by Cameron, TR
Kate stood, walked to the door, and turned before departing. “Do you know what the rest of us do when the world knocks us down, Cross? We stand tall, or we stand bent over, or we crawl up to our hands and knees. Then we look at whatever knocked us down and say, ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ Then we get back to doing our jobs.” She waved a hand over the panel, and the door opened. “If you manage to get back up, you know where my quarters are. If you decide to keep lying to yourself, you’ll do it alone. Goodnight, Cross.”
Kate held back the tears until she made it to her own room. With the door locked behind her, she slid down the wall, sobbing. It was a long time before she dragged herself to her bed. Her dreams were filled with explosions and invisible traps that turned into black holes while she fell endlessly, unable to escape their pull.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kraada Tak again paced the aisle of his cathedral, gesturing broadly, delivering what had so far been a typical sermon. His congregation comprised the elites of all kinds, with everyone under the rank of emperor, who mattered seated somewhere in the congregation. The military stayed separate from the men of the cloth, and the bureaucrats and tradesmen gathered with their own. They needed something to unify them, to bring them all together in a common cause, to transcend the monotony that had been growing in the Xroeshyn for far too many years.
Far too many years without a challenge.
Far too many years without an enemy.
Far, far too many years without fulfilling the promise the gods had given them.
Today, that would all change.
Kraada stalked to the front of the room, ascended the altar, and picked up the Dhadas Ve Xroe in his hands. He waited, feeling its heft, the promises delivered, the promises still undelivered. He set it back down, reverently, but didn’t open it. Instead, he stood in the center of the cathedral, his arms raised to the gods along the cathedral ceiling, the Holy Father above him, Vasoi’s empty pedestal in front of him, and his patron goddess above and to the right, his mind filling in the image of her avatar and imagining the approval in her eyes.
He waited, one more beat, with the perfect timing of the accomplished showman.
“Brethren,” he shouted, startling everyone in the congregation. “Listen well, for these are the words of our gods. In the Dhadas, they promised our ancestors will one day be delivered from the in-between into paradise. Imagine,” he swept down from the altar and paced down the center aisle, spreading his arms wide to include them all. “Imagine, our ancestors, trapped forever in the nothingness of the in-between as they wait to be born again. We believe it is a place of neutrality, but do we really know? What if they are, in fact, in agony, awaiting the actions of their spoiled children to deliver them from this terrible fate? What if the waiting itself becomes agony, as year after year passes?”
“What have you done,” he asked, pointing at a senior military leader. “Or you?” He pointed this time at an upper level priest. Striding, almost running down the center aisle, he pointed simultaneously at senior members of the bureaucracy and the trade guild, “And what have you done?” He gave them a contemptuous look, one that he turned on the higher-class individuals in the front of the congregation as well. “I know the answer. You have done nothing. Nothing but wait. Wait for the moment that everything is crystal clear, that everything is perfect, that every possible objection is conquered, instead of acting. Acting to free your ancestors. Acting for the glory of the Xroeshyn.”
He marched again to the altar, where he stood dead center, in the shadow of the statue depicting the Holy Father, and let the room still—his hands clasped before him, his head down, his wings folded. He watched his congregation mastering their responses to his charges. Their faces radiated anger, some concern perhaps that their hierarch had lost his mind, and on some faces, contempt for the depths of his belief. So be it. Those who were contemptuous now would turncoat when the truth was revealed. Spineless worms.
“Brethren,” he said again, “the time has arrived. Our moment of action is now. The gods have delivered upon their promise. The foretold enemy, the one that will open the gates of Paradise to our ancestors trapped in the in-between, has arisen. The one that will lead to the full ascendancy of the Xroeshyn people. The one that will make us worthy of all the great gifts the gods provide.”
“As you have no doubt heard, only two eights ago, an alien species calling themselves ‘humans’ entered one of our holy places, and destroyed the relic contained there. The relic of Vasoi, mother of the gods, goddess of the in-between. She demands their destruction. The promise has been fulfilled, my brothers, my sisters. It is, finally, time.”
“Brethren,” he raised his arms once again to the icons of the gods above, closed his eyes, and spread his wings wide. “Today, I declare it. We shall war on behalf of our gods until either the human race or the Xroeshyn people are wiped from the universe. The promise of the gods will be fulfilled, and we will destroy this enemy that has dared desecrate our beliefs. That has dared damage the reliquary of our ancestors. That has dared affront the gods themselves.” He dropped his face to look at his congregation, arms and wings still spread wide, and said in a whisper that could nonetheless be heard throughout the hall, “Holy war, to victory or destruction.”
He dropped his arms into a prayerful position and folded his wings again behind him. Bowing his head to the gods above, he intoned, “So may it be.”
The congregation responded—some shocked, some overwhelmed, some transformed by the delivery of something they’d been waiting for their entire lives, “So may it be.”
* * *
An hour later, Kraada finished his post-sermon ablutions, reappearing in his outer office to find Drovaa Jat waiting for him.
