The general cleared his throat and said, “There’s no need for names, ma’am. I am designated officer Gamma, one-three-three.”
Delta’s words were tight, and she asked. “None of the soldiers have names then?”
Before the general could reply, Moyah interjected and said, “General, if you’ll excuse us for a moment.”
Moyah cupped her hand on Delta’s arm and led her to the other side of the pavilion, and in a low steady voice asked, “What are you doing?”
“This is wrong, Moyah,” Delta said.
“Wrong?” Moyah asked confused. “How is protecting Earth, wrong.”
“I understand the reasonings behind your plan, Moyah. I don’t understand the justification. These aren’t some soldiers in a holy war. You might call them an army, but they are nothing more than glorified slaves.”
Gobsmacked, Moyah stood there staring at Delta, a loss for words. In all the time she had been preparing, and planning, no one had said anything like that to her. She searched her thoughts wondering if it was true, but it didn’t take her a lot of time to come up with a reply, “We are amidst the single most important moment of the human race. I am well aware of the part I have played in history. But I would do it all again to be ready...”
“Please spare me the speech about mankind’s last hope, and the horned beast coming for us. I’ve heard it all enough times. You’re talking about saving humanity, Moyah,” Delta said and grabbed Moyah by the arm, pulling her to the observation window above the training chamber. She shoved a finger at the people below them and said, “They are the humanity you talk about saving, but all you do is abuse them, and I won’t even get into the slaves on the platforms... I...”
“Milady,” the general called from behind.
Moyah just stood there, speechless. Delta was honest, more honest than anyone she had known since she arrived in the past. There was enough truth in her words to run over an elephant with ease. It smacked Moyah across the face.
“Milady?” the General said again.
Moyah eyed the General, and said, “General, Delta and I believe the soldiers should have names.” She glanced at Delta whose expression had lightened.
“Names, Milady?”
“Yes, names. Have every soldier, technician and laborer over the age of twelve choose a name. And once they reach the age of twelve, they may name themselves.”
The General raised an eyebrow as if he was going to protest, but lowered them and said, “Very good Milady.” He withdrew when his communication device chimed.
“Satisfied,” Moyah asked eyeing Delta.
Delta replied with a somber nod, and said, “Thank you.”
“Milady,” the General returned moments later with an uneasiness in his tone.
“What is it, General?”
“There are reports coming over the news feed, Milady. There has been a revolt by the slaves on several High-Born platforms and food processing plants. There are a number of deaths.”
The future crept up on Moyah faster then she expected, and she quietly scolded herself for allowing the date to allude her. Had she become so lost in her obsession, that she forgot about what it was to be human herself, and the plight of those she inflicted slavery on?
She saw pain in Delta’s eyes, and it crumpled her heart, the pain tore through her, but even though it hurt her immensely, Moyah couldn’t do anything about what just happened. It seemed she had become a part of history, a history that would be less than kind to her once she was dead.
Watchtower, High Earth Orbit
Home of Family Lexor
October 30, 2442
For ten days Da’Mira, Quinton, Carmela and Commander Martin were held prisoner on Watchtower. The room where they were sequestered was bitterly cold. Chilly air blew through the airducts – the inhospitable temperature grayed the room into a depressive prison. The walls were slick gray and the benches, hard and uncomfortable. The light from the ceiling was harsh and beat down on them like a never setting sun. The Lady Anders had taken ill, her cough grew worse each day and if not treated could become serious. Though they were fed, the food consisted of Tannador food disks, the ones manufactured for the Low-Born and slaves.
Da’Mira eyed the ORACLE watcheye, and the red-light strobing on top. It was a unique feeling, considering the High-Born didn’t have to live under the watchful eye of ORACLE. There was a vulnerability about it, and Da’Mira understood how the servants felt.
