The Calypsis Project

by Brittany M. Willows

  “Gee, who was the genius who decided to throw a bunch of criminals into the same room where they store the goods? What was the goal, to torture them with things they couldn’t have?”

  “Being locked up inside one those cells is torture enough.”

  “You were down there? Why, what’d you do?”

  “. . . I was weak.”

  “I—oh, wait, because of that goddess? But that’s—” she paused mid-sentence, now wishing she hadn’t opened her mouth. “. . . You know what? I think I’m just gonna stop talking for a while.”

  Alana stayed silent the rest of the way up. When they reached the second floor, Kenon took her down a long hallway. At the far end was a set of wooden doors with handles made of gold. She realized the warrior was tensing up as they drew closer; he looked almost like he wanted to turn around and leave.

  The two of them entered a circular room with slate gray walls of polished stone. The back wall was made up of glass; one long bay window that looked out over the city center.

  And sitting in front of that window at a C-shaped table were four elderly Drahkori. Each appeared stunned as they gazed upon the young warrior—and perhaps a little fearful when they saw he walked with a human soldier.

  But one stood out from the others—the councilman on the right, whose squinted eyes were filled with rage.

  “You? What are you doing here?” he spat furiously, coming to a stand. His pale white robes fell upon the reflective floor and he turned his head in Alana’s direction. “And why have you brought this vile little pest with you?”

  Chapter

  —TWENTY-TWO—

  1936 Hours, December 03, 2438 (Earth Calendar) / Council Building, Ceida State, planet Dyre

  The human female and the young warrior stopped a couple of meters away from the curved table. Kenon drew his gaze over the four Drahkori elders.

  On the left was Lyra, the first female councilor in the history of Ceida State. Her duties were centered around the state’s education systems and manufacturing facilities. Next to her sat Revon and Doroma: twin brothers who were in charge of the mines and the hands they hired to work in them.

  And on the right-hand side of the table was the elder who had risen from his seat and demanded to know the warrior’s reason for being here: Alamir—the councilor who’d stripped the last of his honor away several weeks ago.

  Alamir was loathsome. There had been no doubt in Kenon’s mind that the elder would be hostile towards him and the human soldier, but what he couldn’t figure out was why the councilman seemed so shocked to see him.

  “Vile little pest? Get down off your high horse and say that to my face. I’ll show you what this pest can do,” Alana muttered under her breath; far too quiet to reach the ears of the elders, and just barely loud enough for Kenon to hear.

  “Alamir,” Lyra addressed her fellow councilman with that icy, levelheaded tone that Kenon had come to know very well in his younger years. “I thought you said the Valinquint child was killed in battle?”

  “I thought he had been,” Alamir spat venomously. “However, that does not give him a reason to barge in here unannounced. After the pain and suffering he caused us and his family—and after his shaming—he should know better than to show his face in this city!”

  “I am no longer the frail-hearted graduate you sentenced to death that day,” Kenon spoke up, drawing the attention of the other three councilors away from Alamir and onto himself. “The people I have met over these past few weeks—the warriors and soldiers, human and Drocain alike—have taught me something. They made me see that true strength lies in one's actions . . . not in the physical condition of his body. But as I stand before you, I must speak with utmost honesty and I must tell you that this realization is not what brings me here. So please, if you would, listen for a moment and I can explain my reason for returning.”

  The four conferred with each other, then Revon nodded for the young warrior to speak.

  “You all know by now that our world is under attack. Our enemies have swapped places with our allies. The humans no longer threaten our existence—it is the Drocain Royal Empire, and the species they are in an alliance with, that seek to annihilate us: they are called Nephera, and they wish to destroy our galaxy. But before they can do this, they need to find some kind of key, an item my teammates and I have set out to find. This key serves as the trigger to their superweapon—the planet Calypsis—which has recently been set to standby status. We believe this means that they were close to locating it.”

