by D. E. Kinney
Ethos calmly examined a thread on the sleeve of his immaculately tailored dress uniform before answering. “Yes, it is shocking that members of the Mark—” He said “Mark” with a sarcastic slur. “—could perpetrate such an act, but then they are, after all, Herfers.” Ethos smiled and looked directly at Remus.
Remus turned from the general, trying to control a growing rage.
“And as for the attack order. The ban on species versus species engagements is more of a guideline, Chairman. Of course, as a political figure, you would not have knowledge of such military protocol,” he added.
The distinguished diplomat, suddenly feeling very old, slowly turned and returned to his chair. “What do you want, Ethos?”
This time the general did not try to hide his smile…
Remus quietly pushed off the large hood and pressed his hand into the glowing ID scan at a station being attended by a royal Couragian guard. The helmeted sentry, satisfied with the ensuing displayed information, hit the hatch release and allowed the now retired chairman to enter an outer area of Tommy’s holding cell.
Remus noted, as he walked toward another security station, that he had never heard one of these genetically manufactured monsters speak. They must speak, he thought. They communicate with one another…
He let the thought slip away, knowing he was just trying to keep his mind occupied with anything but the events of the last two months. Tommy and Gary found guilty of treason, and Gary—may his God have mercy—to endure the Codtra Ritual.
Almost a century ago, Tarchein scientists had, through conquest, become aware of an ancient ritual called the Codtra, or the separation. It was a complex medical procedure, but basically it involved attaching tubes with circulating oxygenated blood and liquefied nourishment along with electric impulses to a person’s head, allowing it to be removed from the body. The original reason for the research and attempts at the refining of this procedure was to extend life. Once perfected, the procedure could be used to prolong the lives of the greatest minds in the Empire almost indefinitely. But to date, there had been no takers, all preferring death to having their head artificially maintained—maybe, when an artificial body could be connected. However, the gruesome ritual continued to be used as a deterrent to crimes against the Empire. If so condemned, an individual would have his head removed and then placed in a small black box, to be kept alive for a minimum of a hundred years—no light, no sound—horrific.
Remus, just barely aware of his own movement, came to the next giant, and again allowed his hand to be scanned. This exercise was repeated several times before he was finally face to face with his son, Tommy.
He was seated on a chair, head bowed, hands on his lap bound by energy bands, located behind a clear confinement field. He did not look up to greet his foster father as he sat down in the only other chair.
“Tommy.”
Tommy reluctantly looked up, but it was hard to endure the pain and the sadness in the old Tarchein’s eyes—pain that he was responsible for.
“It’s tomorrow,” Remus said.
Tommy only nodded.
“At the convergence of the moons, the sentence will be carried out,” Remus continued.
Again, Tommy did not respond.
“I’m sorry, Tommy, but I will be unable to attend, as my ship leaves tonight for Peedma.”
“Peedma…” Tommy said.
Remus tried to smile. “It was strongly suggested that I relocate in the Cadamare System—Peedma seemed the best choice.”
“Suggested. You’re being exiled because of me,” Tommy said and bowed his head.
Remus, without thinking, tried to comfort his son. The shock of the force field sent his hand back into his lap. “This was my decision, Tommy. Besides, Peedma is a very nice planet, with good people, far from the tiring politics of the Empire. I’ll be well taken care of, son.”
Tommy looked up. “But, sir, your position…”
Remus raised a hand. “I have grown tired of the capital, Tommy, and without you.” Remus stopped himself. “It’s time for me to rest. I’m looking forward to it.”
“This is my fault, Father, if only I had—“
Again Remus raised his hand, wishing somehow he could comfort the young man. After all, it was because of him that Tommy was even in the Star Force. Had I hoped only to ease my own conscience, he asked himself for the hundredth time. “I’ve seen all of the facts, Tommy, not just that nonsense they released to the advocate. You had no choice.”
Tommy could not find it within himself to look into the old alien’s eyes. “There are always choices.”
