Empire's End: Episode 12: Ritual Combat

by JP Raymond

  F ighting isn’t always brave. Sometimes, you don’t have a choice. Some asshole decides to attack you, and it’s fight or get your ass kicked.

  But a lot of fights are unnecessary. Somebody decides violence is a solution. That isn’t brave. That’s stupid. Too many people don’t know the difference.

  Bravery is doing the right thing when it’s hard. It’s fighting when you have to, when there just isn’t another choice, even though you know you’re going to get hurt.

  And it’s choosing not to fight when it isn’t necessary. A brave man walks away from a fight that does no good.

  The Empire is full of small-dicked assholes – people who start some shit just to prove how strong they are. That’s cowardly. That’s causing harm for no reason other than to show that you can.

  And it’s how the Empire ended.

  Episode 12:

  Ritual Combat

  B y the time Gwen made it to Grakur, shit had turned upside down. She came out of hyperspace to discover twelve Imperial capital ships, including an orbital command vessel, ringing the planet from a safe distance. Between them and the surface were approximately fifty Graur warships of varying size.

  “Holy shit,” she said.

  What the hell had happened here? Presumably, Horay Kel had arrived and demanded Galesh and her crew be turned over to him. But why weren’t the Graur cooperating? And what in God’s name had Kel done to provoke them?

  She scanned the ships in front of her as she approached the planet. Every one of them had shields and sinks up and weapons charged and aimed at someone on the opposite side. The situation was one bad decision from becoming a shooting war.

  “Holy shit,” she said again.

  Gwen tried to listen to the comms traffic to get a sense of what was happening. All of the Imperial transmissions were coded. If she’d still been in her Space Ranger scout, she might have been able to crack it. In the Graur ship, it was next to impossible. The Imperial Star Force wouldn’t allow any outsiders to listen in.

  The Graur talk was all in Graul. Gwen couldn’t make out more than a few words. She keyed her intercom.

  “EMA,” she said, addressing the medical robot she’d forced to become a traveling companion. “Can you program the ship’s comms system to translate incoming signals from Graul to Imperial?”

  “I can, but you’ll have to wait between ten and thirteen seconds,” the android responded.

  Gwen scowled. She really needed to reprogram the machine’s personality.

  “Do it,” she said.

  “One moment, please.”

  Gwen tapped her fingers impatiently on the arm of her chair. What the hell was going on here?

  “Comms system amended,” EMA said. “There may be a delay of several seconds as the translation occurs.”

  “Thanks,” Gwen said.

  She tapped commands into the board to listen to the Graur signals.

  “—are Ilendra-class battlecruisers. Beamers will be ineffective unless at extreme close range. Fighter crews should be on standby.”

  “Heavy cruisers in position to deflect any initial attack. Medium cruisers will move to flanking positions at the first sign of escalation.”

  “Third Advance Wing from Treska is available for recall. They can arrive in one-point-six-two days from receiving orders.”

  Gwen’s heart thudded in her chest. This was serious. The Graur saw the Imperial presence as an invasion. They were prepared to go to war over this. Or at least, they were mobilizing like they were.

  What had that dumbass Horay Kel done?

  “Repeat: Graur shuttle, identify yourself and give your destination.”

  Gwen suddenly realized one of the messages she’d been hearing was aimed at her. And it wasn’t coming from a Graur vessel.

  She checked her heading and saw she was on a direct course for one of the battlecruisers. Her mind kicked into overdrive. She didn’t want to talk to the Imperials. Hell, she didn’t want to talk to anyone. If Horay Kel knew she had survived his attack, he would stop at nothing to keep her from reaching the surface. And if she communicated with the Graur, they might not let her land, since she was a Space Ranger and ostensibly allied with the invaders.

  Tapping a few commands into her board, she altered the shuttle’s course, taking her below and away from the battlecruiser. She hoped that would cause them to lose interest, although she doubted it would work.

  Sure enough, she was hailed again.

