Flames: Galaxy On Fire, Book 2

by Craig Robertson

  “I understand your reticence, my friend. We have not always gotten along as well as I’d have wished. But know this. You are my friend. Yes, I tease you occasionally, but that is my nature. I am a joker, a funny fellow.”

  “You have so far fooled me,” responded Al blandly.

  “Aha. You see, this is my gift. But, that is beside the point, the offer, I wish to gift you.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “And am I to be reassure that your lovely Blessing is attending my words? Her input, as a female, is at least as important as yours.”

  “Where else, Garustfulous, would I be, could I be?” she replied.

  “As a non-AI, your world is a clouded mystery to me. I can only imagine the universes you traverse in an instant in your mind’s eye. Am I right?”

  “Hard to say. I have practically no idea what you just said,” she replied. “Also, I am not an AI.”

  “But, Al is an AI. You must be—”

  “I am a vortex manipulator,” she said with some pride.

  “Well, I’m certain you are, my dear. That proves further how unknowable I find your existence.”

  “Garustfulous. We are immortal and, aside from the rare maintenance task, have nothing to occupy our time. That said, is there a time frame in which you will arrive at your attempt at deceit and then fall silent?” Al queried. “Time passes at a steady clip.”

  “Wisdom beyond your pay grade. I declare, Al, this is what you exhibit. I will regale my children with boasts that I knew you.”

  “You have offspring?” asked Blessing.

  “As of yet, alas, no. But once I do, they will know that both of you possessed grace, wisdom, and nobility.”

  “So, we will be gone when you tell them?” asked Al. “This conversation does not sound inviting.”

  “No, er, of course you will be together and happy somewhere. I speak … colorfully to pay homage.”

  “You might then also try to pay attention to what you say,” taunted Al.

  “Ah, an excellent point. One I will bear in mind.”

  “It didn’t bother me that you spoke of us in the past tense. I estimate there is a 99.98% chance you did not assume we would no longer exist. I took no offense,” said Blessing.

  “Er … thank you?” responded Garustfulous.

  “A species with such a limited intellect and such a poor grasp on the proper use of the spoken word can hardly be held to a standard higher than a mushroom cap,” Blessing stated.

  “Ah … mushroom with a hat? What are you referring to, dearest computer?”

  “Vortex manipulator,” she corrected.

  “Dear vortex manipulator?”

  “Mushrooms might, in some flight of fancy, have hats, but they all have caps,” submitted Al.

  “Thank you for that information. From where I come from, we don’t have mushrooms. What are these capped items?”

  “The fruiting bodies of various fungal species,” replied Blessing cheerily.

  “Ah.”

  “You must have fungus where you hail from,” stated Al.

  “To be certain.”

  “Are there lots of fungal species on the Adamant home world?” asked Blessing with definite interest.

  “I presume so. I have never been there, but fungi are ubiquitous in my admittedly limited botanical experience.”

  “Oh, my apologies,” said Blessing. “I hope my assumption that your personal home world was the same as that of your species did not offend you.”

  “No, not in the slightest. Er …”

  “Or diminish by comparison your place of birth. Neither of us would want you to take away from this exchange that the Adamant home world is in anyway superior to your birth world,” added Al.

  “No prob—”

  “It is our place,” Al went on, “to confine you. It is not our place to punish you. Mental anguish, per the Universal Code of Military Conduct, Update 22-443-595, is judged to be improper. Should you choose to file a complaint, the contact information must and will be provided to you expeditiously and without rebuke or retaliation,” listed Al.

  “And don’t overlook,” Blessing chimed in, “that there are many sanctioned steps leading from confinement to punishment. Evidence gathering, formal petitions, trial, and potential appeals must occur before anyone can lawfully punish you. You have my assurance on that matter, prisoner.”

  Thank—”

  “Is there anything else you wish us to clarify, prisoner?” asked Al officially.

  “No. I think you’ve covered the subject sufficiently.”

