This was a science fiction concept I had. I’ll have to make sure I have the concept documented around here somewhere.
The volcanoes of Charak Moor explosively spewed forth their fiery essence in the distance. The dark and violent planet seen through the window seemed an appropriate setting for the meeting. Long plumes of toxic smoke and bright red lava began their long, slow descent back to the desolate surface. Such a shame that a phenomenal sight might soon be inaccessible to all but the most daring of star pilots. Lord Palladius stroked his well groomed silver goatee, his long thin fingers just now beginning to show the signs of his advanced age of 130 seemed to be hoping to find the answer to the dilemma amongst the waxed hairs on his chin. He turned his silvery eyes from the view outside his cabin’s viewport to his current and only minimally welcomed guest.
“Now Kaer, indulge my aging mind. Tell me again how in the fiery depths of Charak Moor do you think this can happen?” Despite his ever increasing references to his advancing age, Palladius’ sharp eyes belied the alert state of his mind. The eerily silver eyes (few still alive knew that they had been genetically modified a century ago in then non-Lord Marcus Palladius’ rash youth on a dare…a dare which had paid off well in the intervening years) crawled over their current vista. Kaer Chrollock, Imperial General to his imperial majesty’s extensive armed forces sat across the large mahogany desk from Palladius.
The emperor’s advisor continued to examine Chrollock as he ran his left hand back and forth across the edge of the finely crafted wood. The desk had travelled to more star systems than many citizens of the empire. The aged furniture had been passed down the House Palladius, supposedly since his people’s current royal dynasty had come into power. Back even to his race’s homeworld this desk’s heritage could be traced, supposedly. Palladius had never bothered, that mattered not to him. It was the solidity of the item which inspired and comforted. Even for royalty as himself, the regulation desk was a simple, lightweight but sturdy modular system integrated into the lighting and power systems of the ship. True, this desk was cumbersome, bulky, and couldn’t reconfigure to the Lord’s various needs. But Palladius trusted things that were solid, secure. New technology and ideas did not always mean better.
Chrollock on the other hand seemed in many ways a mirror opposite to Palladius. The large man, both from muscle and obesity, seemed uncomfortable in the small chairs set out for guests. The more uncomfortable the chair for your guest, the less time they spent nagging you, Palladius always thought. However, Kaer was a very stubborn man to say the least. He also had a manic sense of urgency about him, ready to jump to conclusions and try new tactics at a moment’s notice. Most amazingly, he had the sharp intellect required to direct and control attacks consisting of a thousand ships and a hundred thousand forces. Somehow his mix of strategy and carefully funneled energy and zeal created a military technique that rarely could be confronted successfully. Chrollock seemed eager this late evening as well to rush to the next step.
Kaer breathed a deep breath through his thick lips, nearly hidden in his thick, long chestnut beard. His hazel eyes, speckled with red (fire Kaer would say if you asked) met the older man’s silver stare. “I have my sources, Palladius…my friend.” He let the last two words roll out as if spitting out a poisonous Calumba bat’s venom. “Sources I cannot name. But you know we have not been discussing something of this magnitude discreetly for three nights in a row without serious evidence. Emperor Gae’re P’aakleel XII, may his eternal soul guide our planets and our people through the darkness of the future as the stars do our ships, and so on plans to use this capability soon against the Bacharans. That is why the Imperial court fleet has arrived today here in the Bachara Major system. We must stop him!” Kaer’s voice had raised as he spoke, as well as his figure. He now leaned over the table, one hand pounded the ancient wood at his last words. The red specks in his eyes now seemed truly as fiery as the burning hell in the window behind him.
Palladius, used to these outbursts, barely noticed the actions of the energetic man. He did however arch an eyebrow when Kaer glossed over the requisite litany of the emperor, an act tantamount to treason. Their liege had not been removed from power yet, nor had he committed the suspect act which might lead to such a dire situation. Insulting him, even in private chambers late at night, indicated that Kaer had already moved the pieces in this game to the next level as if the many implicated were simply playing a three board game of Chap’tah. “You speak brashly Kaer. Perhaps too much, even for yourself. These walls do have ears you know. Even with my rank I am still monitored to an extent. I’ve told you I can’t guarantee that the monitoring devices are cancelled out while we speak.”
The old man moved his soft, ergonomic gilded chair back from the desk and stood up in a manner far too spritely for one of his age. His guests chairs may be simple and uncomfortable, but that was no reason his own should be that way. Palladius walked to the large window, a luxury on a starship afforded only to those of the highest rank. The triple layered clear titanium had been optically curved to correct for distortion and stretched floor to ceiling, and wall to wall. He examined the starscape before him. Charak Moor occupied a majority of the view as the fleet was now currently in orbit about the planet, its intense atmospheric dynamics cloaking the ships from Bachara IV. Other stars, some he had seen before, others which had no reason other than scientific to visit floated before him. Perhaps a part of him had subconsciously dragged him to this window in hopes that he could catch a glimpse of the distant Bachara IV and its four billion inhabitants. Suddenly the audacity and significance of it all boiled over and took control of the otherwise calm and reserved exterior.
