High atop the Amber D’Alsace Spire, Kristol’s penthouse quarters sat in darkness – only the light from her large closet shone across the floor. Inside, Kristol sat on a stool removing her field boots. Setting them neatly in order with the rest of her boots, she took off her black field uniform. Naked, she hung up the uniform next to the others and grabbed a set of burgundy silkfen robes. Putting them on, she rubbed her hands up and down the fine cloth, pressing the soft fibers against her skin.
Although her job demanded toughness and keen insights, Kristol adored the end of the day, when she could slip into soft clothes and drink a nice hot cup of kaffa tea. She stepped out of the closet and the light flickered off, while all the lights in the apartment flickered to life. The closet door slid shut and Kristol stepped into her spacious kitchenette. Sitting on the countertop glowed a COM beacon. Kristol walked past it, deftly pressing down on the plastic dome, before she reached in a cabinet for some tea.
The beacon fluttered to life projecting a pale yellow dashboard of current events as a sturdy male voice said, “…steady economic decline in the
Kristol measured out three spoons of deep red tea leaves and dumped them into the brewer and said, “Play all, except the Bluefeather.” Kristol pressed a green button on the brewer and immediately the tank began to steam.
The beacon display shuddered as it played the message. The profile of Staff Sargeant Bencoo came up as his message played, “Commander, I did the analysis on the altercation at the Palladin Complex. The Saculian’s huntsman papers check out. They’re legit, though something to me seems fishy. The Solar kid is gone. It’s as if he mysteriously fell off the grid. I did a COM drop on every ship within the space of the planet and nothing. No logs, registers or scans of him anywhere. Though, a controller from the Worm Network tower confirmed that an undetectable anomaly made an unregistered jump through Tunnel 17 to Draedus. So I did a back check on Solar – to see why he’d have a bounty on him. Nothing. The kid’s a courier. Comes from a normal family. Mother died years ago and his father is a registered archeoxenologist. Seems strange to put a bounty on a nobody. I’ll let you know if I find anything else.”
Kristol watched the display as she poured a cup of tea and said, “Unless the bounty wasn’t on the kid, but on the package.” She took a sip of the spicy tea – warmth spread throughout her body.
The beacon shuddered once more as Grand Minister Withryn’s profile came to light and began playing his message, “Kristol, dear. I hope all went well with the fracas you had to attend to. I wanted to message you to tell you I am stopping by tonight. I have some business that requires your attention.” The message faded and the beacon began recanting the daily news.
Kristol, surprised by the message, gulped her tea down and coughed slightly. She looked over her night robes and briskly walked to her closet again, but before she could open the closet and change into more appropriate clothing, the chime at the front door sounded. She grabbed the ties on the robes and tied them tighter across her waist – it would have to do, there wasn’t any time.
Stepping over to the door, Kristol touched the keylock and after the scan, the locks chuffed and the door opened. In the hall stood over a dozen Minstere, dressed in full dark purple fatigues, adorned with golden braids.
“Secure the chamber,” one of them said and six of them entered her apartment and checked each room for assassins. After a few moments, they returned and in unison said, “Clear!”
With the apartment cleared, the Minstere ushered Withryn into the apartment, who immediately stepped to Kristol and took her hand. “I’m sorry about all of this. It is quite embarrassing.”
“I understand,” Kristol said, gently taking her hand back. “Security protocol is always mandatory. Care for some kaffa?” Kristol walked toward the kitchenette, but stopped when Withryn wasn’t following her.
“No thanks,” he said. “I’m more preferential to cabul. Please help yourself, though.” Kristol nodded and went in to retrieve her cup, when she returned, Withryn was approaching her ornate dining table, admiring all the etching in the dark wood.
He stopped momentarily to turn to the Ministere at their posts within the apartment and said, “Please leave us. There are no threats here, I can assure you.” The guards relaxed their posts and left into the hallway.
The whole display seemed odd. Kristol sipped her tea and watched Withryn sit down at the table. His eyes were tired and he fidgeted with his hands. Uncomfortable, Kristol thought. Best to breach the subject first – take some pressure off him. “So this business,” she asked. “What do you need from me?”
Withryn looked into his hands and said, “Have you ever heard of the Gar’Dan?”
Kristol sipped her tea and cocked her head in thought. That sounded familiar. Her mind raced through all her courses in her training, but nothing really came to life. She really wanted to know this – wanted Withryn to look at her the way he does when her work wins merit. But she had nothing.
“I don’t imagine you have,” Withryn interrupted. “Universities rarely carry any mythology or theology course anymore. No need, really.”
“What are you talking about?”
