PROLOGUE: CAPTAIN AMBACTUS EMERIC
Captain's Quarters, Dresden-Class Light Corvette Dauntless Tread
Rift Lane, November 11th, 2750
"Hi, Sandi..." said Captain Ambactus Emeric, his voice faltered but endured for his daughter's name. "I know it's been a lot longer than I promised," he leaned into the light of his monitor screen under the red "RECORDING" icon. A couple weeks with onboard sanitation down left him with dry skin, deep bags, thick black beard and oily hair. He stifled a sigh. He usually hated video registries, all he did was look at his own face and talk about things he already knew:
The ship was still flying.
They were still losing the war.
…That’s about it.
But these were different. These were his personal regs, the files he'd have sent out as soon as he finished them, back home. Back to Xiomara and Sandi…and maybe to Ronaldo someday. This was how he made sure they remembered his face, his voice. It’s the least he could offer without being there. This far into the war, it's a familiar story.
He wanted to tell her everything. Sandi was still young, but he knew how smart she was, she’d understand. She knew all about the Human - Tregian War from school, she knew even at seven years old that in a fight against extermination, they had to take every win they could get. He knew where the enemy was going, and he knew what they stood to gain from it. If he didn’t act, this war could go on for—no. That's not what these regs are for. This is just for Sandi.
"I saw the Firebird in your last vid -- I told you she'd purr like a kitten," he chuckled as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. "I wish I could've put the paint on with you, but I'm so proud you finished her yourself. Just keep an ear out for those transistors, yeah?" His smile melted as he sighed, "There's a lot I wish I was there for, honey. And I have everything to be proud for. Your mama doesn’t like to hear it, but that car was my first baby. Now that she's yours...I know there's no road you can't navigate," he went on, his tears tapping on his metal desk. "Even...even if I'm not there to see you get your diploma, or, or maybe walk you down the aisle…everything I have, I gave. Your mother too, sometimes parents just have to give differently. She gives a little bit of every minute for you...I don't get to do that. Sometimes you gotta give it all at once. But that doesn't mean..."
A loud knock made his shoulders hitch. He looked at the door of his quarters, then back at the monitor. "Xo," he said, smiling at getting to say his wife's name again. "Eres mi estrella guía. Always. You better watch your vid in private," he laughed like he was back in college. "And Sandi...it's my job to clear the skies for you. Show 'em how flying's really done."
KATHOOM!
Gunnery Sergeant Katrina Pope ducked behind the trench wall as scorching energy rounds pelted the steel above her. She swapped clips in her assault rifle and poked her head up. Eyeing three hostiles, she fired bursts of four rounds into each, black blood spurting from their heads. A dozen other shock troopers crouched beside her in the docking tracks of the hangar floor. The tracks were designed to move large cargo, but served effectively as artificial trenches. Every now and then, one trooper took a round to the head, seared flesh blew every which way. Clapping the private to her left on the shoulder, Pope surged up as he ducked to reload. She looked across the expansive floor as a pair of Krags broke through the line of fire on their four crustaceous legs. Clenching her teeth, Pope spent half a clip before the first went down, too close and too fast for her to line up a kill shot at the sensitive nodes on their heads, instead having to put in the work penetrating its chitinous torso.
She wasn't quick enough for the second one, and the Krag launched forward with its back legs, aiming its front two into the trench, piercing clean through the private to the left. Pope narrowly evaded the diamond-hard tip of the Krag's leg and slammed the stock of her rifle into one of its sensor nodes, it burst like a balloon of black mucus. The Krag reeled back, a roar of pain escaped its pincered mouth and it charged with furious resolve. Pinning Pope against the back wall of the trench, it whipped its claws toward her face. Shutting her eyes, her heart skipped a beat when the tremendous weight of the creature was abruptly lifted. She opened her eyes as two squad mates grappled with the Krag, one pulling back its arm back while the other dragged it by the trunk. Gritting her teeth, Pope braced against the wall and launched into the Krag, sending the tangled melee into the opposite wall. Wasting no time, Pope rammed her sidearm through its mouth and fired three muffled shots in its skull. Her squad mates recovered and retrieved their rifles.
