Starblade

by Rodney C. Johnson

  “Nothings changed, Erik. Not since before you joined the Techatron Union and allowed Omicron to remake you into this thing.” There had been a time when the Shotar and the Bishop were close friends. But this was before the war, before the Earth fell to pieces around them and needed to be re-forged. They were different men back then, filled with unique ideas about human potential. The steel of humanity still smoldered in the kiln, it waited to be placed on the anvil and hammered once more. Styx and Sharr were only in the second act of the play now, though they had inherited the Earth.

  A harsh laugh came from the cybernetic Bishop. “We both remade ourselves, my brother. Only my form is free from the sins of flesh. You crave it.”

  It grated on the Shotar as it always had the casual manner in which Styx used the term 'brother'. Styx presumed to behave in such a familiar manner since the very first time they had met. Sharr did not like such presumptions. Kvaltar, Shuriken, and Atar. Now they were his brothers of spirit. Not Styx.

  Sharr noticed Vron glare. Kvaltar had always thought Erik Ballinger to be somewhat schizoid, as, at any single one moment he could be a devout Christian or a studied Heathen. Certainly the enhancements helped further along that annoying personality trait. Not a good thing in a Bishop who commanded monks willing to die for his cause.

  Ballinger first came into contact with Sharr when they both were Germanic Heathens. Though neither stayed among the Troth. In the end they returned to their roots. For Erik Ballinger, that was the Church. Though he remained just a bit out of sync with his Christian doctrines to later join the Techatron Union. When The Singularity struck and the Techatron Union's AI, Omicron had taken over its members, each had minor neural implants, Erik had irrevocably been transformed into Styx. Sharr though blamed himself for the plague of the Budjah that had now been unleashed upon the world. None of it would have taken place without what Styx had learned during his time dwelling with Falcanians as a would be member. He did not only distort the Bible, but the Telchar Shanral as well. Its even where he took the name of his Order from.

  “Come to your point, Erik. I have other matters needing my attention,” Sharr demanded.

  “Giovanni wants to know about your fleet,” Styx said.

  “Fleet?”

  “You’re FS-9 Raptors, Sharr. Do not bother to deny it!” the monk accused. “Giovanni thinks you might become a threat to his power.”

  “What do you want?” Sharr asked the most dangerous question in the world. With Styx, there was always an offer to be made. A catch to leave him in peace. What would be Styx's price? Sharr Khan was more than aware of his own price. History had denied his enemies use of that though.

  “I want converts and to bring the faith to the unenlightened.”

  “You had my response at Aren-Zülar. There will be no Falcanian converts.” With that declaration, Sharr cut the connection.

  Any Falcanian could easily perch himself upon the wall and see the sacred Rishaak trees. A procession of Valküri entered the bulwark garden standing within the precinct of their Sisterhood's temple. Two wrought gates of twisted silver bisected its round slopped walls with an armed Valküri priestess on either side.

  Verdant pitches within the garden were topped by weeping trees, covered with long purple fronds, the bark of the knurled trees twisted in circles, as though to be some kind of intricate organic knotwork. Rather than brown and woody, the tree's bark had a subtle reflective platinum color, like burnished metal. Oblong crystalline yellow fruit hung from the branches. A priestess cared after each tree. Valküri Sisters poured water and various secret mixtures onto the deep roots of the hallowed ligneous plant in order to help the maturing fruit that served as the life-blood of the Falcanian being.

  Frederika broke away from Sitara once she noticed the silver gates and the walled garden. The princess had to conduct a personal puja before a large Persian cat face named Kieva which Frederika would later learn to be the tatter-eared cat general and companion of Arntiraas.

  Clearly the Valküri Sisters were not about to allow Frederika into the garden as they placed hands on Kraris blades at her arrival near the gate. But they did not prevent Frederika from peeking between the elaborately carved bars. She felt the eyes of the Valküri Sisters study her while she took in the devotion toward the Rishaak trees.

  What were the value of these plants? She did not expect a straight answer from her Princess guide.

