Chapter 11
December 20th, 2241: Tau Omega Sector/System L-213, Dreadnought Valorous Blood
The Outer Rim. The very name conjures images and thoughts of a barbaric wasteland, the very edge of civilization, a place of dark mystery where the unknown and the improbable walk hand-in-hand with the finite and the logical. The Outer Rim is a series of systems nearly empty of indigenous life, though now populated with squatters of dozens of races, many of dubious origin and intent. Sightings, and rumors of sightings, abound for some of the more enigmatic and legendary denizens of the galaxy: the Streib, the Arihal, the Wurt, the Zener, the Kalinor, even the Drakh.
Hyperspace on the Outer Rim is full of anomalies, odd eddies, and dangerous currents. The hyperspace lanes and routes are sporadic and torturous at best. Much of the jumpgate system, such as it is, is truly primordial. The jumpgates are of an archaic design, containing far less Quantium 40 than conventional models. Empires and races, long forgotten or lost, put it into place in a seemingly random fashion. Much alternative speculative analysis has posited that perhaps once it was not so random. Some event (or series of events), perhaps that which made hyperspace nearby so tumultuous, may have caused the haphazard way in which the gate system appears to be laid out. It almost appears as if much of the Outer Rim's gate system was destroyed or removed.
Many systems contain blasted and burned worlds, their civilizations aught but cinders and dust. This vivid testament to some sort of titanic conflict in ages past gives a certain amount of credence the those that feel something cataclysmic and artificial caused the local disruption of hyperspace and the dearth of jumpgates. Some systems had normal stars surrounded by vast asteroid fields, often where inner planets should have been, but were no longer. Many more systems, more than there should be, contain ancient decrepit stars barely clinging to life, their depleted necklace of worlds only a few degrees above absolute zero. Some few have brightly flashing pulsars, somehow amazingly bereft of the typical surrounding stellar nurseries. A disproportionate amount of systems contain singularities, voracious black holes that spin in silence, already having consumed nearly all within their reach.
Commander Regilio Brokano Trelain stood on the observation deck of the Dilgar dreadnought Valorous Blood, gazing out into space. Just beyond the armored observation bubble (relatively speaking) a black hole slowly consumed what was left of its binary partner. He could feel the steady thrum of the engines preventing the dreadnought from falling into the ergosphere and thus into a concentric orbit around the singularity. Trelain suspected the Warmaster was stationed this close to the black hole because it disrupted hyperspace nearby, and its emissions would mask those of the two Pentacons in his flotilla. The black hole also restricted approach vectors to the flotilla, and they were close enough to experience some time dilation. Not much, but still some.
Trelain was in a bit of an odd mood: anxious and expectant. "Still," he thought, "why shouldn't I be? After all, here I am standing on the deck of a Dilgar dreadnought, the 'guest' of a Warmaster, watching an example of the most destructive force in the universe, literally bestride the edge of the galaxy." It was a little frightening to think if he simply covered one eye, most of the stars he could see were within the galaxy, yet if he covered the other eye, almost everything he could see were in fact not stars at all, but other galaxies beyond the Outer Rim.
Trelain heard a throat clear behind him. Sighing he said in Dilgar, "What is it Combat Leader?"
Using the Centauri language Combat Leader Ba'reel said, "Your skill with our language is improving Commander."
"Five weeks of being immersed in it will do that," Trelain thought. Still staring out at the vivid display, his thoughts drifted back to his fragmentary memories surrounding his capture. He could remember Dilgar marines boarding the Marron and taking him captive. True to his word, Warmaster Ka'ramas had sent medical personnel for the few surviving of his crew. The Dilgar had quickly and professionally triaged his men, leaving those behind that had no chance of survival. Commander Trelain had nearly lost consciousness on the shuttle, but he could remember the vast dappled green bulk of the dreadnought looming out of the viewport of the shuttle, the ominous jut of the huge mass driver slung underneath. Before finally losing consciousness he remembered Dilgar surgeons frantically working on one of his crew, their voices and language harsh to his ears. All told, only seventeen had made it off the Marron alive.
His first memory after being captured and taken aboard the Dilgar dreadnought was of pain. Pain such as he had never known. At times, it felt as if his entire body was dipped in acid, or his veins were pumping liquid fire. In between these times of pain was blissful oblivion.
Once the pain eased, more time had passed for Trelain in the hazy grey of recovery. He still had some images of a tall shadowy figure standing in the doorway, speaking to him, interspersed with medical personnel caring for his wounds. He was unsure if they were memories or dreams.
When he finally arose from his timelessness, he was being tended by a trim figure clothed in grey. As the figure turned back to him, he could see it was a female Dilgar wearing medical robes, her long hair gathered into a tail snaking out from her cap. Though most of her face was covered in a surgical mask, her feline eyes seemed to light up when she saw him awake.
