Chapter 23

 

The common area of the Yud’ahm Na’uka, never terribly spacious, was positively cramped with the bulk of K’hzan Modath crouched in the corner. Even the ship’s mutable decking could not provide the red king with a seat suitable for his large frame. If the Variyar’s horns scraped across her ceiling again, she was going to scream.

They sat around the low table, no one wanting to be the first to speak. Master Khet Nhan sat upon his hands, refusing to fidget, his eyes firmly fixed on the table top. He was clearly embarrassed by his outburst in the bay, although no one seemed inclined to acknowledge it.

Marcus Wells sat at the head of the table with Justin next to him. Justin was uncomfortable, shooting an occasional glance at K’hzan. But it was Marcus Wells that dominated her thoughts. His pale-skinned face was distracted and brooding behind his dark stubble. His hair, as always, was artlessly tousled, lending to his air of grim, wild energy.

The Human she had put on the administrator’s throne, the Human that had nearly driven her to violent rage with his lackadaisical response to their abject failure, had found his courage at the sharp end of K’hzan’s low regard. Where the begging and pleading of his friends had had no discernible effect, the harsh words of this demonic stranger had stoked something within him that she had not seen before.

She could admit now, with K’hzan sitting across from her, his massive warship floating somewhere above, that her initial reaction to Taurani’s plot and Iphini Bha’s treachery had been emotional. They would have died if they had returned to fight alone. Marcus Wells’s points against that had been well-made. She was honest enough with herself that in the silence of her own mind, she could confess to those things.

She did not dare, however, assume that K’hzan Modath might take their side against the Council, even with the Variyar exile grudgingly agreeing to sit with them. But if by some miracle they could persuade him, maybe the situation had changed enough to make a return to Penumbra something less than a suicidal proposition.

“The way I see it, with your help, returning to Penumbra is just feasible enough for us to discuss.” Marcus inclined his head toward K’hzan. There was clearly no love lost between the two, especially after their shouting match in the bay. But the Variyar exile, whatever his reasons, was listening, and that was a victory in and of itself.

“I am still not convinced that this is anything but a forlorn hope, but there are possible avenues, if we can agree on how to approach them.”

“The city is completely enveloped by the Council fleet.” The Variyar’s voice grated harshly against her ears in the confined space. “There will be no access to Penumbra without first engaging those ships.”

Marcus’s eyes were fever bright as he leaned forward over the table. “Well, I was sort of hoping that would be where you came in.”

K’hzan quirked a single eyebrow up, the deep ridges of his forehead writhing around his horns. “Please, by all means, elaborate.”

“That’s not the only ship you have.” Justin broke in, jerking a thumb at the ceiling. “Your fleet is out here somewhere. That’s got to be worth something.”

K’hzan inhaled slowly, nostrils flaring, before his eyes slid to Justin’s face. “I suffer you to sit upon these proceedings at the behest of your administrator, coward.” He sniffed, eyes roving up and down the dark-skinned Human’s form. “You lacked the courage to embrace your heritage in the face of the scorn of lesser races. You are beneath contempt or regard.”

Marcus slapped the table with one hand. “Oh, God damn it! I am so fed up with this bullshit! What the hell has got you all so hung up on the Human race?” He screamed the words, finally giving in to the frustration that had been building within him for months. “Every single soul in that damned city hated me from the moment I walked onto the decking because I’m a Human. Even those who I came to call my friends had nothing kind to say about my species! What, in a galaxy so full of the strange, bizarre, and downright disgusting, is so very wrong with Humans?”

He was nearly panting as he finished. He glared at everyone around the table, obviously unsurprised that none of the aliens would meet his gaze. None of them, that is, except for the giant demon king.

K’hzan’s smile was something out of a nightmare. The way it caused his coarse features to shift and ripple would stay with her for the rest of her life. The deep-set black eyes widened in mock surprise, and a black tongue lashed out to moisten the grinning lips.