  “They're beautiful, aren't they?”

  Frederika looked at the princess who had finished her puja. “Ja. They are most resplendent, very unusual. I have never seen such trees before.”

  “I am sure you have not,” Sitara said, barely hiding a half-grin.

  An awkward hush hung between the Princess and the dancer.

  “They are Rishaak trees,” Sitara at last said. “Their fruit is very sweet, and difficult to cultivate.”

  More difficult than one could imagine. Only the Valküri Sisterhood held the secret of the seeds of the Rishaak trees. Only the Valküri knew how to cultivate the plants and the fruit that was of such value to the Falcanian people.

  Sitara wished to distract the human girl and pulled Frederika with her back to the large black cat face of Kieva. Together the two women placed a garland before Arntiraas's feline companion.

  [New York: Evening, Palace Of The Imperator]

  “I can hear you. The rest of the world hears you. And the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon.” President George W. Bush declared from among the wreckage of the World Trade Center. Firemen and rescue workers stood all around him, the bullhorn clasped firmly in his hand. Julius Romulus Giovanni waited among the crowd and gazed up at the newly elected President. He was proud of the man, could feel the conviction in his words.

  A huge mushroom cloud filled his vision. Romulus rolled over in his bed. The later half of his adult life was haunted by the destruction of the most powerful nation in the world.

  “Sir, Major Giovanni! All communication with Washington have broken down.”

  “That’s not possible Lieutenant Brigs!”

  “I know, sir! But the line of succession is in doubt. There is no civilian government left.”

  Romulus sat up shaken from the dream and looked around his elaborately appointed rooms. His bones ached from his time wandering in the wastelands of his broken nation which left a legacy within his body. Inhaling particulate matter ripe with chemicals had left him with a strange bone and blood illness.

  He was dying. And he had a very short time left to complete his mission.

  Trophies of his conquests from across the planet filled his room. A mausoleum to the past. Body armor of troops from Canada and Mexico hung on the gray walls. A box of Castro's cigars were locked in a preservation chamber and sat not far from his bed. Antique guns, useless in battle now in this age of The Singularity and its advanced technologies rested in cases. His own M-16 mounted reverently on a wall beside the first official Centurion armor he had commissioned upon the founding of his city.

  His chief prize sat in a special case. The Seal of The Republic and a crown of laurels used at General Washington’s own inauguration had been taken from the ruins of the Smithsonian Institution, which he himself unearthed from beneath the wreckage of The Burn. Romulus greatly admired the father of his nation and saw himself very much like a Washington.

  The general's three terms had been a golden age. When Washington at last left the Palace Of The People, his successor, Ezekiel Shepherd, granted him the rank of a six-star general and title: “General of the Armies of the United States”.

  “So little time left,” he whispered.

  Giovanni pondered what he had built and doubted his righteous fury for a moment. He did not entertain the idea for long, that he might have been wrong in his actions. Such self-doubt was not worthy of the Imperium he fashioned.

  The bell chimed the late hour. He leaned back and looked up at the vaulted ceiling. Stars were painted upon its convex, seeing them above his
head reminded the Imperator of the DSV Excalibur, it gave the him a new hope.

  “Sir, the Secretary of Energy has arrived,” Jason Brigs informed his commander while he escorted the Secretary of Energy into the operations center. The other man gave the officer a harsh look.“I mean, this is his Excellency the President.”

  “Thank you, Brigs.” Major Giovanni glanced up from his place in his provisional headquarters at the small balding man who had dressed himself in the best suit that he could find under the tragic circumstances.

  “Major, as you know I am the last of the cabinet left.” Elliot Raiger informed his senior most military officer.

  Romulus did not like the man, a desk jockey and no better then any of the men who had gotten them into this conflagration with their cowardice. “It would seem that you are now our President.”

  Very soon, after Raiger had been placed in a stockade, and left there to rot while Major J.R. Giovanni began his first steps of the plan which came to him like a religious conversion, he marched out into the broken world with his soldiers behind him and brought enlightenment to the populace in the form of his disciplined Legion.

