From Darkest Night to Purest Day
Only two days remained until Queen Talonka's execution. If she'd counted correctly. Meals came once a day—assuming they hadn't skipped feeding her. It was hard to tell after almost two weeks of scant rations, but they clearly wanted her alive or they'd have starved her—or worse, let her die of thirst.
"Step away from the door." The boy who always delivered her food—if what they gave her could be defined as food—slipped her tray through the slot at the base of her cell's forcefield door.
"Thank you," she said before the slot closed.
The boy—no older than twelve—never acknowledged her, but every time she thanked him, he paused for half a second before pushing his service cart to the next cell.
Talonka picked up the tray and sat on the hard cot that jutted from the back wall of the six-by-six room. At least they'd given her a spoon today. Yesterday, she'd had to use her hands, and her black and green military uniform still wore the stains. She'd have scolded either of her sons for wiping their hands on their clothes. Her older boy would have scowled and glared, but obeyed. The younger would have given her a mischief-filled smile and sneaked in another transgression or two. What must they be thinking? They would have realized by now—despite her husband's best efforts—that she wasn't coming home. Unless Adonai intervened, she would never see her family again. Not this side of eternity's gates.
Her hand trembled as she scraped a sludgy spoonful off the tray. In the poor lighting it was impossible to tell what she was eating. She'd quickly learned not to investigate when she'd found a halved tunnel crawler, sans the fur, in her food on the first day after they'd dragged her aboard ship. Today's ration tasted better than it smelled, and she held her breath until she'd swallowed, ignoring every gag instinct until she couldn't stomach any more. She would have skipped eating altogether, but twelve days of imprisonment had stolen her strength, and should she have opportunity to escape she would need enough fortitude to run.
She might have imagined it, but her refilled water bottle seemed to be a little fuller lately. But that couldn't be. Prisoner rationing was carefully monitored. She downed a third of her daily water ration. It was worth it to wash the rancid aftertaste from her mouth. The rest of her water she slipped into the bottle shaped wall divot beside her cot. It seemed to have been made to accommodate the cold metal bottles.
Her spoon she wiped clean on one of the few stain-free areas of her jacket hem before wedging it, handle down, behind the bottle. Hopefully, the kitchen staff wouldn't miss a single spoon. At least now she wouldn't have to use her hands to eat her last meal. Assuming what they served her tomorrow was edible.
"Collection time." The delivery boy returned to collect her tray just as the door slot opened. He stood four feet from the door, waiting for her to place the tray where he could retrieve it.
She obeyed, but he didn't pick up the tray until she'd retreated to her cot. "Thank you," she said as he scraped the remaining food into a waste canister and slotted the dirty tray with a stack of others.
The boy paused but didn't look her way before pushing his cart toward the brig entrance.
Though she'd done little else besides sit and sleep these past twelve days, Talonka fought to stay awake. At least it wasn't as deathly cold in here as it had been last week. She sat with her head hanging, hands on knees, orange-blonde hair cascading to her waist in a jungle of tangles. She'd finger combed it for ten days until the knots had finally beaten her. Yesterday she'd tied it up with a strip of cloth torn from her shirt hem. Unlike most other rips in her uniform, the tattered hem was hidden beneath her jacket.
Talonka let the gray cloth pool in one palm. Her sons had ripped so many pants and shirts she'd lost count. If only this dirty scrap were from them. She held the piece of cloth to her nose and imagined it smelled of sunshine and tilled earth from the gardens back home on Gamilon. But instead of sweet warmth, only the stink of sweat filled her senses.
"Adonai," she whispered the prayer, "I wish…" Tears blurred her vision, "I wish I could have held them one more time." She pulled off her jacket and lay on the cot, back to the door as she cradled the wadded jacket. One squared shoulder poked her cheek and absorbed tears as she imagined it was her dear husband, or one of her precious children, instead of a dirty jumble of cloth.
Premier Pretorius Bemlayze, preeminent of the mighty Bolar Federation, sat cross-legged at one end of his throne room. His gold and gray half-cape, trapped against the seat back by his bulk, pulled his collar tight against his throat and bulging second chin. But he would betray no discomfort to these baseborn attendants and military men. "The Gamilon will be here in two days. I expect preparations for her execution are complete."