Pope cursed under her breath. Though certainly not pathetic creatures, Krags were the cannon fodder of the Tregian war machine, not even carrying guns of their own. They were meant to deplete enemy firepower…and it was working. She glanced across the hangar, seeing her other fire teams dig in. Her stomach went led as she saw the real force of the enemy: the Tregians.
Six and a half to seven feet tall, three feet shoulder to shoulder, striding with purpose and precision on two ungulate legs, each of them stacked with muscle under formal, leather-like uniforms, relying on their own naturally reinforced bones and denser muscle tissue as opposed to body armor.
The Tregians on higher ground fixed on them through the orange visors of their respirator masks, taking aim with Particle Carbines. Red needles sliced toward Pope and her team, they dropped prone to avoid the volley of hissing plasma.
Pope touched the comm device at her ear, "You're all clear, Cap! The Tregians took the bait!"
DEEPER WITHIN THE DATED NAVAL BASE, CAPTAIN AMBACTUS EMERIC wiped the sweat from his brow with a tattered sleeve of his captain's uniform, then tapped his own earpiece. "Acknowledged," he whispered.
"And just for the record, I still resent being labeled 'the bait,'" Pope crackled back.
Emeric grinned, "Duly noted, get off your ass and get back to work."
"Roger," Pope shot back before the line silenced. Emeric clutched his sidearm with both hands as he waved his own team forward. A smaller, less armored unit, but having the fire teams make a little noise out in the hangar seemed to do the trick; the Captain's team was able to slip into the base’s lower levels beneath the Tregians notice. Their unit had a decisive advantage in this terrain — the grid-like concrete interior of the naval facility looked like a 20th century missile silo, a sharp contrast to the sleek chrome and granite the Colonial Earth Alliance favored in the Core Systems. Out here in the Fringe, the worlds were a little blockier and spartan, ironically their ravaging during the war seemed aesthetically apropos. Emeric was thankful for the dingier environment, as it was well suited to the sharp and swift movements of his strike team, while the enemy was better suited to an open arena, where they could deploy waves of Krags, then break the scattered line with their Tregians phalanxes. In close quarter combat of this sort, the smaller and nimbler humans actually had the upper hand.
Emeric guided his three subordinates in a line: Corporal Lear, the marksman, took point, followed by the Captain, then Second Tac Officer Bryn, and then behind her came Corporal Carson, the munitions specialist. Emeric did his best to follow the projected schematics of the station on his gauntlet touchscreen. Mercifully, the next sharp turn should be the last, right before they reach the final steel door to the base’s innermost chamber — the Cradle, the subterranean intelligence-storage bunker in every Colonial Defense facility. He took a relieved breath as he followed Lear around the next turn — right into a barricade of Krags and Tregians.
It seems the enemy were better diggers than the Captain thought.
Lear snapped up his marksman's rifle and fired through one of the Tregian’s armored faceplates, dropping before Emeric grabbed him by the back of his fatigues and pulled him behind a series of crates lining the walls. He and Lear fired in unison, focusing on the officers in gray and silver uniforms. Bryn and Carson joined the assault not a second later, posting up on the opposite wall, giving suppressing fire with their automatics while Emeric and Lear took more precise shots.
The second Tregian fell after numerous Krags, when Emeric noted something odd. They seemed to be parting even before he’d had shot their way. Not evading their fire but...making room for something behind. The lights dimmed in the corridor as the last of the Krags settled into defensive positions behind crates and support beams.
A Tregian stood in the center of the passageway. It cleared seven feet, its leathery hide whiter than bone, black tattoo-scars along its exposed head. From what intel could muster, this was some kind of status symbol. The more elaborate tattoos, the more respect or power the Tregian held. This Tregian — clearly some kind of Commander — wore an ornate, yet militaristic grey tunic, exposing its arms; rippling with grotesque muscle and covered in flowing black tattoos before ending in armored gauntlets. The only proof it wasn’t a statue was the breathing apparatus over its mouth, the rest of its head exposed. Its narrow, unmistakably intelligent black and gold eyes drifted across Emeric’s team.
