Chapter 25 - Apoptosis
GORAST - OFF THE COAST OF CHINA
Gorast could not believe that she would be forced to endure this humiliation a second time.
She had done exactly as Icarax ordered - she had met with the Chinese. She had given them her terms: the Brotherhood would be willing to engage in a policy of non-aggression with them if they would declare themselves the enemies of the Americans. In exchange, they would be spared when the Brotherhood finished their conquest of the planet.
It was not an easy negotiation - neither side had any trust in each other. Gorast had no personal interest in the success of the negotiation, and the Chinese had no reason to believe that the Brotherhood would keep their word. But at the same time, they were aware of the sheer threat the Brotherhood posed - Gorast's terms made no mention that they could not defend themselves, simply that the Brotherhood would not treat them as a foe. It was an opportunity that they could not pass up.
Gorast had hoped that this would be all that Icarax would ever ask of her - that he would not debase her in such a manner ever again for as long as she lived. However, as he summoned her back to his throne room for the second time in a matter of weeks, her nerves pulled at her. She worried as to what he would ask of her.
"My lord," she said, kneeling before Icarax. She hated every syllable that passed between her teeth, every letter; she had but one lord, and he was not here.
"Rise, sister."
Gorast did as she was bid.
"Your mission in China was a success. I have word that the enemy has mobilized fleets against American sea forts on nearby islands, and will make sail against the enemy fleet."
Gorast remained silent. She feared the worst.
"In fact, the Chinese have volunteered to share further diplomatic relations with us, exactly as we had hoped they would. I would have you go to meet them yet again."
Gorast stood as still as a statue. From the outside, it would be hard to detect that she lived at all. But inside, her very essence trembled, furiously shaking within its armor.
"Are there no other Makuta who you would appoint this task to?" she said, hoping against hope that Icarax would see the folly of his task. How dare he - once was an insult, but twice was a declaration of war.
"You are familiar to them," Icarax said calmly. "They recognize you, and your capacity to negotiate peacefully. This makes you the best choice."
"With all due respect, would it not be better suited to send, perhaps, Antroz, or Bitil? One who would take better to a negotiation?"
Icarax turned up his chin at Gorast.
"Do you think you are incapable of performing the tasks I lay before you?"
There was no mistaking his tone - his question was not sincere. It was a threat.
"Sir?"
"I have given you a task. If you do not think yourself capable of following the orders I provide, then I have no use for you - the Brotherhood has no use for you. You will learn to follow my orders without question, or you will learn how to return to Teridax, and report to him your failure while he sends a more capable Makuta. Do you understand?"
Gorast shook. White-hot rage burned her. If she were a being of flesh and blood, she would be shedding tears of anger.
"Yes, sir," she said, choking on the words. Her vision blurred as she whirled about, and exited the room as quickly as possible. The second she was through the door, she activated her teleportation power, leaving the Indomitable far behind her. She did not even know where she teleported to - an empty field in some location she could not identify. Nonetheless, for an hour or more, she sunk blasts of plasma into the ground, unleashed power screams that could be heard for miles, and unleashed a cyclone around her that stripped the bark from trees, and left a scar in the terrain that would remain for generations.
Gorast sailed towards China yet again.
She made the efforts she had once before, raising a flag of negotiation. She sailed to the same harbor. She saw the same aircraft. She saw the same little man at his table, at the center of the base, in his same little suit. She hated him. She hated every second she spent in this foul place, among these pathetic beings. She longed to bathe in an orgy of violence the likes of which had never been seen before.
"Mr. Yang," she said, coldly. "It is a pleasure to meet with you once again."
"Likewise," the Chinese diplomat said cordially. "You seem well."
Gorast faked a smile. She was anything but well - but there was no way the Primitive could understand her feelings at the moment.
"Will you sit?" he asked, gesturing towards the chair in front of her. Gorast glanced at it, and shook her head no. She stood at a leisurely eleven feet of height. The chair was not suited for her size or weight. And although she could easily have shapeshifted to fit it, she did not feel any need to meet the being as an equal.