“How can one man have the power to destroy a planet and annihilate the lives of billions of innocent individuals!!!” His hand reached out and slammed into the window which did not give or reverbrate in the slightets. Pinpricks of pain radiated through the skin and tissue of the hand and wrist. The pain brought him back to his senses. Sighing, he realized the price to be paid for that outburst in the morning. His age had been kept at bay by genetics and medicines, but he still felt aches and pains the next morning.
The large form of Kaer, dressed in his painful to the eye shades of red barely moved in reaction to the outburst. Palladius couldn’t tell his unlikely compatriot’s thoughts as he was turned away from him. The strength of this mutinous allegiance seemed shaky at the very best. Palladius and the emperor’s military advisor had butted heads numerous times in the past. Suddenly, fate had found them bedfellows in a galactic scale revolution.
The future of House Palladius back on Tarran V, with a distinguished lineage dating back thousands of years could become a name heard only in history holovids. He could picture his grandfather, Duke Nathaniel Palladius XXXVI glaring at him with those vivid green eyes. The old man would shake his head in disapproval at anything he deemed inappropriate, as if a slight motion of his head would obliterate the annoying fact or individual from reality. In his grandfather’s time the family had lived in a much more luxuriant style, a household filled with Kelchari servants scurrying across the palace on their many limbs. Times had changed. Palladius deemed himself a ‘royal of the people’ and had dispensed with many of the luxuries his family had long considered necessary. His dear sister Katrina had been in shock when the Kelchari were given salaries and the choice to stay or leave. It said something of the family that almost all of them stayed on as employees of the vast house, no longer servants. Still, Marcus Palladius was no fool. He knew of the whispers in the Imperial Court of the proper old fool who lived in a dream world of nobility and social protocols. Times had changed, and the people needed more freedoms and equality in their society and governance. He had no issues with that. But the least that could be done was to go about a proper societal revolution with dignity and grace.
A muted belch from his guest aroused him from his thoughts. Tasteful, he thought to himself. Not too much chance of dignity and grace to be found here. Well, he never chose Kaer for his personality or his social skills. He never chose him period, for that matter.
“Marcus my old friend. We will take action against him if he dares perform such an act! Have no fear of that.” The conversation resumed with the two turned away from each other, Kaer facing the holographic painting of residence of House Palladius, magnificent tree lined avenues, floating fountains and cascading gardens framing the ornate mansion, its hundreds of arching windows staring back at the seated man, and Marcus resuming his view of the stars and the pained planet nearby.
“We will take action after such a fact, that we have all agreed. But after!! Think of the lives to be lost before such cowards as ourselves dare to act. Should we remove him before?” They had gone over this a dozen times already, but it still gnawed away at him.
Kaer guffawed, loud and deep, before replying. “Ha! Even I haven’t the bravery for such a foolish act, your Lordship.” Palladius noted with cynical humor how the general switched so casually between his first name (something his grandfather would have beheaded a commoner, even a general, for doing) and treating him as a noble. “No matter the proof we had, had we even some proof, it would still be treason. Execution, most likely before the trial if you know what I mean. We wait and see. The rumors may be just that. His Imperial Highness may have come here to deal an ultimatum to them in person. His presence, and that of his T’cha’kai forces would strike fear into the hearts of the most daring of men. The whispers of rebellion will be quieted down again as we did at Tau Belak.”
Palladius had returned to his seat and stared the general down. He grew weary and wished for this conversation to end soon. “Tau Belak is an agricultural world that felt left out of the loop with only one jump point for starships in their system and little interstellar commerce coming through. Had they chosen to revolt a few troops could have quelled the farmers. As it was, an offering of returned taxes and extra merchant visits for four decades sufficed. Bacharans are mercenaries, colonizers, and intellectually quick merchants. They have respect, power, wealth, and military might. Not to mention a dozen star systems backing them. Even the most feather-brained debutante in the royal court is well aware of the threat this poses to galactic integrity of the empire. If the emperor does not make a strong stand now he invites civil war!” Palladius breathed deeply, gripped his beloved desk for support and leaned forward. “There will not be an offer of appeasement this time. The emperor will crush them!!” He leaned back, and said more slowly and calmly, “And yes, you are correct. We will act then, not before. One man cannot wield such power. I will speak to Tahlia. She will have someone in her intelligence forces that can perform the task for us. Good evening, General.”
At Palladius subvocalized command, the gilded door to his state chambers slid open, softly chirping its acknowledgement to his wish. Kaer simply heaved a heavy breath, slapped his hands on his maroon and blood red overcoat and hoisted himself from the seat. “Absolutely, your lordship. We will speak again soon. May the stars be your guardians and sing thee to thy sleep.”
“And may the darkness of space enshroud you in comfort.” Palladius made no gesture other than a polite wave of the hand to walk the general out, so Kaer quickly exited. As the door slid shut, another less obvious one in the wall near the panoramic view slid open and a darkly robed and hooded figure stepped out.
He turned his chair to face this new figure, who stood in darkness yet whose face hung before his mind’s eye as if a phantom of a terrible nightmare. The evening was not quite over yet. “You have heard and you must now believe our actions. You will not intervene?” He still wasn’t sure whether to word that as a question or a command. Kaer and the others would kill him for allowing this access to their private discussions of rebellion. But the respect for the old ways and religion still held some sway for Palladius, and he knew, more importantly for billions of imperial citizens.
