by David Roman
“I don’t believe this nonsense!” Exander shouted, beginning to pace back and forth.
“Calm down.”
“I…” Exander stifled again. He couldn’t hold his cool facade any longer and tears began rolling down his face. “I’ll be alone…” he whispered, turned around, and headed towards the cockpit, pushing the big guy out of his way.
“Oryon’s gone,” Spaide said dryly, his legs weakening. He slumped down on one of the stools. “Oh my God, Duell. Oh my God. What will we do?”
“We must continue his dream,” Duell replied while thinking, It’s up to me… everything’s up to me…
“What of the mission, master?” Damocles asked, standing proudly despite the lamentation tearing through him.
“Oryon believed this assignment was of the utmost importance. He was willing to help the daughter of Jamon and the Urtan cause.”
“So we’ll stay on Urtan with Gaia?”
“Until we figure out Galadan’s real objective. Meanwhile, we’ll honor Oryon’s life in one of Urtan shrines and record his deeds in the Tel Kasar Chronicles once we get back to our base.”
The big man nodded and excused himself, going off to console his brother.
Gaia was stunned at the elder Xenian. “How can you be so cold?”
“It is our way,” Duell said, sitting down on the couch. “I like to refer to it as composure, however. If we break down and fall, we take down the very thing my late mentor stood for: the liberation of the known universe.”
Gaia sat down next to him. “The Revolution shall suffer terribly …” she said. Although she only had childhood memories of Oryon, somehow she felt they were much closer—perhaps because of the fact that her father venerated the man. “He was the unofficial leader…”
“It’s your fault!” Spaide got up, pointing his finger at the Princess. “You dare speak of your Revolution? Things would’ve been different if we were all at Zazaban together, but noooo, we had to travel across the galaxy to save your royal behind!”
“What?” Gaia was out of words, a concurrence of hurt and anger taking over her features.
“But why?” Spaide demanded, waving his hands as he spoke. “Why the heck’s a member of the aristocracy meddlin’ in some off-world planet? Helpin’ some reptilians?”
Gaia looked as if she were about to burst out in anger but remained calm. “It’s something you wouldn’t understand,” she said as she arose and proceeded to the bathroom.
Duell got up and put his hands on the Dirsalian’s shoulders.
“Spaide, calm down. I’d expect this kind of conduct from Exander, but not from you.”
“Vengeance, Duell!” Spaide retorted, tears rolling down his face. “I want vengeance!”
“And we will have it, Spaide, we will. That I promise you.” Duell placed his hand on the back of Spaide’s neck and pressed his forehead against the Dirsalian’s crystal. “Remember Oryon’s rule on retaliation: Vengeance is a long course that’s wisely planned, for when it is finally delivered, it leaves a devastation that is tenfold.”
“He was like a father to me, Duell,” Spaide whimpered. “Now, I’ll never get the chance to tell him how I felt…”
Duell suppressed his own tears. The sight of the carefree Dirsalian breaking down was unbelievable. “He will always remain with us, Spaide.”
“I don’t know, Duell… I just don’t know anymore.”
As all this distress occurred around him, Vincent kept quiet, puzzled at the Xenian master’s explanation for his alleged power.
He looked at his hands.
Is there truly some power coursing through my veins? Could that be the reason for the images in my head? And if so, wouldn’t that signify that this Oryon character might eventually take over my body? He had so many questions in his head that he just wanted to get up and shout, but yet the significance of the tragedy kept him under control.
It’ll all be revealed soon, he thought.
Duell managed to pacify the Dirsalian, and they both retained their seats.
“What of the Illandali prophet?” Spaide asked after a moment.
“Oryon made contact with him while I waited,” Duell said. “Although the cavern was empty, he somehow saw him, perhaps through the veils of another reality.”
“That’s Oryon, all right. Did he tell you what the prophet said?”
“No, but he seemed confident. He said he knew. He said he knew the answers.”
