“Naomi, it’s me. I miss you,” Adrian’s voice came through the recording, nearly in tears. “If only I could speak with you. I need to talk to you. Make everything right again. I’m sorry. Sorry about everything. All of this. It’s all falling apart,” he said, waving his hand vaguely at his surroundings. “I can’t believe what’s happening,” Adrian’s shoulders shook. “What’s happened,” he corrected himself. Adrian shook his head and buried his face in hands for a moment. “It’s so weird… Strange even… such a small thing–” Naomi cut off the recording on her holopad at the sound of footsteps coming up behind her.
“So that’s him? That’s Adrian?” the voice belonging to the footsteps said. Naomi turned just enough to see who it was. Cooper was her name. Deanne Cooper. At least Naomi was pretty sure that was it. Naomi always struggled to correctly remember people's names to the point where she could not remember a name even if she had been working with them for years. Eventually she just used whatever name was in her head for them as she was afraid of asking people for their real names out of fear. Cooper, the name on her name tag, touched Naomi’s shoulder as she passed by as if to comfort her.
“Yeah,” Naomi said, trying to smile politely. “It’s the first I’ve heard from him in over a month.”
“Must be stressful,” Cooper said, politely interested.
“Nothing but vidmail? Absolutely.” Naomi confirmed. “It’ll be nice to actually talk in person. Spend some time together.”
“On The Long Hand, the greatest spacecraft in the Adamancy, no less. I heard it’s so big it would take an entire day to run from one end to the other,” Cooper added.
“Yeah, no doubt,” Naomi said as Cooper turned to continue making her way toward the bridge of the ship, Ship's Cure, likely to go complain to the chief security officer, Commander Jake Coffer. Although Ship's Cure was fitted with a plethora of guns, canons, and guided missiles, the ship was a relief vessel, of which Naomi and Cooper were both assigned to. Ship's Cure was designed to make deep space rescues of any stranded or otherwise out of commission warship or warstation of the Adamancy.
In this case Ship's Cure was on its way to the fringes of the Adamancy, or weirdspace as normal folk called it, to provide relief to The Long Hand, which went silent after moving into stable orbit over the colonial agri-world of Juniper to provide some sort of relief effort to the colonials planeside. The exact nature of The Long Hand’s mission was not entirely clear as only bits and pieces had come through the wyrding network before communication was completely lost.
The strange nature of the Hand’s last message explained the rare, outright abnormal presence of not one, but three Marshals aboard Ship's Cure. These Marshals from three different lineages, consequently also three different warbands, were accompanied by six Auxiliary soldiers and six Pages each. Plus another “Page”. The plus one Page, or as Naomi and the other normal mortals called him “the extra” was a boy–a child easily younger than twelve-years-old. Naomi refused to acknowledge this as anything other than a crime. If she had her way, there would be consequences for someone.
The Golden Trial was not even taken by Marshal hopefuls, Aspirants, until they reached the age of majority, adulthood. The stations of the Auxiliary and Page, should an Aspirant fail to pass The Golden Trial, were service to the Marshals for life. Yet someone had allowed, if not forced, a child to undergo the trial. Was the Establishment truly so vile? Those aristocrats by another name. Were they truly so obsessed with power that a child should be put on the path of becoming a demigod in service to the Adamant? It disgusted her. It was the sort of disgust that permeated her whole being whenever she thought of how the boy suffered. She could only refer to him as “the boy”, or “the extra” as the others did, as Naomi had not even learned his name. The Pages kept a watchful eye on the boy at all times keeping all interaction with him between themselves, the Auxiliaries, and the Marshals he served.
The mission team did not end there, however. There were twelve regular crew members, volunteer service members of The Adamant Defense Forces, aboard Ship's Cure. Four were the security team and eight were part of the repair crew whose job it was to assist the Pages to any capacity, of which Cooper, the computer systems specialist, and Naomi, the military spacecraft engineer, were a part of. Next to the Marshals and their entourage, the presence of twelve normal human soldiers seemed superfluous, almost comically so.
Lastly, there was an eight person special delegation from The Opaline Crowns to service the unique space-coral based engine, as opposed to a wyrding engine, that The Long Hand used. The Long Hand was a joint venture by The Adamancy and The Opaline Crowns to strengthen ties through technological cooperation and mutual advancement. Even though the spacecraft was gifted to The Greyhounds as their primary operations hub, there was a large Opaline Crowns’ Guard presence onboard. The inclusion of the special delegation pushed the limits of Cure’s capacity to sixty on board, double its typical Defense Force crew.
