by David Roman
ETERNAL HORIZON: A STAR SAGA
THE CHRONICLE OF VINCENT SATURN
Copyright © 2008 by David “Roman” Shakhramanov
All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is purely coincidental.
Cover and interior art by David Shakhramanov
Printed in the United States of America
Copyright Registration# TXU001578974
ISBN: 978-0615914589
The Chronicle of Vincent Saturn
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
EPILOGUE
TERMINOLOGY
CAST
MACHINERY
TROOPS
MISC.
The Chronicle of Vincent Saturn
Planet Urtan is in a state of rebellion. Throwing a bloody coup, its natives wrested the planet from their overlords, the Order of Cosmos, a vassal state of the star-spanning Imperial Republic that’s in charge of more than forty planets in the Dahanburg constellations. Galadan Dox, the self-proclaimed King of Urtan and leader of the rebellion, has declared his planet’s secession from the Order and demands the Imperial government’s recognition of their independence. Following several attempts to achieve a diplomatic solution, Gaia Ferra, a prominent Imperial Senator, personally involved herself in this conflict and went missing after paying a visit to the rebel planet, but not before she managed to get the Galactic Council to hear Galadan’s plea, where the Urtan King hopes to find salvation.
Time is of the essence—the dreadful armies of the Order are gathering to crush the puny rebel force and restore their territories. As Galadan despairingly makes his way to face the Council without Gaia, he seeks the help of a man who can find her and help him with his uprising, a man whose name is told only in legends, a man by the name of Oryon Krynne…
PROLOGUE
Oryon’s footsteps echoed along the corridor as he quickly made his way to the surface. The walls of this cold passage were constructed of tarnished metal that had been neglected for thousands of years, rampant with rust and illegible markings clawed into it by whatever inhabitants this barren planet still sustained. Contraptions that stopped working centuries ago were stacked alongside the walls, covered in inches of dirt and dust. Some of the ceiling lights were still miraculously intact, dimly lighting the floor beneath his feet.
He was not as agile as he’d once been, for as he ran, his panting became heavier, and wave after wave of throbbing pain assailed his bones with every step. Age, he thought. It was finally catching up with him. There had been a time when he could’ve run through this passage fast enough to evade a sensory droid. But now even his light armor seemed heavy. His metal boots became a burden, affecting his pace, and his signature black vest which was practically weightless forced him to slump.
The eerie silence didn’t make it any easier. He’d rather hack his way through an entire army than to run with the knowledge of the dastardly enemy being out there, prowling in the tunnels and besetting his partner.
The quietness paved the way for random thought and some resolution. Finally, he knew what to do, how to end the madness that devastated the universe. But with that same vision, he foresaw the bitter twist of fate. They were ambushed. A shattered dream—decades of a grueling quest crumbling down before his eyes in an instant. If they could only get away…
Oryon came to a halt and took a deep breath. He could already see the daylight at the end of the tunnel. He was almost at the ship. He sighed and looked behind for any pursuers. It was clear, but he knew they were there, all around him, in hundreds, in thousands. They brought an entire legion after the two of them this time. Fair enough. Now, the dreariness of the tunnel and the twisted carvings on the wall seemed to be signs set in place to forewarn him that his end was imminent.
“So weak of you…” he muttered, brushing off his thoughts. He straightened, pushed the button on the device that was attached to his ear and called, “Duell?”
No response.
“Come in, Duell!”
Yet again, no answer.
“Where are you…” he whispered, glancing back at the surface exit. Suddenly, he felt a dark presence behind him. Oryon instinctively drew out his blaster, swiveled around, and dropped to one knee, aiming in the direction of his assailant.
“We have him,” a hoarse voice whispered as a figure stepped out from a side tunnel. He was clad from head to toe in gunmetal armor that was thoroughly engraved with intricate designs. A spiked helmet with a T-shaped visor topped his head, covering his face and extending below his jawline. His arms were clad in red leather gloves with metal knuckles. Hanging from his shoulder plates was a purple cape that trembled slightly in the chilly draft that wafted through the tunnel from the surface.
“Zeth,” Oryon pronounced the name resentfully as he got up and holstered his weapon. Seeing his old enemy was clear evidence that he wasn’t going to make it off this planet alive. He’d come in close contacts with death many times, yet this time it was different. He knew by some presaging intuition that this was it. Nevertheless, his unmatched discipline forbade him from showing any signs of defeat. “I knew you were behind this…” he added with an appearance of a smile. “And I also see that you still conceal your repulsive face.”
“Fool,” his enemy growled, clenching a gloved fist. “Seems age hasn’t affected your bold and idiotic confidence, even at such dire moments as this.” He took a small step forward, slowly lowering his hand and pushing aside his cape, revealing the hilt of a large sword.
