Five Empires: An Epic Space Opera

by Steven J Shelley

  Fusar sat at an empty table alongside her companions. She still couldn’t quite get her head around Jaj culture. It was absolutely foreign to her, which was depressing.

  “And if these ‘leaders’ don’t like our story?” she asked with a trace of bitterness.

  “They’ll kill us,” Jake said crisply. “Obviously I’m hoping that doesn’t happen.”

  There was a hollowness to the duellist’s eyes. Fusar realized he was still coming to terms with his sister’s death. He was now the last of a prodigiously talented family. The man needed time alone with his thoughts, so Fusar kept her questions to herself.

  59

  Clearly, the Jaj had no intention of simply lending them the corvette in the hangar. A routine transport was more likely. When the next one was scheduled to depart was anyone’s guess. Even so, she believed the Jaj would stay true to their word. For them, a promise was as ironclad as the stars.

  Now that their long, violent ordeal was over, Fusar was overcome with fatigue and a profound sense of loss. She already missed Verity, but the lizards out in the brutal desert also dominated her thoughts.

  So much loss, so much destruction, and for what? So the Jaj could satiate their appetite for battle without going to war themselves? It seemed pathetic. Cowardly. It went against everything the Jaj were once famous for.

  Fusar needed space of her own, but there was little to be had in the stifling room. She found a spot in the corner and buried her head in her lap.

  “Could someone dim the lights?” she asked no one in particular.

  Her wish was granted. Jake had used his wristpad to access an override.

  “The Jaj are a strong race,” he announced. “But technologically innocent.”

  Fusar mustered a smile. It irked her that Jake seemed to know more about her people than she did.

  Perhaps sensing her frustration, he sat next to her. Her mood softened a little - after all, he was the one who’d lost family that day.

  “You wanna hear something funny?” he asked. “Yashom15, now High Commander in the Cavan Navy, has just motioned that the Nostroma be considered a subjugate species. No longer one of the Big Four.”

  Fusar blinked.

  “… they can do that?”

  Jake smiled. “They rule three quarters of the galaxy. They can do whatever the fuck they want.”

  His weathered face grew serious. “My kin were decimated in the battle over Tranda. Fuck, humans probably outnumber us now.”

  Fusar sighed. She was thoroughly familiar with certain branches of Nostromic culture. To lose such an ancient line was disturbing to say the least.

  “At least the Caravan of Light was preserved,” she offered.

  Jake snorted. “Stolen by the Milkmen,” he said. “We won’t be seeing it again.”

  There was nothing else to say. Except …

  “You guys are fucking freaks,” Fusar said. “This is probably for the best.”

  It was the right thing to say. Jake laughed out loud and gave her a playful squeeze.

  “Damn straight, sweetheart,” he beamed. “Damn fucking straight.”

  Now that Fusar had broken the ice around Jake’s mood, it was time to confront the elephant in the room.

  “Verity was brave,” she said. “Braver than anyone I’ve met.”

  “Aye,” Jake said softly. “She and Sweet Jean made a good tandem. Doubt there was better. Ajon Prime would’ve agreed.”

  “She loved you, Jake,” Fusar pressed, willing him to understand. “You were comrades again when she died.”

  Jake blinked rapidly. She felt an urge to wrap her arms around him but resisted.

  “Never liked regret,” he muttered. “A waste of time if ever there was one.”

  It was enough. Enough to suggest that he would process things in his own time. There was a truckload of regret in there somewhere, and it needed a voice. Now that they’d taken the first step, they could chip away at it. If Fusar was an expert on anything, it was regret.

  The next two days were inordinately tedious, but probably what they all needed. Mandie wasn’t exactly cold toward Fusar, but there was definitely a wall between them. Fusar was fairly sure it had something to do with Jake, who was oblivious to the tension.

  Strange food was provided at semi-regular intervals - a gray, pasty substance that smelled like meat but tasted like old cheese. There were also fist-sized fruits that landed bitterly on the tongue but became delightfully sweet.

