AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, all! Sorry for the wait. School just started back this week so I had to catch up on all the homework I ignored all summer. That, and I accidentally started writing another story and got distracted by it. But, anyway, here goes it. Hope you enjoy…I'll stop babbling now.
CHAPTER FOUR
They sat at opposite ends of the long dinner table, the only sounds coming from the scraping of dinner utensils on porcelain plates and the babbling from a one-year old baby, who sat in a high chair beside a petite blonde woman near the middle of the expanse of table.
Glancing between the two silent men, the woman picked up her baby and excused herself from the table, silently making her way out of the room.
The man on the left raised his glass to his lips but paused. "Our troops on Antar have been defeated by the rebels," he said nonchalantly before taking a sip of his wine.
"So I've heard," said the man on the right, anger evident in his voice.
"So, what are we going to do about it?"
A slow, evil smirk stole across the man's face and his grey eyes shone wickedly. "Kill 'em all."
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The Saviours roamed the palace freely, now that the threat had been physically removed from the planet. It had been nearly a week since Liz and Zan died. Six days, to be exact. It was five days since Faith, Ava, Kyle and Serena were rescued from the dungeons and Kaylanna was shot down on the field. Four and a half days since Isabel had met her birth mother. Three days since Siare was strong enough to go visit her sedated son, Max. And two days since Max was deemed sane enough to be allowed out of bed and into the waking world where a new, or perhaps old, mother awaited him along with the rest of his friends. One day since the people's efforts to rise up and take what was rightfully theirs finally came to a head and the last of Khivar's troops were eradicated from all the towns and cities and countries of Antar and his firm grip on the terrain was slapped away and sent back to its master with more than a few heaps of spit, scars and bitter loathing from the Antarian people.
Today was the day the Royals took back what was rightfully theirs.
Today was the day that they entered their marble stronghold, their re-pilfered fort, and laughed in spite at the evil warlord who dared take their kingdom and their home, and rubbed his proverbial face in their not-so-proverbial victory.
Today was the day the Royal family went home.
For Siare, it was the place she'd been locked under for twelve long years. The place in which she could now, once again, roam free, with the memories of life before the war, before the name Khivar was ever uttered.
For Michael, Isabel and Max, it was the home they'd spent their entire lives searching for. The home that had called to them from the moment they crawled out of their pods and found their way into the arid deserts of Roswell, New Mexico.
For Rath and Ava, it was a trip back to a life they remembered and lived before. A life that they, on some level, longed to return to.
For their human friends, it was that shadowy spectre that loomed at the end of the line, whose tentacles stretched forth and curled around the life of their relationships like the grim reaper, waiting to suck the life out and leave them dry and dead.
The bright rays of the crimson sun shone upon them and glinted against the rich red walls of the Royal palace, and, bouncing off the cool marble, sent shimmering light either into their war-weathered eyes, or down into the blood soaked depths of the scorched earth. A light breeze blew, sending the scent of dirt and dried blood floating through the afternoon air.
Maria squeezed Michael's hand in reassurance as the front doors swung open. He'd been in here before, but that was for a rescue mission. They hadn't even passed through the front door the last time. Now, as she gazed around at the high ceilings and shiny floors, she gasped in awe. It was beautiful. It was hard to imagine that this building had just been in the middle of a war. It had come out virtually unscathed. She turned to watch Michael's face as he looked around. It was definitely a far cry from the ratty trailer he grew up in and the cheap apartment he'd rented when he was first emancipated. The fact that in a past life he grew up in a castle like this one would have thrown everyone in Roswell for a loop. It was just so unbelievable.
"Welcome to the Royal Palace of Antar," Rath said dryly. "Royal bedrooms on the third floor, guest rooms on the first, food and lounges every floor in between."
Siare led them through the halls with practiced ease, stepping over some fallen furniture from the week before. In the rush to get outside for the last battle, the guards had knocked over and broken most of the tables, chairs and decorations that usually adorned the hallways. Finally, they came upon a large room. Scattered in various parts of the room, there were soft, overstuffed white couches and armchairs. In the centre, there was a short coffee table made out of the Antarian equivalent to wood, which was an odd rust colour. The floor was covered in a plush red carpet with a thick orange stripe down the middle, which led to a huge maroon fireplace at the far end of the room with intricate carvings covering every square inch.