The remaining Tregians resumed fire as soon as the Commander passed. Emeric ordered his team to move back as he dove behind a curtain of pipes that fell from the ceiling in the firefight. He returned fire, not checking to see if Lear had followed. Or Bryn. Or Carson. His marines were his responsibility, but…they couldn't be his priority right now.
The Tregians dashed across the intersecting hallway two at a time, but suppressing fire put them down quickly, Emeric looked to see Bryn and Carson had followed this order and made it to cover. Lear, meanwhile, had gone left, down another hallway and posted up out of Emeric's sight. He heard the familiar echo of the marksman rifle and watched Krags convulse and fall as dark blood burst from their heads.
He looked back down the central corridor as the Commander moved. He raised his sidearm, lined up a shot at the seam between the chest piece and face plate and fired three shots. The rounds would've hit home...should've hit home...but instead the Commander walked through them like rain. An energy shield.
This was no common Tregian soldier.
A few Krags split left to go after Lear, while the rest of the Tregians held as the Commander took the vanguard with purposeful, yet unhurried strides. No effort to find cover, no weapon Emeric could see. Emeric wondered if this was the ‘lone protector’ nature he'd heard the Tregians displayed when they felt their clan slighted, like a silverback or a lion defending their pride on their own against challengers. But the back of his mind told him this creature’s stride wasn’t defensive or prideful. This was certainty.
"Concentrate fire!" Emeric barked, his voice authoritative, but faltering. Convincing himself it was doable.
"Cap!" Bryn called from the other side of the corridor. He looked to her, she returned with pleading eyes. "You need to go! Now!"
The Tregians and Krags advanced behind their Commander, Carson and Bryn keeping them back as best they could. Retreat would expose them and leave Lear on his own — but advancing would grind them into meat.
Emeric, Bryn and Carson focused fire on the Commander. Between the dimness of the corridor and the bursts from the pistol, Emeric could barely make out his target. The Commander didn't hesitate or falter. Instead, he raised an arm and suddenly had weapon in his hand. The sight made Emeric's stomach drop: an atmosword. Resourceful creatures, Tregians never wasted the scraps of war. The most well known evidence of their utilitarianism was the forging of atmoswords, energy blades made from pieces of destroyed enemy metal, infused with the "condensed atmosphere" of a planet they’d defeated. They took their enemy’s steel and the sky of their very worlds, and turned them into a weapon…and a statement.
The one in the Commander’s hand had no hilt, rather it was a carved handle along the back of one large, solid chunk of metal from the outer hull of a gunship, complete with a serial number along its length. It crackled with yellow-orange light as the Commander gripped it, engaging some kind of artificial gravity function that rippled the air. It drew in all the bullets Emeric's squad had fired and swatted through them with a flick of his wrist, scattering them into molten droplets. The gesture stopped Emeric cold, disbelief and despair nearly overcoming him before he shook his head and fired in different directions, trying to circumvent the blade.
The Commander tensed and leapt forward. In a single bound, he cleared ten feet
and landed right before their firing line, swinging the atmosword clean through Carson’s rifle, then cleaved it up through his abdomen, skewering him and lifting him off the ground. Time halted out as Bryn and Emeric locked eyes, he in shock, she with calm resolution. She dropped her rifle and produced two frag grenades. Emeric surged forward, screaming at her to stop, but she launched herself at the Tregian Commander, whose eyes tracked the objects in her hands…and he drew back, fully aware of what they were. Bryn pushed on and collided with the Commander, KATHOOM, the explosion rocked the corridor, throwing Emeric back in a daze.
Emeric pulled himself up on a crate, eyes burning and ears ringing. He staggered forward to see: nothing left of Bryn, the Commander slumped against a wall. The rest of the Tregians and the Krags were sprawled across the floor, or in pieces. Not letting his grief take root, Emeric pushed himself forward, grabbing the explosive pack that Carson had dropped, then desperately flailed toward the end of the corridor. He risked a glance down the left path, where he saw Lear put down two final wounded Krags...as meat spilled from his abdomen and blood trailed from his mouth. He looked up at his Captain and winked. He rolled his last five-inch round across the floor to the Captain, then his eyes went dull and his body relaxed. Another three names on a memorial wall somewhere...if they were lucky.