  “And right now we’re outnumbered and outgunned, and very quickly running out of time,” Alana put in.

  Kenon nodded in agreement. “We need to slow the enemy down. The reason I decided to come here was to ask you one question: does any of the old technology remain in the holds? Any weapons that were not destroyed in the wake of the Purge?”

  “That would be a question for Her Highness, not us,” Doroma said.

  “The Empress? But surely we would never be able to get a meeting with—”

  “No, you would not,” Alamir hissed.

  Doroma threw a glare at the councilman, then said: “Tell her what you told us. If this threat is truly as great as you say it is, then I am certain she would open her mind to your concerns. However, even if any of the old technology remains, this does not mean it will be released from the holds.”

  Kenon opened his mouth to ask how he would go about contacting the Empress but, when he saw how unsettled Alamir was, he held his tongue. The councilman looked nervous. What could have stirred this anxiety?

  Revon had noticed the odd behavior too, and invited Alamir to share his thoughts.

  Kenon narrowed his eyes, becoming suspicious of the elder. It appeared as though he were afraid to speak—perhaps he was scared that something he was hiding was about to be uncovered?

  Then it dawned on him.

  Kenon spat out the accusation. “You already knew!”

  Alamir stood once more and drew his blade, moving into a offensive position. Before he could make a move toward the young warrior, Alana and Kenon snapped out their weapons and fixed their aim on him.

  The rest of the councilors were now on their feet as well, frozen as they stared at the scene with wide eyes.

  “You move, you die,” Alana warned.

  “How much do you know about the Calypsis Project?” Kenon demanded. “Do you know where the key is located?”

  “I was told the weapon would be used to rid our galaxy of humans,” Alamir muttered. “As for the key . . . I am surprised you have not already figured that part out,” the councilman huffed, then slipped his blade back into the scabbard hanging from his waist. “You were not supposed to make it out of those tunnels alive, Valinquint. But you did, and now all that awaits me when this all comes to an end is a slow and painful death.”

  “What do you mean he wasn’t supposed to get out?” the soldier asked eagerly.

  “Recall your words,” Alamir hissed. “This item, this key—the Nephera were so close to finding it that they moved their weapon to a standby status—then they lost it. What they were searching for got away. If it had not, then we would not be standing here. So ask yourself this: what, or who, could possibly have had the maneuverability to slip through their fingers with such ease?”

  Who? That word echoed in Kenon’s mind for a moment. He lowered his weapon slightly.

  Alamir growled with frustration, tired of waiting for the younger warrior to clue in. “It is you, Valinquint. You are what they seek—you are the key to the activation of Calypsis.

  “After you escaped their grasp, they came here because they knew if they were to attack your homeworld you would run right back to it . . . and straight into their hands,” he snarled, then lowered his voice. “I did not shame you as a result of your pitiful weaknesses, child. I shamed you because I knew exactly where you would go: to the stars, to war—to redeem your family’s honor, and to run away from the world you found to be so terribly cruel. I kn
ew that would put you on a path where the Nephera would be able to find you.”

  “No!” Kenon snapped in disbelief, shaking his head. “That is not possible, how could it be?”

  “Kenon,” Alana said, but her voice was only a blur in the background to the young warrior. He was too deeply absorbed in what the elder had told him, shaken by the revelation of what he was.

  But was it really true?

  There was hardly a scrap of evidence to back up Alamir’s claim, but what reason would he have to lie about something like that?

  “Why me?” Kenon asked. “What makes me any different from the other Drahkori?”

  Alamir didn’t have the chance to answer him before Alana screamed the young warrior’s name in panic.

  Kenon glanced at her quickly, following her stare through the bay window and up to the sky where he saw what had alarmed her—a Leh’kin frigate, silver and smooth, gleaming in the sunlight. It was severely damaged; hull torn open on both sides . . . and it was hurtling downward on a collision course with the Council Building.