A balding, middle-aged man gave him a straight-backed bow. "Yes, Premier." His black eyes darted in nervous lines, lighting everywhere except Bemlayze. "But there is one thing…"
Bemlayze grabbed a glass dish—which still contained bones from his mid-afternoon gorging—and hurled it at the man. Bones clacked across the marble floor, and the dish cracked the man's orbital socket before shattering on the hard floor. "I said there would be consequences if everything wasn't perfect." He stood, alleviating the pull of his cape. "Collar." He motioned a servant from the shadows.
The servant—a woman—had a cleanly shaven head, and she wore a white, floor-length gown and deep violet makeup. Though her pace never rose past a walk, her quick stride carried her to Bemlayze's outstretched hand in seconds. The moment she laid the titanium collar in his palm, she retreated to the shadows, never once turning her back to the premier or meeting his gaze.
Bemlayze's fingers curled around the collar. "Since you cannot do as you are told, you have earned a motive for future obedience." Bemlayze descended the two short steps from his throne. There had been four, but he'd had two removed. The effort winded him far too much. Even two steps were cumbersome. Perhaps after the execution he'd have those removed as well.
Broken bits of glass crunched under Bemlayze's boots as he approached the trembling attendant, whose eye was already purpling and would swell shut within the hour.
Bemlayze fitted the collar around the man's throat, stepped back, and snapped his fingers.
The collar constricted, and two wicked spikes mounted inside the collar sank into the man's neck. He flinched, shook, but didn't cry out.
Many of Bemlayze's staff, generals, and other military officers bore scars from a time or two in the collar. Most didn't repeat their offenses. The ones who trespassed too often eventually went mad and were relegated to offworld prison camps where even broken-minded men could serve the Federation by processing refuse or mining ore.
"What is the punishment for failure to obey?" Bemlayze poised his hands inches apart, one wrist cocked.
The offending attendant quivered. A detestable display of weakness. "One month in the collar, Premier."
"And?"
The man scrambled to complete his answer, likely hoping not to add to his sentence. "One hour of pain each day, to be served intermittently or continuously—as the premier sees fit."
"So, your memory does work. Shall we begin?" Bemlayze clapped.
Electricity shot through the collared man's body. He writhed for a full minute before Bemlayze stopped the current with a second clap. He'd had sensors implanted in his hands so he could trigger any collar without a control unit—so long as he was within a room's length of the wearer or wearers. It was remarkably convenient to exact punishment on roomfuls of his citizens at once.
"Only fifty-nine minutes left today." Bemlayze used the same condescending tone he would have used with a child who'd earned a reward. If he hadn't detested children, that is. "Get up. You look ridiculous."
The man dragged himself up and staggered for balance. Sweat rolled down his neck, and thin streaks of blood oozed from the base of the collar—a confirmation that both interior spikes had punctured his neck as intended.
"Now, you were speaking of the execution preparations." Bemlayze returned to the steps leading up to his throne. It was a chore to pull himself up a single stair, and the second was even harder to scale than the first. Sweat rolled off his forehead, and he steadied his breathing before he reclaimed his seat. This time, he made sure his cape had enough slack in it so as not to choke him.
"Yes—yes, Premier." The collared man bowed, much lower this time. "We… are having difficulty breaking into the Gamilons' global broadcasting system."
Bemlayze clapped, harder this time.
The man screamed as he collapsed in a twitching heap.
By the time Bemlayze stopped the collar, the weakling attendant had passed out. And he still had fifty-seven minutes of his daily penance left. "You." He pointed to the man standing behind the one lying on the floor. "Resolve the broadcast difficulties immediately. We wouldn't want the queen's little ones to miss their dear mother's finest hour."
All seven attendants bowed. Except the one sprawled on the floor, of course.
"Dismissed."
Three servant women dragged the unconscious man from the throne room. Not one of them turned their back to Bemlayze or looked up to meet his exacting gaze.
The shattered bowl still lay in pieces, and naked bones scattered the floor. Soon Talonka's bones would lie at his feet. And he would relish every moment of her death.
Talonka woke to the sense that someone was watching her. She couldn't be sure exactly what time it was, but there were no footsteps in the corridor that spanned the length of the brig. Either it was very early or very late.
