NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: Well, this is just a wee flesh-out of my nation. A teensy-tiny character RP. Of course, my characters shall be re-useable, of that there is no doubt. Comments are welcome, of course.

IC: "So.. yeah. I haven't seen hide nor hair of that payment Grinan promised us."

"Sonovabitch. Thinks he can get away with not paying us, does he?"

Jallin sighed. He and his partner, Sonya, were your average spaceborne entrepeneurs. Poor, cheated at every turn, and yet, against all odds, still somewhat hopeful. They owned a small gunship-turned-freighter, named the Malvar Bear, and they also owned three mortgages on her.

They had a sum of eight hundred creditdollars between them, and a debt of sixteen thousand to be paid by the end of the week. And that, of course, was only this year's interest. So far, things looked pretty grim. Two weeks ago, they'd done a bit of escort work for a certain Captain Grinan, who wanted them to act as a decoy for a few pirates he'd been hunting. He'd promised them a sizeable sum - 45,000 creditdollars, an old, but serviceable ansible set, and a small shuttlecraft.

They'd succeeded - and the Bear had taken heavy damage. At that point, Grinan skipped off, leaving them literally in the lurch. Sonya swore. "If I ever find that k'tallsk, I swear there won't be a whole bone left in his body by the end of-"

"Quiet. I'm thinking."

Sonya sunk into silence, surprised by her partner's rebuke. Jallin was generally a cheerful man, and although she would've delivering a scathing reply to any other man, Jallin's morose behaviour was slightly too surprising to allow her to do that.

She smiled brightly. "It's not so bad, eh? At the very least, we can skip out of the Starfederation, and take refuge in one of those governments pissed off by the Dominion Accords. God knows there's enough of them!"

His frown only deepened. "Sonya.. we might have to. It's.. pretty bad."

It was at this oppurtune moment that the gunship's message bank lit up, signalling that new mail had arrived.

NEW MAIL! FROM: Colonial Ministry; Vice-Minister Yatein
OPEN? Y/N

Jallis wearily stabbed his index finger at the glowing 'Y' symbol, and a crisp, white background was brought up, the black text of the message flickering onto it a moment later.

- -
Jallis and Sonya. This is Yatein. You have been useful to us in the past - and you may be so again. Due to your success at locating former Minister Barlein, and allowing us to liquidate his assets to pay off his outstanding debts, we feel that you are well-suited to this task.

We are willing to pay 125,000 credits - a quarter in advance. Before you accept, however, let me detail the mission. As you know, the Starfederation contains more colonies than it can adequately police - those little settlements of a few thousand people on the various worlds and moons that are inconsequential to the health of the Starfederation, who occasionally come to a major world to trade for supplies. Despite their semi-autonomy, they are still under our jurisdiction, and requests for aid must be granted.

Lord-Mayor Yobbin Tel-Rose, leader of a small city on the second moon of Ibeas VII, has been reporting.. strange incidences. He suspects political activists of some kind, and believes they may be trying to destablize government there. Although his request is probably a wild goose chase, not responding will weaken the faith of the colonies in the Starfederation.

As such, we want you to perform a full investigation, and hopefully root out any criminal activity there, if any such exists. For the duration of the mission, you will be granted plenipotentiary lawkeeping powers, guaranteed under Tyrant Golheas's new laws. Although there are a few limits, you will be authorized to kill, should you be endangered, and use necessary violence and threats to achieve your goals. Of course, we'll need to impant minor brain-scan units, and retinal scrubbing units, allowing us to verify the truth of your claims.

You will have to take your own ship to the system - with the Accords in place, none can be spared at the current moment. Should you choose to accept, merely hit the farlink at the bottom of this message.

FARLINK

Yours in good faith and servitude, Vice-Minister Conmar Yatein
- -

The message ended. Jallin looked over at Sonya. Their eyes met, and, after a brief moment, she nodded. "A quarter on good faith will let us pay off the immediate debts. The rest.. well, we might be able to repair this old rig."

He tapped the glowing blue text with a finger, and a vidscreen was immediately brought up, the ugly, small face of Conmar Yatein facing them. His voice was surprisingly melodious and soothing, although his assorted warts and pimples were not.

"Ah, Jallin. Sonya. Excellent. I believe the netmail informed you of everything you needed to know, yes? Very good, then. Get going. You can drop out of the wormgate network at... Solimar, there's a branch of the Sector Enforcers there. We'll manufacture your proof-of-identity, and everything else you need. Get going, now."

The 'screen shut off. Jallin looked over at Sonya - she was already manipulating the controls of the Malvar Bear, nudging the ageing freighter out of the stardock, and towards the nearby wormgate. Travel via hyperspace was prohibitively expensive, especially considering the cost in energy for the ship. He smiled. Maybe they had a chance after all.


On the other side of the vidscreen, Conmar rubbed his hands together anxiously. Three incidents. Three worlds. Six of his finest investigators missing. No trace of them, their ship, or even any evidence they had arrived at the worlds they had been delegated to. The three worlds in the systems nearest to Ibeas VII. He felt a flash of guilt - sending two underarmed and underinformed agents into a mission where his best and brightest had failed not once, but thrice.

He calmed himself. After all, those two had an incredible knack for survival. Oblivious to the danger he had put them in the last few times he'd contracted them, they'd pulled through every time, not only surviving, but completing their missions beyond his expectations. He wasn't sending them off to die - he was merely trying an unorthodox method. Thinking outside the box, as it were.

He dimmed the lights in his room, and stood up, picking up some papers, in preparation to leave. Something flickered behind him. Years of instinct honing his senses, he whirled around. It was only a shadow. An.. oddly shaped shadow. He sighed. Reaching to open the door, the flicker came again.

Again, his head snapped around. The shadow was peculiarly-shaped, clawed, and with.. an inordinate number of arms. No doubt someone deciding to play a prank on the Vice-Minister of Colonization, trying to show their contempt for the government. The shadow moved.

Ignoring his, he moved purposefully towards the door, and stated, loudly, as so to reassure himself. "Damned tricks. When I find out who's at the bottom of this, I'll see them hung upside and whipped until there's no skin left on their bones!"

He breathed in deeply, reached out, looking down at the door, and flipped the button. The door hissed open. Curtly, he brought his gaze up, and froze.

And then he screamed...

"He's not answering, Sonya."

Sonya smiled. "He's one of the top government officials, you know. There are around four hundred systems our little Starfederation lays claim to, and he's in charge of around half of them. Dealing with minor dignitaries, reviewing cases of corruption, hiring businesspeople such as ourselves to go investigate where Starfederation authority may be less useful, or unwelcome... The poor bastard has his hands full every damn day of the week. Besides, we'll be informed once we reach Solimar, eh?"

Jallin grimaced. "Still. I wish he'd answer."

"Those creds have been transferred, haven't they? Relax, Jallin. Maybe he's decided to have the day off."

Jallin sighed. "Fine, then. Prepare for wormgate transit, m'lady."

With a sardonic half-bow from his seat, the ship was sucked into a formless rip in spacetime, his words stretched and mangled before they reached her. Moments later, the stretching sensation ceased, and the ship reappeared, outside the wormgate in Solimar.

He looked at a small blinking icon on the navigation console.

"Eight hours, Sonya. Not bad, not bad at all, for civilian wormgating. They must've finally put those new upgrades through. Last time we came through here, it took us.. what was it? Almost a week?"

She smiled. She was a pretty woman, so far as such things were judged. Of course, Jallin's relationship with her was strictly business. She'd expected it to be different, at first - two lonely people in the depths of space.. the holovid soap operas were full of that. But they'd always been far too busy, thinking, fighting, always too busy doing to be able to find the time for a relationship.

Besides, Jallin was a bit shorter than she was - the legacy of a high-G world, and he was too cheerful. Rarely sarcastic, and often overly friendly, she found that she liked the man, but she certainly had no feelings for him.

"This is the Malvar Bear, on ColMin business. We're here for mission.. 365BBX."