  [Vorkrür City, Mid Afternoon]

  “Falcanian shall not kill Falcanian. Thus it is written in the Kulsharr Kahran, our greatest law, our zealous affirmation that we do not prey upon our own kind. We’re a noble species, chosen of the Telchar.” The orator stood in the center of the amphitheater with arms outstretched, his voice boomed against the walls. “Loyalty binds us all, sworn to each other to protect our race. We are Falcanians, children of the Phoenix. So decreed our liege Lord Sharr himself in his preamble to our most holy compact.”

  At the orator’s assertion cheers from the crowd went up. Silver-winged and metallic haired, the orator walked the stage. All eyes were on the man enrobed in black vestments, festooned with red sashes and many chains of his office that glinted in the sunlight. These were the traditional accouterments of a Falcanian Darr-Varth.

  Frederika leaned over to Sitara as they listened to the powerful speech. “Who is the speaker?”

  “Jerath Tariksar, governor of Vorkrür City,” the princess whispered. “Famed for his oratory skills, he’s head of the ThunderHawk Jirga –“

  “ThunderHawk Jirga?”

  “Think of it like a House of Commons,” Sitara said. “Actually, this is a remnant of what my father originally set out as our government many years ago. Before the Dreikatha came to be. Here every Aerie-Watcher or citizen can give voice to his or her concerns.”

  Atar Kran strode into the assembly, a battalion of his Drakorian following close behind him. He stepped up the dais as Governor Tariksar continued his oration without a pause. The Drakorian acted as vice-chairmen of the Jirga, aside from his command of the Imperial Guard Atar specialized in Falcanian law.

  “Und ThunderHawk? What does that mean?”

  Sitara’s violet eyes twinkled. “It's our document of government. It lays out our ethics, culture and law. This assembly is a replication of the Naran’s first jirga held among the rocks. There they pledged allegiance to one another and to the cause of Falcania. Each new generation at their majority affirms the conventions of the ThunderHawk Compact here this day. As one people and one blood, they are united by our belief in the law of the compact.”

  “There’s almost a religious fervor in it,” the dancer murmured.

  “That’s not by chance Rika. My father intended it.”

  [Unknown Space: DSV Excalibur]

  Cole sat in his cabin and stared at the blue writing on his monitor. The crew had already been briefed about why they had come out here. For the most part, they reacted well when they learned that they had come out to deep space for a first contact mission. A few were doubtful about the whole business. Braden counted himself among those who thought this all a very bad idea. The goal of the mission was what bothered him most. Had the Imperator lost his mind? To bring aliens into the affairs of Earth reeked of madness.

  Braden did not want to be a part of this nor did his XO LaSalle who always had a sense of honor and this mission was not at all honorable. A power struggle brewed back home. Minor kings vied for control of Earth. The introduction of aliens into human affairs, or for that matter Transhuman doings, could prove lethal. Cole knew this, but duty trapped him. Soon the Iksar'rang would arrive and Trajan would open negotiations. Once the Centurion got involved, he would lose control of the outcome.

  Oddly enough, Cole dwelled on the encounter with the Falcanian FS-9 Raptor. Little was known about that group, hidden away on an island in the Indian Ocean. He had reports from the few who did meet with them and then there was the matter of the Kashmir Campaign that had reincorporated Pakistan into India. Apparently the Falcanian Khanate had something to do with that minor conflict.

  A call from the bridge interrupted Cole's thoughts and he left them behind in his cabin as he made his way to the command center. It seemed the Iksar'rang waited out there in the darkness.

  “Oh, man!” The sensor officer exclaimed as he looked at the ship on the viewer. A monster, almost organic, flat and worm-like, its outer shell studded by weaponry. Smaller, similar support vessels scurried about the Iksar'rang ship. “They do not appear to use a foldspace drive,” the sensor officer reported to Cole as he gloomily leaned back in his chair.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Some kind of wormhole technology.” The sensor officer cleared his throat. “Ah, pardon the pun, sir. The ship just appeared out of no place. Well, really not no place. Hyperspace maybe?”