If Emeric prevailed.
Breathing ached. Walking burned his joints. He instinctively grabbed Lear's rifle -- one shot. He tumbled to the doorway, fading in and out as he entered the empty chamber of concrete, computer towers and monitors. Security feed showed the single Tregian warship hanging over the decimated cityscape of Baylon. Emeric all but collapsed on the computer console and drew a brick of blasting clay.
"Stop," a calm voice echoed. Emeric never heard a Tregian speak before, let alone in a human language, but he knew it had to be one of them. The timbre and resonance set off alarms in the primal parts of his brain. This English word didn’t come from a human mouth.
Straining against cracked ribs, Emeric turned. The Tregian Commander stood atop the stairs. His tunic uniform was scraped and charred, purple blood trickled down his side, but he stood tall and imposing as before. Emeric snapped his sidearm up heart beat crashing in his ears like waves.
"Your weapon is nearly spent," the Commander said. Taciturn, but with obvious command of the language. "And it did not amount to much."
"That was before you got your bell rung, pal," Emeric spat, "I'm willing to bet that shield of yours isn't so strong anymore. Else you'd've charged me by now."
The Commander nodding in concession and paused. "I am War Master Malim Kagan," he said, raising a placative hand, "I...come to...negotiate."
Emeric laughed bitterly, "Suddenly chatty now that your friends are dead and your back's to the wall, huh?"
"Is this not the exchange? I gave my name."
Emeric took a bold step forward, "Captain Ambactus Emeric of the 7th Fleet. There’s no negotiating here."
"Your comrades died for you, Captain. Would you make their sacrifice hollow?"
"You shut your damn mouth…"
"I can extend a courtesy of retreat to yourself and your remaining soldiers. Leave with your lives and we will never see one another again."
"You can't be serious," Emeric balked.
"I am," Kagan assured, cautiously descending the stairs. "I am charged to protect my people, Captain. I want this war to end. Swiftly as possible. The data you stand to sabotage has the power to do it. I would well remember those who cleared my path."
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Emeric scoffed, "You expect to have this conversation after you just cut through my people?"
Incensed, Kagan took a step forward, "Is it not your duty as a soldier to suspend personal attachment? Do you think I’m ignorant to the demands and costs of a war?"
"A war you brought on us!"
"And today I ask you to let it end. A wounded animal whines and suffers. A quick death is an act of love. Do you not want the war to end?"
Emeric gritted his teeth.
Kagan saw his body language and tilted his head back. "If you stand in my way, remember that I asked you to see reason."
"After we spat on your pride, right?" Emeric fired back. "After we embarrassed you in front of your posse. When you tried to play the big man and prove your worth.”
Kagan growled, clearly pricked. "I. Am. Not. Beholden to pride, Captain," he hissed, grip on his atmosword tightening. “I won’t have the children of my world inherit this war."
Emeric scoffed and nodded. "Finally, we agree."
With that, he stuck the blasting cap in the explosive and programmed the detonator.
"NO!" Kagan roared.
Emeric tried to set the detonator as quickly as possible, but the stomps of the War Master behind forced him to turn back and empty his pistol. True to Emeric's guess, Kagan’s shield had been disabled; the rounds punched into his armored tunic as well as his flesh. The shots clearly hurt him, but the Tregian powered through and raised his atmosword.
Planting a boot on the console behind him, Emeric vaulted forward, spear-tackling his much taller opponent to the floor. Kagan’s atmosword slid from his grip as the two rolled, then dug his fingers into the cement floor to arrest their motion.
Emeric scrambled to his feet as Kagan swung wide for his head. Ducking under a left, Emeric pistol-whipped Kagan’s jaw, the Tregian jabbed back with an elbow that threw Emeric on the floor. Kagan raised a boot to stomp in the human’s abdomen, but Emeric reared the marksman’s rifle forward and blew the final round clean through Kagan’s breathing apparatus, shredding through his right cheek. The Tregian staggered back, clutching his cheek as it poured blood, giving Emeric the time to recover. He took pained breaths and he looked over to Kagan, who ripped the ruined apparatus from his face. The plate over his mouth seemed to be primarily for defense, as Kagan lacked a nose and Emeric saw the rest of the apparatus on the front of his neck: eight long, spider-like tubes extended into holes on either side of his covered trachea. It also revealed a somewhat human-like mouth as Kagan spat mouthfuls of purple blood down his chin, ending in a set of five inch tusks. Emeric got back to his feet, firmly between Kagan and the explosives.
