Star Force: Mak'to'ran (5)

by Aer-ki Jyr

  1

  September 23, 3689

  Jari’mot System (Oso’lon territory)

  Kabot

  When Mak’to’ran landed on the planet he immediately felt small. While most V’kit’no’sat worlds saw huge structures compared to the other races of the galaxy, those of the Oso’lon were the largest as befitted their size. Walking out of the dropship he passed by ranks of the quadrupeds in full armor who, if stretched out laterally, would be more than five times his height. That meant they liked to have a lot of room to spread out, but their head height was also greater than that of the Era’tran.

  However, while that difference wasn’t too great, the Oso’lon had by far the most Ultras of any race, and in fact how many each had was strictly limited. The Oso’lon didn’t limit their own in such amounts, so despite the size of the guards he now strode between, Mak’to’ran could occasionally see the huge Ultras moving around the city on streets, stairs, satu, and other pieces of infrastructure built to accommodate them and all the smaller Oso’lon…but as he began to realize for the first time in his life, the Oso’lon didn’t actually have an Ultra division.

  There were many different sizes, far wider in range than the Era’tran or any other race had. He doubted this was a recent development, meaning that the Oso’lon had been giving growth enhancements to more than just their Ultras or this was a natural progression of their biology left unchecked. Originally the Era’tran and many others would have kept growing to unlimited size, often with negative side effects.

  That was why the V’kit’no’sat had made alterations to all races so they would grow to within a restricted range of size while allowing artificial growth enhancements to create a select number of Ultras. Now that he was here, it looked like the Oso’lon were not enforcing that edict on themselves and Mak’to’ran wondered how long this had been going on. It wasn’t possible that it had always been this way, otherwise the Era’tran and others would have found out, but then again none of them had, to his memory, been allowed access to this world. It wasn’t one of their capitols, but rather a private one where no other race had even a single diplomatic tie.

  The Oso’lon had requested that he come here to conduct negotiations, and by the size of the fleet in orbit Mak’to’ran was beginning to suspect this world might be to the Oso’lon what Holloi was to the Era’tran. He was certainly at their mercy, despite the flanking Era’tran and pair of Hjar’at that were serving as his bodyguards, but these were Oso’lon…and one never truly had an advantage over them, even if you had superior numbers.

  So Mak’to’ran walked amongst the longnecks relying on trust to keep him alive…trust and their need of him, for he was literally the single link holding the shattered pieces of the empire together in some semblance of order. If the Oso’lon killed him they’d be left on their own to hold back the Hadarak, a task that they could not possible shoulder despite the immense power of their race.

  The temporary leader of the reforged V’kit’no’sat was led through the surface of the city before being taken underground…deep underground into chasms that were just as huge as the surface. So deep that they even entered areas where the rock was exposed on the walls and was causing waterfalls running over it to turn into steam from the planetary heat leeching through, giving the subsurface realm a permanent haze of humidity that translated into clouds in some places that dropped occasional bouts of rain.

  In fact, the subsurface appeared to be more natural than the surface of the planet, including many of the ‘streets’ being nothing more than trails in the dirt. Some of those trails led into caves set into the walls, and when Mak’to’ran’s escorts led him into one he could feel the heat radiating off them. It wasn’t too much to tolerate, but it did tell him how close they were to the planetary core and how many miles of rock were now between them and the surface, making this location almost impervious to orbital bombardment.

  The cave stretched out into a tunnel that eventually opened up into another huge chasm that was split like a ‘Y’ but with so much airspace that I’rar’et could have flown around freely. Mak’to’ran doubted they would be allowed in here, and as soon as they walked out past the cave exit the escorts stopped them and told him that only he could proceed further. His bodyguards must remain here along with them. Only Mak’to’ran could proceed to what they called the Sanctum.

  Mak’to’ran huffed once at his Era’tran, not even bothering to send a telepathic message. The gesture was enough, and he slowly walked with heavy steps down a slight incline towards a river in the distance partially wrapped in trees as he followed the dirt path to the right, taking him out of sight of the others and leaving him alone for several minutes until he came to a purely artificial structure that sat across a bridge that spanned half the diameter of a small lake the river fed into. Above it was a huge vertical chamber with nooks in the walls that he recognized as being used by flyers, but there were none here. Everything appeared to be empty, but that was just an illusion.

  It took him until halfway across the bridge to realize his Ikrid was being blocked, meaning he wasn’t able to sense any minds around him. It wasn’t another mind inside his doing the blocking, so he assumed it was a blanket technological effect that would also prevent telepathic communication. That hindered the V’kit’no’sat greatly, but it also suggested that this place was protected and Mak’to’ran felt that he was now walking on hallowed ground.

  When he got across the bridge and entered the central structure he could see that it had no ceiling, but was a series of ramps and levels that were open to the air as well as having water channels cutting through it, including some curious water ramps that seemed to defy physics. Mak’to’ran tried to use his Pefbar to get a look at them but found it was also blocked, causing him to start to feel extremely vulnerable. He flipped on his Nakane and was glad to see his bioshields still functioned, so he still had that defense in addition to the armor he wore in retracted mode, but operating without his primary psionics was disconcerting.

