Chapter One: A single spark
Artesia waited patiently in the shadowed corners of the vast, onyx chamber that served as the Great Hall of the Imperial Palace. She had been waiting for hours here, listening to the petty complaints and reports of high level governmental dignitaries, the aides of regional governors and military adjuncts. Their constant, boisterous tirade washed over her like turbulent waves smashing against an unmovable black pillar in a vast ocean.
Smiling at the analogy, she absent-mindedly picked motes of lint off of her billowing lavender cape and royal blue tunic. Her jet-black skin melded effortlessly with the onyx walls and their deep carved bas-reliefs of Kreeghor victories and champions. If it were not for her flamboyant cape, tunic, short skirt and lavender boots, one could easily mistake her for a part of that wall.
But instead, her very calmness and inconspicuousness seemed to draw attention to her, the only non-Kreeghor currently in the vast chamber that served as the Emperor's thrown room. None of the Kreeghor addressing His Majesty could walk by without giving her a withering stare. She knew the looks were to remind her of her race's subservient place in Kreeghor society, just as she knew that internally those who gave such stares worried about how much power she truly wielded…and if she could ever threaten theirs.
They need not have worried, she thought, amused at the attention she was getting. She did not seek any of their annoyingly tedious duties or illusions of power. She was the third-highest ranking officer of the Empire's intelligence forces, with more true power than any other silhouette in the Kreeghor's expansive domain, and the power she wielded there was enough to satisfy any sane, sentient being she mused.
Except perhaps for the being that sat upon the towering onyx and gold throne at the head of the room. She doubted that there was enough accumulated power in the universe to slate the hunger of Emperor Shardav the Third, lord and master of the Transgalactic Empire.
Even hunched over, apparently bored, on his throne, the Emperor was an imposing mass of scales and muscle. Clad only in the finely crafted leg pieces and boots of his armor, the Emperor's massive 15-foot tall form dwarfed the other Kreeghor who came before him. He wore no crown, for he needed no true symbol of office. His power and influence was a tangible thing that permeated the air of the chamber. His eyes glowed softly with a power other Kreeghor could not comprehend. His voice reverberated, even when he whispered, so that it was heard even in the farthest part of the quarter-mile long chamber. Flanking him were two Royal Kreeghor, a subspecies of the reptilian race even more massive than others of their kind. They stood, statue-still to either side of the throne, power halberds at attention and energy rifles slung over their left shoulders.
They, and the Emperor, had always disturbed Artesia in a way she could not grasp. Attuned to the supernatural and energies of a psychic nature, she felt emanations from the Emperor, his guards, and the rarely seen so-called witch who functioned as his advisor, which she could not explain and feared greatly.
This Emperor had only been on the throne for about 20 years. He had replaced the previous Emperor after an untimely accident during an inspection of a new Doombringer Dreadnaught cruiser. Artesia had always suspected foul play, as had most others, and wondered what connection the assassination had with the sudden peace treaty that soon followed, ending a long, bloody war with the CCW. When Shardav had ascended to the throne, he was a normal Royal Kreeghor. Physically fit, to be sure, but certainly not the God-like being that sat there now. Artesia longed to know the secrets of such a startling and potent metamorphosis.
She tore her eyes away from the being on the throne and assessed those left in the room. The crowd was thinning, and soon all that were left were two military advisors, both studying the massive, 100-foot holographic image of the Three Galaxies that dominated the air in the center of the Great Hall. At a summons from one of the guards, both beings stepped forward and kneeled before the throne. Artesia listened intently for about five seconds.
More budgetary concerns, she sighed to herself, and let her mind wander again, trying to reach out with her attuned spirit to get a more firm grasp on the tendrils of energy which always seemed to pervade the chamber from some unknown source.
It was a game she had played many times before, and she even sensed that she was playing against someone, or something. The tendrils of energy would lead her astray, bait her and tempt her as if they had an intelligence all their own. She sensed that whatever the source of power she felt, it had little to fear from her and sometimes toyed with her to amuse itself. She shuddered at the thought and turned her attention back to the throne, just as the two admirals left for their respective fleets.
The Emperor turned toward her and nodded for her to come forward. Artesia gathered her courage and stepped before the throne and kneeled on one knee, head lowered, arms crossed before her breasts.
"Most Powerful and Righteous Master of the Stars, your humble serv…"
"Enough Artesia, tell me what brings you here this day," the Emperor sighed, voice dripping with boredom and menace.
Artesia bowed once more and stood before her liege, who towered over her even when seated. With flourish she reached into her cape, slowing her hand considerably when she saw the fingers of one of the Royal Kreeghor twitch around the shaft of his halberd. She pulled out a data crystal and set it on top of a six-foot tall steel column in front and to the left of the throne.
"My Master, yesterday morning at 0400 Imperial Time, a small fleet of Free…rebel ships…attacked listening post 631."
"Indeed," the Emperor leaned back a little in his throne. "Was the base destroyed?"
Artesia paused for a moment to consider her phrasing. "Eventually, yes. But investigations indicate there was a 45-minute lapse between the end of hostilities over the post and the actual destruction of the base."
"Enough time to do a full computer core dump, is that correct?"
"Very likely, My Master. The data crystal I have brought you is a recording of the details of the battle, as viewed from a hidden probe imbedded in the surface of Charis IV."
The Emperor, contrary to being upset with the destruction of such valuable resources, smiled a feral grin that would have chilled the heart of a vampire. "Once again your insight into the rebels' thinking has been of service to the Empire. Your predictions of their response were exceedingly correct. Albeit they attacked the outpost a full two days earlier than you anticipated."
"True My Master, and my apologies. It was inevitable that they respond in the manner they did. Their rebellion lives by its stomach and its ammunition, damage both and they will come running. They could not afford not to respond," she smiled.
The Emperor was silent for a moment. "Then I shall await the rest of your predictions to come true as well. Report to me when it is clear they have taken the bait."
With a wave, the Emperor dismissed Artesia, who bowed low and turned with a flare of her cape and strode out of the room. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Kreeghor witch slink from the shadows to the side of the Emperor. In a small corner of her mind she felt those tendrils of power coalesce thicker than usual around the area she had just left.
