10. Chapter Three

The Lord Commander sat in the only chair on the Incinerator's battle deck and brooded darkly. Literally. The vast room was almost empty, just a few control panels and instruments over by the main door, and dominated by huge windows that stretched from the outer hull of deck below to the deck above. When there was something interesting to see, the view was spectacular. Most of the time, however, there was lots of nothing. Like right now. But for the glowing panels on his chair and the wall, everything was pretty pitchy black.

It wasn't even a real battle deck. The Lord Commander just called it that. The whole room was wasted space and actually a weak point in the Incinerator's defenses. The windows, though strong, were not armored like the rest of the ship. The Lord Commander had learned about Avocato ordering a heavily shielded battle bridge to be built at the heart of the flagship to allow him to safely direct operations while under attack. The Lord Commander had liked the sound of that, but the room had been disappointingly small and cramped. Refusing to be outdone by his snooty second in command, the Lord Commander had ordered this space to be built. Avocato had quietly pointed out the vulnerabilities inherent in such a design, and the Lord Commander had pointedly ignored his logic. He wanted a better space than Avocato and he got it. But . . .

Avocato hadn't been impressed. He hadn't even been a little bit jealous.

Jerk.

On two occasions he had been in battle with Avocato in command, but he had quickly learned it wasn't as enjoyable as he'd anticipated. Avocato clearly hadn't appreciated his presence or input. The Lord Commander had wanted to know what was happening, had wanted the ship to get closer so he could see the action for himself, but Avocato had refused to alter his battle plans for the sake of a better view. And he hadn't apologized after. Twice that happened and twice Avocato ignored his calls as he conducted the ships and troops. Annoying as it may be, though, the general did have a point. Avocato's purpose was to direct the Tera Con forces, and calling for updates in the midst of a full-scale war was probably not the smartest of ideas.

Not that the Lord Commander would admit as much.

He glowered. Just being in this room, on this ship, was enough to piss him off because of the inevitable memories of Avocato, that filthy traitor. If he'd had another super-Incinerator available, the Lord Commander would have occupied that, but . . . he didn't. Not anymore. The captains and crew of his other two super-Incinerators had joined Avocato.

Insufferable jerk.

Almost unconscious of the response, the Lord Commander growled, the sound echoing. He had raised the general on high, given him power and authority unimagined, set him at the helm of an empire, only to have Avocato turn on him and steal half of his fleet, upend the cult of death the Lord Commander had spent decades building, and declare war. And why? For the sake of one obnoxious and bratty child. The prince wasn't even Avocato's real son. He was a hostage! Expendable! How could he be worth more to Avocato than an empire?

No matter. Soon, he would end Avocato. Personally and permanently. In fact, he'd take immense pleasure in killing the Ventrexian.

His growl triggered a coughing fit. He quietly wheezed for a minute, wiping black spittle off his mouth with the back of his hand. His powers were as much a blessing as a curse. He suspected Invictus could cure him with a thought, but preferred to watch his pain and struggle. No matter. If all went well, both would end soon.

Willingly and not, Clarence Polkawitz had provided a wealth of information about the rebellion. For some reason, he had been shocked when the Lord Commander took what he wanted and then threw him in the brig. What had Polkawitz expected? Thanks? Probing the Foog's mind had been ridiculously easy and more than a little disturbing. Clarence was, to put it mildly, perverse, especially when it came to General Avocato, and he had more fantasies at the forefront of his mind than was right. The Lord Commander was going to have a hard time purging his memory of a lot of unnecessary images, and if he dreamed about Avocato tonight, Clarence was going to die horribly. And really, if Avocato had the least bit of decency, he would have died to spare him after the Lord Commander spent a large fortune on those useless Mirror Mage assassins. All those dropnoids for what? A pile of dead lizards and a teal hairball who lived to fuel Clarence Polkawitz's erotic fantasies.