Without ammo or backup, he clutched the empty rifle and waited for his opponent to move first, studying him. He wheezed three unsteady breaths before his penetrating, hateful eyes gave away his move. His enemy launched a brick-sized right fist towards his head, the Captain quickly blocked with the rifle, a loud clang echoing off the walls. Emeric swept the rifle right, hooking Kagan in the jaw with the stock. Emeric brought the rifle back left to strike again, but Kagan grabbed the stock of the weapon mid-swing. Risking a glance into his enemy's eyes, Emeric’s vision flashed white as the Tregian’s right elbow slacked him across the face. Kagan gave no reprieve, landing two punishing strikes to Emeric's stomach, the Captain doubled him over. The stronger creature hurtled his fist down between the Captain's shoulders, slamming him to the ground. Now face down on the floor, cold asphalt and his warm blood spreading over his cheek, Emeric fought off the blackness tugging at the corners of his vision. Kagan grabbed him by the back of his uniform, claws cutting through his armor and flesh. Emeric considered blacking out here and now, let death find him unconscious. Go quietly.
Sandi and Ronaldo came to him when he closed his eyes. That smile she had, that little head shake when he embarrassed her. His little eyebrow raise whenever he was right, that punkish laugh whenever he got away with something.
Lost time with her, unfinished conversations with him.
‘Going quietly’ was suddenly a non-starter.
As Kagan hauled him to his feet, Emeric swung his head up and bashed him dead center in his exposed face, tearing at his bullet wound. Kagan grunted and staggered back, and Emeric rushed his moment of weakness. The Captain hammered at Kagan’s weak spots: elbowing the wound in his side, driving fingers into his face wound and clawing out flesh. Nearly overwhelmed, Kagan grabbed the side of the Emeric's head in one hand and drove his other fist directly into the Captain’s eye at full force. Teetering off balance for a moment, Emeric recovered as if it hadn't happened at all.
Kagan hesitated, noting the human’s eye had gone crimson red, but the Captain did not fall. Launching off his feet, Emeric wrapped an arm around Kagan’s head and drove his his thumb directly into the Tregian’s eye. He wrenched the human off his torso, only for Emeric to pounce again and rip several respirator tubes out of the spiracles in his neck, tearing his flesh again. This forced Kagan back much more urgently, now apparently feeling truly in danger. The Captain was relentless, hammering Kagan’s wounded face again and again, wild and feral with a dying man’s adrenaline, as his enemy tried to realign his breathing tubes. The Tregian finally had to lift and throw him, the Captain sailed fifteen feet before crashing and rolling along the floor. Dropping to one knee, Kagan fixed his breathing apparatus, then nursed his mangled eye and cheek as the flesh sluggishly regenerated.
Emeric returned to his feet with a fighting stance, but his arms shook. He tried to advance, and just stumbled. Adrenaline only took him so far, and now the pain was returning with a vengeance. He felt broken ribs when he tried to breathe. A heavy, flowing feeling inside told him he was bleeding internally. All vision in his left eye was gone. He still tried to push forward, only to fall to his knees. Crawling, he spotted something on the floor -- his earpiece. Scooping it up as Kagan grabbed his atmosword, Emeric slurred a few words through a dislocated jaw.
"...Kat...?" He managed.
After a moment, Pope's voice crackled back, "Captain! Where are you? We're in the corridors below ground!"
"Fall back, Gunny..." he barely managed, spitting two teeth, "Fall back to the Archers, get as far as..."
He doubled forward and vomited blood.
"Captain?! Captain, we're not leaving without you! Not until we—"
"It's done, Gunny…job’s done. One-way ticket."
"Don’t be so sure, boss. Have you looked outside?"