"How long?" he managed to croak out. His throat was terribly dry, and whatever they had given him for pain relief was wearing off. He saw puzzlement on her face. His sluggish brain decided that perhaps she didn't know any of the Centauri language. He tried to recall any of the Drazi he knew, but the effort was too much. He managed to ask again, this time in Terran English, "Dear lady, how long have I been here?"
He immediately saw her expression change, her eyes flattening with the usage of the Terran words. As his mind slowly began to clear, Trelain chided himself: anything of Terra and the Earth Alliance would most likely put any Dilgar on edge. She said something in the harsh Dilgar language. He must have looked confused as she abruptly stopped and held up two fingers. "Two?" he thought. "Two what? Hours, days weeks?" She closed her gloved hand as she could still see the confusion on his face. She abruptly turned and left the room, leaving Trelain to himself.
As he sat in the bed, Commander Trelain realized he must have been out for some time, possibly weeks. Though he was still in pain, it was nowhere near what it should have been considering his injuries. He was able to breath easy though a deep full breath still caused a twinge on the side where he broke a rib. He felt his face for the cuts that had adorned it, finding he had not been shaved in quite some time. "Great Maker," he thought as his fingers ran over his sparse beard, "This feels like a month of growth!"
As he idly played with the beard, something he had not had since he was a young man, he tried his best to make some order of the sketchy images from his memory. Abruptly the door slid open, and in walked a male Dilgar.
Tall and lean, easily half a head taller than Trelain, he wore a blue and grey uniform trimmed in red with broad gold epaulettes. His tall black spacer's boots were polished to a gleaming shine. His long hair was caught at the nape of the high neck of his uniform with a silver clasp. Low on his hip was a holster containing a bolt-gun. He wore several medals and decorations of which Trelain was unfamiliar. The Dilgar walked to the end of Trelain's bed and opened a folding chair that must have been leaning against it out of sight. He sat down in the chair, crossing his legs. Even seated this Dilgar carried an aura, a presence of superiority. Trelain swallowed and made a guess, "Warmaster Ka'ramas?" he asked as much as stated.
The Dilgar graced him with a small half smile then said, "Yes Commander, I am Warmaster Ka'ramas." Even with its harshness, the Warmaster's voice bespoke confidence and authority.
"Warmaster," Trelain croaked. "How long have I been...wherever here is?"
"You have been aboard the Valorous Blood for two weeks Commander," the Warmaster said.
Trelain mulled that over a moment, trying to reconcile the lost time. "My men?" he asked.
Ka'ramas gave a slight nod, as if approving of the question before saying, "There are six of your crew still alive, Commander." Trelain let out a gasp as the Warmaster raised a gloved hand to forestall any further outburst. "We tried to save as many as we could Commander. Unfortunately our abilities at...preserving life...are not the equal of your Republic I'm afraid." He paused as if thinking then spoke again, "Actually only two died from their wounds."
Thinking the worst, Trelain took a deep breath and hesitantly asked, "How did the other nine die?"
The Warmaster stared at him for a moment, then abruptly let out a loud laugh saying, "Well certainly not like you were thinking right then!" Ka'ramas laughed a few seconds longer as Trelain looked embarrassed.
Once the Warmaster got himself under control he said, "No Commander, they died because we had no stock of Centauri blood, forcing my surgeons to give some of your men, you included, a substitute blood product."
Trelain knew that could be dangerous as Centauri blood had never been synthesized. Some of the substitutes caused detrimental effects. The Warmaster confirmed the thought by saying, "You and your men suffered very bad reactions to it sometime later. You were in the presence of one of my surgeons when your reaction started. I was informed that is why you were the only one that was able to be saved: he was able to quickly administer a counter drug to the reaction."
Trelain's memories of pain made sense: a reaction like what the Warmaster had described could give symptoms similar to his remembrance. Trelain had just such a reaction once before as a much younger man, after suffering an injury from a shuttle crash. Emergency medical workers had used just such a blood substitute, only to have him nearly die.
Lost in his thoughts, Trelain felt the Warmaster watching him. Sure enough, when he glanced up those pale green feline eyes were studying him, for good or ill he could not say. The intense scrutiny made Trelain vaguely nervous. Warmaster Ka'ramas gave the impression of a caged predator, a predator that gave other hunters pause. Trying to brush aside his misgivings, Trelain cleared his throat and asked, "Warmaster, may I see my men?"
Warmaster Ka'ramas studied him for a moment more then said, "Of course Commander. I am certain they would welcome a visit from you." Ka'ramas dragged his chair over next to Trelain and said, "But first, now that you have healed some and are out of immediate...medical danger, I wish to continue our conversation that was interrupted when my marines reached your bridge." The intensity of his stare nearly burned as he asked, "How did the war end Commander?"
