"Uh, not exactly. Something's . . . wrong . . . with the warbringers. I shouldn't have crashed that sphere. Kalimis shouldn't have gone rogue. Two warbringers stole rations from the commissary, another set the bathroom in the barracks on fire, and six ran off and have been AWOL for four days. These things never used to happen, at least that's what the elders say. It's wrong. All the warbringers are trained from birth to be disciplined soldiers and take orders. I think it's a glitch."
"A glitch? Like a glitch in a computer program or something?"
"So you don't know? You don't know about the program and the-"
A much older warbringer with a laser pistol strapped to his chest pushed the bedroom door open and sternly barked at them. "Visht! What are you still doing in here? The prince is late because of your lack of time management. He was due in the dining room nearly ten minutes ago. The warlord will not be pleased with your continuing transgressions. Visht, you are to report to the city square where a disciplinary officer will meet you and correct your misbehavior."
Visht bowed his head and shot a sideways glance back at Vance before marching obediently out of the room.
"Prince Aveni, forgive us for giving you such an unruly and incompetent slave." The other guard forcefully pushed Vance roughly towards the door. "Onward to the dining room with you. We should not keep your father waiting any longer."
* * *
"I want my daddy!" Nemo threw the paint palette down, sending neon pink paint splattering across the hardwood apartment floors. He screamed and tore his smock off as tears steamed down his pink cheeks like rushing rivers.
Viktor scowled and rushed to wipe away the mess before it dried and ruined the floors that had not yet been covered with protective plastic. "What the hell is wrong with you, boy? Do you know how much these floors cost? I swear. If I hadn't signed those papers swearing that I wouldn't use corporal punishment, I would bend you over my knee and redden that butt of yours."
Nemo leapt from the step ladder and scurried away into the corner like a frightened animal evading a hunter. Tiny gasps escaped his pink lips as he panted through his sobbing. As a last line of defense, the boy held up a paintbrush threateningly in front of him, prepared to hit at Viktor if he came too close.
Viktor found a rag in the kitchen closet then knelt down on his hands and knees in his plastic blue tuxedo to scrub at the paint. "Cry all you want. It won't bring Rav back any quicker. He is going to be fighting and flying planes and ships to save all of humanity from those same aliens that hurt you. Don't you want your daddy to be a hero?"
"No! I want him here! He said he'd never leave me. He promised!"
"I really don't have time for this. You have work to do, Nemo. You need to get these murals finished before you begin elementary school on Monday." He stood back up, rubbing his lower back, and tossed the soiled drag into the corner. "The teachers at the private school I'm sending you to won't allow you to throw fits like this. They are not above paddling kids when they break the rules, so you'd better get that temper of yours under control. It's a boarding school as well, so you won't be able to come whining back to me every time you're punished for something. I can't take care of you and run my business at the same time."
The boy's green eyes grew wide as he whimpered. "You don't want me?"
"It's not that. Don't make it into that, Nemo. Think of this as a new and exciting opportunity, an adventure. You will be joining Darkshot Valley Academy's art department where you will learn about all kinds of art. Doesn't that sound fun? You love art. Plus, you will make friends with children of your own age. Don't you want to make friends?"
"No." Nemo mumbled, wiping away his tears on the backs of his paint-spotted hands. "I want Daddy."
"Is there a bug in your system? Are you losing your hearing? Your daddy isn't coming back until the war is over. I know that's not what you want to hear, but it's the cold hard truth. Rav is on the front lines, risking his life for you and for every other innocent life in this universe. That's his job now. You want to make him proud, right? Then you have to do your job as well. And your job is finishing all these murals then dedicating yourself to your studies in school. I realize it all sounds terrifying and daunting now, but I believe that you will thrive in a social environment with other children and caring teachers who can shape you into a successful young man. You will come home every weekend when you will deliver your progress reports to me and do some painting. I'm not abandoning you. I merely want to give you the best education I can."
