by Caleb Selby
Trab shook his head. “As I said, Fedrin, we have watched your people for many years. We know what you lack, but we also know what you have.”
“Which is?”
“In a word, obedience,” Trab answered.
Fedrin shook his head. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“You obeyed Yova, and didn’t eat the fruit of the Grimsin Tree,” stated Trab.
Fedrin suddenly remembered how Trab had spoken of an important tree several days previous. He had pondered what Trab had meant by the odd remark but had given up figuring it out on his own. Without commenting, Fedrin gazed at Trab waiting for the explanation he was sure was coming.
“When Yova creates a new world with sentient life forms, he always makes an initial test for them to prove their loyalty and devotion to himself,” Trab stated. “This test takes the form of a tree, called by some as a Grimsin Tree. The new sentient life is given free use of the entire world’s resources except the fruit of this single tree, which is set apart for Yova’s use. If someone, anyone, takes the forbidden fruit, fellowship with Yova is broken and the curse of sin and death is unleashed upon the world,” Trab paused. “The fellowship can be restored but it can be a difficult and painful process for all.”
“And you’re telling me that our ancestors never ate from this tree?” Fedrin asked skeptically. “Because when I look around, I don’t see anyone fellowshipping with Yova, at least not that I can see.”
“You are correct, Fedrin,” remarked Trab. “Your people have indeed strayed from Yova since the days of your ancestors. This is due in part to Unmentionable corruption in synergy with everyone’s own selfish tendencies to rely on themselves and not their Creator. However, prior to your ancestor’s gradual departure from Yova, they were remarkably resolute in their determination not to break fellowship with him. They treated the tree with a fearful respect and enjoyed many, many years of peace and communion with Yova, and with one another.”
“What happened?” Fedrin asked. “Did some idiot decide he was done obeying Yova?”
“We came,” answered Trab with a shake of his head.
Fedrin looked at Trab perplexed. “Come again?”
“We came,” Trab repeated.
“Which means?”
Trab paused momentarily. “Most races don’t last as long as yours did in resisting the temptation of the Grimsin Tree’s fruit,” he finally began. “The allure of something you cannot have being so close is hard to withstand for most people. As such, your race possessed something very special when we discovered you...an undefiled Grimsin Tree and a race of pure hearts...both invaluable weapons in our war against the Unmentionables! As such, when my ancestors discovered you, they felt compelled to ensure your race remained pure and that your tree remained untouched...at least that is what they thought they had to do.”
“What did you do to us?” asked Fedrin, for the first time not implicitly trusting Trab or the Sions.
Trab lowered his hooded head in apparent shame. “We moved you away from temptation.”
Fedrin shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
Trab shook his head again. “Namuh Prime is not your home world Fedrin. Your people were not created there.”
The Admiral closed his eyes, trying to grasp what had been said.
“Your original home world you now call your moon,” Trab said. “Although, it wasn’t a moon originally. It was once a mighty, blue and green planet teeming with life and vegetation created by Yova just for you.”
Fedrin paused; picturing the volcanic, sulfur-filled wasteland the moon was now. “What happened to it?”
“Circumscribing your original planet were nine moons,” he began. “Fearing your race would not be able to withstand the temptation of the tree indefinitely, my ancestors propagated a deception to your people that your home planet was unstable. They offered to form a new planet by collapsing the orbits of your nine moons into one, forming a new, larger world and relegating your original planet into a moon itself. The planet formed by your nine moons was terraformed and is what you now call, Namuh Prime.”
“And our original world?” asked Fedrin once again.
“We harvested what resources from it that we could for use on your new world. After that, we scorched it.”
Hearing Trab speak of creating and destroying worlds as easily as Fedrin had gotten dressed that morning was dizzying. “Why did you do this?” Fedrin finally exclaimed. “What gave you the right?”
“To hide the location of the tree from the Unmentionables,” Trab answered passionately. “The fruit of Grimsin Tree is of unparalleled importance and power! When used as intended, with Yova’s blessing, a single drop of its nectar will give untold power, cunning and wisdom to do mighty deeds. But when used dishonorably, against Yova’s intent by those seeking dominion and quenching for their own lusts, it will provide nothing but an elusive satisfaction and utter damnation!”
“So to prevent the Unmentionables from taking our tree, you guys destroyed our planet?” Fedrin exclaimed. “Who’s the real villain here Trab? Who? I ask because it seems like you and the Unmentionables are both using us to your own ends! And while we may not be as knowledgeable about everything in the universe as you Sions are, that doesn’t give you the right to interfere with our people the way you have!”
“You are right, Fedrin,” Trab said humbly. “My ancestors injected themselves into your race’s development, thinking they were helping to carry out Yova’s will, when in reality they were derailing it.”
“How’s that?” asked Fedrin curtly.
Trab sighed and shook his head. “When my people removed your ancestors from the presence of the tree, your utopian society quickly collapsed. Without the constant reminder of seeing the tree and the reinforcement of Yova’s love and commitment represented by it, they became lost and confused, having lost sight of their purpose and their joy for living. They began to live for themselves, selfishly indulging in every lust and vain imagination that crept into their minds.” Trab again shook his head. “We quite inadvertently destroyed your once pure society Fedrin, and on behalf of my people, I am so terribly sorry.”