The Kah Tahral, the sacred order of priests and priestesses who protected and interpreted the religious texts. In the opinion of many, they did little interpretation and more issuing of edicts that suited the current Mah Tahral, head of the ancient religion. While every planet in the system had their own religion, sometimes several still coexisted in a single culture on younger planets, the beliefs of Tahral somehow infiltrated every spacefaring society and had grown in popularity. As the Tahral grew, like some sort of plague or infestation it consumed what it came in contact with and incorporated the ideas, rituals, and religious folklore of a thousand thousand cultures. Perhaps that is what made it so compelling. The mythology and beliefs of following Tahral could not be summarized in a single volume, or even a collection of volumes. No single sacred text dominated all others. There were a hundred variations and something to find in the teachings for any individual. Above all else though, the order of the Kah Tahral guarded the texts and issued general edicts of orderly behavior to the followers. These edicts could be forced upon some citizens as law in fundamentalist systems, ignored in more liberal worlds, or simply taken in as a good rule of thumb by others. In the intervening centuries since the last struggle between the Mah Tahral, the chief priestess of their order, and the Emperor at the time, Kah Tahral’s popularity had faded. Many practiced the rituals and celebrated the holidays with little regard for what significance was implied.
Before him now stood the most important of Ahtahra, high priestesses, save the Mah Tahral herself. Alenia, the Tahrali advisor to the emperor, still held his ear enough to have a decision made in favor of the old monks and nuns closeted away on the desert world Ceti Karaus. She used this power rarely, and for two reasons. First, after the signing of the Decree of Religious Intention, Kah Tahral had no direct influence over the empire, in writing at least. Secondly, in more practical terms they realized after the battles and political struggles terminating in the decree that their power was tentative. Push it too hard and the imperial court would publicly insult them, throwing them out and shutting the door on their main source of power in the galaxy. Alenia however did not travel with the court passively. She had a network of eyes and ears that learned everything, including somehow of the rebellion. At first it had frightened Palladius. If they knew, then surely the emperor would as well. After a few days though, it became apparent that Alenia’s spies were far better than any other’s. Since she had first approached him that cold day on the moon of Kalas, just before they had set course for Bachara, they had gone round and round over two main points. Alenia was quick to bring them up again.
Her voice was cold and quiet, yet precise and filled with infinite knowledge. “We cannot allow the removal of Kal’kachar.” (the term loosely meant the physical expression of god, a quaint old religious term for the emperor that Palladius never ceased to be amused by) “Yet we also realize our current position in the court, and we have deemed it inappropriate to intervene at this time. The folds of space and time weave and unravel at the weaver’s command, not those who choose to admire the beauty or horror of her tapestry. We must warn you though that your actions bring about dire consequences. The child must above all else be saved, lest you surely doom this entire galaxy.”
“Old woman you speak in riddles and of silly ancient myths. The emperors are not a manifestation of god, and killing him will not bring the deities’ anger down upon us. Of course this will cause ‘dire consequences’, we’re speaking of revolution and civil war here. The emperor cannot be allowed to wield such power as to destroy a planet at his every whim. If the silver throne gives him this ability, then both it and he must be destroyed. As for the imperial prince, you can do whatever you wish with the man’s son. We don’t predict a boy will come traipsing back in to the royal starship demanding his father’s place of power. You may save the child but it must not be publicly known. The public must know that a new, more democratic government is their only option. The knowledge of a living heir will leave hope in their hearts that this whole upheaval is a temporary newsworthy item and that things as they were will be restored again soon. It will make a mockery of our new government.”
“And it would be so bad to leave things as they are now?” Alenia stepped forward into the dim light near the desk. Her simple grey linen robes were lined with detailed silver embroidery. Her hands disappeared into the long flowing sleeves of the other, her arms crossed before her bosom. Even at an advancing age of eighty years, her skin was firm and smooth, a light blush gracing her cheeks, unnoticed compared to the bright orchid purple her lips were dyed. Her arched eyebrows and small emerald eyes gave her a cold, merciless beauty.
“Of course it would seemalright to leave things alone. For now. The empire is showing signs of breaking up. A rebellion will occur soon. Armies will be launched against one another. If the emperor makes this sort of mistake, we can act on it and put in place a prepared, better government. A large number of the people will see the wisdom of our ways and join with us. Others still who are ready for change will give us the benefit of the doubt and come to our aid. Only the loyalists and those who were already too prepared to lunge into battle to pull out will be a problem.”
“I speak not of the wars to come which are as certain as the nova is to the newly born star. You presume too much and know too little of this empire. Bereft of the powers of the emperor any nation of this magnitude will collapse from its own weight. The Kah Tahral have warned you. Good evening your lordship.” The old witch bowed ever so slightly and departed his quarters without so much as a dismissal.
She spoke so in riddles and cryptic prophecies that little she said, should he even choose to listen was of any help. The powers of the emperor? He was one man, the new council would be many. The throne aided communication, but jump point satellites provided near instantaneous communication. A new democracy would arise from the ashes of the empire, just as new stars are born from the stuff that is the death of others gone nova. And war? Well, even this powerfully prophetic priestess couldn’t know everything. Not every star did explode in a fiery death. Nova or no nova?
