Frontline

by Z H Brown

  She steadied herself, unsure of what had just happened. The bridge was filled with golden light, a thick stream of energy passing by harmlessly where they had just been. As the glow faded and the beam dissipated, she looked at the squad mate that had saved them all.

  Tread was standing at the helmsman’s station, having managed to unlock the console just barely in time.

  “I’m still trying to get everything restored,” he said, his fingers still moving over the console. “All I managed to do was fire the starboard thrusters.”

  Another communication arrived on the bridge. The same voice that had previously spoken returned, this time noticeably angry.

  “Detestable wyrm!” it snarled. “Hold still so I can disintegrate you!”

  Xandarius was staring out of the viewscreen at the lone vessel. His hands were clenched tight, and the set of his jaw belied the anger he was barely keeping contained. Ansaria ran over to join Tread.

  “Not to be ungrateful or anything,” said Ansaria, as she looked quickly between Tread and the enemy ship. “But any chance you could do more than get us to go in one direction?”

  “Working on it, Sarge,” replied Tread insistently, his eyes never leaving his task. Again, Tantius spoke up. “They’re recharging the weapon.”

  Tread continued to work, the console rapidly shifting from one screen to another. After a few moments, he triumphantly announced:

  “Zero Engine unlocked, preparing to jump in five…”

  For the first time, Xandarius looked away from the ship which held his hated rival. “Is there any way to send a message before we go?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry, sire,” said Tread. “I’ve spent this whole time trying to unlock propulsion alone.”

  Xandarius said nothing, only turning back to look at his counterpart’s craft.

  A swirl of purplish-black energy filled the viewscreen, obscuring the attacking ship. “This isn’t over!” came the demented voice of the Golden Emperor to fill the ship. “I will destroy you, pretender! There’s nowhere you can escape me!”

  The Throneship entered into the Z-space void, the dark dimension swallowing up the mighty vessel.

  “I will find you!” was the last message they received before they were gone.

  The Throneship flew silently through Z-space on its way back to Imperial Military Center Epsilon, while aboard, Ansaria, her squad, and the rest of the bridge crew were all giving Tread their most heartfelt thanks and congratulations. Strangely, the only one who had yet to say anything was the Emperor. Xandarius waited until the noise had died down somewhat before speaking.

  “Once again, you have my thanks, soldier,” commended the Emperor, fixing his steady gaze on the android. “It seems that without you and your intrepid sergeant, the Empire would’ve been dealt a crippling blow.”

  “I am simply doing my duty, Your Highness,” said Tread, giving the Emperor a bow, “as all of my squad did, during our travels to reach you.”

  “Indeed,” said Xandarius, now turning his gaze to Ansaria. The sergeant tried to keep from blinking too much as she looked back into the eyes of her sovereign.

  “As I recall, you had quite the story to tell, sergeant. Why don’t you take a moment to compose yourself, and then join me in my private chambers so that you can properly regale me?”

  Now it was Ansaria’s turn to bow. “As you command, sire.”

  Xandarius nodded approvingly, settling back into his throne. “As for the rest of you, I want this ship back in our complete control by the time we return to Epsilon, as well as a complete status report. We shall have quite a story of our own to tell when we arrive.”

  The assembled bridge crew, as well as Ansaria and her squad, gave a tight salute.

  Chapter XIX

  Debriefing

  My Beloved Queen and Wife, fear not: once more, the Golden Emperor and I have met on the battlefield, and once more, even with overwhelming advantages, he failed to defeat me. Truly, has there ever been a clearer sign that I am destined to cast down that infernal tyrant and take his great power for my own?

  --Excerpt from a message to Prime-Queen Zira from Emperor Xandarius

  She and her squad had returned to the medical area, the same from whence they had previously escaped, after being dismissed. Ansaria needed a look over, and it gave them a chance to check up on Slog. After having her shoulder wound properly examined and re-bandaged, she and the others were allowed to see their friend.