Withryn settled into his chair and continued, “It’s a Terrian myth actually. Many millennia ago, before the COM, before many of the luxuries we have now, intelligent life was rather primitive. They believed in gods – in supreme beings who created everything.” Withryn raised his hands in the air as an expansive gesture. “Belief systems were adhered to, followed diligently, sometimes using barbaric rituals like sacrifices to appease the gods. One of these myths, the Gar’Dan, proposed that a god named Qalla bequeathed a fantastic boon upon its people.”
“What was it?”
Witheyn looked into her eyes and she saw a fire his, a deep passion that showed Kristol that Withryn either deeply believed this story or deeply feared it. “Much of history may actually prove its existence, wars, empires, radical shifts in political power. Wherever the Gar’Dan goes, great power follows.”
Krsitol’s heart raced. Her skin tingled. “What was it?”
“A great suit of armor,” Withryn said. He wiped the edge of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Capable of immense power and possibility.”
Kristol drained the dregs of her tea and put the cup down. “Power and possibility? What kind of technology could be that powerful? I’ve heard the hulls of Rastarian ships are nearly impregnable and the N’Galia are developing a plasma that can supposedly raze an entire planet.”
“Not technology, dear.”
“Not technology?” asked Kristol. “What’s more powerful than the technology of the combined GSA?”
Withryn stared at his reflection in the smooth dark table. Now a wave of vulnerability swept across his face as he said, “Not technology. Magic.”
Kristol slapped the table and let out a boisterous laugh. “You really had me there.” She stood up from the table and brought her cup to the kitchen, but when she turned around, Withryn was right behind her.
“The pressures to keep everything together is immense,” he said. His eyes were dark now. She knew that darkness. Obsession. Things were getting uncomfortable now. “Forces around us are moving, dear. The Slavos are increasing in strength. Hallastare’s grip on the underworld has increased to unprecedented levels. My analysts suspect something else is at work here. These pressures are not indicative of expanding technology or intelligence. Something beyond is at work.”
Her face drew blank as she stared at him. He fully believed this. Some kernel of paranoia crept into his mind. He was so different at the gala, though she knew he was an expert at putting on the appropriate face. She found it hard to think that a simple suit of armor could be responsible for such dramatic shifts in power. “Where did you get this information from? Who has the accumulated knowledge of such obsolete history and legend?”
Withryn turned and found a seat at the table again. “Many years ago, I had an advisor. He told me of these things before they happened. At the time, I dismissed them as crazy musings from an obsessed historian. But everything he predicted has come to pass – the rise of the Slavos, Hallastare gaining more control, even the outbreak of the Nerge. But now…things are different now. I should have listened.”
“Who was this advisor?”
Withryn looked shaken. He fumbled for the answer as if he remembered the story, but nothing about the storyteller. “Solar,” he said. “Telo Solar. He was so young, but yet, so sure.”
It was as if every thought in her mind crystallized into one pure, prophetic thought. “What was that name again?”
“Solar,” he said. “Telo Solar.”
* * *
On the docks of the
A handman dressed in black fatigues approached her and said, “Travel rations are stowed. Munitions is being loaded now.”
“Good,” Kristol said. “Get onboard and begin a systems check.” She made a few last second entries in her datapad and handed it to the Handman. He saluted her and stepped aboard the vessel.
Kristol walked slowly down the dock, admiring the hull of the vessel. Even though the Scythe was a small-class cruiser, it still eclipsed the size of most large bulk freighters. Its design mimicked the size and strength of a bulkhead saltwhale – a large rounded square head that grew tapered to the stern where six quantro engines sat to launch its massive bulk out of the atmosphere and to steer it, two large fins at the stern and two sets of two wings along the starboard and port sides. Large enough to house eight landing shuttles and over one hundred crewman and Handmen, the Scythe was perfectly outfitted for missions requiring fewer dockings.
Past the edge of the dock, dawn began to show its rusty tones, nary a cloud in the cool, crisp sky. Behind Kristol, crewman scrambled about the dock, hauling plastellic crates of ammunition and artillery. Even though she liked when a busy day ended and she could relax, she enjoyed the anticipation of a mission before it began. Plans being set. Supplies administered. Systems cataloged. Everything had a good sense of order to it and it made her feel confident.
“Your Kristol Bantashe!” said an excited voice. “You saved the Grand Minister!”
Kristol rolled her eyes and turned around to see a young man carrying a pile of musty, old books. Her head tilted up and down as she tried to size up the man. “Yes,” she said. “Who are you?”
He extended a hand, dropping four books in the process. “I’m Professor Keyston.”
“You’re late, Professor,” she said sternly. “And you’re young. I was expecting someone a little older.”
Keyston picked up the spilled books and said, “My mentor, Professor Ag’Hule. He was old.”