Trelain began to haltingly tell the story of the end of the Dilgar War. He fumbled on where to start but the Warmaster gave him his place by saying, "When we lost the final battle at Balos my fleet was dispatched coreward with a collection of sleeper ships." Trelain continued the story from there: the abortive attack by the Drazi, the destruction of his secret weapons facility (Ka'ramas 'hmphed' at the description shaking his head in admiration), the destruction of the system jumpgate and hyperspace beacons, then the final battle at Omelos.
Trelain tried to end the story with the death of Supreme Warmaster Gar'shan and Dar'sen in the battle over Omelos, but Ka'ramas demanded to know what happened after the war. Trelain reluctantly told him how the Earth Alliance had refused the League requests to exterminate the remaining Dilgar, only to be caught completely unaware when the star in the Omelos system shed its corona killing everything on the planet.
They both sat silent for a moment. Trelain considered saying something but Ka'ramas cut him off saying, "Did the Earth Alliance give evidence Warmaster Jha'dur was dead?"
Trelain opened his mouth, then quickly snapped it shut. He considered the question then said, "I don't know sir. They certainly proclaimed, quite loudly, that she had been killed at Balos." He paused the said, "I do remember seeing images of her battlecrusier Vendetta after the battle. I don't know how anything could have survived that level of damage."
Ka'ramas seemed to consider that idea then said, "Jha'dur was quite resourceful and resilient." He mused over his own statement then said, "But still, if she had somehow survived she would have turned up by now, either on her own or as a prisoner of the Earth Alliance."
It was a bit surreal to hear anyone refer to Jha'dur in such a casual way. It seemed wrong to so off-handedly speak of the galaxy's worst genocidal murderer as if merely speaking of a neighbor. Even her name was still used to frighten children. "And quite a few adults as well," he thought.
The Warmaster abruptly stood saying, "Thank-you for the history lesson Commander. I will instruct the medical section to allow you into the ship at large. As our guest, I shall assign an escort from my own staff to guide you, one that speaks Centauri."
As if on cue, the door opened and in marched another male Dilgar in uniform and armed similarly. Obviously younger than the Warmaster, he also carried about him the aura of something dangerous, like a wild animal kept in a cage. He gave a short bow, then to Trelain's surprise, gave him an Imperial-style salute. Trelain found it impossible to ignore his years of training and responded as best he could in kind despite still being connected to the various medical equipment.
With a casual wave Ka'ramas said, "This is Combat Leader Ba'reel. He has an excellent command of the Centauri language so you can converse until you learn some of our language." He pointed a finger at Trelain "So no more mistakes using English on board my ship. I think you will find the crew do not...respond well"
Warmaster Ka'ramas turned to go, then stopped and turned back saying, "Of course, you must still consider yourself captured. I hope you will give me your parole that you will not attempt to escape or damage my ship in any way?"
Trelain swallowed and said, "Of course Warmaster."
"Good," Ka'ramas replied. "Combat Leader Ba'reel is not quite your substantive in rank, but he will have to do for an escort. All of my more senior officers are quite busy at present." The Warmaster shrugged adding, "Our ranking system is different than the Centauri in any case. Ba'reel has been instructed to answer your questions." He paused then added, "Within reason that is."
Ka'ramas left then, speaking to someone outside the room. The female medical attendant came back in, promptly crossed over and unhooked Trelain from the wall equipment. Wincing in pain, he thought she seemed a bit harsh about it, but he couldn't be sure. If she was, Trelain suspected it was about his using English earlier.
Apparently Combat Leader Ba'reel was sure. He promptly admonished her (or at least it sounded like and admonishment to Trelain). The attendant kept her eyes downcast during the interaction, then quietly responded to him. Ba'reel crossed his arms and gave her another order. The female turned to Trelain and spoke in very broken Terran English, "I...sorry for...hurt you...C...C...C," She stumbled over Trelain's rank. She cast an imploring glance at Ba'reel who slowly sounded it out for her in English, with her repeating, "Co...man...der." Ba'reel seemed satisfied and dismissed her with another barked order. She responded, nodded, and then quickly exited the room.
Trelain swung his legs off the bed and tried to stand. His legs almost collapsed under him as Ba'reel jumped to his aid saying, "Slowly please Commander. You have withstood an ordeal and have been in this bed for quite some time." He helped Trelain to stand with an arm around his waist. After a few moments Trelain was able to stand on his own, though he still needed to lean on the Combat Leader for walking.
As he helped Trelain around the room, Ba'reel said, "I must apologize for my crewman. She should not have been so careless as to let her emotions get the better of her."
"It is of no moment Combat Leader," Trelain grunted. As he panted with his exertion he added, "I can sympathize, being addressed in the language of a hated enemy..."
Ba'reel shook his head saying, "Yes, but you are a...guest of our Warmaster and should be treated as such." He paused then added, "It is more than the Terran words, Commander. Many of my people hold a grudge against your Republic, and your Emperor in particular."