  Slog was resting peacefully, the sweaty clamminess that had covered him when last Ansaria had seen him was gone, and now he looked merely like he was sleeping. The spot where his arm had been severed at the shoulder was covered in a clean wrapping.

  “We’ve stabilized the private,” said the attending physician, a Xenlongian with a bushy beard. “Unfortunately, we’re unsure if we’ll be able to reattach his limb. I’m sure you all did everything you could, but sometimes these things happen. Once he comes to, we can explain the situation fully and see how he wishes to proceed.”

  Ansaria was awash with conflicting emotions: glad that Slog was alive but saddened, angered, and ashamed by the news that they couldn’t save his arm. Watching her resting comrade, the sergeant clenched her fist, wishing for a moment that Reno was still functioning so she could trash it all over again. Surely if she’d only moved a little bit faster, they could’ve saved Slog’s limb. Someone’s hand rested gently on her shoulder, bringing her out of her thoughts.

  “Come on, Sarge,” said Alvara in almost a whisper. “We need to get you something to eat. Don’t want to keep His Majesty waiting, do you?”

  Ansaria nodded, a new emotion filling her: anxiousness. In the last week she and her soldiers had gone AWOL, stolen a ship, and fought monsters and robots, all in an effort to make contact with the Emperor, but to have finally come face-to-face with the sovereign and savior of her people was overwhelming.

  The squad was led to the mess hall by an escort of soldiers who had been tasked with their protection. Word of their arrival and exploits were beginning to spread like a virus through the ship, and no one could know how many more traitors remained in their midst.

  Ansaria ate at a steady pace, the Imperial military meal a source of comforting familiarity after the insanity of their recent adventures. Her squad ate in silence, surrounded by guards, all of them simply too exhausted and numb to speak.

  As soon as her meal was finished, Ansaria stood up. Her stomach was in knots, and she nearly laughed at the thought that out of all the dangers she had faced, it was a one-on-one meeting with her emperor that was making her the most nervous. One of the guards nodded at her and spoke into his comm. unit. Ansaria’s squad mates all looked intently at her.

  “Good luck, Sarge,” said Alvara, giving her friend, comrade and commander a salute, then a wink, teasingly adding, “just remember to breathe, OK?”

  “You’ll certainly not be lacking in things to say, sergeant,” offered Tread, saluting as well. Critter spoke up, adding his encouragement before also saluting. Ansaria looked at her friends warmly before speaking.

  “Thank you, everyone. And, since this is the first real moment we’ve had to catch our breath, I just want to say: I’m proud of all of you.” She returned the salute before the guard that had made the call escorted her back to the lift.

  The brief ride had ended and Ansaria now found herself in the hallway leading to the Emperor’s inner sanctum. Ansaria tried to control her rapidly beating heart as the lift doors opened before her. The short hallway ahead was empty, save for the massive sliding doors directly ahead of her. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and began marching forward, but suddenly glanced down at herself for a brief instant and stopped. She realized that her armor had been through almost continuous combat since she had left Oasis: her gray and black suit was covered in scuffs, burns, dirt and blood; some pieces had chipped off and her Imperial insignia was half buried under scorch marks and grime. While it hadn’t crossed her mind before, now sh
e wish she’d been able to get a replacement. She never imagined she’d be meeting the Emperor looking like she’d just fought half the Golden Imperium.

  Unfortunately, there was nothing for it now, and so Ansaria continued walking towards the door. When she got to within a few feet of it, it suddenly, with just the softest noise, rose up. A guard, in the full concealing, bone-white armor of the Emperor’s Royal Guards was standing before her.

  Ansaria guessed that the guard was probably a Xenlongian; she couldn’t see his face behind a heavy, horned helmet that covered his features completely, but judging by his height and the fact that the majority of Xandarius’ private guards were known to be Xenlongian, Ansaria felt confident in her guess.

  “Sergeant Dormus?” asked the guard in strong, even voice. Ansaria stood as inspection-straight as she nodded.

  The guard nodded in turn. He stepped to one side, stepping back into an alcove next to the door. “His Majesty is expecting you.”