An unpleasant grumble came from her stomach, begging for food, real food, and Da’Mira admitted she could use something to drink. The longer they were kept here, the weaker they became. Perhaps that’s the plan, she thought. If faced with a chance to escape, Da’Mira doubted any of them would have the energy to fight back. If only there was a way to contact Colin. The Highlander grinded on her nerves, but he was no coward, and came in handy during a fight. Again, her stomach tightened, and all she could think of was food. She eyed the others in the room and saw the same despondent look of hunger on their faces.
Commander Martin kept to himself. He’d been that way since their incarceration. Perhaps he blamed himself for not doing something to prevent Avery Lexor from locking them up. Da’Mira watched the young officer and it didn’t take a genius to figure out he and Quinton were romantically involved. Their quiet glances at one another was proof enough, but Da’Mira kept her observations to herself. Instead she tried to figure out just where the commander came from. He was well-trained, more than any Orlander security man and he was well-disciplined. He had the look of a warrior. It was the same look she’d seen in Colin’s eyes right before he went into a fight. “Wouldn’t you like to sit down with the rest of us?”
Martin glanced toward Da’Mira and simply said, “No, Milady.”
“We won’t judge you, if you want to sit down,” she said.
“His discipline won’t allow it,” Quinton said.
Da’Mira folded her arms in front of her and said in a low tone, “His discipline?”
Slouched in a corner of the room, Carmela cleared her throat. Feverish, she asked, “Why haven’t our people bargained for our release?”
“In case you weren’t aware. We are prisoners here Lady Anders. No one is coming to our rescue,” Da’Mira said.
“She’s right,” Quinton said. “The fact that we’ve been here this long is proof the Union is sweeping us under the proverbial rug.”
Carmela sat up, and with a rough sickly voice said, “I figured there would be protests from our houses. Surely someone would have filed a complaint.”
“Perhaps you’re not as important as you think you are,” Da’Mira said curtly.
Quinton raised a hand, and said, “Da’Mira please.”
Carmela glared at Da’Mira, her eyes were glassy and distant. In a raspy voice she said, “I might be sick, but I detect resentment in your voice.”
“Am I not making it plain enough?” Da’Mira replied.
“That’s enough,” Quinton said. For a second, Da’Mira heard a touch of Hek’Dara’s voice in her brother.
“We are all tired, hungry and sick. All of us know what is happening. The Tannadors and Anders have rippled the waves, and the Union can’t abide our rebellious actions.”
“What are you saying?” Carmela asked.
“He’s saying, sooner or later they will do away with us,” Da’Mira said. “Perhaps a convenient shuttle accident.”
“I find that unlikely,” Carmela said. “We’ve been out of the public eye for too long. I’m sure people are already protesting our disappearance.”
“Protesting, maybe,” Da’Mira said. “But no one will come to our rescue. That means they’d have to lift a hand to do something, and no one is going to do that.”
“That’s a cynical point of view,” Carmela said. “Have you no faith?”
“I have faith, but it’s not in the human race. I lost that a long time ago.”
Haggard, Carmela leaned back against the wall and exhaled. She kept her e
yes on Da’Mira and said, “I still think there is good in the human race, you’ll just have to be patient and have an open mind.”
Da’Mira fumed. An impatient expression gripped her features and she said with a hardened tone, “I know the limitations of the human race, and I also know how they act when faced with oppression. Who are you to lecture me?”
“Da’Mira,” Quinton said in a quelling tone. “Lady Anders swore allegiance to House Tannador several months ago. Her questions are valid, and her hopes shouldn’t be dashed because you have a different opinion. It’s also important to state that she and father grew close.”
“How close?” Da’Mira inquired.
“Close enough, that we could have called her mother,” Quinton said.
Da’Mira didn’t offer a reply. Instead she stared at the wall in front of her and said, “Was Hek’Dara sane when he made a pact with House Anders?”
“Father was sane and aware of a great many things after he sent you away,” Quinton said. “He wanted me to tell you, that he was wrong, and that he was sorry for what he did.”
Da’Mira glanced at Quinton, her eyes dropping back to the floor. “He said that?” she asked.
“He did,” Quinton replied.
