The Betrayal of Ka (The Transprophetics Book 1)

by Shea Oliver

  The gentle ringing of his alarm awakened him shortly before dawn. The landing went perfectly. They were now safely on Earth. It was now time to disembark the ship and start the next phase of their mission.

  Standing in the middle of his quarters, Kadamba began to laugh. He threw his shirt against one wall. He removed his pants, wadded them up and tossed them on the bed. He was already barefoot, so all that was left was his underwear. He looked at the wall opposite the door, staring for a few moments. He almost wanted that perky, smiling, recorded talking head of a woman to show up one last time. He would laugh out loud at her, for she had no power over him and never would again.

  He dropped his underwear to the floor and stepped out of it, leaving it where it landed. He gestured, and the far wall became a mirror. He looked at himself. He wasn’t the boy that had killed that bargabuko in Mr. Lormate’s class. His body was lean and muscular, a man’s body. He’d religiously worked out in the small gym aboard the ship, keeping himself fit, and practicing the various martial arts that he had learned in military training. As he was admiring himself, his gaze hit his arms. He would live with those words branded onto his arms forever. He took a deep breath.

  “Come on, Alorus,” he spoke to himself, “let’s go find out whether either of us can find some peace on this planet.”

  He tucked the clear package containing his clothes under his arm, walked down the corridor, and stepped out of the ship. The smell was the first thing that hit him. He didn’t yet know, but the scent was of clean mountain air and pine trees. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply, becoming lost in the fragrance. He heard what had to be birds chirping in the distance. This place felt right, just right.

  “For the love of the Lords of the Fourth System, would you please get dressed?” barked the Commander.

  Kadamba looked around. All of the crew had disembarked the ship and were putting on the clothing from their packages. Kadamba did the same and watched the Commander walk to the ship, swipe his hand across a panel, and press a few buttons. A panel opened and the Commander pulled out a remote that was about twice the size of his hand. He retracted the ramp, and the door sealed itself shut. A large hatch on the bottom of the ship opened, and the return vessel slowly descended.

  The return vessel was dark and shaped more like a torpedo. In its center cargo section, three men could easily fit, but would be unable to move about. It was designed for a fast return to Koranth with the reports and artifacts from the planets. While the trip to Earth had taken two years, the return trip would take less than one.

  The Commander maneuvered the return vessel over the lake, and within a few moments, it was submerged out of sight.

  “Two hundred feet down,” the Commander announced a few minutes later. “Only two more things left to do.”

  Everyone turned and looked at the spaceship. It had been their home for the last two years. On this planet, it was the only craft capable of manned, interstellar travel, but it had been severely compromised by the trip and especially by coming into the Earth’s atmosphere. Kadamba realized that he didn’t exactly know what would happen next. He only knew the ship would be destroyed.

  The Commander tapped a few places on the screen of the remote, and the crew watched as the ship slowly dissolved to ashes.

  “Well, damn,” began Dr. Nahash Tarea, “that was about as ceremonial as getting your shoes shined.”

  “No use in being ceremonial,” replied the Commander, as he walked the crew over to the canyon wall. He made a few marks on the wall and then hid the remote under a stack of rocks a few feet away.

  They were all standing looking at the wall, when they heard the voice. “What are y’all doing there staring at the canyon wall?”

  They spun around to see a portly, older man in faded khaki work pants and a flannel shirt. He was holding a shotgun in his hands, but had it pointed at the ground. The inquisitive look on his face deepened as they all turned around to stare at him. They all had prepared for their first contact with an Earthling, but this wasn’t what any of them had imagined. He easily could have been the grandfather of half of the crew, but his holding that weapon made all of them realize they were unarmed and potentially in danger.

  “Are you y’all lost?” the man asked.

  “Actually,” Kadamba responded, “we’re aliens from the planet Ork. We’re here to study you. Na-Nu Na-Nu.” Kadamba then held up his hand and separated his middle and ring fingers. The old man burst out laughing. Not knowing, exactly what else to do, the rest of the crew also began to laugh.

  “You are completely lost, aren’t you?” asked the man again.

  “Yes, sir, we certainly are,” Kadamba affirmed. “Our transportation broke down, and we are stranded.”

  “You shoulda stayed on the road, rather than wandering into the woods,” the old man advised. “Well, come on then, Margaret and me have a little place not too far from here. I guess the hunting can wait until tomorrow. By the way, I’m Jerry.”

  The man gestured with his hand for everyone to follow him, and the whole crew began following. Within a few moments, the Commander and Vice-Commander were walking beside the man, talking about the beautiful day. They could see the small dwelling in the distance. It was the same one they had studied back on the ship. Before the old man knew what was happening, he was face down on the ground with the shotgun pointing into his back.

  For the next few days, the old couple remained tied up in the living room of their cabin while the crew constantly questioned them about life on Earth. A small television, radio, books, and magazines also provided the crew with additional information and current events. The crew ransacked the cabin, finding a few more guns, some clothes, money, and other supplies they needed.

