“Quite a collection,” Fusar murmured. As expected, no reply.
Fusar and her “hosts” traveled by shuttle to the forlorn planetoid they’d passed earlier. The craft docked at a primitive connecting tube that looked like it might break free at any moment. All except The Brawler left via adjoining passages.
The remaining pair walked in silence for several minutes. Fusar’s shoulder throbbed and would need serious medical attention at some point, but the Resolute’s stasis capsule had at least stabilized the wound.
The main passage girded the facility, offering prime views of deep space.
“Pandora orientation,” The Brawler said, triggering the sound of gears deep in the bowels of the building. The entire facility began sliding along a track that must have skirted the entire planetoid.
The Brawler stood silently as the building shuddered into place. The corridor was flooded with Pandora’s weak light. The pair continued along the passage until they arrived at a modest command center. Most of the dials and knobs had been removed, leaving only the most basic of functions. For the moment, The Brawler simply basked in Pandora’s glow, seemingly forgetting that Fusar ever existed.
“What is this place?” Fusar asked, fear creeping into her soul for the first time in days. The Brawler turned to face her, something like emotion flowering along the deep crevices of his face.
“We were human once,” he began in a flat voice. “Back when humans were great. We came here with great fanfare. Two hundred and seventy of the best planetary scientists and astro-physicists humanity had to offer. We longed to study a dying star. We got what we asked for. And then some.”
The Brawler seemed content to ponder Pandora’s blemished face before continuing.
“We did not have the tools to guard against Pandora’s radiation, despite our very best efforts to craft them. The star’s infernal nature was unknown to us. First, our children were affected. They grew pale, as you see me now, then died from organ failure. One by one.”
Silence. The Brawler stood impassively. Fusar was certain she wasn’t expected to say anything.
“That must have been horrible.”
“It was what it was. Over time, the radiation altered the adults, melding one organ into another, transforming the skin forever. Our base organic compounds mutated. We are barely alive, but do not require sustenance. We are constantly in pain, but enjoy physical capabilities beyond our wildest dreams. All triggered by a lonely sun’s radiation. As the decades rolled by, the emotional foibles that identified us as “human” gradually disappeared. Not a single adult died of natural causes. Several of us committed suicide. Some remain here in constant prayer and devotion to Pandora. A small portion of us retain an interest in the wider affairs of the galaxy. You might find fault in our actions. We merely see ourselves as dispassionate. Clumsy in our attempts at expediency. However trite it may sound, we have the best interests of the galaxy at heart.”
“What might those be?” Fusar asked, her heart hammering wildly. She realized that, for the moment at least, she was privy to primal galactic forces far, far above her humble station.
The Brawler considered his answer.
“The Aegisi needed a future,” he said. “We made sure they took Cerulean. Michael Danner was the First Catalyst. Of course, Jake Le Sondre was the Second. His task was to find and protect you. Allow you to come of age. Let you outstrip him. Become the person you are now. The Third Catalyst.”
Fusar had a thousand questions and didn’t know where to start. In the end she started at ground zero.
“Who are the other Catalysts?” she asked.
The Brawler smiled. For a second he looked like an errant schoolboy.
“I am the Fourth Catalyst.”
There was no pride in the answer, but Fusar liked to imagine there was.
“And the Fifth?”
The Brawler cocked his head. “Bloodlines are like serpents. Only history can tell us whether they turn with the galaxy. Or against it.”
As frustrating as it was, Fusar chose to ignore the cryptic answer. There didn’t seem any point in convincing The Brawler to clarify his sentiments.
“But what is purpose of the Catalysts?”
The Brawler snorted.
“I have already outlined the benefit to the Aegisi,” he said. “The Nostroma were delving into sciences best left alone. They needed to be pulled back. The Jaj, of course, needed the opposite. A shot in the arm. The Cava05 simply needed to be weakened. That, as far as I can tell, sets the galaxy in balance.”
“And who are you to decide?” Fusar asked with sudden anger. “As far as I can tell, the Milkmen aren’t Gods.”
“Indeed we aren’t,” The Brawler said with a smile that might have been genuine. “But I think you’ll agree that the presence of the Norgaardi necessitates action.”
Fusar’s eyes widened. “Then it is true? The Norgaardi are real?”
“Real enough,” came the reply. “And advanced enough to use the Cava05 to prepare the way for them. Their design is to rule, and this galaxy was set to be their throne.”
“How do you know this?”
“We have been watching them for a long time,” The Brawler said. “They’re out there, watching us with equal commitment. The only difference is, for all their experience, they don’t know what to make of us.”
“I can believe that,” Fusar said. “Are they far away?”
She looked out at the milky veil of stars, half-expecting a fleet of spectacularly unfathomable ships to appear from out of the blue.
“They’re close enough,” The Brawler said. “Yes, they’re certainly close enough.”
Fusar sensed a concealment in those words. Something that was going to melt her mind into a thin pool.
“Close enough for what?”
The Brawler’s eyes twinkled in the weak light.
“As a general rule, we do not like to intervene. All things being equal, we would stay here and pass the rest of our days wasting away under the benevolent gaze of our dear Pandora. But things aren’t equal. A force of unimaginable strength has threatened our neighborhood and we found ourselves in a position to do something about it.”