  “Kenon, move!” the soldier cried, grabbing his arm as she spun on her toes.

  The frigate came crashing down through stone and glass, and the sound that followed overwhelmed Kenon—flooded his senses and confused his thoughts. He could feel the heat of the flames lapping at his back, and the last thing he saw was a cloud of thick black smoke rushing toward him as the floor fell out from under his feet.

  There was a noise—a disembodied voice. It was soft and distant, reverberating off unseen walls in a most unsettling manner.

  Valinquint,

  You need to wake up.

  Why can you not remember where your journey began?

  . . . Who you used to be?

  Do you remember what they said? What they did when they discovered that you had formed a pact with me? They accused you of treachery, they said you were untrustworthy. They banished you to the distance lands and told you never to return.

  Sound familiar?

  Listen to me.

  You are true to your heart,

  You are true to your soul.

  . . . I am your guide, your shield, and the last in this world.

  Delusions of grandeur?

  Far from it.

  Can you hear the distant cries of your comrades, new and old? The desperation and fear, the panic and concern?

  Find your purpose,

  Find your place.

  Save them.

  . . . All of them.

  The young warrior’s eyes flickered open. He saw a blurry figure leaning over him. Behind the armored body, deep red and orange embers danced in the air against a wall of gray-black smoke. He blinked several times and his vision cleared, revealing the figure in front of him to be his human friend.

  Alana was kneeling on the ground, hands on his shoulders as she shook him—urging him to get up. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, crimson blood streaming down her cheek from a large gash stretching brow to chin. She was speaking, but her voice was too muffled for Kenon to make out what she was saying.

  More came into view behind the soldier: the ruins of the once beautiful Council Building. Chunks of stone lay scattered about fallen pillars, blue lights flickered amongst the mess, and flames lapped at the hull of the crashed Leh’kin frigate.

  Kenon’s hearing returned fully after a few more moments and he heard the crackling of fire as it hungrily consumed all flammable materials in its path. Then at last he could hear Alana. She was repeating his name over and over again, asking if he was okay and telling him to get the hell up.

  The chaotic scene around him sped up as his head cleared. He sat up quickly, clutching his leg as a searing pain shot up through his abdomen. Lifting his hand from the wound between his belt and thigh guard, he saw it wasn’t too serious an injury—but definitely not one that could be left unattended.

  “Kenon? Kenon, listen to me, okay?” Alana said. “We need to get out of here now or we’ll be buried alive in like, two minutes—tops. ‘Kay? So we need to move. Can you stand?” She was trying to appear calm and collected, but her voice was shaking, her entire body trembling after the shock they'd both suffered.

  Kenon nodded, and with the help of his teammate he was able to get back up on his feet. He stumbled backward, dizzy for a moment. Once he’d regained his balance, the pair hobbled through the rubble and made their way outside—just in time, too. What was left of the building’s walls collapsed behind them, throwing out a cloud of dust and smoke and fire.

  Outside, long shadows stretched across the ground. The sky had grown dark. Enemy forces marched through the streets; invaded homes, murdering the innocents who cowered inside. Those who weren’t trapped in their dwellings ran for their lives while Marines, Leh’kin warriors, and Drahkori graduates from the training academy held off the advancing Nepheran fighters.

  Unprepared, without firearms, and with the support of only a single Leh’kin fleet and a handful of humans, the chances of the Drahkori winning a battle against the Nephera were almost nonexistent.

  And the only ones they had to blame were themselves.

  But they will fight with all they have, and we may yet have the help of our ancient devices, Kenon thought. There is still hope in that.

  Chapter

  —TWENTY-THREE—

  1948 Hours, December 03, 2438 (Earth Calendar) / Nepheran Cruiser, planet Dyre

  “Tell me, Lieutenant,” the Drocain queen growled, crouching down in front of the man who knelt before her.

