Secrets and lies are to some the only truths.
Imperial Palace - Karin - Karin System - Imperial Territory
~~*~~
The news stream did little to ease Walker's mind as he paced the chancellery office that he had retaken as his own in the wake of the liberation of Karin. Paul Schofield droning on about this and that, smatterings of information that weren't that useful. Speculation on where Darien Taine had vanished to, and details about the new Taïrian leader… the Autarch.
That was worrying; Master Flint's investiture as Autarch had spelled a serious change in Taïr's position in the Empire, a sudden re-evaluation of the war effort along the Taïrian front to better protect their efforts, switching to a defensive stance from the offensive one that had worked so well to keep the Amsus off balance.
It was understandable given the fact that Riley had disappeared with the majority of the Imperial fleet, leaving the Kardiac and Taïrian forces to stand alone against the full weight of the Amsus fleet.
The only piece of good news was intelligence reports that stressed the Dakin insurgency, and showed the Amsus diverting a large position of its forces from the Taïrian front to crush the uprising.
"You're in my office again," Evans snarled as he marched through the doors, a few members of his newly selected personal staff in tow.
"Shut up Chancellor," Walker snapped. His hands behind his back as he paced again, "have you dispatched the diplomatic messages?"
"Well," Evans admitted with a smile as he signed off on something one of his aides handed to him. "You are fortunate, it seems that my time working under the Gorean regime has allowed me to form a dialogue with them, Sal-zÿr has agreed to allow you to go aboard the flagship and… present our case."
"That is hardly fortunate," Walker replied.
"What can I say," Evans said, making a reluctant gesture, "they know me, and they don't trust my motives…"
"Self-serving grovelling," Walker answered, glancing at the news feed as it detailed the plummeting price of Denver Corps stock, a direct result of their participation in the war, and resulting sanctions placed against their assets in Amsus controlled space.
"I know the Gorean," Evans retorted. "I understand their aims, their goals, and out of both of us, you are the only one they are willing to meet with and even discuss the possibility of a military alliance." His hawkish smile broadened, "it seems that, even now, I still have a purpose in this administration, even if it is acting as your secretary."
"You're a leach," Walker snapped.
"No, I am a survivor," Evans bowed his head as he collected his coat. "Now if you will excuse me, I have an Empire to run."
"Oh, a moment," Evans said as he crossed to a small platter sitting with Walker's breakfast on it, tucked onto a side table. He selected a packet of ketchup, tossing it over to Walker. "Just in case the negotiations turn ugly…"
"Your sense of humour is… disturbing," Walker responded tossing the packet away as he marched from the room.
"I wasn't joking," Evans called out, scooping up the Trid remote and shutting off the news as it switched to gossip discussing the rumours about Nicholas Denver's illegitimate love child.
HMS Anger of Hades - Beneath the Arctic Circle - Earth - Amsus Occupied Territory
~~*~~
Riley set his head in his hands, sitting in an overstuffed chair, looking at the news reports that showed the devastation of the TER-SEC forces in Hong Kong. The massacre that the Henry's Hammer had caused by its attack had been catastrophic. Sephradon had played her hand beautifully, causing the Empire to look like brutal and indiscriminate killers, while the Amsus appeared the victims.
In the propaganda war for Earth, she had just scored a major victory.
"There is good and ill days in war," Zoran intoned from where he was sitting enjoying a glass of wine in a rather ornate goblet, a throw back to his pirate baron days.
"We need to be doing something," Riley stated. "Instead of sitting here licking our wounds."
"And what would you propose to do for encore?" Zoran inquired. "I hear kindergartens make good explosions, or maybe maternity ward… for good measure."
Riley stared across at Zoran, knowing that the man was right, there was no avoiding conflict. TER-SEC worked for the Amsus, they were a part of the Earth equation, and attempting to avoid conflict with them would only allow the Amsus to use them as shields. Collateral damage happened in the kind of war he had to fight.
"We still have resource in Hong Kong," Zoran nodded to the reports from Lieutenant Bertram. "And they now have no civilian police force in area. We could be thinking of hitting again. This Strega is still there, no?"
Riley stroked his chin, thoughtfully, "hit again, and show that TER-SEC wasn't our target?"
"Prove that TER-SEC were, how you say… pawn of Amsus? Remember, they need to get lucky all time, we need only once."
"Then I am going to send James to gather some proper intelligence," Riley said sitting upright. "With proper information we can do this right next time, and make sure there's no chance they can turn it around on us."