Fusar lost herself in the scarred, troubled surface of the sickly-yellow sun.
“But how do you intend to …” she began, before swooning under the weight of illicit discovery. “Pandora is dying. You’re going to feed her to the Norgaardi.”
“A poetic way of putting it, yes,” The Brawler said approvingly. “Over the course of our scientific lives we developed capsules resistant to Pandora’s heat. We filled her heart with enough explosive material to trigger a chain reaction. A supernova.”
Fusar could barely breathe, she was so eviscerated by the Milkmen’s bold design.
“The blast would consume the Norgaardi?”
“The entire colonization fleet, yes.”
“And the Milkmen too?”
“We have lived far too long, Empress. We would give our young neighbors a chance to shape their own destinies. The Jaj. The Nostroma. The Aegisi. Even the Cava05.”
Fusar allowed that concept to breathe for a moment.
“When can you trigger it?”
“At any time, Empress, but we factored in the possibility that you might wish to watch from a safe distance.”
Fusar felt weak at the knees. This was too much one mind to handle. She leaned against the control panel, crushed by new her burgeoning understanding of the forces that had been shaping the galaxy for a long time.
“The Catalysts,” she murmured quietly. “How do you know about them?”
The Brawler swatted the question away as if it wasn’t worth his time.
“Oh, Dijon Prime. He had a fascinating story to tell. He stayed with us for years. Everything we know about the Catalyst Prophecy came from him. He thought he was a seer. We thought he was an errant fool who wandered into a neutron star and got himself a glimpse of the future.”
The Brawler paused, a
s if relishing some private joke.
“A helpful glimpse, as it turned out. He was aware of the Norgaardi threat before anyone.”
Fusar nodded - it was an answer that made sense. And yet she wasn’t satisfied. Far from it.
“Why did you steal those ships out there? You killed hundreds of innocent people to acquire them.”
The Brawler shrugged - a truly chilling sight. “We needed the Norgaardi to come to us. We wanted them to be curious. Drawn to the curious, pale-skinned bipeds on the edge of the galaxy. So we got ourselves a necklace of skulls. The skulls of our neighbors.”
It made sense - of a kind. In a warped, stunningly cold way.
The Brawler was now looking directly at Fusar, as if he could scour the private reflection from her mind.
“You are satisfied, Empress.”
It was very much a statement.
Fusar felt cold and alone. To linger here was dangerous. At that moment, surrounded by so much darkness, she was consoled by the smallest of flames in her chest - a burgeoning connection with her people. An outsider, coming home to roost. Home. It had been a long time, if ever, since she’d been able to connect with that notion.
“One more thing, Brawler,” she said. “Who released the XX toxin?”
The Brawler smiled for the last time, lifting a sealed vial from the control panel.
“The Jaj needed disruption,” he said, daring, challenging her with his eyes. “Otherwise they would never have gone to war. Reflect on this, Empress. Lest your anger consume you.”
Fusar resolved to remain silent for the rest of her time on Pandora’s sad little moon. At that moment she hated and revered The Brawler in equal measure.
With a sigh she accepted the vial with both hands.
It was time to leave. The Empress had no desire to be the only heart beating in the shadow of a dying star.
Epilogue
Fusar rested her hands on her bulging belly as she padded down the dark, wet passage. Yerto had been horrified when she told him where she was going, but the Senator knew better than to argue with an Empress.
She found her wooden stool and settled against the wall. The cage was dark, but that was his choice. He thought she was ugly, unworthy of his gaze. She’d accepted his assessment with good grace. After all, men like him preferred a certain type of woman.
“You’re here again.”
“I am, Sanu. I like to hear your voice. Whether you like it or not, you reveal more about yourself every time. Like a painting slowly coming to life.”
The prisoner gripped the bars, his dark snout bristling with rage.
“If I could pass through those bars, I’d rape you like a fucking pig. Then leave you for dead.”
Fusar didn’t flinch. It had been this way from the beginning. She almost admired the consistency. Some might say it wasn’t even his fault. Anyone bitten by the dreaded doba beetle suffered from wildly fluctuating hormones for years, maybe even permanently. That lead to poor choices. Which resulted in criminality. Or so Fusar told herself. She didn’t have much choice.
“Let’s try again,” she said calmly. “What book are you reading at the moment?”
“Fuck you, woman.”
“I’m not leaving until you answer me.”
“I can’t read. You should fucking know that.”
Fusar pulled a libre from the folds of her robe. “Would you like me to read to you? It’s a very masculine story, I promise.”
A pause.
“Fine. Anything to stop your inane prattle.”
“Good,” Fusar said, stifling a smile. She’d hooked him quickly today.
Sanu sat down in the far corner of his cell, head in his greasy hands.
“I … I haven’t had a woman for a long time. The medics … they came to get a sample from me. Months ago. Made me wish I wasn’t in this cage.”
Fusar blinked in the darkness.
“One day you’ll be on this side, Sanu,” she said with only a slight catch in her voice. “Who knows, you might even have a son to call your own.”
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Five Empires: An Epic Space Opera Page 55