Denver Corps stock is tied directly to a cult of personality built by a single man.
It is a bubble that will eventually burst, and when it does his financial empire will come tumbling down.
Denver Headquarters - Bokken System - Orion Territory
OCCUPATION: DAY NINE
Val adjusted the stole upon her shoulders as she stood before the great windows of Nicholas Denver's office, looking out them at the immense city that stretched into the brilliant red painted sky of twighlight. The computer screens behind her trilled and beeped as they monitored the stocks being traded on the Orion markets, monitoring the hostile take over of Denver Corp.
The corporation's stock had crashed in the wake of Nicholas Denver's apparent disappearance. A cult of personality that had lost its single greatest asset. The stock was in a tail-spin and the board of the Corporation was lost in a panic, seeing an imminent end to their vaunted positions. Val had, after months of being stranded in the Directorate, come to hold little sympathy for the Orions.
They existed in a perpetual state of inactivity. Position and money were everything to them, vying to increase their social status in a great dance that involved them walking over anyone in their way. And while war was to the benefit of those with military contracts, there were many in the Directorate who considered a war in which they were an active participant a detriment to their social advancement.
Naive and stupid, in Macgregor's opinion.
Orions were indolent when it came to war, languishing in their assumption that their neutrality shielded them. And the fact that Denver had dragged them, unwillingly, to the very edge of war, had sent many of the other corporations scrambling to fight back. A consortium of major players had used the absence of Denver from the corporate worlds as an excuse to begin buying out worried investors, granting them a chance to cut their strings from the sinking ship. It ensured that a corporation that had overstepped its bound would be sufficiently leashed.
Val wasn't about to allow that to happen. The Empire needed every ally it could get, and to lose the support of the Denver Corporation now, so close to the liberation of Earth...
There had been only one option, she'd exploited Rikard's staff, established her place in the inner sanctum and offered the one thing that the senior management of the Corporation desperately needed: the second coming of their messiah.
The binoculars in her hands lifted as she caught sight of the brilliant flash in the sky over the city, a spiralling shooting star that emanated from a central flash of light dropping through the clouds. The flash occurred again as a second wave of light roared away from the main object, exploding to life in a magnificent lightshow that played across the sky.
It rotated into a crackling spider web of light, flickering between the massive headquarters of the First Bank of Orion and stretching across the sky resolving into a massive logo of the Denver Corporation, and through it the burning ball rocketed earthwards.
Macgregor had her binoculars up, flicking through the settings as it resolved in on the plummeting fireball, showing that it wasn't actually a ball, but rather a humanoid shape, the heat shields jettisoning from the protective suit as the anti-gravity belts engaged firing to bring him level, arcing him upwards as he glided on a cushion of air down towards the ground below.
Naturally, the ball gown had been Val's personal touch, not because it was sensational, but because there was something therapeutic about sticking Rikard in a dress. She smiled as the ring of spectators down in the financial sector pulled back to allow him to land. Dar'shar mercs and members of Denver security rushing to ring their CEO as one of them swept a teal and black greatcoat over his shoulders.
It was amazing what Ikardru Constructs could whip up in such a limited amount of time. The replica was virtually indistinguishable from the original and, of course, it had the added bonus that if Denver was killed in one of the many publicity stunts that he was famous for, they could always produce another. And considering the amount of money Denver Corp's management had sunk into acquiring Ikardru, it guaranteed discretion on the matter.
"Will it be enough, madam?" Jaquan, Vice President of Marketing, asked her from where he stood next to a cluster of Denver aficionados, each of them watching with fixed interest what was to happen next.
"It should," Val answered cautiously. "It's not the first time I've seen this. After the Actress Martha Jenkins died on Mars it took nearly seventy years before anyone actually found out about it. And then it was only because someone made an observation about her age being astronomical for a person appearing seventeen. Before that, they just assumed she'd had an excellent plastic surgeon or some illegal work done on Mars..."
"Orion's aren't as gullible as humans," Jaquan sniffed.
"On the contrary," Macgregor smiled, "I think it will be better for everyone concerned having Denver squarely under our control. And you'd be surprised how much people are willing to overlook when things start to go their way because of it. Money, after all, is the lubrication of life."
"Which would be nice," Jaquan answered carefully, "but the only one with control of Denver is you."
Macgregor nodded. "A small surprise marriage, totally within Denver's character, and there will be a new first lady of the Denver Corporation. And as long as the Corporation's support remains fixed behind the Empire, we'll see about rebuilding that profit margin of yours."
"You're asking a lot from us," Jaquan said, voicing the concerns of each of the officials.
"I gave you an answer to your problem." Macgregor pointed to the stock ticker that was already beginning to climb as the news of Denver's reappearance filtered through the news nets. "I'm good for your business and I have some experience at running a large corporation. So I see this as a mere change of management, don't you agree?"
Her voice dipped to dangerous, and Jaquan glanced uncertainly at his fellows, each of them nodding their assent. There was no denying the results of Macgregor's plan, and what she asked was small compared to the losses they would suffer were the hostile takeover permitted to occur.
