‘Humans, us included, are simple creatures. I don’t blame the Zarxans and Zonians. Especially after what her kind have done to us. In fact, I don’t understand the soldier’s tolerance of her.’
‘The Imperials aren’t her kind. She’s as human as we are, where it counts. She made sacrifices today. She should not have to hide her features in shame for what she is.’
Aven waved aside the comment.
‘The edal did contribute to this victory but let us focus on the victory. You freed a planet today.’
‘Yes, we did.’
And the planet now flies our flag.
Aven leaned back, fingers still steepled.
‘Don’t downplay that achievement. This was not like Nova Zarxa. This was not just a pyrrhic victory wrought of desperation. This battle should’ve been harder, but through your leadership, the Defiant triumphed. The people of Sekai know this, and they will be eternally grateful. They now fly your flag. Ceremonial as that may be, I doubt they will take it down. You have imprinted yourself in their memory.’
Aven’s close-lipped smile grew. ‘They will fight for you, if necessary.’
‘They will fight for themselves.’
‘Exactly, but because you allow them to do so. You inform their goals, now. And that means they will fight alongside you. Accept this, James. Be their icon.’
James crossed his arms. Aven had told him similar things in the past. He had also been the one to force James into becoming the Defiant. An icon. A rebel leader. A messiah.
‘My goal has and will always be to protect me and my own. We owed the Ganru and we needed to free Sekai to eliminate a precedent that the Imperials can ride roughshod over frontier worlds.’
Aven nodded.
‘Your goal is to ensure your people survive? To make sure that the galaxy becomes safe for Zonians?’
James hesitated, and then nodded.
‘No Zonian is safe while Imperia looms, James. It isn’t simply about revenge for Zona Nox, or for Earth, or for Resh…or the countless planets they have rendered uninhabitable. It is about us – now. The living. You care about your people? Then do as you did today. Ride forth and slay the monsters that infest this galaxy. Liberate the Imperial held planets. No…all oppressed planets. Zerian slave worlds, Black Fleet colonies, Pegg held human stations…all of them.’
Aven had a crazy glint in his eye. He was leaning forward, hands flat on the table.
‘The Defiant is too important to be shackled to as dingy a rock as Nova Zarxa. This galaxy needs it. You have proven to the galaxy, and yourself, that the Defiant is a galactic force. The dominoes have been placed. The first is teetering on the edge. Give it a nudge. Let it fall. Let oppression fall. Be the liberator that the Troopers have failed to be for so long.’
James did not respond for a while. Aven’s gaze was unnerving. His grin and glint almost maniacal. But beyond the first impression, James saw in the Lector’s expression a sincere excitement. A relief. The realisation that all he had been working towards was not a waste, and that his life’s work could once again be achieved.
And above all that, James noted that the acidity in his stomach was gone. His heart beat normally. His head was clear.
He had freed a planet.
And he could free others.
He could make this galaxy not only safe for Zonians, but for Sekai, for humans, for exanoids, for dissident edal and all free races.
James could make his title mean something more than a rag-tag rebel force at the edge of the galaxy. A rebellion that had caused so many deaths.
But this galaxy spanning liberation would cost many more lives.
Was it worth it?
Was it worth dying to free people of their shackles?
Was every death so far worth it?
James did not know, but he did know that he could make it worth it.
‘Compile a list of ideal planets to liberate,’ James finally said. ‘We’ll break their chains. For a safer galaxy. For freedom. To make this all worth it.’
Aven smiled, a wide and toothy grin, and immediately got to work.
James did not smile. His head was clear. His breathing was calm. He had freed a world, and it felt good.
And while sacrifices had been made and were to be made, James knew that for all they had done already, they had to proceed.
It wasn’t just about revenge now. Not just about survival.
James exited the Word Lector ship and flew back down to Sekai to be greeted by a crowd of cheering locals.
James smiled and finally knew what he was fighting for.