Not one to be flustered or to hurry, Artesia quickened her steps to be out of the Imperial Palace.
After passing through numerous security checkpoints and a labyrinth of hallways, the intelligence officer stepped onto a hover-vator that would take her to the street below. Arrayed down the long main avenue she saw one of the near-daily military parades. At least three miles of Kreeghor armored units stretched into the distance, and she had caught the parade at least halfway through. Occasionally eclipsing the planet's primary were a quartet of Berserker frigates amidst a cloud of Fang fighters.
She stepped out onto the street at last, and into the acrid, polluted air. She lifted a lavender, jeweled veil to cover her face and walked across the vast acreage of flattened verge that separated the palace from the rest of the city. Many would mistake the greenery as some sort of homage to nature or an attempt by the Kreeghor to be aesthetically pleasing. Artesia saw the field for what it was…a kill zone of flat land where any invading army could be mowed down.
Now that she thought about it she wondered if that really were the purpose. More likely, she thought; if an invader smashed the planet's considerable orbital defenses they would probably use the field as a landing zone. So, she mused, the field was more likely to protect the Emperor from his own people…in case of an uprising.
Crossing through the outer perimeter fence and finally onto the street, she stepped into a large black hover vehicle waiting for her. Next to her, waiting calmly in meditation, was one of the few Kreeghor who struck fear into her, besides the Emperor.
The Kreeghor was dressed in black, loose-fitting clothes interwoven with metallic fibers. His cape was not so much black as a material or color that seemed to absorb light. He was not nearly as big as the Emperor, but his body was powerfully constructed, even for one of his race. On his belt were two long-swords and an odd, large pistol, all made of a smooth, glassy metal.
The swords, Artesia knew, were keepsakes from two of his kills. Not just kills, she thought, but Cosmo-knights. Powered by an unknown mystical energy force, they were the knights-errant of the galaxy, able to propel themselves at superluminal speeds and capable of doing battle with a starship single-handed. The gun was stolen from a Cosmo-knight who, in a desperate attempt to get his weapon back, the Kreeghor beside her had tricked into breaking his cherished moral code, which had cost the being all of his power. She knew that this Kreeghor cherished that victory more than any other.
Completing the simple outfit was a sparkling pendant, the Transgalactic Empire standard on a black, starry shield. The symbol of the Invincible Guardsmen: genetically altered super beings the Kreeghor had created to contend with the Cosmo-knights.
However, the experiment was widely considered a failure by many, despite the fact that Invincible Guardsmen were some of the most powerful beings in the galaxy; they could not come close to matching a Cosmo-knight in sheer power.
And the fact that he had defeated three of them made Axis "The Fang" Doombringer all that more impressive, and frightening, in Artesia's eyes.
"Speak, Agent Artesia. What has our Great Emperor commanded," Axis said, never opening his eyes or leaving his meditative stance.
"We are to proceed with the operation, and report to him when it is obvious the rebels have taken the bait," Artesia said, stretching out in the air-conditioned vehicle's ample room, removing the veil to breathe in sweet, scrubbed air. "There are many factors to put into motion, Lord Doombringer, and the rebels have already shown a penchant for being ahead of schedule…"
"That is your failing Artesia. Your plans are brilliantly designed, but far too detailed. You walk the edge of the vibro-blade with careless abandon. One slip, and it will dice you in two," Axis said, finally opening glowing red eyes that bore into her. "Simple plans work best."
"That may be true," Artesia said, straightening up in her seat, determined not to let her fear of this super being show. "But simple plans are usually the most transparent."
"One pound of uncalculated cargo can throw even the largest battleship off course by light-years…if the distance traveled is far enough," Axis said. "It is always the little things that get forgotten."
Artesia, not wanting to push the point, let it go at that. She signaled the driver and the vehicle floated into the spires of the city, out of the more affluent area and into the belching, blocky, crowded factories and slums that surrounded the capitol city for miles. Eventually the vehicle passed through a ring of planetary defense cannons surrounding the city and increased speed.
In little over an hour the pair were aboard a Rain of Death transport and over the Imperial Homeworld. Soon after that the engines of the shuttle made a mockery of several of Einstein's theories, piercing the light barrier several hundred times over.
Rivin awoke in his bunk with a start. His heart racing from a forgotten dream, Rivin drew his hand away quickly from where it had strayed to the flame-enshrouded sword tattoo on his left bicep.
Sitting up amidst the tangle of sweat-soaked sheets, he looked across the small room to ensure he had not disturbed the sleep of his other three roommates. A pale blue light cast eerie reflections throughout the room, radiating from a small porthole in the outer bulkhead. Rivin silently padded over to the transparent titanium oval and looked out onto the vast expanse of stars.
The sources of the azure glow was a line of seemingly solid energy cutting through space, like a laser that had decided not to fade. A ley line. Rivin knew it was rare to see one of the pathways of magical energy that bisected the galaxy radiating so strongly. Usually, they were invisible to the naked eye.
Well, some could see them clearly, those who were more tuned into the magical energies of the universe. Rivin knew very little about his odd heritage, but assumed this was something else that set him aside from most other humans.
Rivin was, according to his adopted mother, a member of a sub species of humanity who called themselves True Atlanteans. The race had once been the members of the most advanced and powerful nation on what they claimed to be the true human homeworld, a place as far as Rivin knew, that had been lost to antiquity and had faded into hazy legend. According to his step mother, True Atlanteans mastered the powers of magic and dimensional travel and in their arrogance embarked upon a titanic magical experiment that scattered their race among the multiverse and sapped their homeworld of magic, shutting it off from the rest of the universe for all time.
Rivin had read here and there about True Atlanteans, and had been surprised to learn that there were conclaves in the United Wizards of Warlock, a magic-based empire in the Anvil Galaxy. Besides that concentration, the bulk of the True Atlantean race wandered numerous dimensions and planets, fighting evil wherever they went in an attempt to atone for their own sins of arrogance.
It was a nice legend, but one which Rivin didn't put too much stock into. Certainly, the tales of True Atlanteans' magical tattoos were true, Rivin's own flaming sword tattoo became a real, well-balanced indestructible sword that could cut through nearly any substance in the universe simply by him touching it and concentrating. Rivin also had a tattoo of a heart impaled by a stake and one of two swords crossed. He had "activated" the other tattoos out of curiosity when he was younger, but although he felt a surge of energy, nothing noteworthy appeared to manifest itself.
