6: Colonials
Vargania was one of the earliest Calsharan colony worlds, located close to the home system in astronomical terms. Until Visala had unified the worlds, Vargania had been fiercely independent and it had defended that independence through force. Wars between the colonies had been frequent and bloody, and centuries of bad blood between them had only made Visala's task to unify them more difficult. In the face of a common enemy, a threat from beyond their worlds, she had succeeded in the unification after a great deal of back-and-forth, not to mention attempted assassinations against both her and her husband.
Those troubles were more than a thousand years ago. Since then, Vargania had been a stalwart member of the Calsharan Systems Union. Despite this, they had also maintained a level of autonomy some of the more economically critical colonies lacked. Vargania had founded much of its economy upon agriculture and had done so for most of its existence. Perhaps because of its seeming lack of importance to the home-world's government, it was allowed to maintain itself instead of facing the kind of micro-management those other colonies found themselves increasingly pressed under by the new High Protector.
The home-world of Calshae Prime was beautiful for many reasons, from its long, golden yellow beaches, tropical rainforests and crystal blue oceans. Toron had seen some of the more prominent sights over the years, and as he had lived on the home-world for much of his life it held a special place within him. However, from the shuttle that took him down to Vargania's capital, he found himself gazing through a window down upon a world that was both different in its overall sights, yet beautiful for some of the same reasons. The capital, Rokasham, lacked the kind of monolithic, towering buildings of the home-world's capital, instead consisting of a sprawl of more modest structures. Many of them were old, dating back to the earliest days of the colony, bearing certain flourishes in the archways, columns, buttresses and the like that Toron felt offered a more 'rustic' quality. The overall aged look so many of these central buildings carried also added to that aspect, with old tiled roofs upon which moss had collected in patches and paint was flaking; overgrown creeping vines that wound their way up alongside some of these structures; walls comprised of old fashioned bricks and mortar instead of the more sophisticated concrete and polymer mixes found back home. It was like Toron was flying into a city centuries behind the one he called home, and yet the modern touches were also apparent. The air was full of transports and shuttles flying about in ordered lines, transporting people and goods. Military craft patrolled the skies. The streets were dotted with holographic displays and projectors, broadcasting the latest news from the home-world, most of which spoke of the latest gains made in the ongoing war. Repeats of the High Protector's latest speech played on occasion, in which the Union leader highlighted an officer by the name of Ravus who had apparently died in heroic circumstances on the frontlines.
Beyond the city were rolling hills and coniferous forests. Given the time of year, many of those trees had turned a shade of brown, leaves falling away in clusters. The Varganian sun sat low in the sky, putting the time at roughly mid-afternoon.
The inside of the shuttle was quiet and plain. Toron sat across from Grand General Voross Masrak, the wizened veteran eyeing the younger officer curiously, taking note of the intrigued expression he wore as he surveyed the city below them.
"A strangely backwards place, in some respects," General Masrak said. "But far calmer a place to live than the home-world."
They were the only two on board the shuttle, save for the pilot. As such, they need not have worried about being overheard. Toron turned his attention to the General, narrowing his eyes slightly.
"You really think I can help here?" He asked him.
"Probably more than you realise," Masrak replied. The shuttle descended on a careful angle towards one of the city's major spaceports, specifically one often used for government and military personnel. A couple dozen circular landing pads were spaced along a stretch of the city's central district, each one capable of landing something as large as a frigate, or several smaller craft such as shuttles and fighters. A number of armed guards were at this hangar, outfitted in the light blue armour vests common to the Varganian Defence Force, a separate entity to the normal military that specialised in the defence of the colony world.
"Look smart, Lieutenant." General Masrak nodded to the young officer's uniform, a stark dark grey as was standard for the Calsharan space navy. "We're meeting the governor. Make sure you're looking your best."
Toron adjusted his collar. The shuttle touched down on what was an autumn day, in which so much of the city seemed bathed in a subdued orange-brown glow.
"Did I tell you that I am Varganian by birth, Lieutenant?" The General asked. The quiet hum of the shuttle's engines faded, and a light by the door of the passenger section turned green. They were good to disembark. The General rose from his chair, as did Toron. The door itself slid open, a short set of steps extending from the threshold to touch upon the concrete below.
"You didn't, sir."
"Well, I'll tell you now." The General made for the door, stepping from the shuttle and into the cool breeze that wafted through the busy spaceport. Toron followed suit, finding the fresh air welcome when having spent hours within the confines of the shuttle, treated to recycled oxygen that had carried a certain 'used' quality to it. That same 'quality' was apparent on every other ship he had flown on, an expected trait of travelling in glorified metal boxes through the vacuum of space.
