Ambitious to unlock the forbidden secrets of the Peligians, the planet of Kule was transported into deep space during the first experiments with the forbidden Propylons.
Survivors escaping to Oerth sealed the malevolent texts in a specially prepared chamber deep within an asteroid in the Grinder, guarded by one who, in translation is named:
'Titan last of the mighty war gods'
Orion Transport - Orion Territory
Rikard stepped down from the holographic immersion pod, reaching out to pull the FTL transceiver from the computer console tossing it up into the air and catching it neatly. Two birds with one stone, he now knew what the secret behind the Peligian diary was, and he had orchestrated a trap, all in a single masterful stroke.
"So gullible." He murmured with a smile as he walked towards the far doors. He checked his watch, nodding with satisfaction that another of his plans was reaching fruition. The Denver security forces would have boarded the Shifting Sands by that point, under orders to kill every survivor of Ordessus and retake the ship. Substantial bonuses had been granted to ensure the task was carried out with the up most discretion.
Ambassador McGregor may have been resourceful, be she had underestimated the Orion's loyalty to money. And his security forces were the best money could buy. He was looking forward to finally having his ship back; the transport he was using was too cramped for Nicholas Denver's extravagant style.
* * *
The galaxy shifted and resolved around Caldone as he sat submersed within it. Screaming past him Imperial vessels butchered Amsus ships in their battle for dominance over the known space. He watched the thin line the Imperial forces had formed up around the jump Nexus, bracing for the battle that would eventually come. Across the room, floating suspended another holographic display projected the latest Imperial News Broadcast.
Caldone sat awash in information, revelling in the noise and din of streaming battle reports, compiled information from a wide variety of sources, all raw data. He could pick and choose what was important; one of the gifts Rikard had blessed him with was the capacity to assimilate information at a phenomenal rate.
Reporter Paul Schofield was giving his opinion of the Imperial war effort, "...It is predicted that the fighting has already claimed numerous Amsus losses, the hegemony forces were unprepared for the assault by the 242nd light horse led by Highlord Ramsey. The Amsus hegemony continues to broadcast its propaganda that it is only a matter of time until the Imperial fleet is destroyed. It seems that peace remains an elusive possibility for a fragile future." The reporter switched track, "Two rival factions are beginning to come forward in the race for Senatorial elections, the Republican Party led by Walker von Karin have put up a valiant fight to hold onto power, but according to political analysts seem to lack the drive that has come from the Restorian Party. Party spokesman for the Restorians claims that their popularity is due to..."
A complicated star chart showed him the Apilon Rift front, the quietness that his intelligence reports had detailed showed no danger from that front, the only hint of activity splayed, save for lay in a single one system at the very edge of Gorean territory. It reported that was intermittent contacts with Gorean vessels. The slumbering Wyrm flexing its muscles, sensing weakness within the Empire, no doubt contemplating an assault to claim back territory lost when VonGrippen had beaten them centuries ago. Caldone contemplated the strategic importance of that lone colony, deciding if it was worthy notifying the Imperial Council.
Caldone tapped some keys on the edge of his desk, shutting down the holographic feeds and rising from his chair, walking to the tall windows that overlooked the outer balcony, pushing open the doors and walking out into the cold afternoon air. He could feel it, in the air, a sense that soon all his work would pay off, and he would be able to bring his master's plan to fruition. Patience was, after all, a virtue.
He stared across at the high steel scaffolding that was being erected between the First Bank of Orion and its neighbouring building, at exactly the height he needed it to be. The angles would be precise so that the retracting panels he had ordered installed in the building would maximize efficiency.
It had taken a small miracle to get the Imperial council to sign off on the project, but Caldone could be very convincing when he chose to be.
"Excuse me, sir?" One of his aides cleared his throat from the doorway, "A mister William Allison is here, he says he wishes to discuss Colonel Evans with you."
"A campaign supporter," Caldone replied folding his arms and nodding, "See that he is shown in, anyone willing to support the future Chancellor of the Empire is welcome here."
Caldone gave another warm smile as he turned his back on the construction work and made his way back inside to prepare for his meeting with the Imperial Labour Union representative.
* * *
The bass pounded, a rhythmic beat that thumped and pulsed through the massive bar. A trio of dancers swayed and moved in perfect sync to the beat, sliding to the music as around them people danced and cheered with the rush of the music. Swaying hypnotically, the dancers dove and rose as the dizzying pattern of lights spiralled across the dance floor and back again.
A waitress swung her hips as she produced drinks with a flourish from her tray. Beings of all shapes and sizes sat enjoying the liberating freedom that only the Orion Directorate could provide.
The doors parted as his entourage entered ahead of him. Rikard folded his arms as he surveyed the scene. Of all the places she had wanted to meet him... He kept the teal-trimmed greatcoat on his shoulders, a symbol of his newfound Imperial prominence. Nicholas Denver... there was nothing in particular, it was everything about him, the way he walked, the way he laughed, in everything that he did. It made people turn their heads and stop right in their tracks. He was the future, and they knew it. His face was everywhere, on products on television screens, his reputation, his presence, drove interplanetary economies.