"I do not think your chair would survive the attempt," she said, setting it aside and standing on one side of the table. A gust of wind punctuated the silence between the two beings.
"My…master…claims that you have a desire to speak with the Brotherhood of Makuta. To further discuss our negotiations."
"Indeed. The People's Republic of China has acted as we agreed upon in our last meeting. We have scrambled our fleet, and are moving towards an attack on American naval bases throughout the Pacific. We have declared open war with them."
"And?" Gorast asked.
"Our first attempts at engagement have been…" Mr Yang gave a nervous chuckle. "Not as successful as we had hoped. We have full confidence in our tactical superiority in this matter -"
"Ah, I see. You find yourself outmatched by the Americans," said Gorast, with a cruel smile. Nothing brought her more pleasure than the mental image of these Primitives being killed by each other in droves, their ships sinking and their sailors lost to the crushing depths.
"I assure you, the Chinese people's navy is the greatest in the world, miss Gorast."
"Indeed. And so you call upon me for negotiation…" she questioned.
Mr. Yang removed his glasses, and wiped them nervously.
"My superiors have come to the decision that we see the potential for a future alongside the Brotherhood of Makuta. We would be willing to form a coalition between our two powers, for such time as your invasion of the planet continues. In return, we would ask for military aid, disclosure of technological capabilities, access to your intelligence network, and a peaceful integration into the world after your conquest is complete. In exchange, we offer the same terms to you - the might of the People's Republic of China would be at your disposal."
Gorast saw through Yang's words, and was not disarmed by his promises of cooperation. His superiors knew the Brotherhood would slaughter them - their cowardice compelled them to bow before their looming annihilation. Worse than that, they were so inept that they could not even accomplish the promises they had made at their last meeting. The simple task of attacking some naval bases prompted them to ask for help from their superiors - in exchange for what? Technology that was worse than the Brotherhood's? Military aid from a country that could not succeed in the simplest of assaults without help? There would be no peaceful integration. This country would burn like the rest for their insult. She knew it. She knew it. She knew that they would die - she could see it so clearly before her, like the setting of the sun or the turn of the tide.
Through gritted teeth, she spoke.
"My master would be inclined to accept your terms. We would have your empire fight alongside ours. Your wisdom in this matter has saved you from a doomed existence - there is no shame to be found in joining the bountiful mercy of Makuta Teridax."
Mr. Yang flashed a smile that Gorast could not read the meaning of - and had no interest in doing so.
The rest of the negotiation passed in a haze that Gorast barely remembered. It was as if her consciousness retreated to some small part of her soul that never saw the light of day, where it remained, seeking safety, for as long as it could. It was not until she returned to her ship and began to leave the Primitive nation behind, before her mind began to return to her.
Her knuckles cracked as she made fists tight enough to rend metal.
There was no excuse for what had happened today - she had been forced to demean herself, to violate the understanding she had of Teridax's mission. She had allowed the Primitives, the enemies of Teridax, to not only survive - but to join him. To accept his divine blessing. To partake in the spoils of his conquest. The notion offended her; it was nigh on heretical to see pathetic beings of flesh and blood bury their greedy hands into the glory of Teridax's vision. But even angrier was she with herself. For as much as she loved Teridax, and he loved her, she had betrayed his intention, and failed him.
Gorast's mind turned towards the one responsible. It was not her blame. She had been coerced and forced into this path. She understood Teridax's will - but Icarax did not. It was his fault that she had arrived at this place, that she had been forced to say the things she did.
This insult would not stand.
It was more than just an attack on her sensibilities and her loyalty - it was outright rejection of Teridax's plans. It was a failure to follow Teridax's mission.
Icarax was not a follower of Teridax. He was a false prophet, a deceiver, a serpent coiled beneath a flower. Every second he stood at the helm of the Brotherhood's command, it grew further away from the divine source of its power.
