Starblade

by Rodney C. Johnson

  “T-minus four and counting until space-fold,” Guillaume LaSalle said as the audio switched to the inside of the cockpit. “Engines fully spun up.”

  “Thank you, Commander,” Captain Braden replied from his central command chair.

  Clicks and chirps sounded when each of the bridge's main stations checked-in.

  In front of the holoscreen, Frederika leaned close to examine DSV Excalibur. Not that her Morningstar-eyes weren’t enough to pick up every tiny nuance of the vessel from her chair. She waited for the ship to space-fold in profound interest.

  “Rika, do not stand so close to the holo!”

  Frederika narrowed her eyes. Only one person in all Saxe-Coburg would dare address her as if she were a child.

  Oberon Werner von Kreis entered the room, outfitted in the jet-black silver trimmed uniform of his fellow Blackeagle Knights, the personal army sworn to the service of the Gotha family. He held a spiked helmet under his right arm.

  At her guardian’s gruff voice Frederika smiled, and turned to look on the crusty elderly graying blond man. Her gaze softened at his scarred cheek, which Oberon had earned in the course of his dueling school years. “Önkel, guten morgan.” she greeted warmly.

  Very doubtful of course that Oberon genetically was related to her, but Frederika always addressed him as uncle since he had raised and trained her in all she knew. In his sixties, Oberon was a veteran of the final world conflict. He lost his eye during one of the many battles he’d engaged in and which had brought forth the sovereign Dukedom of Saxe-Coburg. From the Junker-class; the zu Kreis were members of the Uradel. Oberon could trace his ancestry back to the Migration Period. His Prussian family were infamous as mercenary cutthroats before they became landed nobility, such ruthlessness coursed still inside Oberon’s blood.

  “The British, und the Imperium make their first moves toward deep space.” Oberon nodded at the holoviewer. “This action is a threat to our sovereignty. Smaller nations will soon be put under their boot. We must nullify that advantage.”

  Frederika frowned. She didn't care to discuss geopolitical threats on her birthday, and she was also annoyed that Oberon had yet to acknowledge today she turned twenty.

  Oberon noticed the frown, and let a brutish grin appear under his long beard. “Und, happy birthday to you Lady Gotha.” He smiled proud and fatherly.

  “Danke!” Frederika blushed.

  “I do have a gift for you, though we shall have to wait until your return to give it to you.” Oberon explained. “The Nemesis is ready.” He had designed a very special ship for Frederika, a kind of space plane-fighter, a prototype intended to counter the Imperium’s expansion and reach across the globe.

  “Return?” Frederika wondered.

  Before Oberon could explain himself further, the holo news reminded them that the launch of the DSV Excalibur was only moments away. They both turned their attention toward the screen. Frederika and Oberon watched the Excalibur engage her fold-engine. A fold-sphere erupted from the induction ring, bent space-time around the newly launched Destroyer. Moments later the ship seemed to turn to a globe of light and vanish from sight.

  “If the Imperium und British become a space based power, our Reich will fall,” Oberon sighed. “Britain ran over France easily, und they would not hesitate to do the same with Saxe-Coburg. Even if you’re Odin’s cousin, he’d have little problem adding this state to his empire.”

  “Und here I thought England’s expansionist polices were Lord Blud’s work.” Frederika cocked a brow. “You’ve always told me Archibald Blud used my cousin for his pawn.”

  “After the decimation of the USA by the Eastern Alliance Prime Minster Blud capitalized on his citizen’s fear of reprisal, reignited Britain’s fever for empire. Odin is like you, a Morningstar, constructed to rule this planet.” That notion actually thrilled Colonel Kreis. Long had his family cherished the idea of Morningstar rule over the Earth as an ideal worthy of advancement. “He’ll act on the side of strength.”

  “I understand that perfectly, Önkel.” Not that she held much affection for her cousin, born of the same artificial womb as she, and made of similar material. “Not all us Morningstars are power mad. Regular humans have done more than their share of damage to the world.”

  “Jawohl, girl! Very perceptive.” Colonel Kreis grinned as he put a CD into the holoviewer's drive. “This incident occurred three weeks ago on Mars.”