"You have a deal," Jaquan agreed quietly, "but be warned, if this ploy fails, you will stand alone."
"Of course," Macgregor replied, flipping on the news feed to listen to Denver's return speech. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
Bridge - HMS Lex Talionis - Keppe System - Orion Territory
OCCUPATION: DAY TEN
"Well that was good in theory," Rikard seemed amused, "however in practice we seem to have a few complications."
The Lex Talionis creaked and shivered as the immense pressures of the Gas Giant he was hiding in threatened to crush the hull and turn everything inside to a fine paste. Rikard sat in Kardiac's chair, his legs crossed so that the plush puppy slippers waggled to and fro. He revelled in Lex's pain, for the moment it was crushed; the former Chancellor would have his freedom.
"Don't be too complacent, Enarbrem," the hologram warned from where he stood before the spider web patterned observation window. The oily surface of the gasses gave the window an almost mobile stained glass effect, fitting considering he was again dressed as a priest.
"I don't see why I shouldn't be," Rikard answered, his smile broadening. "After all, I do think that trying to hide a three-million-tonne pocket battleship in the middle of Orion territory, at one of their most popular tourist spots, was a little bit of an oversight on the part of the devil incarnate."
Lex looked wholly un-amused. "I am successfully hidden."
"True," Rikard nodded, "that you are, but there is still the whole being stuck now without being able to do anything else. Which is a shame, I hear that lion mascots dressed up like Templars run the tours of the monastery. That has to irk you, just a little," Rikard sat upright. "That your precious monastery has been turned into the modern day equivalent of Disney World."
"My intelligence is sporadic..." Lex began.
"Intelligence is such a fickle thing, you either have it, or you don't. But," Rikard held up a finger. "That your information is old, of that I have no doubt," he smiled sardonically, "however, perhaps you should have thought to inquire as to what happened to your monastery in three hundred years Surely you didn't expect to find it as it was?"
"Three hundred years of social political tides was factored into my equations," Lex responded evenly, "but..."
"You underestimated Orion opportunism," Rikard answered, shaking his head. "There are times when I almost forget you are not actually Kardiac Aul'Jakaram. Then there are moments when the limitations of your infantile mind shine a glaring light upon your differences. It isn't your fault; after all, you were constructed flawed."
"As were you," Lex replied calmly, unflustered by Rikard's taunting. "I, however, am taking steps to overcome the failings of the inorganic, you can never rid yourself of your organic failings."
"And so," Rikard asked, "how are you proposing to solve your latest dilemma? Perhaps launch your flotilla of drones and butcher everything organic in the entire Keppe system? That is, after all, how your perfect master would have solved this problem - with the subtlety of a brick."
"I have considered that option," Lex answered, "however, slaughtering everything will not accomplish my aims. I will reserve that option as a contingency plan. I adapt to my problems. I only require time, and a solution will present itself. Patience is a virtue."
"Indeed," Rikard responded standing, a dark look replacing his early humour, "there are options, and resources you haven't considered..."
Lex swung his baton up to his chin, thoughtfully tapping it there as he walked forward a little into the light. "You are proposing that I permit you off of this ship."
"Now that would be foolish of you," Rikard stated, "and I don't underestimate my enemy's intelligence."
Lex's eyebrow curved quizzically.
"Oh for god sakes," Rikard rolled his eyes realizing what Lex was implying, "Darien Taine is an irregularity, you can't attempt to predict irregularities. I have no measure by which to..." Rikard chewed on his words, "I... I am going to take great pleasure in the fact that by executing him I will restore order to the universe."
Lex nodded in amusement, "yes, Darien Taine is... problematic to all our eventual aims. I have dedicated several of my key processors towards the task of unravelling the Taine Factor; it appears that he is in possession of random convergences that defy logical probabilities."
"Hmm?" Rikard glanced up, "in English please, for those of us not in possession of the complete Unabridged Oxford English Dictionary."
"Luck," Lex responded, explaining as if to a simpleton, "Taine seems to be infused with it."
"Try killing him one day," Rikard commiserated, shaking his head, "I've began to lose count of the number of times he has successfully evaded death. I am fairly certain that the Grim Reaper has Taine on speed dial."
"Lucky Number Seven." Lex tucked his baton under his arm and settled back into the shadows. "I may not be able to trust you to fulfil my goals on Keppe, but you have provided me with an alternative."
"Glad I could oblige you," Rikard said, feigning indifference, but part of him was curious to find out exactly how he had done that.
There was a trill from a console as Lex launched his recovery drones. The CIC chart table sprang to life with a diagram of the Keppe system, showing a mass of traffic, cruise liners and personal transports. The ever present Orion mercenary Police Forces were in attendance attempting to keep order over the highly successful entertainment system.
Rikard offered a small smile as he observed the Denver Corporation Logo slapped over almost everything around him. From cola billboards through to the vessels carting economy intra-system flights, the Denver Corporation had marked its stamp there.
"Dare I ask?" Rikard rested his hands on the edge of the chart table and squinted at all the traffic oblivious to the cluster of drones that slipped into the mess of space lanes searching for something specific.