As for the sword, it was somewhat nifty, and he knew that swords were often preferred in combat inside of starships to prevent hull breaches, but he had never had the opportunity to use it.
Rivin figured that if his race were attuned to the magical weave of the universe, then perhaps it was the closeness of this river of magical energy which had awakened him.
To his surprise, as the ship continued onward, apparently letting its FTL engines recharge before another jump, the line crossed with another line, forming what was called a nexus. Rivin could feel the nexus as it passed, a pressure on senses he was unaware he had, confirming his suspicions. Such mundane things were forgotten however, when a moment later, a large winged, reptillian shape soared out of the actual essense of the ley line. Easily 100 feet from its serpentine head to its whip-like tail, the beast seemed to totally ignore the environmental rigors of deep space and with a wave of its hand the nexus flared into a towering portal. Rivin thought for a moment he could see a great sparking city of silver spires and flying sailboats, but too quickly the beast flew through the portal, which closed behind him.
There was a noise behind him, an intake of breath, which caused Rivin to turn. Slightly taller than him was a noro, one of the squadron's newest pilots. The noro were very similar to humans, but had much paler skin, black eyes, were tall and thin with slightly oversized heads and instead of hair grew small black horns along where a human's eyebrows would be, as well as from the tops of their heads. They were also a race of powerful psychics. This one had shaved the usually numerous horns off its head, which marked her as female.
"It is not often one sees such a display of casual power, is it?" the noro asked Rivin, who could have sworn that her voice was partially in his head. "Frightening and inspiring all at once."
Rivin nodded and looked back out of the porthole. "I have never seen a dragon before. I assume that is what it was."
"Indeed, a Great Horned dragon to be precise. One of the most powerful of their kind," the Noro turned toward Rivin with a curious smirk. "Hope with all your heart that this is as close as you get to a dragon's display of power."
The pilot returned to her bunk and closed her eyes, seeming to meditate more than sleep. Rivin, with one last look at the nexus as the ship pulled away, returned to a fitful night of examining the supports holding up the bunk over his own.
The next "morning" Green squadron, back up to full strength due to new transferred pilots, was hurriedly assembled in the pre-flight briefing room. Rivin was one of the first there, surrepticiously taking a seat near the back to hide eyes reddened from lack of sleep. Sipping at a hot thermos of caffienola to wake himself, he couldn't help but grin at the designation of the converted cargo hold as a pre-flight briefing room.
Temporary metal partitions made three of the room's four walls in what had once been a minor cargo area. From what he could tell the FWC engineers had managed to turn the hold into at least six separate conference rooms and installed in the left-over area a heavy gravity autocannon turret. However, they had never quite scrubbed the cargo area clean of the smell of several decades of produce transportation.
It made Rivin remember he had missed breakfast.
The squadron was fully assembled, most too sleepy to chat with their neighbors. Dutch walked in a swiftly and placed a data disk in a tri-vid projector at the front of the room. A sphere appeared and expanded to six feet in circumference, showing the outer portion of a nearby system.
"On the way home we have to make a little detour people," Dutch said, tapping in a few commands on a watch Rivin assumed was a computer. "Intel has cracked some of the files they downloaded from that listening post we took out. Data indicates that the Transgalactic Empire is planning to jump a valuable shipment of ours on the way to a rendezvous."
A circle appeared inside the sphere on a small dot and brought it forward to dominate the floating globe.
"This is the ForgeArrow, an independent runner ship that has moved some…sensitive…cargo for us from time-to-time. What it's carrying is none of our business. That it gets to the Delta Omicron system is our business."
The ship displayed reminded Rivin of a large predatory fish he had seen at an aquarium once. It's sleek body was only disturbed by a pair of wide, sweeping wings, angled down and back, a large "pot belly" which appeared to be the cargo area, and several protruding weapons implacements. It wasn't much larger than a shuttle, making Rivin and the other members of Green Squadron wonder what it could be carrying that was so valuable.
Dutch changed the 3-D map again, back to the system. "This is the Orivan System, part of the Orivan Cluster, which some of you know contains a massive black hole."
Looks of concern passed between wingmen and an undercurrent of muttering began.
"Now don't panic, we won't be going anywhere near the Orivan Singularity. The point is that the ForgeArrow will have to deactivate its gravity drive and make minute course adjustments so it can get to D.O."
Dutch tapped at her watch again and a group of new dots appeared on the screen, highlighted in red against the backdrop of a huge speeding comet.
"Here's the catch: This group of Kreeghor ships is hiding to jump the ForgeArrow from a doomed comet on its way to the singularity. We are going to beat them to the punch," she said with a feral grin.
"What will the affect of the comet be on our shields and sensors?" asked the new noro pilot from the first row. Rivin noted that she looked like she had slept undisturbed for two or three nights.
"Shields will very slowly degrade from the particle storm. The flight crews have adjusted your gravity wave sensors to compensate for the singularity. As for navigation, my advice is to stay out of the tail as much as possible," Dutch took in the whole room. "One more thing, sentients, and this is important. Do not attempt to use your missles in close proximity to that comet. With the fierce amount of matter its shedding toward the singularity there is no telling how far a missle will go before a random particle sets it off."
Dutch went through the flight plan, drop and retrieval, all of which would be done at the edge of the system to stay out of sensor range. "We ride vacuum in half an hour people, shag it!"
The pilots filed out of the room quietly, all business. Rivin was one of the last to leave, but as he headed toward the door Dutch intercepted him.
"Yes Captain?"
"I want you to take control of Two Flight. You got good piloting skills, I want to see what your command skills are like," Dutch said.
"I'll do my best," Rivin said, snapping a salute.
The two made the short jog to get into their flight suits and soon the twelve pilots were climbing into their individual fighters.
Rivin circled the fighter twice, visually going through the pre-flight checklist in his head. He climbed into the cockpit and settled down as the main computer booted and downloaded essential flight data and resigned himself to doing what pilots hated the most: waiting.
