Kato looked out at a great black expanse. It was more empty than the most despondent moments of a man’s life. Bereft of matter for ninety-nine point nine repeating percent of its volume, the amaranthine people of Toravyn had named it The Void. But the pilot observed it from behind a foot of thick, clear glass, and saw that contrasting all of the dark and empty swaths of space were stars. Each tiny point of light adorned the blackness with supernal splendor. The heavens appeared brimming with myriad suns despite the distance between these dots.
Who, or what, could have crafted such an elegant view? The sight was not unlike white paint spilled on black plastic, or city lights in the darkness. Yet by virtue of resemblance, even such simple things as the latter examples were beautiful. Was it the capacious potential of other worlds that made these so enchanting, or the sight itself? Each of these stars was as ancient and as complex as his own sun. The size of the galaxy, the size of the universe, stunned Kato into staring out the window for longer than was appropriate, even as he was shoved and pushed by the people passing behind.
The pilot pictured other worlds, inhabited by people, or creatures stranger than people. If seven different planets had independently developed mankind, then surely there were other worlds to lust over besides the ten for which his people fought.
The idea enervated him. It was idle fancy; Toravyn had visited the nearest stars, and even gone as far as the Rigel Binary. Each journey took decades to and from, and formerly eager scouts and surveyors returned with disappointing news. These suns hosted worlds that had no more life than Hadea or Toravyn. Empty wastes too hot, too cold, raining diamonds sharp as a razor’s edge, or with oceans of acid…
If there were other star systems with life – There were, Kato was certain – they were so few and far between that Kato would never see them. Those who suggested using Hatekeeping to search were chided, with good reason. The matter had been set aside for until after the war was won.
He’d seen all the different species that his long life had to offer.
Kato turned from the window and tried to focus on more civic matters. He continued through the hall, pressed by a mass of other Toravi heading in the same direction. They were a quiet crowd. When they spoke, it was in whispers directed at the group or person to whom they wished to speak. The thunking of their boots on the metal floor muffled drifting voices. Despite their respect for silence, the Preserved advanced with such speed and force that the entire hallway was filled shoulder to shoulder, leaving no empty space.
The people had shades of skin ranging from void black to chalk white, with hair that was directly the opposite color. Kato had white skin and black hair, while many of those passing by had black skin and white hair, or various shades of grey. Their eyes were all the same shade of scarlet red. Kato remembered a time when those eyes had been shades of tan and ochre.
They were dressed in tan robes, pants, white jackets, and black belts, with not much of a splash of color to most outfits. A few people wore clothes of garish hues. There had been so many colors on the flags of various factions that most of them had, by the strange vogue of the immortals of Toravyn, become taboo. Some nonconformists here and there wore clothing in the colors of the worlds they had defeated. The dead wouldn't use their erstwhile banners. The colors had been conquered for Toravyn, just as their worlds had been. Why not keep them?
Kato liked that. He thought that he would wear a nice bright yellow blazer if he could. It would be unbecoming of an assemblyman, however. He had to keep a neutral stance in politics. He had worn his tan pilot’s uniform to every meeting the assembly had had since he joined it a decade past.
Kato arrived at the lyceum of the space station seconds before the clock struck 1800. He shoved his way past his fellows, shoulder-first. At four feet, he was as tall as anyone could be, and struck an impressive figure standing there in his uniform. Or so he thought.
The lyceum was a three-tiered spherical room, with seating above and below to house the participating partisans of the Toravi government. The dome at the top was clear glass, banded with steel and protected by an invisible shield. Through the dome, Aziru was visible above them. Pale, shifting, like a globe of marble with liquid veins.
Kato walked across a bridge to the center, the room becoming silent save for the hammer-like sound of his footsteps. He arrived a minute late, whispering unreciprocated greetings to his colleagues. He took a seat to the left of General Kol. He was a three and three-quarters-foot figure, uniformly gray in hair and skin. He wore black robes as his outfit for every official proceeding save the battlefield.
The ancient general had been fighting longer than any creature alive; He had been an old man when the dead of defeated Toravyn had risen up and become immortal. It was through his efforts to ensure all genetic material was cataloged, and Spawning Chambers constructed, that the Preserved had managed to claw their way out from death and conquer the star system.