“Is it possible that none of your compatriots here revealed to you the weight of history that bears down upon your delicate shoulders?” He looked at Angara and then the two Thien’ha, all of whom cast sheepish, sideways glances toward Marcus and Justin and then away.

The Variyar’s laugh echoed through the small chamber. “My friends, you have given me my first joyful moments in more than an age.” Angara could not tell if the creature’s eyes were tearing up or if they had always shined that way. His clawed hand tapped gently on the table with an unnerving scraping, as he shook his head in disbelief.

“You have lived among those who hate you all this time, and none of your precious advisors thought to enlighten you regarding the source of this odium?” The smile faded slightly, and the look he gave Angara was more judgmental than before. “That was no kindness, girl.”

Angara felt the need to defend herself rise in her chest, but tamped it down. She forced herself to settle back into her chair, waving the comment away.

K’hzan Modath turned on Marcus and fixed him with a flat stare. “You have a galaxy of history to learn, Marcus Wells. It will take you a lifetime to absorb it completely.” The smile returned, but there was no kindness in it. “However, I will take great pleasure in summating for you the salient points.”

She watched Justin lean forward in fascination. Marcus, too, was fixated upon the big Variyar, barely able to control his eagerness.

“Your tale begins in a time now lost in the mists of myth and legend. For make no mistake, Humans, this is your tale.” One clawed finger stabbed out first at Marcus, then at Justin.

“Many sentients rose from their homeworlds to contest for mastery of the galaxy, meeting in battle, forming alliances and federations, and negotiating a new reality as sentients have always done.” He leaned on one elbow and brought his head closer to his rapt audience.

“One race rose more swiftly than any other. There is almost no way to know now what combination of traits and strengths attributed to their rise, but very soon, in galactic terms, Humanity was the near-undisputed ruler of the known universe.”

Marcus and Justin straightened at this. A faint smile spread across Marcus’s pale face. Obviously, he liked where he thought the story was going. She almost cringed, knowing its true destination. And with a Variyar telling the tale, especially this Variyar, she knew it would not be easy to hear.

“This is nothing to rejoice in, Humans.” The demon’s face became stone. “Your ancestors were not kind. Their rule was not one to bring joy to those they ruled. The galaxy was their plaything, and they were as unruly children, incautious with their possessions. Their cruelty knew no bounds, and despite the fact that only whispered legend remains of those dark times, it says much that the hatred instilled then continues to run true to this very day.”

Marcus must have realized his mouth was open and forced it shut with a click. Justin seemed even more affected.

“Among their many lasting cruelties were those the unkind refer to now as the Children.” The horns glinted dully as he inclined his head to Angara, then Ve’Yan. She did not know about the Thien’ha, but she could have lived without the recognition. “Also known as the Children of Man. Entire races created as the ideal servants, soldiers, and even idle works of art.”

Justin started at that, shooting a quick look at Angara with an expression she was too preoccupied to translate. 

Marcus’s eyes were narrowed, a deep crease forming between them. “But Earth—”

K’hzan silenced him with a single upraised finger. “My tale, Human. To be completed in my time.” The smile would have taken some of the sting from the words, she thought, had it featured fewer sharp teeth.

“One race dared to contest with these tyrannical overlords. My own people, the Variyar of old, were proud warriors in their own right, and refused to be subjugated. They rose up against the Humans and contended with them for the fate of the galaxy. The war that then raged across the face of the heavens was mighty indeed, and entire systems were laid waste by the power unleashed by both sides. An age of war descended upon the galactic civilization, and entire generations were born, raised, and died knowing only violence, hatred, and death. The scars of this great war have never fully faded, and are the true source of your difficulties today.”

K’hzan waved a hand toward Khet Nhan. “For the Variyar were not alone. An alliance of races that had not dared face the Humans unaided coalesced over time. These sentients stood beside my own ancestors, compensating for their lack of strength and numbers by slowly calling to themselves the many disparate peoples who had been wronged by Humanity. Their assistance was unasked for and unwanted, but the war had ground down into a bloody stalemate, and my people, for all their strength, could not end it alone. The alliance of the weak asserted itself in the final stages of the conflict. Now numbering far greater than the Variyar, they were in a position of great strength and influence in the end. With some small justification, they were able to declare themselves essential to the final victory over the Humans and lay the groundwork for a supposed democratic alliance of equals to rule in place of the defeated tyrants.”