"I was born in a small town, many miles from here," the General said. They stopped at the base of the shuttle steps. A pair of armed guards were walking towards them, joined by a young female in an officer's uniform. Their greeting party, no doubt.
"A quiet place, home to, at most, two thousand people. Everybody knew everybody else's business. Most people got along. Crime was almost non-existent. I see cities like the one back on Calshae, and by that I mean the capital, Impira, and I see millions upon millions of us living on top of one another. I cannot stand that, Lieutenant. It isn't natural. Out there, in the old village, we were surrounded by nature. Hardly another soul for miles all around. Paradise, Lieutenant. A young man like yourself would do well to move to such a place. The calming effect it has is enormous, even life-changing."
"I understand, General." Toron was not sure that he did, really, but he felt it best to simply humour the Grand General. The old veteran was clearly set in his ways, like so many of these long-time soldiers were.
"Every time I return to Vargania, I feel this overwhelming sense of relief, as if everything is going to be all right." He frowned then, his expression suddenly turning grim. "We both know that isn't true to reality, of course."
Before Toron could say anything in reply, the customs officer and her escort had stopped before them. She was about Toron's age, with light green skin and a plume of deep blue feathers at her scalp. Similarly tinted blue eyes regarded the pair carefully, searching for any sign that they might be here to cause trouble. Scanners about the spaceport would have already confirmed that they were both unarmed, yet this customs officer carried with her a careful suspicion.
"Grand General," she said suddenly, offering the veteran a salute. "I have instructions to take you to the Administration Centre immediately."
"Then by all means, lead the way."
"Does your friend here have identification on him?" The customs officer asked, and she shot Toron a hard scowl. Was this simply the general suspicion of someone in her line of work, or was there something else to it? The General had more or less stated he was part of some kind of conspiracy, and Toron knew by being here with him he was involving himself with it. If the General was ever found out, he would be in turn. There would be no turning back now.
"I can vouch for him," the General said, and the customs officer was unlikely to argue with a Grand General. "He's a Lieutenant in the Navy, as you can see. And he is also a close friend of mine. Hardly someone you need worry yourself with."
"As you wish, General." The customs officer gave a nod, even if she was seemingly unsatisfied with the answer. She turned around, starting for the spaceport's exit. The General followed, with Toron taking up the rear. They crossed the busy landing area, wherein three other shuttles were parked and in varying stages of maintenance and repair. Systems were checked, control crystals replaced and cargo unloaded. The customs officer and her two guards lead the newly arrived pair into a lane outside, that ran between the separate landing areas. A lane that was simply a part of a maze-like series of interconnected passages, with multiple intersections and plenty of signage to reduce a new arrival's risk of becoming lost.
A small tram running on a magnetic rail awaited them. It was just one on an entire citywide transport network, and it offered the most efficient means to the planetary administration building from wherein the Governor worked. The trip on the tram took about ten minutes, with the customs officer joining them. Her name was Lahea Varollon, a Captain in the Varganian Defence Force. She said little during the ride, not one for small talk. It was General Masrak who sparked up a mostly one-sided conversation with Toron, who found himself simply nodding or providing one-word answers as the General rambled on about how great it had been growing up in small-town Vargania.
The planetary Administration Centre was a large estate-like building in the heart of the city, no taller than three floors but making up for it with the sheer amount of ground it covered. Lush, expansive gardens surrounded it, and a paved private road led to its main entrance from the street. Guards patrolled at every corner and surveillance drones kept an eye on the surrounding neighbourhood, with a garrison of home defence soldiers on standby within the estate's grounds at all times in case of incident. It was here that the Governor ruled and resided, with numerous representatives and the like coming here to discuss matters of planetary governance on regular occasions. In the end, however, they all reported to the central government of the High Protector.
Again, Toron was struck by how old the estate looked. Comprised mainly of red bricks, it was certainly at odds with anything he had seen in the government district back on the home-world. Captain Varollon escorted him and the General from the tram and down the private road to the entrance. There, she departed, no doubt to wait around outside whilst the two conducted their business with the Governor.
The interior was not as lavish as Toron had expected, although it did have the kinds of adornments he had expected to see: a statue of Visala was in the entrance lobby, this one seeing her dressed in regal battle armour. And on the wall, a portrait of her, paired next to a portrait of a male Calsharan Toron thought looked oddly familiar. However, this one sported a scarred face, specifically to the left-hand side, and a grey eyepatch covered what was presumably a missing eye in that area.
