CHAPTER 23 (Larkkon)
“The O'Tzar has been more engaged in the fight as of late,” Xular concluded. Their musical ghost voice ebbed through the room, as foreign as their featureless expression. Vor’s afternoon light flooded the General’s office, enhancing the baetian’s body into a more vivid blue hue as their sculpted mouth reabsorbed into a flat, smooth complexion.
“We can finally see a future where we can fight on par with that bastard.” General Larkkon’s razor smile widened. Yes, the Legion’s aggression came with a cost. But, up to this point, the war had been like throwing stones at a tranquil pool. At last, their enemy recognized the Vor Empire as a threat. As dangerous as that recognition might be—General Larkkon took pride in having the enemy acknowledge them as more than scattered dust from a lost and ancient power.
“Dependent on Doctor Lsar’s success,” Xular’s music cautioned. Their elongated limbs lost their sense of grace as they sat in the vorgon-proportioned chair opposite Larkkon. A holo divided the two of them, lingering in the air as a reminder of the Empire’s precarious position across the stars.
“You are skeptical?” the General challenged.
Xular’s large black eyes clouded with a passing thought. “Have you seen the latest results from Agents Ylea and Deore’s reports?” their sound waves asked.
A refractive wave accompanied General Larkkon’s nod as Vor’s light played off the gems distinguishing his rank. “Impressive, isn’t it?” he said while staying focused on his apprentice’s posture. It was unusual for Xular to take an interest in others’ work.
Xular seemed, for a moment, to see something other than the holo between them. When their pitch-black eyes cleared, their attention settled on the General with more weight than usual. “I interpret the findings differently. I believe the asset functions with an effect not unlike a hive mind.”
“You’re claiming—”
“No. Not of baetian nature.” Xular’s ghostly voice dispersed into a long pause. The holo separating the General and his apprentice continued to portray scattered dots representing Legion and Imperial fleets across the stars. Xular reached into the holo, their long, impossibly smooth sapphire fingers playing within the projected light. Their voiceless musing returned to caress the room. “The asset’s nature is unusual. But not singular in the galaxy. Niribian relics bear a similar electrically intuitive nature.”
General Larkkon lost his smile. “The relics have been silent since Lhra’s End.”
Xular’s hand retreated from the holo, and they returned to leaning back in the chair despite its disproportioned back offering little support to their elongated shoulders and neck. “How much do you know about the Doctor’s experiment?” they asked with unblinking eyes.
“More than you, I assure,” General Larkkon answered with a raised brow.
“I suspect Niribian tech is involved,” Xular’s music commented with a deeper resonance. “And, sir, I suspect that the O'Tzar is becoming suspicious of that possibility as well. The Legion has never stopped searching to eradicate the Niribian age.”
General Larkkon took a moment to process Xular’s implication. When he spoke, the ease of the day prior to this felt lost with the sudden weight of their conversation. “You are claiming the Legion’s heightened aggression is due to suspicion of Niribian tech?”
“I am claiming, sir,” Xular hadn’t budged, and their expressive eyes hadn’t changed, “that if Doctor Lsar cannot create more assets like the Aviator, it will be best not to let confirmation of this advancement leak to the Legion. It might be prudent to keep your ace hidden until we are prepared to withstand the O'Tzar’s retaliation.”
“You are against the Aviator’s promotion,” General Larkkon noted with a sigh. “You are in agreement with the Director, then.”
Xular gave a near imperceptible shake of their oval head to contradict the General’s assumption. “I’d like to investigate the matter, sir. If the hive mind theory is correct, then the Empire can have it both ways—the asset can prove beneficial, while also being kept far from danger.”
A frown replaced the General’s earlier smile. “I’ll not have our greatest advantage in the war locked away indefinitely. Our operatives are entitled to more dignity than that. And we are already reaching the end of our civilization’s endurance. It is time for a full-throttle advance. All or nothing.”
“With all due respect, sir, it’s not certain that the Aviator was, or is, in fact, an Imperial operative.”
General Larkkon waited for an elaboration with a deepening frown. His apprentice was bringing to light a lurking suspicion he had intentionally not delved into.
Xular took the cue to continue. “Doctor Lsar’s failure to replicate her success suggests there may be more at play than simply recreating the experiment’s conditions.” Their lyrical tone made it difficult to decipher the baetian’s intent.
“Say it plainly, soldier,” General Larkkon ordered with an impatient growl.
Xular’s chinless head tilted to the side, and their sculpted mouth vibrated into existence. “Could it be, perhaps, that the asset’s amnesia is not amnesia at all?” The baetian’s eyes hinted at an uncharacteristic smile as their echoing words painted their theory. “Lhra-Niribu was destroyed, but that is not to say that every Niribian Guard fell victim to the planet’s demise.”
“The Aviator is far too young for that to be a possibility. Even if members of the Guard survived—even with their life extension techniques—the years would be evident in their appearance. No Niribian survivor could be as young as our operative.”
A spark seemed to light in Xular’s ominous eyes. “Indeed. Curious, isn’t it?” Their immersive accent caused a shiver to run down the General’s spine.
Larkkon hid his discomfort by dismissing the holo between them. The room felt somehow lighter with the Legion’s presence muted. The General’s composure returned, and he adopted an authoritative tone to cover the nerves frayed by this conversation. “I’ll arrange for you to work closely with the Aviator and test this theory of yours. But I will not make a sham of his promotion. He has earned his place among us.” Larkkon let his words hang in the air.
Xular gave a subtle nod in recognition of the decision.
The baetian’s imperial bands dazzled in Vor’s light as they stood. Black on the left to indicate their position as an Imperial operative. Emerald on the right to display their apprenticeship. “I will return to headquarters, sir.” Their elongated limbs transformed from lanky to elegant without the chair’s mis-proportioned constraints. They lowered into a graceful bow. “As always, sir, I am at your service. Please alert me if I am needed.”
General Larkkon nodded. He resisted allowing his frown to return until Xular had left the room. Once alone, his shoulders stiffened, and he turned his gaze toward the vast desert bathed in daylight beyond the base’s perimeter. As he took in the sight of his home world, of the mines embedded into subtle canyon lines, he was reminded of just how delicate life was. He was proud of the accomplishments thought to be impossible by a manufactured race. The number of generations they’d spawned despite having their DNA built to expire. And, most of all, he was reminded of why he, like so many others in the Empire, sought to forget the lineage of a culture that intentionally designed them to fail.
Resolve settled in the pit of his stomach, strengthening with every mounting second of contemplative observation. Whether or not they or any other human variation survived this war—they would do it as their own entity. Not as a lesser afterimage of their predecessors.