"Acknowledged, Bear. This is DefMin Station 551, colloquially named the Steaming Dragon. Please transmit mission codes."

"Mission codes transmitting.. our personal code is 556614 Rayvan-Morris."

"Accepted, Malvar Bear. Please move to Docking Ring 6. Our representative will take you from there."

That was the formalities out of the way, at least. Remembering their personal ID-code wasn't difficult, and the million-character strings that comprised mission codes couldn't really be remembered - they were just transmitted to the ship's databanks, which sent them on when they were needed.

She moved one of the joysticks to the left, clicking a button to hold it in place. "Computer, maintain current speed until we reach Outlying Zone 3. Drop speed to one-third at that point, and reduce it down to 0.5% by the time we reach Outlying Zone 1. Take us in to co-ords DR6-XXV-775-773, and initiate docking protocols. Lower all weaponry and shields."

A beep was the only acknowledgement given - a human could often act erratically enough to give someone the edge in space combat, but the delicate and intensely dangerous task of docking a multi-thousand tonne starship with an expotentially larger station, both of which containing volatile antimatter and matter-annihilation reactions, was best done by a computer. In fact, it was illegal to do it manually, now, ever since the Vaureen Disaster.

She sat back, glancing over at Jallin. He glanced back, and smiled. It was the first time today she'd seen him smile - a sign that he was getting back to his normal cheery self. It was at that time that the ship's vidscreen beeped, bringing up a news announcement.

Blue. Blue with green writing. That meant it was private news, and not to be spread. Relevent to their mission - Jallin had their ship's computer, in moments of idleness, search the nets for anything related to their mission, in even an offhand way. Blue with green writing was the highest clearance for information they had - so it was going to be important.

The message stared at him in the face.

"Vice-Minister for Colonization, Conmar Yatein, found dead!"

"This morning, the Vice-Minister for Colonization, Conmar Yatein, was found dead, outside of his own office. Given a thorough investigation, it was discovered that no security systems had been breached in any obvious manner, although the camera systems caught no glimpse of his death."

The newscaster's voice was blaring. He stabbed a button, changing the voice into text.

The Vice-Minister was horribly mutilated, and disembowled. It is believed that this murder was committed by the Children of the Stars, who have protested the existence of the Starfederation since its founding. Although no official response has been gained from the renegade group, the Tyrant is believed to be penning a new Act...

He shut it off. And she looked at him. He looked at her. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, caught in the horror of the moment. He tenatively raised a hand, and looked at it. He turned it over, looking at the back of his hand as though it were the most intruiging thing in the world.

"Malvar Bear, this is DefMin Station 551. We request that you change your course to Docking Ring 1."

The message shocked them out of their brief reverie. Docking Ring 1, in any Starfederation station, was the ring designed to both keep a ship safe, and to allow their owners maximum access to their ship in times of trouble. Normally, it was reserved for the most vital transports, and foreign dignitaries.

She nodded. "...yes.. I mean, acknowledged... ColMin Station."

The ship glided easily into the innermost docking ring, doors hissing open as the chamber alongside their ship pressurized. They walked out. A man was there to greet them. He nodded courteously. "The Captain wishes to speak with you."

He turned, and walked curtly away. Having no choice but to follow him, Jallin and Sonya did so. Station gravity was peculiar, changing in certain corridors, the gravgenerators there working overtime in order to a modicum of reality about them. But having central gravity on a station so small wouldn't work - you would be constantly falling. Thus, the station was square, and each side had an individual gravity generator. Expensive, but convinient.

They walked behind the man, his shaved, bald head all they could see of him, remnants of inky tattoes remaining there - The Fleet didn't approve of tattoes, no doubt why he had tried to remove them.

A door slid open silently. The man gestured, and the two walked inside. The door closed again, and a woman spoke. "Greetings. I'm Captain Staria. Sit down, please."

They turned to face her. Two utilitarian seats were placed in front of her desk. Jallin walked forward quickly, and sat down. Sonya hesitated briefly.. and sat down. There seemed to be little other choice.

"Well, then. You obviously know of what's happened - you have the clearance, and your reputation for information-gathering precedes you. But what's happened.. changes everything."

"Oh?"

A polite, simple word from Jallin - and the Captain continued to speak. A large woman, she was taller than both Jallin and Sonya, and wider, too. She was not fat, of course, merely muscular. She smiled tautly.

"Indeed. A highly-placed Minister has been killed. Normally, this would be a matter of considerable concern. However... he was killed without trace. And killed horrible. Understandably, other highly-placed officials are demanding protection, and security has been doubled. The investigation into the planet you have been sent to has been suspended, under orders of the Tyrant himself."

"Oh!"

Jallin's look of shock was unfeigned - in a matter such as this, normally the authority would be eager to get to the bottom of things.

"Yes. Before you were contracted, three of the finest EnfMin teams were sent in to investigate surrounding colonies, with similiar concerns from their leaders. We haven't heard back from them since. The Minister knew precisely what he was doing when he contracted you - he was sending you out to die, most probably. But he's dead, now, so that doesn't really matter. What does matter is.. this."

She took a deep breath, her neat, short-cropped hair facing the two as her head bent downwards.

"I want to contract you myself. I can offer double the fee - and, better yet, DefMin privileges. You'd become soldiers for a brief period of time - I can equip you with some stuff I'm not strictly allowed to give to our soldiers."

Jallin looked at her, eyes slits. "Why are you doing this for us?"

"Hm?"

"I said, why are you doing this? Why pay us this money, why let us go in there? You just said that all government aid in this matter was recalled!"

"It-it doesn't really-"

Having found a weakness, Jallin pushed on. "Tell me. It's obvious that you're paying for this out of your own pocket. You have to be. You admitted as much!"

Stammering, she looked at him, and then spoke, quietly. "..he was my husband."

"Pardon?"

"One of the EnfMin teams. Enforcement Ministry agent. One of the top ones. He was sent in to Ibeas VII to investigate. He didn't come back. He was my husband, damnit!"

Jallin nodded, embarrassed. "..ah. Very well, then. Sonya, what do you think?"

Sonya shook her head. "Uh-uh. We may be low on cash, but we're also full up on life. The worst the banks can do is break our knees. These guys have taken out EnfMin teams! Those guys are the elite of the elite! I saw a few of them take down about fifty terrorists in a few minutes! What are we going to do against people who can get rid of them."

"Please! You're the only team I can assign to this. Anyone else, and I have to admit I was going against orders! If I send you, I can just state the news reached me late!"

Jallin looked at her. And a smile quirked across his face. "Quadruple payment. And we'll be taking a DefMin ship. You'll repair ours while it's here."

"Fine."

The sudden capitulation made him suspicious. "Up-front, Captain."

Sonya spoke. "Jallin, no. I don't give a damn how much money we'll make, I'm not going to go to some godforsaken plane-"

Jallin looked at her, winked, and hissed. "Up-front, Sonya."

She looked back. "Okay, then. I accept. I.. guess."

The Captain nodded. Her uniform and her size no longer made her seem so significant, she was cowed, now. Perhaps even knowing the two would probably run off with her money, she handed over a creditdollar chit, and then turned her back.

"The Instigator of Action is ready to takeoff. It has everything you'll need."

With that, and a handwave, Jallin knew it was time to leave the office. He bowed, turned on his heel, and walked out the door, Sonya following him closely.

"What were you thinking! We can't run off with a captain's money! She'll hunt us down and kill us! Worse, prosecute us!"

Jallin smiled. It was coming more easily to him, now. "Sonya, Sonya, Sonya. Sonya, my dear. It's really very simple. We aren't meant to be doing this, correct? We're only going because we haven't heard about the cancellation of our mission, right?"

"Right."

"So, we 'hear' about it on the ship sometime later. We return, take back our ship, the credits are in our hands, and there's not a damn thing the captain can do about it. It's easy, legal money, Sonya. And you have to agree - we can't get enough of that."

In the corridor behind them, a twisted shadow nodded, the headlike knob between its two uppermost arms bobbing mockingly. It flickered, and disappeared, unnoticed by the two squabbling entrepeneurs....

