Empire's End: Episode 11: Honor and Nobility

by JP Raymond

“No,” the Chieftain said, folding her arms.

  “What?” Rorgun cried.

  “You cannot do that,” Mrahr protested. “She has made a formal quest. By law, she must be heard before mercy can be granted or denied.”

  “She is a traitor!” the Chieftain shouted. “As we speak, an entire armada of Imperial vessels surrounds Grakur, demanding we turn her over to their custody. ‘Captain’ Galesh should have gotten here sooner.”

  “That is not the proper procedure, and you know it!” Mrahr cried.

  “Every Graur is afforded the protection of the Tribal Council and has the right to ask it to intercede on their behalf,” Rorgun said.

  “Don’t lecture me on proper procedure, either of you!” the Chieftain said. “You, Aarghun Mrahr, who participated in Captain Galesh’s initial mutiny against this body before crawling back here and begging for your old position. And you, Rorgun Krisch, a traitor, who warred against the Empire itself. You have both turned your back on the authority of this Council and the honor of your people.”

  “Oh, fuck that shit!” JaQuan shouted.

  “JaQuan!” Kitekh hissed.

  Every eye in the chamber was on him. Three of the guards took a threatening step towards him. The Chieftain’s fur bristled.

  “What terrorist dares address this body?” she growled.

  “Fuck you, lady!” JaQuan said. “I ain’t no fucking terrorist. Manifest Destiny is his thing.”

  He pointed at Brody. Then he stepped forward.

  “The name is JaQuan Jones,” he said. “I’m not a terrorist or a kidnapper. I’m a pilot.

  “I’m also pretty fucking familiar with listening to cowardly bullshit like you’re spitting right now.”

  A second gasp went through assembled. Kitekh put a hand on his shoulder. He shook it off.

  “JaQuan,” Alan said, the worry in his tone clear. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  Yes. He wasn’t sure it was smart, but he was damn sure he knew what he was doing.

  “For three years, since I joined Kitekh’s crew, all I’ve heard is how honorable and noble Graur are, how they’re the very soul of the Empire,” he said. “Honor and nobility are pretty words. They make you feel real good about yourself. And it’s easy to set all sorts of standards for what constitutes both.

  “But the real measure of whether someone’s honorable or noble ain’t when you’re feeling all good about yourself and times are nice. It’s when bad shit is going down. You prove you’re honorable and noble when it’s hard, not when it’s easy.

  “Kitekh didn’t have to come here. She could have tried to go anywhere in the galaxy. And because her crew is actually honorable – with two notable exceptions – we would have followed her. But instead she came here. Because she knew there was nowhere safe for any of us until this was resolved. And she didn’t want to put the rest of us at any more risk.

  “That is honorable. That’s fucking noble.

  “You think every fiber of her being isn’t screaming in disgust at humbling herself before you? You think she wants your fucking mercy? She doesn’t! She’d rather die fighting the man who framed – Yes, framed! – her father. But she’s trying to protect the rest of us.

  “She’s specifically trying to protect my entire race. Because this plot we’re all caught up in, this traitorous scheme against the Empire itself, exists so that we can be driven to extinction.

  “And now you sit up there and say she shoulda come here sooner. You say other people don’t get to call you out on your bullshit cowardice.

  “Well, I’m calling you out, ‘Mighty Chieftain.’ I’m calling all y’all out. You have a law. It states that she gets to beg for the Council’s mercy and that you have to hear her before you make a decision. But you just want to ignore that because the Empire’s got a fleet of ships up there making threats.

  “So much for Graur military genius. So much for Graur martial prowess. So much for honor and nobility.

  “Times are hard, Mighty Chieftain. Shit’s getting real. Time to prove you’re noble as you always claim.

  “If you can’t do it, then you, your Tribal Council, and your whole culture is just a pile of shit. Putting pretty bows on it don’t make it anything better.”

  For a moment, no one spoke. Stunned silence held the chamber firmly in its grip. Then the Chieftain folded her arms.

  “Kill him,” she said.

  The guards started forward. JaQuan had his beamer in his hand instantly. Alan drew both his weapons. Rorgun put Kitekh behind him and adopted a defensive pose.

  “Who wants to die first?” JaQuan said, switching his aim between two different guards.