  It felt like they were prisoners awaiting trial. They weren’t even afforded the luxury of a private latrine. A fresh bedpan provided every twelve hours, which made for some interesting logistical issues.

  When a gruff soldier finally ordered them to follow him, Fusar almost whooped with joy. She’d been confined for most of her life - any kind of incarceration was like poison.

  A large, rust-streaked transport squatted in the middle of the hangar.

  “One of the ugliest ships I’ve seen,” Jake marveled.

  “Get in the back,” grumbled the soldier, who went on to climb a ladder to the dust-smeared cockpit.

  “So that’s our pilot,” Jake said. “We’re in good hands, people.”

  Fusar didn’t care who was driving, just that they were driven. They clambered into the cavernous cargo hold where they were thankfully given one last chance to use the head. Once their bodily fluids had been drained, they were administered drift drugs by a grumpy medic with better things to do.

  The stacked crates in the hold were marked ‘Bullhead Exotica’. Wealth and treasure on its way to the motherland. A large portion was probably lifted from the corpses of slain lizards, humans and Irians.

  The Jaj medic strapped Fusar into a wall harness just as the edges of her vision were darkening. The prob bulb seemed incredibly loud as it was primed for release. Her last thought before going under was that Mandie had elected to lie between her and Jake …

  Ebessa had been the Jaj capital for over four thousand years. The planet didn’t enjoy a central location, or produce the most wealth, or even look the most beautiful. It had simply been chosen from the beginning. The Jaj were loathe to break with tradition at the best of times.

  The planet was pleasant enough, with vast swathes of vibrant prairie in the temperate latitudes and abundant rain forest along the equator. The largest city, which took the same name as the parent planet, was nestled in the cauldron-like Valley of the Fallen. Ebessa was famous for its heady mixture of old and new.

  The city center was known as the Zigurat, an ancient metropolis of white marble and lush vegetation. Here, the exquisitely crafted Palace of the Fallen was the jewel in the crown. The modern portion of Ebessa, or that which had risen around the hallowed Zigurat, was surprisingly cutting-edge. Burdened by a collective fear of height, the Jaj preferred to build horizontally. They had long mastered the art of the scissor hab block - apartments that folded in on each other to maximize space and opportunity. Ever the stylists with raw materials, typical Jaj dwellings were designed to blend with the surrounding environment.

  Most folding hab blocks were allocated to a single clan, which were usually comprised of blood relatives. Non-bloods were occasionally welcomed into the fold if there was a debt of honor in play.

  There were thousands of clans scattered across the Jaj core worlds, but only one of the fifteen Great Clans was able to rule at any given time. The Great Clans resided in the Zigurat, whilst the Ruling Clan enjoyed exclusive use of the Palace of the Fallen.

  The Ruling Clan dictated the domestic and foreign policies of the day, but could be challenged by one of the Great Clans at any time. Such challenges invariably involved a Trial of Champions, which, for the Jaj at least, represented the fairest and most poetic method of resolving political turbulence.

  The eternal power struggle in the Zigurat rarely altered the lives of the unwashed masses. Jaj society plodded on like it had for several millennia. The species tended to be scrupulous with its resources and temperate in its social dev
elopment.

  In short, the planet of Ebessa was the perfect microcosm of Jaj society as a whole - fiercely private, traditional, noble, contradictory. To the outsider, maddeningly opaque and confounding at every turn.

  A planet that looked serene from afar. Fusar, Jake and Mandie had been permitted to witness the transport’s gradual descent into military class orbit. Huge cargo liners could be seen in the distance, blinking steadily against the fathomless murk of space.

  Fusar still felt nauseous and groggy from drift travel. It had been eight hours since the AI pulled her from stasis, and she’d needed at least three of them to learn how to walk again. Despite their wealth of experience, Jake and Mandie hardly fared any better. All three were pale and bleary-eyed as they stood at the bridge rail and pondered what awaited them in the capitol.

  The transport was ushered into a clean military lane and cleared to break orbit. The sprawling space station that conducted the orchestra of transient vessels was locked in geostationary orbit and currently on the far side of the planet. Although the Jaj were wholly uninterested in intergalactic trade, domestic business was a bustling, competitive affair.