Marcus’s eyes widened as he put the pieces together. K’hzan met his gaze and nodded slowly. “The Galactic Council is the spiritual descendant of that ancient alliance. They have since spent millennia consolidating their power in the name of equality and justice for all beings.” The red king’s sneer spoke volumes on his regard for that pursuit. “Behind the pretext of democracy and manumission, some few of the more energetic of these weakling races guided the formation of the Council, replacing the dispossessed Humans with a new tyranny: the tyranny of the weak.”

This turn in the story had changed the big creature’s demeanor, and he now looked as if he wanted to spit onto her table in his anger. His eyes drifted into the middle distance as he contemplated something that obviously twisted bitterly within him.

“But what about Earth?” Justin asked after a moment. Marcus nodded, mutely.

K’hzan seemed to shake himself, and then looked between the two Humans as he brought his mind back to the present. “Ah, yes. Earth. Have you not guessed? Under the control of that ancient, fledgling council, those remnants of the Human race who surrendered in the final days of the war were deposited on what you think of as your home planet. They were given no advanced support or assistance. My speculation is that those kind hearted sophists of old expected your ancestors to wither and die of their own accord. In the likelihood that these survivors thrived, the entire planet was seeded with genetic markers that would, over time, bring the DNA of the defeated Humans in line with the lifeforms indigenous to the planet. A false fossil record was laid down, with no small amount of amusement, to make it appear that Humans had been on Earth far longer than their actual tenancy.”

“And the damned dolphins were sent to keep an eye on us.” Marcus was obviously numb with the successive revelations, but that last piece slid home with an almost audible sound.

K’hzan shrugged. “The Aijians volunteered to take that duty upon themselves in perpetuity when it became clear that the Humans had survived, and would most likely continue to do so. The Aijians negotiated for a larger share of power within the forming Council for their services.”

Marcus and Justin shared a look, and Angara could almost feel sorry for them both. At least she knew the true history of her wretched people.

Justin raised a hand, the other holding his head upright. “What about all the other worlds the Humans had occupied?”

The red king frowned. “There must have been great anger in the final days of the conflagration. Humans had nearly burned the galaxy down around us all. The Council, in their wisdom, decreed that no single work of Man would survive the ending of the war. Planets were scoured, millennia worth of development and production were plunged into uncaring suns. In the final, desperate days, Humanity had almost unlocked the secret to unleashing a new, devastating form of weaponized energy that might well have turned the tide of the war. Fearing what might have happened should another race continue their research, no vestige of their technology was allowed to survive.” The crimson face fell once again into its habitual sneer. “I’m certain the Council would have never held back any of that technology for its own study, of course.”

“There is no proof that the Humans even had such knowledge.” Angara said abruptly. “You speak of myth as if fact, and legend as if it were written in stone, not smoke.”

K’hzan smiled at her with an unnerving expression. Angara met him head on, not willing to allow him to editorialize further. Much to everyone’s relief and surprise, the big alien shrugged again, settling back into his seat.

“My people know what they know, and believe what they believe. I am certain the Tigan have their own variations of these tales, princess?”

Justin’s eyes widened at that, and she felt a nervous flutter in her stomach, but K’hzan was not finished with his diatribe.

“Still, it is true that much is speculation and guesswork at this late time.” He looked back at the Humans, his eyes cold. “But rest assured, the weight of opprobrium you have felt from the first moment your feet left the mud of Earth behind finds its root in the tale I have told you here.” He looked at Angara and the mystics, then back to Marcus. “What parts are true or fable matters little. Your people are hated and feared in equal measure for what they are perceived to have done.”