“You burn a village, and you hold them back a bit longer before they seek revenge. You enslave them – crush their spirit – and they will never be a threat to you ever again.” – Tract 66 of the Myeel Ta’kook, the Tan’quor slaver bible.
Chapter 17.
Wildfire
The sky was a dark grey, and the air smelled of soot. The invasive scent of burning rubber invaded the nostrils. The exerted breaths of countless workers forced the inhalation of the fumes, causing headaches and nausea. Screeching metal, scraping and clanking formed a horrific orchestra. It overwhelmed the sound of weeping, cries of pain and the excessive panting of a people who were only just now becoming accustomed to hard labour.
Derk had long since learnt to tolerate the burning, tearing muscle, the scrapes and scalds, and the borderline toxic fumes that rotted the mind. He had been on the planet Geiger VIII for years now. He had lost count of how many years. The denizens of a slave colony were not given the benefit of a calendar. His only measurement of time was the rising and waning of the sun, when smog did not cover it. Derk could only guess how long he had been on Geiger VIII, but his collection of scars and the fading memories of other slaves gave him some sort of idea.
Derk was a rarity. Geiger VIII had a high-turnover. Zerian did not care about worker safety when they could just replace a worker like one could a cog. And at the edge of inhabited space, nobody flew past to see their plight. If they would even care…
Derk had seen Troopers on Geiger VIII. One had looked him in the eyes and did nothing. Vokken tin-men always did nothing.
So, Derk spent every day toiling. He kept up the pace. Lifting, carrying, welding, machining, cutting…everything a slave was expected to do on the cash-crop and chemical planet of Geiger VIII. Through good work, he was allowed to live. Through clever work, he didn’t fall into a chemical vat or cut himself on the poisonous plants he was harvesting. Most slaves didn’t last long. Because Derk had, Zerian kept him kicking. What Derk guessed was a year ago, they replaced part of his arm. They would have normally thrown a slave in the acid vats for even smaller injuries. But Derk had proven himself. So, they kept him going.
What Derk didn’t know, was why he kept on going.
Every day was the same sounds, the same smells, the same excruciating burns of chemical spray. The same pain, the same boredom. No change and no prospect of change. Sometimes, Derk thought that he may have been fine with this way of life if he had never known anything else. But Derk wasn’t born into slavery.
Derk had been born on Tiana-Beta to a tech-hawker mother with an addiction to virtual reality and horoin-3. What she didn’t spend on drugs and new v-flick sensations, somehow managed to trickle down to feed and clothe Derk.
Derk had planned on moving out as soon as the local republican government would let him. That day almost came. Then, one day, Zerian debt-collectors rode up in a hover-car and told Derk’s mother to pay up her debts. She couldn’t bear to lose the drugs or her tech. So, she offered a trade. Debt forgiveness, for her son.
Derk wasn’t given much of a choice.
The first year was hell. The work wasn’t meant for humans and couldn’t be done by syns. Derk had tried to make friends, but after the first batch all died, he stopped. Whenever someone else tried to make friends with him, he ignored them. He couldn’t take the pain again. All the times before was more than enough.
Derk fel
t lonely, sure. But making friends you knew were going to die didn’t stop loneliness. It only made the heartache greater.
So instead of feeling the loneliness, the desire, the pain – Derk chose to feel nothing.
Today, Derk stopped for a second in the ash-filled courtyard of the plant-fibre refinery. Slaves shambled all around him. They carried crates of parts, tools, bags fill of plant-stems, barrels full of acid and chemicals. Everything this horror-house needed to function. On a black-metal wall, crucified by bolts the size of Derk’s hands, was a rotting corpse. The slave had managed to sneak in a wrist-tab and was caught trying to send a message to Trooper Armada.
Derk shook his head. Troopers never came. And when they did, they didn’t care.