“Answers to what?”
“As to how to end this conflict.”
Spaide sighed, wiping his face. “I guess the secret died with him.”
“I don’t know about all that,” Duell said, looking at Vincent. He beckoned him. “Sit.”
“You mentioned some kind of power,” Vincent said, sitting down, “that’s supposedly passing through me, probably causing this terrible migraine I’m having. What is this… this power?”
“Until now, we were under the notion that this power was inheritable, and only amongst our kind…” Duell began.
“Yes, I know this much, yet somehow I’m bestowed with it. But what is it? I mean, can you describe it?”
“It’s a mysterious ability far greater than that of any other living creature. Telekinesis, super-strength, limited telepathy, and rapid healing are just some of its gifts. It’s a force that unlocks the greater parts of your consciousness—parts of the brain one wouldn’t use under normal circumstances. It propels the body to its full potential—something that’d probably take nature millions of years to do.”
Vincent stared at Duell with his mouth open, then straightened and asked, “Just who are you guys? And how do you have this power? I noticed you’re different from the other Xenians… And what of these swords no one else can wield?”
“We are the Tel Kasar, a secret order of warriors that existed for over two thousand years on Xenon.”
“The ‘Tel Kasar’? I’ve heard that term before, but what does it mean?”
“In conventional terms—it means the ‘Warrior Sage.’”
Vincent chuckled. “Warrior Sage?”
Duell nodded. “I know it sounds rather amusing, but I assure you, Vincent, in time you’ll know just why we label ourselves with such a calling.”
“And the weapons?”
“The weapons were the original vectors of the power that was passed to our predecessors. Our founder, the great Sage Jarek Nostriani, discovered a strange burning meteor in an underground cave. Being a knight and a blacksmith, he managed to forge ten swords out of the meteor before it cooled down and gave them to his men. Little did they know that exposure to this metal will give them these supernatural powers.”
Vincent forced himself not to chuckle again. “It sounds a little farfetched,” he said.
“Does it sound more farfetched than you discovering an alien vessel?”
Vincent looked away. The analogy Duell provided made sense: a few days ago, the mere notion of aliens would make him laugh and now…
Duell continued, “It’s a true account, Vincent, I assure you. It was a dark time in our world… Our entire planet was enslaved at the time by an alien race. Jarek and his cohorts freed us and formed the Tel Kasar…” Realizing he was carrying away once again, he said, “Perhaps one day I’ll fully explain our origins to you.”
“I still don’t see how that’s possible.”
“But you saw what we can do, did you not? Envision this… a regular intelligent creature only uses a small fraction of its conscious brain. We, the Tel Kasar, have the ability to use most of it. This would explain the headache you’re having, for your brain is expanding at a rapid rate.”
“Well,” Spaide intervened. “I kinda whacked him really hard back on Sebalon.”
“And where did the meteor come from?” Vincent asked, forcing himself to believe the tale.
“That my friend,” Duell said, “is a mystery that has been the subject of philosophical debate for a long time. The metallic substance the meteor was made o
f came to be known as Palermius. But honestly, we still don’t know where it comes from. The most rational explanation is that it’s a remnant of a prehistoric planet, but others imply that it was the works of the gods. We’ve been in a vain search of the one who might identify its origins for more than a thousand years, and only recently, one of us had finally made contact: Oryon Krynne.”
“And he never told you what was said?”
Duell shook his head. “No,” he said, then after a few seconds added, “But I’m hoping you will.”
Vincent leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. First, he ends up there, and now he’s being fed the tale that he has some unspeakable power and that some vital knowledge is lodged within his brain. Telepathy? Telekinesis? Super strength? It was too much for him.
“The idea of an extraterrestrial having this power was inconceivable to us before today,” Duell continued. “Or the Texanorra, for that matter... But yet you survived it, thus absorbing our powers.”
“You mentioned it was a mutual agreement. Are you implying I wanted this somehow?”