Emeric craned his head to the monitors. For a moment, his failing heart jumped. Kagan followed his gaze as he rose from his knee.
The feed showed Kagan’s supercarrier over Baylon…as pillars of fire descended from upper orbit, all but splitting the ship in three pieces. Human gunships soared down toward the city…and Tregian ships…but…it was the Tregians that shot down Kagan’s carrier!
"Hey, Gunny…" he managed into his earpiece. "…Eyes on Tango One, yeah?"
"Won’t be necessary Cap, we’ll be right—"
Kagan roared. Emeric guessed he was cursing his own people in his native tongue. His face and body language were clearer than any word: ‘I knew this was coming, and I could’ve avoided it…’ Trembling with rage, he turned to Emeric, his expression shifting:
‘…If it wasn’t for you.’
Emeric looked into the face of death and gave a big, red smile.
"That’s an order, Gunny. Eyes on Tango One."
Gunfire and human voices echoed down the corridor. Pope dashed through the door and locked eyes with Emeric, but she may as well have moved through honey.
Captain Ambactus Emeric sighed with satisfaction as Kagan cleaved him in half.
CHIEF PETTY OFFICER KATRINA POPE
Orbital platform, planet Krodam – Home of the Tregians
Trial of Malim Kagan, January 7th, 2751
Katrina Pope watched from her seat in the upper levels of the Trial Chamber as the people filtered in, fiddling with the breathing collar that she and every other human sported aboard the Tregian vessel. The Tregians finally got around to deciding the fate of their war criminals, the handful that there were. This was used more as a token of good faith to humanity, civil disputes were in their eyes an overrated concept, and humanity’s value of them were something they didn’t quite grasp but felt they should appease. They owed them that much. Tregians usually didn’t usually kill their lawbreakers, since they’ve relied on such a strong pack mentality to survive, but this was a concession the humans would not negotiate. So the Tregians agreed to a tribunal, a practice they hadn’t enacted in quite some time.
The accused included three other chieftains allied with their leader, they’d already been sentenced in private. But for Kagan himself, an audience was allowed. Every human affected by his actions was invited to witness the sentence, but as that number stretched into the billions, it was more of a symbolic gesture. The sentencing was being witnessed only by a few hundred; the Trial Chamber – built more like an indoor colosseum – filled quickly with people and armed Tregian guards at almost every corner. Benches surrounded the lower platform, wedged between the sharp black ribs of the chamber, arching up to the ceiling, while the adjacent side was lined with transparent alloys to see out into the stars. The gray mass of the planet Krodam rested below, mighty and foreboding even from orbit.
The entry of a striking woman and her small girl caught Pope’s attention. Patiently, she watched the regal, upright Xiomara Emeric find her seat, clutching the hand her seven year old daughter. Cassandra, this must be Cassandra...The Captain was right, Pope noted, she did have his eyes: bright sea green popping out from her mother’s swarthy features. Pope hopped down to the row of seats behind them. After a few minutes, the attendants had all entered, though the Chamber was far from filled. Leaning forward, she tapped Xiomara’s shoulder.
"Xo..." she whispered, "What is she doing here??"
Without turning, Xo passively gave back, "She needs to see this. It’s justice for her father."
"She’s seven, she doesn’t know what this means!"
"She needs to see that life isn’t as bright as Ambactus told her."
"That’s how you plan to honor his memory? Contradicting what he told his daughter?"
"Don’t you dare tell me what she needs, Katrina!" she snapped, finally turning, "You’re not her mother, you don’t know anything about her!"
"Who’s that, mommy?" a young voice squeaked.
Pope glanced over, seeing Cassandra staring up at her, youthful curiosity in her eyes. Turning to her, Xiomara pushed dark, stringy hair from the girl’s face, "It’s nobody sweetheart, just an old friend." Turning back to Pope, she met her stare with puffy, red eyes. "I’m sorry, Katrina."
Pope sighed heavily, "You’re not wrong..." she mused, remembering that even Ambactus had only seen his daughter a few times her whole life, on stolen days away from the warfront. His elder son knew him better, but it didn’t seem to bring them any closer. But Cassandra? Cassandra thought of him like Santa Claus — a wonderful larger than life figure that only came a few times a year. She loved him, but she never knew him. War built a wall between the man and his family, and he never got to climb back over.