Fedrin shook his head. “So now we have Krohns and Unmentionables ripping our world apart looking for a tree that no longer exists! Do you realize what you’ve done to us Trab? You’ve doomed us all!”
“The tree still exists Fedrin,” Trab gently corrected.
Fedrin looked up. “I thought you said you destroyed everything on our old planet?”
“The garden that possesses the tree still stands where it was created on your true home world,” Trab said. “We preserved it there so that one day, when your time came, you could go to it and if Yova is willing, allow you to partake of it and assume the mantle of the Chosen Race.”
Fedrin glanced out the window and then back to Trab before letting off a sigh. “Your people aren’t gods; they shouldn’t have taken on the role of them, regardless of intentions. But I do see the merit in what the Sions tried to accomplish; I’m willing to give it a try, if, for no other reason, because of all the things you have done for us since.”
“That is all we ask,” Trab said passionately, and then disappeared from view.
Fedrin looked around the empty shuttle and then shook his head. “This job gets more complicated every day!”
The Sentinel handed President Defuria the cloth pouch unceremoniously and stood back in good military order. Defuria received the pouch pensively. He had already been presented with dozens of supposed finds, only to be disappointed with each one. His expectations were low as he slowly undid the ties and reached in; but the moment his fingers touched the rough leather binding, he knew this one was different. He withdrew the small book from the pouch and slowly held it up to look at the cover. The light of the full moon poured over the open-air courtyard and illuminated the volume. A white tree graced
the cover, shinning brightly against the aged, black background. Defuria smiled, a hideous, menacing smile.
“Where did you find it?” Defuria asked as he caressed the book’s spine and ran his pale fingers over the embossed tree over and over again.
The Sentinel shook his head. “One of the Krohn recon teams found it in a shop in Kespa.”
“Kespa?” Defuria exclaimed and then shook his head. “Not what I was expecting.”
“The book was left behind by a group of refugees during a firefight,” the Sentinel droned on about how one of the refugees was possibly General Darion and the other an escaped prisoner Armid had in custody the night previous, but Defuria barely heard him. He was mesmerized by his new treasure...the object that had taken so many years to acquire.
His curiosity got the better of him; and rather than wait to view the contents in private, Defuria felt compelled to learn the book’s secrets without delay. He dropped the pouch to the ground indifferently and then carefully opened the book, his heinous smile growing by the minute.
The Sentinel, a low ranking Unmentionable, knew the book had a critical role to play with their mission on this horrid world, but was not privy to its true importance. As such, he couldn’t help but casually peak over Defuria’s shoulder as he turned the aged pages one by one. The Sentinel was struck by the lack of words on the ancient sheets. Only crude, but accurate, sketches made by a primitive utensil filled the volume. It was obviously done by a skilled hand. Markings to denote distance and spatial orientation were scattered about the page’s margins, while several computations at the bottom of each page seemed to indicate the approximate date.
Defuria stopped on one page and began to study it critically. The Sentinel leaned closer for a better look. In the center of the page was a star, undoubtedly Seer, as confirmed by several other constellations set into the page’s background. A glaring anomaly, and the all-important significance of the page, was the omission of Namuh Prime in orbit around the star. Instead of the sandy, arid planet called home to the Namuh people, a smaller green and blue world orbited the star. This unrecognized, yet inviting, planet was orbited by nine moons, small by themselves but having a mass greater than the planet when added up. Defuria immediately understood the implication of the sketch and couldn’t help but marvel at the ingenuity and cunning of the ancient Sions.
The Sentinel looked on in wonder for several silent minutes before finally venturing to speak. “What does it mean?” he asked.
Defuria looked at the Sentinel in surprise and then chuckled. “It is nothing that you need to concern yourself with. You are dismissed.”
The Sentinel was put out. The team assembled by Defuria so many years ago had spent nearly every waking moment in search of the Codex. Wars had been orchestrated, cities had been razed, people murdered and their identities stolen, even Unmentionable lives had been lost and for what? The book...the prize of their quest was now in the hands of their elusive leader without even as much as a thank you uttered from his lips. But Defuria was not to be trifled with. He had said to go and the Sentinel knew he must. Without a word of protest muttered, he nodded respectfully and turned to walk away. He had taken only two steps when Defuria called for him to stop. Turning, the Sentinel saluted, and then looked at Defuria half expecting the great leader to invite him into the inner sanctum for his notable work finding the elusive Codex.
“Does anyone else know about this?” Defuria asked, holding up the small book in his hand.
The Sentinel slowly shook his head. “I killed the Krohns that brought it to me as you instructed us to do. I’ve told no one else of the find.”
“Not Trivis? Not Armid? Not any of the others?”
“No one else!” the Sentinel affirmed. “I brought it straight here. I did not want to waste any time showing the find to the others.”
Defuria offered up a rare smile. The Sentinel smiled too, hoping that his reward for being the responsible agent for finding the Codex was coming.