Remus did not respond immediately. “I think you will find, for beings of integrity—that is not always true.
Tommy looked at Remus but said nothing.
“I’ve received some wonderful gifts in my life, Tommy. They have given me much joy, but nothing to compare with our time together. Going to Peedma means nothing! What’s important is that you continue. You have a lot of life to live—a life, I believe, that is destined for greatness.”
Tommy tried to smile, tears starting to well up.
“Listen to me, son. You did what you had to do on Titan, and so did Mr. Cruise. I would have expected nothing less from either of you,” Remus said.
Tommy shook his head.
“There is a reason why we never—never have Imperial warriors fight members of their own race,” he added.
“If that’s true, then why now?” Tommy asked.
“I don’t know, Tommy, but one thing is for sure—Ethos is behind it,” Remus said.
“Two minutes,” came the booming voice of one of the guards.
So they do speak, thought Remus.
“Ethos, I should have guessed. He’s always hated Gary,” Tommy said.
“Quite right, and he’s been looking to get me relieved for years—never liked my stance on aliens.” Remus glanced over his shoulder before continuing, “But there’s something else, Tommy. I sense a great fear in the royal house.”
“A fear of Terran?” Tommy asked.
Remus smiled, something he had not done for months. “No, Tommy, the royal house, to their great loss, fears no system of planets or any race in this galaxy. No, this is something else. But the result will be acts like the attack on Titan, and the wasteful involvement of men like you and Mr. Cruise,” Remus said.
Tommy winced. The mention of Gary brought overwhelming sadness.
Remus stood as a guard approached. “If our paths never cross again, Tommy—know this.”
Tommy looked directly at Remus. “Yes, sir.”
“Having you in my life has brought me the greatest joy. You are now, and will remain within my heart forever.”
“And you in mine, Father,” Tommy said.
“Farewell, my son,” he said, and after one last lingering look into Tommy’s eyes, Remus pulled the hood over his great head and was gone.
Tommy was once again alone in the outer court of the Marked headquarters. Again to stand among the honored fallen, and again there was no apprehension. The training of the Marked, he thought. But there was something new, a bitterness and a resentment he had never known. No, not in all the years of combat had he felt such hate.
“Lieutenant Commander Thomas Thorn.” The summons resonated softly throughout the court.
Large doors swung open, and Tommy made the long lonely walk between rows of the assembled officers to the very stage where just months earlier he had received his Mark—all thoughts now, however, on his friend, Gary Cruise.
The Marked commandant and his staff were seated in a wide arc at the rear of the stage, and just as with the trial, Tommy could only find sadness in his eyes. He had never felt any sense of betrayal from the ranking officer.
Grand Marshal Ethos, his staff and a dozen Couragians were also on the stage along with Gary. He stood, secured in a harness that fastened around his neck. Tubes jutted out of the back and top of his shaved head.
Tommy made eye contact w
ith Gary as he slowly climbed the steps to the stage. How was Gary able to show such courage, his eyes steady and bright? They had been kept separated since the court-martial, but Tommy would always remember the comforting look and Gary’s last words to him. “Stand as they stood, Tommy. This is not your fault, my friend.”
Don’t show these Tarchein bastards any fear, was Tommy’s only thought.
Once on the stage, Tommy’s hands were bound by bands of glowing energy, and he turned to face the formation as Ethos began to speak.
“This is a somber day in the proud history of this gallant band of warriors. A day unprecedented in history.”
The marshal paused for a moment to look at the Marked senior staff. “Treason, for any warrior is an unforgivable offense, but for an officer of the Mark, this unthinkable act of treachery in the face of the enemies of the Empire…”
Turning now to look directly at Gary, he added, “Unimaginable… Lieutenant Gary Cruise, you have been found guilty of high treason and sentenced to the Codtra.”
Gary stiffened slightly, but showed no emotion on his face.
“Would you care to make a final statement while you still retain lungs?” Ethos added.