Above the hearth, hung a large painting. A man and a woman stood proudly in the middle of the canvas, dressed in their best. From the crowns upon their heads, you could tell they were the King and Queen. The King's crown was a thick, shiny golden band that sat perfectly on a head of medium length, dark brown hair. A series of rubies ran around the edges of the crown. In the centre, sat another larger round red diamond. On either side of the diamond, there were two smaller orange diamonds, representing Antar's red sun and the two orange moons that rose in the sky every night. The queen wore a daintier tiara with glistening diamonds on every square inch of its surface. In the middle, there were three diamonds in the same colour and formation as on the King's crown. To the right of the king stood a young girl of about sixteen. She was tall and slim, her chin held high. Everything in her stance spoke of her royal heritage. A smaller version of the Queen's tiara sat atop a head of long, curly blonde hair. She wore a simple gold necklace with a large ruby pendant laying lightly above her chest. It was identical to the one the Queen wore. On the Queen's left stood a young man. He seemed to be older than the girl and slightly reluctant to be in the picture. Instead of the regal frown his sister wore, he had a shy smile on his face. His dark hair was combed neatly back under his crown, which was a smaller version of the King's. He also wore a chain around his neck with a large ruby in the middle. Standing between them all was another boy, this one about twelve years old. He had his arms crossed over his chest, an irritated scowl contorting his young face. His brown hair stood out wildly on his head, surrounding his small crown in an unruly mass of locks. A silver chain with a large sapphire hung low on his chest.
Siare stared sadly at the painting. It was of the Royal family when they were at their peak. She could still remember the day it was painted. Her husband was still alive then. Zan hadn't ascended to the throne yet; he wouldn't for another eight years. She smiled as her eyes hit on Rath's scowling face. It didn't show on the painting, but she and her husband both had a firm grip on the back of Rath's shirt, keeping him in place. Rath hated having portraits done even more than he hated going to lessons. The joy he had because they'd cancelled his lessons that day was overshadowed by the fact that he had to sit still for a family portrait instead. Nothing they could do could make him smile. It was a wonder they even managed to hold him in place for so long. For Zan, it was a struggle to keep him from blushing and sweating under the attention. Vilandra enjoyed every minute of it. In fact, the only trouble with her was convincing her that yes, her hair was fine, the dress was lovely and she looked beautiful and no, she wouldn't look completely rancid in the picture.
A tear slipped down Siare's cheek as she remembered the days when her family was complete. The days before that horrible war.
"Aw! Michael, you were such a cutie!" Maria exclaimed as she studied the painting. "Look at that face." She pinched his cheek teasingly and pouted. Michael groaned and pulled away from her, rubbing his cheek and scowling.
On the other side of the room, a wooden grid was attached to the wall. Every other box held a picture of different flowers in the Royal garden. Rath walked over to one of the boxes in the grid and pressed his hand to it. A green laser ran over his hand, scanning the DNA and fingerprints. After the scan, it beeped and a part of the wall dissolved revealing a large white elevator. There was a thick layer of dust covering the floor of the compartment and it was dark. It looked like nobody had used it in years.
Faith, Michael, Maria, Isabel, Alex, Kyle, Ava, Max, Serena, Oz and Siare followed Rath into the elevator. When the last person squeezed in, Siare gave the vocal command to take them to the third floor. The elevator lurched a little before beginning its steady climb up to the third floor of the palace.
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The dull thud of his boots on the stone stairs resonated in the dark corridor as he made his way to the lonely basement room, his heavy, navy blue cloak floating behind him. He brushed his long brown hair out of his cold, grey eyes as he pushed the heavy door open.
The room was chilly, frosty even. The nine or ten men that milled around were bundled up from head to foot with a heavy wool-like material. Their breaths puffed out in a white fog as they worked, connecting wires and welding metal. In another corner of the room, a few scientists worked with a vast array of test tubes and multi coloured chemicals.
One of the men walked over to stand beside him, dispassionately staring at the flurry of activity in the room.
"Progress?" he asked.
"The first half of The Project has been prepared. The second half will be ready be this afternoon," the man answered, running a hand through his hair.