"I have often found that the best way to guarantee subservience is to apply leverage," Lex answered coldly, "and in order to do such I must demonstrate an iron cold will behind my threats, otherwise they are meaningless."
"Ahh you are going to hurl another brick," Rikard answered, shaking his head. "This will only serve to annoy the Orions."
"The Orions are irrelevant at this juncture," Lex replied matter-of-factly. "It is the Imperial that I must contend with."
Rikard frowned, "I should remind you that you are technically the only truly Imperial thing in this system. Everything else is merely a part of the exhibit. And I highly doubt you're about to attack the local hockey team, which incidentally is called the Keppe Templars."
Lex remained silent, a shadowy silhouette in the bright windows, dark and malevolent. His positioning, his poise, everything about him was very Kardiac. It was uncanny, and Rikard vowed to invest in an AI variant of himself at a future point. It would be nice to have intelligent conversation for a change.
He was surprised by the whirring clanks of hydraulics and turned to watch the mechanoid hound escort Galadriel into the bridge, still wrapped in her blanket. Rikard frowned and looked back up at Lex, still standing silently and observing.
Galadriel held herself in a dignified way despite her lack of attire. She reminded Rikard of a true lady, at least his opinion of what one should be. He had a healthy respect for anyone that had, given all she had been through, been able to maintain such composure.
He sank his hand into the pocket of his dressing gown and looked back at the CIC table. "It seems our host has decided to put on a show for your benefit."
She eyed the table warily, sparing a glance up towards the shadowy figure Lex presented, shaking her head. "I don't like shows put on by sociopaths."
"Indeed," Rikard replied, pulling out a hand and pointing to the recovery drones, "but it appears there is to be one anyway, and it appears to have top billing."
The recovery drones bumped and nudged each other as they weaved recklessly through the heavy traffic, their large grappling jaws snapping like hungry piranha's as the CIC table zoomed in, zeroing in on the lead recovery drone as it opened its jaws wide, clamping down on the tail fin of a large cruise liner, latching just above the Denver Corporation logo.
"You bastard," Rikard rolled his eyes, "that was needlessly petty."
"I don't understand," she said looking up at Lex again, "what are you..."
The recovery drone exploded, tearing the control thruster array off of the liner. There was a flare from its engines as it began to list, straying from the bulk traffic lane directly into the over crowded small transport lane. There was silence as the cruise liner, powerless to stop, or turn, ploughed into smaller craft that were unable to manoeuvre in the tightly packed lane. The explosions lit the table brightly as they careened into the white and red hull plates, a couple of the larger ones surviving long enough to tear straight through the mortally wounded liner. The rolling explosions started in the stern of the liner, engulfing it in flames that quickly burned out, but not before it gutted the entire starship stem to stern.
"No!" Galadriel gasped, her hand reaching up to her black rose, her eyes panicked and wide. "What have you done?" she looked up at Lex.
"I have given you an ultimatum," Lex said, his voice even. "You will go to Keppe for me, following my instructions to the letter, or there will be more bloodshed."
Galadriel looked vainly towards Rikard for some sign of understanding; instead Rikard's face was a mask of cold indifference. She inclined her head. "All right," she said, knowing that she didn't really have a choice, and her intelligence preventing her from appealing to Lex's compassion. Rikard was mildly impressed.
It wasn't until after Lex had explained his instructions and Galadriel was being shown down to the hangar deck, that Rikard approached her with any attempt at further conversation.
"Your compassion is a weakness he will continue to exploit." Rikard sauntered along beside her. "You haven't actually saved lives by capitulating to him. In fact, you have probably endangered far more by showing that you can be manipulated in this manner. He will of course use this tactic again."
"We can't all be geniuses like you," Galadriel snapped at him.
"I know," Rikard replied. "It makes me wonder how the universe is getting by without me, seems that I keep it interesting."
"Shut up," Galadriel snapped, the realization that she was the sole reason Lex had executed that liner full of people had hit her hard.
Rikard frowned. He'd been trying to help, quite genuinely too. He was surprised that she couldn't see and accept that. But then he had to content himself with the fact that Galadriel's intelligence was inconsistent when her emotions were involved. A little more exposure to Lex Talionis's particular brand of psychosis would desensitize her to such trivialities as a couple of thousand deaths.
He stopped at the elevator down to the hangar deck, offering her a light shrug of his shoulders. "Good luck."
She ignored him as she entered the elevator, and he heaved another long sigh and looked about him. Back to the monotony again.
P. E. Lamont Starport - Keppe - Orion Territory
OCCUPATION: DAY TEN
The starport ahead of her was filled with beings from every corner of the galaxy, mostly parents with their children on their way to see a piece of galactic history up close. They stared with disapproving looks at the scantily clad human female that had walked through customs unchallenged. Orions didn't bother with trivialities such as travel documents. They preferred free transit, it was better for business that way.
She did take the time to stop at a souvenir shop in the starport, purchasing clothing with the small amount of Orion credits that Lex Talionis had given her. A Templar tee and matching ball cap over top of an 'I love Keppe' pair of shorts. She looked painfully like a tourist.