Jallin ran a hand across the ship's sensor screen, wiping away a thin covering of dust.

"Well, Sonya. Would you look at that."

"What, Jallin?"

Jallin smiled, flicking a switch. The computer booted up. Jallin typed in a few commands.

"Access denied. Please verify identity."

A sweet feminine voice rang out, stereotypical of every shipboard computer in the galaxy, clear, like a well-synthesised bell.

Jallin's smile faltered. Looking at the screen, he typed in his full name, alongside the password he'd been given by the Minister. The former Minister, he reminded himself. The reason they weren't going to carry through with this mission.

The screen flickered, and an information screen replaced the request for verification. He whistled, as lines of text displaying the ship's attributes appeared. "..wow. If we can run off with this baby, we can hunt down damn near anything - hell, this could take on a frigate!"

Sonya looked at him, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Well, maybe a small frigate.", he mumbled. The screen suddenly blanked out, and the captain from the starbase's face.. Staria, that was her name, appeared.

"Jallin. Sonya. I've locked in your course, and so you'll take an immediate jump to the world in question. Once you're there, just do as I've said. Any equipment you might need is in the secondary storage room - if you feel in danger, take something from the armory."

Sonya leaned over to the screen, cleared her voice, and spoke. "We'll do just that, cap'n. Preparing for transit right now."

Staria's face broke into a small smile, and then disappeared. Jallin's smile was now uneasy. "She's locked us in - she doesn't trust us.".

Sonya nodded. "Well, of course she doesn't. We're hardly the most trustworthy of people. No matter, though. We can just run off when the opportunity occurs."

He returned her nod, and the ship lurched, the only sign they were about to 'jump. Another lurch, and a shudder, a vibration, passing through the entire ship. And then they reappeared in the Ibeas system. It was unnerving, every time you did it. Everyone knew the tales of the spacers who jumped and simply never came back, or jumped, and came out mutilated and dead.

But they were only tales. And the sensor screen came back online.

"Citizen Jallin, we are now within cruising distance of Ibeas VII's first moon. Request permission to take ship into orbit."

"Permission denied, computer. I want to 'jump outta here. Don't spend longer here than necessary."

The computer beeped. "Unfortunately, Citizen, I cannot comply. There is no fuel for such a maneuver."

"..what!?"

"We have enough fuel to reach the nearby moon of Ibeas VII, and enter orbit. Shutting down pilot control. Autopilot activated. I will take us into orbit of Ibeas VII. We should be able to refuel there."

"Fuck."

Sonya stared at him. And the blood had drained from her face. "The bitch tricked us, Jallin! We're going to die! We're going to die! Oh, go-"

His hand came down across her face, a sharp smack echoing through the bridge. "Don't be hysterical. You're not usually like this, and you're not going to be."

"All we need to do is enter orbit, refuel, and leave. It won't inconvinience us overmuch. Trust me."

"But-"

"You must've been unsettled by the 'jump. We've survived worse, Sonya. I fully intend to survive this, to boot."

His surrounding settled in. The ship was dull, grey, military-issue, to say the least. "We are investigators of the highest order. From what I've heard, we have EnfMin authority, as well. We can just requisition the damn fuel if we feel like it. This is a colonial world! What are they going to do to stop us?

It wasn't much of a reassurance, but it was apparently enough for Sonya. "Fair enough, Jallin. Let's go."

The ship sped off, slowly accelerating, the computer careful to conserve enough fuel to allow it to enter orbit. Inertial dampeners worked effortlessly to maintain gravity, and to stop the inhabitants inside being squashed like bugs, brand-new systems consuming tiny amounts of fuel to do so.

A message appeared on Jallin's screen - it was text only. Apparently the colonists didn't have the money to afford an accurate long-range videophone.

This is Mayor Siilaan. Request of intent lodged. We have X-laser batteries. Are preparing to fire if request not fulfilled.

"Wow. They must really be stressed. They have X-lasers..."

This is Plenipotentary Investigator Jallin. Suggest that you do not fire X-lasers. Are armed with masers and grasers, as well as planet-burner missiles. Intent is to enter orbit of world, refuel, and investigate as requested.

"Jallin!"

"Sonya, I just stated I'm a Plenipotentary Investigator. Y'know. The highest rank a EnfMin agent can get. Why else would an agent of my rank come out to this pissant little world?"

"Jallin.. you could've just told him that you were standard military!"

"Right. At which point he crossreferences my name with a list of military personnel, finds out that I'm not, and decides to call in an entire Scintillating Fleet on our asses."

"Then.. just tell him we were civilians! Or something equally innocuous!"

"Sonya.. can't you see? Then we come in, with a ship with enough weaponry to reduce his little city to rubble, stating that we're civilians. Doesn't that sorta mean we're either civilians who just happen to possess one of the most advanced military ships in the Starfed, or, in not so many words, we're pirates or renegades."

"Still, Jallin. I don't want to be caught up in this. Every other agent who was sent down here died!"

"Went missing, sweetie. Went missing. Maybe our invisible conspiracy-wielding friends down there have just got them captured so that they don't spill the beans."

"Right, right, and I'm Sagrissa the Arch-Sage of the First War."

"Sarcasm noted, Sonya. It really doesn't become you."

The exchange could've gone on for some time - but then another message appeared, the screen blinking furiously.

Acknowledged, PlenInv Jallin. We are preparing for your arrival. Advise you come armed and armoured.

"You see? Armed and armored, he says."

"Fine. Take the helm."

"What?"

"I'm going down to the armory. I'm not going to disappoint the poor man, after all."

Sonya looked at him with mute disbelief. He was actually going to do it! Going to go down there and help this little colony world out! And she-she was probably going to die. Alongside a man who had never displayed such idiocy before...

Jallin reached the armory, the door dissipating with a hiss, the atoms which once made it up no longer held together by a molecular stasis field. The opaque field would not regenerate for some time - and, given their fuel levels, not, at the very least, until they refueled.

The door itself was irrevelent, however. What was inside the door, though.. was beautiful. Well, perhaps not to an artist's eyes. Where Starfederation capital ships were built to be works of art, the AAF, the grunts of the Starfederation, didn't have the luxury of a few million tons of metal to protect them - they went in for utilitanarism.

As he looked across, a grin split his face open. Flipping a tiny switch on his wristband, he spoke. "Sonya, darlin', I think those other investigators didn't go in as.. heavily armed. I think I can deal with anything that comes up. Be a good girl, and keep the maser batteries online, ok?"

A DD-7. Beautiful. Simply magnificent. A nuclear-powered rifle, with enough grunt to rip apart a light hovertank in one shot, and it worked equally well to 'disperse' unarmored foes, at a wide dispersal - if he came up against any typical colonial resistance, he'd tear them into little bits.

A pair of pistols - he didn't recognize them. He picked one up, flipped it up into the air, and caught it easily. Nice weight, at the very least. He'd take those, too. A few powerpacks, a few emergency radio flares. He looked over to his left.

Some sort of.. archaic spear, bladed up the shaft. A closer look revealed it as basic photon spear, the weapon of those ridiculous gladiators who fought on Soros. Admittedly, it looked impressive - but against someone with half-decent armor, it would leave at most a scratch.

And then he turned the right. "Oh, my. Aren't you just a little dazzler?"

The 'little dazzler' of which Jallin spoke was a nine-foot high suit of powered armor, outfitted with weaponry, boosters, life support systems.. and, to top it off, a planetary landing gearset. He pressed a few buttons to the left and right of it - the suit opened up, beckoning to him.

He vaulted into it, his feet slipping into the legsets, his arms into the controls. He'd piloted such a suit once before - and this was unfamiliar territory for the most part. He clumsily strode over to the rifle, picking it up. The arm extended, grabbing the two pistols, and.. why not? The photon spear came along, too.