Denver was arrogant. He was cocky. Rikard knew the part he had to play.
The room spun as he raised a hand to his temple, his eyes flicking up as he stared up towards the bar, at the young, dark-haired boy, leaning back against it in a simple black waistcoat, crystal glass rolling in his fingers, the liquid catching the light and glittering.
They stared for a moment, Prince Edward drawing the silver pocket watch, the same damnable contraption VonGrippen had used to great effect in the old Imperial High Council, the heavy watch spinning lazily as Edward flipped it open, uncoiling his thin limbs and smiling.
"Time's up," he mouthed.
Rikard shrugged off the greatcoat, letting it fall to the floor, pushing his way past one of his bodyguards. Behind him Tilly, his secretary, scooped up the coat, watching with interest as Denver made his way across towards the young man who was rolling up his sleeves to meet him.
Time slowed, the dancers' weaving dragging out to a crawl, the music droning into one extended beat. Edward slipped the watch back into his pocket as he bounced from foot to foot, flexing his fingers.
Rikard stepped through the crowd, feeling the time lag as his eyes glittered. "You have grown powerful," he said, sounding pleased at the revelation.
"You haven't seen the half of it yet," Edward replied, lifting his finger and levelling it at Rikard, "I'm giving you another chance, Enarbrem."
"For what, your Highness?" Rikard asked, slipping out of his designer jacket and tossing it over a speaker, loosening his silk tie, "You're not ready to face me yet. Your ultimatums are pointless and your threats mean nothing when you lack the strength to back them up."
"I have all the time in the world," Edward smiled calmly, "Unlike you, I am not tied to corporeal matter..."
Rikard pushed through the doors to the bar, listening to the thrumming beat, his entourage sweeping around him. He made some kind of witty comment to one of his companions and stopped, the whole room spinning as he gripped his temple and sagged. He'd done this before...
He looked across the floor towards the confident young man, silver pocket watch open in his hand, looking back up at him with that lone sparkling blue eye, the other hidden behind the dark hair falling across his face. He stood, elegant and regal, in that unassuming manner so typical of his damn grandfather.
Rikard cast his greatcoat aside. How many times had he done that? How long had Edward kept him there repeating the same cycle over and over? He bit back his anger, thrusting people aside as he reached the dance floor, feeling time around him slow like molasses, leaving him alone with the boy who would be king. Drawing in upon himself with his full strength, he watched Edward slowly close the silver pocket watch, unconcerned as the former Chancellor unleashed his full might.
Rikard pushed through the doors and shrugged off his greatcoat, the coat falling to the ground with impossible slowness. He knew every movement, every motion of everyone around him. Hyper-aware, the former Chancellor knew that he was trapped; his strength wasn't enough to allow him to escape the net of time that the young Prince had set for him. He affixed a wry smile to his face as he removed his jacket and loosened his tie.
"You're smarter than I gave you credit for," Rikard remarked, walking through the crowd again towards his prey, "But time is not something anyone has dominion over, except perhaps the Peligians, and even they found it to be a double-edged sword."
"I need only to delay you," Edward responded, "I have no capacity to kill you yet, as you so boldly boasted on a number of occasions."
Rikard folded his arms. "Very well, your Highness, it appears we are at a stalemate. I cannot overpower you, you cannot kill me. It boils down to which of us can afford to wait the longest." He walked up to the bar, walking around it as he pulled the bottle from the Orion bartender's hand, examining it he shrugged and selected a glass. "I noted you were busy," he said, "Adapting to your newfound power?"
"I'm told I'm resourceful, I'm sure I'll manage," Edward responded, "I want to know why you created me."
"Ah, the Pinocchio returns to his creator with the age old question, 'What is the meaning of my existence?'" Rikard poured himself a drink. Lifting the glass and offering a mock toast, he drained the glass. "Your existence, your resurrection, serve my purposes. You exist for a destiny, one that I have created you for. You could say, as your creator, and as the man that controls your destiny, I am God's God." His broad smile grew even more amused as he mulled on that thought.
"I will not help you," Edward replied evenly, "I am going to beat you."
"Perhaps," Rikard said, still smiling, "maybe that is part of your destiny," he shrugged. "Your grandfather was particularly fond of his belief in fate. In fact, I believe he was the one responsible for your... early return to the world of the living." His smile turned cold. "I derived no pleasure in interrogating the fool who found you."
"What?" Edward looked stunned.
Rikard poured himself another glass. "My hand was forced, Matthew," Rikard's eyes flicked up using Elias's name to its full effect, "I know all about your life on Mars, of your 'family' and your... struggles. I am sorry that happened to you. I have punished all of those who did you wrong."
"You did what?" Edward faltered.
"Everyone who abused you, every man who defiled you, who exploited you." Rikard shook his head, "I followed your entire life from the moment you were brought home in a swaddling cloth to your 'mother', right through to your flight from Jorten's shipyard. After all, is it not a my job to protect my creation?"