  She dropped back into her chair and gasped. A black-winged figure dressed in red armor hung in the skies of Mars where it launched a volley of magnetically charged slugs from a sidearm toward a settlement bellow. Budjah monks ran in all directions, to flee for their lives while flame hailed down on them. The dragon-winged figure soared over the mission, circled like a bird-of-prey on the hunt, intent to rip rabbits from a field. The Falcanian's long armored tails shot bolts of plasma from between the bone claw. At one point an armored “Dragonmen” swooped and gashed at the vitals of a scarlet-robed monk with a tri-claw boot and tore off the monk's arm. The claw appeared to be most dexterous and maneuverable, resembling a velociraptor talons. Perhaps the boots were part of some kind of cybernetic armor?

  “What are they?” Frederika asked, still shocked her dream had manifested before her. Her emerald eyes did not veer from the hologram, and the graceful swoops of the many winged figures.

  “Falcanian,” Oberon said. “Products of genetic engineering.”

  “Are those wings real or some kind of jet pack?” Frederika leaned in for a better look. She noticed what appeared to be afterburners at mid-torso on the winged Dragonman's back. “They're hovering.”

  “We're not sure.” Colonel Kreis shared her awe. “Not much is known about Falcanian physiology. They keep to themselves und are very selective about whom they deal with. What we do know is they live on an island in the Indian Ocean called Vanguard. Our spy satellites are unable to cleanly penetrate the islands' sensor shields. All we get are distorted readings. No clear biosigns, und aside from the expected Abraxas-energy signature the island produces, there’s an unknown reading.” Oberon settled himself in a chair opposite Frederika. “We want to know everything they're hiding. The Colonel changed the image with a remote. “This is Hawk Drakonis.” The Prussian's single-eye gazed hard at the new image. A man of clear Anglo decent appeared on the holoviewer, arms folded across his chest in a domineering manner. Behind him loomed a feudal Japanese style structure as a backdrop to frame his striking bearing. Long umber hair draped over his shoulders. A red-brown goatee worn with no mustache framed his bird-of-prey face. His ears were pointed elf-like. The black high-collared uniform Hawk wore had three golden triangular buttons which fastened up the front and under his neck. An off-white wool embellishment trimmed the high collar. The uniform's angular plated shoulders gave a sense of armor to the heavy fabric. If this man had wings or a tail, they were concealed under a majestic black duster cloak. “Not much is known of Hawk before the war,” Oberon explained. “We estimate that he was born in the seventies, around about 1975 or six.”

  Frederika couldn't rend her eyes away from the viewer. This Hawk carried himself as if he were a king. “How old is that picture?”

  “Recent. Taken in Osaka, Japan a year ago. Hawk was visiting his friend Zataki Tokugawa, the Shogun.”

  Indeed the old Shogun stood beside Hawk, and leaned his small frail form on a cane.

  “He looks no more than thirty.” Indeed for a man who would be in his sixties himself Hawk appeared very well preserved. She glanced at Oberon doubtfully. “This Hawk couldn't have been born in the seventies. He'd be your age, Önkel.”

  Oberon gave her a curt nod as his eye rested upon his charge and changed the picture. Frederika's emerald eyes widened in wonderment. This time Hawk stood beside a much younger Tokugawa from just around the time that the Techno-Samurai had made himself Shogun. Drakonis was dressed in the same style uniform and appeared no different from the newer photo, aside from his shorter spiked frosted blond hair, clearly
not its natural color.

  “Some time before the war Hawk founded a religion called D’Har Tarik. It's a philosophy which believes in honing instinct, und takes genetics as a religious devotion,” Oberon told her. “The members of the Falcanian Khanate aimed to alter themselves as well as their offspring into beings of flight. To what extent these people did change their biology, or how radical they have is unknown. We though are certain that the Falcanians have been engaging in cutting edge genetics for many years now.”

  Frederika flinched in surprise. “Oh! Und I thought I was the zenith of genetic manipulation?”

  “You are,” Oberon affirmed. “However the Falcanians have made genetic engineering a spiritual imperative, und if our Intel is correct made a fabulous discovery.”