Pope wondered if that’s why she survived. To make the climb for him.
Xiomara turned to say more, but a ceremonial horn resonated through the chamber. Three ornately clothed Tregian Adjudicators took to a raised platform. Plugging commands into touch pads, the Adjudicators began their oration in their native tongue, which then translated into flawless English.
"We who decide the fates of the aberrant, begin with a tribute to you, the mournful," the translator announced. As the Adjudicators proceeded, their speech translated not to literal wording, but grammatically accurate for human comprehension. "We are gathered here today to witness the sentencing of former War Master Malim Kagan. Bring out the convicted."
Pope felt a tiny chuckle; the proceedings reminded her of antiquated Earth TV shows, all melodramatic and grandiose. Then however, her blood ran cold when she saw Ambactus’s murderer escorted out of the darkness. He was accompanied by a convoy of four guards armed with energy prods, a faint orange hue floating from the tips. The Butcher of Baylon was encased in multiple body braces, his wrists secured directly to his waist by thick metal shackles, his ankles and knees encased similarly, restricting his mobility to an awkward shuffle. The mighty Tregian came to a halt in the center circle of the chamber.
"Malim Kagan..." an Adjudicator boomed, "You are found guilty of most vile crimes against life itself, including a heinous attempted genocide that ended in the deaths of over two hundred and twenty million humans. A campaign you brought about through the treasonous deceit of your brethren. For these crimes, you are sentenced to Somatic Carbonization. You shall be encased in a liquid metal tomb and remain dormant, for all to remember the hideous, shameful past we leave behind today. You shall be a monument to the unity forged between Krodam and the newly ratified United Planets Coalition. We cannot change the past, nor can we forget it. But we shall look upon you and remember why we all must change. Have you any final words?"
"I demand to recite my Vow." Kagan said preparedly. "Is that right still mine, or has that too been struck to appease your new masters?" Hesitating at his bitter sarcasm, the Adjudicator nodded. Stepping forward from his guards, the Tregian spoke. "Humans. I was a hunter before I was a soldier, and a soldier before I was a leader. I study my enemy. So I know you well. Your kind is not eager to learn constructively. I know what you’ll call me in the coming years. Madman. Monster. Easy to swallow, no?" The venom in is words was countenanced by his unnerving control.
"Before I recite my Vow, let me educate you. My civilization is considerably younger than yours, but as a unified species, we’ve advanced much faster. You kind’s protracted squabbles over faith and identity were quite…alien to me." he said pointedly. "Below us lies Krodam, the home of my people. She is not a kind world. She does not birth us surrounded by resources and rich land as your Earth did. Of her four hemispheres, one of them is fertile. Beautiful, even. Two are perpetual storms. Habitable, but not easy. The fourth is known as
Was that…wistfulness?
He turned his eyes back to the gallery. "I was born in Zhayedga. Long before the Days of Unity, my clan ventured to find new lands, and Zhayedga was there to greet them. They were lost in its unforgiving conditions for generations, until I was born. I led my clan out of Zhayedga to a new home. I found the values of my people. When fragmented, we faced extinction. Unity offered salvation. Thus when our Unitary was built, it was upon trust in one another, something else we achieved long before your Earth. We created the
Somewhat uneasy, the Adjudicators still indulged him.
"‘Malim Kagan stands before the Tribes of Old and Tribe to Be,’" he began, "‘To crusade against foreign evils that threaten my fellow Tregian. Long as Malim Kagan draws breath, Krodam’s enemies shall never be safe.’ Those were my words," Kagan turned up to the Adjudicators. "Do you remember what you vowed to me?"
Suddenly finished accommodating him, the Adjudicators signaled the guards. "Your new Tregian allies, humans..." Kagan addressed the crowd, "Made their own Vow in return: They stood before the Tribes of Old and the Tribe to Be and vowed to stand behind me! That this crusade would not be mine alone! You told me you would trust my word and heed my guidance!" The Adjudicators murmured amongst themselves as they tried to silence him, but the baneful projection of Kagan’s voice rocked off the walls. "Know humans, that you stand here today not only to see me suffer for carrying out the duties asked of me, but you bear witness to the first broken Vow in centuries. Never has a Tregian risked the shame of abandoning their brother like this!"