“What the hell was that, Kraada?”
The priest showed the marshal his teeth in a small smile and sat down to the tisane pot that had been laid out. He poured two cups, pushing the large sleeve of his vestments out of the way, and slid one over to the other man before replying, “I merely exercised the prerogative of my office, Drovaa. I know that you do not believe, but it may be that it’s simply not given to you to believe. It is, however, given to me, by virtue of my meditations, by virtue of what the gods have shown me through them, and by virtue of my position. I know the humans are the promised enemy.”
Drovaa shook his head and took a sip of his tisane before replying, “And if you are wrong, Kraada? Now that you have announced it to everyone, are you willing to pay the price, if this turns out to be a lie?”
“I would call it a mistake, rather than a lie. But to answer your question, yes, I am prepared to pay the price if needed. Let me ask you. Are you ready to reap the rewards if it is not?”
Drovaa frowned. “What do you mean?”
“There are two ways to proceed, my old friend. The first is to continue to walk the line, to do as you are asked as military leader, but only that and no more. No one would fault you, if this was your choice. But imagine… Imagine yourself, embracing the charge of this holy endeavor, taking the fight to our enemies clothed in the righteousness of the gods. Can you see it?”
Drovaa didn’t reply, for a long time. Kraada understood he’d just presented the marshal with a possibility that hadn’t occurred to him because it was simply not how the man thought. He was a good soldier, and loyal, mostly anyway. Kraada, though, could see possibilities for them both when the holy war was over, and they were wrapped in victory.
When Drovaa replied, Kraada could see that his suggestion had taken root, “That would be a beautiful picture, wouldn’t it?”
“It would. And what’s more, the populace would love it.” Kraada smiled, and Drovaa joined him.
“Still, not giving me any warning wasn’t the best way to treat a friend, or whatever we are.”
“Friend is a good word. And you’re correct, I could’ve given you a preview of what was coming. But I thought it would be better for you, among your people, to be able to write off that crazy hi
erarch. Your honest response will give you credibility.”
Drovaa wasn’t fooled. “Right, Kraada. That’s what it was.”
Kraada laughed out loud and leaned over to slap the marshal hard on the arm. “Whatever it was, my friend, it’s over and done now. We must plot our path forward. If you want to hold it against me at a later date, I understand your desire to do so. Perhaps, wait until we have accomplished all we can with the situation before us, however.”
“Just so.” Drovaa finished his tisane and waggled the cup. “Anything stronger?”
“It’s barely past midday.”
“Your point?”
“None, I guess. After all, it’s a day of celebration. Great tidings are at hand.” One of the ever-listening attendants scurried into the room with a bottle of whiskey, depositing it and a pair of heavy, crystal glasses on the table beside Kraada. He poured and handed one to his guest.
“I noticed,” Drovaa observed with complete nonchalance, “that the emperor was not in attendance today.”
“You are correct. He was not.”
“Strange. You would expect he would want to be present for such a momentous declaration.”
“He no doubt would have, if he’d known about it. However, I didn’t share that information with him, either. I didn’t share that information with anybody.” Kraada leaned back and watched Drovaa through half-lidded eyes.
“How very… disrespectful of you, Hierarch.”
“That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.”
“And now you suggest that I, and by extension you, should cover ourselves in glory from our efforts against these humans. Again, strange.”
Kraada leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and holding his glass in front of him, staring into the brown liquid aglow from the light filtering through the room’s windows. “Not strange at all, my friend, unless you assume the things I do are for the emperor’s glory. Between you and me, the emperor has had plenty of glory already.”
“And you are tired of basking in the reflected glow from it, preferring instead a more direct illumination?”
“Perhaps. Are you saying that you feel differently?”
“I am not.”
“We are in accord then, my friend.”
“We are.”
“So, what will you do, Marshal?”
“I’m not sure, Kraada. You’ve given me a great deal to consider, and I need to spend a little time considering all the ramifications. This conversation shall remain between the two of us. And your attendant, of course. I’ve always been curious, how do you find the confidence to trust that these priests that serve you will not betray you?”
“Faith works wonders, my friend.” Drovaa shot him a look that conveyed his disbelief. “Also, any of them that attempted betrayal and failed would face me within the lines of eight, and not a one of them has a chance of surviving such an encounter. They are, naturally, training for the opportunity, so I make time to train as well. Their best bet is to wait until age or the emperor claims my life and focus on defeating the others for the prize of my mantle.”
Drovaa shook his head. “That would never work in the military. You would just wind up getting shot when you least expected it.”
Kraada steepled his long fingers and peered over them at Drovaa. “In that case, I’d make sure I had the only functioning sidearm in the building, or shoot first if somebody looked at me wrong.”
Drovaa laughed. “Good plan, my friend, good plan.”
Kraada waved at him. “I’m sure you have places to be, Marshal, and I have tasks to which I must set myself. Shall I expect word on the departure of our attack force soon?”