  Once more the image flipped: A gorgeous, dark-haired woman materialized on the screen. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, perhaps of a European and Persian mix were one to judge by her graceful almond shaped eyes. Those eyes were the first thing Frederika noticed, a resplendent blue which pulled her into their depths and intelligence. Kohl makeup accentuated the angled outline which made her cobalt gaze all the more mesmerizing. Curvy and voluptuous, the woman indeed enchanted those with her exotic looks. Brown hair fell in loose curls around her creamy cinnamon skin. Hoop shaped gold earrings adorned delicate ears. A purple diamond bindi marked her third eye.

  “This is Hawk's long time companion.” Oberon uncomfortably shifted in his seat. “Doktor Nadezhda, ‘Nadia’ Shriya Korelia.”

  The Morningstar girl found herself captivated by Nadia’s awe inspiring bright-blue eyes. She felt a chill run down her spine. Some place in the back of her mind, Frederika felt that Nadia seemed familiar to her. However, the blonde was sure she’d never met the woman before, yet something in Nadia's intense gaze touched a far off, latent memory. Had it simply been Oberon's apparent distrust of Nadia which caused Frederika to react so?

  “Born August 12, 1980, Nadia has largely been responsible for the Falcanian genetic design,” Oberon said in a low voice.

  “You seem to know a great deal about this woman,” Frederika said, hoping to get Oberon to offer her more so she could pin down the familiarity she felt toward Nadia.

  “She's a geneticist. There’s a paper trail to follow, und we as a nation have made it a point to know where those such as she, are.” Genetic engineers were now among any nation's arsenal of weapons to be used. “A child prodigy, Nadia graduated from Yale medical school at twenty, she then went on to do groundbreaking work before the war.” Oberon took a moment, considered if he actually wanted to tell the girl the rest. Eventually Frederika would learn the information on her own. “Nadia helped develop the genome for what would become the T-12 drug, the cure for cancer.”

  Frederika sat up straight. “GenKon INC., invented the T-12 drug.” She grew tired of these evasive answers and wanted Oberon to tell her more. Being born of an artificial womb caused her to yearn for a concrete sense of where she had come from. “This woman worked for your – “

  “Jahwol.”

  Lady Gotha gasped, suddenly what her tutor and guardian had told her about these Falcanians became personal. “Did GenKon fund the creation of these Falcanian?” The genetics company had its hands in a diverse number of programs, many of which were illegal, construction of a new species would not have been beyond them.

  Oberon shook his head, and resisted the urge to smile. “The Falcanians were an independent group.”

  “Und what fantastic discovery has this Nadia made now?”

  “A drug called Amrita,” Oberon said. “Supposedly it’s youth extending, und a PSI enhancement. The Counsel of Blackeagle Knights wishes for you to learn the secrets.”

  Frederika tensed in her chair. As always she found herself caught up in the secretive ambitions of her Blackeagle Knights, in theory she should be their mistress, but in practice Frederika knew herself to be the Blackeagle’s tool. There was no escape from that truth. But would this genetic espionage help her learn more about who she was?

  “This story of a genetically fashioned elixir of youth could very well be nothing more than a cover for a greater plan,” Oberon said irritably.

  Right now Frederika wasn’t so sure. Hawk clearly should be more than in his thirties, if he in fact had been born in the 1970’s. “So I'll take the Nemesis und covertly go to Vanguard Island –”

  “Not possible. Falcanians are very insular, und only deal with their allies in the Shogunate, or those on the subcontinent. Only selected outsiders are permitted to walk among them.” The Colonel cleared his throat. “A more direct route must be taken for you to accomplish this mission, one that calls upon your thespian talents.”

  Frederika smiled. To gain Intel from foreign governments she often posed in the role of the girlfriend of a high official, after all, she had been designed to be the ideal honeypot. The ingénue her preferred role, Frederika’s theatrical skills made this all come very natural to her. Once she had stolen a computer processor disguised as a Techatron, hard to take on that cold robotic persona, not an experience she’d care to go through ever again.

  The Colonel pulled out a handful of papers, and she took them from him. “What's this?”

  Oberon swallowed. He did not care to explain this part of the mission to his ward. Despite the fact he understood her more than able, Kreis couldn't help but see Frederika as fragile. “Every three months. The Shogun arranges for a group of selected young women – exotic dancers to be brought before Hawk… He has one weakness we are aware of.” Oberon paused, intently looked at his ward, and then said: “Women.”