“I’m over it,” she said. “Get onboard.”
“I’m afraid your messenger didn’t tell me much,” he said. Where are going?”
“Draedus,” Kristol said.
Keyston gulped and said, “Through the GSA Worm Network?”
“Yes,” said Kristol. She paused, noticing that the professor seemed uneasy about the concept of travelling that far. “You are aware going the long way would take approximately 1,559 Param Eon years, right?”
“I understand,” said Keyston nervously. “I’ve just never traveled through the network.”
“How did you learn all you needed to know without leaving the system?”
Keyston smiled a bit and said, “I largely learned what I know through Professor Ag’Hule. He was Flagellan – they live for hundreds of years. He was really the smart one.”
Kristol turned and walked toward the entrance to the ship, leaving Keyston in her wake. “Don’t worry about the ride. It might rattle a few teeth out, but you should definitely survive the journey. And when you get onboard, stow those books away. They smell funny.”
In the cabin aboard the GSAS Scythe, Kristol stood over the bridge. Below her, deck officers sat in plush pits monitoring the various systems throughout the ship. In the center of all the deck officers, sat the pilot, his hands braced against the thrust and pitch. The viewport stretched all the way across the cabin – creating a full 180 degree view in front of the ship. Out in front of them the blue giant sun rose on Param Eon casting a violet pall over the sky and throughout the cabin. Many officers threw up their arms to shield their eyes.
“Let’s tone down the intensity on that light,” Kristol said to the crew. Below, a deck officer adjusted a slide control on his console and the image across the screen grew shaded. “Okay. Detach and set course for Tunnel 17.”
Kristol turned to a helm chair atop the bridge and sat down. She pulled a harness over her body and strapped herself in. Throughout the cabin, all the deck officers did the same. A loud metallic clunk echoed throughout the ship and as the engines fired, a shudder ran down the entire hull. Slowly the ship lurched and arched into the sky. Within seconds the ship was already entering the atmosphere and picking up heat. The ship rattled slightly in the turbulence, but after a minute, the shaking subsided and they slipped into space. The Scythe banked right and away from the glare of the sun.
They travelled for almost an hour, before the tunnel entrance loomed in front of them. By all accounts it appeared invisible. Around its perimeter floated numerous red glowing sensor satellites – marking where the entrance was.
“GSAS Scythe,” said a voice coming through the COM. “You are cleared for departure.”
“Proceed,” Kristol said to the crew. She tightened her harness once more and looked to the side, where Professor Keyston sat, his forehead drenched in sweat. “Relax and remember to breathe. And don’t wretch before we make the jump. That would be messy.”
The Scythe gently slid closer to the entrance. Soon the marker satellites moved out of view. As the ship’s nose plunged through the tunnel, all the stars disappeared and the viewport went black – save for one barely perceptible dot of light directly in front of them. Then a great creak and shudder careened through the ship and everyone blasted to the backs of their seats. Worm travel always felt like falling to your death while your insides were being forcibly removed through your mouth. Suddenly all interior lights and displays flickered and went out briefly, before restoring themselves again. Ahead the dot grew rapidly, until with a violent lurch, the ship ejected out of the worm tunnel, and slid away from another set of red marker satellites.
Kristol unlatched herself and approached the bridge rail. “I want all systems checked and a flight plan for Draedus established. Notify the Handmen to suit up and prep a shuttle.”
She turned and stepped towards the professor, who still hadn’t released himself from his seat harness. His face drained of color, Kristol expected what was about to happen. Keyston opened his mouth and burped out bile all over himself, covering the entire front of his vest.
Kristol flashed a curt smile and left the bridge saying, “And someone clean up the professor!”
On the shores of a great lake on Draedus, a shuttle rocketed into the atmosphere, headed toward an expansive lake home on the farthest shore. A glorified three-level prefab, with faux fawnwood siding, the home stuck out amidst the pinet trees and carab-brush. As it drew closer, plumes of thick, black smoke could be seen drifting above the home. The shuttle made a quick pass over the house and settled into a landing beside it, kicking red dust into the air. Immediately the hatch erupted with eight Handman scrambling around the house. Kristol emerged last, barking orders, “Get in there and search for survivors!”
She watched the billowing black smoke rise above the house and drift over the lake. Withryn’s words echoed in her mind. The bounty on the Solar kid. His father acting as Withryn’s advisor. The predictions. The razing of Telo’s home. Random thoughts and questions were coming together now. The impossibility of it all burned away like ancient paper. None of this could be mere coincidence – a purpose was rising out of the ashes, a purpose that was becoming quite clear. If this Gar’Dan did exist and if it commanded the power that Withryn described, the entire foundation the GSA was built upon was about to crumble.