Five minutes before mission start time the pilots were given the go signal and began final liftoff procedures. Rivin, with a slightly expanded radio frequency access due to his position as Two Flight Leader, listened to flight command net chatter with interest.
"Prepare docking bay for final launch preparations…"
"Flight crew reports all fighters are in the green. Bridge flight command now has control…"
"Navcomm, status?"
"Go flight!"
"Tac-comm, status?"
"Go flight!"
"Launch-comm, status?"
"Go flight!"
"Green Leader, you are cleared for mission launch. Final call?"
"Go flight! Launch, launch, launch!" Rivin recognized Dutch's voice over the commnet and tensed himself for take-off.
Within moments the ponderous outer bay doors slid down, sucking tiny bits of debris into the ether. In pairs the fighters eased out of the bay and rocketed clear of the converted transport.
Rivin and Green Six, the noro whose name he kept reminding himself to get, lifted off in unison, from the deck. As they kicked in their thrusters the docking bay exit grew geometrically before them. Soon the two fighters pierced the eternal night to form up with the rest of the squadron.
There were several whistles of appreciation throughout the squadron, along with a few gasps. Rivin looked up and to starboard and understood why. As the carrier-ship peeled away on a new trajectory Rivin saw that a good forty percent of visible space was taken up by the gravitational monstrosity known as the Omicron Singularity. A steady whirlpool of matter formed a slowly spinning disk around the black hole. Visible jets of plasma at least two light-years in length gushed out perpendicularly from the singularity. And curving slightly into the abyss at ninety degree angles were four pulsing ley lines, their paths undistorted by the massive gravity well.
The entire squadron felt the pull of the singularity in their cockpits, a force tugging them slightly up and to starboard.
"Orient yourselves with the singularity in our mark six position," Dutch ordered. The squadron wheeled about until the singularity was under their bellies, making gravity seem somewhat more normal in their cockpits, as though they were flying over a planet with weak gravity. It was a sobering reminder of the power of the cosmic beast so far away, yet so close.
For nearly an hour the twelve sleek craft cut through space in radio silence, clustered close together so that if they were picked up by an enemy craft their numbers would be questionable. Soon a white-grey smudge began to grow in their front view ports. Rivin had, for some reason, assumed they would approach the comet from its side, as he had always seen them that way in the sky when he was a boy. But instead, the squadron was heading right into the center of its blazing tail. As the comet loomed closer it looked more like a dull star surrounded by a greyish, fuzzy corona.
A new target appeared on the squadron's sensors, a red box indicating the position of the Kreeghor forces...assumed position, Rivin realized as he studied the targeting display. The comet's tail blinded the sensors of both those within and those without.
As the squadron pierced deeper into the comet's tail the fighters began to be buffeted by the intensifying storm of matter shedding from the comet. Ice and dirt mainly, and except for a slight decrease in their shields, harmless. However Rivin knew the squadron had to act fast, or else the wake they were cutting through the tail would be visible to any Kreeghor who took time to look out of a viewport.
Dutch's slow ascent toward the outer layers of the comet's tail was the signal to the rest of Green squadron that it was time to spring their attack. They formed up into three chevrons of four and boosted out of the storm of ice and dirt. The Transgalactic Empire's force was right where the squadron expected it to be.
What they hadn't expected was that the Kreeghor would send a Smasher-class Cruiser, one of the empire's ships of the line, to handle the mission. At 600 feet in length, it bristled with gravity rail guns, missle launchers and laser cannons. It's main gun, a large lance-like protrusion jutting out of the upper hull, looked like the horn of some exotic fish. It had the power to core most FWC ships like an apple. It also carried a compliment of three squadrons of Fang fighters.
Dutch swore a foul oath that Rivin caught, just barely, before she directed the squadron to go for the cruiser's docking bay. The squadron had the element of surprise, coming in from behind and to starboard of the massive cruiser, but Rivin knew that would not last long. It also didn't help that the hangar bay was positioned in the cruiser's bow.
The fighters broke formation and fanned out, to make the TGE gunners have a harder time of it. Rivin took small comfort in the fact that the cruiser's commander dared not use missles this close to the comet as the ship's gravity rail guns began to rotate toward the oncoming Free World Council rebels.
For a few moments, space was silent and serene as the twelve needle-like craft rushed toward the cruiser, as if they meant to pierce to the very heart of its crew. Then, as both fighters and the cruiser reached minimum firing range, space became a very deadly place.
The cruisers gravity rail guns began producing a storm of white-hot flak, just as the squadron sent the same back. There was no targeting anything specific on the ship, there was hardly any targeting at all. The cruiser was hard to miss, and its shields were evenly distributed.
It took six agonizingly long seconds before the squadron was within point-blank range of the cruiser. Its guns now had to settle for trying to pick off the nimble, weaving fighters.
"What are we doin' Captain?" Rivin asked Dutch over the net, his flight peeling over the cruiser's starboard wing.
"Just sweep your flight around to that hangar bay. The rest of us will keep pounding away and try not to get killed. If you can get in close enough use your missles. They should be safe."
Rivin didn't even have time to acknowledge before the flight was passing the leading edge of the cruiser. Knowing he could not bank tight enough, Rivin cut his rear thrusters and, letting momentum carry the fighter forward, kicked in his maneuvering jets so that the craft rotated to face the bow of the enemy ship, while inertia kept it flying backward. The flight followed suit and then thrust in toward the hangar bay.
And into the midst of the first squadron of Fang fighters in the process of scrambling to protect their ship.
"Empty the tubes!" Rivin shouted, putting words to action as he held down the firing button for his missle launchers. The four fighters disgorged a long stream of plasma missles into the oncoming squadron and the gaping maw of the Smasher's hangar bay before the cruiser's crew desperately threw back up their front shields. About a third of the missles detonated amonst the emerging enemy squadron, sending them pinwheeling desperately for cover. The rest were gobbled up by the red glow of the cruiser's hangar bay as the flight split to the four winds to avoid ramming the enemy cruiser.
As Rivin's flight merged with the wild, chaotic fray around the ship, a silver streak suddenly slowed to a crawl just a few hundred kilometers away.
Most of the TGE fighters pinwheeled suddenly away from combat and made a line toward the new arrival. Rivin didn't have to check his sensors to realize that the ForgeArrow had arrived.