  “Stop!” a voice said.

  JaQuan risked a look up. The elder from Kitekh’s tribe had stood and come to the edge of the platform.

  “This human shames us,” he said.

  “Agreed,” the Chieftain said. “Kill him.”

  “You misunderstand me, Grinara,” he said. “He is correct. Kitekh Galesh has begged mercy. She has a right to be heard before we pass judgment.”

  “You have heard the demands from the Imperials, Drekraar,” the Chieftain said. “Galesh and her crew kidnapped the Emperor’s daughter. They conspired with Manifest Destiny to influence our government. Imperial agents order us to remand them to their custody.”

  “And yet this same Imperial captain does not have a writ from the Emperor to enforce his authority over our sovereign territory. Meanwhile, both Captain Galesh and her human pilot claim there is more to the story than we’ve been told.”

  “A lot more,” JaQuan said.

  “In the absence of an Imperial writ, we are obligated to honor our own laws,” he concluded.

  A majority of the elders nodded and harrumphed. JaQuan held his breath.

  “Very well,” the Chieftain said, a begrudging note in her voice. “Until the Emperor issues a writ, you have your audience, Galesh. I suggest you speak quickly.”

  JaQuan relaxed ever so slightly. His heart continued to pound. Sweat ran down the back of his head onto his neck. The stress of the situation and the adrenaline rush from nearly having to fight for his life made the heat all the more oppressive.

  But at least Kitekh would get a chance to make her case.

  “Mighty Chieftain,” Kitekh said, “Wise Elders, thank you. I come to you today not to ask for your forgiveness or even my freedom. Rather, I ask for the protection of my crew. I bargain with custody of these two traitors.” She waved her arm at Brody and Cooressa. “It is they who conspired against the Empire. And I tell you this kidnapping they perpetrated is part of a larger plot, one that is designed to bring the entire Empire to its knees to suit the whims of one Elohiman’s ambition.”

  As succinctly but with as much detail as she could, Kitekh outlined the madness they’d been a part of since disembarking from Daxal Station. How, Brody and Cooressa had smuggled a cryogenically frozen Haneeta Mol aboard. How the crew had narrowly escaped the Imperial trap set for them but had damaged their hyperdrive. How they had limped to the Horari Belt to repair the ship, only to encounter a Space Ranger they were forced to battle.

  She told them how they fled to Cecilak to ask Mrahr for help but had been ambushed by both the same Space Ranger and the same Imperial captain they had faced before and were forced to run again. She related how JaQuan had discovered Cooressa’s treachery, and how the Elohiman had murdered Haneeta to make it impossible for them to return her safely.

  And she told them how this was a duel plot to turn galactic opinion against humanity and to set Idrib Mol on the throne.

  When she finished, silence descended on the chamber. Looks of shock, wonder, and doubt played across the faces of the Tribal Council. JaQuan couldn’t be certain if anyone believed her.

  “Mighty Chieftain,” Cooressa said. “Since I stand accused of kidnapping and murder, I feel it is only right I be allowed to answer. I state unequivocally that the vast majority of this sad tale is rubbish. I did not kidnap
Haneeta Mol; Mr. Brody and Mr. Jones did. I did not murder her; Mr. Brody did.”

  “No!” Brody cried. “I didn’t kill her! I don’t know who did, but it wasn’t me!”

  “Captain Galesh is as dishonorable as her father,” Cooressa went on, ignoring her co-conspirator’s pleas of innocence. “She lies before the Tribal Council to protect herself and to advance her own failed vengeance.”

  Fury surged through JaQuan. Cooressa’s lies were one thing, but to directly impugn Kitekh’s honor was suddenly more than he could stand. He whirled and pressed his beamer to her forehead.

  “How’d you like to skip the trial and go straight to execution?” he said.

  “Lower your pistol, human,” the Chieftain said. “You demanded a court of law. You have it. Now you must let it run.”

  “I don’t care how this turns out,” he growled at Cooressa. “I’ll see you dead.”

  “You are an animal,” she replied. “Emperor Idrib is right.”

  JaQuan backhanded her across the face.

  “Enough!” the Chieftain roared. “Strike or threaten her again, and we will detain you. With prejudice.”

  JaQuan snorted disdainfully at her. He stood back from Cooressa, though.