Gorast knew what had to be done. It was the only logical decision - one that she had been dwelling on for what seemed like her entire life, until only now did it present itself as the obvious truth.
Icarax would have to die. The Brotherhood needed a leader who understood Teridax's intentions, not one who grew drunk on power and addicted to his own egoistic aggrandizement.
And who better to interpret Teridax's will than she, his most loyal follower?
PRIDAK - ABOARD THE ROBUST FOE
Pridak could not be happier. A month ago, he was a slave, one of faceless legions of beaten and starved manual laborers. Today, he arose with the sun, groomed and polished his spotless armor, and slipped comfortably into the role of Kabarra he had made for himself. Stepping out of his quarters, he smiled, and made his way to the bridge of the Robust Foe, where its captain, Ninalka, waited. The vessel was just about ready to return to the ocean - it would be yet one more day before it joined the rest of its fleet in the assault of the American empire.
All throughout the ship, choice beings worked positions of import. A gunner's mate had tripped and injured himself, and been replaced by another Ihidauri of Kabarra's suggestion. Some cargo handlers were reassigned, and new Matoran laborers brought on to replace them. Piece by piece, he integrated his loyal servants with the Robust Foe, tangling them inexorably with the arteries and veins of the ship.
It was not a perfectly smooth procedure. One member of the crew had recognized Pridak. A Matoran from the lower decks, who had once served the noble Ihidauri's forces as a squire. He had seen the Ivory King before, and knew his face well. Unfortunately, he remembered Pridak's appearance far more than he did the methods by which he ruled.
One morning, as Pridak awoke, he received a note under his door. Reading it, the note identified him by name, threatening to reveal information of his identity to the captain, and subsequently the Makuta, unless he was paid a king's ransom.
Pridak scoffed at the notion, as he had no such money to give. His group was desperately scrounging to survive, and there was no way they could afford something of this nature. What concerned him moreso was that he had been identified so easily and quickly.
Pridak destroyed the first note within seconds of finishing it. He did not receive a second.
A week later, an Ursare fisherman uncovered the partial remains of a Matoran in the water nearby. An effort was made to identify them, but the body was so mangled and so many pieces were missing that this task proved unfruitful.
Indeed, the Matoran had known who Pridak was - but he had forgotten what he was capable of.
Each night, as he retired to his cabin, First Mate Kabarra would study documents on the military structure of the Brotherhood's naval forces. He memorized names, ships, stations - anything and everything. Some things he would pass along to Point Three for recording, but it was a superfluous task, as he committed it all to memory regardless.
Captain Ninalka appreciated Kabarra's dedication to the cause, and the diligence at which he served his post. He never had any suspicions as to the Ihidauri's intent. And Pridak was happy to keep things this way, for the time being.
However, something changed this morning as he arrived on the bridge of the Robust Foe, in search of his captain. Entering the bridge, he found Ninalka missing without a trace. Cocking an eyebrow, Pridak noted the change of schedule internally - his captain never changed plans without explicit reasoning.
With a polite cough, Pridak commanded the attention of the helmsman, who stood idly as he had done for some many days now, considering that the ship was not moving anywhere.
"Helmsman," Pridak said, slightly annoyed at this departure of schedule.
The helmsman turned, snapping a salute.
"Sir!" he cried.
Pridak returned the salute.
"Where is Captain Ninalka?" he asked curtly.
"The captain said he had an important meeting to attend at the ready room, that he was not to be disturbed, and that you were to have command of the bridge until such time as he returns."
Pridak nodded,
The ready room, then…
"Second Mate Sezos, you have command of the bridge until I return," said Pridak, exiting the room without pausing to see Sezos' reaction. The Layamat was a slow and sluggish being that Pridak despised, and he was eager to replace him with a more capable member - a more loyal member. Kuatrinas, Pridak thought to himself, stroking his chin. Or perhaps Volto Rojo…
Pridak did not allow his thoughts of glory to dominate his mind, however. He was focused on the here and now.