Continuing to stare at his armored enemy, Oryon calmly reached down to his own scabbard. He knew Zeth feared him; he could read his enemy well after decades of rivalry. It was the sort of fear that’s embedded in the brain long after a shameful defeat.
“I’ve been anticipating this day for a long time,” Zeth seethed, simultaneously pulling out his two-handed sword. The dazzling metal of the blade lit the hallway with its ghostly-blue tint. “You should’ve killed me when you had the chance!”
“How significant this reunion must be for you,” Oryon returned without losing his temper.
At that second, Zeth remembered what he hated most about Oryon: his composure. “You haven’t the slightest idea, my old friend.”
There was a moment of silence as the animosity boiled between the bitter rivals.
“You’re willing to challenge me?” Oryon asked.
“I will have my vengeance!” Zeth snarled, stretching out his sword arm.
Oryon pulled out his blade and stepped back. “Then come and get it!”
As he took stance, a horde of troops appeared behind Zeth, armed with enormous rifles. They positioned themselves and took aim at Oryon.
“Leave us!” Zeth yelled, slicing the air in an arc. He then turned to Oryon and added, “I shall settle this myself.”
The troops lowered their weapons and took several steps back as commanded.
Oryon looked down the tunnel. It was q
uickly filling with more soldiers—dozens, hundreds of brainlessly devoted youths, all eager to do the bidding of the sociopath before them. Although it was completely improbable, Oryon felt a scant thought as to whether some of these soldiers might have served under him at one time. Old fool, he then told himself, chuckling at that thought. Anyone that was ever loyal to you has died a long time ago… He suddenly recalled one of his grandson’s poems. How did it go? He couldn’t remember the exact words, but it was something about facing death and defying it. But this time, death was here to stay. And he was not afraid…
He threw a quick glance behind. The ship was so close… he could make it… he could run away. But he didn’t come to this planet alone…
“Where’s Duell, Zeth?” he asked.
Zeth smiled beneath his helmet. Oryon’s worried after all. That incessant caring for others was his weakness. Zeth always said it would lead to his downfall. Such irony.
“He’s alive,” Zeth replied and stepped forth, “for now. But I can’t guarantee the same outcome for you, my old friend. As you must certainly know, treason is punishable by death.”
“So is genocide.”
“Enough banter!” Zeth took another step. “Your pitiful attempts of rebellion have come to an end. It is over, traitor!”
“On the contrary, it has just begun. For now I know the truth about his power. Now I know what must be done…”
CHAPTER I
The Alien
The sun lowered on the horizon, peering over the mountains and stretching their shadows toward the sandy crater. The evening brought along a slight breeze that soothed the arid atmosphere, caressing Vincent’s face and tousling his hair. After more than an hour of direct sunlight in that scorching valley, that wind was more than a blessing. He welcomed it, relieved at the fact that he wore nothing but a shirt and jeans as compared to his prudent partner or the soldiers with their thick and heavy armament.
Tired of standing for hours, he now hunkered down, continuing to observe the scene before him: a crater in the middle of the desert with an unusual vessel half-buried deep in its base. When they first saw it, they were stricken with awe like deer caught in headlights. The case of the soldiers was reasonable, knowing full well they were there to secure the perimeter and not ask questions or offer opinions, but the fact that the two of them, being the only federal agents on site, were doing nothing, drove him to the brink of insanity. His partner, their aides, and the soldiers were all trying to maintain seriousness, nodding between each other and scribing down tons of paperwork without an ounce of implication that not one of them really knew just what was going on.
Rather than continuing the argument with his colleague, Vincent veered into one of his moments of meditation. Just as he was ready to head home, they received a call about a foreign object penetrating US airspace. Upon arrival, they faced something that escaped the boundaries of reality. He was outraged that they were told to merely watch the area and stay away from the object. To others it was duty, but to Vincent, that vessel was a waking call from his “boring” life.
His partner, a man in a black suit with shades, paced back and forth, trying to figure out the thing in the ground. “Russian?” he asked, looking at Vincent for some form of an answer, offering another dull suggestion.
Vincent shook his head.
“Chinese?”
“No way. Their technology’s not capable of such machinery, and the symbols on its hull are not Russian or Chinese…” He paused and then said irritably, “Why don’t you stop making these stupid guesses and face the obvious?”
“Exactly what are you saying, Vince?” the former said, taking off his glasses as the sun finally disappeared.
“The very thing that was on your mind when we first saw this,” Vincent said.
His partner snorted. “You can’t be serious…”
“Why?” Vincent looked up. “What are you afraid of? Once you rule out what you know, Alex, it’s the most logical explanation.”