A few guards were dotted about the halls, sporting the blue of the home Defence Force. A screen in the lobby played the latest in news broadcasts at a low volume. A middle-aged Calsharan male was seated at a desk in the corner, eyes set upon a computer terminal. However, his attention shot up to the newly arrived pair, and he rose to his feet upon seeing the General.
"Grand General, sir, a pleasure to see you." The political aide offered a salute, which the General returned. "The Governor is expecting you. He is in his office, and you are free to go on." He turned to Toron, eyes narrowing. "As for your friend…"
"He's with me, Gavra," the Grand General interrupted.
"Of course, sir." He motioned with one hand in the direction of the hall. "Please, go on ahead. I understand your business is urgent."
"More or less." The General moved for the corridor and Toron, feeling a little out of place, followed through lack of any alternatives. The inside of the estate was certainly not what Toron had expected, although he noticed a sign above one set of double doors they passed: Hall of Officials. That was likely where the most arguments occurred. The Governor, as with any planetary governor within the Union, would have a sizeable military background. Most of the other, low-level officials would have come from all walks of life, but all of them would have at least done the compulsory level of service required to enter government work. None could enter a position of significant influence without that prior history of military service.
The Governor was in his office at the end of the hall. It was a large room, floored with soft carpet, the overall surrounding colour scheme a dull beige. Shelves were at one end, crammed full of books of varying thicknesses and sizes. A pair of windows, reinforced against projectile attacks, looked out upon the building's rear garden. The Governor himself was seated at his desk before those windows, illuminated in the afternoon sun, his attention set upon a data-pad he held. He was about the same age as the Grand General, with deep red-brown skin and yellow eyes. As the pair of officers walked inside, he looked up, attentive, one brow-ridge quirking slightly as he regarded the pair with a mix of curiosity and concern. His uniform was a bluish grey in colour, made from a silken fabric that caught some small amount of shine in the light.
"General, I hope you made it here without incident?" The Governor asked him. He put aside the data-pad, fixing his full attention upon the pair.
"No problems, Governor." The General snapped off a quick salute. "I even brought a friend, as you can see." He nodded towards the younger officer. "That is Lieutenant Toron Kavellan, son of our late friend, Cordan Kavellan."
"He spoke of you more than once," the Governor said. "You are his eldest, yes?"
"I am, sir." Toron nodded.
"I am Governor Riall Nalgen, of Vargania." The Governor paused briefly, before he added: "What of your younger brother, Valkas? I hear he deserted some time ago?"
Toron nodded again. That was about the gist of it, after all. Valkas had run off with the humans of Earth, and for all he knew he could be dead. It might have been simpler if that was the case, instead of leaving their mother harbouring some futile hope that her boy would return home sometime, this time for good.
"Why do you ask, Governor?" Toron watched the man carefully, trying to gauge what he was thinking. The Governor remained stone-faced.
"Your father was a close friend of mine, Lieutenant," the Governor explained. "He did some favours for me, and in turn the people of Vargania. He always had an affinity for this planet, even if he had come to marry a woman from the home-world. His family came from here, the forest villages of Vargania, where the people are honest and work hard. A much different place to Calshae Prime, I would say."
"Your city seems nice, sir."
"It is nice. I intend to keep it that way. The problem, Lieutenant, is that I have a lot of officials from the home-world attempting to make changes here that neither I, nor many of the people of this world, agree with. They wish for me to allow their new Union Political Directorate to ingratiate itself here, even recruit from the locals. Varganians fight hard and are loyal to the home-world, as any Calsharan should be. And yet this new High Protector treats us and everyone else as potential criminals, seeing suspicion and treachery everywhere and in everyone. Why do you think he has created this new beast, this UPD to try and keep us all in line? At least the Vigilants of Varondaar were never like this."
There followed a brief pause. The Governor obviously thought strongly on the subject. It was apparent why he and the Grand General had joined together, as they shared similar views. The risk, however, was if the Governor happened to share his views with the wrong person, he would then likely find himself relieved of his position. The High Protector would place someone loyal to him as Governor of Vargania, so this current Governor had apparently been very careful so far as to what he said and to whom he said it.