The massive, powerful hands had more equipment than he could ever hope to carry - but how did he stow all of this stuff? Looking through the controls, he hit a few buttons, the hands moving easily behind him, a storage pack on the back of the power armor opening up, the weapons deposited inside.

"All-right!

The armor started clumsily up again, crashing towards the door - before he realised it wouldn't fit. "Damn."

"Jallin, I've just received a message from the Mayor of this little colony. Putting it through to your new.. toy now."

"We are sending up a shuttle to receive you, PlenInv. Please come unarmed, as colonial-made law on this world, recognised by the Tyrant himself, does not permit weaponry on the surface of the world."

"I think we can do one better than that, Sonya. Take me down to the shuttle bay. I'll make my own way down..."

A few minutes later, as a shuttle came screaming up from the world below, another whisked past it, X-lasers on the surface aimed at it.

"This is the Instigator of Action. Suggest that you do not fire on our shuttle. Should you continue to balk Starfederation authority, I have permission to devastate any and all defensive measures you may be in possession of."

A moment later, the X-laser batteries powered down, pinpoint-accurate sensors detecting the miniscule surge of energy on the surface. The shuttle turned around, redocking with the ship. "Ok, Jallin. It's safe."

The shuttle sped off, this time, slashing through the atmosphere, wondering people looking at it - there had been no such transport for some time. It slowed, preparing to stop - landing easily on the ground, some distance from the single city on the barren colony world. Jallin emerged - in his new love, the power-armor.

"Well, then. Let's get to business."

He stomped off towards the city, gaining confidence with every step, the suit's former clumsiness decreasing, the weapons prepared, readied to fire..

It hit him. Why would they ask that he come unarmed? It didn't make any particular sense. In fact.. "Sonya, can you transmit the second message from the world to me?"

"Coming right down, Jallin."

Acknowledged, PlenInv Jallin. We are preparing for your arrival. Advise you come armed and armoured.

We are preparing for your arrival. Advise you come armed and armoured.

Advise you come armed and armored.

But.. they'd just told him to come unarmed. Something was wrong. That much, he could feel. "Sonya, stay alert. You've already noticed it, I presume?"

"Noticed what?"

"Nothing. Just make sure if anything comes close to your ship that you can't disable safely, you blow it out of the sky ten times over. And get the ship refueled. I'll be coming up as soon as I talk to the mayor."

"Well, I'm glad you've seen sense. I'll prepare to refuel ASAP."

The armor moved into a lolloping gait casually, massive tree-trunk legs smashing into the ground again, and again. He was almost at the city.

"Sonya, do you have a scan of the city?"

Nothing.

"Sonya?"

Strange. There wasn't anything at all on his radio - it was if it had been disabled. He'd be able to sense jamming, if nothing else, and.. it was peculiar. "Suit, switch over to radar. Get me a thirty-metre scan."

Nothing again. How peculiar. However, he was almost into the city. The air was breathable - there was no need for a dome. Nonetheless, the buildings were sunk deep into the ground; protection against the undoubtedly violent storms on this colony.

Another few thudding footfalls, and he had reached the mayor's office. Apparently, Sonya had been able to hear him - a new set of maps were sitting on his display. Perhaps the voice synthesizer was merely broken. After all, planetfall could bang one of these suits up plenty.

The stairs were made of simple titanium, and were far too small for him to fit the suit in. "Ah, well. Time to find out what this little colony's like."

The top of the armor hissed open, the small viewbubble on the top easing backwards. He swore. It was freezing. He reached down into the suit's controls, and hit the storage-release button. He took the two pistols inside. The rifle and the photonic spear.. well, they could wait until later.

He fired one off into the air, an icy-blue blast screaming off into the sky.

"Nice."

His finger flickered to the settings bar - he wanted kill, not incapacitate in a mild manner. Visible light was generally indicative of weapon inefficiency - or a wider area-of-effect.

The second pistol got a wide-effect stun setting. If the mayor had been mugged by an incidental bystander.. well, he'd deal with that when he got down there. He didn't want to kill someone - but, nor did he want to die. And his desire not to die was a lot greater than his desire not to kill.

Shivering, he walked down the rude steps, his eyes flickering down the steps below. It darkened almost instantly - he touched a button on top of his pistol, and a light shone out, illuminating the area.

"And there was light, and the darkness fled before it."

"Quoting verses from the Book, Jallin? How unlike you."

It was Sonya! "What.. what happened? Why did I lose my link with you?"

"Well, if my guess is correct, there's some sort of strange.. field, that's moving across the planet erratically. I think it's some sort of roving shield. Possibly used to absorb electromagnetic waves, and shield the activities of the people below it. Oh, and the fueling craft is coming up. I've scanned it - there's no-one aboard."

"Ah. Isn't that a bit.. strange?"

"Hardly. These backwater colonies can't afford to keep a professional pilot in their employ for their fuel vessels."

"Well.. be careful, ok?"

"It's a fuel vessel, Jallin. Even if the entire damn thing blew up when attatched to our hull, it still couldn't pierce them."

He smiled. At least everything was ok in orbit. If the worst came to the worst, he'd have Sonya gravbeam him up. If they had the power, of course.

He walked down further. And swore.

"Fuck."

Seven.. maybe eight arms. Arms wasn't the right term, no. They served as legs, too. Each one of them was serrated, blades running down its sides. Two of them were holding up a man in the air, impaled on the end of one. It was bizzare.

And then, it turned. And spoke. "WAtCH. FRieND DIe."

Jallin looked down at it, and then to a screen next to it. It had a video feed of the ships in orbit. The smaller one shuddered, and burst into a mass of flames. And the larger - the larger, the Instigator of Action, began to fall. Falling, towards the planet.

"You.. evil son of a bitch."

It hissed, and moved towards him. Jallin reached for his pistol - and the fear took him. Slowly, the misshapen abomination crawled towards him, each arm-leg taking its turn on the ground, the body of the man it was holding tossed aside.

His hand scrabbled for his pistol - but it wasn't there! It wasn't in his holster! All he could see was the creature - it was moving towards him. Oh, god. It was coming.. so slowly. Like a snake, slow, sinuous movements all that are needed to paralyze its prey.

"Aw, SHIT!"

He found his pistol. The creature was perhaps ten, at best fifteen metres away. He fired. It recoiled briefly, patterns of blue flowing down its form. And then it blurred, moving at speeds Jallin's eyes couldn't follow. It stopped a scarce few centimetres from his face, blades hovering in front of his eyes.

"YoU dIE. OTHeR HUmAn DIe. LaST WorDS?"

He found the other pistol.

"How about you die, motherfucker?"

He brought the pistol up, and, with one quick movement, shot. The creature hissed, recoiling in agony, and, then, seemingly unharmed, brought one blade-arm down.

Jallin screamed as his hand hit the floor, spewing blood onto the neat, formerly immaculate steps. Another blow took him through the chest, sending him into excruciating blackness...

The Palace of the Tyrant

"..and, the upcoming unification with the Galactic Empire.."

The viewscreen was shut off abruptly. The two men watching it turned to one another, and nodded. "Brother. It is time. The Sith are those who may tolerate us. For they, they will tolerate Chaos, they will allow it to ravage across worlds as it may, and we.. we are no worse than they are."

"Truly?"

"Brother Eska, you are young. The Ruinous Powers are ancient, and, despite our Sovereign's power, he is but a child compared to them."

"Blasphemy!"

"Brother Eska. I do not blaspheme. Rather, I explain. For it is now, that the Guide himself has been captured by the Servant. Indeed, and the Guide-Wife may soon be in our hands, as well. The prophecy is unfolding. We must be there to provide the fire and the blood. To quibble about the nature of the Sovereign seems foolish, does it not?"

"I-I.. suppose so."

"Good. Then let us begin.."


Underground. Somewhere On A Colony Moon..

It hurt. He couldn't see. He couldn't hear. It was a inky blackness of sound and sight, of smell and taste, of which he was trapped in. It hurt. The pain stemmed from his hand - and then he remembered. His hand was gone. But why was he here? Was he dead? It seemed peculiar. It hurt.

