Sacred Planet: Book One of the Dominion Series

by Austin Rogers

  “You’re speaking without saying anything,” Abelard said. His annoyance showed.

  “Yeah, I don’t like being coy either,” Victor said. “I’m no good at it. But I can’t show all my cards. You understand.”

  “You were saying about an olive branch,” Abelard reminded him.

  “Right. That’s the important part. Doesn’t matter who we are. All that matters is what we’ve come to offer you.”

  “Which is?” Seraphina asked.

  Victor turned around in a circle, taking in his surroundings. Smoke still rose from the battle two days earlier. Dozens of wrecked vessels remained in the place of their demise. Corpses still floated face-down at the river’s edge. Immeasurable destruction hadn’t even been touched. Victor stretched out his arms.

  “You’ve won your freedom, but it was a pyrrhic victory. Radovan’s gone, but so is his army. So are his ships. So are most of his weapons. Now all you’ve got are those pathetic Roman candles.”

  The commoners weren’t amused.

  “And you don’t think the Sagittarians are just gonna leave you alone, do you? Hell no. Zantorian wants Lagoon. He’s had his eye on it for a long time. Yeah, that’s right. Foreigner knows a thing or two. Well, guess what? Now that Radovan’s out of the way, you just handed Lagoon to Zantorian on a silver platter.”

  Some of the commoners stirred, but Abelard didn’t object.

  “That’s where our ‘benefactors’ come in, I’m guessing?”

  Victor pointed at him with a smile. “Bingo.” He let out a loud, sharp whistle. “Maxwell, bring out the team.”

  Two columns of armed, metallic androids streamed from the back ramp of the spaceplane. They were identical, save for numerical markings on their necks and name badges attached to their chestplates. The leader had “XV1018” on his neck and “Maxwell” on his chest. The team, probably forty in all, marched through the Carinians, right up to Abelard.

  “Bots?” Seraphina asked.

  “Not robots,” Victor corrected. “Humans. We call them ‘transapiens.’ The brain of a human in the body of a machine. They have the intuition and problem-solving abilities of a soldier but the mind-blowing power and speed of a machine. Best damn warriors in the history of mankind. We brought five teams of them, two hundred guns in all.”

  “Why would—” Abelard started.

  “Nah, nah, I’m not done yet. Five transapien teams plus enough small arms to outfit your entire army. And these are modern weapons, my friend. State-of-the-art stuff. None of this scrap metal you’re carryin’ around.”

  “But why—”

  “Not finished yet. Five transapien teams, small arms for your troops, we also brought autodrones. Eighty of ‘em. Smart little buggers. You’ll never see a single case of friendly fire.”

  “Victor, will you please just tell me—”

  “And, last but not least, a Skyshield aerial defense array. Carinian designed, Carinian built. You better be grateful for those. They’re not cheap.”

  “Victor!” Abelard exclaimed. “Why are you—or whoever supports you—why are you doing this? You must want something in return.”

  The Carinian’s characteristic grin returned. “You’re right. We do want something. And it’s very simple. Seems like a bad deal for us, actually.”

  “What is it?” Abelard asked. “Spit it out.”

  “We want exactly what you want. For Upraad to remain free and independent.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “Zantorian or one of his vassals may promise you immunity if you pledge them your loyalty.” Victor stepped closer, stopping an arm’s length from the commoner leader. “The deal is this: We arm you, protect you, guarantee your neutrality, and in return, you fight any Sagittarians who come to Upraad, for any reason.”

  There was a long pause. Then Victor extended an open hand. “Do we have a deal?”

  The Scavenger

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Orion Arm, near the Pelican Nebula . . .

  Davin crossed his arms close to his chest as Strange pushed into the Fossa’s already cramped med bay. Jai pinned himself between the scanner tube and the wall, and Strange hovered over Sierra’s unconscious form, strapped against the exam bench with a steady-flow IV in her arm. Though Sierra’s body lay right in front of him, Davin felt like she was somewhere far, far away. Lightyears away.

  “Still out,” Strange said. “Wow.”

  “Stunner shot,” Jai said. He pressed his fingers together and jabbed himself in the chest. “Right to the heart.”