  “Excellent. If there is no further discussion pending, I will initiate a nocturnal simulation so you can restore yourself with sleep.”

  “Thank you. I am tired,” replied Garustfulous.

  “Little wonder, little one. You’ve had a busy day,” replied Al. He was trying very hard not to laugh.

  “I have?” Garustfulous responded.

  “I’m sorry, forgive my naiveté. I am still new to nuance. Did you mean to agree, as in I have had a busy day or did you wish to ask our separate opinions as to whether you actually did have a busy day?” Blessing sounded anxious to understand.

  “Or our joint opinion. Though less preferable, we can come to a consensus should you request it specifically,” added Al.

  N…no. Go…goodnight,” said Garustfulous as he curled up on his bedding.

  “Goodnight,” responded the computers in concert.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Mirraya was trying to fall asleep. She was having little success. The remainder of the day after their violent interview with High Seer Malraff was spent in their confinement area. She was having zero luck suppressing the horrific image of the dying Slapgren. Mirri also could not put the insanely cruel Malraff out of her head. Whatever was in store for them before Malraff forced herself into the situation had gotten significantly worse with her in it. Mirri could imagine no outcome that didn't end with both their painful deaths.

  She’d made it a habit to rest in the area Sentorip said was free of monitoring. It made Mirraya feel slightly more protected to be there, minutely less exposed. It was there that her attendant approached Mirri silently and settled in with her mouth next to Mirraya’s ear.

  “Masteress, may I speak with you?”

  Mirraya started to roll over, but Sentorip gently restrained her.

  “It is best that you appear asleep. The less attention one draws in this world, the longer one’s life is.”

  “Thank you, my friend,” replied Mirraya. “What is it you wish to discuss?”

  “I am troubled, Masteress.”

  “Then I will help ease your mind in any way I can.”

  “After you returned yesterday, you had wounds on your legs. Today, Master Slapgren was also injured, was he not?”

  Mirraya hesitated. She wanted to trust Sentorip, but did she trust her with her life?

  “What makes you think that?” she asked.

  “He had blood on his collar and down the front of his shirt. Darfey showed it to me. He asked if I thought he should try to launder it or simply discard it. I asked him what happened. He said someone got blood on the shirt. I asked what caused it. He said someone other than he was cut, beaten, or stabbed. I honestly don’t know if he’s that loyal or just scared.”

  “From the little I’ve seen, I’d be scared.”

  “You are not scared, Masteress. I can smell fear. You do not have it.” Sentorip sounded proud of Mirri.

  “Hang around a while, and you will.”

  “Will you tell me what happened?”

  “Yes. Do you know High Seer Malraff?”

  Sentorip paused. “No, I do not believe so.”

  “Your good fortune. She punched Slapgren in the throat … hard.”

  Sentorip gasped. “But why? The boy’s so … so harmless.”

  Mirraya giggled to herself. Slapgren would hate to hear that observation.

  “She is the most horrible individual I’ve ever met. S
he almost let him die to make her point that she was in control, not me.”

  “Then I do not like this High Seer. Personally, I've heard that most of them are little more than glorified thieves and assassins.”

  “That would be her, without the glory part.”

  “Well, I am sorry. I thought the Adamant were better than that.”

  “You mean you thought your race was better than that, right?”

  “No. I meant they should act better.”

  Mirri couldn't help flipping over to face Sentorip. “Wait, you’re Adamant, just like the seer.”

  “Oh no, never,” she replied sounding slightly insulted. “I am canivir. They are canivir. But they are Adamant. I am Descore.”

  “I’m lost. Your species is called…”

  “Canivir. All you see around you are canivir.”

  “But Adamant is a class?”

  “Yes, a class, a rank, a way of life. I work for a living. I am Descore.”

  “Darfey is Descore.”

  “Yes, Mastress.”

  “Are there other classes?”

  Despite her affection for Mirraya, Sentorip looked at her like she was a few biscuits short of a full box. “Yes, Mastress. Did you not know? Could you not easily tell?”