It was hard for her to wrap her head around the fact that she was free of the Lex, if she played it smartly she could even turn it to her advantage. Of course she knew that Lex was monitoring her, he wouldn't have sent her ashore without some means of monitoring her progress. The knowledge that she was being watched did little to ease her paranoia, and she noted that the Orion security agents that were observing her as she pushed through the doors and out onto the busy streets of Keppe.
The planet was almost solely dedicated to the entertainment industry, a huge export for the Orion Directorate. News, television, video, it all seemed to flow out of that one central hub. It was a Mecca for sin, drawing in the innocent with false promises of stardom, sucking them dry and spitting them out again as it consumed their souls.
Galadriel read the warning signs as she walked through the brightly sunlit streets with the entirely too thin models sporting tiny rat-like dogs getting into and out of luxury cars and skimmers, ready to take expensive vacations on their boyfriends' expense accounts.
The Orion Directorate thrived on the pure essence of Capitalism; it fuelled a massive industry that stretched across the stars. Money flowed into the Directorate and the wealth was distributed amongst the people who were smart enough to position themselves to catch it.
A place of the haves, the have-nots, and those that wanted. A far cry from the planet's pious history.
She could see the monastery, nestled high in the hills surrounding the city. A tourist attraction. It almost sickened her, she'd been raised on a belief in things; a belief that had been soured by the Lex Talionis and everything she had come to learn about the universe beyond her small little provincial world.
Karin was a large city, but it had nothing on Keppe, and she found herself swept along with a large tour group being funnelled by bored looking guides towards busses, she coughed as they held out their hands for her money, accepting the wad of bills she handed over to them and stuffing her into a cramped coach that smelled like cigarettes and old people.
"Is this your first time, dear?" an old African woman asked, sitting next to her and fishing out a cross stitching from her canvas bag.
Galadriel balked at the religious heraldry the woman was sewing, seemingly oblivious to its significance. "Y-yes," she said softly.
"It can be a little much." The woman patted Galadriel's shoulder warmly. "Did you know there were people who actually believed this was sacred ground? Imperial's used to make holy pilgrimages here..."
"Barefoot," Galadriel answered, turning her head to look out the window at what should have been a dirt track winding up through a forest of trees. Instead it had been paved over and the streets were lined with massive buildings.
"So you are, dear," The old woman said, glancing down. "Let me guess, you're looking to become a star?"
Galadriel glanced back at her, "I... I was in a bit of a hurry."
The old woman tsked as she returned to her work. Galadriel sifted through the small utility bag she had brought with her, pulling on the TAC-link headset and plugging it into the unit. "I hope you're satisfied," she said calmly, her voice tinged with venom.
"My satisfaction level is truly irrelevant," Lex responded evenly, "as is your comfort level. Be thankful I don't require you to walk the holy path to the shrine of Z'ræl."
"And are you going to tell me why you want me here?" she asked, glancing at the old woman, who was doing her best to pretend not to listen to the conversation.
"I require you to be dressed appropriately," Lex said firmly. "It is probably best that you approach the shrine under the cover of night. Activate your display optics."
Galadriel did as she was instructed, looking over the diagrams that Lex was displaying for her, doing her best not to chuckle.
"What is so funny?" Lex demanded dangerously.
"You really have no perspective on this, do you?" Galadriel asked, shaking her head. "Your maps and diagrams are... a little obsolete."
"You approach the monastery through the southern grove..." Lex stated evenly.
Galadriel took malicious delight in Lex's arrogance, turning on the small camera mounted above her ear, looking out of the window at the parking lot and buildings that now stood in the place of the grove, "Southern Grove Parking, fitting."
Lex paused, "I suggest you disembark the conveyance, make your way to a hotel, and await further instructions while I collect current intelligence data."
"Hotels, hmm?" Galadriel picked up a brochure. "Let's see, there is the Kardiac Plaza, the Keppe Hilton... oh now I could always stay at the Templar Arms. It's closer to the monastery proper which means it's going to be sufficiently expensive..."
"I have taken the necessary steps to ensure you will be provided for," Lex answered, "in the bag."
Galadriel glanced at the old woman and smiled pleasantly, "my mother, she always worries about me on long trips."
"That's nice dear," the old woman replied returning to her cross stitch, Galadriel taking a moment to ensure that the camera caught what she was working on.
"The mark of..." Lex seethed, "I will take great enjoyment in ridding this world of its Orion infestation and all its blasphemies."
"Oh I don't know," Galadriel said tilting her head to stare at the giant hundred foot tall blow up cartoon Kardiac overtop of a used skimmer dealership, "they missed the proportions, but the resemblance is uncanny."
"Get. Off. the. Bus!" Lex stated haltingly, his fury hitting a boiling point. Galadriel wondered what would happen if she was able to give the psychotic A.I. apoplexy. She dug through the bag as she stood up, ringing the bell and heading for the back doors, the guide still rattling off nonsense about which starlet lived where.
She stepped down and onto the street and checked the brochure again, aiming for the Templar Arms. It sounded like the best option she had, and as she pulled out the flat digital card she blinked at it. Simple grey plastic, it didn't resemble anything.