  With his hands cuffed behind his back, Lieutenant Knoble stared at the floor, refusing to look at the small projector unit sitting in the Queen’s palm.

  The image floating over the top of the projector’s center showed the UNPD frigate Houston parked on the starboard side of a Drocain carrier, the Legacy of Night, with its docking tubes extended. The two ships were in orbit over the planet Dyre.

  “Why is there a human ship in this system? Hm?” the Queen asked. “How did it find its way here—to this planet? Did it perhaps follow the signal emitted by an open line of communication? A line that you opened?”

  Knoble continued to stare at the ground until an armored hand wrapped around his skull and turned his head forcibly to look at the projected image. The guard’s claws dug into his skin; blood welled and trickled down his neck.

  “I don’t know,” he lied quietly, the ache in his throat finally starting to ease off a bit.

  He’d been drugged three times so far. Once when he was captured, again after the Queen first spoke to him, and once more after the royal guards burst into his room seconds after his conversation with Anderson and Orion had ended—and each dose of sedatives only made his condition worse. They drained his energy, gave him throbbing headaches, and made it excruciatingly painful to speak.

  “Do not lie to me!” the monarch spat, deactivating the device as she straightened up. “I know you made contact with that ship’s commander. You disobeyed my direct order!” She almost sounded hurt, like she had been betrayed.

  Knoble was beginning to see the corrupted side of her that Levian ‘Nher had mentioned. Now if only he could figure out a way to use this corruption to his advantage. For all he knew, rather than weakening her, her rapidly deteriorating mental stability could have turned her into a much more dangerous enemy.

  “Look, lady, I don’t take your orders.” Knoble met her glare. “And there’s nothing you can do to make me. So what’re you going to do about it, huh? You want to shoot me? If that’ll solve all of your problems, go right ahead.”

  The Queen turned her focus to the Khael’hin guard standing by the entranceway and nodded her head.

  Knoble heard the doors sigh as they slid open behind him, and he twisted his neck to look over his shoulder.

  A fifth guard entered the room, dragging a soldier who struggled helplessly in his hold, grunting and kicking as he tried to dig his heels into the floor panels.

  It was Private Sevadi. The young man was thrown
to the ground beside Knoble with such force that he smacked his face on the hard metal plates and cut his cheek open. The Private's hands were cuffed likewise to Knoble's, making it difficult for him to pick himself up from the floor.

  “Ouch,” he whined. “They sure go out of their way to put you through as much pain as possible without actually killing you, don't they, sir?”

  “You’re telling me,” Knoble muttered.

  Sevadi perked up when he saw the Drocain monarch standing in front of him, and Knoble knew immediately by the sparkle in his eye that he’d thought of a really good joke and was about to run his mouth at fifty miles an hour to get it out while he had the chance.

  The Private puckered his lips and gave a wolf-whistle. “Hey, sexy,” he said, then started nudging Knoble with his elbow; completely oblivious to the Lieutenant’s mouthing of the words shut up. “I’d tap that,” he paused briefly for suspense. “With a pointed stick strapped to the bottom of a tank dropped from high orbit—squish!”

  A hard punch to the back from one of the guards shut him up and made him double over, coughing and spluttering as he gasped for air.

  Knoble felt only the tiniest bit of sympathy for his teammate. Most men would have zipped their mouths shut and put on a serious face, but Sevadi had his own way of dealing with tough situations. Goofing off and telling terrible jokes was his way of calming his nerves.

  “What I will do, Lieutenant,” the Queen said, feathered tail sweeping across the floor, “is have one of my warriors slit the throat of your friend here, while you sit there and take in each and every heartbeat of his suffering.”

  “I won’t let that happen,” Knoble grumbled, gripping his right thumb tightly with his left hand and preparing for pain. “Not on my damn watch!”

  “And you are going to stop me? How do you suppose you will manage that?”

  The Lieutenant pushed himself to his feet, dislocated his thumb and pulled one hand free of the cuffs.