“The Origin Codex was written by Sions,” Defuria said unsolicited as he looked down at the book. The Sentinel looked too, never having guessed the book’s authors. “It tells the location of the Namuh Grimsin Tree.”
“Why leave such direction?” the underling inquired.
“So that, when they were ready, the Namuh could commune with Yova himself and become the next Chosen Race,” answered Defuria. “We won’t let that happen though.”
The Sentinel shook his head. “When are we getting it?” he asked anxiously. “When will we get the Grimsin?”
“We won’t be,” Defuria answered flatly.
“But we…” the Sentinel began.
“It’s for me!” Defuria snapped and without warning, thrust his free hand clean through the unsuspecting Sentinel. His imposing appearance instantly fled away, replaced with the Unmentionable’s true withered, spidery form. Defuria reached further inside the hapless creature until he felt the being’s still beating heart. He leaned toward his underling until their foreheads touched. He then smiled sadistically before ripping out the organ with little effort. He pushed the mortally wounded creature away without regard. The stunned Unmentionable stumbled back, unable to even utter a guttural cry of dismay. He fell in a thrashing heap upon the marble walkway and closed his glowing eyes in bewildered death.
Defuria tossed the bloody heart atop his former ally and started in the opposite direction. After only taking a few strides he stopped, finding himself immersed in bright moonlight. He looked up and spotted the glowing orb high in the sky. He smiled as he continued to walk away. The Grimsin would soon be his.
Trivis cautiously emerged from the shadows near the impromptu betrayal and brutal execution. He knelt beside his slain comrade, lowering his head sorrowfully. Although he didn’t know him well, he was saddened by the senseless death and was furious beyond belief with Defuria for his egotistical treachery. He wrestled with what he should do. Defuria was mad with an insatiable lust for power and had to be stopped; but how?
CHAPTER 3
Macabre Revelation
The executive Iovara shuttle had faded yellow and blue stripes painted lengthwise down the side. A slender silver fin, fixed atop the fuselage at the stern bore the fleet insignia and shuttle identifiers. Although it didn’t look like much, the slender craft had tremendous agility and speed, which it proved as it closed the distance between the fleet and the colony in very little time.
Three mega separate domes comprised the livable atmosphere of the Voigt colony. Each had a radius massive enough to support a small city, dozens of crop wells and other critical infrastructure. Within each dome was an artificially sustained atmosphere that sheltered the inhabitants from the toxic gases covering the planet. It also allowed imported vegetation to grow and flourish, as well as sustain the colonists that worked the crop wells day and night for the survival of the colony.
The domes themselves were made out of a resilient, transparent metal alloy reinforced by internal field generators. Each of the mega domes were in relative proximity to each other, connected to one another by long enclosed transport tubes, similar to the transit system in Larep and other large cities on Namuh Prime.
Fedrin had flown over Voigt on several prior occasions but had never before set foot on the planet itself. The fate of his wife and the ramifications of finding the data device kept him focused and vigilant. This was not a sight seeing trip.
The shuttle made good time and before Fedrin knew it, they were approaching the colony’s primary mega dome, the location of the Planetary Magistrate and Regional Governor.
“This is Tarkin piloting Iovara Primary Shuttle requesting access to lock fourteen,” Tarkin signaled as the shuttle neared the primary transit airlock.
“Access granted,” an operator answered. “Welcome to the Voigt Colony Gateway. Enjoy your stay.”
“Confirmed access,” Tarkin answered as he guided
the shuttle into the lock. “We’re in. Thank you!”
After the lock’s massive pumps finished their arduous work of maintaining the separate atmospheres, the heavy doors leading into the colony’s air sluggishly opened and the shuttle began its journey into the colony.
The atmospheric traffic of Voigt was infamous throughout the Federation. The necessity of protective domes fostered condensed cities with very little flying space, which was viciously fought after. Supply runners, transport craft, drones, shuttles and even the occasional fighters all added to the congestion and could be trials for even the most experienced pilots; and if the traffic wasn’t bad enough, there was always the danger of smashing into any one of the dozens of tall buildings that seemed to pop up into the sky around each sharp turn.
It was thus with both great surprise and marked relief, that Tarkin found himself flying in empty Voigt skies upon their entry into the colony. There was not a single ship of any sort to be seen.
“Do you think they are all in hiding because of the battle?” Tarkin spoke over the intercom to Fedrin.
Fedrin glanced out the window at the bleak colony and deserted skies. “Not sure,” was his only reply; Fedrin’s thoughts were more engaged with Etana’s plight than the traffic of the colony.
Without incident, Tarkin guided the shuttle to the designated landing pad adjacent to a plain, windowless bunker that served as the main governmental building for the entire colony. Columns were painted on the building’s façade in an unsuccessful attempt to make the building appear stately. A monument erected in memory of the colony’s first settlers stood conspicuously in front of the building’s main entrance; It was in severe disrepair. A towering stone man looked up into the heavens pointing at some future destination; or rather he would have been, if his forearm hadn’t been missing. A stone woman stood beside him, her gaze fixed where his arm used to direct. Her nose and chin were smashed off as were parts of her chest and torso. Four little legs stood beside the adult sculptures, their bodies all but gone. The whole complex was a dismal, depressing scene.