Ghost of an Empire (Sentinel Series Book 3)

by Richard Flunker

  He glanced up at the truck and smiled. He grabbed the armless guard and threw him up in the passenger seat, then crawled into the driver’s seat himself. The large truck hummed to life with power. A quick check of the control panel revealed the access control for the doors. They swung open, and a burst of cold snow mixed air came swooshing in. He moved the truck out and sped off down the ramp that led up to the warehouse. He followed the map within his eyes towards the southern part of the compound. The soldiers on the inside were wary, he could tell. The Queen’s forces must be near then.

  He wasn’t stopped once, not until he reached the southern gate. He watched as the counter in his eyes continued to go down. As the guard came up to him and looked up, Fangix could see the confusion in his eyes.

  “Uhm, can I see some ID?” he asked.

  Fangix popped out his ID card, one of thousands he had. The guard looked it over. As the truck sat higher, he stepped up on the rail and heaved himself up to Fangix’s level. He glanced over at the passenger and then noticed he was missing an arm.

  “What the…” he started, but was stopped by an immense flash of light coming from behind him.

  The guard spun around, looking back towards the center of the city. The large government buildings, including the Provincal’s majestic palace tower, had vanished. In its place was a large ball of white fire. It was sucking the city piece by tiny piece into a maelstrom of fury. It spun around the fiery ball, and everything that touched it vanished in a flash. It continued to grow for a few moments, then vanished as suddenly as it had left. Nothing but a large crater was left in its place.

  The stunned guard turned around, but found an empty driver’s seat. He dropped down and looked around, but the driver of the truck was gone. From the top of the wall, Fangix looked down and laughed, then looked across the central part of the city in awe. There were plenty of gravity bombs in existence, most were useless or far too overwhelming to use on land. But his Queen was far from useless, he thought. The old Dominion was no match for her.

  The entire galaxy was no match for her.

  With a satisfied grin, Fangix held on the ledge and dropped himself off the other side of the wall, disappearing into the oncoming soldiers of the Seventh Legion. Even they never saw him.

  3127 – Secundaria, Twenty three miles west of the capitol city.

  In her mind, she was still Deespa, a barely four year old girl with a nine hundred or more year old soul. Biologically, her calculations had led her to believe she was about seventeen. She stood nearly seven feet tall now, her body streamlined and fit, thanks to the intense conditioning she put herself through almost daily. Her skin was pale white, with almost no hint of pink, as would be common in someone so white. Her hair had followed form, flowing long and white, almost silver, matching her unique eyes.

  For all these years since she had awoken in this form, she had struggled with her identity, a secret only known to four others. They were friends she had not seen in that entire time, after she took on the mantle of Queen of the rebellion. She missed them, but was sure she would never see them again. To everyone else, she was the reincarnation of Magyo, the wife of the first Dominar. Deespa had embraced that name, and the role she had unwittingly thrust herself into.

  The storm had blown over, leaving behind piles of snow that her men continued to work furiously to clear. The battle had gone nearly entirely as she had foreseen. Secundaria had fallen to her forces in one day. The old Dominion’s biggest fleet had been soundly defeated in orbit and had limped its way back to Coran. On the surface, the success was nearly complete. Her Seventh Legion had succeeded against two of the old Dominion’s greatest Legions despite heavy losses and the empire’s largest military fort and establishment was now hers.

  Before her stood the heads of Secundaria’s ruling families, as well as other dignitaries, generals and Admirals. The planet Provincal, the hand of the Dominar, had survived the destruction of the capitol, as she had surmised, and was now prostrate before her in submission. She half expected him to have fled the planet. Her fleet was nowhere near big enough to completely blockade an entire planet. Thankfully, the old Dominion’s fleet wasn’t that large anymore either.

  The First Legion had fled, which was, because of their legendary status, quite surprising. While the Second Legion had submitted to defeat,which they refused to call it surrender, the First had vanished with all of its transports. That could present a problem in the future, if only she knew where they had gone to. While the defeated fleet had gone to Coran, there were no traced flights from the First transports to the seat of the Dominion. They had disappeared someplace else.

  The Provincal’s was an old man, graceful in his age. He was, oddly enough, from the same line that Deespa’s gene bank came from. He could trace his ancestry to the legendary Captain Arguntai, of the Alsadah family. She noticed the current head of her genetic father’s family there, among the others. She could feel the seething hatred, that if it could, would melt the snow around them. From inside of her mech, she smiled, unnoticed by all. If only they knew.

  And if they did, it would change nothing. She was to be the last in the line of controlled life. There would be no more creation by the hand of man. Nature would take its course again. It had to, she believed, for she thought that was all that was wrong with the Dominion. The old empire, formed from people fleeing their home planet in search of freedom and the right to pursue their dreams away from the tyranny of corporations and the wealthy. It’s funny how history is cyclical, for they had become the tyrants in due time.