“But all things change!” Khet Nhan muttered, his eyes still wild. “And the return of Humanity onto the galactic stage could well signal the end of a cycle of stagnation and torpor, and a dynamic reawakening in the galaxy!”

“Or it could herald the destruction of everything.” Sihn Ve’Yan spat under her breath.

Marcus shook his head. “This doesn’t make any sense.” He seemed less convinced than his words might indicate; she had come to know his tones and facial expressions well since forcing him from his home, she realized. “I’ve spent months looking for anything like this story, and the data stacks throughout Penumbra don’t say anything about any great war, or Humanity as the evil overlords of the galaxy, or the Variyar as the plucky down-and-out saviors.” He looked as if he had bitten into something rotten. “If this is so well-known, why wasn’t there so much of a hint anywhere I looked?”

That seemed to truly puzzle K’hzan, and she herself found it odd. She had never looked for any such information, of course. Every naive youth knew these stories. Every species had their versions, and in ever one, Humanity loomed large as the dark forces of evil and slavery. The rare splinter fleets of feral Humans, the descendants of those ancient fleets that had escaped the end of the great war, had always been taken as proof enough. But, because everyone believed it, she had had no reason to ever look into the Penumbran records for the information.

The horns gleamed dully as the red king shook his head. “I do not know the worth of your research, Marcus Wells. Nor do I know the depth of the information available in Penumbra in this regard. But I can assure you, as I said, these tales are the fuel that feeds the fires of hatred you have been fighting since you arrived.”

“Enough.” Marcus’s seemed tired, his shoulders slumped. He turned back to K’hzan. “There’s no denying that the story’s interesting, and will bear future thought. But as far as our problems here and now, it doesn’t matter at all. What Justin said is true. We’ve heard you have a fleet, somewhere out here in the fringe. Is that true? One ship will hardly be sufficient, no matter who commands it, or what brilliant scheme we concoct.”

K’hzan nodded, eyes narrow. “I have access to more ships. In aid of what?”

“This cannot be a battle between Variyar and Council!” Khet Nhan had jumped off his chair, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “History has already witnessed that folly.” The little pink eyes glared at K’hzan. “You have already witnessed that folly.” One small finger rose to point, dark nail gleaming, at Marcus. “This moment must rest on the shoulders of the Human.”

Marcus stared at the little master in silence. His eyes blinked once, and then again, and then he smiled. He dipped his head as if to acknowledge the point, and then looked at each of them in turn.

“Our only real chance is if I can bring the city’s systems to our side. And the only real chance we have of that is if I can get the Skorahn back.” He shrugged, looking a little lost. “Whatever was happening with my bond to the Relic Core on our way out of Penumbra, we cannot gamble our lives, and the future of the city, on such a weak hope. Only with the medallion do we know, for a fact, that we will have the city’s power working for us, not against us.”

“And you can’t get to the city with the fleet in the way.” She wanted to nail down K’hzan’s support as soon as possible. There was almost no way they were going to be able to make any of this work without somehow dealing with the Council fleet, and there was no way a single Tigan swift ship was going to be able to do that. She turned to the red king. “How many ships can you bring to our cause? Will they be enough?”

He smiled at her as if he could see into her mind. “I have reviewed the sensor data from your flight. The Council has sent an entire Peacemaker fleet to Penumbra; a formidable adversary.” His smile tightened, and his sharp teeth glistened wetly behind thin lips. “I will not bring to bear power sufficient to meet them in open battle, but I believe I will be able to make such a show as to draw them off long enough for you to insert yourselves into the city.” He leaned back, massive shoulders heaving beneath the cloak. “As for securing your Skorahn, of course, that will be up to you.”

“Between the Ntja he smuggled into the city, and the marines from the Peacemaker fleet he has surely added to his force, there will be an army waiting for us as soon as we land.” Sihn Ve’Yan’s bitter face had hardened as the plan took shape. It was unheard of for Thien’ha to take a hand in events the way Khet Nhan was suggesting. It must have been eating at the girl since they had first taken steps to watch over Marcus Wells. Now that her master’s support was so patently stated, it was most likely driving her mad. “And what good will taking the city do us if at the end of the battle, the Council fleet still commands the system?”