Palladius only shrugged and shook his head. The crazy woman had played with his head and now had him thinking in pointless riddles. Perhaps the old superstitions were true, that the Ahtahra could read minds and control them. He chuckled softly to himself at allowing the childish thought to surface. He sighed and lifted himself from his seat to retire to his chambers for the evening.
Let her save the boy. He posed no harm. The thought was approved and gone from his head in an instant, as was any thought of the boy, as if someone had wiped the thoughts clean.
Instead, Palladius’ mind moved to the far more serious issue of dealing with a power-obsessed galactic emperor? Had there been a time when he could simply refer to this man who was now larger than life, whose existence an entire galaxy examined and revered, as Gae’re? Prince Gae’re, the dark haired wide eyed boy had many nicknames, including cat for his never-ending curiousity! Emperor Greghor still ruled the galaxy with a tight but fair fist. Somewhere in the last century, Palladius ever faithfully traveling from Galleck Prime to the ice moons of Sarahr with the imperial court, that wispy sapling of a boy had matured into an overgrown oak, the roots and branches ensnarled in too many things, ready to pull down the mountainside on which it stood. The emperor thought himself above the people now, and seemed prepared to show disrespect to his trusted councils by going against their judgments.
Six weeks ago the council had agreed to impose trade sanctions then commence negotiations to see if any dissent could be quelled by compromise. Simply squashing a revolt did little but alleviate a symptom. If people were willing to fight, there had to be a reason. Discover that reason and remove it, and talk of revolution and war disappeared. Not all things political could be so cut and dried, but the approach held true more often than not. These citizens had genuine concerns about the way the imperial funds had been used, and how much of (or perhaps how little of) a voice some citizens had in the galactic government. His Highness had been shrinking and even removing councils in recent years, consolidating more power in the hands of advisors he had appointed, not whom had been elected by the many species and planetary systems of his domain, and more specifically, often the power of the councils had been absorbed into his own territory of political power, with fewer displays of outrage by nobility and politicians.
If the negotiations and embargo of Bacharans failed, the strategy and peace council had voted for a show of force. But that meant troops in major Bacharan cities to remove the idea of rebellion from the common folk’s minds. And only if a year from now no progress had been made. The Duke could recall the Emperor’s visage during the last of those council sessions. He had been perched on his council throne haphazardly, deep in thought. Only half listening to the important proceedings, he had one leg propped up on the glistening silver surface. His purple cape flowed over the seat’s edge and down the few small steps of the dais. His fingers, gloved in gold embroidered green C’altscho leather stroked his goatee. Palladius kept trying to subtly meet the Emperor’s roving blue eyes, but to no avail. At one point he could have sworn the Emperor had muttered under his breath, as if someone were standing at his side. In the end, his highness had mutedly nodded his assent to the decree of sanctions, but something unspoken in his manner spoke volumes of anger and hate.
Privately he had lashed out at Nathaniel about the possibility of the revolt. They had been alone in the imperial state chambers aboard Gayendolyn, named for the late mother of the ruler. Technology seethed through the room, designed to be a formal and imposing, yet casual for the imperial suite, sitting room. Monitoring devices ensured that while no guards were present, not even a biotoxin could reach the emperor in these private accommodations. Records of all activities would no doubt be analyzed and stored safely for any possible future need. At a flick of the wrist, a voice prompted computer would respond to every imperial whim, or send a robotic servitor in the room for physical needs such as refreshments.
That particular evening they sat at a small table barely large enough for their indulgences of the day. The surface crackled with a seemingly captured lightning. The novelty (expensive enough not to be truly considered a novelty) gas plate could catch the eye of even the richest most traveled nobility. Within the marble like surface gases and charges chased each other about, swirling greens and purples accentuated by flashes of blue light streaking under their glasses. Each of them had a tall, twisted flute of Unchari wine. The bizarre, mute Unchari barely had the technology to partake in galactic affairs, but their nearly year round growing season provided bountiful and far superior flavors in fruits and wines. Palladius grimaced to himself more at their other indulgence, a truthroot smoker. The porcelain and glass urn seemed to hold a secret swirling amidst the grey smoke inside the large bulb at the base. Two braided tubes came to wands in the hand of each gentleman, whereby the fumes could be inhaled and one could be said to be more honest with unspoken thoughts.
The emperor had thrown down his wand, burned his stare into Palladius – no, through him in fact to some far more distant point. “I won’t stand for impudence in my empire. The empire of Gregohr the Eigth will not be so lightly torn apart! A cold fire seemed to rage in those crystal blue eyes of his as he pounded on the table, causing the lightning bolts to run to his hand, as if seeking their brethren.
“Your highness, if I may, this is the reign and the empire of Gae’re, not Gregohr. You rule in your own time and your own way. The galaxy has changed since your father ruled.”
Gae’re nearly spit as if he were fighting his way towards the words he would choose. If Palladius didn’t know better he’d swear he was about to be corrected, that no, this was the time of Gregohr again. But the moment faded. Not Gae’re’s anger though. “Regardless, this empire has stood the test of time. These people demand government which they know nothing about. They wish to choose to appoint a fresh, unskilled senator to be bought by more skilled politicians only to say they have a choice? When they can have a skilled council and emperor make better choices on the same decisions?”