  “I am curious how this kidnapping plot was to elevate Idrib Mol to the throne,” said one of the elders, a grey tabby female.

  “I do not know,” Kitekh answered. “This piece of the scheme was revealed by my comms officer to JaQuan but she did not elaborate on how it would work.”

  “Because such a plot does not exist,” Cooressa said. “I said nothing of the kind to the human.”

  “You’re a liar, Cooressa,” JaQuan said.

  “If I may, Wise Elders,” Mrahr said. “I believe there are two schemes afoot. The first – this kidnapping – was designed to sour public opinion on humanity as the Fourth Race. Senator Mol was an outspoken opponent of humanity, and he conspired with his daughter to frame them for a fictitious kidnapping that would make him seem sympathetic. A second plot exists to crown him Emperor. He now has the authority to order human genocide and appear justified in doing so.”

  “But how was it accomplished?” another elder asked.

  “I do not know,” Mrahr said. “When we fled Cecilak, we were still without an Emperor. We only know Idrib Mol has ascended the throne because you have told us.”

  “However,” Kitekh said, “if the senator-turned-emperor conspired to frame humanity for a kidnapping that did not occur so that he could turn around and order them put to death en masse, it stands to reason he had a plan to put himself on the throne.”

  Another silence followed. The Tribal Council huddled and conferred.

  “Think it’ll work?” Alan asked JaQuan.

  “No fucking clue,” he said. “They’re talking, so that’s good. But I don’t see how it matters even if they find in our favor.”

  “These are serious accusations, Galesh,” the Chieftain said at last. “You have no evidence to support them, and one of the people you accuse denies your claims. You leave the Tribal Council in a difficult position.”

  “I understand,” Kitekh said. “I swear to you on my honor that every word I speak is true.”

  “I am pleased to hear that, Galesh,” the Chieftain replied. “Since you stake your honor, you will have no objection to defending it . . . in Ritual Combat.”

  “What!” JaQuan cried.

  Kitekh hung her head. She had clearly expected this.

  So had Rorgun. He stepped forward.

  “Mighty Chieftain,” he said. “As you can plainly observe, Kitekh has a broken arm among other injuries. She cannot fight to the fullest of her capacities. I therefore offer to be her proxy.”

  The Chieftain crossed her arms. A sinister smile slid up her face. JaQuan’s guts seized up with dread. He could see the Tribal Council had some more diabolical plan in mind.

  “The Council does not recognize you, Rorgun Krisch,” the Chieftain said. “You rebelled against the Empire, a member of the Kwin Faan. You have neither recanted nor atoned for your deeds. We therefore do not accept you as part of the Graur nation. Your offer of proxy is denied.”

  Rorgun’s mouth fell open. He tried to find words to protest, but none came. The smug part of JaQuan’s heart couldn’t help but be pleased. The zealous bastard wasn’t going to get his moment of glory.

  “I offer to proxy for Kitekh,” Mrahr said, stepping forward.

  “Thank you, Governor,” the Chieftain said. “But we have something different in mind.”

  JaQuan’s heart stopped. If they weren’t going to let Mrahr fight for Kitekh, the whole thing was a setup.

  “Captain Galesh claims this elaborate scheme was designed to foster human genocide. Since humanity stands as both accused and accuser, let a human stand proxy for the captain if she will not fight herself.”

  Horror crawled over JaQuan’s skin like a thousand spiders. He’d been right. It was a setup. He had no idea what the rules were of “Ritual Combat,” but he knew damned well no human had a fair shot at defeating a Graur in a straight fight. If Kitekh wouldn’t participate, there was no chance to win. If she did, she would lose. She was too hurt to be able to defend herself effectively, let alone attack. The Tribal Council had decided against her. They were just making a show of pretending to be fair.

  “I volunteer,” Alan said, stepping forward and brandishing his sword.

  JaQuan’s head snapped around in Alan’s direction. Was he insane? He couldn’t be more than a hundred fifty pounds. Even with a sword he didn’t stand a chance against a seven-foot-tall behemoth with razor-sharp claws.

  “No, Alan, you can’t,” Rorgun said, echoing JaQuan’s thoughts. “This isn’t a duel.”

  “He’s right,” Mrahr said. “Your sword won’t last three seconds.