  Frederika nodded slowly. “I see.”

  “You are to be one of those dancers.” Oberon gestured at the contract in her hands. “I suggest you thoroughly look that over. Basically, it says you will be paid for your services und what is expected from you during your stay on Vanguard Island.” His face became grim. “While there, you will be subject to Falcanian custom und law.”

  Frederika glanced over the contract and found much of it to be acceptable. She was trained in various arts of pleasure and ways to manipulate males, including exotic dancing. The contract never outright said, but it did hint sexual favors were encouraged.

  “By way of Japan, you shall be brought to Vanguard Island. Find the Amrita, or whatever it is that the Falcanians are building. Learn as much about their biology as possible.” The Falcanians he knew too well had done a great deal to conceal the true nature of their physiology from the outside world. And Colonel Kreis gleefully thought: At last, I shall take what is rightfully mine!

  Frustrated, she watched the DSV Excalibur become a ball of light and catapult across the stars on the large oval viewer. Sitara “Tara” Padma Drakonis frowned, while her tail twitched in controlled anger. As she stalked Vanguard Island's Command and Control center. Princess Sitara wore the female version of the Falcanian Armada's uniform, a tight black midriff baring creation composed of a zip-up vest with the traditional upswept shoulders and off-white fur collar. On the highcollar of her jacket a three-pointed golden star noted her rank as a Commander of the Armada. Black trousers hugged her curves and completed the uniform. On a thick belt, buckled with a burnished Phoenix emblem were her weapons: Kraris, vajra and coilgun. Each rested easily on the Commander’s hips.

  Sitara possessed her mother's exotic Persian features, which were touched by her father's razor-sharp bird-of-prey looks. Like Nadia, she had almond eyes, yet Sitara's were violet, the edges decorated with metallic eyeliner. Her pointed ears peeked out from under nut-brown hair, which she wore loosely down her back. The hairstyle added delicateness to an otherwise predatory and dangerous appearance.

  Sitara turned to her father who sat at the center of the command chamber. “That vessel’s not nearly as maneuverable as our FS-9 Raptors,” she proudly declared. “The Imperium may seek to claim the right to speak for all of Earth, yet we to shall also soon have an armada to be feared! And I am now ready to begin work on the FX-24 c
apital ships.”

  Sharr stroked his goatee. He glanced at his mate, who waited close by and then over at his daughter. “This threat from the Imperium will be combated,” he assured. “The FS-9 Raptors serve us well as shall those new space battleships you plan to build.” Sharr Khan spoke with fatherly pride. “Your designs are excellent, Tara. Production goes well.”

  “I’ve made refinements to the FS-Vor Kiral Kra.” Sitara said, urgency in her voice. “I should go to Nippon to oversee the upgrades.”

  “That won't be necessary.” Sharr was pleased by his child's display of dedication to her people. “Simply send the upgrades to Yamabushi by an armed courier; they’ll include them in the next line of ships."

  Again Sitara sighed. “Provided we can mine enough hrisanar to construct the foldspace generators –”

  “We hope to somehow exploit an organic solution to the hrisanar problem,” Nadia said, a hint of caution at the prospect in her voice. Nadia’s organic attempt to replicate the elusive mineral though well founded, as yet had eluded even her genius. Hints were there that tantalized her with a grander secret, but she hadn’t yet cracked that puzzle.

  “Indeed, my ladies!” Urksa Vorskrai bowed as he entered the Command Center concealed in his gray cloak. “An organic source of hrisanar would prove most welcome.” A touch of sarcasm under laid the Guilthari’s tone. “We know of only one such organic source – “

  “Urksa,” Nadia understood that the prospect of a biological means to gather hrisanar could greatly upset the Guilthari power base. “As you know, there are certain unknown factors in regard to that reservoir of hrisanar. Countless moral issues to consider…”

  “The moral arguments are indeed of profound interest,” Sharr agreed with his mate. “My love, I trust in your brilliance to solve the problem as to how we shall capitalize on that gift without crossing any ethical line.”