Dried tears still crusted her cheeks, but at least they'd washed away some of the grime from the past twelve—or was it thirteen—days. She still hugged her jacket.
Feigning sleep, she listened for clues as to the identity of her observer. Several brig personnel had offered leers and crude propositions, but if they hadn't made advances by now, they weren't likely to.
When the sense of being watched lingered, Talonka rolled to face the door. She cracked one eyelid. It was hard to tell in the poor lighting, but the silhouette seemed to match the boy tasked with food delivery.
The boy crept toward her door and peered inside as if he'd never seen a Gamilon before. She looked little different from him. The most striking distinction was skin tone disparity. Where hers was a pleasant light blue, his was bone white, like most Bolars.
The boy seemed to sense her attention because he disappeared quickly, but not before slipping something into her cell via the door slot.
When the forcefield closed, the wonderful scent of hot svult filled the cell.
Though her mouth was watering, Talonka resisted the urge to leap out of bed, grab the cup of soup and gulp it down.
She waited a full minute to ensure no one had seen the boy's act of kindness. When she was confident he'd gone unseen, she slipped from her cot and used her jacket to pick up the steaming cup so she didn't burn her hands.
She sat on her cot, back to the door, in case anyone happened by while she ate.
Silently, she slipped the hidden spoon from behind her water bottle and dipped it into the rich red soup. She held the first spoonful to her nose and inhaled the savory scent of fresh root vegetables in tangy broth. The scent alone set her stomach rumbling, and she almost dropped her spoon in an effort to stifle the noise coming from her deprived stomach.
The loathsome growl stopped. She dipped the spoon again and blew until the soup wouldn't burn her tongue.
Flavor seeped into her palette, cleansing it from every foul thing she'd endured eating since they'd thrown her into this cell. Adonai… She sipped another spoonful. Thank you for kindness, even in a place such as this.
She made the soup last more than an hour, waiting a few minutes between spoonfuls. By the time she finished, the soup was cold, but it was still just as wonderful.
There were few choices when it came to a place to hide the empty cup. It wouldn't fit with her water bottle, nor were there any loose panels on the walls or floor. The best she could do was tuck it between the cot and wall and hope no one searched her cell before she clandestinely returned the cup.
Though the rich soup made her thirsty, she saved her water. She didn't want to rinse away any remaining hints of the best meal she'd had in nearly two weeks.
She curled up on her cot, jacket folded to her chest, but the night felt a little less lonely with the svult still warming her stomach.
Bemlayze stood on the capitol building's ornate balcony. Below lay the city he'd built. Once, this had been snow-swept tundra, fit only for tunnel crawlers and wild grath. Until he'd claimed it and moved the capitol here. Now, it was the most pristine city in all the federation.
Within walking distance—for those who engaged in such base activities as walking—was the shining dome where he would kill Talonka. He'd had it built specifically for this moment, and the anticipation had him gripping the balcony rail. Inside the dome were more than a thousand video transmitters and camera-equipped drones. Each one was ready to record and broadcast every moment of the coming execution.
Saliva slipped from one corner of his mouth at the thought of Talonka, lauded queen of Gamilon and purveyor of religious idiocy, dead at his feet. If she had been anything else, the humiliation wouldn't have been so crippling, but to be consistently bested by a woman? Unthinkable. She'd been in his way far too long, caused both him and his associates unnumbered troubles, and had the gall to tout her intolerant religion publicly. Thank the universe she was locked away during transport so she couldn't peddle her beliefs to anyone else.
Once she was dead, he would overrun Gamilon and add its worlds and peoples to his own. The Bolar Federation would expand to the edges of the universe, and none would stand in his way. They—he—would dominate every corner of reality.
He dabbed his chin clean with one corner of his cape.
"Premier." One of his generals approached. He was tall and younger than most of his peers, only three or four years Bemlayze's senior, and he had yet to gain any wrinkles. His neck was also markedly free from collar scars. "A report from the Sevya. Gamilon ships are inbound, likely coming to retrieve their queen. No destroyers or capitol ships, only small, maneuverable craft. The rest of their fleet can't be far behind. We outnumber them, but they have superior maneuverability."
Bemlayze pursed annoyed lips. Even locked up this woman was causing trouble. But this could be beneficial, or entertaining at the very least.