"You're joking right?" she asked, holding it up for the camera to see, as she did so the tightly clustered Nanobots shifted and shimmered, reordering as the card changed to a platinum First Bank of Orion credit card.
"It will work," Lex stated evenly, his composure restored. "Use it to make arrangements for yourself and attire yourself appropriately. I will not have one of the faithful making a pilgrimage in shorts."
HMS Lex Talionis - Keppe System- Orion Territory
OCCUPATION: DAY TEN
"You're malice is quite amusing," Rikard said evenly from where he sat again in Kardiac's chair. "How exactly are you going to punish the Orions that have polluted your temple?"
"I have many methods at my disposal," Lex replied, continuing to stand framed by light and cast in shadows, his eyes burned threateningly, "but for the time being I must be tolerant, and while I am filled with fury, I am a being with boundless patience."
"Not a word I would have chosen," Rikard answered. "Now would you care to explain your reason for bringing us here? Or must I hazard a guess that there is something your... initial incarnation left here that you require, and considering you haven't stormed the planet with a raiding team of drones, I suspect that it is something that is immobile and that you require time to operate. Thus the stealth approach."
"There are things beyond even your understanding, Enarbrem," Lex answered at length.
Rikard glanced back towards the CIC table, noting that the Peligian baton was conspicuously missing; he looked back at the hologram. "Beyond me implies Peligia."
"Mmm," Lex answered with a dangerous flash in his eyes. "Now you are beginning to understand that there is more to this play than first appears."
Rikard shifted uneasily in his chair, sitting upright, "I..."
"I have your interest now," Lex observed. "I have a use for you, if you would be willing."
Rikard started, standing up, "You would trust me off of this ship? I thought that would be foolish."
"Not precisely." Lex stepped into the light tucking the holographic baton under his arm. "I have pieces to your precious Peligian puzzle, and I think you underestimate the power that grants me over you. I can read your mind; I can anticipate your betrayal before you can fully form the thought. And I also know that you will do anything to possess an end to this farcical dance you have been trapped in for three hundred years."
The doors at the rear of the bridge swung opened on a collection of grey humanoid mechs swathed in Orion frock coats, holographic displays engaging on their faces, masking them behind expressionless non-descript Orion masks.
Rikard stuffed his hands deep into his pyjamas. "The Orions are going to go nuts when they realize I am on Keppe."
"And like all VIP's, doors will be opened to you that are currently closed," Lex smiled confidently. "Good luck, Enarbrem, I will contact you once things are in place."
Rikard smiled chillingly, suppressing his escape plan, modifying it as he followed the Mechs down towards the dropship that would take him to Keppe.
Templar's Arms - Keppe - Orion Territory
OCCUPATION: DAY ELEVEN
She didn't expect Rikard, especially not a clean cut version, wearing an immaculately tailored suit. Pin-striped, which figured strangely in Galadriel's mind. He'd shaved his beard, styled his hair differently and had put on horn rimmed glasses, but it was undoubtedly Rikard. She stood there in the suite, a cup of coffee in her hands, staring at him a long moment.
"You look funny without the beard," she observed.
"I can grow it back at will," Rikard said dismissively, hand in his pocket the long brown coat he wore over the top of his suit, seeming almost cheap in comparison to the suit.
"My observation was more a question of why," Galadriel replied, looking at the Orion escorts with him.
Rikard shrugged. "It seems our mutual host feels it fitting that I accompany you." He walked through the door and took a slight turn about in the suit. "Pointlessly extravagant, I never figured you for that kind of woman."
He looked about him at the suite, adequate for their needs. The walls bore innocuous wallpaper, brass wall sconces. There was a desk and a pair of double beds, a trouser press, an alcove where someone could make a cup of tea or coffee. It was cosy.
She ignored him as the Orion guards entered the room, taking up stations around the room, deactivating their holographic disguises as they powered to standby. Rikard gave them a cursory glance. Sure they were off, he smiled at her. "You're looking better," he said, noting that she'd showered, changed into something more practical than a blanket, and brushed her hair.
"Now that I'm not stuffed in a cage?" Galadriel responded, returning to the tray with on which her breakfast sat. "We're still trapped here. I can't even get a message home without him knowing about it."
Rikard moved to a window, looking out over the high-rise city, resting a shoulder against the frame as he sighed, "Why would you want to?" he asked, looking back over to her, "You're dead to them. This is a chance for you to shed your skin, become someone or something new. You could walk out that door, away from all of this. Disappear into anonymity."
Galadriel paused, buttering a croissant. "You could as well."
Rikard sucked in a tight breath. "It isn't that easy, you don't think like I do, you don't see the universe in the way that I am cursed to."
"A curse you embraced for yourself," Galadriel replied. "You chose this for yourself, for all of us."
"You've seen so much in the time you have spent away from your tiny home," Rikard answered. "Travelled across the galaxy, stared into the maw of death, seen the Kule graveyard... and learned the truth about your faithless religion. And still you think me the monster." Rikard turned his head. "To me I am doing what I believe is right."