Trelain pulled up short at that statement, but almost immediately relaxed again. He really couldn't blame the Dilgar he supposed. Nominally they had been allies of the Republic. "It was our duty to come to their aid when they needed us," Trelain thought. Though he was only a junior officer at the time, he remembered that many Houses had wanted to go at the beginning of the war. Putting the League in its place, in particular the Drazi, was a satisfying thought to many across the Republic at the time. But as the conflict wore on, and the Dilgar committed more and more hideous atrocities, public support for them waned. Once it was all over, and the Dilgar extinct ("Or so everyone thought," Trelain mused) some Centauri came to believe that if they had aided the Dilgar in the beginning, perhaps many of those atrocities would not have occurred.
The female attendant came back through the door, carrying a dark blue bundle. She dropped in on the bed, then spoke to Ba'reel who responded. He turned Trelain back towards the bed saying, "We have some other clothing for you Commander." Ba'reel dismissed the female and helped Trelain change from his hospital wrap into the tunic, trousers, and boots. "I am sorry your uniform was not salvageable after your capture, though we have transferred your rank insignia to these as best we could," Ba'reel said. Sure enough his wings and stars adorned the collar and breast of the Dilgar navy fatigues.
After helping Trelain dress, Ba'reel escorted him out of the medical section and took him to the surviving members of his crew. They were very happy to see him, crowding around him in a most undisciplined fashion. Trelain saw all six remaining crew were from the Engineering section, men he did not know terribly well. But that was to be expected with a crew of over three hundred. He asked them if they were being treated well, and they assured him they were: they had been fed regularly, clothed in new fatigues, given this barracks room as quarters, allowed the use of one of the training gyms for exercise, even given some liquor. Still they were a bit apprehensive and uneasy. Suspecting the men were carefully editing themselves in the presence of the Dilgar officer, Trelain asked Ba'reel if he could give them the room. Ba'reel granted the request immediately, saluting and leaving them the room, saying he would be outside until needed.
The men began to speak volubly immediately upon the Dilgar's exit. They poured out their story of the last two weeks. In disjointed bits and pieces the story came forth, with Trelain trying to discern the pertinent facts from the six babbling accounts. Despite the fact that the Dilgar had been gruffly courteous, the men were concerned because all of them, even the least wounded, had a gap of at least ten days in their memory. They also flat out did not believe the other nine had died from natural causes, something about which Trelain himself was worried.
Trelain was certain the room had audio and visual surveillance. He tried to make light of their claims, tried to give them the impression that all was well, that they were valuable prisoners, if not guests. He briefly spoke of his interview with the Warmaster earlier, making sure to tell them he had been referred to as a 'guest'. It bruised his conscience terribly, but he lied through his teeth to them, afraid that if the Warmaster believed they were on to whatever his plans were, something hideous and excruciating might happen to them all. Though it was clear they weren't quite ready to fully believe his glossing over the anomalies in the events, the men were commoners and of very low rank, used to following orders given by someone in authority. If anything they relaxed a bit, believing their Commander had things well in hand.
Trelain nearly wept at their trust, knowing that they might soon be dead, or worse. But Trelain was not about to let his own misgivings and fears be spoken aloud, lest they materialize. He felt with all his heart that these Dilgar wanted something from them (and him in particular). Whatever the "something" was, they were willing to use kindness rather than brutality to get it, at least for the moment. Trelain vowed that he and the remainder of his crew would somehow survive. It even sounded real as he told them "Just sit tight boys, give them no cause for alarm, cooperate for now. Give me some time and I promise we will walk off this ship together as free men..."
"What a fool I was," Trelain thought to himself as he continued watching the black hole. He had learned over the weeks since promising his men their eventual freedom, some of what the Warmaster wanted. Still not turning away from the stellar display, he used his new facility with the Dilgar language to ask Ba'reel, "What does the Warmaster want of me?"
Ba'reel continued speaking in Centauri, "He ordered me to escort you to the primary flight deck, so that you could see the result of your labors these past weeks."
"My labors..." Trelain thought. Indeed, he had been working these last weeks. Shortly after Trelain had been discharged from medical care, the Warmaster had revealed what it was he wanted.
Nearly five weeks earlier, Trelain had been summoned to the Warmaster's cabin. He had just finished styling his hair into a modicum of Centauri decency. The Dilgar had nearly nothing that worked in place of his normal hair-setting agent. Only barely satisfied, he left the room with Ba'reel.