Artesia waited patiently in the shadowed corners of the vast, onyx chamber that served as the Great Hall of the Imperial Palace. She had been waiting for hours here, listening to the petty complaints and reports of high level governmental dignitaries, the aides of regional governors and military adjuncts. Their constant, boisterous tirade washed over her like turbulent waves smashing against an unmovable black pillar in a vast ocean.
Smiling at the analogy, she absent-mindedly picked motes of lint off of her billowing lavender cape and royal blue tunic. Her jet-black skin melded effortlessly with the onyx walls and their deep carved bas-reliefs of Kreeghor victories and champions. If it were not for her flamboyant cape, tunic, short skirt and lavender boots, one could easily mistake her for a part of that wall.
But instead, her very calmness and inconspicuousness seemed to draw attention to her, the only non-Kreeghor currently in the vast chamber that served as the Emperor's thrown room. None of the Kreeghor addressing His Majesty could walk by without giving her a withering stare. She knew the looks were to remind her of her race's subservient place in Kreeghor society, just as she knew that internally those who gave such stares worried about how much power she truly wielded…and if she could ever threaten theirs.
They need not have worried, she thought, amused at the attention she was getting. She did not seek any of their annoyingly tedious duties or illusions of power. She was the third-highest ranking officer of the Empire's intelligence forces, with more true power than any other silhouette in the Kreeghor's expansive domain, and the power she wielded there was enough to satisfy any sane, sentient being she mused.
Except perhaps for the being that sat upon the towering onyx and gold throne at the head of the room. She doubted that there was enough accumulated power in the universe to slate the hunger of Emperor Shardav the Third, lord and master of the Transgalactic Empire.
Even hunched over, apparently bored, on his throne, the Emperor was an imposing mass of scales and muscle. Clad only in the finely crafted leg pieces and boots of his armor, the Emperor's massive 15-foot tall form dwarfed the other Kreeghor who came before him. He wore no crown, for he needed no true symbol of office. His power and influence was a tangible thing that permeated the air of the chamber. His eyes glowed softly with a power other Kreeghor could not comprehend. His voice reverberated, even when he whispered, so that it was heard even in the farthest part of the quarter-mile long chamber. Flanking him were two Royal Kreeghor, a subspecies of the reptilian race even more massive than others of their kind. They stood, statue-still to either side of the throne, power halberds at attention and energy rifles slung over their left shoulders.
They, and the Emperor, had always disturbed Artesia in a way she could not grasp. Attuned to the supernatural and energies of a psychic nature, she felt emanations from the Emperor, his guards, and the rarely seen so-called witch who functioned as his advisor, which she could not explain and feared greatly.
This Emperor had only been on the throne for about 20 years. He had replaced the previous Emperor after an untimely accident during an inspection of a new Doombringer Dreadnaught cruiser. Artesia had always suspected foul play, as had most others, and wondered what connection the assassination had with the sudden peace treaty that soon followed, ending a long, bloody war with the CCW. When Shardav had ascended to the throne, he was a normal Royal Kreeghor. Physically fit, to be sure, but certainly not the God-like being that sat there now. Artesia longed to know the secrets of such a startling and potent metamorphosis.
She tore her eyes away from the being on the throne and assessed those left in the room. The crowd was thinning, and soon all that were left were two military advisors, both studying the massive, 100-foot holographic image of the Three Galaxies that dominated the air in the center of the Great Hall. At a summons from one of the guards, both beings stepped forward and kneeled before the throne. Artesia listened intently for about five seconds.
More budgetary concerns, she sighed to herself, and let her mind wander again, trying to reach out with her attuned spirit to get a more firm grasp on the tendrils of energy which always seemed to pervade the chamber from some unknown source.
It was a game she had played many times before, and she even sensed that she was playing against someone, or something. The tendrils of energy would lead her astray, bait her and tempt her as if they had an intelligence all their own. She sensed that whatever the source of power she felt, it had little to fear from her and sometimes toyed with her to amuse itself. She shuddered at the thought and turned her attention back to the throne, just as the two admirals left for their respective fleets.
The Emperor turned toward her and nodded for her to come forward. Artesia gathered her courage and stepped before the throne and kneeled on one knee, head lowered, arms crossed before her breasts.
"Most Powerful and Righteous Master of the Stars, your humble serv…"
"Enough Artesia, tell me what brings you here this day," the Emperor sighed, voice dripping with boredom and menace.
Artesia bowed once more and stood before her liege, who towered over her even when seated. With flourish she reached into her cape, slowing her hand considerably when she saw the fingers of one of the Royal Kreeghor twitch around the shaft of his halberd. She pulled out a data crystal and set it on top of a six-foot tall steel column in front and to the left of the throne.
"My Master, yesterday morning at 0400 Imperial Time, a small fleet of Free…rebel ships…attacked listening post 631."
"Indeed," the Emperor leaned back a little in his throne. "Was the base destroyed?"
Artesia paused for a moment to consider her phrasing. "Eventually, yes. But investigations indicate there was a 45-minute lapse between the end of hostilities over the post and the actual destruction of the base."
"Enough time to do a full computer core dump, is that correct?"
"Very likely, My Master. The data crystal I have brought you is a recording of the details of the battle, as viewed from a hidden probe imbedded in the surface of Charis IV."
The Emperor, contrary to being upset with the destruction of such valuable resources, smiled a feral grin that would have chilled the heart of a vampire. "Once again your insight into the rebels' thinking has been of service to the Empire. Your predictions of their response were exceedingly correct. Albeit they attacked the outpost a full two days earlier than you anticipated."
"True My Master, and my apologies. It was inevitable that they respond in the manner they did. Their rebellion lives by its stomach and its ammunition, damage both and they will come running. They could not afford not to respond," she smiled.
The Emperor was silent for a moment. "Then I shall await the rest of your predictions to come true as well. Report to me when it is clear they have taken the bait."
With a wave, the Emperor dismissed Artesia, who bowed low and turned with a flare of her cape and strode out of the room. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Kreeghor witch slink from the shadows to the side of the Emperor. In a small corner of her mind she felt those tendrils of power coalesce thicker than usual around the area she had just left.
