The Exxar Chronicles: Book 01 - The Erayan

by Neal Jones

  Jolan shut off the imager and stood, pacing to the tall bookshelves that lined the far wall. He nervously sipped his wine, waiting for his companion to digest the information. Eril sat back, pondering this revelation, but he could see that his friend was more upset by it than he was.

  "Jolan, this is unexpected, but it's ultimately of little significance. We have just over a month before we launch our forces, and nothing can stop us. There's a high probability that there's nothing on the other side of this hypergate except an empty star system. Of all the gateways we've found, over half of them have led nowhere because of the amount of time they've had to drift from their home systems."

  "But what if that's not the case here?" Jolan downed the last of his wine and poured himself another glass. "What if this gateway is the one we've been searching for? The one that leads to the Erayan homeworld? A month is more than plenty of time for a Federation science team to awaken the survivors of the Erayan empire and our best-laid plans are suddenly worthless. Everything we have worked for in the last century is meaningless!" He took a long gulp of his wine and then sighed as he settled into his desk chair.

  Eril reclined, crossing his legs as he observed his fellow senator and conspirator. "As usual, Jolan, you are overreacting. I assume you haven't shown this to anyone else?"

  "No. But I will have to show this to the senate tomorrow, first thing."

  Eril sipped his wine and then frowned at the glass. "I'm sorry, Jolan. I think this wine has soured. I'm going to have to talk with Z'hos. He promised me this was a good vintage."

  "Eril! I am being serious!"

  The other man sighed as he set his glass on the end table and faced Jolan. "So am I. You're overreacting. We'll show this to the senate at the next session, and then we'll all vote whether or not to change the timetable of our invasion. I guarantee that most of them will vote to keep it as it is." He stood and walked to the bookshelves, perusing the titles as he continued. "You worry far too much, Jolan."

  "And you don't worry enough," the other snapped. "Quite honestly, I am amazed that no one has discovered our involvement in the Lord Emperor's illness."

  Eril casually turned to face his partner, his dark eyes sparking with anger. "You promised that you would trust me, Jolan. Are you questioning our initial arrangement?" His words were punctuated by the ominous tone of his voice.

  Jolan refused to be intimidated by Eril. "Of course not. And don't put on your act for me. That may work for others in the Senate, but you and I go back too far, and I know better."

  Eril smiled, but the expression was cold. "Yes, you do. You should know by now that you can trust me, and that I would never allow any of this to touch either of us. If, by some extreme miracle, Doctor Rimshar were to discover the true source of Emkai's illness, I have made sure that it will never be traced to either of us. There's nothing more to worry about." He walked back to the end table and scooped up his glass. "As for this new business about the Federation's discovery of a hypergate, it's all for naught. By the time they realize the magnitude of their find, our forces will have already crossed their borders. No matter what is beyond that gateway, it will be too late for them to save themselves." He downed the last of his drink in one swift gulp. "Now, would you care to play a game of Emperor's cards? It's been awhile for you and I."

  Jolan mustered a smile and nodded. "I'll meet you in the parlor. And you're right about this wine. I hope you didn't pay too much for it."

  "Of course not. But I'm still going to have a talk with Mister Z'hos." He grabbed the bottle and walked out of the study.

  Jolan's expression quickly sobered as he returned his attention to the holo-imager on his desk. He reached down and extracted the data disc from its slot, then slipped it into his breast pocket before following his fellow senator out of the office.

  ( 3 )

  Chris Navarr gave herself another dose of eldalin, and she grimaced as she checked the amount of medicine that was left in the vial. Two more doses, and only one full vial left in the medkit. She was grateful that the itching on her scalp that was caused by a combination of the plastic surgery, makeup and wig had finally ceased. Eldalin was necessary to counteract her immune system's response to the bioprobes that were currently swimming in her bloodstream. Their function was to fool any bioscan that might reveal her true genetic heritage, but an unfortunate side effect of the medication was that it made her nauseous. This particular effect hadn't presented itself until after two weeks of consistent dosage, after Sikandra and Navarr were settled on the Om'Nalu colony. Fortunately, Rosenberg had prepared for such an eventuality and packed some aspirin in the medkit to counteract the nausea.