Derk proceeded towards the centre of the courtyard when the ground shook. He dropped his baggage but managed to steady himself. Sirens erupted across the facility. Masked Zerian guards didn’t shout at the slaves who stopped working. They only stared at the sky.
One fell. Then the other. Shots rained from above. Derk dove for cover. The sound of work, machinery and apathetic terror turned to the melody of battle. Screams, shouts, gunfire.
Pirates, Derk thought. They had been attacked by pirates before, but they had soon been eliminated. Zerian skimped on worker safety, but not on security.
But this was different. No slaves were falling. Only the guards. Bullets rained from above, surgically cutting through only those wearing Zerian guard uniforms.
Then angels descended.
Derk knew they were not angels. He was not a superstitious man and living as long as he did as a slave, he could not believe in such mystical saviours. But they looked like angels, and they fell to the earth on wings of glowing black.
Thuds followed the landing of the saviours, and they immediately opened fire on the surviving Zerian guards. A black and blue clad figure landed, its wings retracting into its back and looked Derk in the eyes through its visor.
It looked like a Trooper. Like the Trooper who had looked him in the eyes before. But it spoke to him, voice vibrating through its electronic visor.
‘Can you fight?’
Derk hesitated, then nodded.
‘Will you fight?’
No hesitation. Derk stood up. The figure handed him a pistol and proceeded to re-join its comrades.
Derk looked at the pistol. It felt heavy and cool in his hands. All black, except for a small symbol on the handle. Two blue marks, crossed at the top. Other slaves were being armed. Those who had not been given a gun yet, did not wait. They took their tools and pounced on the Zerian guards and monitors. Tools made for cutting toxic plants were easily used to sever limbs.
Derk clenched his hand over the pistol’s handle. It felt right.
The courtyard was emptying. The slaves and their saviours were storming the rest of the facility. The sounds of war echoed across the land. They were gut-wrenching, sending Derk’s heart leaping into his throat. But that was something. The heart-pounding. The shortness of breath. The fear. The excitement.
Derk finally felt something. And it was good.
His heart beating faster, Derk joined his fellow slaves and the blue and black saviours. He fired at those who had oppressed him for so long. Those who had beaten him. Tortured him. Kept him alive long enough to do it all again…
No Zerian made it to their comms. They died in anguish. Justice did not feel good to them.
As Derk had lost count of the years of his imprisonment, he had also lost count of all the Zerians he slew.
And while he killed them, he laughed, he smiled, and he cried.
“Freedom is a lack of chains. After that, it is up to you.” – James Terrin, the Defiant.
Chapter 18.
Trust
Nexus Gazette. 3557.
Warp-crystal prices are at a healthy high due to consumption by the Defiant Forces and escalating demand across the frontier. Due to the rising demand, production has been able to return to rates unheard of for the last few decades. Economists state that the rising demand by the Defiant Forces and associated militaries across the frontier are to thank for a regrowth in the dying Zarxan industry.
Upon returning from a campaign alongside the Defiant Forces, the planetary executive of Grag-Tec, Quok, stated:
‘Grag-Tec settled this planet for crystals, but for ages that hasn’t been a profitable business. Instead, we moved into using the conditions for chip manufacturing. But with the rising demand for crystals, Grag-Tec can restart and upgrade our mining facilities.’
Unemployment is already descending, as Zonians and Zarxans alike flock to the booming industry. Those not involved in new mining efforts have found opportunities in complementary ventures. All industries have seen a boom, as is to be expected.
Ryan Rebeck, a Grag-Tec analyst, explained:
‘Warp-mining has become the life-blood of Nova Zarxa. With it, other businesses can afford to start doing business again. This means restaurants to feed the miners, landlords to house them, computer manufactory, tool purchases…etc. With extra income, people can afford more stuff. That means even more business opportunities.’
The extra income has even led to a growing v-flick industry on Grengen. The wide-open spaces of the recently liberated world make filming cheap and has led to a thriving vacaraptor led film industry.