Not one to be flustered or to hurry, Artesia quickened her steps to be out of the Imperial Palace.
After passing through numerous security checkpoints and a labyrinth of hallways, the intelligence officer stepped onto a hover-vator that would take her to the street below. Arrayed down the long main avenue she saw one of the near-daily military parades. At least three miles of Kreeghor armored units stretched into the distance, and she had caught the parade at least halfway through. Occasionally eclipsing the planet's primary were a quartet of Berserker frigates amidst a cloud of Fang fighters.
She stepped out onto the street at last, and into the acrid, polluted air. She lifted a lavender, jeweled veil to cover her face and walked across the vast acreage of flattened verge that separated the palace from the rest of the city. Many would mistake the greenery as some sort of homage to nature or an attempt by the Kreeghor to be aesthetically pleasing. Artesia saw the field for what it was…a kill zone of flat land where any invading army could be mowed down.
Now that she thought about it she wondered if that really were the purpose. More likely, she thought; if an invader smashed the planet's considerable orbital defenses they would probably use the field as a landing zone. So, she mused, the field was more likely to protect the Emperor from his own people…in case of an uprising.
Crossing through the outer perimeter fence and finally onto the street, she stepped into a large black hover vehicle waiting for her. Next to her, waiting calmly in meditation, was one of the few Kreeghor who struck fear into her, besides the Emperor.
The Kreeghor was dressed in black, loose-fitting clothes interwoven with metallic fibers. His cape was not so much black as a material or color that seemed to absorb light. He was not nearly as big as the Emperor, but his body was powerfully constructed, even for one of his race. On his belt were two long-swords and an odd, large pistol, all made of a smooth, glassy metal.
The swords, Artesia knew, were keepsakes from two of his kills. Not just kills, she thought, but Cosmo-knights. Powered by an unknown mystical energy force, they were the knights-errant of the galaxy, able to propel themselves at superluminal speeds and capable of doing battle with a starship single-handed. The gun was stolen from a Cosmo-knight who, in a desperate attempt to get his weapon back, the Kreeghor beside her had tricked into breaking his cherished moral code, which had cost the being all of his power. She knew that this Kreeghor cherished that victory more than any other.
Completing the simple outfit was a sparkling pendant, the Transgalactic Empire standard on a black, starry shield. The symbol of the Invincible Guardsmen: genetically altered super beings the Kreeghor had created to contend with the Cosmo-knights.
However, the experiment was widely considered a failure by many, despite the fact that Invincible Guardsmen were some of the most powerful beings in the galaxy; they could not come close to matching a Cosmo-knight in sheer power.
And the fact that he had defeated three of them made Axis "The Fang" Doombringer all that more impressive, and frightening, in Artesia's eyes.
"Speak, Agent Artesia. What has our Great Emperor commanded," Axis said, never opening his eyes or leaving his meditative stance.
"We are to proceed with the operation, and report to him when it is obvious the rebels have taken the bait," Artesia said, stretching out in the air-conditioned vehicle's ample room, removing the veil to breathe in sweet, scrubbed air. "There are many factors to put into motion, Lord Doombringer, and the rebels have already shown a penchant for being ahead of schedule…"
"That is your failing Artesia. Your plans are brilliantly designed, but far too detailed. You walk the edge of the vibro-blade with careless abandon. One slip, and it will dice you in two," Axis said, finally opening glowing red eyes that bore into her. "Simple plans work best."
"That may be true," Artesia said, straightening up in her seat, determined not to let her fear of this super being show. "But simple plans are usually the most transparent."
"One pound of uncalculated cargo can throw even the largest battleship off course by light-years…if the distance traveled is far enough," Axis said. "It is always the little things that get forgotten."
Artesia, not wanting to push the point, let it go at that. She signaled the driver and the vehicle floated into the spires of the city, out of the more affluent area and into the belching, blocky, crowded factories and slums that surrounded the capitol city for miles. Eventually the vehicle passed through a ring of planetary defense cannons surrounding the city and increased speed.
In little over an hour the pair were aboard a Rain of Death transport and over the Imperial Homeworld. Soon after that the engines of the shuttle made a mockery of several of Einstein's theories, piercing the light barrier several hundred times over.
Rivin awoke in his bunk with a start. His heart racing from a forgotten dream, Rivin drew his hand away quickly from where it had strayed to the flame-enshrouded sword tattoo on his left bicep.
Sitting up amidst the tangle of sweat-soaked sheets, he looked across the small room to ensure he had not disturbed the sleep of his other three roommates. A pale blue light cast eerie reflections throughout the room, radiating from a small porthole in the outer bulkhead. Rivin silently padded over to the transparent titanium oval and looked out onto the vast expanse of stars.
The sources of the azure glow was a line of seemingly solid energy cutting through space, like a laser that had decided not to fade. A ley line. Rivin knew it was rare to see one of the pathways of magical energy that bisected the galaxy radiating so strongly. Usually, they were invisible to the naked eye.
Well, some could see them clearly, those who were more tuned into the magical energies of the universe. Rivin knew very little about his odd heritage, but assumed this was something else that set him aside from most other humans.
Rivin was, according to his adopted mother, a member of a sub species of humanity who called themselves True Atlanteans. The race had once been the members of the most advanced and powerful nation on what they claimed to be the true human homeworld, a place as far as Rivin knew, that had been lost to antiquity and had faded into hazy legend. According to his step mother, True Atlanteans mastered the powers of magic and dimensional travel and in their arrogance embarked upon a titanic magical experiment that scattered their race among the multiverse and sapped their homeworld of magic, shutting it off from the rest of the universe for all time.
Rivin had read here and there about True Atlanteans, and had been surprised to learn that there were conclaves in the United Wizards of Warlock, a magic-based empire in the Anvil Galaxy. Besides that concentration, the bulk of the True Atlantean race wandered numerous dimensions and planets, fighting evil wherever they went in an attempt to atone for their own sins of arrogance.
It was a nice legend, but one which Rivin didn't put too much stock into. Certainly, the tales of True Atlanteans' magical tattoos were true, Rivin's own flaming sword tattoo became a real, well-balanced indestructible sword that could cut through nearly any substance in the universe simply by him touching it and concentrating. Rivin also had a tattoo of a heart impaled by a stake and one of two swords crossed. He had "activated" the other tattoos out of curiosity when he was younger, but although he felt a surge of energy, nothing noteworthy appeared to manifest itself.