  Ansaria swallowed once, then twice, before she began moving her feet again. As soon as she passed the threshold, she heard the door descend behind with the same soft noise.

  The hallway before her was longer than the last one. Its high ceiling, reminiscent of the architecture of Xenlong, had strong lights set at regular intervals that caused shadows to be cast into the alcoves set on both sides of the hall. Inside each alcove stood a member of the guard in their bone-white armor. A massive door bearing the Imperial symbol awaited her at the end of the hall, through which she knew awaited Emperor Xandarius, Savior of Xenlong.

  Xenlong: a world of natural beauty, and home to the Xenlongians. Throughout their history, the Xenlongians had struggled to build a great civilization, based on the principles of freedom and peace. Unfortunately, as the planet’s resources began to dwindle, those with control of them became more and more powerful. They parlayed this power into seizing control of the planet, beginning the reign of the Oligarchs.

  Under their rule, Xenlong and its people withered and choked. The Oligarchs kept a stranglehold on the sources of their wealth and power, turning people into a new resource to be exploited and used before being tossed aside as no longer profitable. The Xenlongian dream of an interstellar civilization was abandoned in favor of extra-planetary strip-mining.

  The wanton disregard for conservation and efficiency caused the planet’s environment to become hostile. Temperature extremes wracked the world, while fierce storms caused havoc over entire continents. Some cities were so permeated with pollution and toxins that it was unsafe to breathe outside without a filter.

  Into that dark time, Xandarius had been born.

  The first few alcoves Ansaria passed were staffed by Xenlongians. Most of them stood a head or more taller than her, but all of them were dwarfed by the Emperor.

  Xandarius was born into a well-off family, which allowed him to spend his time in pursuits that interested him. He studied almost constantly, and while he dabbled in seemingly every area, his greatest passion was for history. He loved reading about the achievements of those before him, those Xenlongians that had taken destiny into their own hands and shaped Xenlong’s future; and the more Xandarius learned, the more he began to see just how far his people had fallen.

  Ansaria passed more alcoves as she made her way to the end of the hall. Here and there were guards that were clearly not Xenlongian; one them had a helmet that made room for large, pointed ears, making Ansaria believe he was a Packmember, the same species as Wulf from back on Brakka. Another, with a snout and a thin tail she could just barely discern wrapped about his waist, was clearly a primate Simirian.

  As the Oligarchy consolidated its power, it ruthlessly put down any that opposed them. While the majority of the Xenlongian people willingly (or blindly) followed the path laid out by their new masters, there were those that refused to go down without a fight. Rebels, resistance movements, idealists, revolutionaries- any and all who spoke out or opposed the ruling class were eliminated, some publicly, others quietly.

  In this fashion, life went on for the people of Xenlong for decades: the people forced to serve an indifferent ruling class while their planet and society died an agonizingly slow death. It would have likely continued in such a manner, had the people not found their breaking point.

  Slavery was long held to be the ultimate evil amongst Xenlongians; to deny another their rightful freedom, to treat them as property, was so abhorrent to them that it was stamped out far back in their history.

  When it was announced that the Oligarchy was planning on introducing indentured servitude, it was seen as the legalization of slavery. The official word was that it was going to be used to reform the criminal corrections industry: nonviolent offenders would be able to work off their time (however long it was decided that one would stay), while those in prisons for debt would be able to work off said debt at a ‘reasonable’ rate.

  No matter how the Oligarchy tried to spin it, the population wasn’t buying it. For the first time in living memory, Xenlongians took to the streets en masse. Law enforcement, by now little more than an army bought and paid for by the oppressors, was called out to control the situation. However, plenty of them sympathized with the rioters, and so turned against their employers. Chaos gripped Xenlong,

  Into this chaos, a grown Xandarius emerged. He rallied the people to seize their chance to remove their overlords once and for all. He spoke of a new Xenlong, one of equality for all, where people were free to choose their destinies, where the rulers worked to help and strengthen the people, not weaken and enslave them. His words inflamed the citizens further, and soon Xandarius became a central rallying point for the oppressed.