Slowly, the world faded into focus. The pain grew. And, through blurry vision, he saw.. "Sonya?"

"No, I am not. I am Brother Trask. Or, you may address me as such. For you are the Guide, and what means of address you deem appropriate may be taken."

"The.. guide? Trask? Who the hell are you? And why am I here?"

"All will be made clear, in good time. The Twelvefold Servant was over-rough with you. Yet, it was to be expected. He is not made for capturing, he is made for killing."

"What the hell are you talking about? Let me free!"

"I'm afraid I cannot do that. For then the prophecy would fail."

"Prophecy.. you're mad. You know that? Crazy! Fucking let me go! NOW!"

"I may be mad. But when the Sovereign manifests upon this world, I will be a madman who rules ascendent. Now.. I think it best to explain what you must know."

Jallin looked up at the man - bar the strange, velvet-blue robes, and shaved head, he was almost perfectly normal. Apart from his speech.

"Look to your left."

It hurt to move his head. Then again, that was dwarfed by the pain in his hand. He looked. "Sonya..?"

Sonya was contained in some sort of.. tube. She floated there, fully dressed, unmoving, seemingly unbreathing.

"What have you done to her?!"

"Nothing beyond that which is required. Rather, let me explain."

"..fine. Explain. Quickly."

"You are the Guide - a path to this world. Your status was achieved not by your deeds, but rather in the manner of your birth. Your ancient ancestor was the first to find the Sovereign, to speak with him. As such, the Sovereign decreed that only his line could bring him into this world. And only through the life-blood of you, and the Guide-Wife, could this be accomplished."

"The Guide-Wife? Sonya?!"

"Indeed. She is descended from your great ancestor's wife - after she left him, out of fear of his power. Thus, her blood must be spilled to expunge the sins of her line - of which you are, nominally, a part. Once you are pure, the Sovereign will accept you as a sacrifice."

"You.. you can't do this!"

"To the contrary, we can, and.. we have. All who were sent before you were killed, killed to create the Twelvefold Servant. The creature which you tried to kill. Indeed, you killed him nine times. An impressive record. However, to destroy him, one must destroy him twelve times. He is weakened, but it does not matter. He will be restored on the coming of the Sovereign."

With that, Trask set to work, moving Jallin, his limb body unresponsive, whilst an ancient stone slab in the middle, encrusted with dried blood, had his body set upon it.

"Once the overthrow of the government occurs, this will signal your death. Be prepared. Make your peace with your gods. If you wish, I shall deliver unto you a last meal, or whatever you desire before your death, provided that your wish does nothing to thwart it."

The Palace of the Tyrant
Golheas slept lightly, these days. He was less intelligent, less charismatic, than he had been. The damage done to his mind was permanent - he was not fit to rule a single province, let alone an entire nation. But the public loved him - for the moment.

He tossed, and turned. "No.. eye.."

He mumbled, as the two blue-robed men entered his room.

"Go.. way... get out..."

As they approached, his horror at his dream increased.

"He shall be the Vessel. For the Vessel shall carry the soul of the Sovereign - that which is his quintessial essence, although not the mighty thews of his body, nor the keen edge of his mind."

They both drew knifes, already slick with blood. As the Tyrant's screaming grew louder, they both reached down, and, in unison, slashed into his back. A peculiar blue-green light filled the room, and, in that moment, Golheas's tortured mind was given new power, new meaning. Purpose and power flooded into him, and he awoke.

He looked at the two men, seemingly unaware of the bleeding cuts on his back. "Who are you?"

"We, lord, are worshippers of the Sovereign."

"Ah. Tell me.. would you care to do something about the cuts on my back?"

"No, lord. You may do that yourself. For, as the vessel of the Sovereign, you may bring about such a change in physical matter with little effort. Will it, and it shall be done."

Golheas's face tightened into a smile - and the cuts on his back were lanced with black fire, burning through his flesh, leaving white, unmarked skin where it had been.

"Lord, we are prepared. Enough men on every planet may rise to do your bidding, to replace the unworthy, should you order it. We could rule within a day, now that the Soul has arrived."

Underground

Jallin screamed. The pain was unbearable. Two knives had sliced into his back - but there had been no knives. No cuts. But he had felt it! Lying on the table, he felt.. something. Something new. Something... that was there. It was not a hallucination. The table was alive, in some way.

Trask spoke, calmly. "For you are the Guide. The Sovereign must find his way through you - through your pain, your love, through your sorrow, and your joy. Without you, the prophecy may not be fulfilled. It would be a thousand years before we could set things into proper motion once more, and tens of thousands before the conditions would could be fulfilled once again."

Jallin's scream echoed through the darkened chamber - it felt as if something was inside him - writhing through him, shredding his mind and body carelessly, as though he were no more than an animal to be used.

"And the soul of the Sovereign has come through you. The first part of the prophecy is fulfilled..."

(A wee bit flesh out? Damn, man, this is an awesome insight to your nation and this new cult. The part with the Tyrant and everything blew my mind. First the Dominion Accords, then the Galactic Concilium, and now this. Why must you be so awesome? -_- =P I will definitely be watching this thread)

Blue-black flame sparked through his fingers. His eyes were a maelstrom, all colour and hatred and love and joy and life and death. Trask's hands were raised above his head, as he knelt before the great stone, seemingly in reverence.

Jallin could scarcely move. The strength had drained from his body - Trask had been amused when he had spat at him. But.. still. He didn't understand a damned thing about what was going on. All he knew was that Sonya - how had she been gotten down from the ship, in any case.. Sonya was here, and she was going to die.

Trask stood. "Ah, Jallin. That is your name, is it not?"

"Yes.". It seemed pointless to lie - seemed pointless to act against Trask whilst he held all the power.

"Jallin, tell me.. do you have a child?"

"No.. I don't. In fact.. I'd be one of the last people from my family left."

"The last. Or, rather, the second-last."

"The second-last?"

"Sonya is the other. This is inimical to the purpose of the prophecy of the Sovereign. For, it is said that the child born of the gene of the Guide, and another born from the gene of the Guide-Wife, shall unknowingly, unwillingly bring the word of the Sovereign to other worlds."

"..well, then. You're pretty fucked, eh?"

Trask smiled. For the first time Jallin had seen, his smile was broad, and open. Not malicious, nor amused. Merely happy. "No, Guide. I am not. Rather, I have told you this, in order to bring about a relevation. In the next room, there are a pair of tubes. Within them are two simulacra - you would call them clones. One is of you, and one is of the Guide-Wife."

"Stop calling Sonya that!"

"Her appointed role in the prophecy is that of the Guide-Wife. She shall bear no other name until the end of her days, in my hearing."

"The two will be imbued with your minds - a fragment of your soul, and the memories that you yourself bear. You will 'remember' escaping from this place, I think. Yes, it is best that way. The memories will be blurred, to prevent the Sovereign from being damaged by uncareful tongues, but you will remember it. You will flee to other worlds, haunted by a past you cannot control, horrors that will walk your dreams, and, should you ignore them, into the world itself, to drive you ever-onwards."

"Me? No, this.. this is going to be a clone."

"Indeed. In body, this will be a clone. But it will be imbued with your life-essence, with your memories. Perhaps it will be you. I cannot say."

Jallin was struck speechless - once again. He felt keenly the edges, the worn places of the stone table poking and prodding him, feeling him, to see if he were the prize it sought.

Trask's smile widened, cruel, now, and laughing. "The Guide has seen the Soul, and he has brought it into the world of men. The Guide will see the Mind - and he will bring it into the world of men. But, for the Sovereign's Mind to passed through unscathed, first, the mind of the Guide must be reduced."

Trask walked up to the field in which Sonya was contained - and pressed a switch. She fell limply to the ground, lying peacefully there for a moment - before Trask reached down, and, holding her by the front of her suit, picked her up as if she were no more than a child.

"Hmmm... Jallin?", she said.

"Where- where am I? What's happening? Who are you?". Her last words were confused, a scream preparing to form in her mouth, as she looked up into Trask's face.