Further lessening unemployment, the Defiant Forces have increased their recruitment and supplies demand. Even those who aren’t joining the growing military have found jobs in the industries that complement a growing military.
Overall, it is a good time to be living on Nova Zarxa.
The years passed after the liberation of Sekai. After Sekai came Tremulon, Nova Sparta and Uldin. Each planet was freed from their opportunistic Imperial occupiers. While the Defiant did not ask for reward, they received many. Locals lavished them with banquets, supplies and new recruits. The fleet grew, and so did the army.
For the first time in a long time, James felt good. Confident. Assured. He wasn’t on the back-foot. Wasn’t scraping to get by. Wasn’t fighting a defensive war. He was going out, picking his own fights and winning them.
The Defiant Forces felt good too. While there were deaths, the more they fought and trained, the less people they lost. And the way the locals treated them afterwards made up for the effort. But more than that, the fact that they were viewed as heroes, and felt like heroes, made it all worth it.
From Nova Zarxa, the Defiant Forces sent out multiple fleets across the frontier. They liberated more than just Imperial held worlds. They freed Zerian slave worlds, squogg colonies, pegg infested spaceships. While the Troopers had shrunk into their shells, drawing resources away from the frontier so to focus on defending the core worlds, the Defiant filled the gap. They let every human on the fringes of civilisation know that they were not alone.
And as the Defiant fleet capacity increased, they begun a war on slavery. It started with a distress beacon in deep-space. The fleet, too big to be threatened by any pirate trap, warped in to find pirates throwing a captured ship’s crew into a slave-hold like cattle. The pirates were slaughtered, and the slaves freed. Now, most of what the Defiant did was tracking down slavers, killing them and freeing the slaves.
James had returned to Nova Zarxa to find a planet enriched by his wars. Industry was booming, and his people had been given a renewed purpose.
James felt good about his campaigns. He had fought side by side with his men, Krag-Zot and Re’lien. But he was relieved to be back on Nova Zarxa. Chancellor Peterson was also glad. He wanted James’ views on some pressing high political matters. Government reforms and the like. James gave his views quickly and noncommittally. Despite the sense of worth he was getting from his wars, he needed rest.
But there was one thing James did not enjoy about returning.
While James’ troops had learnt to get along with Re’lien – fighting alongside her dispelled all angst they had for her being an edal – the Zarxans and
Zonians had grown increasingly xenophobic. The Defiants’ wars were against more than just edal, but many on Nova Zarxa didn’t see it that way. They saw edal as the enemy. Regardless.
It made James feel sick, but Re’lien took it all in stride. As she said: she was used to it. And that made it all the worse for James.
James liked Re’lien, more than he felt he should. There was a familiarity between them that while reasonably unearned due to how briefly they had known each other, felt right. The warp had brought them together before they had met, and again afterwards. And even without that, James just felt comfortable around her – despite the pointy ears and blue skin.
He had never been one to care about public relations and when it came to xeno-haters calling for Re’lien’s head, he was even more terse. When hounded by journalists asking if he was having indecent relations with an edal, he had told them to vok off. The words were printed minutes later on eight network news platforms. Fortunately, the Cult of the Defiant had been supportive. He was their god, after all. They stated, uncharacteristically reasonably, that the journalists should not make unfounded assumptions. A bit more characteristic for the loony cult: they suggested that if the Defiant was in a relationship with a xeno, that others should do the same and follow his wisdom.
James, for the most part, ignored these rumours and attacks. Re’lien was his friend. He fought by her side because she was a powerful warpmancer. Void! She’d saved him multiple times already. And he spent time with her because she was one of the few people he could trust. The warp had brought them together, and he’d learnt to trust the warp. So vok whatever scumbag xeno-hater tried to tell him! James was a Zonian and Zonians didn’t like being told what to do.
‘The Mars Excursion is still there?’ James asked his assistant, a dour Titan City-born man named Penholdt.
‘Yes, sir.’
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