7: Republic
Makvar was a world of diverse biomes, but with significantly more seawater on it than Earth had. The makalvari species had evolved in more tropical environments, and it was along the equator and amongst the trailing archipelagos scattered throughout that the core of the civilisation had developed. The capital city was nestled on one of the bigger islands, situated at the heart of a sprawling city home to nearly fifteen million inhabitants. That was, in fact, the most populous city on the planet. It was, at a glance, a tranquil world home to some truly lush environments, yet it was a planet that had received much punishment during the many tens of thousands of years in which the makalvari had existed upon it in their current form. From their early days as roving clans, to the vicious wars between their nation states and now the interstellar conflicts they faced as a united world, Makvar had a long and violent history like so many other 'civilised' worlds.
For the past year, they had been threatened by their long-standing rival, the Calsharan Systems Union. Makalvari colony worlds had come under attack, some had even been subjugated under the Calsharan High Protector's rule. Now, however, the tide had started to turn. The Calsharans were retreating, their civil war taking precedence over any conflict with another space-faring civilisation.
It was in celebration of the retaking of the colony world of Dalabrai that brought representatives from all over the Republic to the capital this evening. The royal palace, a large and squat estate upon the hills that overlooked the capital's more affluent districts, was abuzz with activity under the light of the world's two moons. All manner of makalvari high society drifted into the palace, with males adorned in lavish outfits or decorated military uniforms. The females attending this evening wore flowing dresses and glittering jewellery, the plumes of feathers on their heads adorned with gleaming gold and silver chains or even entire jewels. Many of the males wore their own head plumes high, thicker as they were when compared to those on the females. Like the peacocks or lyrebirds of Earth, a makalvari male took great pride in his plumes, and an impressive and organized head plume was one way in which a male might attract the attentions of the fairer sex.
Compared to the towers of the city, the royal palace was positively short. However, it took up a vast tract of ground and was surrounded by immaculately maintained gardens and greenery. Much of its outer appearance consisted of arches and columns carrying intricate carvings upon them, mostly of ancient gods and goddesses and creatures of folklore. Every inch of the palace grounds was cast in a warm glow brought on by the many light posts dotted about the property.
And within, amongst the lush carpeted and wood-panelled halls and stylised chandelier-like light fittings, one could follow the trail of attendees to the ballroom at the palace's heart. It was the largest space within the palace, the stage itself more than large enough to fit the forty-piece orchestra currently playing upon it. And there was the Emperor's place just beyond it, situated on a platform that overlooked the orchestra and the ballroom floor. There were other seats either side of it, and on this occasion the Emperor's place remained vacant.
The Republic of Makvar had no Emperor, had not had one for more than a year. Instead, to the right of the Emperor's chair sat a tired, ageing makalvari male dressed in the royal white with a shining silver sash over his chest. He had another male, one adorned in a navy green military uniform, sitting just past him. And whilst attendees danced and talked and laughed within the brightly lit ballroom, that uniformed male would occasionally lean over and mutter something to the ageing Imperial Regent. It was something no one else could hear, intended only for the semi-functional ears of the Regent himself who, at this stage, was well into his eighth decade of living. To say the man was past his prime would be an understatement, and it was an open secret that it was his advisors and ministers who controlled the Republic. This included Brigade Leader Tav'kar, the middle-aged makalvari male seated by his side who whispered into the Regent's ears every so often, usually in regard to a particular guest or two he sighted amongst the attendees.
Tav'kar was a veteran of the Republic's Army, and the rank of 'Brigade Leader' was more ceremonial than official, as in human terms he would have been a three-star General. It was a title granted to him by the previous Emperor, the late Crovakari III, who had died without a clear heir. As was protocol, a Regent had taken his place until a suitable heir could be found.
Tav'kar was a stern looking example of a makalvari male, his skin a drab grey in colour and his eyes a sharp, calculating yellow. His head plume had thinned with age, but what remained stood nearly upright, no doubt assisted by some form of feather-improving product.