  The personal quarters that Arrul had assigned the women weren't spacious by any standard, but they were more luxurious than Navarr had expected. She had just come off duty and, as usual, her first task was to take a shower. She and Sikandra weren't just maintaining and repairing raiders. They were also part time janitors - mopping up grease spills, cleaning out plasma ducts, washing up tool kits – just for starters. So far, they'd done everything but unclog toilets, and, for all that work, they had little to show for it. The pair of spies had no access to anything of real importance, and the other three dozen members of this cell had yet to volunteer any significant information. They had, however, welcomed the newcomers with more enthusiasm than Navarr had expected, and she was grateful for all the research that Sikandra had forced upon her during their trip from Exxar-One. Arrul ran his cell like a military ship, with his "crew" divided into three shifts. Alpha shift was day, beta shift swing, and delta shift night. Navarr and Sikandra were on alpha shift, and they played rounds of jomdrin with their fellow workers during their off hours. That was where she was headed now, where Sikandra had already gone.

  In the course of the game, as cards were dealt, cheap bets laid on the table - beside tumblers of equally cheap ale - the new recruits were casually grilled about their pasts and how they came to join the Haal'Chai. The women stuck to their carefully rehearsed stories, answering at least half the questions and smoothly deflecting the rest. The others expected this, and they didn't press for further information when there was a change of subject. Of the other ten people on her shift, there was only a couple for which Navarr felt an instant dislike. She had inherited her mother's natural ability to read people well, and she couldn't yet say why but she would only trust the Ineph brothers as long as they remained in her line of sight.

  The elevator stopped and Navarr stepped out on the fifth level. Two cargo rooms were empty, and the crew had turned them into a makeshift recreation deck. A couple card tables, some gym equipment and a sparring ring. Chris was waiting for the day when she would be challenged to step into the ring. She had only boxed a couple times at the academy, and Chrisarii boxing wasn't the same as the old Earth tradition, but, so far, none of her new "friends" had challenged her to a round inside the cheaply woven trio of ropes that surrounded the pale green mats. As she approached the door of cargo bay one, it opened long before she stepped into the sensor's range. Her crewmates poured into the corridor, bolting for the elevator doors, and Sikandra was at the back of the crowd. She paused beside Navarr.

  "Arrul has summoned all of us for a briefing. Rumor is that Vi'Sar landed in the colony sometime yesterday, and he's here to launch a new offensive."

  As she had done every morning upon waking up since arriving here, Navarr prayed that that was all it was. That she and Sikandra weren't about to face an abrupt end to their mission.

  ( 4 )

  The briefing room was the same one in which Navarr and Sikandra had first sat down with Arrul, the day after they both arrived at Om'Nalu. Alpha and delta shifts were present, and sure enough, Alikk Vi'Sar was standing at the head of the long table, Arrul beside him. The two men waited until everyone was seated, then Vi'Sar stepped forward.

  "I'm pleased to see how well Mister Arrul has been running his cell. All of you are true soldiers of the Chrisarii Empire, and part of my reason for coming
here today is institute military ranks throughout the Haal'Chai. I have granted Arrul the rank of captain, and all of you are lieutenants. Uniforms will be arriving shortly." He paused and began pacing around the perimeter of the room, his voice resonating with controlled fervor and passion as he continued. "Some of you have been wondering why we ceased our attacks on Exxar-One. You're also probably wondering why there have been fewer attacks against our corrupt government in the last few weeks. It's because I've pulled back our resources. I've been saving up for a new offensive, one that will allow us to strike against the Quorum while their attention is diverted elsewhere. That's all I can tell you at this time, but be prepared to strike as soon as the word is given to your captains." He had returned to his place at the head of the table, and there was dark fire in his eyes as he looked upon the soldiers of his army. He raised his voice and thundered his fist upon the table. "For the glory of the empire!"

  The soldiers thundered back. "For the glory of the empire!"

