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Verrrox’s eyes darted to the holographic monitors that hovered near the command dais at the far end of his office. The screens displayed the most up-to-date information from his Century’s various worlds, but it was the blinking red icon representing World 416 that held his gaze.
The room, usually a sanctuary of power and control, felt like a prison. The polished obsidian tiles underfoot seemed to absorb the light, making it feel oppressive even to him.
He turned away and paced back and forth in his office, his mind racing with potential scenarios and tactics he could use to save himself from the consequences of his soldiers’ failure. He had never heard of a Centurion who had lost an entire cohort on a frontier world, which meant that it was unlikely any had ever been spared for such a failure.
Worse, he had no indication of what, exactly, had even happened.
It was a devastating revelation following the fantastic readings on a dust deposit that seemed impossible and greater than one could ever imagine. It made the calculation of what to do feel impossible.
On one hand, losing so many of his soldiers was impossible to hide; normally he would shut down the gate connection and declare the world anathema for a violation, real or not. That so many had been lost would be an unfortunate, but necessary, sacrifice to preserve the empire.
The more time passed, the less likely such a deception was likely to work. It was complicated by the discovery of a massive dust deposit. Verrrox turned to look at the damned chunk of glowing blue material on his desk.
It was an incredible fortune, even after the tribune would take over half of it as his share. The scouts that had returned with it reported that the entire deposit was filled with more dust, just like it. Wealth enough to power thousands of worlds, or even the possibility that the deposit was greater than the personal mines of the Emperor himself?
Finding them and securing them would elevate the one who did so to the highest realms of power. Even if they were low-caste. No. Just performing such a feat would be enough to elevate one to high-caste.
His gaze flickered between the cube and the red hologram. Fear warred with greed.
But the fight was short-lived. What were the chances he’d be allowed to send more troops to secure the deposit? He would be replaced and some other would reap the rewards while he suffered a fate worse than death: demotion.
He turned and left the office behind, the great hall filled with subdued undertones as Optios and Legionnaires dined on their evening meals. Low-Caste workers carefully brought small drinks that glittered with sparkling blue flakes. One passed by along his path on the way to the vaulted gate control nexus.
Verrrox snatched one of the drinks and slammed it down before casting the cup behind him, forcing the server to chase after it. They’d be punished for damaging or losing it after all.
Two guards nodded at him at the entrance. He placed his palm on the center of the vault door, which flickered orange in acceptance before a release of gas preceded its opening. The wait for the vault to open took much too long. Long enough to cause him to desperately think of other paths that could lead him out of the mess that threatened him.
But as the round entry way finally opened, his mind was blank. This was the only way.
It was unfortunate for the Empire that it would not gain the potential of the dust deposits. Cutting off such a find was almost treasonous, but the Empire would be better served if he was still in it.
The space was filled with the glow of dozens of monitors and screens, displaying arcane data and information in the language of the ancients that only the Learned would be able to decipher. That was fine. Detailed knowledge wasn’t needed for him to operate the network.
He immediately recognized the threads that connected the frontier hub fortress with its hierarchal superior, the tribune’s fortress hub. Just as Verrrox’s hub connected to a hundred frontier worlds, the tribune’s hub would connect to a hundred fortresses. In such a way, the entire empire was connected upwards, up to the great gate bastions of the high-worlds and the Emperor’s throne.
Stepping up to the control pedestal, he waved his hand over the red orb embedded into the stone, flipping the picture to his frontier worlds. World 416 was near the bottom.
His hand hovered over the control, hesitating as he considered the fate of the remaining soldiers on the other side of the gate. The cohort had been lost, but the gate flyers and technical crew tending to it still had a chance to be pulled back to safety.
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But that would take time. Time for questions to begin to be asked.
In the Empire, sacrifices had to be made for the greater good, and protecting their superior from undeserved demotion was surely a greater need than their lives.
Of course, he was not ungrateful for their service. He would have to ask an Optio for a list of their names, so he could promote them posthumously. Their families would likely appreciate the generosity of his command.
Closing his eyes, he focused on his spark. The world opened to him, a feeling of greater understanding pouring through his connection with the gate controller. Just as it should. He had supped from a divine chalice twice; once when promoted to full Legionnaire in the empire’s army, and again upon promotion to Centurion. It was a heady sense of power that filled him as he felt the myriad connections of the gate.
He found the offending connection that reached out to World 416. In his mind, the worm through space and time wrapped its way through multiple galaxies, burrowing and twisting like a mad worm. He willed the connection to die; he pictured the tunnel being sliced by a sharp knife.