“We can help with those Ntja, anyway!” The little master slapped the table. “They’ll know they’re on the wrong side of history!”

The Diakk girl shook her head, her dark eyes gleaming, but said nothing more.

“Once the city’s defenses are engaged, there is little the fleet will be able to do, even if my people retreat from the system. As for the Ntja, you will need more than an eager scholar and a couple of uppity Humans to defeat them.” K’hzan waved one hand. “I can provide a small strike force that will see you to where you need to be.”

Marcus nodded his wary thanks for this unlooked-for largesse. Angara, however, had her doubts. Command of that strike force would be important. And although K’hzan seemed inclined to take their side in this venture, there would be nothing to stop him from seizing the city after they drove out the Council forces, if that was what he truly wished.

But without him, there was no hope at all. If Angara was going to salvage the mess she made of this situation, she needed to be willing to work with whatever tools fate saw fit to provide her. She could imagine what each of them saw on the other side of the blood and flame. Justin’s world had been opened wide through his exposure to Galactic civilization. Marcus would be free to pursue his dreams for the city. For whatever reason, the Thien’ha would be happy to see a Human presence in the galaxy once more. But what was K’hzan hoping to benefit from such a horribly risky venture?

Her eyes tightened as she watched him smiling amiably at the rest of the table. His hatred for the Council was well known. He might very well be willing to throw his power behind this fight just for the chance to taste some of their blood in open combat. But he had bided his time for nearly an Earth century. What was changed now, that made him willing to expose his carefully-hoarded assets against Taurani and the Council’s Peacemaker fleet?

Her eyes slid to where Marcus was sitting, high in his chair, looked relieved and rather proud of himself.

A coldness gripped her gut as she looked at him. Humans; that’s what had changed.

She wished she knew why that made such a difference to the red king, who was said to hate Humans more than anyone. Why had the presence of a Human, here and now, goaded him into this long-awaited action?

A cold certainty gripped her. Somehow, the answer to that question was going to matter a great deal more, in the long run, than most of the other questions they had wrestled with that day.

 

*****

 

Iphini Bha stared at the medallion in her hands, sitting dull and empty against her white skin. She had spent days with the jewel, searching its sapphire depths in every kind of lighting she could find. The symbol still floated there, just out of her ability to comprehend, but other than that, the rock was lifeless and dead. Since Marcus Wells had run away, the Skorahn had been no more responsive for Khuboda Taurani than it had for Uduta Virri or any of the other administrators who had sat the command throne in living memory.

Security systems had come back under the control of the administrator’s office, rather than the seemingly semi-autonomous responses they had begun to exhibit when Marcus had been present. Taurani’s Ntja were in full control of the suppression fields, doors, defensive cannons, and other systems. At least, she thought they were Taurani’s. The black-clad soldiers that had arrived with the Council fleet were all Ntja as well. They wore uniforms of a more severe cut, and the bulbous metal domes sunk into their heads to shield their crude implants were polished to a high sheen. But they were still the same brutish monsters that had been tearing the city apart since the incident began.

She sighed, sinking back against the hard back of the chair in the administrator’s office. Taurani had all-but abandoned the control center since his coup. He was out in the city, directing the efforts of the soldiers in seizing the assets of those he deemed dangerous, and incarcerating the most troublesome in a series of storage halls buried beside the reservoir far below.

She had been following his progress, and had noticed an alarming trend in those enterprises he felt were dangerous: each of them had been researching or manufacturing the most advanced, potentially aggressive technologies, far more innovative than anything in Council space. It had aroused her suspicion enough that she had looked further back, to the earliest days of his takeover. Those first two syndicates his thugs had raided had not been random either, and she wondered what he might want with time dilation technology or the advanced energy field projectors of the Numanu architects.