  Vi'Sar marched from the room and Arrul followed after. The others broke into an excited buzz of multiple conversations as they left the room in small groups. Navarr and Sikandra hung back, faking their enthusiasm, as they exchanged a glance. After three weeks of swabbing decks and scrubbing engine parts they had finally struck gold. But since there was no way to confirm the absence of covert surveillance devices throughout the base, the two spies couldn't conference in secret about this development. But Navarr vowed to find a way, and she could see from Sikandra's expression that the tactical officer understood as well. They would continue to observe and collect information, and they would find a way to get it to Navin, no matter what.

  ( 5 )

  He is standing on a plateau halfway up Azrenbur's Mountain. He's in his pajamas and bathrobe, and the night air swirls gently about him, the cool breeze caressing his cheek like the hand of a lover. Jolan folds his arms across his chest, shivering, as he struggles to comprehend the scene below him.

  The Plains of Mornmont stretch endlessly before him, and Gtheldron, the capital city of the Jha'Drok Emperium, sprawls across the expanse like a mechanical monster, a massive beast with a hundred thousand tiny lights for eyes. Nearly two million Jha'Drok call Gtheldron home, and there's no mistaking the Hexagon or the dome of the Hall of State, both of which rest at the city's heart.

  There's no clear beginning to the fire, yet it suddenly engulfs the magnificent city like a breath blown from the Gods, and Jolan gasps as he witnesses the horror of it, the swiftness with which the flames roar from one end of the city to another. Once the whole of the metropolis is burning, the fire rises to the sky, reaching with multiple, searing fingers to touch the starry heaven and nearly succeeds. Echoing amongst the crimson fury is the screams of the city's people, and Jolan cries out as he turns away from the carnage. But the sight of the man who is seated against the mountainside makes Jolan cry out again, more from surprise than fear this time.

  The man's face is half hidden by shadow, yet enough of it is visible that Jolan can tell who he is. "Eril?" he asks timidly. "Eril, what's happening?"

  "How should I know?" the senator replies, but that isn't Eril's voice. He speaks with a rasp, as if it's hard for him to breathe.

  Jolan doesn't want to but he begins walking towards his friend, as if his body is acting of its own will. As he gets closer, he can see why Eril sounds so strange. The part of his face that's hidden by shadow is charred, the flesh black, the blood crusted and clotted, and pus oozes from certain places, dripping onto Eril's suit coat. Jolan cries/gasps and stumbles backward, but Eril is rising. Now his whole face is burning, but there's no flame. The flesh melts and turns to ash, the blood flows, and Eril reaches out with a charred hand to seize Jolan's. Jolan screams in fear and fights against the hold, but his movements are sluggish, his body slow to respond, as if he's deep underwater and being crushed by the sheer weight of the liquid around him.

  Eril grasps his friend's other hand and pulls him to his feet. He leans forward to kiss Jolan, and his voice is cracked, raspy, and his words are slurred. "Trust in me, Jolan. I am – and always shall be – thy friend. Let us lift our eyes unto the glory which shall be poured upon us, and let us sing all praises unto the Gods Everlasting."

  Jolan can taste the rotting breath, can feel the heat of the smoldering flesh, and he closes his eyes, giving up all consciousness as he –

  - screamed into the darkness. He opened his eyes. Annaias was sitting up, reaching for the bedside lamp. Soft, amber light revealed the master bedroom and its lavish furnishings.

  There was no fire, no mountain, no Eril.

  Jolan coughed and wiped his brow, then clambered out of bed and reached for his robe.

  "Jolan, what's the matter?" Annaias looked scared, almost panicked.

  "I'm sorry I woke you. It was just a nightmare, that's all. Go back to sleep."

  "Are you sure you're all right? You're shaking! And you look awfully pale!"

  "I said I was fine!" Jolan grimaced at the ferocity of his tone and he took a calming breath. "Go back to sleep."

  His wife didn't look as if she believed him, but she leaned back into her pillows and watched Jolan leave the room.

  The senator walked quickly down the long hallway to the flight of stairs. He descended to the rear hall of the ground floor of the palatial estate that had once belonged to his grandfather. Elyn Nejra had used part of his reward from receiving the Lord's Honor to buy this mansion, and his son, Jolan's father, had spent most of his life renovating and restoring it. Jolan entered the kitchen and rummaged in one of the cabinets for the bottle of brandy that he knew was hidden in the back somewhere. Annaias used it on those nights when she had trouble falling asleep because her heart medication had the unfortunate side effect of causing insomnia on rare occasions.