Four dozen drones used laser particulate removal to make the execution dome glisten in the setting sun.
"Destroy them. Leave none alive." Bemlayze chuckled. "Imagine it. Gamilon loses its queen and its best fleet in the same month. We could occupy their homeworld, and they'd be too grief-stricken to stop us." He waved to dismiss the officer.
As the swarm of drones finished their sweep, pale yellow rays glinted off the dome's peak, and snow swirled about it as if dancing in celebration of his nearing victory. To look at the brilliant dome left burn spots in Bemlayze's vision, but the pleasure of knowing he would be rid of Talonka in less than two days overrode any discomfort. She was Gamilon's brightest star—their treasure. And he would snuff her out in an instant.
The air's metallic tang had thickened over the years as shipyards, manufacturing facilities, mines, and industrial complexes dominated the planet's landscape, and wildlife was relegated to prescribed areas.
Light snow landed atop his hands. The cold pricks only added to the moment's intensity as he imagined Talonka's corpse, sightless eyes open and blank, lips wide in a silent scream of shock or pain. Hands, once raised in fear, would lie limp and broken, crushed, or mangled by her fall. Perhaps she would earn a few bruises, cuts, or better yet, serious wounds, before dying. Perhaps he'd even collar her. That way, she'd have the privilege of experiencing a small piece of his power.
His indulgent stare broke from the glistening dome, and he swiped off the snow before going inside to continue his violent fantasies.
Just as Talonka picked up her meal tray, the ship bucked, hurling her to the floor. The tray leaped from her hands and landed face down, splattering her with rancid gray paste.
Two guards, normally loafing at one end of the brig or staring at comm screens, barreled past her door and crashed into the delivery boy. Guards and boy fell in a heap, and the food cart careened into the wall. Three filled trays hit the floor with a squelch.
"Haven't got the wit to get out of the way?" growled the larger man as he untangled himself.
"There'll be consequences for carelessness," the other rumbled before he and his partner ran for combat posts, leaving the boy to clean up the mess on his own.
The ship reeled again, and before the boy got hold of his cart, it slammed into a forcefield door further down the aisle. The prisoner inside shouted curses along with a few less than complimentary labels.
Before the cart could escape again, the boy grabbed its handle and hauled it back to the pile of sludge and scattered trays. On hands and knees, he frantically vacuumed the spilled food into the cleaning unit affixed to the back of the cart. He caught Talonka's eye, but the contact was so brief she wondered if she'd imagined it. She hadn't been able to slip the soup cup to him yet. Hopefully she'd have opportunity once this misadventure was over.
Four more guards, all bulky men armed with laser rifles, burst through the brig entrance. Each one's expression could have been carved from stone for all the warmth it held. All four marched past the delivery boy without so much as a glance and formed a wall between her cell and the rest of the brig.
Those shudders—they had to be from a rough landing. And these men had to be here to escort her to Bemlayze.
Her stomach seemed heavy as a filled cargo hold. She'd thought she had most of the day left. "What's happening?" She tried to get the guards' attention, but all ignored her. They seemed far more vigilant than usual.
A third jolt sent Talonka reeling backward until she crashed into the wall. With nothing to hold on to for balance, she slid down the wall and onto her knees where she grabbed the lip of her cot to keep from flying into another wall, or the forcefield door.
They definitely weren't docked. Someone was attacking the ship.
An alarm wailed over the ship-wide comm. "Combat protocol twelve activated. All crew to stations."
She'd studied Bolar tactics, strategy, shipboard procedures. Protocol twelve was… repelling boarders.
The men outside raised weapons, barrels trained on the entrance. The delivery boy was still in their line of fire when the door wrenched open. Flashes of blue skin and dark hair marked the intruders as Gamilon.
"Look out!" Talonka shouted as her guards opened fire.
The boy dropped to his stomach, hands covering his head. His cart provided minimal protection, but a misplaced rifle burst from the Bolars disintegrated part of it, sending metal trays skittering across the aisle in a waterfall of booms and clangs.
"Stop," Talonka cried over the chaos. "Let that boy out of here. He shouldn't have to cower in fear for his life!"
"Quiet," bellowed one of the guards as he took aim at the gap in the brig door and squeezed off another round. "Queen or not, I'll come in there and shut you up myself."