Gary made no reply, but he did not avoid the general’s eyes. There was a real sense within the hall that the grand marshal was enjoying the moment. His hatred for Humans was widely known. This did not seem like an event that was solely dictated through unfortunate circumstance, but rather contrived somehow. This punishment was not meant just to discipline Gary. Clearly, it was a message to all that would defy the Empire, even the mighty Marked.
Couragian guards, sensing a growing resentment among the gathered, and armed, men and women of the Mark, moved forward on the stage, command staffs at the ready.
“Very well,” Ethos said, stepping back from Gary as a Tarchein medical officer initiated the device.
Tommy continued to look directly into Gary’s eyes, hoping to strengthen his old friend. Thoughts of the Academy, stratagem matches, the Slate, suspended together from the cliffs near Camp Calder, the time Gary had waved from his Pipe, and his mother on Mars. Gary’s mother, he thought.
Gary continued to look out on the formation as the laser scalpel went about its programmed task. Tommy continued to stare, unblinking, although every instinct was to turn from the grisly sight of his friend’s head being slowly removed. He had hoped to strengthen, but it was Gary who lifted everyone’s spirits. He made no sound, nor did he flinch as the machine made its last awful cut, but rather, as one last gesture of defiance, much to the chagrin of the marshal, Gary raised his right hand and displayed his Mark.
Slowly at first, then to a man, the assembled formation raised their hands and illuminated their Marks in tribute.
Gary actually, unbelievably, smiled, and with his last bit of air shouted, “For those that stayed!”
To this the formation, including Tommy, the commandant, and his staff, shouted, “Let them also be marked!”
With that, Gary’s body, still in the dress uniform of the Marked, crumpled to the polished floor, grotesquely twitching until removed from the stage.
“We will have order in this hall!” Ethos shouted.
But it wasn’t until the Marked commandant raised a single hand, his right, that the formation came to order, again allowing the marshal to speak.
“Gary Cruise, you will now be placed in the Hall of the Forgotten,” Ethos finally said.
Gary’s expression never wavered as two Tarchein officers guided a flat-black metal box down toward his severed head, kept alive now with tubes and alien technology.
“There you will remain, alive but without life,” he continued, “dead but without the peace of death—only darkness, despair, and madness as you suffer in silence for one hundred years.”
Gary’s eyes rolled up a bit as the box was slowly lowered.
“Your name is to be removed from all rolls. No one is to see your face, nor will anyone hear your endless silent screams.”
Gary took one last look at light before the box sealed with a long, snake-like hiss.
After a moment, over the murmurs of the audience, Grand Marshal Ethos turned to Tommy, who was still fixated on the black flashing cabinet that entombed his friend. “Lieutenant Commander Thomas Thorn.”
Tommy turned to face Ethos and stiffened.
“In consideration for years of faithful service, and because of your relationship with the former Chairman Remus…”
Even now the marshal could not call Tommy the son of Remus or publicly recognize his citizenship.
“You are to be discharged from the Star Force without honor, forfeiture of rank and all rights including citizenship.” Ethos paused to enjoy the moment and moved closer to Tommy’s face, close enough to speak softly. “No, Thorn, your head will not be removed and kept alive for a hundred years in darkness,” he said, his lips curling into a thin smile. “You will live and every day remember your comrade, a friend, as he rots away with the forgotten on Tarchein,” the marshal said and stepped back before nodding to a member of his staff.
“Formation! Turn and face!” one of the staff officers shouted.
Tradition required that the formation, while still at attention, turn away from the convicted, symbolically turning their back on their disgraced comrade. They, however, did not turn, but stood in place defiantly.
Ethos paused, only for a moment, and made a decision not to admonish the agitated formation before continuing. “You are to be stripped of rank.”
Tarchein officers tore off Tommy’s rank insignia and tossed it to the floor.
“Expelled from the ranks of the Star Force,” he continued as Tommy’s Force insignia, medals, and pilot’s badge were roughly removed and flung down in disgust.