“Well, frankly, yes. It is their right to have that choice. It is up to their people to live up to the responsibility that accompanies the freedom of democracy. Not you or I. You have usurped powers from three of their council members in as many months.”
“Palladius. My dear old friend. Your advice is wise and trusted. But you cow to keep peace!! How dare you slice up the empire like some kalpa berry pie!” The emperor took deep draughts of truthroot in between tirades. The damn root seemed to be working this evening, loosening his tongue like Palladius had not seen in some time.
“This empire does not need war. Economies are strained. People are restless. If you squeeze, this vessel will burst and explode!! It is a fragile beast now. You must often work with people your highness, even your enemy, not against them. I don’t dare hand out pieces of the empire for free. But these arguments have merit! We must work cooperatively to address them and solve this peacefully. An armed occupation may cause the Bacharans to go into revolt, possibly dragging seven other systems with them.” The tension seemed to fade from the room, and Palladius leaned back in his padded chair. He took the break to straighten his silver jacket embroidered with motifs of his royal house.
Gae’re straightened up as well and folded his arms behind his back. He breathed a deep sigh, the intricately woven Ka’ri patterns on the blue garments flowing and twisting as his chest rose. His voice was calm, cold, and certain as he spoke. Like steel sliding from a sheath. “You are again absolutely correct. Troops will only irritate them. They must all be convinced not to bring war to the empire. And I will make certain of that.”
Silently, with no body language at all but only an old understanding between the two of them, Palladius understood the time to leave. He sat down the golden wand, politely coughed and prompted the system to readout the time. “My it is late. I shall retire your highness should it so please you. I am glad we had this time for discussion. As always, I support his highness decisions wholeheartedly. Good evening.” Smoothly for an old man, he lifted himself up and began to depart.
“Rest well Nathaniel. Thank you.” The emperor’s voice had faded further from the earlier roar to just more than a whisper as he left the chambers.
That had been just a month ago. Now he knew how Gae’re intended to quell rebellion in the galaxy. Make every individual in the empire afraid to even think of the word rebellion lest his planet be destroyed.
But it still plagued him. How? They knew little about the device referred to simply as the Emperor’s Throne. The device, the throne, the machine, whatever it was…no one really knew. The contraption had been handed down in the Imperial family since the beginning of the empire. Old ship gossip amongst interstellar merchants claimed the throne and the bloodline of the emperors were intertwined with the fate of the empire. The bloodline from the current emperor back to the founding days of the empire, some thousands of years ago when the empire rose from the ashes of intense galactic war remained intact. At least, that’s how the story would be told to some young, new member of a merchant crew.
What Palladius knew, as did the rest of the inner circle of the Emperor’s advisors, was who was responsible for bringing it to the empire. An ancient race, simply the Ancients as most would know them. Their language sounded as if a sad, slow wind blew through a forest. Cayeh’achataye were their name. But even the most learned of the Ancient’s could probably speak only little more than Palladius about the history of the throne. They claimed it came from the Predecessors, another mystery unto themselves. Long before any humanoid or other current advanced civilization first picked up a stone tool, the Predecessors had roamed the galaxy. Like a black, unpenetrable veil, their motives, their ideas, and culture were unknown. But, they had left behind indecipherable writings, and remnants of their technology. Little of it was of any use though, other than as a novelty item or perhaps a piece of art in some museum. Very likely museums across the galaxy had revered spots for Predecessor items that were no more than baking devices or time keeping tools!
But the Ancients had co-existed, to a certain extent, with the Predecessors long ago. But the Ancients of that time had little in common other than genetics with the Ancients of today. Their culture and technology had been mighty and advanced. They marched defiantly through the galaxy, sophisticated artificial intelligence technology interconnecting every aspect of their lives and goals. No one could tell you an accurate account of what happened to the Ancients, the wind people, that changed them. Perhaps they could, but they never spoke of it any more to outsiders. The only reason people knew of it in the first place was that the wind people had to explain to the other races why the mighty had fallen and suddenly needed help.
Palladius imagined how it must have been, filling in the gaps of his knowledge with guesses and rumors, as an art restoration would extrapolate curves and shadows to complete the picture. The AI which permeated the Cayeh’achatayan culture had been sentient for some time. It was comprised of many separate identities, and yet also of a single thought, something like a hive of bees or a mound of ants might work. This machine entity had enormous resources and power, yet benevolently guarded and assisted its creators. Something must have changed, its programming evolved one more step, or perhaps some external stimulus it did not care for. It deemed from that point forward to no longer care for its creators, but rather to extinguish them from existence, as one might blow out a flame of a candle burned too long. How could such hatred arise from something so inorganic? So logical? The ancients had tried to play god too far though, bringing advanced technology into their homes, ships, even their bodies. Faster than light communications linked the AI on a galactic scale. The Ancients were not gods, but their AI might have been. An angry god, ready to smite his followers.
