2
The Tribunal was in an uproar.
Men and women clad in black and red robes, were arguing, some shouting and wagging fingers at each other. They spun and walked down the aisles, their robes following them as they went, and each time they moved, one would see the glimmer of golden symbols that represented their districts and nations that have ruled for millenniums. These were the High Lords of the Universe who governed and managed the intergalactic homes of living beings as handed over by their ancestors for eons.
The universe was indeed a larger body that homed thousands of galaxies, where each segment, those reachable and recognizable by the royal parliament, was represented by their dynastic matriarchs, patriarchs and regents. The dynastic rulers, like kingdoms, work amongst each other with either common or unique trades.
What anyone did in this court were merely ripples and shadows of their forefathers; the sources of their being. The High Lords were next to immortals, being the oldest and wisest of the human race. But such wisdom is never always met, nor understood across the royal parliament that protected the kingdoms.
The parliament was key to controlling and avoiding wars. There had been 46 according to record, one of which helped start the galaxy of Earth. Each time a war broke, resources deplete. To date, cold wars were still present in the universe, and the animosity amongst certain families was still felt, especially in court.
What breaks the sentimental woes of the dynasties were the practicalities of each one; Resources were not as abundant compared to hundreds of millenniums ago. The living beings all kingdoms have created multiplied at rates neither the parliament nor its rulers could control.
Only a handful of dynasties in the universe were capable of producing and planting new stars, planets and species that could sustain their lives. And the Abrasax was among them.
One of the oldest, and most powerful, was the Abrasax Dynasty. They were said to be the direct descendents of the Ancient Ones, those who have lived and begun feeding from the universe itself. From generation, to generation, an eon across another, the bloodline of the Ancients lived under the veins of the Abrasax together with only a few handful dynasties. Knowledge, wealth, power were passed on so successfully, that the exclusivity of the Abrasax trade was almost next to none. Though there may be a dynasty or two that can rival what they could offer, the size and quality of the Abrasax Farming Trade was unmatchable.
However, there has never come a time that the Abrasax Dynasty was questioned so aggressively, not until now.
"We cannot accept a neophyte to sit on the Throne of a High Queen! She's not even over a Thousand years old!"
"Lord Zeyne," implored a voice, "You know a genetic re-occurrence is by order of the Natural Law. It has been long written that occurrences as rare as this is demanded to be respected by the Ancient Ones!"
"There hasn't been a genetic re-occurrence among the High Rulers for over an Eon! Are you daft?! There must have been a dark trick in this! I demand a clear investigation—even it means tearing her apart!"
The room erupted into howls and low voices; for old men and women, Rulers at that, to fight in this magnitude was a friction only War could entice.
"Lord Zeyne, all the more we need to acknowledge the presence of a High Ruler's re-occurrence. It cannot be ignored, nor trifled with. Her body cannot be dismantled like a common splice! She is of royalty, and no matter how young, no matter how ignorant, her blood and genes are superior than most of you in this room!"
"What irks you, milord," the voice continued, "is not the fact that a neophyte has been born to Royalty; it's the re-occurrence itself, isn't it?"
"And why not? You arrogant fool! Have you not realized?!" Lord Zeyne bellowed,
"It has been written in the Book of Prophecies that each time a re-occurrence amongst the High Rulers transpires, one of the Ancient Ones will be re-born! The prophecy foretells the end of the universe. Once the force of the child has come of age, it has the ability to absorb the universe into its original state: NOTHING! Everything our forefathers have worked hard for, everything our ancestors have built—gone! Because of a genetic re-occurrence?!"
"Equally, milord, I remember my history fully well; and if this is the prophecy that you speak of, it also means that the child can restore what has been lost."
At this point, the room have grown quiet.
"Everyone is aware that our resources are depleting. Our rate of consumption has reached an optimal level beyond comprehension—and control. The Abrasax dynasty for one cannot always create a green planet to sow new humans. Previous high rulers have not lived so long as we have. Know that our endless quest for immortality has led us to this point. Perhaps...the Ancient Ones are trying to reach us—"
"By killing us?"
"By reminding us that we are not immortals but mortals as well."
"Lord Thar," Lord Zeyne addressed the voice, finally. "this is madness. Our way of life is, and always have been, a way of continuity."
"Continuity through our children. Not of ourselves. No one among us has allowed a natural death for very very long time. Imagine the ratio; for every High Ruler in this room, hundreds of planets have been consumed. Simply to lengthen our lives! Granted that there are thousands more left, in due time, there would be too little to share with all of you, and not enough time to create new ones and match our greed!"
"So Thar," Lord Zeyne cut him off, removing the respectable title, "are you willing to die to spare a few more planets? You're nothing but a hypocrite, you fool! I am not a child you can tell your stories to! I know my history, I know the prophecies, and I know the science and patterns of this universe beyond your personal understanding! Tell me, you speak of restoration, how at all do you think can a living being restore what has been lost—in an instant? Huh? Burst herself? Become pure energy? Are you trying to tell," Lord Zeyne gestured his hands wide, pointing to the enormity of the room, "a joke to this court by aiding the impossible?"
"You're scared, old man! That's all that you are!" Lord Thar shouted, "If you kill Jupiter Jones, you might as well have killed us all!"
"She's a mortal, for goodness' sake! Just like all of us, as you said."
"A mortal with a gift!"
"Just as well, Lord Thar, if we don't kill her, something in her or from her, will eliminate us all."
Silence. Each and every member of the court suddenly felt weary. Something they haven't felt in a long, long time.
"If something in her can eliminate us, it should've done so at the moment of her maturation. The fact that we're still alive at this very moment tells me that her presence is constructive, not destructive. Energy is never destroyed, milord..." Lord Tyrone looked at the aged High Ruler. He saw abundant fear, and a raging spirit. It is of no use to the universe to lose the support of a respectable High Ruler. Not at this point, "It can only be converted." He continued. "But our wastes have not been converted for millenniums; the time needed for matter to recuperate has not been respected. Balance has been lost since before our forefathers were born. We have been greedy, milord. So much so, we are losing resources as we speak, and they are irreplaceable."
"NONSENSE! It will convert! Our technologies have the necessary advancements to aid the conversion!"
"Where? Where is this technology?"
Lord Zeyne opened his mouth, but nothing escaped.
"It takes time." Lord Thar whispered. But the silence of the room allowed the whisper to be as clear as conceivable to all. "And you know it. Our most precious commodity. Time, for once. Cannot afford something—itself. Something in Jupiter Jones or from her can carry the ability or has the prowess to change this. For the better."
Lord Zeyne fell back into his chair. He was tired, indeed. So very tired. He felt the tension in his old veins, and his age made most obvious due to a lack of Submersion. The High Ruler himself has not used the nectar for quite a while, refusing to restore his youth like others who wait.
The serum is always just there. They never ran out. Never...
"Even if you're right..." Lord Zeyne's voice ached, "What makes you think this person is worthy to be kept alive? What can possibly protect her? With power as immense as she has, but a life as volatile as ours, how will she survive..."
Lord Thar smiled. Not obnoxiously or threateningly; but reassuring. It was a gentle, humble smile, something the lords did not expect as a reaction,
"Security is not an issue, milord. Believe me..." he smiled again, "It is provided."
