One of the latter, an old man who walked with the twisted stagger of some infirmity, approached her. He stopped and composed himself. Then he asked, “Are you the one called Indraat?”
She triggered her external speakers. “I am.”
“Your name is known among the colonists. It’s known as one to be feared, but it’s also one that’s spoken of with respect.”
“Go on.”
“It’s been said that you have, in the past, allowed at least the possibility of existence for the women and children of the colonies you’ve attacked.”
“Go on.” She could see that her emotionless responses increased the human’s fear. Were he not cattle, she might even care.
“I’ll offer you whatever you desire, including my own life, if you’ll only show mercy to these young ones and those guardians necessary to give them a chance at survival. Just a chance,” he finished with a sob and a crack in his voice. He looked away from her while he marshaled his emotions.
She waited.
Finally, he lifted his gaze again and stood tall, the tracks of his tears creating caverns in the dirt on his face.
“Acceptable,” she said and quick-drew her customized projectile sidearm. The pistol barked, the human’s head was exploded by the bullet’s impact and subsequent detonation, and the weapon was smoothly returned to its holster as the finish of one continuous circular motion.
Before his body had come to rest on the filthy crust of the planet, she was already searching for the commander of her ground forces. She heard, distantly, at the edge of her focus, her first officer corralling the humans and informing the rest of the Xroeshyn forces they were to be permitted to live.
To live for as long as they could manage on this desolate rock. She wasn’t sure it was truly mercy, but she’d given her word.
Indraat found her quarry in the main building of the colony, his helmet sitting on the desk before him as he rifled through papers. Beside him, a technician worked at the antiquated computer system. She removed her own helmet and set it aside.
“It’s the damned dust, Fleet-Captain. It has fouled the helmets’ optics enough to be a hindrance.” He gestured at the mess of hardcopy documents around him. “What kind of species still keeps physical records? On a colony?” He shook his head.
“Perhaps that’s why there are so few native trees and plants,” Indraat mused. “They turned them into paper.”
“Idiots,” he replied.
“What have you found?” She pulled her skull feathers free from the cord that bound them and gave them a shake. It was a breach of protocol that would no doubt scandalize the technician trying to ignore them.
“In these documents, nothing of value. Records of visits from ships of the fleet. Records of births and deaths. Records of how many bullets left in the armory.” He threw the papers away from him in disgust. “These fools needed to spend more time building up their defenses-or their existence-rather than counting and recounting and recording things. On gods-damned-paper.” He bit off the final words as if the act of speaking them would somehow murder the offenders.
“Different beings, different priorities,” Indraat said dismissively and turned to the other person in the room. “What have you discovered?”
“The communication we intercepted with the new security protocols allowed for easy entry into their systems, Fleet-Captain. They, too, are entirely unsophisticated and filled with unimportant information.” He looked up, saw her scowl, and cleared his throat. “However, we do have a message from the fleet that we have no record of previously intercepting. It sets this colony’s priority in the overall defense, tells them to do their best to hold on, and informs them the response force is on the way.”
Indraat went still for a moment, contemplating the word choice in the message. Either the humans were endeavoring to give their colonists false hope, or the fleet had chosen an unanticipated response.
Before she could speak again, the comm unit in her ear came alive with the voice of her second aboard the Ruby Rain. “Fleet-Captain, our drones near the system entry have picked up human vessels.”
She retrieved her helmet and locked it into place, then replied, “Show me.” A schematic of the system drew itself on her display, and then icons for enemy vessels popped into view. Eight ships, equal to her number on the planet.
However, four of hers were lightly armed troop transports.
She triggered the channel that would connect her to all the Xroeshyn forces on the planet. “We have enemies arriving in the system. Grab anything you think might be useful and return to your ships immediately. We lift off as soon as the cruisers have the minimal crew to do so. If you’re not on board, you’ll be saying on this rock until the war is over.”
The commander grabbed his helmet and ran out of the door, followed by the technician, in a series of resounding thuds from the boots of their armor.
Indraat shook her head. “Stupid colony, useless planet, damned humans.” Then she, too, bolted from the room toward her ship.
Seated in the captain’s chair with a bitter cup of tisane in a sealed container at her side to wash the taste of the planet out of her mouth, Indraat watched the atmosphere streak by. She’d waited an extra minute for the stragglers, and all her forces were aboard the ships headed for an altercation in space with their foes. As they broke out into vacuum, her troop transports set a course for the system exit point furthest away from the enemy vessels, and her four cruisers flew at top speed to maximum weapons’ range, then began a circling pattern that would keep them in contact with the human vessels as they retreated.
The electric tingle that heralded a battle in space crawled up from her lower spine, arriving in her skull as a sensation pleasurable enough to draw a relaxing exhalation from her lungs. She rolled her neck and waited.
“Shall I summon our reserve ships, Fleet-Captain?” asked her first.
“Negative,” she replied. “It looks like we can exit the system with minimal risk, and our work here is done. Let the reserve ships go where they can make a difference.”
