionel never raised his voice, but the rebuke still stung.
Avindair regained his composure and turned towards his master. “We ha
ve no idea what kind of diseases they might carry, Hikasa,” Avindair said, “or even what they look like.” He turned back to the strange vessel squatting on the lawn far below. “They might have tentacles. Do you really want to give some little girl watching at home nightmares ?”
“If they have tentacles that little girl won’t be alone,” the Kionel retorted. He nodded towards the garden. “Besides, I’ve already taken precautions.”
Avindair followed the Kionel’s gesture and spotted Jagrav leading a group of Elite Guard towards the spaceship. Each placed roadblocks a good distance away from the vessel, taking care to come no closer to the ship than the barrier itself. As they worked, news trucks spilled their staff out onto the lawn. Cords unspooled in record time, while generators were hauled out and started, belching puffs of dark smoke into the pure morning air.
Far below, Jagrav suddenly straightened. Then he reached down and grabbed his communicator.
“Lion, Leopard,” Avindair’s communicator hissed.
Avindair unhooked his communicator and keyed his microphone. “Leopard, Lion, go.”
Jagrav moved from one of the roadblocks to the next, his gaze never leaving the ship. “Lion, I think I see weapons on this thing,” Jagrav’s voice was tight and professional. The sound sent Avindair’s stomach plummeting to his feet.
Avindair turned to the Kionel, his eyes hard. The older man just stood there, his hands folded behind his back, listening.
“Leopard, Lion,” Avindair replied, “are you sure?”
Jagrav threw his arms out wide, exasperated. “How can I be—”
He never finished the sentence.
The ship’s door closest to Jagrav pushed outward, then split down the center. There was an issuance of escaping air—Avindair didn’t want to think what could have been carried in it—and then, with shocking swiftness, the door opened wide.
The news crews, Jagrav, and the rest of the Elite Guard scrambled back almost as one. Some tripped on the tangle of cords in the lawn and street, while a few of the news people ran as fast as their feet would carry them away from the scene. Then there was nothing. Just the ship and its opened doors squatting gracelessly on the Kionel’s lawn.