  Commander LaSalle came up behind Braden. “That is a planet killer, Captain.” His voice shaky as he peered at the alien ship. “What do we do now?”

  “I don't know. This would be our first alien contact. I haven’t been given a procedure to follow.”

  “I'll handle it Braden.” Trajan came onto the bridge, clearly pleased. He handed a disk to the communications officer. “Transmit this on the assigned frequency and then wait for further instructions.”

  Cole did not like being undermined on his own bridge. But any protest was abated by the fact he was glad to be free of responsibility for what would come from that transmission. He sunk into his command chair and waited for history to unfold. He wanted to laugh at this insanity, but managed not to. There would be time enough for that soon.

  [July 3, 2001 New Haven Connecticut]

  Down the hallway of the large corporation they walked, the man and woman bickered with one another.

  “Nadia, this is a massively bad idea!” Sharr said, frustrated.

  He took hold of his girlfriend's lab coated arm and pulled her to a stop. Nadia removed her black wire-framed glasses in a huff and shot an intense glare at her boyfriend. She wore a much too short skirt for work. She figured that her genius permitted her to get away with flaunting her exotic looks. Ambika did not approve of the behavior and had hoped that Sharr could rein her daughter in. The young Shotar did not have much luck with changing his stubborn girlfriend's mind when she wanted to do something.

  Short and bleached, Sharr's hair shimmered when he wore it spiked. Like all his men he donned a duster cloak with angled shoulders. His silver Phoenix emblem hung around his neck. The Shotar had been dressed similarly when the Korelia's had asked to meet with him no more then a few months before.

  Things happened so fast. The next thing he knew he had begun to date their daughter. Though thinking about it he considered that it had been part of Ambika's intent to see her child involved with him.

  “Why?” Nadia asked suspiciously. “I thought you were over Aria?”

  Sharr didn't respond. He didn't need to. He was aware that Nadia could easily enough pick up on his emotions. One day her special talent would become an asset to him and his organization. At the moment, it was simply inconvenient for him that she had such access to his inner thoughts.

  “That’s just it, hon! You're not over her at all,” Nadia said as if she had pulled the words from her boyfriend's head. The thought
was clear enough. She didn't need to be a telepath to see how he continued to hunger for Aria. The Italian girl had worked her way into Sharr's soul.

  “I told you this already.” Sharr was now very angry. “And you have to go and make dinner plans with her.” For a brief moment his frustrations started to surface, rarely did he raise his voice at Nadia but this time she had touched a raw nerve. Her big brilliant blue almond eyes began to tear-up, yet she kept her own emotions in check as he stood there angry with her.

  “You’re friends aren't too happy with the idea either,” Nadia said.“Kvaltar for one.”

  “He and I work with her remember?”

  “Hon, my memory is in perfect working order,” she told him in her sweetest voice. She was well aware they stood in the middle of a hall in a public place.

  He clenched his jaw. Why did he go for the Princess types? And Nadia was a genius on top of it which made her more of a pain. She always found a way to get what she wanted.

  “Why do you worship her so?” Nadia asked, very aware of the answer.

  “For the same reason that I worship you.”

  “Really? I'm a prodigy and she's...” Nadia considered how to put it. “And she's far from one. You said that you would make me your queen. Am I just a stand in for Aria?”

  “You are my queen, my Maharani, and my T'Kara.” He watched her wince at her Falcanian name.

  “Perhaps I'll clone her for you?” Nadia cooed. “A toy for your nodor, a play thing for my Shotar’s pleasure.”

  Oberon grinned wolfishly as he watched the old security tape of the exchange between Dr. Korelia and her then boyfriend Roderik Visal. “Dankeschön, Doktor. Danke!”

  [Vorkrür Island, Evening]

  A fire blazed in a triangular altar. Chanted by the Tahru, reverberations of the prime syllable OM resounded off the slanted interior walls of the A-Frame temple. Sharr stood outside the vault with Zoar at his side.