“Precisely.”
“But that’s impossible!”
“Do not ask me, but ask yourself. Deep within your subconscious mind, you yearned for it.”
Vincent sat up, chortling. “Yearned?”
“Yes. Otherwise, Oryon would’ve died. But he saw it in your mind and in your eyes—the rebellion against apathy and the valor of a warrior.”
“I don’t believe it.” Vincent got up, clutching his head. “But it was just a mere second.”
“Time is nothing, Vincent,” Duell said with a serious tone.
“What?”
“Our subconscious mind connects us to a realm beyond time where our chosen future, past, and present collide. And inside your subconscious mind, you talked with Oryon and made a choice, Vincent Saturn.”
“But I didn’t want this!” Vincent threw his arms up in confusion. “I’m not a warrior!”
Duell leaned forward and said, “Your entire life, you felt like you don’t belong, didn’t you?”
Vincent didn’t reply, for the Xenian’s question was more of a statement.
“You felt like you were an outsider, like you were different, as if you were somehow not normal. You found everything to be boring and constantly sought change, especially when it came to fighting evil, and that is why you started a job with which you could make that change.”
“No, I just… I just couldn’t sit around and do nothing…”
“Exactly!” Duell paused and leaned back. “You’re a dreamer, Vincent.”
That brought a smile to Vincent’s face. “That’s something I’ve been hearing my whole life.”
“You have the persona of the artist.”
“Now I’m an artist as well?”
“In my philosophy, the artist is not merely someone who creates art—the artist is a rebel. To be an artist is to yearn for a change, to alter the environment around you and others, to stand up against the customs that keep you in a prison. And yes, usually we are the musicians and the sculptors, the writers and the teachers, the leaders and the philosophers. Even politicians.” At that last remark he waved his hand at the approaching Princess.
Gaia smiled at the comment and nodded in respect. “Definitely not the politicians.”
As Vincent glanced at her, he noticed that she took off the mechanic’s uniform and was mesmerized again. She was clad in a black and grey spandex outfit that brought out her athletic figure and exposed her neck and arms, showing a great deal of her skin which glistened with perspiration. She was undeniably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
In her hands, Gaia carried a small tray full of multi-colored capsules. “I brought some food alternatives before we get to Urtan,” she said.
“Astronaut food?” Vincent asked, skeptically looking at the tablets.
“Yes. They easily get digested and contain all of the vitamins, fats, proteins, and carbohydrates the body needs. It’s not recommended to eat real food during artificial gravity.”
Spaide and Duell proceeded to make their selection, but Vincent hesitated. “It’s a tough choice,” he said.
“Here, try this one.” Gaia gave him a large green gel tab. “It’s Tariadorian Steak, or tastes like it at least.”
“Don’t tell me what it is,” Vincent said, swallowing the pill. Seconds after, a succulent feeling filled his stomach, resembling the taste of tender steak with a side of mashed potatoes.
As everyone took their share, Gaia put away the tray and sat back down on the couch.
“Now that you mention it,” Vincent asserted Duell, sitting down beside Gaia, “I am somewhat of a thrill seeker. But even so, I still don’t understand why I would make an agreement with Oryon that will take me away from everything I know.”
“You will one day,” Duell replied. “When you achieve total peace with your mind, you’ll understand why you made that choice.”
Vincent sighed, confused more than ever. “I can’t even accept the fact I have this power yet, much less have any of the magic.”
“With time, you’ll accept this gift that’s been bequeathed upon you and easily do the things the twins are capable of,” Duell assured.
“It is amazing what they can do,” Vincent said, remembering their supernatural abilities.
“And they are but twenty-one.”
“Oryon,” Vincent then said. “What happened to his body? Why did it disappear?”
“When one with our power dies, we become whatever we are—a form of energy. Our bodies and everything on our person explodes into thousands of lights.”
“That’s crazy. Just like that?”