He traveled as quickly as possible to the Warmaster's cabin. Though Trelain was finally comfortable in the yellow-green Dilgar lighting, he was still not used to the gawks or the outright steely anger he saw on the faces of the crew. Outside the cabin, flanking the door, were two hulking Dilgar marines in full battle gear. They snapped to attention for Trelain, who saluted them. Trelain and Combat Leader Ba'reel passed the threshold into the cabin. It was decorated rather austerely compared to what Trelain had come to expect in his own service. Ka'ramas was working at his desk. He glanced up as they entered saying, "Please make yourself comfortable Commander. I must finish this before we speak." As the Warmaster continued entering data on his console, Trelain roamed about the cabin.
He noted several holo-portraits adorning the walls, a sword of an unfamiliar type hanging over a cabinet, what appeared to be several engineering models of some sort of scattered across the room's surfaces. As Trelain inspected the models he saw they were cutaways of various ship-borne weapons.
The portraits showed various people: what was obviously Ka'ramas receiving some sort of military decoration by an aged Dilgar, a much younger Ka'ramas in what looked like an academy graduation ceremony, an exterior picture of the Valorous Blood in a moment of glory firing her guns, a formal portrait of Supreme Warmaster Gar'shan draped in red-trimmed white. Trelain saw a portrait of a smiling Dilgar woman. From the look in her eyes, he assumed she was either a lover or spouse. Her holo was also draped in white though grey-trimmed. With a jolt he saw a smaller picture of Ka'ramas and Jha'dur with several other officers in a casual setting, clearly sitting around a table drinking and laughing. The last was of a very young Ka'ramas in an athletic outfit, standing on a dais, a silvery stylized crown on his brow, arms raised in victory, smiling proudly for the camera.
"In my youth I took the crown in my event for the Prime Games," Ka'ramas said, startling Trelain. He assumed the Dilgar 'Prime Games' must be much like the Centauri World Games, or the Terran Olympic Games.
"That is most impressive Warmaster," Trelain admired. He studied the holo seeing Ka'ramas standing alone and asked, "Where are the runners-up?"
Ka'ramas chuckled saying, "We have no second-place. Either you win and are victorious or you go home in shame."
The comment reminded Trelain just how unforgiving a people the Dilgar could be. Swallowing he asked, "What was your event Warmaster?"
"The S-S-P," Ka'ramas replied. He saw Trelain's look of confusion and further explained, "Strength-Stamina-Perfection. Eleven competitions in all: various running, climbing, jumping, spear-casting, sword both blinded and clear." He sighed saying, "It was the oldest event in the Games, dating back to our distant past." Ka'ramas motioned to a chair and Trelain eased himself down into it, slightly grimacing in discomfort.
The Warmaster studied him a moment then said, "I can see your wounds are still somewhat painful Commander."
Trelain waved away the comment saying, "It is of no moment Warmaster, only during sitting and rising. I find all of my other injuries are completely healed."
"Good," Ka'ramas said. He sat back in his chair and seemed to carefully consider his words before speaking, "Commander I require your assistance in something."
Not knowing what to expect, Trelain swallowed and said, "What can I do for you Warmaster?"
"I need you to accompany some of my officers and myself planetside and help me find some...old associates," he said.
"Which planet Warmaster?" Trelain asked.
"We are currently in hyperspace just outside the Zafran system," he replied. "I am given to understand that Zafran VIII is host to a trading port of sorts. That is our destination."
"Zafran? What in the Seven Yellow Hells are we doing here?" Trelain thought. Zafran was all of the way out on the Outer Rim in what the Earth Alliance called the Tau Omega Sector. It was a dangerous, blighted area of the galaxy, populated by dregs and races of questionable intent. "Well," Trelain thought, "where else would a group of Dilgar go?" Anywhere else and they were a marked species. Any Dilgar identified could probably be turned in for a head bounty to the League or the Earth Alliance. Yet somehow, fleeing and hiding in the Outer Rim didn't seem in character for the Dilgar, particularly for a Warmaster. "Why didn't they just go back to...wherever they came from?", he thought.
Ka'ramas watched Trelain mull on his statement for a moment, tracking the play of the thoughts in his head by the expression on his face. Once he saw Trelain's confusion was not going to clear he said, "No Commander, I do not intend to hide here. My fleet must have fuel, food, consumables, and a base with repair facilities from which to operate. Though our colony could supply some of these things it is too far away." He paused then continued, "Also they cannot help with something...special I have in mind. Those that I wish to find can. Once I find whom I need..."
Trelain wondered exactly whom they were going to find. As far as he knew, and the galaxy at large knew, the Dilgar had no allies. They had fought their war alone, and had died alone.
"What exactly do you need me to do Warmaster?" Trelain asked.
Ka'ramas rose from behind his desk and stepped closer to Trelain, leaning his hip against the front of the desk. "My people are too well known. Even here in the Outer Rim we would soon enough be recognized, and reported." He sighed then shook his head saying, "No. The last thing I need is some mercenary sub-species letting Earth Force know we are here." A grim, feral smile split the Warmaster's face. With a far away look in his eyes he growled, "I will fight them at a time and place of my choosing."