Major Kav'rak was dressed in a similar uniform to the Brigade Leader, although his was not quite as decorated with medals. He was late in his third decade of living, and he moved through the attendees with a hobbling gait courtesy of his artificial left leg. For a species that prided itself on their superb agility, capable of great leaps and feats of climbing due to the way in which their digitigrade legs were arranged, an impairment of mobility brought with it a certain social stigma. It was a long-standing habit of the makalvari, something so ingrained into their culture that no amount of advanced medicine and sophisticated prosthetics would do away with.
Kav'rak was uncertain on his feet, for the artificial limb did not have quite the same feel as his organic one. Some of the attendees turned to glance his way, and he felt their judgments more than he heard their muttered remarks. Few had expected him to be here this evening, even fewer had thought he would have the courage to go before the Regent and his ministers.
Kav'rak was still in excellent shape, a prime example of a younger male of the species. His head plume was thick and healthy, tinged a deep blue much like his skin. His yellow eyes were a more vibrant shade compared to those of Brigade Leader Tav'kar, his superior officer. They were fixed upon the Brigade Leader as he weaved his way through the crowd. Music played, although as Kav'rak neared the stage he motioned for the conductor to bring the piece to a close. This was a celebration, and Kav'rak had decided he should join in.
To some of the attendees, Kav'rak was a war hero. It was he who had led a strike team into the heart of the Calsharan occupation of Dalabrai, and it was there he had lost much of his left leg. He had been awarded a medal for a successful mission, as a Calsharan advanced weapons research facility had been destroyed with his assistance. Little was said of the human help on that mission, and it was obvious that Brigade Leader Tav'kar had no interest in bringing that outside help to the attention of the public. To do so would be an admission of weakness, that the Republic of Makvar had allowed outsiders to carry out their dirty work for them was unthinkable. Instead, Tav'kar had spun the whole affair to make Kav'rak appear poorly, suggesting to those within the royal court and the upper echelons of the military that by taking aboard human help, Kav'rak was somehow lesser for it.
Kav'rak had allies in the royal court, as did Tav'kar. And he had it on good authority that Tav'kar and his allies intended to put an end to the monarchy that had reigned for more than a thousand years. The last Emperor would indeed be the last one altogether, if they had their way. Of course, Kav'rak had no evidence of this, not yet. All he could do was continue playing the game of politics, and his attendance here and what he intended to say before this crowd was a part of it. No matter how lesser he appeared to others because of his impaired leg, there were many out there who saw him as a hero. And as such, Tav'kar and his cohorts could not so easily get rid of him. Instead, they had 'promoted' him to a deskbound position that had granted him the title of 'General Secretary of Royal Affairs'. He was still a Major in the army, he simply had a fancier title to go with his new duties.
"May I have your attention please," Kav'rak called, his voice carrying clear through the hall. Dancing and conversations halted suddenly, as did the music brought on by the orchestra. Kav'rak bowed towards the Regent, all while Tav'kar glowered at him but said nothing. The Regent, on the other hand, gave Kav'rak a nod and a warm smile.
"Major Kav'rak, we are so happy to see you here," the old Regent said.
"My Regent, I wish to speak before you and those here, if you would allow me?" He kept his eyes fixed firmly upon the Regent, ignoring Tav'kar's more agitated gaze. The Brigade Leader went to speak into the Regent's ear again but the old man raised a clawed, withered hand. Tav'kar fell silent, and the Regent motioned for the podium at the front of the stage.
"By all means, Major," the Regent said. "I would be glad to hear you, as the others in here would be." The Regent had no idea he spoke only for some of the attendees in the ballroom. There would be others who would be glad to see Kav'rak escorted out of the palace. Not so easily done to someone of his renown, and certainly not to the son of one of the previous Captains of the Royal Guard. For Kav'rak's family, serving the Emperor had been their main cause for generations. None could truly doubt Kav'rak's loyalty to the Republic, as much as the likes of Tav'kar would have preferred to.