Naomi sighed. Her father, a Peer of the Establishment, always wished for her to go into politics as he had. She chuckled to herself remembering how defiantly she declared she was joining the Adamant Defense Force, not of New Sardis their home world, but that of the capital of the entire Adamancy, Earth– or Terra as the current inhabitants had come to call it. Naomi remembered how torn her father looked, disappointed she had chosen to not take up his mantle. Yet a glance of pride remained. His daughter had been accepted into one of the most prestigious non-combat (non-combat being relative) positions, in one of the most prestigious units of the Force. In spite of her efforts to free her fate from the trappings and snares of the political world it was determined to snatch Naomi in its grasp right there onboard Ship’s Cure.
Naomi attempted to stand but was held in place to her momentary surprise. She forgot she was buckled in. Cooper always made fun of her for it, as the only other person who actually buckled in was the boy. She undid the safety harness and stood. She did not want to step into the storm that was no doubt brewing in the helm between Cooper and Coffer. She felt sorry for Rikki, the pilot, who was always pulled into their quarrels. Naomi sighed, again, and made her way rearward past the science and technology sector toward the living sector.
The science and technology sector–which was made up of the infirmary, pharmacy, computer lab, fabrication and repair lab, and lastly the ship's core systems all connected by a long oversized center hallway – sat between the control sector at the front of the ship and the living sector in the rear. As she passed through she saw a few of the Pages, most of the standard security personnel, and two members of the Opaline Delegation all of whom acknowledged her with a nod of the head or small gesture of the hand. Grateful none had stopped her journey rearward to start a conversation, Naomi continued past.
She entered the living sector, catching a few glances from others having quiet conversations in pairs or small groups. The center of the living sector was the general purpose habitat which served mainly as both cafeteria and recreational space. Every bunk room, latrine, and washroom, as well a majority of the storage were connected through the general purpose habitat. However, the Commander’s quarters were at the front of the ship above the control sector connected directly to the bridge, which Coffer had to yield to the Marshals. Finally the armory, containing weapons, armaments, and power tools too large for the repair lab, was situated below both the tech and living sector and accessible from both.
Naomi had grown accustomed to having some free space, having served aboard Ship’s Cure going on for three years now. But that was when the typical mission crew was thirty personnel or less, not sixty people. The space was cramped. The whole ship. No matter where Naomi went there was no space that did not have a group of people occupying it. It was as though they were fish packed as tightly as possible into a can and then launched into space.
“Chief Engineer Abbot,” a soft accented voice called out to her. By now the voice was familiar to Naomi, it belonged to Felme Vamahn, an Opaline delegate.
“Yes, Felme Vamahn? I imagine this about the new control system I want to install?” Naomi turned to face her. Felme was the genius responsible for the creation of The Long Hand’s unique engine. Felme was not quite how Naomi had imagined the infamous person known for creating revolutionary weapons for The Opaline Crowns’ military some two-hundred years ago. Felme was even different from the other members of the delegation. Something in the way the other delegates walked and moved was eerily similar to how the Marshals walked and moved. An uncanny, sure deftness or precision– absolute control over their bodies. It was movement of utmost discipline Naomi realized after nearly a month of observation.
But Felme did not have the same quality. She moved clumsily by comparison, the same way that normal humans move. Unlike normal humans but like all Opal people, she was well over 180 centimeters, probably about 195 centimeters which only served to emphasize her awkwardness. She was relatively slender, especially compared to the others in the delegation, who even through the mask of their clothing were lithe and well knit– but not as muscular as the Marshals who were akin to walking– flying– human tanks. In a fashion, Felme reminded Naomi of some young, awkward animal she had seen at some zoo as a child. Giraffes, is that what they were called? A giraffe calf? That sounded right, but she was not completely sure. But as if to offset this awkwardness, Felme was clearly beautiful.
Opal people glimmered. More accurately they were iridescent. As such, Felme, like the other Opal people, was covered head to toe where the only exposed part of body was around her eyes. But that alone was enough to discern her beauty. Her skin was of the most pale and beautiful iridescent indigo. From what could be seen of her hair, only her eyebrows, at first glance appeared black but upon closer inspection one could tell that her hair was a deep royal violet. When the light caught her hair, it would show a myriad of colors.