With a practiced quiet, he approached the ready room on the command tower of the ship, located far behind the bridge. It was a sealed room with a single entrance and exit, that was soundproofed and lacked a porthole. In this manner, it provided perfect secrecy for a captain to give orders to a crewmember, or for them to meet with someone without being overheard.
Pridak knew he could not eavesdrop on the meeting without being detected - but he could at least find out what was going on, who the captain was meeting with. If he had not been informed about it beforehand, it must clearly have been quite important; perhaps even above his station. Even knowing that the captain was meeting with someone in secret could be useful.
Pridak waited by the door, perfectly still, his movement imperceptible to the eye. He was like a statue, waiting for the opportune moment.
Minutes passed, before suddenly, the door swung open, and the captain emerged. Blinking in surprise, they nearly barreled into Pridak.
"Kabarra! What are you doing here?" he asked, confused.
"My apologies, sir. I was looking for you, and had been informed by a crewmate that you were in the ready room."
"Indeed. However, you were also supposed to have learned that I was not to be disturbed."
"Ah, that must have…slipped their mind," said Pridak, lying with grace. As he spoke, he peered over Ninalka's shoulder into the room, attempting to see who could have possibly been speaking with him.
What met his eyes was not a figure, but rather a lack of one. The room was entirely empty. Pridak's brow furrowed in confusion, though he immediately suppressed the reaction, as he wondered internally who the captain could have been speaking to. The room had but a single entrance and exit, and nobody had exited with the Captain. Whoever was in the room with him…
Pridak's eyes widened, and he shivered with glee. Whoever was in the room must have teleported out. There were only three types of beings capable of performing such a feat. The first was a Dark Hunter by the name of Shadow Stealer, whom Pridak on good authority knew to be dead. The second was a Rahkshi of Teleportation, who only at the apex of their strength could teleport through walls, and who would likely not be trusted with a mission of such importance that it would need to be done in secrecy. The third…
A Makuta. Ninalka was meeting with a Makuta.
Pridak knew the Brotherhood's agents well. They were deceptive, egotistical, and private. They did not share information with each other, and had been known to plot against each other. They reminded him of the League of Six Kingdoms.
That one had met in secret with his captain was an interesting thing, to be sure.
Pridak glanced downwards at Ninalka's arms, in which he carried a tablet, wrapped in a concealing sleeve. Pridak smiled. The tablet was the key to unraveling this mystery.
"Was there something you needed, Kabarra?" Ninalka said, impatiently. Pridak corrected his posture, and assumed his role.
"My apologies, sir, but I cannot recall. Do you need me to carry that for you, sir?"
"Hmm? Oh, this. No, thank you. Back to the bridge, sailor."
"Aye, sir," said Pridak, turning, and marching back the way he came. Arriving on the bridge, with the captain behind him, he announced to the crew, "Captain on deck!" They snapped to attention for a second, while Ninalka saluted in return, setting them at ease. All the while, Pridak kept his eyes on the tablet - eager to devour its contents with wolf-like hunger. He could not read it yet. But he would. He was certain of it.
That night, as the captain slept in his quarters, Pridak approached the Matoran guard posted outside his room.
"Halt, approach and identify," said the Matoran, squinting through the dark at Pridak.
"First Mate Kabarra," said Pridak calmly, approaching with his hands raised. The Matoran immediately dropped the weapon, and stood at attention.
"Begging your pardon sir, but the Captain has specific orders not to be disturbed between the hours of -"
Pridak scowled. He had no time for an insolent Matoran. Suddenly, the Matoran's posture loosened, and they looked towards him with a smirk.
"Just kidding," they said, as they stepped to the side. Naturally, they were one of the few survivors of the Good Intent, loyal to Pridak. He had placed them, along with several others, aboard in secrecy, and ensured he would conveniently receive guard duty during the night shift. Any other night, Pridak would have been amused by the joke. This night he was not.