“He also warned me about a darkness, out in space, so evil it blackens the soul. I didn’t know what he meant, but when you arrived with a story about this beast... well I guess I know now.”
“Uklavar’s influence is stretching further and further,” Da’Mira said. “When he arrives on Earth, he will be unstoppable.”
“If we are here when he arrives,” Quinton said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Father said something, something that I dismissed after he said the Union was broken and couldn’t be fixed. I didn’t believe him when he said you were right.”
“I was right?” Da’Mira asked. “About what?”
“Migration. It’s time for man to abandon Earth and set up on another planet.”
Da’Mira was aghast, and at a loss for words. In all her life, she’d never heard her father say anything like that, nor did he agree with her on anything.
“I didn’t heed his words,” Quinton said. “I thought since I was head of the house, I should do what I thought was right. It appears I, like father, was wrong.”
“Let’s face it, neither of us respected our father,” Da’Mira said. “Our views were not like his, and his were shrouded in the old ways, and that’s something we didn’t adhere to.”
“And that’s the reason why our family failed,” Quinton said.
“There’s enough blame to go around Brother. We don’t have time to look back,” Da’Mira said remorseless. “We have a worse problem ahead of us.”
“That stuff you were saying in the Union chamber, about some demonic creature–”
“Uklavar,” Da’Mira’s voice darkened. “A thousand years ago he waged a war on all life in the galaxy and destroyed them all. Human’s survived because Earth was very primitive at the time. But he’s awake now, and aware we exist. He’ll be coming for us.”
A blanket of silence covered the room. Da’Mira wanted them all to know the weight of what was coming. Her words weren’t enough to express that, but she needed them to believe her, even though she didn’t know what any of them could do about it. It would take an army far greater than anything mankind has ever amassed to even hope to challenge Uklavar.
“You have a plan then?” Quinton asked.
Da’Mira drew a breath, and with a ghost of a smile said, “No.”
“Then why did you come here?” Carmela asked.
Da’Mira sat back against the wall, the cool metal gave her a chill. The sting of everyone’s stares cut into her like sharp razors. She stared at Quinton, and said, “I hoped we could amass a force to stop him. I knew it was a fool’s errand to begin with. All I can hope for now is a chance to rescue as many of the people of Earth as we can. Run for our lives before the horned beast arrives.”
“But you have an idea what we should do?” Quinton asked.
Improvising, Da’Mira said, “Requiem will be arriving in a few days. We will get as many people aboard her as we can, and then make a dash out into deep space. With any luck, the beast won’t come after us.”
“And how do you suppose we rescue anyone? We’re prisoners.” Carmela said.
Da’Mira relaxed her arms to her side and glanced up at the watcheye and back to Quinton.
“Ah,” Quinton gave a toothy grin.
Moments later the exterior door slid open and two Orlander security men entered the chamber. “Lady Tannador, Lord Lexor is requesting to see you.”
Quinton stood, and the two troopers took defensive stances. “I am head of House Tannador. I should be the one Avery is talking to.”
“Lord Lexor was quite clear Milord. He wishes to see the Lady Tannador,” one of the troopers said.
Da’Mira stood in front of Quinton, and said, “It’s alright, I expected as much.”
“Are you sure?” Quinton asked.
“Avery is intrigued. He wants to know more, and I want to save as many people as I can,” Da’Mira said. “I’m sure.”
Quinton strong armed his way forward, but the Orlander man stopped him from advancing. He addressed the ORACLE watcheye and jabbed a finger at it, said, “If my sister isn’t returned to me in the shape she is now, I won’t stop until I get my hands on you Avery. You can count on that.”
Da’Mira placed a hand on Quinton’s shoulder, and said, “Thank you, brother.”
Quinton spun toward Da’Mira and offered a protective grin. “I trust you know what you’re doing,” he said.
“I hope one of us does,” Da’Mira replied and stepped up to the officers and offered a nod.