"Good," Zoran rumbled. "Men are impatient; they not like sitting underwater doing nothing. Cells on land need to show that they are not worried by Amsus tactics."
Riley leaned forward to pick up the growler phone receiver, making the call.
Catacombs - Keppe - Orion Directorate
~~*~~
"Yeah, I've made a good start on yeh, even if I do says so myself."
The guttural male voice cut through the nightmares brought Alessandro to his senses. He jerked upright into a sitting position, barely hearing the ominous creaks his body seemed to be making. "What?" His voice felt rough. "Who are you?" And, with dawning realisation, "…where am I?"
"Took ages t' get t' bloatin' out though. Messy stuff, messy stuff." The owner of the voice gave no impression of having heard the Alessandro's voice. "But yehs did turn out right."
Torn between frightened and nonplussed, his eyes apparently failing to adjust to the darkness, Alessandro tried again. "Where am I?"
There was a rustling somewhere to his left. He whipped his head around, his hair slapping the side of his face, in an attempt to glimpse who might be there. The world remained resolutely dark. There was a pause then the owner of the voice softly spoke, "eh, so yeh awake, are yeh?"
"Eh Che, you were just speaking to me, no…" His voice trembled slightly. Dear God, all those battles he had prevailed in, and here he was about to cry like some mere child.
"Nah. Talkin' at yeh. Tsk, yeh shouldn't be sat yet. No mind. 'Ere, let me help you with that."
"Help me with wh…" The blackness abruptly lifted and the Priest found himself facing the most grotesque visage he had ever encountered. It smiled. Unable to contain his fear any longer, Alessandro began to scream.
After a few moments of watching the young man's hysterics, the ghastly being reached out and awkwardly patted his shoulder. "'Ey, it ain't all bad. Yeh turned out better than Fluffy. And that's an achievement. Anyways, yeh carry on like that and yeh'll damage yeh 'cords."
"Wh…what?" Much to his embarrassment, his voice hitched as he spoke. "Flu-fluffy?" He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and stared with a mixture of horror and disgust at the discoloured fluid left on his skin afterwards.
"Those're expensive 'cords too," the figure grumbled, then pointed a finger - no, a claw? - at something over Alessandro's shoulder. A note of pride crept into its voice as it spoke, "he's an 'andsome fine devil, ain't he?"
Alessandro craned his head around to see what was being pointed at, his curiosity momentarily overriding his fears, then he choked.
'Fluffy' certainly had the appearance of the devil, but 'handsome' was obviously a subjective term. The creature glared up at Alessandro with malevolent red eyes, then stretched out three wildly different front legs in an apparently relaxed manner as Alessandro began to retch. Finally, apparently becoming bored with the lack of appreciation of its audience, Fluffy struggled to its feet and lolloped to the opposite corner of the room, the two human arms attached to each side of its chest groping along the floor as it went. As it moved, unidentified fluid oozed from some indiscernible orifice, leaving a small, wet trail behind it.
"If… if that is your… previous achievement, then…" Realisation hit him like a sledgehammer and he looked back around slowly, "then what do I look like…?"
The face of the figure in front of him split into what could only loosely be termed a grin. The morbid expression struck terror into Alessandro's heart. "Yeh're even better." Seeing the boy's mouth open, probably for another bout of hysteria, it added hurriedly, "'ere, take a look."
Alessandro took the cracked and dirty red hand mirror that was thrust at him - the only splash of colour in the room aside from Fëdor' eyes - and apprehensively stared at his reflection.
He jaw fell agape as he stared at the fractured image before him, then panic ripped through him as he noticed for the first time his own skeltal fingers, the mottled bare skin of his wrists and arms and, as his gaze fell lower, his elbows and knees.
Fëdor's attempts to head off his hysteria failed miserably.
In his terror, he wasn't expecting the being in front of him to grab the front of his hair and slap him roughly across the face. "Snap outta it! Like I said, those best quality 'cords, you ain't gonna damage 'em now!"
Alessandro stared in numb shock at the deathly pale face in the mirror, sickly yellow liquid leaking from his tear ducts. "What have you done to me, that can't be me… what have you done…" His voice sounded tiny and exhausted in the dark room.
The face of the Morning Star contorted in anger, becoming even uglier than before. "Yeh'll say no such thing, 'less yeh want me t' slap yeh so hard yeh head falls off, then we'll see how yeh manage! Yeh Forsaken. Forsaken by yeh people, forsaken by your God - though yeh be the weirdest Terran I seen yet - but not forsaken by me. I needs yeh, like I needs Fluffy and everyone else 'ere on Keppe."