But her eyes were the most shocking. Two rings of glowing azure. Naomi was sure Opal people’s eyes actually glowed in the dark, but she could not be sure. She had never seen them in the dark. What would have been the “whites” of Felme’s eyes if she were human were a lighter, paler shade of blue. The iris of her eyes were larger than human eyes but not so much that the sclera could not be seen, still human looking enough. Felme’s eyes were almond shaped and were further accentuated by the natural upturn of her eyes, a feature which, from what Naomi could tell, all Opal people shared as well. Their eyes were reminiscent of lions’ eyes in a way. Piercing and transfixing. Felme, even with her clumsiness, could, unintentionally it seemed, spook Naomi for a moment, freezing her in place with a passing glance.
Similar to the other members of the Opal delegation, Felme was dressed in a cowl with a veil that hid most of her face and what appeared to be one single piece of beige cloth that was intricately wrapped around her entire body. The only other discernible pieces of clothing were her polished brown leather knee high boots and elbow length gloves. The other Opaline Crown delegates hung their weapons–a smattering of daggers and knives, and a peculiar broad blade that curved forward rather than backwards opposite the cutlasses and heavy knives that many Marshals used–from wide leather belts that buckled from the rear. However, none of the Opal people wore anything resembling a firearm unlike the Marshals who all three wore their pistol and sword at all times. Naomi surmised that Opal delegates had them stowed somewhere in their belongings. Unlike the other members of the delegation, Felme wore no weapons and no belt.
“Chief Engineer Abbot?” Felme asked, breaking Naomi out of her stupor.
“Ah… Yes, Specialist Vamahn… sorry I… I got lost in thought. You were saying?” Naomi said, a bit embarrassed. Felme let out a musical chuckle bringing her hand daintily to her mouth as if to cover her smile which was already hidden behind a veil.
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She cleared her throat, “I was saying that it may not be necessary–actually best not to install a completely new system. However, if we do need to install a new control system we may …” she thought for a moment finding the right word, “be in deep trouble? Is that correct?” Felme asked. Her voice was sultry and manner slow, her smooth, flowy accent enhanced these qualities.
“How so?” Naomi asked. “I know the engine and all its systems are unique–one of a kind. But from my own understanding of the systems the biggest concern is that the control systems for the engine are also linked to the communication system. For whatever reason I can’t imagine,” she said, waving her hand about. “I want to make them independent of each other; we are, after all, on our way to the Hand after its communication systems seemingly failed.”
“Well, this is true…” Felme replied, one arm folded under the under, and the one hand grasping her concealed chin, her brow furrowed in thought. Apparently the “thinking pose” is near universal, Naomi thought. “However, I fear the two are inextricably linked. The core is what enables the vessel's unique communication prowess, not just its ability to move an entire fleet across the galaxy in mere moments.”
“Ah… I didn't know the two were so entwined. That information was not in any documents I read, but it makes sense when you say it that way,” Naomi replied.
“Well that would be because only we–'' a snap and hiss from one of the other delegates, a tall female whose raiment hardly hid her muscular body, silenced Felme immediately. Felme, realizing her error, hid her face from Naomi in embarrassment. The delegate moved to where Naomi and Felme stood. The delegate’s strides were so smooth it was as though she were gliding on air toward them.
“Felme,” the interloper said with barely hidden disdain, “You will speak no more with this… this bobolyne,” she jeered. Felme gasped, clearly horrified. Naomi had no clue what that meant.
“What did you say?” A voice far in the rear cut through the air as the Opal interloper flung her insult. Naomi felt a knot form in her throat. A Page, June, heatedly marched to the growing group. June was somewhere just over two-hundred years old, the youngest Page aboard with the exception of the boy. His face still retained its youth and had yet to adopt the unsettling, uncanny agelessness that all Marshals and Pages eventually developed. His curly, fiery red hair was expertly slicked back. His beard was trimmed and neat, but was darker, almost brown. He had a strong hawk nose that sat just below a set of dark eyes barely bridling his rage. His shapely lips were pulled tight into a snarl.
The Page was dressed in vestments of rich green embroidered with gold thread. At the center of his chest sewn in fine gold thread was a green and gold dragon midleap as it spewed fire– the symbol of The Erroldrakes. But displayed proudly on the collar of the outermost garment of his vestments was the Tassel and Star of Ordis– a survivor of the Ordis Massacre, the first event in a collection of events named The Second Adamant-Opaline War. Naomi knew the distinction by sight as one graced the mantel of her father's house, a kind of family heirloom.
The Second Adamant-Opaline War was a mere two-hundred years ago. The war was no doubt fresh in the minds of both the Marshals, their entourage, and the Crowns’ delegation. The only thing that had ceased hostilities between the two was a common foe in The Great Unity. But there was no Great Unity onboard Ship’s Cure. Marshal Dela–a Second Commander of a warband, Firehawks, and the marshal leading the mission to The Long Hand– was the only person who could stop a brewing storm, but she was at helm peacefully resolving the fight between Cooper and Coffer the marshal way. That is to say through fear and intimidation.