  The architecture of the site was funneling him towards the center in a way that allowed for other redirects but minimized them, making it clear there was only one important place to go, so Mak’to’ran allowed himself to be directed there without having any information about what he was supposed to be doing here. It was completely empty as far as he could tell, though without his psionics there could be someone behind any of the giant pillars and walls and he wouldn’t be able to tell until he saw them with his eyes.

  The central island of artificial construction wasn’t overly large, so Mak’to’ran came to the epicenter soon enough and found himself standing in a triangular courtyard large enough to hold over a hundred Era’tran…but there was no one here. Mak’to’ran stood near the center and walked around a bit, looking and listening, but finding no trace of anyone.

  “Why am I here?” he said loudly, with his voice echoing oddly off the surrounding bits of walls and columns that left many gaps at varying distances that made for a sniper’s paradise.

  “To do what must be done,” a familiar voice said as one corner of the triangle depressed and was flooded, allowing the J’gar Didact to swim in and look at Mak’to’ran over the lip of the pool.

  At the same time the footsteps of a large, but not quite Ultra Oso’lon turned Mak’to’ran’s head as the quadruped walked into the triangle from another entrance. It was dark brown in color with spots down its back and tail that were a mix of green and red, set into a pattern that was immediately recognizable as belonging to the leadership herd, though Mak’to’ran didn’t recognize this individual until he spoke, then the importance of this location became obvious.

  “Mak’to’ran, leader of the new V’kit’no’sat,” the Oso�
��lon Primearch said, looking down at him from his head height that was twice the Era’tran’s as he walked over to another point of the triangle and the floor altered to produce a flat pad on which the Primearch then sat down on, looping his tail forward until it pointed parallel alongside his right flank. “Your work has not gone unnoticed, but what you ask of us is beyond your station. The Era’tran are not our equals.”

  “Apparently we are your superiors,” Mak’to’ran bit out, drawing a shocked look from the Primearch. “For we followed protocol. You apparently have not.”

  “Explain,” the Primearch said evenly as the Didact merely looked on as he floated on the water’s surface.

  “You are not obeying size restrictions.”

  “Those here are not required to,” the Didact answered. “There is no violation.”

  “Are they designated as Ultras?”

  “No,” the Primearch answered. “And there are things of the V’kit’no’sat that you are not aware. We cannot make everything public knowledge, including certain facets of protocol. There is too much at stake, and your being here represents how low we have fallen.”

  “Enlighten me,” Mak’to’ran said, pacing slightly at the center of the courtyard.

  “There are tiers of knowledge within the V’kit’no’sat. This you already know. What you do not know is that there are tiers beyond the Elder Conclave. The founding races of the V’kit’no’sat protect and secure the most sacred tier, upon which the future of the galaxy rests. The Era’tran, nor the Conclave, are privy to this tier. Only the elite Oso’lon and J’gar are, hence your being here violates protocol.”

  “Events have altered protocol,” the Didact added, “thus you are here now. This is the place where the sacred tier functions, when necessary. As you have no doubt already noticed, there were once three,” he said as the third corner of the triangle opened up and a large but low perch was formed, obviously meant for the aerial counterpart that was the Zak’de’ron, now missing from the V’kit’no’sat.

  “You are not a replacement for them,” the Primearch said. “Where we were less than them, you are less than us, but you are correct in asserting that there must be three again. Not because we are unable,” he said, glancing at the J’gar, “but because we are both implicated in a treason that appears to not exist. We cannot find it within either race, which is of some comfort, but without being able to find it we cannot expose it for others to see, thus suspicion remains and the empire persists in a fractured state while the Hadarak scout. They sense weakness, and I fear we will soon be engaged in a full war with them unlike we have seen since the fall of the Zak’de’ron…”

  “And without their strength, we may not survive,” the Didact finished. “If we do not act, the V’kit’no’sat could be destroyed.”

  “Along with the rest of the galaxy that we are sworn to defend,” the Oso’lon said, dipping his head slightly. “Your race is not ready, but you must become so as quickly as possible.”

  “Then you agree?” Mak’to’ran asked skeptically, for the Oso’lon had refused to join the reforged V’kit’no’sat as the J’gar recently had.

  “To your pathetic recreation of Itaru? For appearance sake only. The reforging of the V’kit’no’sat must occur here, and from here all else will flow. Where we were the inferiors to the Zak’de’ron, you will be the inferior to us in this triad, but we will not make the mistakes they did. You will be granted equity when you are able to grow into it. We will become three again, and the sooner we begin the process the better, but it will require a great deal of effort on your part…and not in terms of leadership. In terms of ascension. You must learn and grow, and that is not an easy task for those who are inferior.”

  “Which is why we will guide you,” the Didact offered. “As fast as we are capable, if the Era’tran so agree.”

  “You wish me to speak for them rather than for the V’kit’no’sat?”

  “You never spoke for the V’kit’no’sat,” the Primearch verbally reprimanded him. “Your alliance is illegitimate without the Oso’lon and J’gar. We are the heart of the V’kit’no’sat, and without us it cannot survive. You must become the third heart.”