"Let. Him. Go!"
The man who'd just threatened her ducked behind his three squad mates and lowered the forcefield. "I said, 'Be quiet.'" He reached for her throat.
An energy bolt zinged into the cell, hit the wall, and ricocheted into the Bolar, leaving a charred patch on his torso. Far from a fatal shot, but more than enough to inflict pain. He doubled over onto the floor and groaned, rifle hugged tight to keep her from absconding with it.
Talonka grabbed the only weapons she had—her water bottle, spoon, and soup cup. The spoon she slipped into a pocket. The cylindrical bottle she gripped by its short neck, and the cup she wielded by the handle.
She dodged the downed guard, and with a precise swing brought her bottle and cup down on the backs of two men's unprotected skulls.
When his companions fell, the last Bolar standing whirled and caught Talonka's water bottle across the nose. He screamed and dropped his rifle, which Talonka scooped up as she ran by him.
Lack of proper food and little to no exercise for almost two weeks caught up to her, and exhaustion threatened to pull her down, but the frightened boy curled on the deck in a ball of terror gave her enough willpower to keep moving. She kneeled beside the boy and laid a hand on his back. "It's all right." She said it in Bolar, hoping her poor handling of his language was at least good enough to convey her meaning.
The boy cautiously looked around, noting the four guards on the floor and the stolen rifle now in her possession.
"I won't hurt you." She extended an open hand and offered him a smile. "Thank you for the soup."
The boy finally met her gaze, and he took her hand as she helped him to his feet—though the effort made her sway from fatigue.
General Talan, leader of Talonka's fleet, pushed the brig doors open enough to allow him and two others to slip through. They tied all six guards—the four with Talonka, and the two on duty—and locked them in cells where they'd be found within a few hours. Some would have killed every Bolar on board, but Talan shared Talonka's distaste for needless death.
Talan steadied Talonka as she took a staggering step toward the door. "We feared we'd be too late," he said, concern clouding his face. "But thank Adonai you're alive." He ducked under her arm to support her as she walked. "We have to get out of here. It's likely they already know where we are."
She didn't let go of the boy's hand. He followed a dozen steps but stopped short of the mangled brig door. "Come with us. You'll be safe."
The boy jerked his hand away and shook his head with wide, fearful eyes.
"Please?" She offered her hand again.
The boy refused it.
"My queen, we must go," Talan said.
"Wait." She took the spoon from her pocket and, along with the empty soup cup, handed it to the boy. "Thank you."
Talan hurried her from the brig. Her other two rescuers followed them, leaving the boy alone with the imprisoned Bolars.
Bemlayze sat in opulent quarters in his own wing of the capitol building. He motioned for his personal attendant to bring him another plate of fried grath. She served him minutes later, and he waved her away as he chewed the succulent, sauce-covered meat off each bone. Smears of red brown covered his fingers and splattered his face. He licked each digit clean before dabbing cheeks and mouth with a pristine napkin.
The attendant took his empty second plate and brought him a glass of his favorite white wine.
His door chimed.
"What is it?" Bemlayze swirled the remainder of his wine in the bottom of his glass.
The young general he'd spoken with last evening stepped inside. "Premier." He bowed at the waist. "A breach in Sevya's defenses. The Gamilons have boarded and freed their queen."
"And why have you brought me such news?" Bemlayze growled and almost got out of his chair.
The young general's lips tipped upward. "Because they are still aboard Sevya, and I believe you will enjoy watching this." He gestured to the attendant.
A viewscreen spanning one third of the room's length descended from the ceiling. On it was a live feed from Sevya's security system.
At least one hundred armed men flooded Sevya's passageways, quietly surrounding Talonka and three other Gamilons as they hurried for the incursion point where they'd planned to escape.
Bemlayze leaned forward in his seat as Talonka's group reached the hall where the Gamilon ship's boarding tube had broken through the hull. When a contingent of soldiers blocked their path, he guffawed. "You have failed, little Gamilon. You thought to escape the glorious Bolar Federation—to escape me." He laughed so hard his bulbous stomach bounced.
On-screen, the soldiers closed in. When Talonka's group tried to retreat, another line of men with readied weapons blocked their way.