"The Grand General has brought you here because he must trust you," the Governor declared. "He and I trust each other implicitly, as we have known each other for many years. Your father was the same, although his position on the home-world made him a much greater target than either of us. The High Protector implicated him in this 'conspiracy' as a means to remove a potential threat, that is, an officer of influence loyal to the Union and to the foundations Visala built our society upon. This new High Protector wants to change our ways, drive us into a war that will only see countless Calsharan sons and daughters dead. I do not wish to continue seeing Varganian soldiers going off to war, only to return in pieces. This war benefits the High Protector and his desire for power, no one else."
"What can I do?" Toron asked, intrigued if uncertain. He had always been loyal to the Union, to the High Protector and all that the Union itself stood for. He believed in a united Calsharan people, based upon principles that Visala herself had devised a thousand years ago.
"You are an associate of Supreme Commander Cassalis, for one." Grand General Masrak spoke then, causing Toron to turn to him. "You are young and have an excellent record. A model soldier. The last person anyone would suspect of moving against the High Protector. I know it is a lot to ask, becoming involved with what is by all intents a conspiracy, but we need the support. We want to pull out of the war, and that movement is going to start here, with Vargania. Other colonies should follow, if we gain enough momentum."
"But that would tear apart the Union," Toron countered. The implications of such an occurrence were daunting and far-reaching. He had not sworn an oath to the office of the High Protector only to turn against that very office. And yet, he had a Grand General and a Governor discussing just that, having already made their intentions clear. Toron had come here because a Grand General was someone to follow, and as the man had been a friend of his father, it added a significant amount of credibility.
"The High Protector has already corrupted the Union," the General said. His voice grew impassioned, driven by anger, his gravelly tones morphing into something more akin to a growl as he went on: "He arrests and imprisons loyal commanders on plain suspicion. He killed your father, Toron. He may not have pulled the trigger, but he gave the order. His new Union Political Directorate routinely arrest and torture those they perceive to be dissidents. He has thrown us into a war on multiple fronts, all to further his own ends at controlling as much of the galaxy as he possibly can. And he framed the Vigilants of Varondaar for the death of the previous High Protector, implicating them in a conspiracy that was nothing but lies and fabrications. The people responsible for those lies roam free, Toron. Do you not want to see them brought to justice?"
"How, General?" Toron was startled by the General's increasingly aggressive tones, and was even more taken aback by the fierce look he had gained in his pale blue eyes. "How can we fix all of that? Why me, anyway? I'm a Lieutenant, I'm no General. I might lead a squad of twelve at most, nothing more. I came here at your request and because I care about the fate of our society. I do not agree with what is happening, nor do I much like the High Protector. Yes, he had my father killed, but I have an ailing mother to care for. What can I do, that is, what can I do without putting her at risk? Without putting everyone else in my family and all of my friends at risk also?" He shook his head, letting out a sigh. He allowed himself a pause, catching his breath whilst he tried to organize his feelings on the subject.
"You can do whatever you set your mind to, Lieutenant." This voice was new, that of a male, and it sounded from the left-hand corner of the room. Toron looked up, confused, his eyes going to the corner in question. There was a potted plant there, specifically of a fern native to the home-world. From behind it materialised a tall male Calsharan in mostly grey and black garb, clothing that was uniform-like but lacked any discerning marks. There was, however, a red armband on his left arm, and it carried the emblem of the Vigilants of Varondaar. Red and black had been their chief colours, unlike the black and silver that the new Union Political Directorate favoured.
This male was about Toron's height and a good twenty years older, with black skin and piercing yellow eyes. He had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, an effect provided by the cloaking device he wore at his waist. That kind of device was usually only seen in the hands of the most elite troops. Or, Toron realised, it would sometimes be used by covert operatives of the Vigilants of Varondaar.
This operative had been lingering in the corner, cloaked and invisible to the naked eye. The cloaking was not perfect, but the lighting had been such over there to better hide any of the wavering discrepancies it caused in the space occupied by the cloak's operator.
"I would expect the son of a man like Cordan Kavellan to be more confident in himself," the Vigilant added. He stepped towards the trio, coming to stop by the Governor's desk. He carried himself with the kind of assuredness Toron would expect from a member of that now defunct order. "Even more so, a descendant of Visala herself."
This latest piece of information caused Toron to frown, mainly from confusion.
"What do you mean?"
"What I mean, Lieutenant, is that the Vigilants have a genetic database of all Union citizens. We have traced the lineage of Visala herself throughout our entire society. You are among the small percentage who can trace their ancestry back to her."