Kav'rak limped his way over to the podium, wherein microphones were placed and speakers dotted about the hall in various concealed fashions. Hundreds of eyes fell upon him, and for a moment Kav'rak lingered without speaking, pondering his words carefully and allowing his audience to essentially 'stew' in the moment. They all waited on him, waited for whatever it was he intended to say. He was not the first to make a speech of some kind this evening, and it was unlikely he would be the last. Finally, once he reckoned that the audience had been left waiting long enough, he leaned in a little closer to the microphone before him and spoke. He chose his words deliberately, spoke them clear and concisely, ensuring that no meaning would be lost on those before him:
"The sun rises upon a new day for the Republic, casting away the shadows that had fallen across it over these past two years. A new dawn, and with it the warmth and vitality of a summer's day before the crystal blue oceans beyond our fair city's edge. And all because of our fine Regent, Bi'varuk, who served as the shepherd for our previously wayward people when faced with Calsharan aggression." He smiled then, and a makalvari smile was a toothy one, displaying the rows of pointed teeth along his beak-like snout. The Regent nodded, smiling in turn. Tav'kar simply scowled, but otherwise did not interrupt the Major.
"Our enemies turn and run, our colonies return to us. And it is through all the efforts of our fine soldiers, our infantrymen and pilots and medics and the like, do our enemies turn their backs and flee. Yet, none of this could happen without a fine man leading it all from the top down. The Regent is that man, and he is one that I would gladly follow into the fire and the storms of battle." Kav'rak spoke with conviction, yet he meant only some of what he said. The Regent was a decrepit old fool who needed to be replaced, little more than an empty vessel for the likes of Tav'kar to manipulate. However, he was still the head of state and Kav'rak intended to turn him to his side, a task that made for a gradual and careful process.
"I do hope, my Regent, that when the time comes, your successor will be even half as capable as you have been…" Kav'rak did not so much as direct this to the Regent as he did to Tav'kar, and to his followers amongst the ball's attendees. And whilst the Regent clapped, Brigade Leader Tav'kar went on scowling. Kav'rak intended there to be another Emperor, no matter what it took to see that end through. To the schemes of the anti-monarchist junta-to-be, he was an enemy. Sooner or later, he would have to make his move.
It was some time later that Kav'rak stumbled into a restroom within the royal palace, limping along on his temperamental artificial leg. He was alone, and the bathroom was empty. And like every room in the palace, it was lavishly decorated, the tiles polished to a shine and the taps and toilet fittings bearing gleaming brass-encased pipes. A portrait of the late Emperor Crovakari III was situated upon one wall, for it seemed one could not even relieve themselves in the royal palace without the Emperor being privy to it in some way.
"The old fool is going to lead us to ruin," Kav'rak declared, the stink of alcohol on his breath. He imagined an audience before him, one that would be receptive to his true feelings if he were to speak them. He nonetheless spoke them out loud now, even if there was no audience to hear them. "He is blind and he is senile, and he knows not what Tav'kar and his associates have planned. But I do, yes, I do." He stumbled into one of the toilet stalls and dropped his breeches. A makalvari toilet was a little simpler in design to a human one, yet even on Makvar they had a flush function.
"Soon, Brigade Leader, soon I'll have you and your friends taken out of the picture." He imagined, driven on by his alcohol-shrouded sensibilities, that it was Tav'kar who was in the toilet bowl before him. And, as he one day hoped he could, he promptly urinated on the man and all he stood for. "You sent me on a suicide mission and I survived. That must have caught you well off-guard, my dear Brigade Leader. Now I'm a war hero, whereas what are you? Hardly even a General anymore, just a bureaucrat and a schemer with delusions of grandeur."
Kav'rak finished his work and hit the flush. He remained standing before the bowl, watching the yellow-tinged water within swirl about and froth up as the flush carried on. As he watched, his mind wandered to that of his wayward wife and three daughters, all of whom had taken great effort to avoid him entirely. He wanted them all back, wanted to have that family life he had missed so terribly these past six months. His wife, if she had any sense, would come back to him. His last attempt to get her back had ended poorly, to the point that she had struck him more than once. Kav'rak had left her, dejected, even if he had made an effort to appear unfazed.
He pulled up his breeches and moved towards the mirror. Before him was a Kav'rak who was becoming more unrecognizable by the day. He rubbed at his eyes, slicked some water through his head plume and otherwise attempted to make himself presentable. And then he recalled the palace servant girl he had been having an affair with for more than a year now, and that odds were she was somewhere around here. Drunk as he was, Kav'rak needed a distraction and so he stumbled out of the bathroom and made it his mission to find her.