  “This inner tier is worthless to the others if it is unknown,” Mak’to’ran countered. “It could not hold the empire together before, do not assume it can do so now. My reforged V’kit’no’sat are the key, and I will not discard it to repeat your mistakes.”

  “To what do you refer, Era’tran?”

  “Betraying the Zak’de’ron was a colossal mistake, and that mistake has poisoned the empire ever since. Terraxis merely accelerated the decline that was already seeping into the empire. Unless we address the root cause, we will carry that poison forward with us.”

  “What do you suggest?” the Didact asked.

  “Admit we were wrong. That we weakened the bonds of loyalty between us with that betrayal, and that in order to reforge those bonds we must do so without taint.”

  “Taint is the only reason we are agreeing to this ascension,” the Primearch pointed out.

  “V’kit’no’sat do not destroy one another,” Mak’to’ran said, with a small amount of ire working its way into his voice. “That is our deepest bond, and it was broken during the Zak’de’ron war. Then to make matters ever worse, you enslaved the Zak’de’ron by remaking them into the Les’i’kron. You labeled it a culling when it was not. Such deception stokes the poison eating away at us. We must be aboveboard in the reforging or we are doomed to failure.”

  “Secrets exist for a reason.”

  “Secrets and lies are separate entities,” Mak’to’ran lectured the Primearch. “And this is more about arrogance than anything else. You are not the Zak’de’ron, not even now, so stop pretending you are.”

  “We made no such claims,” the Didact countered.

  “You are impersonating them. Most of the coding in our equipment comes from them. You simply copied it without fully understanding it. We are still standing on their mantle and claiming it is our own. I know this, because the Era’tran have begun our own efforts to study and learn from the remnants of the Zak’de’ron. To aspire to attaining their level rather than faking it as you do.”

  The Primearch stood up so fast that it was essentially a double thump of his legs as he got to his feet and sent a ripple of energy out towards Mak’to’ran…who met it with one of his own. The two Jumat waves met and canceled out, with Mak’to’ran activating his Saroto’kanse’vam and staring the larger Oso’lon down as his claws burned a fiery red.

  “Arrogance corrupts you!” Mak’to’ran accused. “You horde psionics, territory, and secrets in a delusional attempt to pretend you are their equal. They consume you, and so long as that is the case you are unfit to lead the V’kit’no’sat.”

  “We will see who is unfit, Era’tran,” the Primearch said as he activated his armor with a wave of green battle plates covering his entire body.

  Mak’to’ran responded by activating his own armor, covering his body with blood red plates as the Oso’lon came off its pedestal in a confident, almost lazy manner as if it was going to intimidate the Era’tran into submission.

  Mak’to’ran held his ground until half the distance elapsed, then he took off running as he pulsed a Jumat field around his body that he used to counteract the first blast the Oso’lon threw, but the second was much more powerful and knocked the Era’tran head over heels backwards, but he recovered quickly and gained several meters until the same two-hit encounter occurred again…then again and again, with Mak’to’ran getting knocked down but getting closer with each repetition.

  When he was almost to the Oso’lon the larger V’kit’no’sat angrily abandoned the attack and pivoted in place, swinging his giant tail around so fast that Mak’to’ran nearly got hit, but with his years of high gravity training he was able to leap high enough to get over the slap and came down just shy of the right hip of the Primearch, grinding his armored feet into the ground as another Jumat blas
t hit him, but he clawed his way through it on sheer muscle power and got to the green armor where he encountered the Primearch’s shields.

  His Jumat allowed him to press through slowly, taking several shots in the face from the hip-mounted weaponry, but in order to fire another Jumat blast the Oso’lon dropped them entirely, hoping to move him away, but a quick dig of his talons into the stone-like floor allowed Mak’to’ran to hold his place during the hurricane-like blast, then he surged forward and got onto the green armor where he began to slowly burn his way through.

  Normally the Oso’lon would have also used its Lachka to pry him off, but with Pefbar being blocked that was not an option. He literally couldn’t see to use it, and Mak’to’ran was not going to let go of his hold on the right rear hip as he also fired energy blasts from his armor into it while taking the point blank shots from the Oso’lon’s own cannons.

  Seeing his disadvantage, the Primearch rolled over, with Mak’to’ran unable to move that much mass. He had to let go, and when he did the Primearch threw another huge Jumat blast, far greater than Mak’to’ran could hope to emit, and knocked the Era’tran clear as the quadruped got to its feet and reestablished its shields.

  “Enough!” the Didact roared in such a way that it broke the concentration of both Mak’to’ran and the Primearch before they could reengage. “Are you so insecure that a mere insult prompts you to fight?”

  The Oso’lon was the target of the scorn and he turned his long neck towards the aquatic.

  “Dominance must be maintained. These Era’tran do not know their place.”

  “Nor do you, Oso’lon. Stand down,” he said, with the words literally reverberating in the water so much that ripples could be seen on the calm surface.

  2

  The Primearch whirled around, his anger now directed at the J’gar, but he didn’t attack him.

  “And what is my place?” he asked, heavy with scorn.