A cruel grin appeared on Trask's face. "Death."

His knife drove down, through her suit easily, ripping through flesh and bone with horrific sound, her screams silenced by the knife slicing her heart in half. He picked up the body, and dragged it over to the table, Sonya's blood streaming down on the table, and on Jallin.

Foaming at the mouth, in a frenzy, he struggled and pushed, wild with rage, with anger, trying to kill Trask - willing to kill, and hurt, and maim! Incoherent with rage, his hands clawed, his own blood streaming down the table from his struggles.

"The mind of the Guide has been weakened. Let the Mind of the Sovereign come forth."

Corrosion. Pain. Unconsciousness. His memories were eaten away as if by acid, his anger, his rage all that sustained him, although he no longer remembered why. His knowledge faded away like mist under the morning sun, and his incoherent, inarticulate rage continued - for he no longer knew how to form words. Screaming and spitting, he struggled against the blood-metal that formed his bonds, iron streaked with blood, blood streaming over iron.

Trask looked at him coldly, and then hit him across the face, once, and then twice, sending him into a merciful unconsciousness..

The Palace of the Tyrant

The pain intensified. And with it, understanding grew. Golheas's own mind, quick, yet not strong, was shattered under the weight of the Mind of the Sovereign - a powerful thing, it, too, taking its toll on his body. He understood, now. For, even though the Soul and the Mind now occupied his shattered wreck of a body, the imprint of Golheas, his personality, his vigour, still remained within both the Soul and the Mind.

"Brother Eska, do you see? Now, the corrosion intensifies. For the Soul, we had to use blood - for blood is the link to the soul. But the Soul calls for a Mind and a Body - and, once the Mind is released, it comes, searching for a Soul to go with it. The Sovereign is now complete - but a body that can host his power to the greatest of extents is not yet complete. Not even a planet could live under the strain, without being corroded so utterly that it could no longer play host to the Sovereign. The Body of the Sovereign is the key to his immortality, and, with it, the Sovereign shall reign over his Kingdom forever."

Golheas's hands tore at his face, but he could not feel them. Knowledge and pain were one, now, and, as he learnt to utilize his new power, he learnt that to do so would weaken his body immeasurably. He slumped onto his bed, the burning pain in his mind making consciousness a no-longer feasible option..

Jallin awoke. Jallin? Was that his name? Yes, it seemed it should be. He clung to that thought. Jallin. It was comforting. He looked around. He was in a room. It was.. white. He was sitting on a bed, and it, too, was white. The sheets, the small cupboard on the other side of the room.. entirely white. He knew that this should be strange. But he didn't know why...

The wall slid open, and he realised that there was a door there. A man walked in. He was tall, and wore a velvet robe. His head was shaved. He spoke, in a melodious, gentle voice. "Jallin. Do you remember me?"

"..you are.. no... I don't."

"I am Brother Trask. I am your friend."

"Trask!"

"No, Brother Trask. You may call me Brother. I am your friend."

Friend. The word seemed soothing, somehow. As soon as Trask said it, he knew it to be true. But.. something conflicted. He spoke the word as soon as it came into his head.

"..Sonya?"

Trask looked alarmed. "Who?"

"Sonya! Where's.. Sonya?"

Trask frowned. He raised a hand, and laid it on Jallin's shoulder. "Sonya, Jallin? I recall no such person."

Satisfied for the moment, Jallin fell back. Trask squeezed his shoulder, and let him go to sleep..



"He knows! He remembers!"

"Brother Trask.. how is that possible? The Mind of the Sovereign has passed through him! He should be a vegetable!"

Trask frowned. "Vermar, open the Book of the Sovereign. To the Prophesied Guide. Look for.. verse six, or seven, I believe it was."

"I'll do that.. The Guide may be known by his blood, and by his resilience. For only the Guide has the strength, and the ability to bear the Sovereign into the world..."

"That's the one. Look for something on his mind."

"Ok.. The Guide-Wife and the Guide are linked by blood, and by the insurmountable will of the Sovereign. Their minds and souls act as one.."

Trask spat. "Bah! I wish we had a proper copy of the Book."

"As do I, Brother Trask."

"Well, in any case. We're close enough. Release the simulcra."

- - - - -

Jallin awoke. "Trask?! Trask, where are you? You son of a bitch!"

He looked around wildly. Sonya was next to him, sleeping soundly. He didn't remember much of what had happened - he knew Trask had done something - and he'd almost killed Sonya! Wait.. he wasn't tied up. He was free! He was, admittedly, in a little room. With no visible door.

He got up, running his fingers across the wall - nothing happened. He grimaced. Apparently Trask wanted to play with them some more. He sat back down, and ran his fingers through Sonya's hair. After a second, he decided to wake her. He took her by the shoulders, and shook her, gently.

"Sonya?"

She yawned, and her eyes flickered open. "Jallin! Where are we?"

"I don't know. But I sure-as-hell plan to get out!"

Of course, he had not idea how to do that. But it was then that providence struck. An explosion rung through the room, shaking it, and, with a burst of flame and sparks, part of the wall simply fell off.

The ship is under attack. Please make your way to the nearest escape-pod bay. The ship is under attack. Please make your way..

Ah. That explained a lot of things. He grabbed Sonya by the hand, and dragged her to the door. Outside was a small map. He studied it for a moment, and then spoke. "We've got six corridors to get down before we reach the escape-pod bay. Maybe the Starfederation's found us! If we escape now, they'll pick us up, and that sonovobitch Trask will get what he deserves."

Running, now, they pelted down one corridor, left, and then right, and then right again. Left, now, and then straight. There. A circular door was opened, waiting for them. A plaque on the side read "Escape Pod Bay 1".

They jumped inside, and hit the 'launch' key..


Trask laughed. A few faked memories, and the two simulcra were all too easy to trick. The escape pod launched from the section of the ship - the section where they had planted explosives, and, sensor-blind, set off for the nearby Starfederation outpost. One of the few unsubverted ones left in the Kingdom.

They had been corrupted, with just a touch of the Sovereign, enough to mark them as his - the Heralds of the Sovereign, the two who would bear his Word to every world, unwittingly, unknowingly. And the Guide was still onboard - ready to witness the fire and the blood that would bring about the birth of the Sovereign...

A starship, some three years after the previous events.

"You were ever a fool, Guide. A millenia ago, your ancestors prevented the coming of the Sovereign into this world. And it is well that they did so, for His ultimate triumph could not have been witnessed by your traitorous brethren if he had done so."

He had no name. He was merely the Guide. Thousands of hours of torture had torn away what memories he had once had, and only a single, lingering word remained in his mind.

Sonya..

It meant something. Something vitally important. But what.. he could not remember. The words the red-robed man spat at him did not matter. What ancestors? What triumphs? What did any of it matter? He had seen tens - perhaps hundreds of worlds perish, now. "The doctrine of flame and sword.", the man had called it.

"To summon the Sovereign, you see, there are three factors that must be present. Mind, Body, and Soul. I have told you this a thousand times. And you are vital to all three. There are none others of your ancestry who could take your place so adeptly. Even your clones, who watch over the destruction of other foul xenos, have but a thousandth of the potency you yourself have."

..potency? He felt as if he should know.

Sonya..

There was that word again. It meant something important - it was at the core of him! And yet he could not remember it. If only he could.. The Guide looked up at the room he sat in. White walls, roof, and door. A white bed upon which he slept. He relieved himself in a small toilet in the corner, and showered himself in a cubicle near the same.

The man who talked to him continued, almost conversationally. "You brought the Mind of the Sovereign into the world, you know. Each time you remember.. your pain soothes the hatred I have for your kind. You who have the power to serve the Sovereign, and do not choose to exercise it properly."

The Guide ignored him. But the man in red spoke again. "You know, Jallin, if you'd agree to serve us, you would be powerful. You would supplant that feeble idiot, Golheas, and rule as undisputed master, kneeling only to the Sovereign. Yet, each time, you refuse to do so. Why is this?"