"You lie!" The Adjudicator now called in their native tongue, the translators still active, "When first you found the humans in our neighboring system, you were asked to learn, it was you who broke your Vow! You lied to us, told us that they were savages unwilling to share tables!"
Unable to hold back any longer, Pope finally shot to her feet. "And you believed him!" she shouted up at them, "You took his word without thinking! You put one man in charge of everything from gathering intel to leading your damn armies, and you didn’t think for a second that he might lie to you?!"
"Silence!" one Adjudicator chided.
"Trust, human..." Kagan called from below. Pope leveled her eyes at the Tregian. "Trust was our foundation. They were to trust my word. It was my place to determine if you were a threat to us. I studied your history in depth. I’ve seen what you’ve done to each other. Can you say I was wrong about you?"
The honor guards closed in, dragging long tubes behind them. "These excuses stand hollow," the main Adjudicator challenged, "You abused our trust and betrayed us!"
"No!" Kagan fired back, "I knew what was necessary, and I protected you from hard choices. That’s what I am for! I never abandoned my promise," he then hissed with quiet malice, "You betrayed me."
The Adjudicators held silent now, glaring at their former comrade.
The honor guards grabbed him, but Kagan persevered, "You are no kin of mine! What I fought for is already dead," contempt burned with a hint of sadness as he looked through the towering windows to his homeworld, "I’m sorry. I failed you. I let our spirit die." The guards drilled large, metal coils directly into Kagan’s body. The tubes coursed with superheated liquid, and a wave of metal crawled onto Kagan’s skin. An orange glow glazed over his arms and chest, like fire across a dry forest, but he only winced. "If Krodam rejects me, so be it. The dignity of my people is beyond salvation. But neither that nor this metal prison of theirs will stop me. I WILL NOT BE TOSSED ASIDE! I WILL NOT BE NOTHING!" He took in a breath as the metal crawled down to his legs, immobilizing him. "...And those who share the blood of Captain Ambactus Emeric of the 7th Fleet..."
Pope’s heart froze, turning to Xiomara and Cassandra. The girl sat confused, her mother’s stare cold and detached.
"Savor the time he borrowed for you, but remember its price. Remember why he will never be there for you again," Kagan scanned the crowd, "And know that I will find you. That is my final vow..." the metal scrawled up his neck as he fought for breath, "If nothing else, I will claw my way out of this metal tomb…only for that."
Pope barely stopped herself from lunging at him over the barriers.
"I will hunt you to the edge of the stars and into the void where light dare not venture!"
Finally, he reverted to the gravelly Tregian language, "Eikhleeg Aburakh Nok Suul!!" he roared. No translation was offered, but his tone conveyed the sentiment. An oath of violence too profane and hateful for their translators to allow. Kagan choked out his last curse as the metal froze his lower jaw and overtook his head…and it was over. There he was, Malim Kagan, tall and resolute. Forever frozen in tranquil malice.
Pope watched the guards chip away Kagan’s restrictive braces; obviously no longer needed. The braces clanged to the floor as the guards strenuously carried in two halves of an enormous sarcophagus-like casing. They set a half of the case down on each side of the frozen Tregian and pushed them together. Metal arms reached out from each half and interlocked, followed by an airy hiss and a powerful CLANK.
Silence hung as four guards took the sarcophagus between them and marched off. Rather than content with the proceedings, Pope observed, these people huddled with fear. Kagan’s parting words loomed over them, infiltrating their nightmares only moments after they were spoken. Except for Xiomara, that is. She sat stone-faced, tears dried beneath her eyes. She gently held the back of her daughter’s head forward. The girl was confused and scared, but kept her eyes fixed.
"Don’t look away sweetheart," Xiomara said coldly. "This is your first lesson."
Pope’s instincts told her to intervene, but she held back. She didn’t know this kid…yet. Her duties to the United Navy were over, but she still had one more mission.
Captain’s orders.