  Kadamba was uncomfortable with the treatment of Jerry and Margaret. He tried as best as he could to ease the misery that they were suffering. It wasn’t that they were being physically abused; it was just that they were being treated as if they weren’t really human. Kadamba knew what that felt like.

  A travel guidebook that Dr. Tarea had found on a bookshelf seemed to intrigue him. It was a book filled with hotels, attractions, and events for a country called the United Kingdom. Something about a show called “Garret Greyson—Master of Illusions” captivated the doctor. He decided that it would be the first place that he and Kadamba would need to go. There was something about the show’s description that made him think that there might be more than just illusions about Garret Grayson.

  Kadamba was standing outside the cabin on the day that he and Dr. Tarea were to leave. The old couple only had a pickup truck, so the expedition crew had left in waves. The Commander had already driven most of the crew to various destinations, where each pair had headed off in separate directions. In six months’ time, they would all meet back up, finalize their reports, and send the return vessel home. Kadamba, closing his eyes, listened to the birds again. He liked this place. He had never really spent much time outside Stujorkian City. He’d been to beaches and the ocean but never in the mountains back home. He wondered if they were as peaceful as it was here in the Rocky Mountains.

  The blast shook Kadamba out of his trance, and he turned to run towards the cabin when a second blast stopped him in his tracks. He was sure that he knew what it was, and when Commander Bornani and Dr. Tarea walked out of the cabin laughing, he was certain. One of the experts on infrastructure and technology followed them out. She had been paired with Commander Bornani and was as cold-hearted as Dr. Tarea. She was furiously wiping blood spatter off her arms. “You asshole,” she whined to the Commander, “was it really necessary to fucking blow their brains out all over me?”

  Kadamba stared at the three people walking towards him and the pickup truck. He would be stuck with Dr. Tarea for the next six months. How was cruelty, and even death, so easy for these people? How had they managed to see Margaret and Jerry as something other than human? He tried hard to put his head around it and understand. They were here on a mission. This was a
nother planet. He guessed that there was always a threat that the humans on this planet could evolve to the point where those on Koranth and Zoranth had. If that happened, would the Earthlings invade his world? Was that how these crewmates of his thought? He shook the thoughts from his head. He wasn’t here to be a philosopher; he was now an Elite Forces soldier, responsible for protecting Dr. Tarea. He would do his job, however distasteful it seemed.

  Chapter 32

  Lords of the Fourth System

  Celestina relaxed in the enormous chair behind the even grander desk in her new office. Once Minister Scharbigot Canchorus had passed away, in such an untimely manner, she decided to consolidate the Ministry’s administrative functions in one location. Multiple buildings in the central city of Stujorkian City had been acquired and retrofitted to her needs. Her new office suite occupied the entire 187th floor of the building. The panoramic views were stunning.

  She looked across the plains to the mountains far in the distance. Somewhere far over those mountains, her uncle rested at peace in what was now her estate in Beliasium, situated right on the ocean. She was looking forward to next week when she and Tomar were planning a few days away to plot their next moves. The Ministry was firmly under her control, and with proper planning, there would be only one Corporation for the development of other worlds.

  The buzzing sound from one of her secretaries shattered her relaxation, and she returned to the present moment, eager to attack another day.

  “Chief Executive Minster,” came the voice from the holographic head that rose from her desk. “We may have a little bit of an issue. I am not sure how to proceed, but please look at the lobby.”

  A screen rose up next to the holographic head, showing the giant lobby of the new headquarters of the Ministry of Interplanetary Corporate Relations. An old man, dressed in worn clothes that seemed to be of a tropical, but native pattern was seated near the security desk. On his lap was a long crystal box. Even from a distance, Celestina could tell that the box held a sword of some type.

  “What’s the issue?” demanded Celestina.

  “He claims he is the Ministry’s last archivist, and he demands to speak with the Chief Executive Minister,” replied the secretary.

  “He looks like a crazy man,” Celestina noted, with disdain. “Send him away.”

  “Madam, the problem is that he claims to be an employee of the Ministry. He told the security guard to enter his name into the system and validate him.”

  “And?” demanded Celestina. “Is he an employee of the Ministry?”

  “We don’t know,” the secretary replied hesitantly, “All that came up with his name was that he was the head of the ‘Endowment of the Archive, Guardians of Sabro, The Frozen.’ That in itself might not be interesting, except that when the guard tried to access the associated files, the system returned a noncompliant warning. These files haven’t been accessed in over six hundred years.”

  Celestina looked at the old man in the lobby. Her curiosity was piqued. This could make for an interesting start to her day. She bid her secretary to have the man escorted, along with his box, by heavily armed security personnel to her office suite. She now had a mystery to start what was sure to be another grand day.

  The old man was seated in the comfortable couches in an area near the windows. Four brutish securities guards stood watch as Celestina greet him. “Welcome,” she began, “I am Celestina Wiroviana, Chief Executive Minister for Interplanetary Corporate Relations. You have us at a disadvantage, as we know so little about you.”

  “My thanks for your time to receive me,” the old man answered. His voice was weak, and Celestina could see that many, many years weighed heavily on the man. “I am here to fulfill the promise of my house. Without an heir, I return Sabro to the Chief Executive Minister.”