As for the sword, it was somewhat nifty, and he knew that swords were often preferred in combat inside of starships to prevent hull breaches, but he had never had the opportunity to use it.
Rivin figured that if his race were attuned to the magical weave of the universe, then perhaps it was the closeness of this river of magical energy which had awakened him.
To his surprise, as the ship continued onward, apparently letting its FTL engines recharge before another jump, the line crossed with another line, forming what was called a nexus. Rivin could feel the nexus as it passed, a pressure on senses he was unaware he had, confirming his suspicions. Such mundane things were forgotten however, when a moment later, a large winged, reptillian shape soared out of the actual essense of the ley line. Easily 100 feet from its serpentine head to its whip-like tail, the beast seemed to totally ignore the environmental rigors of deep space and with a wave of its hand the nexus flared into a towering portal. Rivin thought for a moment he could see a great sparking city of silver spires and flying sailboats, but too quickly the beast flew through the portal, which closed behind him.
There was a noise behind him, an intake of breath, which caused Rivin to turn. Slightly taller than him was a noro, one of the squadron's newest pilots. The noro were very similar to humans, but had much paler skin, black eyes, were tall and thin with slightly oversized heads and instead of hair grew small black horns along where a human's eyebrows would be, as well as from the tops of their heads. They were also a race of powerful psychics. This one had shaved the usually numerous horns off its head, which marked her as female.
"It is not often one sees such a display of casual power, is it?" the noro asked Rivin, who could have sworn that her voice was partially in his head. "Frightening and inspiring all at once."
Rivin nodded and looked back out of the porthole. "I have never seen a dragon before. I assume that is what it was."
"Indeed, a Great Horned dragon to be precise. One of the most powerful of their kind," the Noro turned toward Rivin with a curious smirk. "Hope with all your heart that this is as close as you get to a dragon's display of power."
The pilot returned to her bunk and closed her eyes, seeming to meditate more than sleep. Rivin, with one last look at the nexus as the ship pulled away, returned to a fitful night of examining the supports holding up the bunk over his own.
The next "morning" Green squadron, back up to full strength due to new transferred pilots, was hurriedly assembled in the pre-flight briefing room. Rivin was one of the first there, surrepticiously taking a seat near the back to hide eyes reddened from lack of sleep. Sipping at a hot thermos of caffienola to wake himself, he couldn't help but grin at the designation of the converted cargo hold as a pre-flight briefing room.
Temporary metal partitions made three of the room's four walls in what had once been a minor cargo area. From what he could tell the FWC engineers had managed to turn the hold into at least six separate conference rooms and installed in the left-over area a heavy gravity autocannon turret. However, they had never quite scrubbed the cargo area clean of the smell of several decades of produce transportation.
It made Rivin remember he had missed breakfast.
The squadron was fully assembled, most too sleepy to chat with their neighbors. Dutch walked in a swiftly and placed a data disk in a tri-vid projector at the front of the room. A sphere appeared and expanded to six feet in circumference, showing the outer portion of a nearby system.
"On the way home we have to make a little detour people," Dutch said, tapping in a few commands on a watch Rivin assumed was a computer. "Intel has cracked some of the files they downloaded from that listening post we took out. Data indicates that the Transgalactic Empire is planning to jump a valuable shipment of ours on the way to a rendezvous."
A circle appeared inside the sphere on a small dot and brought it forward to dominate the floating globe.
"This is the ForgeArrow, an independent runner ship that has moved some…sensitive…cargo for us from time-to-time. What it's carrying is none of our business. That it gets to the Delta Omicron system is our business."
The ship displayed reminded Rivin of a large predatory fish he had seen at an aquarium once. It's sleek body was only disturbed by a pair of wide, sweeping wings, angled down and back, a large "pot belly" which appeared to be the cargo area, and several protruding weapons implacements. It wasn't much larger than a shuttle, making Rivin and the other members of Green Squadron wonder what it could be carrying that was so valuable.
Dutch changed the 3-D map again, back to the system. "This is the Orivan System, part of the Orivan Cluster, which some of you know contains a massive black hole."
Looks of concern passed between wingmen and an undercurrent of muttering began.
"Now don't panic, we won't be going anywhere near the Orivan Singularity. The point is that the ForgeArrow will have to deactivate its gravity drive and make minute course adjustments so it can get to D.O."
Dutch tapped at her watch again and a group of new dots appeared on the screen, highlighted in red against the backdrop of a huge speeding comet.
"Here's the catch: This group of Kreeghor ships is hiding to jump the ForgeArrow from a doomed comet on its way to the singularity. We are going to beat them to the punch," she said with a feral grin.
"What will the affect of the comet be on our shields and sensors?" asked the new noro pilot from the first row. Rivin noted that she looked like she had slept undisturbed for two or three nights.
"Shields will very slowly degrade from the particle storm. The flight crews have adjusted your gravity wave sensors to compensate for the singularity. As for navigation, my advice is to stay out of the tail as much as possible," Dutch took in the whole room. "One more thing, sentients, and this is important. Do not attempt to use your missles in close proximity to that comet. With the fierce amount of matter its shedding toward the singularity there is no telling how far a missle will go before a random particle sets it off."
Dutch went through the flight plan, drop and retrieval, all of which would be done at the edge of the system to stay out of sensor range. "We ride vacuum in half an hour people, shag it!"
The pilots filed out of the room quietly, all business. Rivin was one of the last to leave, but as he headed toward the door Dutch intercepted him.
"Yes Captain?"
"I want you to take control of Two Flight. You got good piloting skills, I want to see what your command skills are like," Dutch said.
"I'll do my best," Rivin said, snapping a salute.
The two made the short jog to get into their flight suits and soon the twelve pilots were climbing into their individual fighters.
Rivin circled the fighter twice, visually going through the pre-flight checklist in his head. He climbed into the cockpit and settled down as the main computer booted and downloaded essential flight data and resigned himself to doing what pilots hated the most: waiting.