  Jolan poured himself a tumbler of the copper liquid, then walked back into the rear hall and headed for the parlor. The round, antique table with its hand carved legs and glass top still held the deck of Emperor's cards, stacked neatly next to the tray which had been carved of lav bone. The bottle of wine that the two men had polished off was next to the empty pair of glasses. Eril and Jolan had played so many rounds that they'd lost track of the time. In just a couple hours, Aleist, Jolan and Annaias' maidservant, would be in to clean up the mess. Jolan walked to the windows and pressed a command into the com panel on the wall beside them. The heavy, floor length drapes slid smoothly back on their hidden track and a sky full of stars greeted the senator.

  His estate was on a hill at the base of Azrenbur's Mountain, and from here he could see most of Gtheldron. Her skyscrapers and domes gleamed in the moonlight, and the occasional streaks of light that were hovercars zoomed in and out amongst the high rise towers and over the smaller, squat buildings which clustered together in the space between the cylindrical behemoths. During the day, one could see Atjar's market from here, as well as the Kimch arena where the fourth game of the Risono tournament would be played tomorrow. Jolan had never bothered with major league sports, preferring a game of Emperor's cards instead, or the occasional match of King's War.

  He turned to the short, wide bookshelf that stood next to the window and reached for the King's board. The pieces were in two small, cloth pouches of opposite color beside it. He brought the game to the table and pushed aside the cards, tray and empty wine bottle. He sat in the chair that he had occupied four hours earlier, when he had beaten Eril at three rounds of cards. Jolan quickly set up his pieces, arranging them exactly so on each of their matching colored squares. He then sat back and pondered his first move.

  Jolan Nejra had never asked to be a player in the political arena. It had always been expected of him, because of the legacy of his grandfather. Elyn hadn't possessed a desire for the game either, but because of his discovery and the immense power that it brought to the Emperium as a whole, he was obligated to serve in the Senate during his twilight years. He was inducted into the Order of the Sholm'Ryy, and put in charge of an entire division o
f scientists and engineers whom he guided in building the foundation of the Project that his grandson, Jolan, was about to bring to fruition.

  Jolan moved his priest forward to red square three.

  For all of his success, however, Elyn had been uncomfortable beneath the mantle of a senator, but his son, Durak, had shown a strong aptitude for the political sciences, and he graduated with top honors from L'loun Omeress University. Unlike many of his fellow graduates who had to start as pages, Durak was immediately granted the title of Senator because of his responsibility to continue his father's project. He was the youngest man ever to be given such an honor, and he expected his son, Jolan, to follow in his footsteps.

  Red prince to white square five.

  Jolan, however, only graduated with medium honors, and he had trouble during the first few years of his apprenticeship on the Senate floor. His father was a stern and demanding master, often cruel in his criticisms when Jolan fell short of the mark. He was not as smart as his father, or as quick to catch on to certain principles or concepts that were necessary to overseeing the Project. But because he was Durak's only son, there was no one else to pass the legacy to.

  White soldier to white square four.

  Only in the last decade had Jolan finally mastered the intricate rules of playing politics, and, with Koden's help, he had been able to finalize the necessary details of the Project. There had been only minor setbacks, including that debacle last year in the Emr system that had drawn the attention of the Federation starbase in that sector. But by the time they responded, the Jha'Drok ore carriers and their crews were long gone. Those few metric tons had allowed for the creation of two more fleets.

  Red soldier to white square four. White soldier captured.

  There was something else that Jolan had kept from Eril, something that was far more important than the discovery of the hypergate in the Ontaar sector. Jolan hadn't received a scheduled update from Agent E'kust. It was only two days past the deadline, which, in itself, wasn't unusual. But if another day passed with no word from the spy, then there was cause to worry. Jolan didn't care what Eril said. The discovery of a Jha'Drok spy aboard Exxar-One had the potential to derail the Project, no matter how little the spy knew about said Project. His mere presence would be enough to turn the eyes of FCI to the Emperium, and the last thing the Jha'Drok needed now was more Federation spies running around their territories.