  “Graur shuttle, this is Imperial battlecruiser Holy Sword. Identify yourself and your destination immediately, or we will be forced to treat you as hostile.”

  Gwen tried not to panic. She was small enough that the cruiser couldn’t pursue her. If they launched fighters or opened fire, it could trigger a response from the Graur ships blockading it. She told herself they didn’t dare to mess with her.

  But she also decided to buy a little time. She typed a message into her board and sent it to the battlecruiser: “En route to Catraal.”

  She continued to fly away from the battlecruiser angling towards the Graur capital. By now she should be visible to the medium cruisers holding the line. With any luck, they would protect her.

  “Graur shuttle, that is unacceptable,” the message came back. “Cut your engines and prepare to be boarded.”

  No sooner had she received the message than her scanner picked up two fighters and a shuttle launching from the Imperial warship.

  “Oh, fuck that,” Gwen said.

  She activated her deflector shields and armed the shuttle’s weapons. Then she opened the throttle.

  The two Imperial interceptors roared after her. What the hell was the matter with these guys? Did they not understand they could be starting a war? Or did they not care?

  “EMA,” she said. “Send a distress signal to the Graur fleet. Tell them we’re under attack. Do not tell them you have a human aboard. Let them think I’m Graur.”

  “You don’t look Graur,” EMA replied.

  “They can’t see me, God damn it!” Gwen shouted. “Just send the fucking message!”

  “As you wish, but fleeing Imperial pursuit is criminal behavior.”

  God damn that robot. Gwen wanted to blast it to pieces right then. But she had a bigger problem, and she had no more time to worry about the medical android’s sarcastic personality.

  The fighters were faster and more maneuverable than she was. But this wasn’t some slow freighter. She had a few advantages.

  An alarm went off, indicating her pursuers had locked their beamers on target. She waited half a second, then put the shuttle into a steep dive. Green plasma yawned through space, glancing off her deflector screens. The shuttle was armed with several beamers of its own, and a torpedo array. Jesus, the Graur made sure even a luxury vessel could fight mean.

  She triggered her aft-facing beamer, less as an attack and more to give the fighters something to deal with. If they had to waste time dodging her weapons, they wouldn’t be able to focus on disabling her.

  But right after she fired, she saw she wouldn’t need to do much more. Five Graur Swiftclaw fighters were racing to her aid. Damn, that was a fast response. The cruisers had clearly been waiting to scramble fighters.

  Gwen altered course so they’d be able to reach her sooner. She prayed the Imperials wouldn’t do anything stupid.

  Two of the Swiftclaws broke formation to intercept Gwen. The other three roared towards the Imperial ships.

  “Attention shuttle,” a new voice said over her speaker. “Alter course to vector seven-eight-five. We will cover for you.”

  “EMA, tell them thank you,” she said.

  Gwen made the adjustment to her heading.
The fighters fell in alongside her.

  “Attention Imperial vessels,” a different voice said. “Return to your mothership at once, or you will be destroyed.”

  Oh, shit. Would they back down? Had Gwen just started a war?

  “Don’t threaten us,” the Imperial patrol captain replied. “You’re overstepping your authority.”

  The Graur responded with a warning shot, forcing the Imperials to break off their pursuit.

  “This is your final notice,” the Graur captain said. “Return to your ship, or we will destroy you.”

  Gwen raced past the Graur cruiser. She was now firmly inside their line of defense. The Empire would have to attempt to break the blockade to stop her.

  The fighters wisely broke off and headed back to Holy Sword. Gwen sighed in relief.

  “Attention shuttle, what is your destination?” her escort asked.

  “Catraal,” Gwen answered. “I need to speak to the Tribal Council immediately.”

  There was a pause as the Graur force processed her reply. Gwen held her breath.

  “Shuttle, please identify yourself.”

  Gwen swallowed hard. She didn’t really want to tell these people anything. It would complicate matters and potentially prevent her from speaking to the Council. But if she didn’t play straight, things could get ugly.