Mental scars aside – though Clarence's dreams were doomed to disappointment because the Lord Commander was determined to make Avocato pay and pay dearly – he knew Avocato was bracing for a showdown. That was fine. Avocato might have more ships . . . and experience . . . and training . . . and men, but the Lord Commander had Mooncake and Invictus.

He was waiting now for his scientists to finish figuring out a way to tap into Mooncake's power. Their work had been interrupted over a year ago when the Gary released the little creature from the monstertorium on Tera Con Prime. He had given them until they reached Tarb III to figure it out. That desolate ball of dirt was where the fleets were headed. Once there, he would destroy the Gary, wipe out Avocato and the Ventrexian prince, and reinstate his cult of death in order to resume his quest to reach Final Space. He would unleash another Deathcropolis, built on the bones of the rebels ranged against him. And after he had fed the Titans a river of souls, they would welcome him to their ranks . . .

"You should not waste your time with revenge," whispered a deep voice that did not echo. The temperature in the already cold room dropped further as a faint, shapeless glow of energy replaced the deepest shadows.

"I can't be safe while Avocato and the Gary live," the Lord Commander reasoned. In his biased opinion, revenge was a priority, not in any way a waste of time, but he hastened to suppress his annoyance. He had not expected Invictus just yet. He wanted to focus on his enemies before he dealt with the whims of . . . what was Invictus to him? Benefactor? Owner? Master? What was he to Invictus? Tool? Pet? Apprentice? None of those labels appealed or hit quite the right note. Slave? No. Not slave. Avocato had been his slave, made to obey his whims and orders lest his prince or his planet be destroyed before his eyes. He was the Lord Commander. He didn't dance on command.

"Child," Invictus chastised sharply. "You should not have antagonized the Ventrexian. I would be free and you would have achieved Final Space otherwise."

He was never in a mood to be lectured, especially when he knew Invictus was correct. "Those things will still happen. In time."

"I have time. You do not," snapped Invictus. His anger manifested in a physical pang felt deep within the Lord Commander's mind. It was a technique the Lord Commander had often used, and at the moment he could not remember if he had learned it from Invictus, or Invictus from him. "I grow impatient with you."

The Lord Commander could say the same, but didn't dare. Invictus' power seemed infinite. Until he had achieved his goal to become a Titan, until he had power of his own, not the pittance Invictus dangled before him, the Lord Commander could only obey.

Perhaps slave was not so far off the mark after all.

"My enemies are gathering," he said, choosing not to pursue that last thought any further. "This little play at rebellion will end soon."

"You call this play?" whispered Invictus, the glow taking a blurry outline of an elongated skull with curved horns for a moment.

"What do you call it?" he dared to demand, stung.

"Success," was the ready reply. "Half your fleet is ranged against you."

"I'm not about to forget that," he insisted, much as he wanted to. Perhaps he had been too flippant, but Invictus' insistence intrigued him. Certainly he was on a timeline as the use of his powers rotted this body from the inside out, but he doubted anything like concern motivated Invictus. "But I have Mooncake."

"Do not lose him again," warned the entity, prodding at his mind once again. "And do not lose this war. If you do, if you fail to open the rift and release me, we will have a reckoning. You are not alone in the power and strength of your hate."

"I won't lose," he insisted, the notion of being replaced in Invictus' attentions a disturbing one. Who in this universe could rival his hate? Invictus had warned him in the past, but this was the first threat he'd leveled. It was intimidating, yes, but good to know that this coming battle was of the utmost importance for both of them. And if he happened to indulge in a bit of revenge, who was Invictus to complain so long as they had Mooncake to unlock Final Space?

"See that you don't," said Invictus, withdrawing to his own dimension. "For your sake."

Relative warmth and light and reality returned with his departure, leaving him alone on the battle deck once again. The Lord Commander sat back on his hard throne, brooding and glowering and pondering. After a minute of contemplating his interaction with Invictus, he came to a very simple, though very softly whispered, conclusion:

"Jerk."