Aziru notwithstanding.
It was an eclectic group that had first returned to fight. Most of those whose souls had persisted had been warriors. There were some who had to adjust. The artisans, masons, data clerks, plumbers, farmers, and other individuals of a vast variety.
It was General Kol who had provided the leadership that prepared his people to become warriors. To channel their skills into efficient conquest, to perfect themselves using the years they'd been invested with. Kato, and all of Kato's people, owed this man everything. Kato was proud to sit beside him.
“You’re late again,” Kol said. “Do not make a habit of it.”
“I don't intend to,” Kato replied.
“In this, I am not inclined to trust you.” Kol made no gestures as he spoke. His face remained impassive, but the tone of his voice was sharp. “Choice facts point me to this unfortunate conclusion. You have arrived late for seventeen different items on our schedule recently. The only appointment spared your tardiness in the last two weeks is the invasion.”
“I wouldn't miss it for the world.” Kato hesitated. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Ha. Ha. Besides your recent delays, you have failed for two meetings now to add your voice to our discussion, and the Democracy is left without the opinion of one of their assemblymen. You have presented no votes for consideration.” The general paused for a moment to see if Kato had anything to say, then continued. “In addition, you ignored my order to return to a ship after yours was destroyed. What was the point of getting on the ground without any heavy armaments to speak of?”
Kato was quiet, but the general seemed to want a reply. He caught sight of Assemblywoman Gal sparing him a furtive glance. “... Do not press me, General Kol. It has always been our tradition to conduct ourselves as we feel is best. I saw knights in the temple, guarding it. Despite your contrary instinct, I estimated there must be something of value; I found data chips inside and ventured further to find more. There was nothing else.”
“A temple.” Kol’s face twitched for the first time in their discussion. “And what do these data-chips contain?”
“They're encrypted. My computer is decoding them as we speak. As for the other matters you mention. . . I concede that I have not given my fullest effort lately. I’ve felt overexcited, leading up to the final battle. I expected the war to end, and devoted all energies to my preparation.”
The grey general considered, and shook his head. “Your duty is more important now than ever. Do not falter as you approach the end. I have no doubt in your dedication to seeing the Aeglatharans destroyed. Yet I question how taking this data was going to help. . .
“You are correct, in that you possess the right to do as you please in battle. If you respect my wisdom and the diminishing gap of seniority between us, please accept my orders going forward. At the least, tell me why you are refusing.”
Kato did not feel the stirring of anger, as he once might have at such implications. “I concede to this, General Kol. I apologize.”
Both men left the matter there, and the general continued. He pursed his lips, glancing at the other members of the assembly. “As I was telling the others before you arrived, we have a vote of condemnation today. We don't have time for me to share the same details I gave them; You will have to find out with the partisans.”
Kol began the meeting five minutes late. He started with the usual preamble and addressed minor issues first. After a quick vote, two warriors publicly received disciplinary slips, reassigning them temporarily to duties on far asteroid mining stations. They had inadvertently destroyed an entire hangar of ships by prematurely dropping a load of plasma bombs. Kato sympathized with them. He was more concerned, however, by the upcoming condemnation.
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The general assigned six Heavy Cruisers that had been newly built, granting them to volunteers from the most accomplished partisans present. Several other clerical matters followed, proposed by Kol and other members of the Assembly.
Halfway through his docket, the general was interrupted. A partisan in the crowd cried out; “What of the Bombs? What do we do next?”
The partisans at these meetings were usually silent. Hundreds of years of attending had instilled excellent discipline into the crowd. Only a few thousand of Toravyn’s millions of people were present here, but the votes were broadcast across the entire system so that everyone could participate. People voted on little terminals that were found in their helmets or workstations, registering with scans of their eyes. Nearly ninety percent of Toravyn voted on the matters at hand. Kato had known dozens of people who set alarms to wake them up when a vote occurred. Even those who were stationed in worlds in perpetual darkness, or who had meetings occur during night time, tended to set their sleep schedule by the Assembly meetings first, and their work schedules second.
No matter where you were, you knew about the meetings. Everyone had been to one dozens of times, and everyone knew not to speak. Yet at the woman’s outburst, there was a general murmur of agreement on all three tiers.