  Fusar lost herself in the haunting contrails of the various ships that crossed their path. The pilot waved them into their chairs as they approached the atmosphere. A halo of fire engulfed the tub and Fusar was forced to close her eyes against the flare. When she dared open them again they were safely under Ebessa’s atmospheric shell and cruising the upper mesosphere.

  Patchy cloud patrolled the lower skies as they charted a course straight for the capitol. The Carda Mountains resolved themselves far beneath them, a rugged carpet of imperious peaks and tors.

  “It’s beautiful,” Jake murmured. He’d spotted the Valley of the Fallen, a deep, circular depression in the western arm of the mountains. The modern rim of the city was barely visible, but the white marble of the Zigurat winked and glittered in the sunlight. Overflowing with verdant vegetation, the Ancient City was unexpectedly thrilling, even from this remote vantage point.

  “Where we headed?” Jake asked the pilot.

  “Palace,” was the economical answer.

  “You talk more than most Jaj,” the duellist said approvingly.

  The transport dipped through a layer of cumulus cloud and emerged less than a mile from the Palace of the Fallen. The classical dome was enormous, dwarfing most other buildings in the Zigurat.

  The transport approached gracefully, landing on one of the many platforms blended into the gardens that encircled the palace. Fusar, Jake and Mandie headed down the aft ramp, commenting on the ambient humidity. Jake and Mandie could actually feel moisture being drawn from their bodies. Fusar, of course, was well adapted to the conditions.

  The pilot didn’t kill the prob bulb, instead waiting for his passengers to clear the platform before continuing on. There was no one to guide or even greet the new arrivals. The travelers shrugged and headed towards the palace, attacking the first of many flights of elegant stairs.

  The impeccably-sculpted gardens teemed with life. A flock of spindly, green-feathered birds bathed themselves in a lily-covered pond. Seven-foot long alligators moved amongst the musky dando trees. Chattering, fleet-footed primates played amongst the vines draped throughout the canopy.

  The only other sound was the whisper of a mild northerly breeze. The palace loomed over them, intimidating in its serenity. They climbed the last set of weathered marble stairs and made their way through a set of enormous pillars. The chamber inside had the highest ceiling Fusar had ever seen.

  The floor was an ornate mosaic depicting paladins entering battle. Two enormous marble statues stood astride a heavy oak door. The left was a paladin in full battle regalia - etched helmet, pike strapped to the back, quantum blunderbuss held poised.

  The right statue depicted that rarest of figures in contemporary Jaj society - a woman. She was wearing a simple shift and cradling an infant. Battle and family - the twin obsessions of the Jaj Empire.

  Remarkably, the cavernous room was as empty as the garden.

  “Security is terrible,” Mandie said.

  “More like they don’t see us as a threat,” Jake said.

  There was no way they were going to move that oak door on their own. In the end they didn’t have to. As they approached it swung open to reveal a second chamber as big as the first. This one was known as the Receiving Hall, terminating in a raised area where a dozen regal-looking Jaj sat. The one in the middle was seated in a huge marble throne etched with ancient symbols. An enormous banner hung in the background - a gold flower on black.

  “The Frajaa emblem,” Jake whispered. “They’ve been the Ruling Clan for decades.”

  The seated Jaj, all from the Ruling Clan, were discussing domestic matters with a swarm of Jaj standing on the floor. These men wore the various colors of their own Great Clans. The subject at hand appeared to be causing much mirth among the delegates.

  In the rear of the hall, difficult to see in the weak light, a number of officials busily recorded transcripts of the meeting. It was the first concession to technology Fusar had seen thus far.

  One of the seated individuals noticed the newcomers and cleared his throat. The animated discussion ceased and everyone turned to face them. Unsurprisingly, Fusar generated the most interest. She felt like crawling under a rock.

  60

  “Well, they’ve arrived,” said the huge, black-scaled Jaj in the throne. “State your names for the Senate.”

  “Jake Le Sondre,” the duellist said immediately, looking to shave a little attention from Fusar. She appreciated the effort, however futile.