It was early morning when a loud, persistent knocking sounded and drove Kav'rak from his sleep. He came to sprawled across a couch in his office, that is, the office of the General Secretary of Royal Affairs. It was a mouthful of a title for a position Kav'rak had been 'awarded' after his mission to Dalabrai. It was also a position that had been intended to keep him out of the very 'royal affairs' the title was named for, yet from this deskbound role he found that he enjoyed a certain power that he had lacked previously.
The knocking sounded again. Sunlight streamed in through the thin curtains over the lounge. His office was at the far end of the palace's east wing, well out of the way of the goings-on of the royal court itself. The office also doubled as a set of living quarters, with a bed and washroom just through an adjoining door nearby. Old paintings were dotted about the walls, as were lush potted ferns and thick, purple curtains. The desk was just nearby, scattered with papers and data-pads.
Kav'rak's head pounded and he sat up, rubbing at his tousled head plume. He recalled the ball the night before, but after that? He had gone looking for his servant girl, only to somehow end up in here instead and decidedly without female companionship. Now someone was knocking on his door, each strike sounding like a hammer blow within his skull. Another few sounded out, and Kav'rak groaned before he was able to gain proper control of his vocal chords.
"Enough, please," he called, and slowly he rose to his feet. He wobbled, caught himself upon his desk and then continued to the door. With some fiddling he managed to unlock it, before he pulled it open and found himself face-to-face with the Royal Minister of Intelligence.
"Major, may I have a word?" The Minister asked him, his voice marked with the more refined tones of one who had grown up within the capital. Kav'rak was about to reply, when the Minister motioned towards the Major's waist. "You may want to pull up your breeches, sir."
Kav'rak frowned but otherwise did as suggested. He was too drunk to be embarrassed, although he could not remember having lowered his trousers after coming in here the night before.
The Minister was dressed in a sleek black suit, his head plume tall and dark and thick. Light blue eyes searched the very sullen looking Kav'rak, some worry appearing within them.
"Have I come at a bad time, Major?"
"What time is it?" Kav'rak looked around for a clock of some variety, but none were apparent. The Minister, who was some years younger than Kav'rak, answered as if his very senses were in tune with the region's time.
"Fifteen minutes past eight, sir."
"That's too early." Kav'rak rubbed at his eyes and yawned.
"Hardly, sir. Your office is supposed to open at eight." The Minister quirked a brow ridge. "May I come in?"
Kav'rak nodded, before he stepped aside and motioned for the Minister to enter. He closed the door after him, ensuring some privacy. Usually, when the Minister of Intelligence came by, what he had to say was not for any outside ears to hear.
"What is it?" Kav'rak turned to face the Minister, who had proven to be one of his better allies in the higher echelons of the Republic's government. Although the Minister of Intelligence was, by nature of his role, careful with the words he chose to speak, he had suggested more than once that he would prefer to see a genuine Emperor on the throne instead of some useless Regent. Nonetheless, Kav'rak was careful with whom he shared his own intentions with, and there was always the chance that the Minister was working both sides for his own ends, something that would be almost befitting the individual overseeing intelligence operations for the Republic of Makvar.
"It's to do with the Langaran project, sir," the Minister said, cutting straight to the point. He turned about to face Kav'rak, standing tall and confident with his hands clasped behind his back. "I understand that much of the responsibilities of that project fall under your jurisdiction."
"Not so much these days," Kav'rak replied. "I don't have much to do with the Special Projects anymore."
"You are still listed as the diplomatic liaison between our government and that of the Kelownans." It took Kav'rak a moment to remember that this was indeed the case. For more than two years now, his people had been trading critical materials with the people of the nation of Kelowna, on the planet Langara. The naquadria that was crucial for the special weapons projects here within the Republic was sourced from Langara, and in exchange the makalvari provided various technologies that the still somewhat primitive people on that planet were yet to make themselves.