Bemlayze's finger hovered over a Call icon floating just above his armrest. He wanted this timed perfectly. Commandeering a ship's comm system to steal Talonka's hope was well worth the interruption. He would see this young general was rewarded appropriately.
Talonka stood back-to-back with Talan. He faced their exit, and she faced the direction from which they'd come. The two other men who'd accompanied him stood to either side of her, forming an X in the middle of the cramped corridor. Her legs shook from fatigue, and though she still gripped her stolen rifle, she wouldn't be able to keep it propped up much longer. "Talan," she whispered, "cut a path to the exit and get your men out of here. I'll only slow you down." Her rifle barrel dipped, and she raised it again with immense effort.
"We came to bring you home," Talan replied from behind her. "We will not leave without you."
"Please," she said. "Go, old friend."
"I would sooner die at your side," he said.
A grating voice Talonka immediately recognized crackled from the ship-wide comm. "Little Gamilon. I am watching with bated breath."
It was Bemlayze.
"You will not escape, so give up that foolishness now. Surrender, and I will guarantee you and your comrades a painless death. We will even do the same for your laughable fleet." His chuckle was half snort, half wheeze, and it made her want to clap her ears shut.
The surrounding Bolars closed in, cutting the distance between their group and Talonka's to a half dozen feet.
A ceiling panel clanged open, and from it dropped the delivery boy they'd left in the brig. He shouted something in Bolar and charged the man directly in front of Talonka as he swung the empty cup she'd returned to him only fifteen minutes ago. He took the man off-guard and connected with the side of his head, sending him to the floor unconscious.
Taking advantage of the confusion, Talan opened fire on the men who blocked the path to the exit. One of the other two Gamilons helped widen the path while the second ran to defend the boy from a Bolar intent on shooting the child for his treachery.
Without Talan at her back, Talonka almost fell, but she braced her rifle butt on the deck to keep from hitting the floor.
With the help of the second Gamilon, the boy disengaged from the Bolar soldiers and ran to help Talonka stand. He tucked narrow shoulders under her arm, just as he'd seen Talan do earlier. He was surprisingly strong for a child his age. Laser fire singed the air around them, but with his help, she made it to the boarding tube entrance.
The instant before Talonka stepped inside the tube, the boy stiffened, sagged, and fell face first onto the cold deck. She lost her balance, and even with the rifle in hand she tumbled and landed beside him. His brown eyes were blank, empty.
With a wail that could have rivaled any mourner's, Talonka held the lifeless boy. He'd helped her, risked his life—and now he'd paid with it. She abandoned the rifle and struggled to stand up, the boy still in her arms. She wouldn't leave him to be discarded like garbage.
Behind Talonka, the second Gamilon fell to a concentrated rifle burst.
Talan and the remaining member of the rescue team took the boy, but before Talonka could board the tube, two Bolars grabbed her from behind. One buried his rifle barrel in her neck and the other trained his on Talan.
Bemlayze's laugh gurgled through the passageway. "I told you escape was impossible, little Gamilon. Now, I will take extra pleasure in your coming death, and your lapdog general will die now."
The Bolar who had Talan in his sights adjusted his aim. In that fraction of a second, despite the weapon digging into her throat, Talonka stomped on the Bolar's boot and twisted her heel until an audible crunch signaled she'd broken at least one of his toes. He screamed and lost his target, shooting so wide he left a scorch mark on the ceiling. Before any of the others could shoot, she recited her emergency override command and then locked herself out of the network.
The anguish on Talan's face made tears burn her eyes. "I will meet you in Adonai's Light," she called to him as the tube folded shut and disengaged.
Atmosphere whooshed from the hole in the hull, dislodging the gun barrel from Talonka's neck and nearly pulling her into the void until a thin metal mesh temporarily sealed the breech.
Talonka's tangled hair covered one eye, and she didn't see the blow coming until it connected with her face.
"I would do more, but the Premier wants you intact for your execution," growled the man whose toe she'd smashed. He wrenched her hands behind her back and forced energy cuffs on her wrists.
She sagged to her knees, strength spent.
"Get up," the now limping Bolar demanded.
She tried. And failed.
They didn't bother to let her try again, and two men dragged her down the passageway.
Lying on its side in the corridor, wedged between two dead Bolars, was the empty soup cup.