Jallin! His name! He knew that. Memories lingered just out of reach, and became closer and closer, almost tangible enough to reach out and touch.

The man in red smiled brutally. "You know, that traitorous bitch, the woman of yours we killed - we could easily find you another one. Now, what was her name again..?"

Sonja! You son of a bitch!

"Trask.. you will die for this."

Trask laughed lightly and easily. "Jallin, you have said that a thousand times. And each time, the pain of your memories is too much for you to bear. Do you remember who brought her to me. Who was fool enough to let her die. Her death may be on her hands - but it was for the greater good. You, however, have no such compunctions. It was your greed, and your.. your base ignorance that brought the two of you to ruin."

Jallin sobbed. It was true. All of it.

"You see, Jallin. You are the Guide. You are ordained. Join us, and the Sovereign will bring Sonja back for you. When he descends to grace us in this world, when his Body is complete.. when you have completed it for him, he will gift you with all you desire. Even death, for you cannot find it now."

Jallin sobs continued, but the last sentence rang true. He couldn't die. He hadn't known that. Hadn't ever known that. That was true as well. It was something entirely new.

He stood up, and his eyes dried.

"Are you done yet, Guide? Have you repressed the memories once more? Once more set the cycle of pain in motion for me to enjoy and savor?"

Jallin's face was stone. He took a step forward.

Trask laughed lightly, but his eyes danced from side to side, and his fear was obvious. Jallin grinned.

"You.. son of a bitch. You killed Sonja. You made me the father of unspeakable things - horrible things. You burnt worlds in the name of your sick god. You tortured me in the name of your damn Sovereign. But I can't die. And you never told me that. I can't die, Trask. But you can."

Trask's laugh was easy. "I may not be able to kill you, Guide, but I wield such powers that you would never be able to surpass me. I could send you into the centre of the sun, and watch you fry until the pain overwhelmed even the Sovereign's desire to protect you. I could splinter your mind into a thousand pieces, send you mad, irrevocably mad, with only the shadows of your dead for comfort. Though the Sovereign may offer his protection to you now, do not think yourself the equal of me, worm."

Jallin's grin simply grew wider. "Really? I have nothing left to lose. Except my life. But you took everything else from me anyway, so I have no need of that."

With those words, he rushed forward, his hands grasping at Trask's throat, another hand's fingers gouging into the man's eyesockets. Crackles of red power surged around him, and Jallin's skin seared. Jallin merely tightened his grip. The room lit up with red lighting, and Jallin burnt, was set aflame, yet the pain was nothing as to that he had felt before.

With superhuman strength, he lifted Trask up with a single hand, grasping him by the throat. "You are going to die, Trask."

"Perhaps", Trask rasped. "But the Sovereign will destroy you when he comes into this world."

"Perhaps he will, Trask. It's a damn shame you're not going to live to see that, isn't it now?"

He flung Trask into the wall, and, with one quick movement, tore his head off. Jallin shook. A vision of a tall, not-beautiful-yet-pretty, woman haunted him.

"I never loved her, you know. Not in the way you'd think. But she's just the first in a long string of people I've seen killed for you bastards. Killed so you can have your god, killed so you can indulge in more killing. It's going to stop. From now on, the only people dying will be you."

He spoke to the empty room, rather than Trask's corpse, but it was heard all over the ship. The crew saw every last message - and despite what he had done, he was no threat to them. He was still stuck in the room, the room which was sealed, fortified.. there was no way for him to escape.

Jallin raised his voice. "First, I'm going to break open this room. Next, I'm going to hunt every man, woman, and child aboard this ship down, and kill them. Then I'm going to do the same for every person who worships your little god."

Then, on all of the cameras, he was gone.

The bridge erupted into chaos as Jallin appeared in the middle of it. He was instantly thrown backwards into the wall, held there by some invisible force he could neither fathom nor overcome.

"My, my. Trask was a fool to underestimate you, Jallin the Guide. You are most powerful. Even I could not have left that room unaided, without a harial, or another such artifact."

The man gestured. "Fools, move to the other wall. I would not have you slain by the Guide in his anger."

The people in the bridge moved as one, priests and pilots, some in blood-red robes, others in more comfortable glowleather suits, all pressing themselves against the other wall. Their fear shone on their faces, and Jallin exulted in it.

"Did you not hear what I told Trask? You are going to die. All of you."

"Really?", the man said. "And how do you plan to accomplish that, o mighty Guide? I am a mere Servant-Admiral, the third-greatest sorcerer-priest of the Sovereign in the Kingdom, and you are powerless before me."

Jallin grinned. "Really? I seem to remember Trask saying something similiar. But now he's dead."

"Yes, indeed he is. But Trask was a fool. Inciting you with memories that would harm you irreparably.. I protested, but for as long as he stood in the Tyrant's favour, there was little I could do. Would you believe that I asked for you to be healed, and taken from that place?"

"No."

"Nevertheless, it is true. I eased the loss of your memories, so that you would not be driven mad by the pain. I am perturbed by the action of my brothers.. their slaughter, I feel, is needless to the cause of the Sovereign."

"Really? Then why did you allow it?"

"Some killing, of course, is necessary. Sacrifices, yes. But the excess my brothers went to was merely unnecessary."

"You're the same. You kill for your Sovereign. The only thing that differs is a matter of degree."

The man laughed lightly. "I am Sashiar, so that you might know my name, Jallin. I have done much evil, it is true, but I have only done such things when there has been no other option."

Rage boiled up inside Jallin, and he gestured, power sweeping across the room with great force. It smashed into the various devices and people against the far wall, snapping bones like twigs, screens shattered into a million fragments. Among the dead and the dying now scattered across the room, only Sashiar stood, looking bored. Yet sweat beaded his forehead, and he took heavy breaths, as if he had expended a lot of effort.

He gestured again - but nothing happened.

"I see, now. It is merely triggered by your emotions. By your hate and anger. You don't control it, as I do."

Sashiar lifted Jallin up higher. "Now, are you willing to listen to me, or must I incapacitate and imprison you once more?"

Jallin closed his eyes briefly, and the bonds that held him slipped away, and he fell to the ground with a thud.

Sashiar looked surprised, and began backing away, holding his hands in front of him.

"No, no. I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to listen. And you're going to explain. Everything. Tell me everything. What happened to the Starfederation, for one."

Sashiar sighed in relief. "Very well. In essence, the night your Sonja was killed, two sorcerer-priests were sent to find the Tyrant. They conducted the Ritual of the Soul, the selfsame Soul that passed through you that night. Tyrant Golheas hosts the Soul of the Sovereign, and, with the death of Sonja, and the summoning of the Mind into this world, he plays hosts to the dormant Mind. My brothers and I seek to create the Body of the Sovereign, something of such power that it may host the Soul and the Mind without corrosion. When this takes place, the Sovereign will manifest in this world."

"And the Starfederation?"

"Golheas dissolved it, making worship of the Sovereign compulsory. With the banerunes, there have been few who have been able to resist. The fleet officers were replaced with those loyal to the Sovereign, such as myself, and the Starfederation is now part of the Galactic Empire."

"Banerunes?"

"A most vile creation. It was for my opposition to the banerune that I was cast from the Tyrant's favour, and sent to quell rebellions and other pitiful things. The banerunes are inscribed on the skin of those you wish to bane, which makes them conduits to the Sovereign. You may assign a banerune a specific purpose and condition, and when that condition comes to pass.. well, the baneruning of the children of Silvari was beyond even my ability to bear. If they saw one of their family members committing a traitorous act, they would become an istfari, a beast, I believe, you have tried to fight, which you failed to defeat. But at this point, they would slay their family member, and their death would feed the banerune."

"..I see. Tell me, then. Why must the Sovereign be brought into the world?"

"Because he is the Sovereign."

"And?"

"He is divine, and grants us power."

"You did this for power?"

"And because he will bring the Golden Age. An age of peace and prosperity the likes of which the galaxy has never seen. My brothers deem any sacrifice worthy for this age. I, however, have my limits."