"You are not my creator." Edward's tone drew warning.
"You are a third generation transcendent." Rikard said with a cold smile, "Originally created by you're great uncle... without your grandfathers knowledge. He desired an heir that was worthy of him," Rikard's smile turned cold, "You were crafted by the immortal Emperor himself, just as I, in turn, had created him. Crafted by brilliant men to be brilliant men. Hominid Supremus, and as in ancient Greece, we are gods who walk amongst the men."
"The gods of ancient Greece were flawed." Edward responded.
"As are we," Rikard replied, "For example, your biggest flaw is lust."
"And yours is pride," Edward bit back.
"Yes Matthew, I take great pride in all that I have wrought." Rikard smiled, "Like you. You see Prince Edward died three hundred years ago. I had no use for him at that time, your 'resurrection' is by my design, and it serves my purpose. But you are not... ready yet for what is to come." He paused looking at the scowling young man before him, "So like your grandfather, it's uncanny... Tell me, does it not get heavy?" Rikard smirked.
"What?" Edward asked, eyeing the Chancellor.
"The weight of morality. It's what pulled VonGrippen down, and it will pull you down as well..." He set his glass down, "Darien Taine."
"What about him?" Edward seethed.
"Can you save him?" Rikard asked. "Were he in danger, could you still hold me here and protect him?" he produced the small Imperial FTL transceiver he had taken from the Excalibur, tilting it in his hand as he looked up at Edward. "My power doesn't come from within, my power is all around. I am everywhere. Holding me here has accomplished nothing, except to earn you a demonstration of my strength." He looked apologetic. "There are times, Matthew, when hard lessons must be given. I am sorry." He depressed the switch.
* * *
Darien walked onto the bridge of the Excalibur, touching his temple as he walked to the command chair. He read over the technical report the COB and Lieutenant Galadriel had compiled for him, turning pages of the excessively sized document as he looked over at Masconi.
"Boy she sure can write," he observed, turning through page five hundred of the heavily diagrammed document. "Are we ready?" He asked, standing in front of his command chair.
"I've been looking over the jump calculations," Masconi said, joining him and leaning over to make a few amendments to the chart, "Attacking two full Amsus battle groups with one ship, without our fighter wings..."
"Are you ever going to just trust me?" Darien asked lightly, "We..."
He looked up at the COB climbing from the lower tier, the grizzled old man saluting as he approached. "Every thing's secure, we should be good to go."
"Very good, Chief..." Darien paused frowning as he watched the chief draw his gun in a single fluid motion, calmly swinging it up to fire twice at point-blank range.
There was an impossibly long moment, stunned silence in the bridge as the Highlord collapsed back into the command chair, the COB lifting his weapon to look at it, almost in shock at what he had just done.
Shale was the first to react, the Taïrian Captain crossing the deck in two great strides his mighty paw tearing the gun from the Chief's hand, his second strike knocking the stocky human man to the ground as he knelt over him, his fangs bared, growling deep and low in fury, his hand flexing as his claws extended, poised to strike at the man he pressed face first to the floor with a knee.
Masconi dropped to Darien's side as he opened an eye, wincing in pain as he looked groggily up at her.
"You've been shot," she said simply, dispassionately pulling open his shirt to get a better look. The first bullet had impacted in Darien's shoulder, a superficial, if painful wound, the second... she searched for the second bullet hole. At that range it had to have hit, there was no way...
Darien coughed, lifting the metal clipboard, turning it over to look at the bent and twisted metal. The ammunition of shipboard weapons were designed to have low velocities so that they wouldn't accidentally puncture the ship's hull. The bullet had lodged somewhere between page four hundred and three hundred and nineteen of Galadriel's comprehensive, if badly spelled, report on the Propylons.
He winced in pain, looking down at the COB pinned by Shale, who was itching for permission to dispatch the traitor.
"Darien?" Edward exclaimed, appearing on the bridge and rushing to him, "Darien!"
"I'm all right," Darien winced again, feeling the bullet in his shoulder. The low-velocity round had lodged there. "I'm..."
"...hurt!" Edward said, kneeling down looking worried.
"Marines to the bridge!" Masconi called into her TAC-link, drawing her side arm and training it on the COB, looking with shock towards Edward. "What the... how the...?"
The boy ignored her, his hands probing up and around Darien's shoulder, feeling the wound, staring intently as he concentrated, forcing the bullet back along its path, drawing the slug out of the oozing hole, willing the broken bone and torn flesh to mend. The bullet plopped out, dropping to the deck, as Edward slumped forward tiredly, his soft features curving into a weak smile as he laid his head in Darien's lap.
* * *
The music began again in a rush, and Rikard smiled. Pouring one last drink, he walked back across the bar and collected his greatcoat from Tilly. "It's time to go," he said, slipping it on and marching towards the doors. Now he had gauged the young Emperor's power he had to devise a way for Caldone to contain it. There was only one person who could help him there.