Out into the corridor, the chamber door slid closed behind her and Da’Mira came face to face with Gregaor Xavier who was followed by two more Orlander men. They leered toward one another, but Da’Mira turned away from Gregaor, as they were escorted up the hall.
Da’Mira didn’t speak to Gregaor as they rode in the lift to the top of the space platform, though he made several attempts she ignored him. His attitude on Shin’nor’ee, and his sheer disrespect for her, and those of her expedition was appalling.
Gregaor sweetened his tone, and said, “Da’Mira let me explain.”
Da’Mira stared in front of her, refusing to acknowledge Gregaor. The last thing she wanted to do was give him the opportunity to twist her words. There was a lot of history between them. Anything she might say, could be used against her.
“Da’Mira, please.”
Da’Mira drew a breath. Still refusing to look at him, she said, “He came to your ship after he left the planet, didn’t he?”
“Uklavar made an offer, one I couldn’t refuse.”
“What... he promised to keep you alive if you did his bidding, what a generous offer.”
“I had my crew to worry about,” Gregaor argued.
“Spare me the loyalty to your crew shit, Gregaor. You didn’t care enough to take your own brother with you when you fled the planet.”
Gregaor’s voice lowered, and he said, “He wouldn’t come with me.”
“That’s because he saw something in you, he never saw before and he didn’t like it,” Da’Mira said.
“You used to like what you saw,” Gregaor said.
“I can’t believe I loved you at one time,” Da’Mira confessed.
“Yes, as you grew older you decided that the slaves and the Low-Born were more to your liking,” Gregaor said with disdain. “Like the girl, My Own.”
It hadn’t dawned on Da’Mira until now. Maybe it was because she was so immersed in what was happening that she didn’t have time to think about the Highlander girl. “Is she...”
Gregaor snickered, and with a dark weight to his words that Da’Mira had never heard before, he said, “She’s alive. Or at least she was when I left the ship. I doubt she’ll stay that way, but Uklavar seemed to
have taken a liking to her.”
“You have changed,” Da’Mira said. “Even though you were conceded, and pampered your whole life, there was still a tenderness to you. Maybe it was something I wanted to see because I was an infatuated young girl. Maybe you had become overwhelmed by your mother’s ambitions, or maybe it was the Gold drug that changed you.”
Da’Mira looked at Gregaor, he averted his eyes to the floor, but she saw in them a hint of sorrow. “I don’t know what made you like this Gregaor,” she admitted. “But I doubt it was Uklavar that changed you. He might have been the catalyst, but he didn’t make you do anything that wasn’t in your nature. I can’t believe I was so wrong about you.”
Gregaor looked up, he and Da’Mira shared a parting look, like two lovers saying a last farewell. “Da’Mira, I...”
The lift doors opened, and the guards shoved Da’Mira and Gregaor from the elevator.
Da’Mira had only been in the Watchtower penthouse once, when she was seven. She was accompanied by her parents who encouraged her to participate in social gatherings. As she looked back on it, Da’Mira remembered a lot of strife between her mother and father, and Iris Lexor relished in it.
Da’Mira’s mother didn’t want anything to do with the Lexors, and as Da’Mira remembered back on the time, her mother wasn’t very social when it came to the other great houses. But it was a way to circumvent trouble between her and Hek’Dara, though her mother hated it, but she did what she had to, to keep the conflict between the Nine to a minimal.
Da’Mira couldn’t remember a time when there wasn’t a rivalry between houses and their gatherings were nothing more than an attempt to cement their power in the Union. Times had changed. The parties were over – the Union had failed and as Da’Mira was escorted further into the penthouse, she discovered the deterioration of the Union wasn’t all that had transpired over the years.
To say the apartment was in disarray would have been kind. The dull light made it difficult to see. The splash from the artificial waterfall in the corner of the room added a chill to the air. Da’Mira tripped, and at her feet was a pair of discarded pants. She surveyed the room. Dirty clothes were strewn through the living area – discarded dishes had toppled to the floor and an odd odor hung on the air. It smelled like rotting flesh and Da’Mira hoped it was uneaten food.
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