by Reiter
“And I suppose you have a question like that waiting for me, right?” Rahneece inquired, looking at Dungias. “Which one of me is here with you now? Is it the mixed breed human that’s got nothing but questions about her kind and how she got to be here… or am I the woman Taas sent to spy on you?”
“What?!” Ephaliun barked. “Did you say spy?!”
“Each of you has a veil, making us more similar than you may think,” Dungias stated. “Ephaliun must make up his mind to decide if he is truly one of us, Rahneece has been leveraged into treachery by an acquaintance of mine, and Teela must come to terms with the fact that her ambitions do not coincide with those of her parents.”
“What ‘bout me?” Ulios asked.
“Sorry, Uli, wait a sec,” Ephaliun said, frowning. “Where’s Jovasor?”
“In the infirmary,” Dungias answered. “Whatever his involvement for what must be done, it will not be as a member of this crew.
“Got it.” Ephaliun turned to face Ulios. “So, what’s you veil?”
“No people… no purpose,” Ulios answered. “QuiQami gone. Nes find and make me whole. I guard his realm ever since. He release me to choose.” Ulios looked at Dungias, perplexed. “You knew me on ship?”
“I knew.”
“You bring me here… train me… why?”
“Nes gave you your freedom,” Dungias answered. “It seemed a shame to have you face your future unaware of who and what you are, and what your potential is.”
“And you just decided to bring him along,” Ephaliun said, walking up to the Astral Realm native. “Welcome to the asylum, friend. Don’t let the big blue man scare you. He’s always going to know more than the rest of us combined.”
“Ulios like smart blue man,” the shape changer replied.
“And just like that, he fits right in!”
“Then let us begin,” Dungias said, drawing Alpha. “There are a few more surprises in store.”
** b *** t *** o *** r **
The event came and went without circumstance, feeling like any other passing instance. Still, it had to be witnessed; the keeper of the records would have it no other way. Thusly, it fell to those who had no choice – the operator of the blast ovens – and a few who felt they had been given a punishment to serve as witnesses. As was the norm, the operator was automated, and Student Furray had drawn the wrong lot, winning the task of witnessing the cremation of thirty-one criminals. One passed just as quickly as the next, and the young man barely had time to stand and yawn before he was shot in the back with a dart.
The prick of the needle made him jump, and his hand moved to his wrist-com to signal his alarm. A pair of small hands caught the moving wrist and before Student Furray knew anything, he was being bitten by a little girl. He looked down on the unkempt black-haired thing and lifted his hand to smack her away. That was when the second dart hit, and the toxin of the first dart started to take effect. He put his hand on the young girl’s head; she was beginning to draw blood. He did not have the strength to remove her… or stand for that matter. He collapsed to the floor and the robot operating the blast ovens never looked up from its work.
“Way to go, Patra,” a young boy said as he came running up reloading his dart launcher. “Check his pockets and get his weapons belt.”
“What about twackers?” the young girl asked.
“He’s just a Student,” the boy replied. “They won’t have trackers on his stuff.”
“Okay, Phay,” the girl said as she went about her given duties.
The first thing she found was credit voucher. She smiled and announced, “We got cweds!” Resuming her search, she found a folding knife and keys to a hover-car. “And we got a wide!”
The young boy ran over and lifted the unconscious man’s arm to read his wrist-com. The name he was looking for was fifth on the list and he memorized the identifier before dropping the arm. He ran over to the floating carrier where the canisters of the ashes were being placed and began looking over them, searching for the right sequence.
“I found him,” he declared. “I found Adleon!” Taking the canister in one hand and the young girl’s hand in the other, the young boy ran for the exit. In spite of the pace he set, the younger girl was able to keep up with him. There was even a smile on her face as she ran.
“Damn, they make ‘em fast around these parts,” Gru remarked, lowering his eye-scope. His computer flashed Unknown across the screen. “And it looks like those two are undocumented.”