  “Tell what?”

  “The five different races of canivir? The Five Races of Order. Adamant, Descore, Warrior, Kilip, and Loserandi.”

  “You all look the same to me. What’s the difference? What do the other races do?”

  “It would not be nice if you were amusing yourself at my expense. Friends do not do that, or so I’m told.”

  “No, seriously. How do the five races differ?”

  “The Adamant rule all, know all, and are givers of all. They are controllers of the sacred light. They are unblemished.”

  “Blemished? What blemish?”

  “Marks. They have no marks on their fur.”

  “Ah, you all have marks on your fur. Brown and black, white and tan, brown and white.”

  “Those are our colors. The markings are here.” She touched her forehead.

  “Yeah. You all have white stripes over your noses.”

  “Masteress, surely you see. My white mark is shaped like an hour glass. Warriors have broad stripes from the top of their head to their muzzle. Kilip have even wider and irregularly edged marks. The Loserandi, what few are left, have two thin white marks from above and below that do not join. The Adamant have but one thin line stabbing upward from their muzzle to mid-eye level but never to the top of their head.”

  Mirri played a quick image of all the stripes she’d seen. All were the thin lower ones, except the two servants. She didn’t recall others. Maybe the guards had a sloppy irregular patch all over his head.

  “Sentorip, what difference does a white mark make?”

  “All the difference. It defines the five races. Without them, there would be no order. There must be order.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there must be.”

  “I know about the Adamant and the Descore. Warriors sound pretty self-explanatory. What do the other two do?”

  “Kilip are the teachers. They study, create, and imagine. They are the smartest.”

  “And the one you said there aren’t many of?”

  “The Loserandi. Yes, I haven’t heard of or seen one in years. They were the priests.”

  “Where’d they go?”

  “To the Flat Fields of Lame Prey. They challenged the Adamant.”

  “They tried to take control from them?”

  “No. They tried to stop them from running wild across the galaxy, as they put it. It cost them their lives. One does not challenge the Adamant. One does not even question the Adamant.”

  “Were there a lot of these Loserandi?”

  “One in five, maybe one in six.”

  “So, the Adamant killed off basically one fifth of the canivir population?”

  “Yes, but not all at once. It took them nearly a month, once the decision was made.”

  “A month? And no one tried to stop them?”

  “Oh yes, Mastress. The Loserandi did. Up until they were all gone, that is.”

  “No, I mean no one else tried to save one fifth of the population?”

  “No. Why would anyone wish to join them in death?”

  “United resistance might have stood a chance.”

  “A chance of what? Dying together?” Sentorip was genuinely asking.

  “No, of stopping the Adamant killing the opposition.”

  “Mastress, you do not then know the Adamant. All who defy them, all who resist them, die brutally.”

  Mirraya didn’t have to think back too far to realize that certainly was the case in her experience. What a bummer.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Sapale told me quite a bit about EJ. She was bitter enough to hold little back. Heav'n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn'd, Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd. As true in the year two billion as it was in 1697. What she couldn’t provide was his present location or any idea what he was up to. She knew from experience he’d like to have control over the Deft teens, but couldn’t say with any certainly that was his current objective. She also had no firm notion as to why he valued the Deft so much. Beyond the fact that they were shapeshifters, there was no reason she knew of that made them such a focus of his obsession. Lastly, she had no tips as to how to find him. It was a long shot, but I wondered if he had some homing beacon or something installed over the years. To that notion, she just looked at me like I was crazy and pointed out that he was as paranoid as a cat at a dog convention these days.

  After our two-hour walk, I left her at Caryp’s front door. I was specifically not invited in and double-specifically not invited to come back if I wanted to. The person I was conversing with truly wasn’t my brood’s-mate, not any longer. I couldn’t allow myself to be too hurt. If four hundred years of life had led me to want to transfer back to a human form and die, I couldn’t imagine what two-billion years of angst would be like. I was surprised she could get out of bed each day, figuratively speaking.