  The Provincal stepped forward one more time and was at the feet of Deespa’s mech. His beard was covered in frost and he had a small gash over his right eye. He had come to plead for mercy and the safety of his people. She had already decided to grant them that. She studied this specific man for many months, and he was one of the few good ones among a pack of bloodthirsty wolves. But to her men and women who followed her in this rebellion, and more importantly, to the billions left still within the walls of the old Dominion, she had to put on the face of conqueror. So she let him beg and plead to the faceless mech, designed by her to inspire as well as to instill fear and awe.

  He continued to beg and plead. He offered his own life in exchange for his people. Behind him, those same people he begged for stood by, sneering and ridiculing the Provincal with their eyes. She knew it. She could see it in their eyes with the certainty of billions of human personalities that she studied. And that was not all she studied. Her mind continued to expand under the weight of her ancient soul, and so she needed to fill it. Physics, chemistry, biology, philosophy, religion, economics and psychology were just the tip of the iceberg. She had memorized the schematics to her flagship, the Harmoa, and was supremely confident that she could rebuild it just from memory. She continued to recover the memory her soul had locked away in her biological brain, unlocking the power of the stars and uncovered something beyond gravity. She found there, among the struggle between the stars and planets, a web, deeper and stronger than the visible world. She had only begun to tap into its possibilities.

  And yet, she was still empty. Something was missing.

  Without turning her mech’s head, she looked around herself. Her Doomguard stood with her, three on each side and three behind. They were part of the most loyal of her followers, men and women of utmost bravery and honor. People who had seen her vision for what it really was, complete freedom. Men and women who had each been either a part of the corruption, or the result of it, and wanted it stricken from their people. Some of her Doomguard were a bit more than that as well.

  They worshipped her. To them, and to nearly all of those that followed, she was a goddess of war and peace. She was divinity personified, and she allowed them to believe that.

  She did because she still wasn’t sure what she was.

  The Provincal reached forward and touched her mech’s foot. He looked up at his conqueror, and Deespa looked deep into his eyes. He knew what he had to do
, but there was humility in them. The Doomguard reacted quickly and sprung to drag the man back, but Deespa stopped them with one motion of her hand. It was time to move on from the pageantry. Work needed to be done.

  The mech opened up without making a sound and she stepped out from inside and onto the steps in front of the old fort headquarters. She could hear the gasps and could feel their fear and trepidation as tremors in the wind. She felt the bracing cold begin to draw heat away from her body, and instantly, she reacted by creating more heat deep within her and channeling it through to the skin. She knelt down in front of the Provincal and met his gaze.

  She knew it was different to them. Her eyes were unlike anything anyone had ever seen, a translucent silver, whose pupils were barely visible. No one had found any like them, and only she really knew why they were that way, but preferred to keep it a secret. It augmented her fearsome visage; few could look her directly in the eyes.

  But he did. At first there was surprise, then a hint of fear. That all melted into curiosity though, and that is why she liked him.

  “Rise Provincal,” she ordered, her voice strong, yet feminine.

  He stood up, slowly and trembling a bit.

  “You wish for the safety of your people?” she asked.

  “I do, your graciousness,” he said, trying to strong, but with a tremble in his voice.

  Then there were the titles and names. To most, she was simply a Queen, but upon meeting her, everyone had their own honorific title. She didn’t care and didn’t correct anyone, and was mostly amused with how people tried to honor her. The fact was, she wasn’t a Queen, not yet. It wasn’t her plan to become Queen, or even rule in any sense the Dominion was familiar with. But that revolution would take years if not longer, after the battles were over, and so she would have to be some kind of leader.

  “Your people will be safe. No further bloodshed will occur, as long as you and this planet submit to me and our movement,” she thundered.

  The Provincal looked back behind at the heads of families. Deespa reached out by the hand and turned his gaze back to her.

  “I know their minds. They have already told you to submit. They have tasted defeat and now want to be on the victor’s side. Those that didn’t have already fled. So why do you hesitate?” she asked.

  He tried looking down, but she kept a firm grip on his chin, forcing him to look up.

  “I cannot. I know I am defeated, the planet is yours. Should you chose to raze it, you could, and I would be powerless. But I made an oath to the Dominar. I cannot break that oath.”

  Deespa snapped her hand back and her eyes narrowed. The Provincal cowered.

  “Please, you can take me. Take my life. Just spare the people of this world. They are, after all, just people who live ordinary lives.”

  Deespa raised her hand and a shimmer of refracted light formed in a sphere. She had to. The displays of power had to continue if she wanted to complete her goals. Her eyes looked down sadly at the man. He was a good man, one of an infinitesimal few in a sea of corruption. There were some of them left.

  She never intended to kill him, in fact, she never intended to even hurt him.

  “What is your name?” she asked, although she already knew the answer.

  The Provincal straightened himself back up. One’s name was always a matter of pride. “Bajho Alsadah, third of my name.”

  “Had you no oath taken before your Dominar, would you rule this planet in my name?” she asked, lowering her hand.

  “I cannot see how I can answer such a question, for I do have an oath,” he replied.

  “Then I shall have to relieve you of that oath,” she said. “You shall remain here on Secundaria. Your administration will continue for the benefit of the people. You will make no dealings with my defeated foe nor harbor any of his men. You do this and no harm will come to anyone.”