Bemlayze waited impatiently at the capitol building's private landing pad. Already transmitter drones clustered around the area, and a few flew beside the Sevya as it descended through the lower atmosphere. The broadcast to Bolar-controlled worlds began moments ago. It wouldn't do for anyone to miss a moment of the Gamilon queen's execution.
Sevya docked, and Bemlayze barely contained the urge to lick his lips as the boarding ramp descended.
Two men shoved Talonka out of the ship. She stumbled but didn't fall. A pity. He would have loved seeing her struggle just a little more.
She was missing one jacket sleeve, and a rip ran from the hem of her skirt to mid-thigh, exposing the black thermals beneath. Stains smattered the entire ensemble, and her hair looked as if tunnel crawlers had been nesting in it. A bruise colored one cheek, and she walked with a slight limp, but she still held her head much too high for his liking.
A drone zoomed close and hovered around Talonka and her two escorts. She ignored it.
This wouldn't do. She should be terrified, panicked, begging for her life. But her infuriating calm never wavered. What was worse, there was something chilling in her expression that forced Bemlayze to look away after a handful of seconds.
When Talonka reached him, Bemlayze erased all signs of unease. "Ah, your majesty. How kind of you to visit. Your accommodations are right this way." He gave her a mocking bow and swept a hand toward the grand, silver dome. "I shall enjoy your stay, even if you do not."
Bemlayze sat in his litter. All eight thrusters fired and lifted him four feet off the ground. He led the procession to the dome but kept Talonka in his peripheral vision hoping she would trip, fall—something. But she never faltered, not even when they reached the dome's wide door.
Bemlayze landed his litter outside and entered first.
Talonka stepped into the dome without hesitation. She had to know this would be the place of her demise. Unless she was more stupid than he thought. He chuckled to himself. Maybe she was witless as a grath. Watching his private butcher slaughter the dim-witted birds was a point of entertainment for him. They would wander into traps, flutter in perturbation, then settle into their cage and go to sleep, oblivious to the butcher's blade awaiting them. Even the wild grath roaming the tundra were less intelligent than an old boot, and comparing the Gamilon queen to such a doltish beast was the best joke he'd formulated in years.
The inside of the dome was magnificent, even grander than he'd planned. Every surface was a brilliant white. Enough seats to accommodate an audience of several thousand wrapped the inside of the dome from base to ceiling, and an intense light shone down on the center of the killing floor.
Every seat was filled. Bemlayze's generals and all military staff were required to attend—not that they would want to miss this. Talonka had thwarted them for years. To have her finally at their mercy was pure elation.
Other seats were occupied by colony worlds' governors, citizens who'd paid for the privilege of attending, and a group of religious leaders who insisted on being present to ease the passing of this soul into the celestial winds. Even now, the religious attendees stood, swaying in place, and softly humming as they waved raised hands to the heavens.
He'd never much liked the religious groups, but at least this one supported his rule—which was more than he could say for many other faith-based factions.
Bemlayze took his seat at the front of the dome, and a platform lifted him ten feet in the air to afford him the best view of the proceedings.
The men who'd brought Talonka from the Sevya shoved her into the brilliant cylinder of light.
Bemlayze signaled one of the men to take her cuffs off. He was hoping she would give the man a reason to award her another bruise, or even a broken bone. But she did nothing except let her hands fall to her sides.
People all around the dome murmured.
Bemlayze raised a hand for quiet. "Talonka." He didn't bother with titles. She wasn't worthy of them, anyway. "I thought you'd be… taller."
The crowd chuckled.
Bemlayze crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. His half-cape was loose enough not to bother him this time. "Today, you will answer for your crimes against the Bolar Federation. You have killed thousands of my people, destroyed hundreds of ships, and caused general distress among the populace. And above all, you have spewed lies to my citizens—saying I have oppressed them." Spittle flew as his fervor rose. "And you have had the arrogance to claim your God is greater than I am." He rose from his chair, triggering a chest-high safety forcefield to keep him from falling off the platform. "If this is true, let Him face me here. Now. Let Him claim His victory."
Talonka said nothing.
"Well?" Bemlayze gestured around the dome. "Where is He?"
Talonka's eyes seemed to burn through him—to melt his soul. The insolence of this woman. He'd have had her eyes put out, but he wanted her to see everything that was about to happen.