“Could they not make a difference in eliminating these humans, Fleet-Captain?” Indraat’s eyes widened at the back of her first’s head.
“Certainly, they could, Creena, but then we’d be succumbing to the same trap we’ve drawn our enemy into. Delay doesn’t serve the Xroeshyn people, no matter how personally satisfying it would be.”
“Yes, Fleet-Captain.”
Indraat had previously put her first’s pointed comments down to the woman’s understandable frustration at not having a command of her own. Now, though, she wondered if she’d been too generous in her assessment. The woman warranted watching. She gazed sideways to where her religious officer sat, strapped in at one of the bridge stations. His eyes widened slightly and darted toward the First’s back, and she gave a slow blink of acknowledgment.
She turned to the main display and refocused. “Of course, there’s nothing that says we can’t draw some blood before we go.” She marked one of the human ships as a target. “When the transports leave the system, we’ll all attack the ship. Set it up,” she commanded.
Several minutes later, the Xroeshyn ships broke their pattern and formed a diamond shape, the rearmost of the four slightly higher than the ones ahead of it. They swooped in like a pack of hunting raptors and battered the human vessel with missiles and energy. The Ruby Rain, as the fourth ship in the line, claimed the kill with a final blast of its aft cannons. The Xroeshyn ships ran from the furious humans, always just a meter out of range, and caught the gravity wave moments before their foe’s weapons could catch them.
“I’ll be in my quarters. Second, you have the bridge.” She enjoyed the stiffening in her first’s shoulders as much as she enjoyed the pleased response from her subordinate. “Yes, Fleet-Captain. Thank you.”
Alone in her cabin, the door secured against all except Deacon Raanja, Indraat stripped and washed the insidious crud of the planet from her body. The shower scalde
d her skin as she accepted the pain to increase her focus. She finished, toweled off, and shook her feathers dry before binding those on her skull back into a regulation arrangement. She donned her dress uniform and stood before the video pickup built into the display.
“Begin recording.”
“Emperor Kraada Tak, this is Fleet-Captain Indraat Vray, reporting as ordered. Our assault on the human colony in sector Querren-Seven was a complete success. All humans on the planet were eradicated.” She carefully kept her expression neutral as she engaged in the small deception.
“We recovered data that spoke of a human response force and were forced to leave the planet when eight ships arrived. As you know, this is double the number we anticipated, which suggests they’ve chosen an unexpected response to our provocation. I’m sure this wasn’t an error in our planning, but rather another example of the random nature of our enemy.” She swallowed and pushed down the fear she might have just condemned a strategist on the home world to death with her report. “We’re proceeding to our next target.”
Indraat paused, looking down at her toes, then faced the camera again. “Uncle, I’m concerned that the response by the humans may necessitate a change in our approach. It’s possible they’ve found a way to counter our moves and potentially turn our traps back upon us. From my admittedly limited perspective on the front line, continuing with caution seems indicated.”
She stiffened her back and lifted her chin. “Fleet-Captain Indraat Vray, out.”
The recording designator light faded away, and Indraat fell back on her bed with a troubled sigh. The emperor’s desire for visual communication made reporting anything other than complete success a test of one’s ability to control expressions and body language. She was sure the worries she felt about the process of the war were normal for someone in her position.
She was sure of it.
Wasn’t she?
Chapter Fourteen
It felt strange to be back in his cathedral. Security concerns had forced him to move his residence to the palace, and the same security concerns prevented him from delivering his address each eighth day from any location less secure than the palace balcony.
Even that had been outfitted with an invisible shield that would protect him from a sniper’s bullet.
Kraada watched through the spy hole as one of his attendants warmed up his audience. The eight priests who served him were now constantly on call rather than spending only a single day of each week in service. It was appropriate to his new role as both hierarch and emperor.
His mind flashed back to the many times he stood before the spy hole, to the many times he’d held the gods’ inspiration on the tip of his tongue, struggling to contain himself until the moment arrived in the ceremony to share their words with his followers.
Those days were long past. Now his sermons were as strategic as they were inspired, and the gods left the content up to him. Unquestionably, this was a sign of their confidence in him, their appointed vessel in the mortal realm.
“Is everything ready?” he asked in a soft voice meant only for the ears of Chanii, who stood nearby.
“Yes, Emperor,” answered his seneschal.
“And Variin?”
“Ready also, your grace.”
“Very well,” he said, and stepped back from the viewport to take a position in front of the doors. His attendant finished the preparatory prayer, and two others slammed the portal open before him. He strode into the cathedral—his cathedral—under the watchful gaze of the eight, and the hard stares of his congregation.
“Brothers and sisters,” he began, striding to the center aisle. He paused a moment to spear his attendant, who was leaving the room far more slowly than necessary, with a sharp glance that increased his pace.
He turned and faced the crowd, raising his arms as if to embrace them. “It is right and good to spend the eighth day in worship of our gods. It is right and good that we should gather today in the cathedral. It is right and good that you have done so, to hear the words of the gods above and their chosen one below.”