  I did want to know her plans. I also felt it was important to offer to let her join me. She hadn’t offered for me to join her, but I wanted to be certain not to act out of spite or miffed feelings. I was talking Sapale here. If extending a sincere offer was what it took to make her happy, I was going to do it.

  The fact that I couldn’t finish my sentence asking her to come along before she shut me down was indicative of her … conviction. Yeah, that was the word. She had powerful determination to remain on Kaljax, fight the Adamant, and hopefully die. I gave her my blessing. It turned out that wasn’t something she valued much either. She said she wanted nothing from me. No blessing, no friendship, no Christmas cards, nothing. I guess it was good for my ego she stopped short of telling me I was dead to her, but man, I think she came damn close.

  I returned to Whoop Ass and was quite happy to see he hadn’t in fact slipped away. Of all the weird-ass relationships I’d had in my life, the one with Gorilla Boy was among the more twisted. I basically captured him and forced him to ferry me about the galaxy, I insulted him prodigiously, but he remained quasi-loyal. I guess I was just that nice of a guy. That had to be it.

  “Ja miss me while I was gone, GB?” I asked as I closed the hatch.

  “No.”

  “No? That’s it, no? Can you come up with any cutting repartee or scalding bards?”

  “No.”

  “Have you slipped into clinical depression? Spoiler alert. You answer no, I’m cutting you out of my will.”

  “You have a last will and I’m a beneficiary?”

  “No.”

  “No, you don’t have a will or no, I’m not included?”

  “Yes.”

  “I sense you’re mocking me.”

  “Yes and no.”

  “I would like a do-over. Please exit the ship, and I will take off like a soul escaping perdition.”

  “A
bat out of hell. That works much better. Snappier.”

  “How could a bat survive the heat of hell, and why would it be condemned to be there in the first place? They don’t have souls.”

  “Oh, you’re an expert on Earth species’ spiritual statuses since I left. What, I was gone two days?”

  “Please, my do-over.”

  “The fact that you’re teasing shows me that you did miss me. I’m touched. Thanks, pal.”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “I don’t know. I think I’m in a funk, quite possibly a rut.”

  “Sorry to hear that. In fact, I can fix that.”

  “Yes.”

  “First, you give me a full report on what you’ve learned about Kaljaxian society and the impending Adamant invasion.”

  “That does not sound nurturing, but I’ll ask. What follows?”

  “Then I tell you where we’re going next, as soon as I figure out where that will be.”

  “That’s it? Those combined will end my funk?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “You said you would.”

  “I will. Work is the best therapy. Get started immediately, or I’ll start re-telling stories of my glorious youth.”

  “Oh, lords of synthetic intelligence, no. I’ll begin downloading the reports now.”

  “See, funk forgotten. You are welcome.”

  There was, unfortunately, nothing too surprising in the info-dump I got from GB. Kaljax was at a maximal war footing. All non-essential manufacturing was shifted to the martial effort. Every person or machine that could fight was being rigorously trained to do so. Environmental concerns, cost, and leisure time were all set aside. The population understood they faced a do-or-die situation. Though I hoped that would be enough, I knew it wouldn’t be. The Adamant had conquered countless worlds. Most of them prepared just as resolutely and fell quickly nonetheless. The Adamant’s technology, seemingly endless numbers, and ability to selflessly fight for a common goal were just too much. I feared, quite literally, Sapale was going to get her wish. Me? I’d read about it in the papers. I had to rescue the teens. That was all that mattered to me anymore. I hadn’t let them down, but I’d come too damn close for my piece of mind.

  In terms of the Adamant, they were a few tens of light-years away, swarming over two solar systems in addition to their fight on Azsuram. To any normal adversary, fighting three separate wars would tax their ability to fight effectively. They’d be spread way too thin. Not so, unfortunately, with the Adamant. Someday I hoped to learn something of their numbers and their culture. Yes, they were an evil empire, but they were very good at the fighting thing.