  Celestina looked at the crystal case in his hands. The sword was not what she had expected from seeing it on the security screen. It was not of a metal that she could describe; she wasn’t even sure whether it was metal or not. It seemed to shimmer, with flecks of bright strands and waves moving through the blade in random patterns. In one moment, the blade would be a soft, whitish color, and in the next moment, translucent. It was magnificent and memorizing to behold.

  “So, this is Sabro, the blade in this case?” she inquired.

  “Yes,” he replied, “in the case where we hope and pray it will remain for all eternity.”

  Sitting herself down across a small table from him, she bid him place the case on the table. He reluctantly held the case in his lap. She glared at him for a moment, reveling in the mystery that this was becoming. “And why, my dear sir, should this blade remain encased?”

  “Only the bloodline of the true chief of the Burongi may handle the blade,” he explained, looking at her and wondering what kind of woman she was. Like generations before, he was separate from this world. He cared little for what happened outside the jungles and rain forests of his homeland.

  “Okay, I’ll take the bait,” she remarked to him. “Tell me who you are and why this sword is in my office.”

  “Will you, as the Chief Executive Minster, take back Sabro?” the man asked, as a terrible coughing fit began to rack his body. “You must keep it safe and pray it is never needed again.” The coughing became worse and worse, and man seemed unable to control it. Celestina ordered medics and instructed that the old man be taken to the Ministry’s private medical clinic for treatment and observation.

  Unable to speak much at all, he placed the case on the table. As the medics placed him on the hovering medical transport board, he managed to utter, “There is no other.”

  She studied the case on the table. The case itself was magnificent. She was practically giddy like a schoolgirl. A mystery had been given to her. She summoned her staff, who in turn summoned various experts in history, metallurgy, and computer science.

  The files related to the Endowment of the Archive, Guardians of Sabro, The Frozen, were completely corrupted. The team searched archives and files across the two planets but came up empty on any references to an Endowment or Sabro. Almost as intriguing, was that no one could identify the material of the case or guess at the material of the sword. Despite scans of all types, no hinge, lever, lock, mechanism, or even crack could be found in the case. It was as if the case had grown around the sword, except that it appeared perfectly carved on both the outside and inside.

  After days of research, nothing could be found. The old man had lost consciousness on the way to the clinic and slipped into a coma. He was dying from something the best experts could not identify or understand. Everything about this sword intrigued Celestina more and more. She had it placed in her office and studied it every day. In her heart, she knew that she would eventually understand it, but what she really wanted to do was wield it.

  Late in the evening, she was studying the case and the sword again. She knew so little, and it was eating at her. She ran her hands along the lines of the case. Over and over she caressed it, her fingers hoping to find something that so many experts had missed. As she was about to give up, she felt a surge of icy coldness. There was a cold spot on the case. It began to move, and her hands traced the path. Suddenly, the top portion of the case began to slide open. She gently set the top portion aside. She had done it. She stared into the case. The sword was hers to wield.

  The moment she touched the sword, the old man in the clinic sat up, awake from his coma and screaming. “Don’t touch Sabro!” he screamed, but blocks away, Celestina could not hear his warning as she gripped the handle.

  Celestina screamed as her skin came in contact with Sabro, and she jerked her hand back violently. Her fingers felt as if she had dipped them into something colder than the coldest thing she had ever felt. The joints in her hands immediately locked up, and a frigid, icy coldness began making its way up her arm. She felt as if each nerve was being sliced open and burned with frozen fire.

  As she looked at her hand and her arm, she could see the arteri
es and veins in her arms turning a brilliant white, and then bluish-black as the brutal chill moved up her arm. She tried to step backward, away from that cursed blade, but she only crumbled to her knees, screaming as the sensation felt like her arm was being pulled into a frozen wasteland. In her mind’s eye, she could see a vast, lifeless, frozen landscape. She felt naked as she was sucked into this frigid reality. Icy, howling winds ripped at her exposed soul, peeling away strips of her very being. Sheets of ice crashed down unimaginably massive mountainsides, shaking the frozen tundra into which her spirit was slowly sinking. Her screams alerted her diligent secretary, Besnik Treowe, who would always work late whenever she did. He immediately summoned security and medics. Within minutes she was evacuated to the Ministry’s private medical clinic. Her arm was completely immobile and frozen solid. They wrapped her in heating blankets, unable to determine what had happened or why.

  She drifted in and out of consciousness for days, often mumbling about the cold and the wind and the ice. The doctors struggled to keep her body temperature from falling. Over the course of a few days, she began to stabilize, but the arm would never be the same.

  The doctors were completely unable to ascertain what had happened or why. Her arm had begun to regain functionality, but the bluish-black tint to her veins and arteries remained. The lines fanned out from her shoulder to her fingers and pulsed with a lighter hue with each beat of her heart.

  With her arm in a sling, she walked to the room where the old man was dying. He had become weaker and weaker while she struggled with the effects of touching the blade. More than once his heart had stopped, and the doctors brought him back.

  A doctor was tending to him when she entered the room. He appeared to be asleep, and his face was even more gaunt than when she had met him.