“Of course they’re not in the system,” the lean young man replied as he watched them run. They were indeed fast, but more importantly, they had been taught how to run; it appeared as if they also held a high degree of endurance to their flight. “And it makes it easier for us that they’re not in the database.”
“I suppose you have a point,” Gru sighed as he put away the viewing scope. He looked at his fellow Temple Warrior who looked thoroughly amazed to see two children running. “You’re calling this. Do we take them?”
“No,” K’Jolun replied. “Let’s see where they take us.”
“Hey, it’s your lead and idea we’re following. The only one to turn up anything,” Gru noted. “I’ll let you call it until you mess it up.”
“That’s really big of you,” K’Jolun replied as he walked toward the air-car. “… seeing as how we went with your four ideas first with nothing to show for it. It’s kind of obvious that I’m the brains of this partnership. And since we’re Northern Temple… what does that say about you?”
“Right now? That I have unspeakable anger management skills. I’ll drive.”
“You do that,” K’Jolun said as he took off at a run. “I’m going to follow them on foot. Keep your channel open.” Vhusetti Gru watched his partner for the season, K’Jolun Threlzurk, run off after the two nimble children. Running his hands through his light brown and wavy hair, the Temple Warrior sighed. It would have been his preference to come away from this visit with nothing. Investigations like these only got in his way, and he had a great many things to do.
Man does not control his own fate. The women in his life do that for him.
Groucho Marx
(Rims Time: XII-4203.16)
Their strides were nearly in unison, but that was nothing out of the norm. They had marched over many meters of mud, stone, sand, bone, and blood together. It was nearly impossible for them to step out of rhythm with one another. Despite the measure of the unspoken bond, G’Dalior sighed, looking to his left. The tall, tan-skinned woman walked with him. She was not in her battle armour, making her frame all the more impressive. Toned muscles and square shoulders swung only slightly as she walked. The Imperial standard was embossed on the side of her head; the same could be said for the large, diamond-shaped eye patch which she wore over her right eye. Ribbisadia Vora kept both sides of her head shaved, leaving the center patch of thick, wavy, light brown hair which reached to the center of her back. “I will say once more, Ribbi… this is completely unnecessary.”
“Forgive me, my Prince,” the woman replied. “I have failed you. After all we’ve been through, I still haven’t made it clear that I only listen to some of your orders.”
“I do not require a Shield-Arm inside the Imperial Palace,” the Regalion argued. “It is perfectly safe here.”
“I am certain the hangar technicians were of the same mind, my Prince,” Ribbisadia returned. “To say nothing of your excursion to the Northern Temple without my company.”
“I am merely going to attend a session of the Council of the Mage,” G’Dalior advised.
“Then I will try to keep from yawning,” she remarked. Shaking his head, the Regalion turned his thoughts to the chamber he was about to enter.
Maradothia had not said much, but that was a fairly common occurrence when communicating between dimensions, especially by technological devices. The young Princess did not want to use a means the palace could easily track. Still, the portion of her message that he had received was e
nough. He did not recollect anyone in the Sylgarr Family, but such knowledge was not a requirement for G’Dalior to act. His sister had requested action from his station … and he would answer.
“Hmmm, I did not know the Council was so well fortified,” Ribbisadia commented as the two came around the corner, walking out into the large hallway that led to the council chambers.
“It isn’t,” G’Dalior commented, looking at the twelve armed men. “Not normally.”
“Royal Guardsmen,” Ribbisadia identified. “And they’re armoured!”
“It matters not,” G’Dalior muttered before lifting his hand to signal to the guards. “Ho, Guardsman. I have need to enter the chambers of the council. Kindly make way.”