“That is yet another enigma. There are several theories on this precise subject, but none have any evidence.”
Vincent got up and approached the slit window, looking outside at the void. It was all so confusing.
“So, are you saying I will remember Oryon’s memories?” he asked.
“Honestly…” Duell shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never been acquaintances with anyone who went through the Texanorra or even heard of it being performed. But I hope you’ll remember. Our future might depend on the information you hold.”
Vincent sighed. “Will I ever find my way back home?”
“I will not lie to you, Vincent,” Duell replied. “The odds are a billion to one. It might take longer than expected. For now, you must remain with us. I will show you the Galactic Map once we get to Urtan, but I must warn you it’s—”
Vincent whirled around. “Vast?”
Duell nodded.
“Well, is there anyone else that can help me?” Vincent persisted.
“No, only yourself. It’ll come to you eventually, just like everything else. Na’ar has seen you with his very eyes. Therefore, you must not discuss your origins with anyone else.”
“He’s probably already on the most wanted list,” Spaide said.
“And you resemble us more than any of the other races,” Gaia added.
“Not to mention he held a Palermius sword. Looks like the price on our heads is gonna quadruple.”
“There’s another thing I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Vincent sat down. “I happened to notice that most of the people on that ship—if not all—were Xenian.”
Duell and Gaia traded nods. Spaide shrugged as Vincent looked over at him and motioned to the Xenians to deliver the answer.
“My people,” Duell began, “the Sinkha’ar, a sublime Xenian race, are the ones who started this. It first began on our homeplanet, Xenon, as a military conflict between the races, with the Sinkha’ar emerging as the victors. Based on the philosophy of Velianor Lombardo, a Warrior Sage, the Sinkha’ar united all the Xenian nations and seceded from the Galactic Federation, which was the coalition of the advanced civilizations at the time.
“While the Federation placed an embargo on our system, we produced millions of weapons with our ‘Genesis’ technology, one which
could manipulate matter. And then began the Sinkha’ar campaign. It started with several planets and eventually escalated into an all-out Intergalactic War between those loyal to the Federation and the separatist movement headed by the Xenians.”
Vincent was listening with awe, getting the gist of information on the Republic.
“Great minds can create devastating weapons,” the Xenian continued. “The galaxy was not ready for the weaponry we possessed. Those few standing in the way of the mighty Sinkha’ar Empire were simply wiped out or subdued by force. Eventually, this system was created, this hypocritical Imperial Republic…” He paused, clenched his jaw, and then said, “The best form of tyranny is an illusion of freedom.”
“So you fight your own people?” Vincent was stunned. “While the rest of the galaxy hates and despises you?”
“Because we have the power to do so,” Duell answered ardently. “It is our responsibility.”
“Not all of us believe that the galaxy needs to be controlled,” Gaia added. “Rather than freeing it from the plutocrats of the Federation, we placed it in the hands of dictators. I have advocated democracy for my entire life and tried to get our people to realize what we were doing. But now, I see the truth. I see through the shadowy veil that’s pulled over the eyes of the Xenians and others who could make change.”
“That general,” Vincent asked, “the one named Na’ar, is he a Warrior Sage as well?”
Duell explained further, “Like I’ve said before, the power of the Tel Kasar transfers from parent to offspring. After many generations, there were dozens of Xenians with our psionic powers. But there were only ten swords. We formed a secret academy with a council made up of sword wielders. The council then had to choose their successors from the best students through a voting system. They should’ve known that a disagreement was inevitable… They should’ve known the dangers of people’s ego…
“Seventy years ago, the ten families engaged in a conflict that obliterated almost every Warrior Sage save for one: Sezan Krynne, Oryon’s father. He took it upon himself to continue the brotherhood and sought others who were gifted. After his untimely death, his students split the brotherhood apart. Na’ar and I were Oryon’s pupils when he left the Republic… I remained loyal to Oryon, and Na’ar didn’t.”