  “Mandie Flane.”

  “Fusar. I don’t know my last name.”

  A murmur rippled through the assembled senators.

  “I am Emperor Silvius, of the Frajaa Clan,” said the Emperor. “State your reason for being here.”

  Fusar glanced at Jake, who nodded.

  “My friends and I were imprisoned on Bullhead,” she began. “The lizards helped us. We acquired the means to capture one of your ships and defeat your monsters. We claimed victory. That is all.”

  Silence greeted the brutally functional story. Fusar figured it was the type of communication these men favored. She was rewarded with a hideous smile from the Emperor. Male Jaj grew to an intimidating size, their jaws lined with murderous-looking incisors.

  “That is a story worthy of the Fallen,” the Emperor growled. “We haven’t had a Bullhead champion for …”

  The Emperor half-turned, listening to one of his archivists at the rear of the hall.

  “… for one hundred and thirteen years. How about that!”

  The other senators huffed with laughter. There was something about this lot that Fusar didn’t like at all. An easy camaraderie, an acceptance of things. A political malaise that had infected Jaj policy for many years. Something told her she wasn’t there to bask in the glory of her triumph. Something else was going on.

  “Why am I here?” she asked, searching for the heart of the matter. The Emperor’s dark eyes glittered with approval. A male emerged from the shadows, dressed simply in the brown tunic of a Jaj medic.

  “You were scanned upon entering our system,” Frajaa said. “Our data suggested you are barren, although it was somewhat inconclusive. When you surrendered at Grode Airbase, we took the opportunity to bring you in.”

  “For what purpose?” Jake asked protectively. Fusar felt her blood run cold.

  “We still think you are barren,” the medic said, not bothering to look at Jake. “There’s no way you could be so active otherwise.”

  “Explain,” Fusar demanded, anger rising like a tide in her gut.

  “Ninety-eight percent of our women are barren,” the Emperor rejoined, in a tone also laden with anger. “Every woman who can carry a child through to term is so weak she can barely walk. Almost all die during labor.”

  Fusar blinked. There was a lot to process there.

  “It’s a bi
o agent,” the medic said. “We don’t know it’s origin but we suspect the Cava05 planted it several decades ago. It has crippled our generational succession. The agent actively attacks the women who are not immediately rendered barren by it.”

  Fusar found she was holding her breath. “Dual purpose,” she said. “The objective is genocide.”

  “Precisely,” cooed the Emperor. “Which is why a healthy female is a person of interest to us.”

  “A research asset,” Jake said. It wasn’t a question.

  “A security asset,” the Emperor corrected. “I must insist that you stay with us for twenty-four hours. Our methods are not invasive.”

  Fusar looked at Jake - he seemed deeply troubled by this development.

  “We accept your proposal,” he said as a steward entered the hall to take them away.

  The Emperor chuckled complacently.

  “He ‘accepts our proposal,’” he beamed.

  Hearty laughter followed Jake from the hall. He swore vehemently under his breath. Fusar had a feeling of grave disquiet. To reach the uppermost tier of Jaj power was no small feat, but their interest in her was borderline terrifying. They weren’t going to be handed answers on a platter, which was all the more frustrating.

  “Ever heard of drop shafts?” Jake asked bitterly as they trudged up several flights of stairs. Fusar could tell he was furious. For such a laconic character it seemed unnatural.

  Their room proved to be well appointed, offering a spectacular view of the Zigurat Gardens. The steward left without a word.

  “At least we’re together,” Mandie said, although the look she threw Fusar’s way was curious. Was the mercenary beginning to resent the escalating drama surrounding her?

  Her mind heaving with competing fears, Fusar sank into a plush, velvet chair and rested her head on her arms.

  “I wonder if we can move freely?” Mandie mused.

  “I doubt it,” Jake replied, pacing up and down. “They like to conceal their control, but it’s there all the same.”

  The duellist looked at Fusar urgently.

  “Fusar, we don’t have to cooperate here. Our agenda is war, not medical research. Especially if you’re the subject.”