"Sheer her." He said it loudly enough for the whole crowd to hear.
The audience watched in anticipation as a man approached Talonka with a curved knife. They gasped when he held the blade high.
Such theatrics, but the crowd devoured it.
The man yanked Talonka's ratted hair into one fist and hacked it off, then he let each lock fall to the ground in a cascade of red gold.
Through it all, she stood completely still.
And Bemlayze hated her for it.
He lowered his platform and abandoned his seat. Despite his earlier quip about Talonka's height, she stood nearly as tall as him. He grabbed her chin and jerked it upward at a painful angle.
Her jaw didn't even tense, and she locked eyes with him.
"You are nothing more than dumb cattle."
When she still said nothing, Bemlayze let her go and struck her across the face for daring to meet his gaze. A red welt formed where he'd hit her.
He signaled the broadcast to Gamilon to begin. All over Talonka's world, every public channel would stream her death, and, if he was fortunate, her husband and children would see it too.
Drones closed in to get better shots of Talonka's battered face and disheveled clothes before panning out.
"Collar." Bemlayze held out a hand, and a servant woman brought it immediately. He snapped the collar around Talonka's neck and tightened it with a snap of his fingers. The spikes sank into her neck, and twin bloody trails stained her uniform.
He clapped to trigger the collar.
A strong hand took Talonka by the shoulder. Its warmth seeped through her, chasing away the persistent cold that had plagued her all throughout her transport.
"Be strong and courageous," said someone who stood just out of sight behind her. His voice carried a fortitude she hadn't possessed in weeks. At his touch she could no longer recall ever being tired. Along with the injuries sustained during her trip, the bruise on her cheek stopped aching, and the welt Bemlayze had just given her no longer stung. Not even the harsh light from above bothered her anymore.
She'd read about the collars—knew they inflicted unfathomable pain if Bemlayze wished it—but even the burn of the neck barbs seemed to melt away.
She would die in the next few minutes, but at this moment, standing in a circle of brilliant light, she felt inexplicably alive.
Talonka didn't respond to the collar.
Bemlayze clapped again, this time a thunderous slap that echoed across the entire dome. The collar's charge intensified, flowing so violently she should have been writhing and wailing on the ground like the weakling he'd collared yesterday.
And yet, Talonka did not move.
Bemlayze left the collar on. "Your time is up, little Gamilon." He beckoned nine armed men to join him and surround Talonka. He grabbed one man's weapon and took a place in the circle. "Your God cannot save you from me." He gave the signal to raise weapons.
The humming from the religious section rose to new fervor and filled the dome with an eerie din.
Talonka's calm, silent stare ended when she turned her back to him.
No one, especially a woman had ever dared such disrespect.
"Kill her," Bemlayze growled.
She raised hands and face to the brightness above as all eight other men fired. But Bemlayze's finger froze on the trigger.
Talonka collapsed atop a heap of her own discarded hair.
He should have been relieved—overjoyed even. But as Bemlayze shoved the rifle at one of the men next to him and retreated to his seat, a hollow dread fell on him. He had triumphed. But he hadn't been the one to strike the killing blow.
Why couldn't he pull the trigger? There was no reason for it.
No reason at all.
Talonka stepped through a gate made of starlight and sapphires. Just beyond it stood a being she knew in an instant. The Son of Adonai. The sight of Him brought tears of joy, as if she'd waited millennia to meet Him. In an instant He was beside her.
He spoke, and from every word flowed life itself. He took her perfect hand in His scarred one and led her further into the eternal realm.
Ahead waited a young man. He appeared nothing like anyone she'd ever known, and yet there was something familiar about him. When she reached him, realization came.
"You…" she whispered just before the young man embraced her. It was the boy who'd died yesterday trying to help her.
"It is now I who must thank you," he said before letting her go. "Come. There is so much more to see." He took her other hand, and the three of them walked together into a world where pain and fear had no place.
There would be no darkness here.
Only awe and wonder.
Author's Notes:
Written for the Writer's Anonymous Narrative Voice Challenge
Inspired by the following songs:
Meet Me There by Fanny Crosby and Ron and Shelly Hamilton
I Saw Jesus in You by Ron Hamilton, both found on the Majesty Music CD I Saw Jesus in You