Kol raised his hand, and the murmurs quieted. “Please remember to keep the silence when the Assembly is in session. If you have an issue to raise, send it to an assemblyman; We have all received correspondence about the doom of the battle, I am sure.”
Kato realized that he’d forgotten to check his messages.
“Our strategy for this invasion was crafted over the course of months,” continued the general, “with participation from thousands of us. It will take half as much time to reconstruct our strategy, but twice as long to rebuild our fleets. I know that we are all disappointed by this outcome. I had hoped to be somewhere else today, celebrating. No one expected this technology from the Aeglatharans.
“It might be by a turn of their foul magic that they have managed to locate our most powerful weapons. The effluence we mine from Hadea emits powerful, deadly energies that their knights can detect. We encased the bombships in lead to prevent this, but it seems one way or another they knew which ships to target. They allowed residential areas and shelters to be burned uncontested so that they could destroy these weapons. Know that we have not labored in vain; They bought time only through great sacrifice. The Aeglatharans had begun to outnumber us. We have intercepted reports that over half of them are dead!
“Remember to keep a cooperative spirit. There will be whispers of spies, or traitors. Action must be rooted in confirmable fact. Hysteria is inflamed by suspicion, and both are enemies of collaboration. Report any suspicions to the Censorial Force, and remember - There will be solid vengeance from the hollow world!”
Kato felt a surge of excitement, goosebumps rising on his skin. Toravyn was a hollow world near to the sun, and his civilization had developed inside of its caves. They had peered up through massive rifts to see the distant sun, and crystalline plants of a thousand varieties had bathed in the light, releasing it gently in the night.
Those were gone now, but the memory remained. Every Toravyn still living remembered and fought for that pristine image, of a world that once had been, and would be again. Kato was distracted from the next few items that the assembly discussed, though he voiced vague opinions one way or the other to keep appearances. Assemblymen voted, but their votes only counted once, like everyone else’s. The vote that received a three-quarters majority would be implemented, and if the votes were split too heavily, then discussion continued and the vote repeated. Sometimes for weeks.
Thoughts of the vision drifted through Kato’s mind. It had been magic, he was sure. Light that clung to water, and consumed his skin and bones until he had melted. Yet it was not a magic meant to destroy. In it, he felt the embrace of wind and the light of companionship. Why then did it destroy him? And what did wind have to do with visions? It seemed to maintain a vague intelligence that attempted to speak to him when he slept. Last night, for the first time in many years, he had not been visited by dreams of the wind. Perhaps it had said all it wanted to say, by showing him these images..
He had thought that he would be free of his obsession once he found answers, yet he found himself asking even more questions. That image, an impression of a star system completely without children or hope, played over and over in his mind.
They’d never managed to produce a new child the way Aeglatharans did. Bodies based on combined information emerged insensate and soulless. No Toravyn had conceived. General Kol, and other experts on the matter, had urged that the magic of immortality prevented reproduction or the creation of new souls until the Aeglatharans were defeated.
Kato had never questioned this explanation before. He now had doubts; Perhaps these doubts had been planted by the Aeglatharans… Was that the true purpose of the vision?
General Kol distracted him with the next item on the docket. A Toravyn man was led out onto the central platform, guarded by two other Preserved in full armor. The man they had in chains behind them was one Kato did not immediately recognize. He had to think for a minute before the name ‘Ebb’ turned up in his head.
“I bring disturbing news to this meeting. Ebb was absent for the invasion, despite his scheduling. No, that is barely a crime in comparison to his actions. What Ebb did in the time away is one of the most depraved actions this congregation can consider; In the pursuit of a Hatekeeper’s powers, Ebb has deprived another Toravi of their immortal soul.”
The crowd met this news with silence. Kato could see the faces of those in the nearest seats and found them twisted with anger or surprise. Murder was difficult to accomplish.
“He visited Hadea, consulted with the condemned, and with Han as an accomplice, performed the secret ritual to destroy Han and use his Final Death to acquire magic. We have a use for Hatekeepers, though their anonymity is paramount; Our magicians are not foolishly flaunted like those of Aeglathar, and the price is too high for habitual use. Ebb, who has been thrice rejected by this council, chose to seek this power out on his own.”