But she had far more personal worries, and had no time for more esoteric concerns. His threats had been getting progressively more graphic, as it became more and more obvious she would be unable to unlock the mysteries of the Skorahn. He had worn it for the first day or so, but he soon lost interest in the ‘bauble’, as he called it, when he realized that it was not conveying upon him any more power than it had given to the detested Virri. He had thrown it at her, demanded she unravel its powers, and turned his attention to other matters.

She could feel the psychoactive art looming all around her. She knew, without looking, what she would see. The canvases were nearly empty, dark and bleak landscapes with sad figures wandering along them, lost and alone.

The city had been a hell since Taurani had taken over. All of the worst fears of Angara and Marcus Wells had been realized. The black-armored shock troopers were everywhere, controlling movement through the city, issuing credentials to those willing to play their games, keeping others under tight confinement in their specific towers.

There had been no more serious fighting. That was something she could be thankful for, at least. When the fleet had first arrived, Taurani and the Ntja admiral had used it as a tool of terror, going so far as to flatten one of the smaller towers on the underside of the city. Hundreds of sentients had been killed in what Taurani was claiming was a preemptive attack on a dissident cell.

Iphini knew that the tower in question had housed only older residents of the city, many of them requiring the charitable assistance of their neighbors to even survive.

But since that attack, resistance had been all but extinguished. Taurani and the Peacemaker soldiers had been at liberty do whatever they liked. The oppressive pall that had fallen across Penumbra was a stark, painful contrast to the city’s former, chaotic energy. It was an occupied camp now, no better than any other recalcitrant system subjugated by the Galactic Council.

And they never would have been able to succeed if it had not been for her.

She felt her eyes fill once again. It seemed to her that she spent most of every day weeping, now that her actions had born their inevitable fruit.

Penumbra under the vague and inattentive eye of Uduta Virri had been a violent, unruly place, but its soul had been intact. She had come to the city herself as a last resort, running from a past she could never have escaped elsewhere. Iwa’Ban had been nearly destroyed by feral Human raiders but it had been the depredations of the Council minions who had descended upon her homeworld to help them recover that had been the real horror. She had seen, first hand, Peacemaker officers savaging her people without repercussion. When a councilor that had been granted administrative rights over her family’s province took an unwholesome fancy to her, her own parents had urged her to flee.

But everywhere she went within Council space, she was reminded of those last dark days and her flight from her ravaged home. She had tried to convince herself that what she had seen had been anomalies, that the servants of the Galactic Council were, on the whole, the heroes she had always believed them to be. But with each revealed abuse, she had been forced to lower her head further, to shut her eyes to the reality developing all around her. She had been at her wit’s end by the time she had been advised to seek out Penumbra. It had been her refuge and her sanctuary, but she had never lost the feeling of the unwilling exile, and had grounded that resentment and sadness into the city that had nurtured her since her arrival.

In her heart she had never reconciled her endemic hatred of the Humans who had ravaged Iwa’Ban and the Council enforcers who had made it their own personal preserve. When Angara had brought her two Humans back to the city, she had been horrified, as had every other right-thinking being in Penumbra. When the thoughtful Eru had approached her with his soulful red eyes and his attentive demeanor, she had eventually revealed all of her doubts and fears to him. He had been the kindly hero she wanted to see, despite his instructions to keep their friendship secret. He had been patient, she could see that now. He had slowly steered their conversations away from the Council and deeper into her fear of the Humans. She had been blinded to everything that Marcus Wells was attempting to achieve, as well as the horrors inflicted upon Iwa’Ban by Taurani’s ilk, and instead saw only the shattered ruins of her homeworld, overlaid with the destruction of this new home that had accepted her.

She had been a fool. Each time she tried to sleep now, she was haunted by thoughts of Marcus Wells, and the dark and empty corridors of Penumbra in its present state. The realization that she had helped to destroy this place that had been her home was crushing her.