  “And she took it for me,” Davin said in the midst of an unbreakable stare. A strange inner quiet, an awkwardness in his own skin, had gripped him ever since Agora. Since Sierra had stood over him and taken that stunner shot like a voluntary human shield.

  Strange maneuvered herself above Sierra’s blank face. “So, is this like . . . a coma?”

  Jai nodded and rubbed his worn eyes. He hadn’t slept since they left Agora. Neither had Davin. “Stunner probably stop her heart. Not sure how long.”

  “However long it was,” Davin said, “it was enough to starve her brain. There’s some swelling. We really have nothing to help her.” He broke his gaze to look at Strange. “Where are we?”

  “Nowhere special,” Strange replied. “A couple more nexus points to Deneb. You can probably see it out the window.”

  Davin and Jai turned to look out the small window. At first glance, the most obvious objects were the familiar handful of rings scattered around the nexus point—spacegates, aimed out at other spacegates in nexus points thirty lightyears’ distant. Every nexus point looked the same from the window of a ship passing through the spherical space from one gate to another. The gates reflected a bluish white light, sometimes showing up only as crescents. Davin and Jai leaned to see the source of light, only to be blinded by a brilliant white star.

  “Damn,” Davin said. “Bright son of a gun.” For the first time in a while, he noticed Jai’s face—haggard and spiritless. “Jai, you look like shit. Go get some sleep.”

  Jai nodded without hesitation and navigated himself out of the med bay.

  Strange reached down to a magnetic board above Sierra’s head and plucked off a thin, glossy, wood-handled knife. “What’s this?”

  “Jai found it on her,” Davin said. “Don’t know where it came from. Never used it, though.”

  “Huh.” Strange lowered the knife back to the board and let magnetism grab hold of it.

  For a minute or two, both of them floated and said nothing.

  “We gave up a lot of money for this girl,” Strange said.

  “I gave up a lot of money,” Davin corrected. “You, Jai, and Bron had it stolen from you.”

  Strange shrugged, pretending it was less than it was. “It’s alright. I’ll sleep better this way. It’s Jabron you gotta worry about.”

  “He still pissed?”

  “Jabron’s got a sharebuck sign tattooed on his ass,” Strange said. “What do you think?”

  The mental image assaulted Davin’s brain. “When have you ever seen Bron’s ass?”

  Strange shook her head. “Long story. Point is, you should talk to him. He’s not gonna see things your way, but you should talk to him anyway. I don’t like it when he’s quiet.”

  “Yeah, me neither.”

  For a while longer, silence returned as Davin and Strange stared at their priceless, unconscious guest. Her gentle face could launch a thousand ships—or hold them at bay. It surprised Davin to realize which of those outcomes he now preferred.

  Strange broke out of the trance first. “Gonna go check the news, see if they’ve figured out who we are yet.”

  “Syd—” Davin rarely called her by that name, but when he did, he felt like a turtle with his soft underbelly exposed. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “Gotta do what you gotta do.”

  Davin felt his lips crack upward. “Yeah. Gotta do what you gotta do.”

  It was a meaningles
s saying, but somehow, in that moment, it meant a lot.

  The Champion

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Sagittarius Arm, on the planet Triumph . . .

  Kastor stood in the center of the Royal Court, alone.

  All felt cold in the vast chamber. The murky colors and static air, the gleaming mosaic floor, which once shimmered with Eagle blood. Pollaena’s blood. His hands felt weak, unable to form fists. His legs swayed.

  The Lord Generals lined the balcony, looking down on him with suspicious, black-lined eyes, each wearing a ceremonial uniform unique to his region. Somewhere in that mass of military minds lurked the Lord General of Eagle. From brief glances, Kastor hadn’t spotted the distinctive umber regalia with the white trim and epaulets. Officers blended together more than they did in Vradiman’s era or the early years of Zantorian. Every man wore the crest of Sagittarius in the Royal Court rather than the crest of his region. On Triumph, one’s homeland mattered less than the Regnum.

  No man in this great hall knew that more intimately than Kastor. His fingertips still felt slick and warm. Pollaena felt close.