Drovaa stood and stretched, unfurling his wings and then settling them back into place. “Yes, you should. The gods will not be well served by delay. Nor will we, for that matter.”
The two men parted with smiles, gripping each other’s forearms in a gesture of solidarity. Kraada knew Drovaa was aware of the new truth that stretched between them, that they were now more than friends. They were competitors as well. And perhaps they had always been.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Beijing transitioned from tunnel space in the home sector of the Allied Asian Nations. Their exploration vector had taken them toward Teegarden’s Star, and they had used the Epsilon Eridani system as their jumping off point for further discovery. Starbase Prime described a lazy rotation around the fourth planet in the system. It was the successor to the original Starbase One, which failed due to microfractures created by the system’s strong radiation signature. Prime had much better shielding, and was also one of the new designs, vaguely resembling two children’s toy tops connected by a long tube.
Spokes radiated outward from that central cylinder, extending to create the wheel that was the docking circle. Ships attached to hardpoints on the ring, and their personnel and cargo traveled down the spokes into the starbase itself. The biggest vessels in the fleet could dock at the top and bottom of the facility, but those positions were currently empty.
Dima had no need to involve himself in the docking process, leaving such things to his executive officer and his talented crew. Instead, he was in his quarters wrapping up the ship’s log for this stage of its ongoing voyage, and drinking a cup of lapsang souchong. Once he got aboard the starbase, the tea selection would be terrible. He picked up his private stock from a colony at the forward edge of their exploration where a sect of monks had cultivated varieties of teas thought lost to time. His patrol patterns coincidentally visited that settlement several times each year.
Dima heard and felt the clanking of the grapnels securing the Beijing to the outer ring. He could almost smell the fresher air of the starbase seeping through his ship as the connection was established. He checked his communicator and noted that he had some time before his meeting with the committee. Gathering up his materials, he decided to take a long, frustration-reducing walk on the way to the meeting.
An hour and a quarter later, he sat at a giant round table with twenty-three other senior officers. Along a consistent arc at one side were those holding the highest ranks, those in command of the Navy, the Marines, the ground forces, the exploration corps, the political officers, and the military liaison with the government. Admiral of the Fleet Victor Volkov called the meeting to order and offered his brusque congratulations to Dima.
“The reports we’ve had from the engagement between the UAL and the aliens are entirely satisfactory, Captain First Rank Petryaev. The crew of the Beijing acquitted itself well in gathering information about the battle while avoiding notice. This will give us a significant strategic advantage in the future.”
The liaison smiled as if someone had given him a gift. “It’s true, Captain, that you have performed very well. The vice president in fact has asked me to congratulate you on your success, and to encourage you to continue bringing back information that we can use to decimate our enemies.”
Dima lifted both eyebrows as he caught the message behind their words. “You’re referring to the information we discovered about the aliens’ strengths and weaknesses, correct?” He knew what the answer would be, even as he feared hearing it.
“That, of course, Captain Petryaev,” replied Admiral Yi Zemin in her high-pitched, raspy voice. “But, more importantly, you’ve given us several keys to use in future battles against those bastards in the Union. The wounded ship strategy that the aliens used drew off one of their ships most effectively, and that is something we can put into practice today.”
Dima shook his head, masking his exasperation. “Ladies and gentlemen, while I desire victory over our historic enemy as much as anyone, the aliens pose a new and significant threat we cannot just ignore.”
“Of course not,” said the liaison through a mouthful of white teeth. “We wouldn’t think of ignoring them completely. In fact, we look forward to monitoring further victories as they continue their battle against the Union forces.”
Others around the table nodded
in agreement, and the Fleet Admiral spoke for them all. “After careful consideration, it is the belief of this body, and of our scientists, that the aliens will focus their attacks on the UAL. They have no argument with us. We aren’t the ones who launched torpedoes which destroyed their idol.” Volkov said with almost a sneer, “We will revel in their efforts, as our enemies and destroy one another, and at the proper moment we’ll sweep in and eliminate both of them.”
“With all due respect,” Dima began, shaking his head, “I don’t believe we can afford to think this way. I join you in hoping for such a result. But we cannot predict the aliens’ actions. It is possible they see all humans as one entity to be destroyed.” He held up his hands and looked from one to the other. “How would an alien know that this differs from that? Perhaps all the aliens see is a species not their own that must be eradicated.”
Volkov took immediate offense at Dima’s words. “Captain Petryaev, in one breath you have rejected the opinions of your superiors, placed your own ideas above them, and suggested that we are identical to the United Atlantic League. Is that your intent?”
Dima stared at him. The man’s skin had grown considerably thinner since he left the bridge of his own starship to command in the rear echelon. “Of course, Fleet Admiral, I do not suggest that my views are superior to those you have presented. I simply offer an alternative idea. One informed by my recent encounters with the Union forces and my observations of the alien ships.” Inside, he fumed. The committee was too quick to make decisions, and too prone to do so on the basis of gut instinct and mob mentality, rather than a practical and systematic review of the situation.