“Thassua!” Felme said appalled. “I’m sorry she did not mean–”
“Silence, Felme!” Thassua, the interloper, interrupted.
“I asked you: What did you say?” June said, seething. Thassua tilted her head and crossed her arms haughtily, no one could actually see her smile but it was clear she was. Naomi noticed that Thassua crossed her arms in such a manner that her hand was within reach of the hilt of her sword, her fingers a breadth’s width away. June saw her hands position too, but was not deterred in the slightest. Thassua stood an easy two-hundred-and-ten centimeters, a full head taller than June, but he remained unintimidated. He was, after all, a Page of The Erroldrakes. Naomi glanced around. Every person in the room, Page, Auxiliary, (Naomi was the only normal human in the room), and several members of the Opaline Crown Delegation were standing now poised to draw their weapons. Only Naomi and Felme had yet to take any action.
“I called her a bobolyne,” Thassua said nastily.
“Thassua, you need to sto–”
“I told you to be quiet, Felme.” Thassua spat.
“That’s what I thought you said,'' June said, taking Thassua’s attention back. “You putrid scum skin,” he said vilely. Thassua let out a contemptuous chuckle, her hand fully gripping the hilt of her sword, but yet to draw it. June’s hands had a faint shimmer about them. Not a glow, but more like the air warped around them, the way the air warps above an intense heat source.
Naomi broke in, trying to stop the groups from coming to blows, blows that could destroy the ship, “Page June, I’m not insulted. You don’t have to–”
“HA! The bobolyne seeks to undermine her better!” Thassua guffawed. At that, June’s face twisted. Naomi felt the knot in her throat twist too. The shimmer around the page’s hands flared. Thassua drew her sword leaping back into a fighting stance shouting curses in her native tongue prodding June to action.
“I have been wanting for a fight for too long!” Thassua said in a warped glee. To her horror Naomi looked around and saw everyone in the room with weapons drawn; she looked to Felme and saw a look of dread that was doubtless the same face Naomi wore. Page June raised his hands slowly, the air around his hands warping furiously. Thassua’s sword slowly pulled back to deliver a devastating cut.
No. They were not moving slowly, Naomi realized. Everything was in slow motion as her mind shifted into overdrive, processing everything as fast as it could. The blood rushing in her ears drowned out all other sound, deafening her. She saw Felme moving toward her. Has Felme decided to attack me now? She thought to herself. No, the look in her eyes isn’t right. Is that concern? She’s trying to save me. How kind, Naomi concluded. Contrary to Felme, she could see the pure joy in Thassua’s eyes as she moved to cut Page June in half– pure fury filled his eyes. Maybe I should have gone into politics like my father wanted, Naomi mused. Too late now, she thought.
Everything went dark–no she had just closed her eyes. Her ears rang distantly. A single warbling note. Then it stopped. Naomi counted her breaths. One, then two, and then a third. There were no sounds of violence. The sound rang, hung in the air a moment, then stopped. Then rang again. Naomi opened her eyes. Felme’s arms were wrapped around her, holding her to protect to her. Every soul in the room stood stiff. The ring chimed again.
“How strange!” A musical voice said. There was a pinging sound followed by another warbling ring. Naomi craned her neck around to see who the new addition to this mess was. It was The Boy. A look of pure amusement marked his face. He was completely in his own world, unaware of the events unfolding in the room. He caught the big white metal coin, a medallion, in his hand. He flicked into the air again; his eyes tracked the medallion while all other eyes tracked him.
“Ah! I’m right!” He exclaimed, at which several people jumped. The medallion hung in the air, turning in place, dangling there for far longer than it should have naturally. “The gravity is artificial, obviously, but it’s also not consistent,” he observed. The coin then, as if suddenly remembering gravity, fell from where it hung in the air and back into his waiting hand. “Is the gravity somehow extremely localized? Is it some sort of smart system?” He wondered aloud, his eyes closed deep in thought, his arms folded. “Now that I really think about it, is it actually floor-contact based? Yes, that seems more likely… which means there is a secondary system in place to drop objects that are out of contact,” he accurately deduced.
Naomi was impressed. Ship’s Cure’s artificial gravity was indeed based on floor contact, and did have a system in the ceilings to detect and lower any object that was no longer in contact with the floor or in contact with another object in contact with the floor. The Boy then opened his eyes, with a mild look of surprise, he took notice of everyone else in the room for the first time. Naomi, still in the protective embrace of Felme, felt Felme tighten her hold as The Boy’s gaze passed over everyone in the room.