The agent named Alex turned away and muttered something, but Vincent ignored him. He could barely control his urge to run down to the ship. This was beyond his imagination, and he knew that the longer they remained there, the less of a chance he would have to see the inside of that strange vessel; and simultaneously there was also the awareness that if he didn’t do anything, he’d live to regret it for the rest of his life.
There was no point in quarrelling with Alex, however. The man was a perfect recipe for an obedient agent: doing everything according to the book, never questioning his superiors, never thinking outside the box. Even to the extent of wearing a three-piece suit in the middle of a smoldering desert!
Vincent scooped up a handful of the dry ground and watched the sand grains seep between his fingers. They fell to the ground and blended in with the sand just like the days of his life were fading into nothingness. He reached an age when all of his friends and acquaintances were married and had families, living normal lives that he always found boring. He loved his lifestyle, loved being a bachelor, but his choice also alienated him from others. And that brought more boredom. He thought he could find solace by taking a job with the government, but when it turned out to be the same thing day in and day out, he quickly found out that it was not as adventurous as the movies made it seem.
He looked back at the ship. It teased him, called him to come down and try to pry open its doors. It promised change, it promised deliverance from his life of apathy.
Yes… he thought. Something needs to be done. It was one of those moments when he knew that his actions would have severe consequences, yet—as if groveling before an all-powerful master—he succumbed to the power of the unknown. Tossing every precaution aside, he reached a conclusion: It’s up to me.
He instinctively got up, turned around, approached their SUV, reached into the back seat, grabbed a briefcase, opened it, and pulled out a pair of gloves.
“What are you doing?” Alex asked, shocked. He knew by his partner’s expression that he meant to take the matter into his own hands, and he also knew that when Vincent decided to do that, it was nearly impossible to stop him.
“Something we should’ve done when we first got here.” Vincent donned the gloves and took out a flashlight.
“You’re not implying we go down there?”
“Yes, I am,” Vincent replied, going past him.
“Are you nuts? It’s not up to us to get any deeper in this!”
“Look, Alex,” Vincent said, “we’ve been at this site for nearly three hours doing nothing but dancing around. The Pentagon wants to know where this ship comes from, and—more importantly—what’s inside.” He shifted his gaze back to the vessel. “This thing’s not of this planet. I’m certain of it, and I’m not reporting back empty-handed.”
“What? The Pen… the Pentagon?” Alex fumed. “You’re not reporting back empty-handed? Just who the heck do you think you are? Are you even listening to yourself? I’m your superior and I have direct orders not to go down there!”
“Well… then write me up for insubordination,” Vincent said, taking a step down into the crater.
“Vincent!” Alex halted him. “You do know we can get fired for this, right? Or even worse…” He put a forefinger to his temple and pulled an imaginary trigger.
“I don’t care,” Vincent insisted. “Once the NSA, CIA, or whoever they send gets here, we won’t have a chance. We’ll never know.” He paused, looking at his partner’s stumped face. “Come on, Alex. All those years at the academy, the rookie years—how many years—and nothing ever happens? Nothing! This is not why I signed up for this. This is a once-in-a-lifetime oppor—”
“I love the fact that nothing ever happens! Unlike you, I have a family to feed, you crazy son of—” Alex’s face turned red; he was out of words.
“Well, I don’t! You can stay here if you want, but I’m going down there,” Vincent said with a tone of confidence and turned back to the ship.
“Damn it, Vincent
!” Alex grabbed him by the collar. “Stop!”
“Let go of me!” Vincent shrugged off Alex’s hand and began descending, his gray eyes gleaming in excitement. His duty no longer mattered. His curiosity played the upper hand. This was his inherent curse. He couldn’t help it: he had to know.
“I command you to come back!” Alex shouted, fully aware that it was useless. “I swear, this guy’s going to be the end of me,” he muttered, giving up. He was several years senior to Vincent, and therefore responsible for him both as a friend and as a superior. He sighed, told the soldiers to continue monitoring the perimeter, pulled out his handgun, and went down the crater after his erratic partner.
The ship was cylindrical, somewhat smaller than a city bus, made of a bluish metal with odd symbols and characters elaborately covering the multiple panels of its hull. Its bow was deeply buried, and three colossal engines jutted out of its stern—engines powerful enough to penetrate that vessel through the atmosphere or maybe even provide it with the ability to travel at light-speed. One would have to be a fool to believe that it was made on Earth.
Vincent circled the ship and saw that the left side had a hexagonal door. He stopped by the spot and carefully extended his hand.
“What are you doing?” Alex appeared from behind. “You sure it’s safe to touch that?”
Vincent looked over his shoulder. “So, you decided to come down as well?”
“Just make it quick,” Alex said, adhering to his partner’s nosiness. “Glance around if you must, but don’t touch anything.”
“Look… there seems to be a switch of sorts.” Vincent pointed at a small knob next to the door.
“No! Don’t—”