Ka'ramas took a deep breath, coming back to the present. He abruptlybegan ticking things off on his fingers, "But for the specifics: I need you to engage in some transactions on our behalf, I need you to arrange sale for some prizes we have captured, I need you to acquire certain readily available information." He gestured behind Trelain to Ba'reel standing next to the door, "Combat Leader Ba'reel, myself, and two marines will accompany you, disguised as Kalinor zealots." The Kalinor were known to exile their worst militaristic religious devotees, surgically preventing any from speaking their blasphemies. These zealots were often hired in the Outer Rim as mercenary guards. As the exiled zealots usually wore elaborate wrappings and concealing headgear, it would be a perfect disguise and explain away any question about their lack of speech.
These things seemed modest, but something didn't ring true. Why were they staying? Surely they could simply attack some convoy somewhere and take whatever they needed. After all, ships were always disappearing in the Outer Rim. Why was a flag officer putting himself into harm's way accompanying a simple foraging mission? Trelain, accustomed to the intrigue of everyday life in the Centauri Republic, sensed something else going on here. "What do you really need me to do Warmaster?"
His eyes narrowing, the Warmaster crossed his arms and said, "I need you to help me find the Drakh."
Trelain sat stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing. Ka'ramas seemed less than amused, his narrowed eyes taking on a dangerous glint. Trelain realized he must have overstepped his bounds, but for the life of him couldn't stop laughing. He heard Ba'reel hiss at him in warning. The hiss helped Trelain exert some self-control. "Oh Warmaster," Trelain sputtered, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, "I didn't know you had such a sense of humor!" Trelain saw Ka'ramas was not smiling, he was simply staring at Trelain, the dangerous glint now a smoldering fire. Trelain tried to backpedal, "Warmaster, the Drakh don't exist. They were a legend, a hobgoblin to frighten unwary travelers and mischievous children."
"You are wrong Commander, so very wrong," Ka'ramas said in a low, dangerous voice. He gestured vaguely around the room saying, "Do you see those models of weapons? I was responsible for their creation before the war. For at least five years, I worked in close contact with several Drakh, at the direction of Supreme Warmaster Gar'shan, improving our weapons and creating new ones for the war."
Turning his attention back to Trelain, Ka'ramas said, "And you will help me reestablish contact with them."
The Warmaster seemed to hum with a barely chained anger. Trelain hesitated to speak, but Ka'ramas seemed to be waiting for an answer. He wasn't sure he wanted to be responsible for helping the Dilgar renew their war with Earth. "Warmaster...I..." he stammered.
Ka'ramas crossed his arms again and said, "I am certain, Commander, that your...surviving men would appreciate you helping us."
Trelain inhaled sharply at the menacing statement. "So, at last I see the steel fist inside the silken glove," he thought. Trelain remembered his bold and foolish promise to his men. He lowered his head and gave the only answer he could, "Of course Warmaster. I would be happy to help you in any way I can." Trelain glanced back up to see Ka'ramas looking down at him. The Warmaster was actually smiling, though there was very little warmth in the smile. It reminded Trelain of the grin of the jungle cats they had on Immolan.
And so for nearly five weeks, they had drifted about the Outer Rim. One of the prizes the Dilgar had acquired was a small jump-capable freighter. The Warmaster had crewed it with Dilgar from Valorous Blood. While the two Pentacons waited in hyperspace, their freighter had dropped into realspace at every system, looking for the denizens of the Outer Rim. Trelain had never seen such a wretched cesspool of beings. With proper costuming and props he had posed as a merchant of alien artifacts gleaned from the various dead worlds that comprised the vast bulk of the Outer Rim. As he did that he even arranged for the sale of the other prizes. The Warmaster also had him casually check on outgoing convoys, ordering his two Pentacons to ambush ones likely to have fuel and food.
But all the while, as he plied his 'trade', he took instructions from Ka'ramas on what and who to look for. From one decadent creature to another they progressed. First was an ancient Brakiri, buying and selling anything (or anyone they discovered). He sent them on to one of the Cascor, who in turn sent them to a Tokati, and so on and so forth.
After more than three weeks of searching and interrogating, jumping from one barely alive system after another, their small group had arrived at a decrepit mining facility inside a rather large asteroid. It was one of many scattered across the asteroid belt around the unnamed star. There they had made contact with a member of a species called the Streib who seemed to be the only ones in possession of the asteroid belt. Looking a bit like a larger well-muscled Vree, they were almost mouthless and like the Vree had a mild telepathy, more of an empathy. This particular specimen was able to make what it knew understood to Trelain and his disguised companions: yes, it knew of the Drakh, but such information was expensive as they were eager to be left alone.