“That I cannot do, Your Majesty,” the guard replied, squaring his shoulders and moving his feet to shoulder width. He took in a breath to say more, but most of that air was forced out of his mouth when Ribbisadia grabbed his chest plate, lifted the man from the floor, and threw him toward the five men on the left side of the door. He had not yet reached his intended destination when the Shield-Arm of the Prince lunged across to the right side of the aisle, kicking up a gust of wind that lifted G’Dalior’s cape and hair. The closest man lifted his left arm so that the back of his fist faced the charging woman. The crystal in the bracer flashed at the same time as the man’s eyes turned bright yellow in color. His wall shield was nearly formed when warrior woman reached it. A slight glint of light shone from underneath her eye patch and she sent her left fist forward. The forming shield shattered like so much glass. The guard that had been making the shield started to scream out in pain from the backlash, but an impromptu shoulder tackle turned his body into a cue ball as Ribbisadia scored a four-ball shot.
The last man stepped forward, summoning a pair of pounder-blasters. Ribbisadia smirked at the weapon choice and continued her charge, turning so that her right shoulder faced her opponent. She dove up from the ground, looking back to verify where her Prince was standing. She fell into a no–hand cartwheel dodging a blast that passed well over G’Dalior’s head. Ribbi’s foot swept across the man’s extended arm and his second shot fired into the floor. The woman came up with a short sword in her left hand and her blaster in her right. The edge of the blade was tucked under the last man’s armpit and when he moved to gasp at her weapon placement, the barrel of her blaster was inserted into his open mouth.
“Do you wish to be laughed at or mourned?!” Ribbisadia hissed, glaring into the man’s eyes. Her bronze eye seemed to gleam in the low light of the corridor. “It is of little difference to me. But since we’re both Vohlterran wonders of the cosmos, I thought I would give you a choice!”
“Call off your sierthay, brother!” Valwonn commanded. The Regalion spun around with deliberate intensity, readying himself to hurl an energy bolt at his disrespectful brother.
“My Prince, nay!” Ribbisadia called out, slowly removing her weapons from her opponent. G’Dalior had already generated the bolt, but he stopped himself from throwing it just ahead of too late. “Your Majesty,” the woman said, bowing deeply to the Emperor and holding that pose.
“Father,” G’Dalior called, also bowing in reverence to the Emperor. Though it was not the more practiced discipline, the Prince was able to dismiss the energy form he had summoned.
TrenGal Primuson stood beside his youngest child, a very cross look painted across his face. He looked at the capable soldier, recognizing her from a number of past meetings. She had fought alongside the Regalion when he had led the attack that ended an Ardrian Uprising.
“Shield-Arm,” the Emperor spoke, acknowledging the woman. “We are a measure away from the proving grounds, are we not?”
“We are at that, Your Majesty,” Ribbisadia replied without standing up straight. “These people thought they could bar the Regalion from entering the chamber. I did not agree with their perspective.”
“And from the looks of things it was a very costly disagreement it was for them,” TrenGal remarked, looking at the men who were slow in getting up. “Rise,” he commanded, and his eyes flared with pride, watching his son and Shield-Arm move at the same time and speed. Locking his eyes on G’Dalior, TrenGal stepped closer, gesturing toward the members of Valwonn’s battered detail. “Sibling disagreements aside, perhaps we can resolve why the retainer of one Prince would thrash the retainers of another.”
“A matter of import to me as well, my Emperor,” G’Dalior stated before he looked at his sibling. “Care to clear the confusion, brother?”
“I sought only to protect the Throne and Family Blood,” Valwonn returned. “A trusted resource of mine advised me of your aims.” Valwonn stepped away from his father’s side, turning to look at the tapestry on the corridor wall. “We are indeed brothers, but as of late, we do not converse with any measure of love. Not that I blame you for that,” Valwonn quickly added, looking back at his older sibling. “My behavior has left much to be questioned. Still, I have never lost my love for father’s position.”
“No, brother, you most certainly have not,” G’Dalior thought.
“With the information I received, I knew I had to act to keep you from making a most grievous error in judgment,” Valwonn continued. “So I sought out Father while ordering my men to bar entry into the session of the Council of the Mage.”
“You went to Father? Why?!” G’Dalior asked as TrenGal folded his arms.
“To protect you from yourself!” Valwonn returned sharply, producing a memory crystal.