  “I demand he speak of Guarin!” Lord Freyz of Swan shouted from across the cavernous space, on the steps of the dais where Zantorian sat on his throne. His voice echoed in the marble and diamond chamber. His finger was trained on Kastor. “My heir and finest warrior is sent on a special mission to look out for this brigand, this petty excuse for a champion, and he doesn’t return. He is pronounced dead.” The Swan Lord General, thin yet sturdy like a steel beam, spat vitriol at Kastor even while he addressed the Grand Lumis. “No proof. No body. Just your champion’s word that Guarin is dead. I demand an explanation. I demand it!”

  A reflexive response materialized in Kastor’s head, but he lacked the energy to utter it. His will to fight had been drained the moment he stepped into this chamber. Sapped further by the secret knowledge he held from Upraad, of Guarin and Guerlain, of Seraphina and Abelard, knowledge he would take with him to his death.

  If the court knew Kastor had been complicit in the Swans’ deaths, Zantorian would dismiss him to keep peace in the Regnum. Kastor’s role as champion was fragile enough already.

  Zantorian raised his hand to prevent Lord Freyz from launching into another tirade. “Kastor, what answer have you for the Lord General of Swan?”

  Kastor took in a breath. His shoulders felt heavy and cumbersome. “Guarin fought bravely and remained loyal to the Regnum, even unto death.”

  Lord Freyz waited for more, then heaved a dry laugh and spread his hands. “That’s it? That’s all the Eaglespawn has to say to the Lord who lost two of his finest? Not just two of his own finest, two of the galaxy’s finest warriors?” It wasn’t grief in the Swan Lord General’s voice, merely anger.

  “Speak, champion!” Zantorian exclaimed. “I command it.”

  Kastor clenched his jaw. “Sometimes the details of war are improper for a genteel court.”

  “You do not stand before a council of ladies-in-waiting,” Zantorian replied. “Speak freely.”

  “I have spoken as freely as decency will allow.” Kastor shifted on his feet, using as confident a tone as he could muster. His voice still rang soft and weak in his ears. “The broad strokes of the story, everyone here knows. It became clear Radovan would not pledge allegiance to the Grand Lumis under any circumstances, even after the commoner rebellion began. I, along with Guarin and Guerlain, offered a temporary alliance to Abelard and the commoners in order to depose Radovan. We were successful, but in the process, both Guarin and Guerlain were killed.”

  “How did they die?” Freyz demanded. “I do not believe for a second my warriors would perish while you live.”

  After a pause, Kastor looked at Zantorian. “My lord, with respect, I decline to speak further about the Swan warriors.”

  Freyz became incensed. “What? What gives you the right to withhold—”

  “Silence!” Zantorian commanded, eyeing Kastor closely. “My champion has spoken.”

  Kastor felt a burden lifted. It surprised him. The Grand Lumis was the last person he expected to come to his defense.

  Lord Freyz looked back and forth between Kastor and Zantorian, growing angrier each second. Finally, he screamed, ripped off his one-shoulder cape, and stalked across the length of the court, pausing by Kastor. “Your secrets will not remain so forever. I will find out.” With that, he continued on to the court doors, each footstep clacking and echoing through the hall.

  Zantorian nodded and the Guardians opened the way for Freyz’s exit.

  In the Swan Lord General’s absence, Aermo stepped to the middle of the court by the dais. “Hotheaded though he may be, the Swan’s concerns are legitimate. Let us not forget that our Lord’s champion partnered with commoner revolutionaries. He helped to install an anti-Sagittarian government in Lagoon. Its seat of power, Upraad, is controlled by commoner radicals. The Regnum has moved no closer to vassalizing the region. In what way is this an improvement on the previous situation?”

  The balcony stirred and muttered in agreement. Some clinked their hilts against their hips.

  “On the contrary, my lord,” Kastor announced above the noise. “Abelard, leader of the rebels, has promised to pledge allegiance to the Grand Lumis.”

  Laughter swept across the balcony, like pinpricks against the champion’s pride.

  “He gave it in exchange for my help in defeating Radovan,” Kastor continued defensively.

