The sleek black ships began to enter the planet's atmosphere, the flaming trails created on entry visible across the night sky. Brutal was sitting in the Starship Control Towers headquarters, sweating profusely.
“We knew they entered the sector, but why are they here?” he asked.
“No idea, Sir. It was only in the past yhuse that they sent their entry pattern to us.” Nothji replied.
“Very strange. Very strange indeed. Any previous visit by the Gods has always been announced.” he replied, flustered and nervous. He was sweating so much that the fur on his brow was matted.
“Send an immediate message to Ambassador Wruti; make him aware,” Brutal said.
“Will do,” Nothji replied as he began reciting into his message terminal.
“Lorpof.” Brutal bellowed.
Lorpof flew into the central control room from the observation deck where he had been staring at the entry trails, “Yes, sir?”
“Get down to the landing pad now and ensure it is pristine. You have less than a quarter of a yhuse before they will land.”
“On it. Sir,” Lorpof replied, sprinting to the chute. He jumped inside the attached pod, his body weight supported by the gravitational field and asked to go to the landing deck. The gravitational pod detached from the chute's side and plummeted downwards. The Starship Control Tower was the tallest building in Werthij, standing at over four thousand feet, but it only took him moments inside the pod to arrive at the landing deck.
The landing crew sprung from where they had been sitting, seeing the imposing form of Lorpof spring from the pod. He was one of the chief controllers; if he was down here, it must be something serious.
“We have Gods inbound. Get this place sorted out now.” he bellowed at the landing crew.
“Gods?” one of them asked as he recalled the fuelling cables. They usually left them out to save time on refuelling, but safety protocols stated they should be withdrawn for landings.
“Yes. Gods, are you deaf as well as stupid.” Lorpof snapped, “You have under a quarter of a yhuse before they land and get the holomatting laid.”
“Yes sir.” a chorus of replies came back.
Dralcor had not informed the authorities until he was due to enter the atmosphere. He did not want anything getting in his way concerning finding the memory disc’s source. He had only sent the message out of courtesy, as he did not need to justify why he would visit any planet in the universe. It was theirs, after all.
The four sleek black ships began their entry routine to Werthij. ‘Not long, and we will be on the ground and can start getting to the bottom of this.’ he thought as he climbed from his cradle. Stretching his lithe form and feeling the exoskeletal suit they always wore creak slightly. He was required to get a new one soon. The one he wore was his favourite, and he had worn it for over a millennium. Nanosuits were the best invention their race had ever developed. All bodily functions were controlled and monitored instantly. Any slight variation in temperature sustenance needs, or even biological waste, was dealt with instantly. They still ate and drank like other races but could, if necessary, survive on the suit recycling capability for up to 5PT.
He walked through to the sentinel compartment and checked their data feeds. The sentinels he had brought were their elites. They were only ever dispatched for critical missions. Each stood over three metres in height and was based on their racial heritage of humans. The sentinels were knowledgeable in every combat form known within the universe. There was no lifeform alive that could stand up to their formidable power. Each sentinel had its own AI controller. Dralcor had cultivated his personal AI for over 70000PT, which was as much him as himself. It could outthink him at times. His AI could control the sentinels and run them independently from their installed AIs if he wished. Usually, there was no need as each AI had been specifically cultivated under his guidance for the sentinels.
As they approached, he looked out of the cockpit at the capital's lights. It was so ugly compared to home—mismatched buildings with the ugly Starhip Control Tower at its centre. He hated these backwater planets.
The four ships entered their landing pattern with their precise formation and a synchronised touchdown, astounding the landing crew, who stood to attention at the side of the deck. As soon as the ships landed, the holomatting mapped routes to their entries, and the landing deck turned a purple hue, the chosen colour of the Royal Throne.
Ambassador Wruti stood perfectly straight. His colossal chest pushed forward to attention as the doors opened and the landing ramps unfurled. There had been no identification of which of the Gods had come, not that it mattered. Any God visiting the city would usually be huge news and celebrated.
He watched Dralcor walk down from his ship as three other Gods followed suit from theirs. His heart nearly stopped at his sight. Dralcor was the God of War. There was no other God who was feared more than he was. His wrath was legendary, and he had vanquished hundreds of planets over the PTs. He nearly tripped as he walked towards him, catching himself and bowing deeply.
“Your Highness. What brings you to our lowly planet?” he asked.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“I have no time for civility. I require to see the Scriber immediately.”
“The Scriber? Why would Your Highness lower yourself to deal with such an insignificant function.”
“I have already said I have no time for civility. I want to see the Scriber now.” Dralcor said, in an emotionless tone, still looking at the Ambassadors back where he was still bowing. “And stand up.”
Wruti stood upright, his height now dwarfing that of Dralcor. Wruti was a huge Apelore standing nearly two and a half metres tall. He was exceedingly strong, and the muscles bulged on his arms and across his chest, stretching his formal tunic.