She closed her eyes to access the time through her implants. Khuboda Taurani was scheduled to address the entire city soon from the Council Chamber where Marcus Wells had spoken so often of his hopes and dreams. The old Mhatrong arena would be filled with the most prominent survivors of Penumbra, forced at gunpoint to provide a suitable backdrop for what was sure to be a historic moment.

He had not bothered to tell her any of his plans, of course. There was little reason to do so. She knew, in fact, that she was only still alive on the off chance that she could puzzle out some last little glimmer of power from the medallion. She also served as its bearer while Taurani strengthened his hold on the city, so that the services and systems would not fail.

She had not been told what the speech would reveal, but any rational being could guess what Taurani was going to say. A great deal of effort had gone into filling the chamber with all the right beings.

The Council Ambassador was going to announce the final disposition of the city. He was going to reveal to them their ultimate fate; a fate she had helped to orchestrate. A fate she had no hope now of averting.

There were whispered rumors that the Humans would return. The irony was palpable: that the once-hated and reviled creatures were now seen as the only possible saviors of the city. But she did not believe them. How would Marcus Wells return? That he had escaped in the first place was a miracle. Even though she had been blinded by her own prejudice, she knew too well; he was too smart to return to such a hopeless situation. Even if he did return, what could he possibly do against such overwhelming force?

Her head fell forward. Marcus Wells was a Human, and in her heart, more suited to be a destroyer than a savior.

And that was the true tragedy of her position: even her best hope was empty.

 

*****

 

Khuboda Taurani stood at the podium in the vast Mhatrong hall and gazed out over the fruits of his labor. The most prominent citizens of Penumbra were crammed cheek to jowl in the big room; well, at least the most prominent citizens that could be trusted to remain cowed and submissive. He had dreamed of this moment since long before being stationed in the wild, unruly city. The Council’s instructions had been fulfilled in the first moments of his attack. The technology he had been sent for was secure, its creators dead or captive, and all transferred to Ochiag’s ships overhead. Now he was working for himself and his people.

The hall was silent as all the sentients stared. Some eyes were curious and alive. Those would be the inhabitants not invested overmuch in the city, without a great deal to lose. Many more, however, were sullen and hostile. Those would be the beings who had left everything in Council space behind, to come here and begin anew. Those pathetic vermin would lose everything today.

Because today the last sanctuary against the power and wisdom of the Galactic Council would fall. He had consolidated his control over Penumbra, and with Ochiag’s help, those most likely to make things difficult were no longer able to do so. Now, with the power of the Peacemaker fleet behind his words, he would confirm his place in the historical files of the Council and take the first step toward establishing the Kerie as the preeminent race in the galaxy. First among equals, leaders of the great and enlightened push into the future, his people would be the lords of known space one day soon. And it will have all started here.

It was almost enough to bring a smile to the rigid flesh of his face.

He drank in the despair in those eyes for a moment longer, savoring the heady taste of victory and subjugation. These fools had believed themselves beyond the power of the Council, and above the wisdom of the greatest minds of the galaxy working in concert for the greater good. They had put themselves, their ambitions, and their goals ahead of all the other sentients in existence. Today they, too, would reap the rewards of their choices.

“Citizens of Penumbra,” Taurani’s voice was strong and full. It was being broadcast to every corner of the city, so that even the most cowardly worm skulking in the lowest service tunnels would not miss the message. “I come here to speak to you today light of heart, looking out at a future for this city, and for the galaxy as a whole, that is far brighter and richer than any of us might have imagined even a short while ago.”

There was nothing but silence in the room. Out of sight of the visual recorders, hugging the far walls and staying to the deep shadows, Ochiag’s Ntja troopers watched the crowd with leveled weapons. The audience had been warned to remain silent. There would be plenty of time to add the joyous sounds of celebration and adulation after the fact, should such things be called for in the future.

“Under the guidance and protection of the Galactic Council, Penumbra is going to know an unprecedented period of growth, prosperity, and safety! No dream will be too big to dream here out on the rim, and the Council will help you all to make those dreams a magnificent reality.”