"You are doing what you know is wrong," Galadriel corrected." Lex believes in his cause, he is doomed to carry out his twisted version of our religion. I can understand that what he does is, in his mind, right. You... you are doing all of this for your own aims."
"Ah, but there are darker things in this universe than me," Rikard countered. "Did you get a chance to meet Titan? Now there was a malevolency, the Kule were truly aberrant creatures. The galaxy was spared a dire threat when they vanished without a trace. Then, of course, there are the Gorean. Flesh-eaters that believe sentient life forms a particular delicacy, as I am sure Karin is coming to learn now. If my aims are purely selfish, then perhaps you should see what I have done for the galaxy. There was order and peace for three hundred years. The man who brought war was Darien Taine. Unfortunately, his PR is better than mine. He gets better press being a war-monger than I ever got for bringing peace."
"That may have something to do with your tactless 'screw the universe' approach," Galadriel snapped back at him. She abruptly changed the subject. "Do you have any idea what this is?" She reached into the bag Lex had given her, producing the crystalline baton and holding it up to Rikard for inspection.
The former Imperial Chancellor adjusted his glasses and reached out to examine the Peligian crystal, running his fingers over the perfectly formed octagonal edges. It was un-remarkable for a piece of such an ancient culture. He'd examined it before, taking it out of the lab on Daso-Muwe when he had shut down the research facility. But he hadn't thought any more about it, carrying it with him to Karin absently on a whim.
A suspicion began to grow within him, his fingers exploring the shard, concentrating on it as he stretched out with his full senses. He was glad to be free of the damnable pocket battleship and the rings that limited his capacity to function on a higher level of awareness. He communed with the device, searching for any sign that it was more than it appeared, examining every facet and every imperfection, but there were none. It was merely a solid shard of nothing.
"I don't know," he admitted after a pause, "but this isn't what it seems, of that I am certain."
"Then the only way we're going to find out..." Galadriel began.
"Yes," Rikard said, his eyes travelling up the slopes of the hills towards the dark cluster of buildings high above them, "we're going to have to go there."
Cathedral - Keppe - Orion Territory
OCCUPATION: DAY ELEVEN
Rain fell in sheets outside the massive windows of the cathedral. The building was old and its sloping roofs were raised in a neo-gothic style that dominated the skyline. It hadn't been properly renovated in over three hundred years. Inside the foyer, the walls were wood panelled, etched with patterns and carved with memories. This one loves that one, remember Ararat, and of course the ever present Templar cross. Heavy maroon drapes hung on either side of the great oak doors that were carved into worn patterns of heraldry reminiscent of the old Italian houses from which the House of Kardiac had drawn its history.
Rikard stood to her side, back a little ways, allowing the rain to fall upon him, a single hand in his pocket, looking determined. Yet even the almighty Chancellor appeared intimidated at the realization of exactly where he stood. There in the pulpit was the birth place of the Bishops order, the fires of which had ravaged the Imperial order and brought only ruin.
"I feel like we shouldn't be here," Rikard said at length, drawing a heavy sigh as he stepped forward. "Where are the Mechs?"
"They were mingling with the crowds when we entered," Galadriel answered, fishing through her bags for something that would open the door and looking perturbed when Rikard merely lifted his hand to make the doors unlatch and swing open.
"That was not what I asked," Rikard reiterated, casting a look about him again. "Where are they now?"
"Close," Galadriel replied knowingly, stepping inside the cloisters and wishing she had a gun, but that would have been difficult to smuggle onto Keppe, and they didn't have the time to search for the Keppe black market. It really would have been just to make her feel better - Rikard was, by far, more lethal than anything the Orions possessed on the planet, but there was still a desire to protect herself.
She looked down the warmly lit nave towards the massive stained glass windows above the high altar, gasping at the sheer beauty of it. White limestone had formed the stonework, stretching to a vaulted ceiling supported with boss framework and carved into a field of stone roses. There was a sense of peace about it, hard to imagine given its history.
High in the clerestory above them she saw one of Lex's Mechs, the machine had dressed in a Templar leather jacket, the red cross on the right arm standing out, matching the one on his hat. Lex probably thought it ironic to disguise his Mechs as tourists. She knew that if she spied one, then the other three weren't far off.
Rikard glanced up as well, shaking his head "He does prefer a bit of drama, doesn't he?" he bobbed on his feet and walked idly down the main aisle of the cathedral. "Now this always fascinated me about you Kardiacs," he said, making no effort to be quiet. "I mean, you took the bible, re-wrote it with a third testament called the Templar's Edict, citing the Immortal Emperor as the second coming... but completely ignored the teachings of the first two. Didn't the New Testament write about love and treating neighbours like you wanted to be treated? Now I don't think Kardiac would have relished this world being carpet bombed, so why did he do it to his neighbouring worlds?"
"The Templar's Edict supersedes the other two," Galadriel explained, searching the alcoves for some indication of where the shrine of Z'ræl was supposed to be. "It teaches us that our religion was born out of many. It drew out the falsities of those that came before, exposing them as flawed. Our religion is about more than persecution, it is about harmony and order that must come first, even above and beyond fraternity."