Nemo lowered his paintbrush then stood and ran to Viktor, throwing his skinny arms around his waist and burying his face into his stomach. "Don't make me go. I'm sorry. I'll be good. I'll be a good boy. Please!"
"It's sweet that you're apologizing, but it won't change my mind. You're going. This isn't a punishment, Nemo. You should be happy. We have a fitting scheduled for your academy uniforms at three, so go get washed up. You're braver than you let on, boy. If you lived through all the abuse from those aliens, you can survive school." Viktor knelt down and took Nemo's face in his hands. "I believe in you. You are destined for great things. Have faith in yourself. Make your daddy happy."
Chapter 9
Soft piano music danced in the warm air of the burgundy-walled dining room where Vance was seated at the solid gold table next to the well-muscled Azimandian in a crushed velvet robe. The warlord's sweeping blue horns shone in the light from the hovering chandeliers that spun slowly in mid air and the eerie glow from a nearby red dwarf star entering the bay windows on the far wall between the grand bookcases. Feeling absolutely small and insignificant in his father's presence, Vance wrung his hands together in his lap while the male servants in suits brought steaming silver platters to the table and filled their glasses with wine.
An intricately-designed glass plate was set onto the lace-covered cushion of air in front of Vance. It was all he could do to keep his composure when the lid was removed and the buttery, savory fragrance washed over him. A soft, fat-layered chunk of purple and red marbled meat rested in a bed of chive mashed potatoes, blue been pods in white gravy, and a collection of pungent hard orange cheeses. After two weeks of starvation then five days of soup and crackers, this display made him momentarily believe in a higher power.
"Go ahead and enjoy it, dear Aveni. I know you must be ravenous by now."
He did not have to be told twice. Without thinking, Vance dove in, forgetting all table manners and standards of etiquette, human or otherwise. Shoveling globs of potatoes in his mouth and ripping apart the slab of fatty meat, he made quite the spectacle.
Tirlmayn cleared his throat to get his son's attention. "You like it?"
Then it hit him. It was a trap. He knew what Azimandians ate, what creature they viewed as being their most delicious delicacy. Vance dropped his fork and quickly spit out the meat in his mouth into the napkin. The panic subtly subsided when he drank half his glass of wine. "Oh, space. Tell me I didn't just eat human meat. I did, didn't I? I'm going to be sick."
"I was going to advise you to slow down so you wouldn't hurt yourself. There's plenty of food, and you can have all you want."
"You do know that I'm half human, right? You wouldn't eat me, would you?"
"Of course not, Aveni. You are half Azimandian and I am no cannibal. Eat up. We have a great deal of information to cover before you address the young warbringers at their graduation into armed combat. It will raise morale for them to see their prince back where he belongs."
Vance poked at the gelatinous meat on his plate with the golden fork. "Warlord?"
"Please call me Tirlmayn or Father."
"Right, then. Father . . . I'm no cannibal either."
Tirlmayn shrugged his boxy shoulders and continued eating. "All right."
"Please tell me this is not human."
"Do you think it's human?"
Vance had no way of knowing. "I . . . I'm not sure. Yours is."
"Yes, mine is a jellied smoked human tenderloin with an orange an
d cinnamon glaze. It's quite delicious. But alas, I am not that cruel to make you enjoy it with me."
"What is this, then?"
"Nilfu. You know, those six-legged Biromian horses? Turns out they taste a lot like human. I will not force you to eat one of your own kind, Aveni. I believe your knowledge of me has been tainted by the rebels and the Elysian government. I am not the monster the humans are so eager to portray me as being."
Vance squinted his eyes as he spoke. "Dslis nosi."
Tirlmayn raised an eyebrow. "Azimandian? I did not know how much of our language you had retained from that one year you were on my ship with me as an infant. Dslis nosi? Prove it? So you want me to prove that I am more than a heartless, blood-thirsty monster? You will get your wish once we have finished eating. After you see what I have done for you, there will be no possible way that you could ever call me a monster. So, tell me how fluent you are."