  She walked past him and faced the heads of the families.

  “Your time is over. For your family names to live on, you must relinquish the control of your bloodlines and let destiny rule them.”

  There was a moment of confusion until some of the heads started to understand. A tall man with thick black eyebrows to match his mustache stepped forward, moving rapidly toward Deespa. He stopped just short of her.

  “Surely you cannot break millennia of customs? We will swear fealty to you, why break our backs?” he asked. Two Doomguard lunged forward, but Deespa signaled them again.

  She knew who he was. His family funded the Second Legion and two separate fleets. His slave holdings were spread out over seven planets. His family geneticists used the slaves for experiments. He was a good one to be a sample of.

  She held out her right hand, palm open, at the mustached man. Her fingers spread out and a wave of refracted light flew out towards him. He was instantly paralyzed, frozen, and unable to move. As she moved her fingers, his limbs moved, awkwardly. The Queen walked slowly forward, watching as his face began to contort in pain. His mouth opened up wide, but no sound came out.

  “Break millennia of customs? Like you broke billions of lives and ravaged countless worlds? Those customs?” she said, walking slowly around him. Her white hair began to rise slowly, as if on an invisible wave of air. The snow on the ground began to float off the ground. In the crowd, people began to gasp. The Doomguard, aware of what was happening, stepped back.

  “What…are you…doing?” he was barely able ask.

  The man’s whole body shuddered once and he gasped audibly.

  “I have broken you. Every single bone in your body has shattered into thousands of pieces. Only my power keeps them together. For now. I have even touched your mind and blinded you to the pain. But only for a moment, for I need you of a clear mind.”

  As she held him in that position, she turned and spoke to the other heads.

  “No longer will the fate of so many be in the hands of just a few. You can become one of the many, or continue to be one of the few.”

  Suddenly, a shriek of pain erupted from the mustached man’s lips. A scream of agony so intense that even Deespa was caught off guard. She hated these moments, where she had to become a monster in order to prove her right as conqueror. The little girl inside of her cried and she held back tears to the point she turned away from all others. She walked back up to the screaming man, gasping for breaths in between the waves of agony and torture.

  Evil had to be repaid. She just hated having to be the one.

  “You are a witch,” he sputtered, barely keeping his eyes open. “The words they said. They…are true.”

  She stood just a few inches from his face.

  “What words?”

  In that moment, seconds away from his death, he saw into her eyes unlike any other. He saw the images of a life so vast and old that the mere possibility of its existence was a matter of folklore.

  “Ghost,” he uttered in horror.

  Deespa straightened herself up and let go. The uniform shape of the human body that was the mustached man slumped to the frozen ground in the shape of a large blob of flesh. Shouts of terror erupted from behind her. Some people cried. Yet others, further away, shouted her name and cheered.

  “Magyo! Magyo! Magyo!”

  Her Doomguard joined in the chants and soon all those who had followed her there that morning cried out in unison. She closed her eyes and let their words carry her. Further and further away, until they were so far even they couldn’t reach her. She felt the cold of the openness of space and when she opened her eyes, before her was a silver disk the size of a thousand suns, spinning slowly around a darkness even her eyes couldn’t penetrate.

  “A ghost,” she said quietly.

  3127 – Secundaria, Emma Temma space station

  “We, are going to be THE most famous people in the world,” Hosha cried out in excitement.

  The images of the Queen in front of the Provincal during the morning’s surrender ceremony and the subsequent execution were being replayed on screens on board their
ship. He kept rewinding them and watching again and again, already planning out how he would edit the scenes and just what he would say. It didn’t matter, for he had GNN’s first up close and personal video images of the Queen, and not just her, but of her in action.

  “Well, not THE most famous. I think she will be,” Jainka added in.

  Hosha rolled his eyes and nodded in agreement. The Queen was about to become a Solar celebrity. Jainka turned away as he reached the execution scene yet again. The stream was clear. She had used some kind of magic on him, that’s what everyone was screaming about. He knew better, there was some kind of technical explanation, but goodness did it every look fantastic on the newsnets. It was going to be everywhere, with his name on it. If he got it sent back to GNN first.

  “Where is Allo? He’s taking forever,” Hosha asked. “He’s got get that upgrade for the boost relay up and ready soon.”

  “The planet just got hit by a war Hosha,” Jainka said annoyingly, “he will find it.”

  “Fine. Yeah. He never lets us down. I’m gonna head back and get the stream ready then.”

  Jainka waived her hand and went back to her work on the ship’s console. Hosha retired back to his little work station in the back of the ship and continued his work on editing his own news stream. He went through all the video again and cut and edited continuously, putting pieces together to see how it looked and felt. Allo had gotten in quite close to the proceedings and was probably the closest cameraman at the scene among the many there. Allo was good at that. Never in the way, invisible, skills a talented cameraman used.

  After selecting all the scenes he wanted, he let the computer start building them together into one scene. While it compiled the video, Hosha went to work typing up the script for what he would present. He had written down all the audible audio from the stream and was reviewing it when he came to an odd phrase.