Receiving its command from its master, the crystal began to glow before it projected images of the spaceport of Oasis City on the planet of Gulmurr in the Gulmar System. It was a recording that had been taken from an aerial overpass in the wake of JoJo Starblazer’s visit. The image focused on the destruction of a large portion of the facility.
“That is a spaceport in Oasis City,” Valwonn explained before grasping the gem. When he opened his hand a second time, the projected image changed to an aerial view of another building that was in even worse condition. “And that is the Imperial Embassy in the very same city. After an exhaustive investigation by both Gulmar and Imperial agencies, it has been found that a Family of Influence within the Empire is responsible for this destruction. Dozens of Imperial citizens lost their lives in this catastrophic scenario, and the Throne will have to contend with the scores of Gulmar citizens that also perished.”
“And what does this have to do with the Council of the Mage?” G’Dalior inquired. TrenGal nodded in approval of the question; glad that he did not have to voice the inquiry himself… and that his Regalion was demonstrating he had some skill to cope with his position of authority.
“Because of the family name at the heart of the investigators’ findings,” Valwonn stated with great confidence. He grasped the gem one more and opened his hand to project the images of Counselor Gulfrim Sylgarr… his son, a Northern Temple Chevalier by the name of Lord Falco Sylgarr… and his daughter, Coletta Sylgarr. “The name of Sylgarr!”
“How did you come by this?” G’Dalior asked in a whispering voice. He had barely managed to pose the question as his mind raced to get a hold of things. He was quickly able to dismiss Maradothia as having some sort of plot against him, but that did little to help him understand what was happening.
“Is that the question you should be asking, my Prince?!” Valwonn barked as he stepped to stand directly in front of his brother. “Were you not about to enter that chamber there and endorse Loranos Sylgarr as a legacy to his father’s station?!” Valwonn said, pointing at the council chamber doors. When G’Dalior’s eyes dropped from his younger brother’s, it was all Valwonn could do to keep from cheering. At last, the mighty and perfect G’Dalior Primuson had been cast in a light that had brought attention to an imperfection. “An Imperial endorsement given to a family line which is highly in question! Do you know what that says to the people? Do you know what you’re guilty of?!”
“If my brother is guilty of anything,” a sil
ken voice spoke out as a tall, slender female form teleported into the corridor. The light of the aperture faded revealing that it was Cynthali, and she was dressed in the robes of her station, looking incredibly regal. “… it is that his only fault remains to be how much he loves his family.”
“My first born,” TrenGal said in an airy voice, nearly overwhelmed by her beauty and the confidence she had in her position. “What brings you to this impasse? These are not the sort of matters in which you normally engage.”
“I am forever engaged in the strength of the Star of the Empire,” she said, bowing to her father. He nodded and gestured for her to rise. Her orange eyes quickly came up, looking at G’Dalior for a moment before bowing deeply to him as well. “Regalion.”
“Beloved sister,” G’Dalior replied, walking over to embrace the young woman.
“And there is it, in both voice and form,” Cynthali stated, returning the gesture. “It was my brother’s love that gave me a place in this family. It was his love that stayed the hand of many a Champion that had been wronged when Prince Valwonn foolishly tried to make profit from the Imperial Tournaments. And it is his love now that has placed him in this very unseemly position.”
“Explain yourself, daughter,” TrenGal commanded ahead of Valwonn’s attempt to take control of the moment.
“Young Maradothia has befriended the remains of the Sylgarr Family,” the Princess declared. “I do not believe she is aware of the maneuverings of Falco and his father Gulfrim so much as she has come to be fond of the Lady Sylgarr.
“You remember her, Father,” Cynthali said softly. “When she was at her most impressive, she was called Sword Mistress Oedelorana Raynko.”
“Vylprall’s daughter,” TrenGal recollected, putting his hand to his chin. It would take several moments of significant measure for him to forget the challenge in the courtyard of this very palace. With two swords the young sword mistress had managed to wade through ten of his Imperial Guard, receiving only the slightest cut to her cape. “… and second cousin to the Empress. Yes, I do recall her.