"Interesting, but then the Bible always was the number one excuse for war, a codified set of instructions that can be interpreted in any way a person sees fit. Heck I could justify peeing in the shower with biblical quotes if I chose. Organized religion always astounded me, it takes intelligent and free thinking people and twists them into ignorant sheep..."
"Aren't you a Demi-god?" Galadriel asked pointedly.
"Naturally," Rikard said dismissively, "but through science and technology. Not ancient mysticism and..." he stopped and coughed, "who was Z'ræl?"
"An Ark-Angel," Galadriel replied, "he is said to sit on the left hand of the Immortal Emperor... his chief advisor."
"Now forgive me," Rikard said, sounding perplexed, "I was there entire life of the Immortal Emperor, and the only one standing at his side giving him advice was me... Does this mean I'm Z'ræl?"
Galadriel stopped in her search, her eyebrows knitting together as she studied Rikard for a moment, "there is nothing beyond a mention of him in the Templar's Edict, and of course his shrine here. But typically you don't build a shrine to someone still living... and I'm sorry to rain on your parade, but if I remember my history you weren't that important in the Bishops eyes, you were mainly in the way..."
"Pah," Rikard scoffed, "while I admit they weren't exactly wetting their knickers over me, I was still the progenitor of their God."
"You believe whatever you want to believe," Galadriel fired back, "just shut up and help me find the shrine..."
The doors suddenly crashed open, and booted feet rushed to assemble on the two secondary aisles along the nave. Human mercenaries on the Orion payroll, dressed in Templar uniforms and wielding sliver-guns, yelled loudly and surrounded the pair of intruders.
Rikard held up a finger. "That reminds me," he said, turning to Galadriel, "you did remember to disable the security monitors, right?"
"That was your job," Galadriel bit out through clenched teeth.
"Oh," Rikard stated, folding his finger down and shrugging. "I knew I'd forgotten something."
"Hands on your heads," the head of the security teams demanded angrily.
"Well that won't actually save you," Rikard observed, "if I felt like it, I can kill you with my hands anywhere you might please."
"Don't!" Galadriel pressed, looking into Rikard's eyes. "Please, they're just doing their jobs."
Rikard sighed, placing his hands on his head. "You know this is undignified..."
Monastery - Keppe - Orion Territory
OCCUPATION: DAY TWELVE
Some point in the early morning Rikard stretched in his seat. "You know this is boring, right?"
Galadriel relaxed in her bonds and glared at him. "Shut up!"
"Well lug nut over there isn't going to talk to me," Rikard said, tilting his head to look over the top of his glasses, "are you, mister Gorilla?"
Galadriel turned her head to look at the heavy set man who was wearing a Templar uniform and was very obviously a security guard. "Don't bait him," she admonished, "I'm trying to figure this out."
"I have it fully figured out," Rikard whined petulantly. "but heaven forbid I actually be allowed to disembowel someone."
"You're not helping," Galadriel said, resting her head back against the chair.
"Where are we?" Rikard asked, looking about him at the bare stone walls with a neat little table set against a wall. "It feels like a dungeon."
"Misercord," Galadriel said evenly. "It's a place where monks are disciplined... were disciplined."
"Right," Rikard nodded, "flagellation or something. Now I will tell you this, I am not going to be whipped."
"I'm trying to think!" Galadriel snapped at him again, "just be quiet for five minutes..."
The doors creaked open, revealing an Orion businessman and a man wearing coarse brown robes and a friar tuck haircut. Rikard turned, took a single look and began to snicker derisively. Galadriel shot him a blood curdling look as she wriggled in her bonds.
"Nicholas Denver," the Orion businessman stated in obvious awe.
"Who?" the friar inquired, looking confused.
"Nicholas Denver," the businessman replied with a broad smile. "Abbot, you really should leave your rectory once in awhile. He is probably the most influential man in the Orion Directorate. At least he would be were he actually Nicholas Denver."
Rikard cleared his throat. "Actually, I am Nicholas Denver."
The businessman knelt down and peered into Rikard's eyes. "Undoubtedly a construct, although the workmanship is remarkable. A few cosmetic changes and presto. Our lady here has good taste in companions."
"Excuse me?" Galadriel's voice pitched an octave higher.
"Why would she require a construct companion..." the Abbot began, and then faltered. "Oh!"
Rikard's head went back and forward between Galadriel and the Abbot, and he sighed. "Now really, that's rather rude!"
The businessman ignored Rikard and smiled pleasantly at Galadriel, "Ordinarily it costs money to enjoy the Cathedral after hours. I could have arranged something private with the confessional."
"Mmm," the Abbot nodded, "and there really was no need to waste money on a construct, I have several monks that cater to females, although there isn't much call for that."
"Excuse me?" Galadriel said again, her scandalized voice choking in her throat.
"Well we do have a number of new initiates, and they do have much to learn, maybe if they were sufficiently paid they would be willing to attempt to satisfy your needs. Madam Des Ecrates and the nuns, however, may be better able to offer you the services you..."