  “This isn’t justice!” he added, turning his face to the Chieftain. “You cannot expect this boy to engage in Graur Ritual Combat.”

  “Hey, I’m not a boy!” Alan said. “I’m twenty-eight years old!”

  “And you weigh half, at most, of your opponent,” Rorgun said.

  “You are correct, Governor,” the Chieftain said. “We do not expect your sword-wielding compatriot to face off in Ritual Combat.

  “Since he professes to know so much about honor and nobility, and since he presumes to tell this Council that we lack it, let JaQuan Jones defend his words, his species, and his captain.”

  Now it was JaQuan’s turn to stare slack-jawed at the Chieftain. He supposed he should have seen it coming, but the Tribal Council’s vindictive play caught him off-guard.

  “Oh, hell no,” he said. “This is fucking bullshit. Y’all know damned well it ain’t no fair fight between me and a Graur. On top of that, I don’t know how to use a sword. I’m a boxer. And ain’t no way that’s gonna be good enough against your champion. You’re setting us up to lose.”

  “On the contrary, Mr. Jones,” the Chieftain said, “one who is righteous has the strength of God on his side. He cannot lose in a battle for his honor.”

  “Bullshit,” JaQuan said. “God has nothing to do with it. A creature with superior reach, massive strength, and claws and fangs is going to win over one without. The only way to level the playing field is to give me a gun, and I’m guessing your ritual rules don’t allow for that.”

  “You are correct, Mr. Jones,” the Chieftain replied, grinning triumphantly. “Any fool can aim a beamer. On Grakur, honor is given to those who can defeat their opponents hand-to-hand.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, I’m guessing that’s not any of you then,” JaQuan retorted. “Because this is about as honorless a move as there is. This is straight bullshit.”

  The Chieftain’s grin turned to a scowl. Most of the Tribal Council mimicked her. They clearly didn’t like being insulted.

  “Our decision is final,” the Chieftain said. “We order Kitekh Galesh to engage in Ritual Combat. If she cannot or will not, we will accept only JaQuan Jones as her proxy. If you both refuse
to fight, the matter is closed. The Tribal Council rules against you. Make your choice.”

  JaQuan hung his head. Those fuckers. This wasn’t justice.

  Rischa’s words came back to him: The Tribal Council does not like outsiders.

  It seemed his rant had been a double-edged sword. It had shamed the Council into giving Kitekh a chance to plead her case, but they had not liked being called out by an outsider, a human. They intended to make JaQuan pay for having the gall to call them on their bullshit.

  He looked at Kitekh. Her green eyes were sad. He knew what she would do. If he didn’t accept the challenge, she would choose to fight. And she would die.

  All this was his fault. If he hadn’t broken her arm, they wouldn’t be in this position.

  “Mighty Chieftain,” Mrahr said, stepping forward. “You and the Tribal Council know this is not fair. Mr. Jones is right. He cannot hope to prevail against any Graur champion if he is unarmed. I therefore demand he be given a Far-Biter.”

  A murmur went through the Council. They huddled quickly.

  “What’s a Far-Biter?” JaQuan asked.

  “No,” the Chieftain pronounced. “Mr. Jones is not Graur. That is an honor only conferred to our greatest warriors.”

  “But you ask him to act as a Graur,” Mrahr countered. “You want him to participate in Ritual Combat to defend our innocence. You deny him a weapon he can use. If he must be Graur for this moment, it is only right he be accorded the full rights of a Graur so that he may defend both himself and his shipmates.”

  “What’s a fucking Far-Biter?” JaQuan said, turning to Mrahr.

  “Your only chance at winning,” Mrahr replied.

  The Tribal Council broke its conference. Kitekh’s clansman looked at the Chieftain and nodded. She scowled in disgust.

  “Very well,” she said. “If Mr. Jones accepts the challenge, he shall be granted a Far-Biter to wield.”

  “Well played, Aarghun,” Rorgun said.

  “What’s a fucking Far-Biter?” JaQuan repeated.

  “A special Graur weapon,” Kitekh answered. “It is a great honor to be awarded one. It is a large glove equipped with claws and several ranged weapons. You will still be severely overmatched, JaQuan. But with a Far-Biter there is a chance for you to survive and win.”