They were silent still, of course. But he could see the confusion in many of the eyes now. He could see tenuous hope glowing to life where before there had only been despair. He could feel his lip twitch with the effort not to indulge in a sneer.

“Now, under a partnership agreement between the free city of Penumbra and the Galactic Council, those ancient treaties that so rigidly controlled our relationships to date will be replaced! We shall forge the bonds between us anew, here and now! And to assist you all in keeping the peace, and making sure you are not victimized by any of the myriad dangers of the galaxy, I hereby announce that the free city of Penumbra will henceforth be known as a Protectorate of the Council!”

Despite instructions, a low, soft, murmur arose from the crowd. He allowed it, reveling in their sudden realization. He had noticed that their interest had been truly kindled when he had used the term ‘free city’. He knew the light of amusement was bright in his silvery eyes, and he knew that no one in the chamber would be able to decipher it.

Let them keep their foolish name, he thought. ‘Free city’ … he wanted to laugh. And of course, as a Protectorate, the Council would have complete control over all policies and statutes within Penumbra. The very lawlessness that had attracted these vagabonds to the back of beyond would be gone, and with it, the incentive to come so far from the center of civilization. He had just killed their city, and the fools were too ignorant, or too numb, to realize it. The energy and innovation Penumbra had sapped from Council space would return to where it could be more carefully husbanded and controlled.

As he indulged in his moment of glory, the lighting within the hall dropped slightly, taking on a reddish tinge. It was the most dramatic signal he had been willing to allow his watchdogs to use during his grand announcement. It means something had gone truly, horribly wrong.

“My friends, duty calls me away.” He shrugged, putting the mask of reluctant public servant on with practiced ease. “I had really hoped to share more of my vision of Penumbra’s future with you today. Perhaps I may impose upon you all in the days ahead. For now, thank you for your attention, and may we all look to a brighter future, walking the path of civilization together.”

With a nod he had Iranse cut recording feeds, and then directed Ochiag’s ground commanders to see the chamber emptied, the citizens returned to their proper places. He turned, clicking shut his eyes to access the communication network through his implants, and demanded information from whoever was on the other side of the connection.

“Please explain the terrible crisis that necessitated the interruption of my announcement.” He snarled as he pushed his way through the hidden door into the preparation room. Never had a position been better defended than Penumbra was now. And besides, other than the single Tigan swift ship the Humans had used to escape, their enemies had no access to more potent forces. The question was not so much who would possibly be attacking the city, but why would anyone attack it, under the current circumstances.

“It’s the Peacemaker fleet!” When Iphini Bha’s shrill voice erupted in his ear, he almost snorted with derision. The Iwa’Bantu were always timid creatures. If she had sounded the alarm, it could be almost anything. Perhaps she had outlived her usefulness. There had been no movement with the medallion, and he found it more and more difficult to control his hunger around the little creature. Perhaps this lapse in judgement would be the catalyst he needed to take a more direct hand in her instruction. He would have to find someone else to wear the worthless gem until the city was dismantled, of course, but that would hardly be troublesome.

“Someone is attacking the fleet!” Bha continued, and this time, Taurani was brought up short.

“Attacking?” He was incredulous, and spat the word out as if it tasted bad. “Who?”

“I don’t know! They just emerged from a single wormhole! A whole fleet from a single singularity! It’s a slaughter!”

Taurani felt the bristles of his brill grind together as his jaws clenched. Orchestrating a simultaneous singularity transit was incredibly difficult and dangerous. Outside of the surprise impact delivering an entire fleet in tight formation might have in war, there was no good reason for anyone to even attempt such a feat.

In fact, as far as he knew, in all of known galactic history, only one race had perfected the tactic.

His eyes widened, and he shoved two brown-uniformed Ntja ahead of him to clear a path through the milling crowd. The denizens of Penumbra were muttering quietly about his announcement, but fell silent as they felt the pressure of his bodyguards pushing down the corridor. He followed at a trot, not caring in the least what the peasants of this pathetic backwater might be saying now.