The Kelownans had been locked in a cold war with their rival nation-states for some time now, or more specifically since the Ori occupation had ended and the old rivalries had taken hold once more. Wars had been brewing on that planet for some time, and the makalvari had only thrown fuel onto that fire. In the end, that was hardly their problem, and as far as Kav'rak and others like him were concerned, the Langarans could kill each other as much as they wanted. As long as the naquadria kept coming in, there would be no problem.
"Somehow, Minister, I suspect you're here to tell me something I don't want to hear." Kav'rak strode over to his cluttered desk. Upon it was a half-filled bottle of some potent liquor, and without caring for what the Minister thought of his habits, he popped off the cap and brought the bottle to his mouth. He took a hearty gulp, wincing at the taste of the lukewarm and bitter drink. It was barely eight in the morning and he was already intent on getting sloshed. Many would say he had a problem; Kav'rak would gladly acknowledge that he had multiple problems, but for the time being he had little desire to fix them all.
"I have perused recent reports from that world, sir." The Minister opened a hand to reveal a data crystal within. No doubt it contained the reports he spoke of, and Kav'rak took the proffered crystal from the Minister. "The Kelownan government is faced with revolution. A deadly plague has started to spread across the planet, and previously minor anti-government forces have greatly increased in their overall strength and organization. The situation there is chaotic, and our contingent at the embassy in the Kelownan capital has suggested direct intervention, if only to secure our own interests. Even parts of their own military have begun to turn against their government."
Of course, that was all that mattered: makalvari interests. They needed naquadria, and they would get it through any means necessary. By assisting the Kelownans with advanced weaponry, they had tipped the balance of power to further ensure that Kelowna remained the most powerful nation on Langara. However, it seemed they had problems no amount of advanced rail guns could fix, although this was the first Kav'rak had heard of any 'plague'.
"What plague?" Kav'rak asked.
"It has apparently swept into Kelowna in the past few months. From what I have seen, sir, the symptoms often lead to an unpleasant end. There are images on those files, and the end result for some of these plague victims is confronting, to say the least." The Minister did sound uncomfortable then, and Kav'rak frowned slightly. What could have disturbed the usually implacable Minister of Intelligence?
"You did have a Langaran ally, did you not?" The Minister quirked a brow-ridge, curious. "I saw him mentioned in earlier reports. A 'Jonas Quinn', I believe?"
"He's on Earth."
"Earth?" The Minister frowned. "I might suggest, sir, that a personal visit to Langara is in order. And you may wish to contact this Jonas Quinn for his assistance on the matter. As you can understand, if the naquadria stops coming in for our new weapons, then the Makvarsum, and by extension, the House of Swords, will no doubt blame you for that loss." The 'Makvarsum' was the makalvari Parliament, and the Minister knew full well that Kav'rak could not afford to take any unneeded blame. This included the House of Swords as well, as that was the overall military oversight organization that reported directly to the Regent.
That essentially sealed the deal, then, and Kav'rak sighed when he realised the kind of work that awaited him. He had started their ties with Langara, and unfortunately he had the responsibility to ensure those ties continued. Besides, he would hardly be comfortable passing that responsibility onto someone else. No, he had to do this himself.
"I'll look into it, Minister." Kav'rak figured he could do with the trip off-world, even if it sent him into a diseased warzone. "This plague, does it affect our species?"
"According to the reports, makalvari are immune. And not every human on that world seems capable of catching it, either."
"That's good." One less thing for him to worry about. "If that was all, Minister, then you're free to go."
The Minister of Intelligence gave a curt nod, before he started for the door. Kav'rak spun the data crystal about in his hand, wondering just what kind of mess he was about to step into. The Minister paused by the door, handle in his grasp. He turned to Kav'rak again, offering the Major an inquiring look.
"I would be careful, sir, if you do go to Langara." He sounded concerned, which was a surprise to Kav'rak. "The humans of Langara cannot be trusted, and even less so now. They may turn against us."
"They would be fools to do so."
"Perhaps, but you know how the humans can be." He pulled open the door, taking a step out into the corridor, before he once again locked eyes with Kav'rak: "They are short-sighted and violent, more so than even we are."