Jallin looked at him. He was not lying. He didn't know how he knew - but he did.

"I am willing to accept this. For now. Sashiar.. tell me. What has happened recently? Within the past few years?"

"Many, many things. The destruction of the League of Free Worlds has taken place, and the Dominion Accords revoked. The Galactic Empire wars against the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances, and the latter, with the few remaining refugees from the League of Free Worlds, struggles to exist. The Tyrant intends to send me at the head of a fleet to spearhead a renewed invasion. I am his greatest admiral, and he knows it well. However, I have had my fears. So I came to this ship, to consult the Prophecy of the Sovereign, and to gain insight from the Guide, as the Prophecy says I may. Although your words have not been as cryptic as I assumed they would be, I feel I have gained insight all the while."

Jallin sighed. "I would kill you, but I cannot find the strength."

Sashiar's face was an impassive mask. "Then can you heal those who are not already dead on the wall there? Without them, we will be forced to take a pod out of this cruiser."

Jallin nodded. Again, it was instinctive. The desire to expiate his shame over the slaughter - they were not all the murdering, evil scum that Trask had been, flowed through the room, and bones sealed together, ripped muscles were as if they had never been, and even suits and robes knitted themselves back into their original shape. Perhaps three-quarters of the original bridge crew were healed.

"You will serve me, now. Myself, and Sashiar."

Sashiar nodded. "I serve the Sovereign, but in the capacity we do so must be changed. The Tyrant cannot be permitted to continue in his barbarity."

He closed his eyes, and howls erupted all over the room. "Do not be fools!", he shouted. "I have cut your links to the Sovereign's power, good priests. The oaths you swore to serve the Tyrant are linked to the Sovereign, and now they are gone. Once you regain them, you will be free from him."

Sashiar grinned, almost boyishly. "We can't kill the Tyrant, you know. You felt the Sovereign's Soul pass through you, and it should've killed you, were you not fortified by your ancestry. But we can always try, eh?"

Jallin just looked at him. "You have a silvered tongue."

"What?"

"I came here, ready to kill you all. And anyone else who had ever sworn service to your god. And now I'm allied with you, trying to replace the Tyrant on the throne, so you can do the same thing, just more humanely. I'll watch you. And if you look like you might betray me, any of you - I'll kill you."

Vorenhome, two thousand years in the past

The moon was a sickly red. Even to a scientific people such as these, it was an ill omen. The war had raged for many months now, entire nations falling to the inexorable advance of the cultists who wielded inexplicable powers.

Under the banner of the Sovereign, the planet of Vorenhome seemed as if it would be utterly consumed. Terror and madness reigned in the west, as the eastern armies of the Sovereign continued their march. Every nation on the planet had found themselves in strong alliance with one another, in an attempt to stop the advance of the new Kingdom. Though the west controlled far more in resources and men, and the cultists scarcely understood military organization, they were pervasive.

Who could challenge them?

Guns roared outside the city of Arkendar, sitting on the great Neck of the World. Should Arkendar fall, the entire people of the west, too, would fall. There was no doubting this. Even the bravest of men fell against the abominations that seemed conjured out of the most peverse of imaginations, when a shadow could slay, few were willing to fight an enemy that did not take its toll on your body, but on your mind.

Desen was a doctor. At least, he had been. A psychologist for the criminally insane, he had been. Before the war. Now, he was a frontline trooper, his reputation as a psychologist affording his squad some peace of mind against the Sovereign's creatures. The istfari, the priests they'd captured called them.

They could slip from shadow to shadow, butchering to increase their power. The last offensive the West had launched had seen him lead his squad into a camp. Ten thousand children, all marked with strange runes. They hadn't understood before, but they understood now. They'd let the children go, and now ten thousand murderous beasts roamed the city of Arkendar. They could be killed, but nothing smaller than an artillery blast had much effect.

He looked over at the men with him. The trenches in front of Arkendar, the massed artillery, and even the occasional brave biplane pilot did not give him as much security as he would have liked to feel.

The lightning was red these days, and struck their planes from the sky with unnerving accuracy. Storms could be called up within minutes, and they were forced to head to ground, while the elkal, or the flying creatures of the Sovereign took free reign overhead.

Arkendar was lost. He knew this. There was no possibility of saving the city, or even the world. So many had joined the Sovereign - they held as best they could, but civilization was a thin line of soldiers, now, against a horde that could bid the very weather to obey them.

He hunkered down with his rifle, looking through the periscope over the trenches. They'd attack tomorrow, no doubt. Eighteen divisions of the Unified Army against god-knew how many Sovereign cultists and creatures. A hundred and eighty thousand men should be sufficient to hold a land-bridge no more than fifty kilometres wide, but he knew there were millions out there. Tens of millions, possibly.

Yesterday, he'd seen fifty men killed by a single istfari. Their rifles had riddled it with holes, but it kept on going. It had taken a single brave man, and a piece of industrial dynamite to take it down. There were hundreds of thousands of them out there.

No, they couldn't win. He wondered why they even tried.

A larger man squatted down next to him.

"Son, we fight because it's worth it."

"Worth it?"

He laughed, his voice high-pitched with fear. "Sarge, we're all going to die."

"True enough. But I'd rather die stopping these bastards than dying ten years later in bed, eh?"

Desen shivered.

"I.. can't say. I've seen what happened to so many of us, sarge. When we lose, that's it, isn't it? For everyone?"

"Possibly. I have to say, Des, that when the lightning took our planes out of the sky, I thought we'd lost. But we kept fighting. When those damned istfari began butchering the children of our leaders, I thought we'd capitulate. When the seas began turning up nothing but the mutilated bodies of our sailors, I thought they'd done for us. But we haven't lost. Not yet."

"It's only a matter of time."

The sergeant grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.

"Damnit, Desean! Don't you see? My boys look to you. They know, deep down, all this shit - all this weather, these monsters, everything else, that they're just insane. You know it too. People who refuse to accept their power can stop it. We've studied that. You're a doctor. A psychologist. If you get frightened, this whole damn squad will collapse."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't give two blueballed chimps if you shit yourself when we next go into battle, show confidence. If you hold up, they will to. And, who knows. If we hold up, the squads along the line might just do the same. If that happens, we'll hold these bastards. Forever, if necessary. Maybe just until we figure out a way to stop their.. magic."

Desean nodded.

"Fine. I'll do what I can."



It didn't matter, though, the next day. Guns and discipline were no match for fanaticism and magic. It seemed so blase to put it that way, yet there were no end to their enemies. Cultists lead by istfari attacked, again and again, slowly overwhelming the defenses, already stretched taut. In places, the line began to break. Storms raged through the sky, and the day was lost. Desean knew that.

Shouldering his rifle, he took careful aim, and blew through the leg of an istfari. It kept lumbering towards him. He looked around - out of ten men, six were dead. Two wounded. That left the sarge and himself. He shot again. And again. Peppering the creature with shots did nothing, and, as it plodded on, he could see the vicious claws that could end his life in a second.

A grenade flew over the top, and the istfari batted it back disdainfully with a single claw. Desean hit the ground, but the rest of his squadron were not as lucky.

He was alone.

At last, the form of the istfari towered over the trench. It looked down at him, and it hated.

Raising his rifle to shoot at it, it reached down, and-



A light, as pure and white as the storm above was corrupt rippled out across the battlefield. Within a second, the istfari was consumed, other creatures around it disappearing.

The forks of the storm's lightning returned to an ordinary blue, and the battlefield, once being overcome by the cultists, became a rout for humanity.

"How..", was all Desen managed to say, as a stray shot went off, killing him.



It was so very long ago that the war for Vorenhome, now named Seneschal, had been won. So very long ago that the dread powers hidden there had lain forgotten, yet the Sovereign had not forgotted. For on that word, the Prophecy had been penned. Or rather, one prophecy had been penned.

For, in the last hours of their desperate defence of Seneschal (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=534117), Jallin and his allies were to find that there had been a second..