Trelain had paid the Streib, but it still prevaricated, indicating more was needed for such a task as finding the legendary Drakh. At this point the Streib became agitated as it realized somehow that Trelain's Kalinor guards were actually Dilgar. It must have squeaked out the name and the Warmaster recognized it.
With their cover ruined, Ka'ramas spoke, barking an order. One of his marines promptly grabbed up the Streib, its telepathic wailing making Trelain dizzy. Ka'ramas reminded the Streib that sometimes expensive could also mean costly. Ba'reel and the other marine had immediately moved to cover them as a pair of other Streib rushed in with weapons drawn.
The Streib ordered its companions to stand down, and tried to assure Ka'ramas it would do as he asked without delay. This was hard to discern at first as the confused flitting of its alien thoughts danced in their minds. The Streib agreed to make contact for them, promising to handle the negotiations personally. Ka'ramas had threatened that if he was being set up for some sort of betrayal, the Streib had condemned this settlement to a hideous death by mass driver as well as its own personal death. Ka'ramas told it he would make a pair of boots from its skin. Trelain realized that he was meant to hear these threats as well: they had been spoken in the Centauri language. The Streib had broadcast dismay, fear, eventually speaking in an obsequious manner, assuring them in its whistling voice that it would never betray the great Dilgar race.
They had left his shop, the marines and Ba'reel covering them, Ka'ramas escorting the Streib himself. Trelain could still hear the whisper of the Streib's thoughts over the whistling of its voice. It must have been warning others of its species to allow them to leave as they were not molested back to the landing pad.
Once back in hyperspace aboard the Valorous Blood, the Streib had been confined after giving Ka'ramas coordinates of a system where it could start to contact the Drakh. Trelain had stayed on the bridge with the Warmaster, at his request. Ka'ramas had one of his strike cruisers reopen another jump point within the asteroid belt, and had the dreadnought fly out and take up station over the Streib mining settlement they had just left. The Warmaster hissed out a single word, one Trelain's growing familiarity with the Dilgar language allowed him to understand: "Fire."
Trelain had been horrified as he saw a coruscating mass driver sphere shoot down range, almost floating toward the asteroid. He had one moment to professionally note that Dilgar mass drivers were larger than the Centauri version, and the energy surrounding them was more violet than blue. Then the sphere impacted with the asteroid.
It split the asteroid into several large pieces, all of them tumbling in multiple directions. Trelain gasped as he saw the atmosphere of the mining facility spew out and freeze solid in the vacuum. He could hear other mining stations frantically calling to the destroyed facility, but the Warmaster was prepared for this. Trelain's combat-trained ear caught the telltale signs that the dreadnought was jamming the available frequencies.
"Hit them again, " Ka'ramas said. Another mass driver sphere flashed out past the bow of the dreadnought and pummeled the remaining largest piece of asteroid. The second impact was enough to completely shatter the irregularly shaped chunk. A further small amount of atmosphere leaked out and froze, then the reactor exploded. "No survivors there," Trelain thought.
The Warmaster gave a command that Trelain did not understand, but it's meaning was obvious when the dreadnought opened a scintillating jump point and flew into hyperspace. Ka'ramas turned and walked back to where Trelain was standing, catching him gape-mouthed at the destruction. "Close your mouth Commander", the Warmaster admonished, "Such personal displays are unbecoming in an officer." Ka'ramas, displaying his predator's smile again, clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Now Commander, surely you understand I couldn't leave our liaison's comrades behind. In a day or so they would have spread the word that their friend was absconded with by three Dilgar and a Centauri, and I do not wish to be revealed as of yet." The smile died out as his jaw tightened. "Once I have what I need from the Drakh however," he growled, "it won't matter who knows about us."The Warmaster continued past him and left the bridge, leaving Trelain alone with his thoughts and fears, amid the contemptuous furtive glances of the bridge crew.
"Commander...Commander?" Ba'reel's voice brought Trelain back to the present.
"It was all easy after that," Trelain thought. The Streib had lived up to its word, taking them through a few systems and contacts. A mere ten days later, here they were in the L-213 system, waiting for the Drakh to arrive, their quest fulfilled. "I am sorry Combat Leader," he said. Trelain turned away from the observation dome to the Dilgar and said, "I was...thinking of the past, and how we came to be here."He squared his shoulders, lifted his head high and said, "Please take me to the Warmaster."
Ba'reel escorted him down through the bowels of the dreadnought, past many of the hurrying crew. The crew no longer looked at him in anger, but often their contempt was palpable. Trelain found he would have preferred the anger. One final lift ride, and the doors opened out onto what Trelain assumed was the primary flight deck. A small group of Dilgar crew and officers were gathered at the other end. Ba'reel urged him on as he slowed down to look at the Thorun Dartfighters, stacked in transport racks like a solid dappled green wall, cockpits sealed, drives dark.