  The Oligarchs, aware that the situation for them was critical, took notice and decided to do something about the rabble-rouser.

  Ansaria’s march to the doors was temporally halted when she passed by an alcove to the left and she was forced to stop and marvel at the guard stationed there: it seemed to be a machine, though whether a piloted drone, a preprogrammed war bot, or a sentient android, Ansaria could not tell. Its arms were so long its knuckles scraped the ground, and its legs were rather short and stubby. Its fingers were flat and blade like, though they appeared to be dull rather than sharp. Its massive torso and chest, and wide shoulders supported an almost comically small head. It was relatively melon shaped, with one massive red eye and a pinprick of another eye. Its metal body was the same bone-white as the rest of the guards’ armor.

  What slowed Ansaria down wasn’t the fact that the guard was a machine, nor was she particularly impressed by its strange shape; what fascinated her was its size. At around fourteen feet high, the massive machine towered over Ansaria, and even stood taller than the emperor. The fact that such a huge war machine was protecting Xandarius on a daily basis, and that it was currently standing in an alcove tailored to its size, struck Ansaria as both surprising and a bit funny. She stared at the unmoving mech for a few moments more before continuing on.

  Xandarius’ inflammatory remarks made him a target of the Oligarchs. Teams were dispatched, officially to arrest him for inciting panic and disrupting the peace, but by this point everyone knew they were going to shut him up permanently. Xandarius was forced to disappear to protect his family, himself and his growing movement, but he would not stay missing for long.

  During the years leading up to the revolution, Xandarius had been making contacts and friends in countless fields. One of these contacts was a Professor Lumae, who developed for him an incredibly advanced piece of technology that would turn any soldier into a one-person army. This technology came in the form of an armor dubbed the Silverskin, which was able to shrug off blasts from anything less than a warship, fire beams of destructive energy, and allow for feats of flight, strength and speed beyond any mortal creature.

  With Xandarius clad in a piece of technology that made him virtually untouchable, he was able to return to his people and led them personally into a new future; tens of thousands of ordinary Xenlongians fol
lowed their gleaming, silver champion as he swept aside all that stood before them. The Oligarchs were chased into a corner until finally, they had nowhere to run.

  Many of the Xenlongians called for blood, for the Oligarchs to pay then and there for all the sins they and their families had committed. Xandarius instead called for them to stand trial, as was the true, lawful way of Xenlong. The people heeded his words and the rulers of the old order were taken away to be judged for their crimes.

  With the planet now free of its oppressors, the time came for a new leader to be chosen. Xandarius, who had been sharing his vision of the future since the whole affair started, was asked by many to become the new ruler of Xenlong. Xandarius agreed, so long as the majority of the people wished it; the support was nearly unanimous. While there where others that had plans for the planet after the war, no one had the same support as Xandarius. And so it was, with the agreement of the people, that Xandarius founded the Xenlongian Empire, with himself as the first Emperor.

  After passing a few more guards both Xenlongian and alien, Ansaria reached the doors at the end of the hall that separated her from the Emperor. The massive doors, tall enough to admit the massive machine (though Ansaria doubted they were wide enough), slid apart when Ansaria was just a few feet from them.

  Standing inside flanking the door was a pair of guards. Based on their height and build, Ansaria figured they were also Xenlongian. They each carried a lance that was nearly as tall as they were that she knew doubled as a beam rifle. An archway that led to a brightly lit room was directly ahead of her.

  Neither of the guards said anything. Anyone that had made it this far must have official business with the Emperor, or else they never would have made it through the hallway alive. Ansaria took one more deep breath, and then walked toward the light.

  The illumination was coming from a powerful light set in the ceiling, not unlike those in the hallway, though this one was much brighter- not blinding, merely intense. The walls were deeply recessed, and seemed to be a patchwork of computer equipment and decorations. Symbols and multicolored lights danced on the electronics while comforts and possessions sat under peaceful shadows.