It resisted like a living thing, screeching defiance and struggling to avoid his blade, but the specks of dust in his earlier drink was more than enough to fuel his spark and press the mental weapon home. He could feel the terror and pain of the connection, and even invited it. Nothing made him feel more powerful than this execution of his powers that were of the realm of the gods and ancients.
Nothing proved he deserved all his power and more or felt as good as his mind slicing the sinews holding distant worlds together into parts.
Finally, he pressed down with his mind in a final push, only to be met by hardness.
Verrrox’s mind rebounded and suddenly he felt lightheaded. “What?”
Footsteps echoed on the tiles outside the vault, reverbing on the tiles, sending his heart pounding. Clack. Clack. Clack. It felt like his worst fears were approaching and it was enough to send his mind reeling away from the connection to the gate controller. Turning to face the entry-way, his worst fears turned out to be inadequate.
Praetorian Armor. The bulky form barely fit through the vault door, the metal carapace raising the Ferroin an entire head and shoulders above Verrrox’s own.
“Centurion Verrrox,” the soldier said icily, “step away from the control panel.”
The voice sent shivers down Verrrox’s spine. The solid helmet gave no hint as to the identity of the bearer, but he stepped away anyway. “Praetorian, please I was—”
“Paladin.” The correction was terse as the armored figure approached.
Blood drained from Verrrox’s skin and he visibly paled as he swallowed. “My sincere apologies, Paladin. I did not know you had arrived.”
“That’s because I instructed your men not to inform you.”
Sweat began to bead down the sides of Verrrox’s face. “There is an urgent matter on World 416. I was just about to—”
“I know what you were about to do. Explain to me what has been learned about this crashed star-vessel, and the resistance encountered on World 416.”
Verrrox struggled to find the words, his throat tightening. “A crashed star-vessel was discovered broken into pieces on the surface. Several scouts watched its descent. It belonged to an unknown species…evidence exists that some of its crew must have survived. Losses thought to be caused by the servants can be laid at some type of machines.”
The Paladin came to a stop at the gate controller. With a press of his hand, the console retracted, and the displays dimmed. “And you decided that cutting off the gate connection was the best course of action?”
“Contact with machine races is forbidden and considered an emergency, making the world Anathema—”
The Paladin turned on him. “Decisions to purge the network are not made by you, Centurion.”
Verrrox hesitated before answering, his voice quivering slightly. “I… I believed the situation was getting out of control, and I wanted to prevent further losses.”
“You panicked after you lost your Cohort and wished to hide your failure,” the Paladin accused.
The words struck like a whip, and Verrrox wanted desperately to slip by and escape. Somehow, he managed to remain still. “I… I am out of my depth, Paladin. Self-replicating machines are beyond the capabilities of my hub’s defenses.”
Verrrox’s words hung in the air, his admission of being out of his depth only seeming to fuel the Paladin’s anger. For a moment, there was a tense silence as the Paladin stared down at him, his expression hidden behind the cold metal of his helmet.
Finally, the Paladin spoke again. “You were entrusted with this command, Verrrox, and you let fear and greed cloud your judgment. Instead of seeking guidance or assistance from your superiors, you chose to act recklessly and nearly cost the Empire a valuable asset.”
The words seemed to echo in the vault. The Paladin knew about the dust deposit.
“Paladin, I understand your concerns, but my priority was to protect the Empire from a potential threat. The dust deposit is valuable, yes, but—”
The Paladin cut him off, his voice cold and angry. “You think I don’t know about the dust find? Your scouts reported it to me directly. You were hoping to keep it a secret and use it for your own gain.”
Verrrox’s heart pounded in his chest as panic gripped him. The Paladin somehow knew absolutely everything. “I… I didn’t mean it that way, Paladin. I just wanted to ensure—”
“Enough!” The Paladin’s voice boomed through the chamber. “You tried to downplay the significance of this dust deposit and nearly robbed the Empire of a desperately needed resource for your own selfish reasons.” He stepped closer, his armored form towering above.
It was too much. Verrrox turned and tried to slip away. He didn’t even manage to consider where he could escape to before the hiss of a vibro blade flashing through the air severed his arm at the shoulder.
Someone was screaming. It took a moment to realize that it was him. Despite slipping on his own blood spray, he regained his feet and bolted for the exit.
His two guards stepped into the entry-way and blocked his escape with grim expressions. He tried to shove past them, but a heavy punch and kick sent him reeling backwards.
“Centurion, you are relieved of service," the Paladin intoned from behind. The world suddenly flashed, and Verrrox’s last view before the world winked out was of an armored boot and his own body.