Five minutes before mission start time the pilots were given the go signal and began final liftoff procedures. Rivin, with a slightly expanded radio frequency access due to his position as Two Flight Leader, listened to flight command net chatter with interest.
"Prepare docking bay for final launch preparations…"
"Flight crew reports all fighters are in the green. Bridge flight command now has control…"
"Navcomm, status?"
"Go flight!"
"Tac-comm, status?"
"Go flight!"
"Launch-comm, status?"
"Go flight!"
"Green Leader, you are cleared for mission launch. Final call?"
"Go flight! Launch, launch, launch!" Rivin recognized Dutch's voice over the commnet and tensed himself for take-off.
Within moments the ponderous outer bay doors slid down, sucking tiny bits of debris into the ether. In pairs the fighters eased out of the bay and rocketed clear of the converted transport.
Rivin and Green Six, the noro whose name he kept reminding himself to get, lifted off in unison, from the deck. As they kicked in their thrusters the docking bay exit grew geometrically before them. Soon the two fighters pierced the eternal night to form up with the rest of the squadron.
There were several whistles of appreciation throughout the squadron, along with a few gasps. Rivin looked up and to starboard and understood why. As the carrier-ship peeled away on a new trajectory Rivin saw that a good forty percent of visible space was taken up by the gravitational monstrosity known as the Omicron Singularity. A steady whirlpool of matter formed a slowly spinning disk around the black hole. Visible jets of plasma at least two light-years in length gushed out perpendicularly from the singularity. And curving slightly into the abyss at ninety degree angles were four pulsing ley lines, their paths undistorted by the massive gravity well.
The entire squadron felt the pull of the singularity in their cockpits, a force tugging them slightly up and to starboard.
"Orient yourselves with the singularity in our mark six position," Dutch ordered. The squadron wheeled about until the singularity was under their bellies, making gravity seem somewhat more normal in their cockpits, as though they were flying over a planet with weak gravity. It was a sobering reminder of the power of the cosmic beast so far away, yet so close.
For nearly an hour the twelve sleek craft cut through space in radio silence, clustered close together so that if they were picked up by an enemy craft their numbers would be questionable. Soon a white-grey smudge began to grow in their front view ports. Rivin had, for some reason, assumed they would approach the comet from its side, as he had always seen them that way in the sky when he was a boy. But instead, the squadron was heading right into the center of its blazing tail. As the comet loomed closer it looked more like a dull star surrounded by a greyish, fuzzy corona.
A new target appeared on the squadron's sensors, a red box indicating the position of the Kreeghor forces...assumed position, Rivin realized as he studied the targeting display. The comet's tail blinded the sensors of both those within and those without.
As the squadron pierced deeper into the comet's tail the fighters began to be buffeted by the intensifying storm of matter shedding from the comet. Ice and dirt mainly, and except for a slight decrease in their shields, harmless. However Rivin knew the squadron had to act fast, or else the wake they were cutting through the tail would be visible to any Kreeghor who took time to look out of a viewport.
Dutch's slow ascent toward the outer layers of the comet's tail was the signal to the rest of Green squadron that it was time to spring their attack. They formed up into three chevrons of four and boosted out of the storm of ice and dirt. The Transgalactic Empire's force was right where the squadron expected it to be.
What they hadn't expected was that the Kreeghor would send a Smasher-class Cruiser, one of the empire's ships of the line, to handle the mission. At 600 feet in length, it bristled with gravity rail guns, missle launchers and laser cannons. It's main gun, a large lance-like protrusion jutting out of the upper hull, looked like the horn of some exotic fish. It had the power to core most FWC ships like an apple. It also carried a compliment of three squadrons of Fang fighters.
Dutch swore a foul oath that Rivin caught, just barely, before she directed the squadron to go for the cruiser's docking bay. The squadron had the element of surprise, coming in from behind and to starboard of the massive cruiser, but Rivin knew that would not last long. It also didn't help that the hangar bay was positioned in the cruiser's bow.
The fighters broke formation and fanned out, to make the TGE gunners have a harder time of it. Rivin took small comfort in the fact that the cruiser's commander dared not use missles this close to the comet as the ship's gravity rail guns began to rotate toward the oncoming Free World Council rebels.
For a few moments, space was silent and serene as the twelve needle-like craft rushed toward the cruiser, as if they meant to pierce to the very heart of its crew. Then, as both fighters and the cruiser reached minimum firing range, space became a very deadly place.
The cruisers gravity rail guns began producing a storm of white-hot flak, just as the squadron sent the same back. There was no targeting anything specific on the ship, there was hardly any targeting at all. The cruiser was hard to miss, and its shields were evenly distributed.
It took six agonizingly long seconds before the squadron was within point-blank range of the cruiser. Its guns now had to settle for trying to pick off the nimble, weaving fighters.
"What are we doin' Captain?" Rivin asked Dutch over the net, his flight peeling over the cruiser's starboard wing.
"Just sweep your flight around to that hangar bay. The rest of us will keep pounding away and try not to get killed. If you can get in close enough use your missles. They should be safe."
Rivin didn't even have time to acknowledge before the flight was passing the leading edge of the cruiser. Knowing he could not bank tight enough, Rivin cut his rear thrusters and, letting momentum carry the fighter forward, kicked in his maneuvering jets so that the craft rotated to face the bow of the enemy ship, while inertia kept it flying backward. The flight followed suit and then thrust in toward the hangar bay.
And into the midst of the first squadron of Fang fighters in the process of scrambling to protect their ship.
"Empty the tubes!" Rivin shouted, putting words to action as he held down the firing button for his missle launchers. The four fighters disgorged a long stream of plasma missles into the oncoming squadron and the gaping maw of the Smasher's hangar bay before the cruiser's crew desperately threw back up their front shields. About a third of the missles detonated amonst the emerging enemy squadron, sending them pinwheeling desperately for cover. The rest were gobbled up by the red glow of the cruiser's hangar bay as the flight split to the four winds to avoid ramming the enemy cruiser.
As Rivin's flight merged with the wild, chaotic fray around the ship, a silver streak suddenly slowed to a crawl just a few hundred kilometers away.
Most of the TGE fighters pinwheeled suddenly away from combat and made a line toward the new arrival. Rivin didn't have to check his sensors to realize that the ForgeArrow had arrived.