They passed a secured flotilla of breaching pods, their angular shapes blocking what was either a large shuttle or small transport. Warmaster Ka'ramas, resplendent in his dress uniform, was waiting before the large shuttle. The shuttle was oddly shaped, very rounded and fluid looking, colored in soft blended bands of orange, yellow, black, and brown.
Out of the smooth featureless hull, a hatch and ramp opened out. Down the ramp came two...creatures, if that was what they were. It hurt Trelain's eyes just to look at them. They shimmered and flickered, almost as if they were an illusion. So much of what had happened to him for the last couple of months was so surreal that Trelain wondered, for an instant, if they were specters or wraiths rather than living beings. They were big, as tall as the Warmaster, but much more heavily built. Beneath their heavy hooded cloaks they seemed to be wearing armored suits, complete with skull-like helmets. "They sound solid enough," Trelain thought, hearing their footsteps crack as they crossed the short distance to stand in front of Ka'ramas.
The two figures gave a short bow, which Ka'ramas returned with a quick bob of his head. The foremost of the two lifted one hand in salute while extending a glowing device clutched in the other hand saying, "Greetings Ka'ramas, Warmaster of the Dilgar." The voice was an icy, sibilant whisper that nonetheless carried to where Trelain stood.
"Hail and well met, envoy of the Drakh," Ka'ramas responded formally, raising his own hand in return. "If you wish to dispense with your translators," he said, "we can converse in your language." He shrugged then continued, "Though it has been many years I am still conversant."
The frigid whisper spoke again, "It is not necessary Warmaster. Once we are in close contact with you for a short time, we will be fluent in your tongue."
"As you wish," Ka'ramas replied. "Have you brought what I asked?"
The Drakh turned and motioned down the length of the shuttle. A large ramp was quickly and silently lowering to rest against the deck of the dreadnought. A series of beings were handling a line of anti-grav sleds. On top of these sleds, stacked and secured in racks, were what appeared to Trelain to be anti-shipping missiles. The beings seemed of different types: some flickering in armor like those that greeted the Warmaster, others smaller, robed and vaguely reptilian with heavy scales, almost like stonework, a few nearly naked with thin pinched faces and bulbous heads, bearing a striking similarity to both Vree and the captive Streib. Trelain leaned backwards and said sotto voce to Ba'reel, "There are at least three species here, Ba'reel." He motioned to the line of working creatures and asked, "Which are the Drakh?"
Ba'reel leaned forward and whispered, "They are all Drakh, Commander. I am given to understand that in their language 'drakh' simply means 'servant'." He shrugged and added, "It is how they collectively refer to themselves."
Something struck Trelain as odd about that: a group of races that called themselves servants. "Whom do they serve?" Trelain asked.
Ba'reel slightly shook his head and whispered, "I do not know Commander. I have nev..." Ba'reel stopped and motioned behind Trelain, "The Warmaster wants you to step forth Commander."
Trelain snapped around to see Ka'ramas looking at him expectantly. The Warmaster extended a hand and motioned to the racks of missiles. "Come Commander," he almost purred, "Come see the result of your endeavors on our behalf."
Trelain walked forward to the Warmaster's side and looked at the sleek missiles. They were long, about the length of a Centauri Sentri-class fighter. He immediately saw they were not propelled by fusion or chemical means, and the lack of control fins made him suspect it was not meant for atmospheric flight. At first he thought it was a trick of the odd color Dilgar lighting, but upon closer inspection he saw the surface of the missiles had changed. The strange network of web-like black and grey splotches slowly flowed into new patterns right before his eyes. For no reason he could discern, the missiles filled him with revulsion, and fear. Much like the Drakh in the armor, something about these weapons was fundamentally...wrong.
Abruptly, he felt an attraction to the weapon, an odd compulsion to feel its slowly swirling surface. Almost without volition, Trelain's hand reached out tentatively to touch the surface of the weapon. As his hand approached, the mottled pattern shifted, forming a large black spot where his hand was about to touch. Trelain could actually feel the black spot beckoning him, desiring his caress. He could almost hear it whispering.
The Warmaster's voice broke the enchantment. "Regilio Brokano Trelain!" Ka'ramas exclaimed. It was the first time the Warmaster had used his given names. Trelain came to his senses, shaking his head. "If you touch the weapon Commander," Ka'ramas said, "it will drain the energy from your body and slay you instantly." Trelain recoiled and withdrew his hand. He almost believed he could feel the weapon keening in remorse that it had not enticed him to touch it. He backed up a step as the weapon's pattern shifted back to match the others, all of them continuing with their sluggish ever-changing visual scheme.
Trelain glanced at the Warmaster. The feral predatory smile had returned. A malignant light lit his eyes as he gazed rapturously at the weapons. "Great Maker," Trelain thought, "what evil have I wrought?" Trelain made the sign of the Great Maker over his face, and began to silently pray.
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