  “This is Ranger Gwen Carter,” she said. “I have information critical to navigating this current mess with the Empire.”

  “If you’re a Space Ranger, why are you flying a Graur Slashpaw shuttle?” the patrol captain asked.

  “The commander of the fleet that is currently threatening Grakur tried to kill me,” Gwen said. “He destroyed my ship and left me for dead.

  “Listen, I don’t have all the answers, but I am certain a rogue Imperial captain is in charge of this operation and willing to escalate. I must speak with the Tribal Council immediately.”

  The escort didn’t answer right away. Gwen listened to the pounding of her heart. She’d put all her cards on the table here. If the Graur decided to be stubborn, she wasn’t sure she could manage another way out of this.

  “All right, Ranger Carter, follow us.”

  The three fighters that had driven off the Imperials joined them, and the five of them set a course for the planet’s surface. Gwen checked her heading. They were indeed en route to Catraal. For the moment, it seemed they believed her.

  Swallowing twice to steady her heart, she fell in with the escort fighters. She was terrified she was already too late.

  JaQuan sat quietly, trying to breathe deeply and keep himself calm. He took a long drink from the water canister, hoping to cool his body. He’d removed his jacket and t-shirt. Bare-chested, he felt a little better, but the anticipation of the forthcoming fight had his heart racing and his body temperature on the rise.

  He sat in the small antechamber, surrounded by his shipmates. Mrahr and Rorgun tried to talk to him, offering him pointers on how to combat the Council’s champion while Alan occasionally interjected opinions of his own. JaQuan could barely hear them. He was too nervous to listen. And besides, Kitekh had attacked him twice in the last few weeks. He knew very well what it was like to fight a Graur. He struggled to imagine a scenario wherein he could harm one, let alone win.

  Kitekh paced the room, looking grim. Guilt ran across her face and refused to leave. She would occasionally glance at JaQuan, look heartsick, and turn away. That did little for JaQuan’s confidence. Kitekh didn’t feel just bad that JaQuan had to step in for her; she was convinced she’d sentenced him to death.

  Three Graur priests, all wearing black, sleeveless robes, entered the chamber without speaking. They strode silently over to JaQuan, stopping just in front of him. The lead priest, an orange tabby with similar markings to Kitekh, stretched out her arms towards JaQuan. She held what looked like a Graur hand that had been severed about halfway up the forearm.

  “This is a kresch-kinza,” she said. “A Far-Biter. Only the most esteemed warriors are awarded one. Granting one to an outsider, particularly a human, is an honor far beyond what you have earned. While you are not expected to survive the Ritual Combat, you are expected to wield the kresch-kinza with nobility and courage, so as to not sully its tradition.”

  JaQuan gaped at the priest. She gazed down on him in disgust, as though just standing near him could infect her with some terrible disease.

  He wanted to insult her, to drive her own arrogance deep into her heart like a knife. But he was too nervous to come up with a good zinger, and he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d gotten under his skin.

  Reaching out casually, he locked eyes with the priest and took the Far-Biter from her as though she were offering him something of little import. She held his gaze for several seconds more.

  “Your captain has placed enormous faith in you, human,” she said. “Try to reward her by dying with dignity.”

  The three priests turned as one and strode out of the chamber as quickly as they had entered it, their robes flowing behind them and dragging the floor.

  “Let’s see it, JaQuan,” Alan said, crowding closer.

  JaQuan dropped his eyes to the strange thing in his hand. Despite appearing to be a severed limb, it was, in fact, a large glove, made to fit the right hand. The exterior was covered in golden fur, and the fingers were tipped with sharp, metal claws. When he turned it over, he discovered three jeweled disks set below the knuckles in a chevron pattern, the center one being closer to the fingers then others. The one on the left was green, the one in the middle orange, and rightmost was blue. All three looked like large, precious stones.

  “This is gonna help me fight a Graur?” he said.