“I will get the Scriber for you now, your Highness. Can I please offer you refreshments while we await his arrival,” Wruti stepped sideways and offered Dralcor towards the entrance hall.
Dralcor did not need refreshments, but refusing would do no benefit, so he walked into the entrance hall with his companions. He could tell he had taken them off guard with his arrival. There was none of the usual pomp and ceremony that he had suffered on other planets. He could not abide small talk or socialising. Some of his kind did, but he had never. The table pulled into the entrance was covered with a Royal purple cloth and held Placetius’s crest emblazoned on it. The fabric was still creased and must have been removed from storage at short notice. This made him smile inside.
His companions stood silently with him as they picked at some of the plates of food laid out for them. He had tasted most food types over time, and nothing here appealed to him. “Do you have Karsh Juice?” he said, turning to Wruti.
“I am not sure, Your Highness. I will enquire at once,” Wruti replied, bowing and walking over to one of the staff at the side of the room. Whispering harshly at him, the Apelore hurried off. He reappeared a short while later carrying a large jug of karsh juice and offered a glass to Dralcor. He took the glass without saying anything and drank it before spitting it back out.
“This karsh juice had gone past its best,” he said flatly.
If Wurti could have gone white, he would have. “I am so sorry, Your Highness, please forgive me. I will get more immediately.” he backed off, bowing before turning and running to the kitchens.
That brought a smile to Dralcor’s lips, only feint, but it still appeared momentarily. There had been nothing wrong with the karsh juice. He just wanted to make a point. Wurti returned after a short time with another glass and presented it to him. “I have just watched this be freshly prepared, Your Highness. I hope it is to your liking?” he asked again, bowing.
Dralcor took the glass and drank from it, savouring the flavour. He did not comment.
Dralcor could hear a commotion outside the entrance hall, and moments later, the doors flew inwards, and an ancient Apelore walked in using a cane. “What is all this nonsense about calling me here at this hour?” Nityu the Scribber said.
“Ah. Nityu, you are here welcome. Please come and meet our Heavenly representatives.” Wruti said, glaring at the old Apelore.
“I don’t care which heaven they come from. It is the middle of the night, and I have been dragged out of my bed to come and talk about my duties. Now who wants to see me.” Nityu hunched over, leaning on his cane as he pottered towards Wurti and the stranger. He reached the pair and looked up, pushing his glasses up his broad bridged nose. He could have had eye surgery to correct his vision but had always preferred glasses. “And you are?”
“I am Dralcor the Thrones emissary and wish to converse with you,” he replied.
“And I am Nityu, and I do not care whose emissary you are. So what is so important to grab an old Apelore from his bed at this hour?”
Dralcor liked this Apelore. Very few ever spoke to him or any of his kind with such candour, which was refreshing. “Can we take a seat so you can rest your old bones, and we can talk?” Dralcor offered, indicating to some seating at the side of the hall. Nityu made his way over and sat in one of the seats. The seats were Apelore-sized, so for Dralcor to sit in one would have made him appear even smaller, so he remained standing.
“I understand you sent a recent communique to Treglacoric; possibly eleven cinteps past now?”
“I did. Yes. Why is there a problem with the information it contained?”
“No. Nothing of the sort. I am, in fact, after some further details if that is possible.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Who passed you the message to send?”
“It came from the leader of Hurtyis, one of our Juty spaceports.”
“Did you view the message?”
“No. Why would I ever view the messages? I am only a Scribber. I just ensure the information is transmitted to the correct locations depending upon the details I receive.”
“So you have no idea of the contents of the message?”
“None why? Should I have?”
“No. Not at all. I just needed to ensure you had not viewed the recording.”
“Do you know why the leader of Hurtyis would have asked for that specific message to be transmitted?”
“None. I do not care for the reasons for the messages. I only ensure they get where they are supposed to go.”
“Thank you for your time, Master Scribber.”
“Was that it? I got dragged out of bed just to be asked that?”
Dralcor let out a rare chuckle. It was an unnatural sound. “Yes. Master Scribber, that is all. You may go now.”
“Well, I am going back to bed,” Nityu said, struggling to his feet using his cane before hobbling back to the exit.
Wurti stood in absolute shock. He had not followed the pair as they went to talk at the side of the hall, but the fact that the God of War had just chuckled scared him more than anything else. Dralcor walked back over to the Ambassador. “We will be leaving now.”
“Already?” Wurti said in shock.
“Yes. We will be heading straight over to Hurtyis.”
“Are you sure you do not wish to stay? We have the best rooms in the city available for you if you wish?”
“No. That will be all.” Dralcor answered as he turned and walked back towards the landing deck, his three companions immediately placing their plates down and following him. Over their secure neural network, the four Gods had been communicating the whole time, so they knew what Dralcor was asking and what he had been informed.
Wurti hurried after the Gods as they returned to their ships, showering them in praise and seeking forgiveness for the Master Scribber and the juice incident. Dralcor and the others did not respond as they boarded their ships and took off.