“And you will be removed, without honor, from the rolls of the Marked…”
At this, the medical officer came forward, removed the energy bands, and ordered Tommy to hold out his right hand. Couragians then stepped forward, ready to assist if needed, as the officer took a laser scalpel and began cutting the marked symbol from Tommy’s palm.
The procedure was meant to inflict pain, but Tommy, remembering the bravery of Gary, made not a whimper, much to the displeasure of the grand marshal.
As the Tarchein worked to cut the Marked symbol from his hand, Tommy drew on his training to focus only on his hatred. Hatred for Ethos, the Empire, and all things Tarchein. Up until this day, he had thought of Humans and Tarchein as “we,” but now there was only them—a feeling he knew was shared by the assembled members of the Mark.
A display that the marshal had intended to strengthen the Empire and satisfy his alien hatred, had quite the opposite effect. This day the Tarchein had separated much more than a brave warrior’s head. They had begun a tear between the two races that would not soon, if ever, be mended.
A day of days, Tommy thought. And as he was led from the hall, glancing back at the hideous black box. I will return for you, Gary, somehow I will set this right. If I have to kill every Tarchein SOB in the galaxy—I will set you free, he vowed, making no effort to subdue the hatred that now flowed within.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Rise of the Regulus
The day was cold and wet, with dark low-hanging clouds that partially obscured a lone Tarchein command shuttle as it circled, then descended to a well-lit landing platform. One of several perched high on the royal palace’s towering black spirals. With graviton generators adjusted to zero, three stout-looking gears gently took up the shuttle’s mass as Admiral Ty, already standing, waited for indicator lights, advising of the boarding tunnel’s successful attachment, to flash green before hitting his ship’s hatch release. He then led his staff through the clear tube, streaked with tiny rivers formed by the light drizzle, into the main receiving area. Ty did not trying to hide his disdain at the sight of the Queen’s guards standing like statues at the rooms entrance.
Couragian… He would have liked, just once, to get a look at
one of these royal guards. There’s no way, regardless of what the Queen says, that these eight-foot creatures are Tarchein, he thought, briskly leading twelve officers of his personal staff through the shadowy hall.
There was a time, long ago, when it was thought that these giant warriors would become the standard for special ops, the elite fighting arm of the fleet. This, however, proved to be untrue. The genetic changes using alleged Tarchein DNA, although outwardly extensive, also included a subtle psychological modification, removing any instinct for fear. And, as it turned out, a bit of fear was a good thing for a warrior. Without fear, the Couragians would charge headlong into any foe, no matter the odds, a flawed trait that resulted in the needless slaughter of many Couragians. Truthfully, Tarchein high command cared little for the loss of these beasts, but it made for bad tactics, putting their own troops and mission objectives at risk. So, after years of experimentation produced results that were less than satisfactory, the Couragian were relegated to duties involving the protection of the royal house. They did make excellent bodyguards, and Queen Darvona had several thousand of them scattered throughout the galaxy, the mindless attack dogs of the royal house.
Dropping his escort, as was required, Admiral Ty proceeded alone into the obscenely large throne room where, with heels clicking against the black-mirrored floor, he marched between more of the giant guards. Always dressed for combat, the Queen’s personal guards were particularly resplendent in their gloss-black battle armor, complete with thick red capes and winged helmets, left hand tucked behind their waists, the other clutched a ten-foot command blaster staff—standard weapon of the guard.
Ty gave them not a glance but looked straight ahead, trying to control his thoughts. To be sure, there were many privileges that came with the rank of fleet admiral, but as he continued to marched toward the giant folded wings of a golden firebird, bathed in soft yellow light, he thought, Being called to an audience with the Queen isn’t one of them. More than one admiral has had his head put in a box. Just keep your mouth shut, and get through this, thought Ty. Then, abruptly, ten feet short of the massive throne, still covered by enormous folded wings, he stopped, dropped to one knee, and waited—and waited—and waited.