The AI declared war on the people, crashing their ships, causing heart monitoring implants to go haywire and cause cardiac arrest. The population of the ancients must have been vast at that point, hundreds of billions, if not trillions of souls. From the accounts of the event, which happened so long ago to border on the edge of myth rather than fact, fewer than a hundred thousand of them survived. Others came to their aid, but the only solution in most cases was to obliterate anything connected to the evil entity.
In the end, the Ancients abandoned their empire, their world, and their technology. They found a new homeworld and began again, having to relearn skills like hunting, weaving, that their ancestors had discovered hundreds of thousands of years before. The soft, gentle people, who to the virgin eye would appear as ghosts, their forms physical, yet wavering and hovering in air, learned to rebuild. They did not fly, nor walk, but rather a combination of the two. Their physical constitution is such that they can manipulate the real world about them, yet they can also allow themselves to float on a current of air as if they were no more substantial than a feather.
Now, the Ancients were secluded, and tight lipped about anything that far back in their past. They had recovered many of their prized Predecessor technologies, and exchanged them with others in return for aid and technology. Instead of computers though, they now relied entirely on organic technologies. A trip to the Ancient’s homeworld would reveal thousands of genetically engineered (designed and built entirely on other race’s worlds and ships of course) creatures that served a million purposes. The Ancient’s had little electricity, and used nothing more sophisticated than a calculator. And even then they often had trained simians, small monkeys on their shoulders trained to manipulate numbers or even remember lists of items.
The Throne was one such gift, or exchange from the Ancients to the Empire. Palladius’ thoughts drifted home to the present. Had the Ancients known all along that the chair held such power as to destroy a planet? Did they give it to the Empire as a gift, a test, or a trap?
Alenia’s skirts wooshed-swished across the smooth floorings of the imperial ship as she rushed along her course, her mind not soothed by the soft sounds. The fools think they can interfere with the workings of an ancient empire!! The emperor did not simply fulfill the role of figurehead. Though her face showed no emotion, and her mind fought for the same within, a battle raged as she rushed towards her shuttle which would return her to the Prophet, her starship. The empire could fall if this situation were handled poorly. But her people had long since sworn their non-involvement in political affairs. Act too hastily and she could eradicate any remaining respect for her ancient religion. Keep her hands too clean, and perhaps the reputation of her religion and herself would remain intact, but the empire would collapse into chaos.
Her thoughts jumped once more to a forbidden area. Like a child told not to open a particular door because her gifts were located behind it, she ran continuously to the door and tried to just barely crack it open. Each time though, her mind swatted the child’s hand. She could just tell the imperial council everything about the chair, the bloodline of the emperor, and the empire itself. But the Ancients had promised dire consequences for such an action. What those were Alenia had no clue, but for certain it involved the removal of the throne, and possibly of the imperial family! That would leave them no better off than letting the foolish council take care of things themselves. She had tried so hard to sway Palladius. Hers and Palladius history went so far back, she had hoped he might listen to her reasoning. Was it truly so long ago that a young acolyte and an heir to an ancient family lineage and responsibility were in love? Alenia had foolishly left her home world to travel to the Tahrali seminary on Cetis Four, the verdant moon orbiting the Tahrali desert world. Her parents had been shocked by her decision. What had driven a young girl studying to be a doctor to drop her university studies and catch a freighter ship to the Ogalan Nebula? Even weeping over her parent’s ashes as they were spread at sea, as was the way of her people, Alenia could not explain to them. Being a doctor she could save lives, yes. But as a priestess she could protect their minds and hearts and even more importantly their souls. And she had hoped to reach out to so many lives.
Had she done so? The most disturbing thing about teaching something intangible like philosophy or religion was the inability to gauge your effect on others. Sure, a galactic census could count the number who claimed Tahrali as their primary religion, but who didn’t these days? In contrast, the numbers at the great Tahrali cathedrals on many worlds who attended services had shrunk in recent centuries. There seemed to be some interest in joining the ranks of those who served thanks to her recruiting efforts, but she had no idea how many lives she had changed by inspiring people to do good to others in their actions.
But back then, ages ago now, Alenia Gorin, a fair young girl with long tresses of strawberry hair that rolled down her back to her knees, freckles on her cheek and a sparkle in her eye had been more carefree. She sat on the grassy knolls overlooking the Crystal River on Cetis many a day. She would pluck the petals from the bright blue flowers that covered the the hills and gave the river its name. A young lad, dressed up far more than seemed appropriate in the relaxed countryside had ridden up to her.
“My dear lady if you’ll excuse the intrusion, I would ask of you directions to the Orran Embassy. Know you of such a place?” How strange his speech had been! Who spoke so formally in a place dedicated entirely to farming and religion? She couldn’t help but toss her head back and laugh.
That had only infuriated the young man. He had not obtained the silver eyes yet in whatever mysterious circumstance had brought those about. His emerald green eyes lit with indignation at this young commoner mocking him, when he had spoken so appropriately! A gloved hand stroke his newly grown brown goatee, not yet completely filled in. “I beg your pardon! I am Marcus Palladius, heir to House Palladius and son of the imperial advisor! How dare you laugh at me!”