Ebb cried out - “I had Han’s consent! The years grew too long for him! I’m only trying to–”
After a gesture from General Kol, the guards reached down and cut out Ebb’s tongue. The mutilation caused Kato to flinch, staring with small disgust on his face. What a mess.
The general continued. “Han’s vessels remain empty, no matter what we do. The corpse recovered from Hadea is confirmed to be his latest body. We have his genes on file in the event of a miraculous return but must proceed knowing that he has been destroyed.
“We all know the price of these actions. We will never murder one of our fellows; Death is not ours until the long war is ended. With the power of the assembly, I hereby charge Ebb with Profanity, proliferation of forbidden knowledge, murder, and malicious deceit. I present a vote to condemn Ebb to Hadea.”
The condemned man let out awful cries, full of rage and horror. He was silenced again, this time by a bolt to the back of his head. The two guards removed his corpse from the room. Presumably to return to his next body, which would have been left in a cell.
Kato ran his thumb along the little handheld device on which General Kol’s vote appeared. The results were hidden, and the vote wouldn’t open until each Assemblyman had voted. Kato listened to their brief, sanctimonious speeches one by one, until he was the last. Empathetically, dispassionately, opprobriously, derisively, the six other assemblymen all stated their opinions and gave their votes. Each had voted to condemn Ebb.
The pilot took a deep breath. Was he willing to invite more scrutiny upon his mind? With a glance to the retreating blood trail, Kato decided that he was. He stood and began a short speech.
“I can’t speak to Han’s state of mind. We have resources, for such putrefaction of the faculties. I cannot speak to Ebb’s intentions; They were reckless, appalling, and improvident. I can speak to the state of our army, and the value and utility of a Hatekeeper. The price is paid. Nothing within our power can undo the atrocity.
“I propose a vote to keep Ebb in confinement, to remain until a future vote may see him released, with the proviso that this vote to condemn him fails. In this, he can be punished, and we will not lose another Hatekeeper to Hadea.”
Kato clicked the button for no, and thousands of votes came in at once. As an Assemblyman, he was able to see where votes were being directed before the poll came to an end. It took several minutes for everything to settle.
Unsurprisingly, the majority wanted Ebb to be condemned. Surprisingly, more than forty percent had voted with Kato. The next two hours saw the vote discussed and recast twelve times; At one point, Kato believed he might win, with over fifty percent of the vote. But his arguments could not stand long against the condemnation of all of the other assemblymen. Assemblywoman Gal withdrew from the arguments halfway through, and that was the closest he came to winning anyone over.
Kol appealed to the longstanding tradition of justice. Another appealed for vengeance for wrongdoing. Another appealed to the downward spiral that could result from allowing someone to continue in Toravi society after betraying them as Ebb had.
There were many discussions, but Kato’s points were distilled down to the utility of keeping Ebb, and the wastefulness of sending him away. Toravi were normally pragmatic; Their art and entertainment had degraded to the point of nonexistence. But in matters of justice and vengeance, the Preserved were as vindictive a people as had ever existed.
The vote was recast a final time. Ebb was condemned.
General Kol projected his voice. “This concludes – at long last – our vote. Thank you, Kato, for pursuing discourse to its utmost. This is what our democracy thrives on. I believe that as a man fully devoted to dignity and the execution of the people’s will, you are as fine a choice as any to be charged with delivering Ebb to Hadea.”
Kato replied cordially. “I accept this charge if the others will ratify it.” Internally, he was annoyed. This mission would take him far away from Aziru, and the station’s preparations for the next invasion. No doubt General Kol hoped he would make one mistake or another so that the man would have an opportunity to replace him with a more favorable choice. Kato had been surprised at how petty the internal politics of the Assembly were when he had first been voted in. Kato's pride wilted, recognizing that General Kol likely did not reciprocate his respect.
The Assembly quickly ratified the mission. As the meeting drew to a close and people filed out of the doors, Kato looked up through the glass dome. Peering up and past the mist to the green islands, Kato thought of a child, far away and buried beneath stone, who would never be able to see the stars as Kato had. To whom the condemnation of Hadea would have been a mercy.
No. Oblivion is better than Hadea.