Kraada sensed a ripple of discomfort spreading from his invocation, almost visible to the eye, and bared his teeth. He walked in silence down the center aisle, each step its own slow beginning and ending. The stares were heavy on his back as his congregation regarded his ceremonial vestments, a new design created just for this day. They were the black of the blackest diamond, and they absorbed the light like a black hole. The robes appeared to expel the trapped brilliance through the golden insignia woven into the front, the rear, and down each sleeve. The symbol of each god shone in the darkened cathedral, a display intended to capture the attention of his congregants.
A shiver of discomfort rose from the crowd again as they realized these weren’t the familiar icons they’d long known. Instead, these divine symbols hearkened back to a less civilized time of the Xroeshyn culture. A harsher, less forgiving time. A bloodier time, when the church claimed ascendancy through both words and force.
After what felt like an appropriate interval, he spoke again, “Today, I’d like to speak of faithfulness to the gods. It’s our one true purpose, to bring the gods’ desires to reality in the mortal realm. It’s not only the most important thing. It’s everything.”
Kraada spun on his heel, then began the return trek to the front of the cathedral, his stride filled with energy and confidence. His arms punctuated his sermon as he spoke.
“Faithfulness in words, of course, almost all of us offer. Faithfulness in the easy actions, such as joining together in celebration on the holy day, a fewer number offer. Faithfulness to the gods’ mandates as we go about our lives, fewer still. But true faithfulness, the obedience that manifests in every decision of every day, this is what the gods demand. And this is what so few of you offer to them.”
He reached the front of the room and walked up the small steps to the platform. He turned to face his audience again. “But let us speak of yet another kind of faithfulness. Faithfulness to your mortal leaders as chosen by the gods.” He saw the expected frowns at the shift in subject. “For the first time in generations, the Xroeshyn religious, military, and political leadership are invested in one individual.”
He glared at them. Unable to contain the passion, the anger, he yelled, “The leader chosen by the gods as their avatar in the mortal realm!”
Kraada pointed randomly at members of his audience. “Some are unfaithful in their minds. Doubting the gods’ judgment. Doubting the gods’ words as provided through their chosen one.” He dropped his arm and raised the other to point at the other side of the church. “Some are unfaithful in their words. Speaking ill of their leaders. Failing to show proper respect for the one the gods have set above them.” His voice dropped an octave, grew darker and raspier. “Some are unfaithful in small deeds, who deliberately disobey, who gather when told not to gather, who shout slogans that damage our peace and unity.”
He shoved his hands deeply into the pockets of his vestments, to hide the trembling of his righteous fury. The cathedral echoed with the sound of his last words as they bled off to silence. Each congregant was aware something was coming, and he hoped each feared it would be targeted at them.
“And then there are those, those who are unfaithful in large deeds, who threaten the very fabric of our society with their selfishness. Those who dare to disrespect the gods, disrespect the Dhadas Ve Xroe, disrespect the church, the military, and the political leadership invested in the mortal avatar of the gods.” He glared at his audience and dropped his voice to a whisper, “Unfaithfulness on any level cannot be tolerated. Witness the punishment for your transgressions.”
He turned his head to the side and called, “Bring in the traitor.”
The doors at the side of the room banged open and two of the cathedral guards dragged a struggling man between them. He was clad in the uniform of a sub-commander in the Planetary Defense Center. They threw him to the ground at the base of the stairs in front of Kraada.
“This man, this filth,” he hissed, “was overheard attempting to foment a coup.” The being before him struggled and tried to speak around the gag in his mouth. One of the guards kicked him to stillness.
Kraada paused, letting the display sink into his audience. “Lack of faith will not be tolerated. It will, instead, be rewarded as the church of old rewarded traitors and unbelievers.” He turned and walked up to the altar, covered as always in a deep and luxurious mantle. He grabbed an edge and ripped it away, revealing the stone underneath.
Revealing the stains from centuries of sacrifices. Revealing the channels that would carry the sacrifices’ blood to a blessed chalice that awaited it.
A newly placed light glowed, casting the altar in stark relief. The guards carried the writhing captive up to it and slammed him down atop the carved stone. His stunned form couldn’t resist as they bound his hands and feet with manacles and shackles at the corners.
Kraada turned to his congregation, pleasure surging through him at the looks of shock and fear on their faces. “You’ve forgotten the true meaning of what it means to be Xroeshyn. You’ve forgotten the true meaning of service to the gods. You’ve forgotten your place. I pray to the eight that this will remind you.”
Variin entered the cathedral through a hidden door near the altar, bringing a sense of danger with her that swept over the congregation. He turned to regard her entrance. Her ceremonial black vestments were a more sumptuous version of her normal robes and cowl. They were adorned with black on black images of the gods’ symbols. As she strode forward, she drew the long knife she wore in an ornamental scabbard at the small of her back and handed it to Kraada. He rotated back to his audience, the dagger balanced across his upturned palms, as if he was offering it to the congregants.
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