Alenia stood and came to his side, gently stroking the chocolate mare’s heaving side. “Oh my dear sir, I apologize. You caught me in a rather dismal mood. I am frustrated by the pace of my studies. Your formal tone has helped me relax and laugh at life. I laugh not so much at you but at my own anger at the world! You needn’t speak so formal here! Come, take my hand and walk this lady down the riverside. We will exchange pleasantries and I will direct you to your destination.” She paused, curtsied, and added “Sir.”
The young man sat, taken aback. Had he just been offended, complimented, or a part of him whispered, did she make a pass at him? Not that he would be interested in a commoner as this, although she did have a very nice laugh and lovely hair. Well, one must always accommodate to the locals to achieve your goals best, his father told him again and again.
“I would be most, uh, I’d greatly enjoy that milady, uh, ma’am, um…” In his attempt to be more casual he seemed at a loss of words as to how to greet a pretty stranger, particularly one of his own age. As he dismounted he looked her directly in the face, and couldn’t help but smile back at her.
“Alenia! And it’s Marcus, isn’t it?”
“Yes, yes it is.” And with that the two had walked slowly through the blue blossoms down to the river’s edge, the water bubbling softly over the stones it smoothed as it ran on its way.
Alenia stepped up to the shuttle door and entered her access code, the memory fading quickly, much as Lord Palladius’ interest in their relationship had seemed to so many moons ago. A monk stood inside the entry to the ship, ready to carry out her commands.
“Take me to the Prophet with great haste! Tell them to prepare a secure holovid connection back to the Tahrali council. We must begin our plans to save the Empire’s legacy! These fools play at games of war they do not understand like children in an armory!” She sat in her seat on the dias and stared out the viewscreen as the ship broke free from its anchor to the imperial craft.
Roland tossed in his bed, trying not to disturb the sleeping beauty next to him. Sara? Calli? What did it matter; it would be another the next night. She had been enough tonight to distract and entertain him. In between assignments from his various principals, he had money to burn, and no home to return to. So, he spent it all. Each time he left port on some task he was broke. Days, weeks, occasionally months later he’d return much the richer. Every space port, orbital station, even backwater planet had casinos, bars, and most importantly, women. He rolled back on his side and let his hand glide gently down the dark skin of his companion.
The nights were wonderful, but what he longed for was a decent morning. He always woke with a hangover, whether from cheap unnamed ale or Galdorian wine, which snuck up on you and hit you ten times over hours after your last sip. You’d think you would learn after being hit by it a few dozen times. But for a few minutes there you got one hell of a rush. But, it wasn’t so much the hangover, as not having a decent conversation over a slow breakfast. His ‘companions’ were all too eager to dress and get out. Or, if they stayed, they lacked greatly in the intellect and conversation areas. Guess he didn’t screen on those factors too much late at night, almost too drunk to stand at the bars and gambling tables.
The bedside screen beeped suddenly, eliminating any need to further analyze Roland Garroler’s relationship issues. He rubbed his hands over his eyes and ran them threw his short brown hair. “Secure Channel 35, ID: Silver Star” read the display on the screen. He recognized the code name and stepped into his small office to take the call privately. If you can call an oversized closet with data crystals and hard copy printouts strewn all over every surface an ‘office’.
Sitting before the larger holo screen at his desk, he authorized receipt of the call. “Code Gallan Carus Dee.” The system beeped softly to acknowledge acceptance of the command, and the screen shifted from black to a softer grey, his caller hidden in shadow, yet already identified in his head. The voice came across modulated. Roland if caught would sooner die than identify his principals who called upon him to do deeds they wanted their hands clean of, and anyone who intercepted this encrypted message would have no idea what it was about or who it was from.
“I need your help. This will be a bizarre, difficult assignment. You may have qualms about performing it.”
Roland leaned in closer. This better be damn good, and well paying to wake him up, and then to offend him by telling him he might not be up to task. “Excuse me but I’ve told you time and again I handle any task. You go to a bar and ask a merc if you’ve got a clean task. For that matter you just have your own staff take care of it after hours. You sweep the dirty stuff under the rug and leave it for me. So what’s worth waking me up at 3 in the morning?” Through the door he heard his entertainment for the evening stir. His right hand strayed to the input console and engaged the noise cancellation system to ensure she didn’t wake up and overhear anything. Never too careful, that was his motto.
“You will receive further instruction. The time for the assignment is unknown at this time. You must be ready at a moment’s notice. All other contracts will be delayed until then.”
“What? You want me to sit around and wait for your call and not take any money? I’m billing you the whole time, you bet your ass!” Roland squeezed his fist. This would cost the old man.
“Of course you will be paid for all wait time. Your standard rate of twelve thousand standards per day?”
“Same price. And for the task?”
“Eight hundred and fifty thousand standards, and you must retire immediately and vacate the area for 800 parsecs and assume a low profile.” Roland used all of his experience in keeping a straight face not to let his jaw drop and his eyes fall out of his head. How in the hell do you state something like that so deadpan? Get paid an incredible fortune, quit a job that you love, well, you enjoy, and leave everything you’ve ever known? Eight hundred parsecs? That was pretty much the whole damn empire….the whole empire! They wanted him gone from any imperial jurisdiction or investigations after this. Shit, this had to be big. The forgotten worlds, the Palek clusters, not much else to choose from. He could be a farmer or an asteroid miner. For that much money, he could also just sit around and stare at the stars.