"I can speak enough to get help, I can understand enough to know when someone is making fun of me, and I can read enough to know that you have been conducting bombing raids on Elysia's moons where citizens were seeking refuge."
"You know about that?" Tirlmayn asked, cocking an eyebrow. "How?"
"I can read the text at the bottom of your newscasts. It was plastered all over the screen and on the hologram notices in the hall. Your warbringers raped and pillaged their way through three refugee camps before setting them on fire with flamethrowers. That's why it's gonna take a miracle to make me not view you as a monster."
"Those warbringers acted without my orders or consent."
"What about what you did on Birom?" Vance asked.
"I don't have the slightest idea what you are talking about, son."
"I'm talking about genocide. You nearly wiped the Biromian race from existence. You slaughtered children and women. They weren't soldiers fighting on a battlefield. They were civilians trying to live their lives in peace."
"Civilians?" Tirlmayn finished his wine then continued once the glass had been refilled. "I think the word you are looking for is tislisix. Terrorists. And the children you are undoubtedly referring to were the offspring of Dallis Zimnark, yes? Those kids may have appeared innocent on the outside, but below that facade, they were all sleeper agents, made and trained by Dallis himself to awaken at a moment's notice and destroy any target he pointed out. Not even his fellow Biromians would have been safe from that."
"I don't believe you. If Dallis is such a threat, why keep him alive in the pit? You had the perfect chance to eliminate him along with the rest of the Red Sand Rebels. Why even give us the chance to live?"
Tirlmayn leaned forward and held out his hand across the table to take Vance's hand. "For you. I know how much you cared for all of them. I wanted to reform them and alter their minds so they could serve you as your inner council. You already trust them beyond words. I wanted you to have that tight bond with your advisers. That's why. It's a shame that so many chose to die rather than to admit defeat. But that's the price for stupidity and arrogance."
Vance watched the bubbles popping on the surface of his wine while the memory of that fateful day at the executions crept back into his mind and sent a chill down his spine, despite the warmth of the dining room. He had lost so many friends that day, so many innocent lives had been snuffed out before their time, but there was one man who had been missing from that horrific fate. He figured now was as good a time as ever to bring that person up. He had to know, after all. Even if the truth was difficult to swallow, Vance needed closure. "Father, can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"My friend wasn't at the executions."
"Rav Tillman?" The warlord asked.
Vance cleared his throat as the chill only grew worse. "Yeah. Him. Do you know if he's alive? Did Krisharn kill him in the jungle where he was with Leah?"
"Krisharn does his own thing. He acts alone and without informing me of his activities. You will have to speak with him about all of this. He is on our side now, as you are well aware."
"I don't want to talk to him."
Tirlmayn chuckled. "Are you afraid of your uncle?"
"I'm afraid of everyone."
"Why is that, Aveni?"
"Because I can't trust anyone." Vance laced his fingers together to help hide his shaking. "I never know who will be the one to plunge a knife into my back when I turn around. I've lived through too much to willingly take people at their face value."
"Fair enough. Well, are you finished with your dinner, then? If you will follow me to the laboratory in the back of the palace, I will show you your surprise."
* * *
A sterile chemical scent burned in Vance's nostrils once the automatic doors slid apart to reveal the bright white lights and bare steel walls of the palace laboratory that reminded him more of a prison than a place to work. Glass cells lined the far wall, sectioned off from one another and covered with thick black curtains to shield their contents from view. Only a couple had their curtains drawn to the sides, their basic cots, toilet, and sink clean and empty, awaiting their next occupants. Were they for prisoners? Experiments? Both?
The middle of the expansive room housed tall glass tubes connected by colored wires to computers and exposed circuit boards on the ceiling. Strange blue carrot-like vegetables grew in vats of nutrient-infused cooled plasma below rows of heat lamps and sprayers that showered fine green mist across the crops. Two korvishi men with their horns filed short, wearing lab coats and rubber gloves up to their elbows were harvesting the plants and scribbling notes on their holographic tablets.