  Aermo’s laughter rose above the others. “My young friend, you’ve been bamboozled. You were sold a chimera. Why would Abelard hold to his word? He’s a jacobin. A commoner jacobin. He told you whatever was necessary to gain your support.”

  “Were it any other commoner, I would agree. But there was something unique about Abelard, a pragmatism, an opportunism. He wants power for himself as much as for his commoner brethren. Perhaps more.”

  “Are we to shape our strategy around the young champion’s testimony alone?” Aermo asked.

  “No,” Zantorian boomed. “Our strategy will be shaped around my testimony. My will.” Zantorian pushed himself to his feet and drifted his gaze across the chamber. “This court has taken each issue surrounding Lagoon in turn. We must address them as a whole.”

  He stretched out his hand and the floor beneath Kastor’s feet shifted into a presentation of the galaxy, trifurcated into colored boundaries. “Carina covets Lagoon. They have for a long time. That is clear to me now, where it wasn’t before. I assumed, like many of you, my best strategists, that Lagoon would be virtually worthless to all who looked upon it. There are other channels between the great powers, but Carina wants Lagoon—barren, irradiated, scarcely populated planets. Why?”

  Kastor stepped out of the way so as not to block any of the map. He examined the area around Lagoon, near the coreward edge of the Sagittarius Arm. For hundreds of lightyears into Sagittarius from Lagoon, there lay nothing but colony systems and minor vassal states—nothing of significant value to the Regnum, nothing it couldn’t afford to lose before the armada had arrived. A few shipyards here, a few precious metal operations there, a handful of planets with populations over a hundred thousand. Pebbles compared to the inner-arm systems.

  Kastor had never considered the idea that Carina would vie for Lagoon. Even now, it seemed absurd.

  “If you’ve learned nothing else from Sun Tzu,” Zantorian said, “surely you’ve learned one thing about the nature of warfare: It is based on deception. My friends, Carina wants to draw away our attention. They want to divide our forces. Lagoon is a ruse. It is sleight of hand, meant to distract us from their serious play.”

  “And what is their serious play?” bellowed a voice from above.

  “Invading Owl?” another voice suggested.

  “No,” Zantorian said. “Not Owl. That was the purpose of the colony wars in decades past. Carina cared nothing for gaining or losing colonies. They were feeling our border for weak spots.”

  “And they found none,”
Kastor added.

  “That’s right,” Zantorian said, gazing down on the map. “So Carina’s real play will center somewhere else. Somewhere they perceive as weak.”

  Aermo walked a few steps toward the throne dais. “My lord, if Carina does have designs on Lagoon, we must act now to crush the commoner rebellion. We will establish defenses and be ready to engage them. We’ll deal them a devastating blow when they enter our space. We can’t allow them to claim even a small victory over us.”

  “That is precisely the reaction they want,” Zantorian replied. “They will support the commoners, one way or another. The Carinian people will sympathize with them. They will intervene to offer refuge. The commoners will accept out of desperation. Carinian ships will enter our space. From there, a single misplaced shot will be enough to earn their justification for war.”

  “Carina won’t invade on their own?” Kastor asked.

  Zantorian smiled. “Not if we give them no reason to.”

  The Lord General of Swan

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Sagittarius Arm, on the planet Triumph . . .

  The automatic doors hardly slid open fast enough for Freyz. He stormed into the Swan embassy’s foyer, fuming, skin hot and pulse raging. The audacity of that fiend, of the Grand Lumis, of the entire court.

  Freyz’s courtesan crossed the vaulted hall, weaved through painted vases and long-stemmed plants. She paused beside the crystalline sculpture at the center of the room, placing a tender hand on its curved beak. A silken sash fluttered around her dainty hips.

  “Would you like some company?” she asked with a pristine smile.

  Freyz strode past her, straight into his private office.. “Not now.”

  At his desk, he pried the Sagittarius crest off his chest and tapped the smart panel. Its backlights awakened.

  “Record audio message for the Master of Arms.” Freyz brushed back platinum locks hanging over one eye. He had become frazzled in his hasty departure.

  “Recording audio message,” an automated female voice replied. The “recording” icon appeared on the desk screen.