Kneeling down, he looked the Matoran dead in the eyes.
"You seem to be under the impression that because we are on the same side, that we are friends. I assure you that you are mistaken. You are worth nothing to me - remember that."
Pridaks words were calm and quiet. The Matoran shivered in fear. Pridak knew the power of fear - an explosive outburst of rage would be nowhere near as effective as a quiet and threatening chastisement. The Matoran would not step out of line ever again.
Returning upright, he brushed past the Matoran, opening the door to the Captain's cabin as silently as he could. As it cracked open, he peered inside. It was the dead of night, and he could hear the soft breathing of the Captain from his bed.
Slinking in, Pridak shut the door behind him, and stalked towards the small shelf in the captain's room. He knew the captain had taken it with him that night - it had to be in the room somewhere, and the shelf was the most likely spot.
Glancing over it, Pridak's eyes met a small mirror, an armor polishing kit, a lightstone, a small, lightly gilded statue of a Vhisotai, and a small accumulation of biographical books. Not one was of any interest to him.
Swearing under his breath, Pridak gritted his teeth, whirling around and looking for where else it could be. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, and he soon saw it - curled up in the captain's arms, like a Matoran with an autographed kolhii ball, or a scholar with a book they spent all night reading.
Pridak sneered, approaching the captain in dead silence. He was fast asleep - and so Pridak would need to be very careful.
Gingerly, he took ahold of a finger on the captain's left hand, and uncurled it from the tablet. The second his hands touched the captain's, he felt the Paxorak stir, and for a moment he froze in place. If the captain awoke, there was nothing that could be done - Pridak would have to kill him. It would destroy all of his plans, and cast suspicion on himself. He could not afford it.
But the captain's stirring soon stopped, and a second later, Pridak was able to continue, moving to a second finger, then a third. Soon, his arm had fallen onto the bed, leaving the tablet uncovered from one side.
With a snail-like pace, Pridak pulled the tablet with the smallest amount of force, wiggling it out of the captain's grasp. It was almost within his grasp.
One final effort was all it took, and the tablet was his. Eagerly, Pridak opened the sheath protecting the item, eager to read it.
It took less than a second for him to recognize it. His blood ran cold at the sight of it.
It was a Tablet of Transit. He had used them in the past - ordained their creation, and passed them along to betrayers from across the universe. It was a shield that kept traitors alive when the time came to purge their people - and it was a protosteel-clad law. When a being with a Tablet of Transit sold their people into slavery and death, a ruler could do no harm to them.
This tablet was unmarked as to whom it belonged to, though the Captain had signed his name at the bottom of it. Pridak shivered at the sight. Never in the Brotherhood's history had they provided a Tablet of Transit to one who was not prepared to commit treason of the highest order.
So why was a decorated naval captain holding one so tightly? Why had a Makuta given one of their own such an item?
All at once, Pridak recalled his earlier thoughts. He knew the nature of the Makuta. They were deceitful and their hatred for each other ran deeply.
It was all so delicious. Pridak could not help but smile, as he returned the tablet to its sheath and placed it back on the bed. Exiting the room as quickly as he could, he shut the door behind him and scurried down the hallway to his own quarters, not even stopping to confer with the Matoran guard.
One of the Makuta is planning a coup, Pridak thought with a thrill. It was something he could never have foreseen, and yet it was so obvious. It destroyed his current plans - yet instantly, like taking a handful from the ocean, the water filled the void without noticing its absence. Pridak's plans shifted and reoriented. He could work with this. He just needed to be sure - he needed to know who it was that was planning such betrayal.
Pridak could barely sleep, so engrossed was he in the notions of scheming and plotting. Nonetheless, he found his eyes drifting shut, and in the dark of the night, alone in his chambers, constructing elaborate plans by which he could use the chaos to his advantage, Pridak finally found some few hours of rest.