His instincts kicked in quickly though. “One million standards, and I can live four hundred parsecs away as long as it is not a primary Imperial system with few jump points and I undergo reconstructive surgery for a new identity.”
The other side paused for a few moments. He tried to peer into the holographic representation and see the silver eyes, what they were thinking. “Nine hundred thousand, five hundred parsecs, reconstructive surgery.” He almost wanted to jump up and shout!
Instead, calmly, he nodded and said “Acknowledged. Upon receipt of fifty percent in my accounts I will cease all activity and await further instructions. Within four hours of completion of task I will vacate and will be untraceable by imperial investigators.” He clicked off. There, let the Duke chew on the fact that he knew he was going to do something to bring down the biggest manhunt in imperial history. Now, what face to choose and what out of the way farm planet should he move to and buy? The sounds of a stirring body from the next room distracted Roland for the moment from this incredible, unknown future. Best to let his body take over and his mind mull this over for a while. With that decision made, he padded barefoot across the cool metallic cabin floor to the bed and dimmed the lights with a wave of his hand over the sensor. “Calli, is it?”
The imperial council chambers aboard the jumpship Golden Moon, his highness’ royal state ship were aroar with confusion and argument. The current situation touched a nerve with everyone. Hu’par sat silently in the circle of council members and watched the behaviour of those around him. Like the rest of the ‘yTari, he was more passive than active. Their home planet’s climate dictated that one be patient. Exertion under their fiery red sun and thin atmosphere could kill easily. Hu’par’s large eyes scanned the room, seeing not so much the brightly colored robes of the various advisors and elected senators, festooned up as if birds on parade, but rather their heat and ultraviolet signatures and their body motions. This clarity of vision often helped his people deal with raucous situations such as this. The hairlike antenna covering the back of his head bristled with attention to pick up every conversation, each purple thread weaving left and right. He attempted to identify every conversation so as to understand who stood on which side. With tensions this high, everyone’s true colors came shining out, as the humans would say.
The lzzt’hck delegate, his glistening exoskeleton nearly impenetrable to the heat sensitive sensors in Hu’par’s eyes was currently clicking away furiously at Olwen of Silver Moon, the current speaker of the nomadic Star gatherers. The translation came at Olwen hard and fast, the system overtaxed to keep up with the rapid onslaught of an already complicated language. Olwen’s bald, heavyset face shone with sweat and radiated a deep heat as he screwed up his eyes at the Izzt’hck.
“How dare you accuse us of not supporting our emperor! We are simply making sure all possibilities of handling this situation have been covered.” Olwen slammed his fist down upon the faux stone table which curved around the chamber. The Star gatherers were known for having an independent perspective on events. Unlike the ‘yTari however the nomads frequently acted upon their opinions. “The emperor must run through the standard economic sanctions before relying upon force.”
Chkktth…ssshttkkk…The language seemed incomprehensible to even the most learned ear. Yet the computing systems hidden away in the bowels of the vast ship kept up. A neutral voice, slightly accented communicated the insectoid’s thoughts while his snapping pincers brought across the tone and emotion without any translation. “The emperor will use only the threat of force to quell the rebellion. We will work with the Bacharans to arrange sufficient economic packages to ease their troubled industries.” The green shell covering his body bent in several joints as he sat back down on a modified seat, more of a curved wall and his legs braced himself around his perch.
“Then why bring T’cha’kai forces here in such numbers? A waste of time merely for show! And the emperor knows he cannot continue to quell rebellious system one after another. These people are not only demanding help in their economically troubled times, they demand new government! Our people have discussed this in our gatherings recently as well. We joined the empire six centuries ago to work together to protect our space and keep you aware of travelers into yours. We did not join to be ruled at the whims of a single man!”
“Careful Olwen of Silver Moon, gatherer of the stars…you speak of his majesty in his very council chambers. The emperor relies upon we, the elected representatives of our peoples to make his decisions, and many are even made entirely by this group you see here. You know that as well as I. These people simply want what they do not have. Were they to assume independent power they would build the mound all over again…how is it the planet-dwellers say it? Re-invent the wheel? Every treaty and rule would need to be created and agreed upon with every other system a jump point away from Bachara.”
They had gone over this a dozen times, each arguing their case, with the occasional third party pitching in their comments. It did not even take a trained eye looking around the room to understand the powers in the empire. Representatives of larger, wealthier peoples spoke loudest, while a swarm of lesser representatives supported each of them, like a flock of birds following the lead no matter where he or she goes. Other discussions around the room were more heated, and hints of slurs slipped out as tongues were loosed. Hu’par even heard the occasional comment directed at him, typically whispered away from him as if his acute antenna could not pick it up. “Typical, the ‘yTari sit like stone as the world around them erupts. He’ll probably come to a few hours from now and wonder what happened.” “Spineless..if they don’t have an opinion then why be here? He’s taking up space is what he is.”
No opinion? No, they had an opinion. He knew at this very moment what his people thought. Hu’par reached back with his mind to the collective, the vast, gurgling brightness of all ‘yTari thought communicating instantenously with one another. Yes, they would be ready to act when the moment came. And it would be coming soon, without a doubt.