  “It is no ordinary weapon,” Mrahr said, a note of reverence in his tone. “In addition to the claws in the fingertips, each of these stones performs a specific function.”

  “Put it on, JaQuan,” Kitekh said, coming over to him.

  He stared at her for a moment. There was admiration and worry in those green eyes of hers. Holding her gaze, he slipped his hand inside.

  The sensation was odd. Though the Far-Biter was furry on the outside, inside it was cool and a little slimy.

  “That’s disgusting,” he said.

  “Heh,” Mrahr said. “That’s just the beginning.”

  “What?” JaQuan said.

  “Hush, Aarghun,” Kitekh said. “Make a fist, JaQuan. As tightly as you can.”

  JaQuan’s eyes darted back and forth from Kitekh to Mrahr. Suspicion poured through his mind.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “The kresch-kinza must bond with you,” Kitekh said. “Its abilities are controlled by electrical impulses from your nerves. You have to trigger the bonding.”

  JaQuan stared at her for a moment. Then he turned his attention to the strange glove on his hand.

  “And you’re sure this is safe?” he said.

  “Much safer than the fight with the Council’s champion,” Mrahr said.

  “It will not harm you,” Kitekh said.

  “But you may experience discomfort while it bonds,” Rorgun said.

  “What sort of discomfort?” JaQuan said, his heart rate rising again.

  What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  “It is difficult to describe,” Rorgun said. “Those who have wielded a Far-Biter, do not relate exactly what they experienced.”

  “Oh, fuck this,” JaQuan said, panic sliding inexorably from the back of his mind to the front.

  “JaQuan,” Kitekh soothed, “it is the only way.”

  He grimaced at her. He supposed she was right. He’d already agreed to proxy for her. And he knew he couldn’t beat the Council’s champion without this thing. But the lizard part of his brain was screaming at him to run.

  “Okay,” he said, staring at his gloved hand. “Here goes.”

  He squeezed his fingers into a tight fist. Pain erupted in his forearm and hand. It felt as though the interior of the thing were lined with
hornets, and they’d all woken up angry. Hundreds of needles seemed to stab him at once.

  Then it got worse.

  Whatever was stinging him wasn’t content to just prick at his skin. It bored into the flesh, driving itself deep into his arm. JaQuan screamed, partly from fear, partly from revulsion, and mostly from the pain. His nerves rocketed fiery agony up his arm, into his neck and shoulder, and finally into his mind. He thought his arm was being shredded from the inside.

  “Jesus Christ, what the fuck is happening to him!” Alan shouted.

  But the searing sensation in JaQuan’s arm drowned out any answer Alan might have received. JaQuan dropped to his knees, uncertain he could stand this anguish one more second.

  And then suddenly, it was over.

  The fire dissipated. His brain started processing other sensations. He could feel sweat trickling down his spine. He was suddenly cold. Waves of numbing soreness rolled through his arm. He panted desperately, trying to get his breathing under control, his thoughts organized. It was difficult. The agony was all he could remember.

  “Good,” Kitekh said. “The process is complete.”

  “What the . . .” JaQuan heaved. “What the hell just happened?”

  “The kresch-kinza has successfully bonded itself to you,” she answered.

  “Bonded itself . . . to me?”

  “Yes. Microscopic cables have entered your arm and hand. They have grafted themselves onto your nerve endings.”

  He looked up at her horrified. She continued to stare gravely at him. Sympathy welled in her eyes.

  “Grafted?” he said. “What the fuck did you do to me, Kitekh?”

  “The Far-Biter relies on nerve impulses to trigger its functions,” Rorgun explained. “In time, you’ll be able to send electrochemical messages to it, so you can simply control it with your thoughts. For the time being, you must physically manipulate it.”

  JaQuan heard their words, but he couldn’t internalize them. It sounded to him like whatever had just happened was irreversible.

  “In time?” he said. “How much time?”

  “Most Graur can learn in a few months,” Mrahr said. “So far as I know, you’re the first human to receive one. Hard to say how long it will take.”