“What are you doing?” He asked. Naomi felt Felme jolt when he spoke. She looked around the room, everyone was frozen stiff, daring not even to breathe. It was as if they all saw something that Naomi was not seeing. As if instead of a boy they were in the presence of some terrible monster. The mirage around Page June’s hands had evaporated and beads of sweat littered his face and forehead. One of the Opal delegates lost his nerve with the slightest twitch. The Boy’s gaze snapped to him, causing him to freeze again and break out in a profuse sweat, soaking his clothing.
Naomi could not figure what had them all so scared. She looked at The Boy with his brown hair and brown eyes in his pure white vestments and saw the medallion as he turned it in his fingers. She inspected it as close as she could given the circumstances. The medallion was the rank insignia of a Second Commander–Marshal Dela’s rank insignia. Even though she was only a Second Commander, Marshal Dela was widely considered one the most powerful wyrding users, if not the most powerful, in the Adamancy and similar to Page June she also hung The Tassel and Star of Ordis from her belt. No Opal wanted to challenge her, and no Page nor Auxiliary wanted to receive her censure.
The Boy turned to face Thassua. She held his gaze. For a moment. Two. Three. Drops of sweat began to pour down her face. She broke, casting her gaze away from his. The Boy snorted softly. He turned away and trotted off. Wordlessly, Thassua sheathed her sword and the others followed. Page June awoke from his stupor, mopped his forehead with his sleeve and returned to where he had been sitting in the back, the other Pages and Auxiliaries followed his example.
“Felme? Are you alright now?” Naomi asked. Felme came to herself with a small “Oh!” and then shyly let go of Naomi. “I think we should resume our discussion later,” Naomi said kindly.
“Yes, agreed,” Felme replied, letting out a sigh, still shaken. Gripping her right arm as though she were in pain, Felme soundlessly moved past Naomi toward the control sector. She looked around the room. Watching them. If they found no seat, they slumped to the floor, all strength robbed from their legs. They all wiped sweat from their faces with sleeves and cloths. No one spoke. Some drank with a thirst so intense it was as if they had just escaped the desert. They exchanged nervous glances. Some mustered enough courage to glance in the direction that The Boy had wandered off. Naomi took a deep breath and exhaled and then made her way to her original destination. Her bed.
Naomi finally got to her room, the one she shared typically with Cooper, but two others, a Page and an Auxiliary, also bunked in the room with them for the duration of the mission. However, she was currently alone. Finally. Naomi unlocked the bed from its stowed position in the wall, lowering it. She sat on the edge and sighed.
Naomi took off her stuffy uniform and laid down under the sheets. She brought up her holopad and scrolled the news. Extremists who broke off from The Great Unity, called such by the so-called prophets of The Great Unity, had launched a slew of new attacks on the fringe worlds of the Adamancy. Several Marshal Warbands were being mobilized, pulled away from the core worlds. According to the pundit, the Adamancy was preparing for a resumption of full scale conflict with the Great Unity. Naomi scrolled.
The grandson of the Adamant, a distant heir of House Alaine, was missing, presumed kidnapped. But the report had come from an anonymous source and not the Adamant Throne. She scrolled.
The wife and daughter of Aagax Thiv, head of the Thiv Family, an Opaline based crime syndicate, were missing. Presumed dead. Probably the work of some of Thassua’s associates, she thought. Then she thought of The Boy, whose face and features she suddenly could not remember. Oh well. She scrolled.
The Prime Minister managed to push a mountain of legislation, including an increase in military spending, through both The Establishment and The Representation. Probably preparing for the war that other news story was talking about. She scrolled.
The Justiciars announced a formal goodwill delegation to the seceded House of Thorn and its territories. A thousand years late, Naomi thought. She scrolled.
People were reporting mass grave robbery across several well settled planets. Entire graveyards had been dug up of the bodies. Creepy, she thought, then scrolled.
The two Queens, The Opaline Crowns, had decided on their successors, and would be making an appearance at the coming Adamancy Founding celebration. She scrolled.
She sighed again, closed the news, and stared blankly at the blank holoframe. She took a deep breath. Tapped a few things. Then a recording popped up on screen.
“Naomi, it’s me. I miss you,” Adrian’s voice came through the recording, nearly in tears. “If only I could speak with you. I need to talk to you. Make everything right again. I’m sorry.”