Upon noticing the presence of Tirlmayn and Vance, the two common class Azimandians dropped what they were doing and bowed. Tirlmayn waved his hand, signaling them to return to their work.
"What do you think, Aveni? This is my special project that most of Azimandia remains ignorant to. They do not even know of its existence. Every leader has his own secrets."
Vance followed closely behind his father, stopping momentarily to watch black mice squeaking inside a plastic cage where they ran away from a white rat with two heads. "It's incredible. Bio-engineering?"
"And many other areas of research. I employ the commoners of this Star-World, the ones that can pass the intelligence exams, to perform my experiments and record all the data into my computers for my master scientists to study and analyze. That way I get my research done while not having to slave away down here in person."
"Most of this is way over my head."
"Not to worry. I'm not expecting you to lend a hand down here. Your skills will be useful in other departments." Krisharn stopped in front of the first glass enclosure on the left that was covered with black curtains. "What I brought you down here for is to reward you for turning your life around and deciding to join me again. This first experiment I'm going to show you is one of my most prized accomplishments. Pull back the curtains when you're ready and speak through the microphone. These cells are soundproof, so that is the only way to communicate to the subjects inside. I will give you some time alone."
After timidly pushing the curtains out of the way, Vance's legs nearly buckled as he stared through the glass at the blonde woman who stared back at him. Her face was slender and spotted with freckles below her warm brown eyes. Tiny wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were the only marks on the flawless face that he had not seen in twenty-one years. It was the face that haunted his dreams, his nightmares, his memories of his past . . . before it all crumbled away into a vast swirling war of drugs, addiction, and suicide attempts. Between his forced breaths, Vance spoke the word that danced temptingly and dangerously on his tongue. "Mum?"
"Hey, Van-Van."
How was this possible? His mother? She was the only person who had ever called him that. "Is . . . is it really you? How? This isn't right. You're . . . y-you're dead. I watched the Under City guards carry your body away. I felt how cold you were, how empty your eyes were. You were gone. This isn't real. It can't be real."
"Why not? It
's me, Vance. Your mum's here. My, how handsome of a man you've grown up to be. Like those models in the magazines."
"No." Vance grabbed his hair in his fists and did his best to calm his racing heart. "You got sick and you died when I was seven. I couldn't afford to get you medicine that would have saved your life. I failed. You needed me to take care of you, but I failed."
"Why are you so filled with guilt? You did all you could for me. You were just a boy, a baby."
"I hate myself for what I did to you, for what I neglected to do for you."
"You were seven, Vance."
Vance pounded his fist against the glass and shouted through the speaker. "And do you know what I was able to do less than two weeks after they took your body away? I had enough Cyrino-coins to buy drugs on the street after I got addicted from some that a dealer gave me. Not two weeks after I couldn't buy your medicine, I worked and did whatever I could in order to get my next high. I cared enough to buy drugs, but not to get my own mother the medicine she needed to live. Do you know what that has done to me? You and everyone else talks about how handsome I am or how good I am with computers, but I don't see it. None of that matters because I have been wishing for most of my life that I was dead. I couldn't live with the guilt of it all, so I fell deeper and deeper into my addiction. I had to have the drugs, or I would be forced to remember how I failed you."
Her eyes became softer and she smiled. "That wasn't your fault. I never expected my child to bear such a burden on his shoulders and-"
"Stop. I don't want your sympathy. I don't even want your forgiveness. I'm no better than an animal. You don't know everything about me, about what I've been through, about the sick twisted perversion I call my love life."
"You're gay. I knew that already. I knew that when you were four."
His breath caught in his throat. "What? I . . ."
"And it saddens me that you feel so horrible about yourself. Truly, it does. None of that matters to me. You are my son and I love you, no matter what choices you make in your personal life or how you were born. I'm just glad to see you again after so long. Your father told me about why you have that metal arm and the work you were doing as a mercenary. So brave and strong. Just like your grandfather used to be. You take after my father, you know?"
The Genesis Sequence Books 6-10 Page 8