This was news to Toron. He was not sure if he should believe it, or what it even meant. To be descended from such a legendary figure was not something he thought would be particularly useful here and now. This Vigilant was no doubt trying to get on his good side. A member of that order would be a fugitive in the new High Protector's Calsharan Systems Union, which would make the Governor and the Grand General guilty of harbouring a fugitive. Serious charges, if they were caught. And if they were, Toron knew he would end up taking the fall with them, regardless of how willing he had been to get involved.
"Who are you?" Toron asked the Vigilant. The Vigilant smirked, yellow eyes meeting with Toron's own with a look the suggested some small level of mischief.
"Jorran Casker," the Vigilant replied. "I was a Protector within the Vigilant order. I was here on Vargania when the purge occurred, and thankfully I was able to escape the kind of persecution my fellows faced. That isn't to say I've had it easy, for I was living in the wilderness for much of the intervening period before the Governor sought me out. You see, Lieutenant, the Governor and I, as well as the Grand General, are convinced of the illegitimacy of the new High Protector. There was no grand conspiracy by the Vigilants, and we certainly did not kill the previous High Protector. Rather, it was the new High Protector who had his predecessor killed, with assistance from a number of high-level associates of his. Among them, Rila Cassalis, a woman you know well."
"Do you have proof?"
"That is another thing." Casker's face tightened into a grim frown. "We have no solid evidence, simply rumours from trusted sources, most of whom are too afraid to speak out. The Grand General here believes he has a lead on something solid, something we can present to the people in order to turn them away from the High Protector and his corrupt regime. With the Governor in support, we have all the resources we need to push back against that regime."
"So you don't need me?"
"Not exactly. We needed your father. He is dead, so we must settle for you. Descendant of Visala, and brother to her husband."
Again, Toron was confused, even more so than before. What he had just heard made little sense, given that Visala and her husband had been dead for centuries.
"Just one more interesting piece of information that Supreme Commander Cassalis saw fit to bury entirely. This war betrays the ideals that the Union was built upon. Visala always spoke of keeping the people strong and well-defended, but she did not wish to see it turned into warmongering aggression. Evidently, the centuries have perverted her meanings, despite how hard we Vigilants attempted to preserve it." Casker sounded glum, and he shook his head slowly. "With the Vigilants order destroyed, it seems some truths will be lost to time. Intentional on the part of Cassalis and High Protector Garall, no doubt."
"How can I be brother to Visala's husband?" Toron asked.
Casker glanced to the Grand General, and he gave him a curt nod. An unspoken exchange was made, and the Vigilant proceeded to reveal one of the more unbelievable facts concerning Visala and her origin. And then, when that was done, Toron was left feeling a little stunned and still substantially confused.
"There is something that can help you better understand," the Vigilant said, and he reached into his jacket. From within, he pulled a small data crystal, one of a significantly older make compared to those widely available now. He handed it to Toron, who took it in one hand and held it up to the light, examining the small white crystal closely. Old, certainly, but otherwise not unusual.
"View the recording on that crystal when you have the opportunity," Vigilant Jorran told him. "It should explain the situation far better than I have."
Toron, still a little perplexed, nodded his head. He slid the crystal into one pocket, intending to do as the Vigilant said. If there was something on there that could help him understand, then he would most definitely be interested in viewing it. His train of thought was interrupted when the General spoke again, the old veteran's eyes set upon him.
"Are you with us, Lieutenant?" The Grand General asked. "You can help me, back on the home-world. I have leads to pursue, even if they are shaky ones at that."
"If we succeed, we'll tear this Union apart," Toron answered, and he turned to give the General as grim a look as he could muster. "What will become of my mother, if my part in this is discovered?"
"We can protect her," Casker interjected. He sounded a little too confident about that for Toron's liking, as if he was putting it on for the younger male's benefit. "Besides, sometimes one must break something in order to fix it. The Union is corrupted. We need to take drastic measures to repair it."
Toron had his doubts, but he saw no other choice. He would help these people for his father and for his mother, although he knew such an action could lead to his own demise. It was a thought he was not entirely at peace with, yet he could not deny the legitimacy a Grand General, a Governor and even a member of the Vigilants order brought with them.
The meeting went on for another five minutes, wherein the Vigilant, the Governor and the Grand General exchanged further words about their intentions and who else they believed they could count on for support. It seemed Toron was no longer needed here, so with the General's permission he wandered out back into the hall to wait. Here, he looked to the portrait upon the wall, the one not of Visala but of the male with the scarred face and patch over his missing left eye. The one who looked so very much like an older Valkas, which now made significantly more sense to him. Sure, Valkas was a fairly common name, the name of the man who had married Visala. Now, however, it seemed that Valkas Kavellan had been named after himself.