"Excellent."
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"And this was my room," Rath said as he pushed open the tall wooden door. The room smelt musty. Dust floated up in the air, having been disturbed for the first time in twelve years, since the day before its owner died.
The floor was littered with clothes, papers and a three-inch layer of dirt and grime. It looked completely ransacked. A dresser was tilted on its side, some of the drawers scattered around the room broken into shards of wood. The bed sheets were pulled halfway off the mattress, which was on the opposite side of the room from the bed frame. There were shards of glass on the floor where a lamp had been smashed and a computer had been pulled apart and tossed across the room.
Michael pushed past him into the room and let out a low whistle as he surveyed the damage.
"Housekeeping really isn't one of your strong points, is it?" Maria asked, wrinkling her nose as she spotted some kind of…fungal growth somewhere near the bed frame.
"What the hell died in here?" Faith commented, sniffing the air in distaste. "What, did the battle extend up here, too?"
Rath blushed as he pushed his dresser up on its feet. "Uh…no…I was just…upset," he answered, remembering the night he returned home and trashed his room. It was the night Zan was killed, when he returned from visiting Cortenia. A blind rage had just taken him over and he took it out on his poor defenceless room, then after, he collapsed against the side of the mattress and just…cried. He sobbed the night away before falling into a fitful sleep.
"Uh huh," Faith said, poking the big pile of fungus with her foot. "I think this is alive. Where's my stake?"
"What the hell is that?" Michael asked, crouching over it.
"Sandwich?" Rath guessed with a shrug. "A puppy?"
Maria snorted and started snooping around the remains of the dresser. She let out a giggle as she pulled out a silk shirt. She held it up to Rath.
"Something you want to tell us?" she snickered, holding up the shiny white shirt with ruffles around the collar and cuffs. "I didn't know you had a Shakespeare fetish."
Rath snatched it and tossed it across the room. "Not my idea. Mom was really pushy."
Michael turned up his nose at the shirt. "You, Rathikins, are a shame and embarrassment."
Rath sneered at him, just one step away from sticking out his tongue, really. "I'm sure you had some foofy, frilly outfits too, baby bro." He pointed a long finger at him. "The minute we step foot on Carnath, I'm lookin'. Dirt, baby."
Maria snorted and rolled her eyes at them, shaking her head. Kids. Just then, her hand hit on something hard at the bottom of the drawer. She felt around a bit before finally closing her hand around the object and fishing it out from amongst the tangled mess of clothes. It was a thick platinum necklace with a large, round sapphire pendant. She rubbed the pendant against her sleeve, shining it.
"What's that?" Michael asked, walking up behind her. Rath looked up at what they were doing.
"That's mine. All the Royals have one. It's for, you know, status." He walked over to them and took the jewel. He always hated that thing. He pointed at the centre of it. "If you look inside the sapphire, there's a hologram of the system imprinted on it."
Looking closer at it, Maria could see the tiny replica of the five-star formation. The tiny stars were almost glowing. Michael frowned at it.
"I know this," he murmured, snatching it and twisting it in his hands.
"Hey!"
He flipped it over and fingered the engravings on the back. They seemed familiar to him. He showed it to Rath.
"What does this mean?"
He shook his head. "Don't know. It's ancient. Probably ancient Antarian. I never could figure out that language."
"I know this," he repeated.
"Well…yeah, it is ours…"
"No, I wouldn't remember this, I'm Deimon remember? I've seen this before."
Just then, there was a loud boom followed by a slight tremor. Anyone who was outside would have seen a bright flash of light in the sky and a ripple through Antar's upper atmosphere…
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Ten minutes earlier…
Khivar leaned back in his soft leather chair, his fingers bridged in front of his face. Suddenly, the door burst open and a man rushed in.
"It's ready," he said with a grin, handing him a file. Khivar quickly skimmed over the data before tossing the papers on his desk. "Just say the word."
"Launch," Khivar said, a wicked smirk splitting his face.
Lindsey's grin widened, his grey eyes twinkling. "You got it, Dad."
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You know the drill. Tell me if ya like it or hate it or are sickened by its very existence. *puts on fake gypsy accent* The review button is calling you.