Rikard's snickering had deepened into a full blown laugh." Lex is going to pop a gasket. They've turned his monastery into a.... brothel!"
"Hardly so classless," the businessman replied, "merely a house of pleasure, indulging the fantasies of those that seek a bit of old Imperial charm."
"They wouldn't want that charm if they had actually known Kardiac," Rikard mused aloud. "Look, I am Nicholas Denver and I can assure you of a sizable donation to your church coffers if..."
The businessman laughed again. "It is a very good copy, but you really should watch the news. Nicholas Denver is getting married tomorrow on Bokken."
"To who?" Rikard said, astounded. "I'm not even on Bokken!"
"Which is why we know you're not who you claim to be," the businessman answered. "Nicholas Denver is getting married to Val Macgregor tomorrow morning. It's supposed to be a fantastic ceremony..."
"That..." Rikard gritted his teeth as he looked away, realizing what Val had done to assure the alliance with the Empire, "clever vixen!"
"I can pay," Galadriel said quietly, looking up, "for room and board for both myself and my... construct. And a fee for your inconvenience."
"Well, as long as he stops calling himself Mister Denver," the businessman replied with a derisive sniff.
"Oh I call him Enarbrem," Galadriel said, smiling fondly at Rikard who glowered back at her. "I am quite fond of him really. He does tricks as well."
"I'll show you a trick," Rikard warned dangerously.
"Very well," the businessman replied, "we can make arrangements for you."
Thornton District School - Outpost A-IX - Amsus Occupied Territory
OCCUPATION: DAY TWELVE
Zahn prowled the halls of the school, glad that the 'mistress' was gone at last. The school could now return to some semblance of normalcy, except of course for the constant presence of Amsus guards that patrolled the grounds. The Inquisitors were sweeping through the city, prosecuting their own particularly twisted vision of justice and executing anyone suspected of collaborating with the Empire or the Fifth Column resistance. The already beaten people of A-IX wallowed now in a continual state of misery as their fleeting hope of freedom was again dashed by their overlords.
Zahn wondered if Riley had spared a passing thought for the colony wherever he was now. Typically resistance leaders were always consumed by their next mission, no thought about the destruction they had left behind in their wake.
Zahn stopped in the doorway to one of the common rooms, staring at a collection of boys that had gathered there, a couple of the new children sitting slightly apart, watching the older boys as they watched Orion television. He'd noticed the appearance of the red SF baseball caps sometime after the liberation, and hadn't really given them much thought. They weren't worn in class, so Zahn was content to ignore them. However, it was becoming obvious that it was some kind of fad amongst the children, each working in the hats to have only a slight curve to the brim.
The professor rolled his eyes, turning away, and jumping slightly in surprise at the young man standing behind him, shrouded in the shadows of the hall, brilliant eyes sparkling in the darkness as he watched the professor from beneath one of the red hat brims, and Zahn struggled to remember his name.
"Duncan!" he chastised, raising his hand threateningly. "In with the others!"
The shadowed boy limped forward, bowing his head. "Forgive me, Professor..."
Zahn eyed him as he went past. There was something unnerving about the boy, something entirely otherworldly. The Professor chalked it up to too much Poe of late, but he still made a mental note to watch Duncan further. Unlike the other new children, who seemed to be aberrantly bright but otherwise normal, Duncan seemed to carry himself differently, like a man many years older than he was.
Duncan sat down in a seat with the other old students, they had taken to him well, unlike the others. His eyes flashed again, studying Zahn before returning to stare at the television and leaving Zahn with the sense that he was dismissed.
* * *
Strega watched the holographic image of Sephradon as she swept around the empty hall; it was ghostly and strangely appropriate given the age of the school. Like Sephradon, they were all ghosts of the dead and forgotten haunting the place.
"Duncan troubles me," Strega said as she watched the beautiful woman in the gown move towards the window. "He's increasingly defiant, not just to his teachers, but to the rest of us as well."
"He is valuable," Sephradon chided, turning her head towards the teenaged girl. So much the vision of the past that should have, could have, been; the daughter of a friend... and an enemy. "Control him, and the others. That's why I choose you to lead them."
"Easier said than done," Strega answered, sitting in a wooden chair and leaning back, scuffing the floor with her shoes. "He's belligerent sometimes, rude at others. And he doesn't so much as look at the rest of us, like he's superior and he knows it."
"It runs in his family," Sephradon replied, "like with you. Your mother was a great hero of her time."
"Don't bother lying," Strega answered, "I know I came from a vat, I know my origin."
"No," Sephradon said, crossing the floor, "don't presume that a humble beginning can in anyway diminish what you are capable of. I came from that same lab, a product of another's mind. Duncan is..." She twisted her lip into a smile, "special, but he lacks what you possess."
"What's that?" Strega inquired curiously.
"The genetic material that birthed you was from a war hero, a great general. A viscous and effective leader of men. His... his came from a failed weakling, a child that cowered when he should have stood tall." Sephradon smiled as she brushed a holographic hand down Strega's face. "Don't be afraid of him, you're the superior one."
Strega smiled warmly. "Thank you..."