"The Immortal Emperor would not forsake me!" He cried hotly. "He loves her people! This is just a bad dream!"
This wild proclamation was met with yet another stinging slap across the cheek. "Yeh felt that didn't yeh? And yeh're still 'ere. Yeh beloved god has forsaken yeh and everyone else."
"He's there, I know it! He'll protect me!"
The Morning Star sighed and sat heavily on a roughly made stool. "Oh I daresay he'll still listen to yer prayers, maybe even get yeh outta trouble if it's convenient enough for 'im. But don't be mistaken, he don't care. Yeh're a follower, yeh're power, but yeh're not important enough to 'im. Plenty more fish in the Void Sea."
Staring down at his knees, considering the bones showing awfully through the holes in his dry skin, the Priest murmured "I want to go home…"
"This is yeh home now lad," the scarred former Templar Master said, ignoring Alessandro shaking his head so violently his hair fell across his face. His own protruding pale blue eyes had taken on a faraway look. "This is t' only home we have." A short sharp shriek from Alessandro brought the undead man back to the present. He glanced up at the ex-human, whose hand was pressed tightly to the side of his head and snapped, now evidently irate, "yeh're not gonna start screamin' again, are yeh? What's wrong now?"
His left hand crept to the other side of his head, and Alessandro whispered, "you stole my ears."
The Morning Star stared at Alessandro for a moment in complete consternation, then laughed loud and genuinely. "What? Why? What'd I do with bat-ears like yers? No use nor decoration, those things! I don't want 'em. 'S'why yeh're t' oddest Terran I ever seen though. Man with no ears! Yeh're sure yeh didn't misplace 'em?"
"Ears aren't something you…" His voice trailed off as memories crashed haphazardly to the forefront of his mind: knives, ears, scarred face, pain and more blood than he could ever remember seeing before. "No…"
"So yeh did misplace 'em!" The Morning Star grinned triumphantly and horribly.
Alessandro had no answer.
Catacombs - Keppe - Orion Directorate
~~*~~
The Morning Star was working in the office of his laboratory, large computer screens scavenged and arrayed to hang about him, giving detailed data about the medical condition of his 'patients' and his other projects. At first he didn't move in his seat, but the shadow in his doorway hadn't moved, and it forced him to turn.
"What's yer problem now?" He asked in frustration as he turned to look at the ruined shambles that hovered in his doorway.
"Fix it," Alessandro demanded, a wild look in his eyes as he spoke.
"And how do you plan to force me to do that?" Fëdor chuckled to himself as he folded his hands on the wooden desk in front of him. "Yeh can barely stand upright… I could release yeh to the above-worlders… they could make you a nice zoo attraction to throw peanuts at in yer cage. A few months and yeh'll soon forget you were human at all, just another freak in the menagerie."
"Fix it," Alessandro threatened, taking a shambling step forward.
Fëdor's smile broadened, "vanity is such a wonderful vice, t'ain't it? I mean look at yeh now…" he lifted a flat hand mirror from the corner of his desk and settled it so that it clearly showed Alessandro's reflection. "Who could possibly love that face?"
"What… what will you do with me?" Alessandro choked out, resignation in his voice.
"Broken? Already?" Fëdor inquired, lowering the mirror. "After yer prideful boasting about how yeh survived the Gorean inquisitors? Such a shame, yeh were never fit to be a Templar…"
"I only seek to serve my God," Alessandro said. "How can I, when you made me like this?"
"Yeh are nought but clay in the creator's hands," Fëdor rose from his seat. A scowl upon his torn lips. "And I am merely the tool by which you are to be shaped. The Immortal Emperor bids me create him a weapon, and I shall do this… but not if the steel is flawed… brittle… yeh're useless to me, and useless to him."
"Then give me a chance to prove my worth…" Alessandro said.
"I have not forged yeh yet," Fëdor sat down again. "While yer misshapen form might survive the rigours of a testing. Yer mind would surely buckle. And I, young one, am on yer side, imagine what the Lady Sephradon would do t'yer sorry carcass if she were to happen upon yeh."
"You loose nothing by making me whole…" Alessandro looked desperate.
"I loose time," Fëdor replied.
"Time is something you have," Alessandro took another shambling step. "I have none, I must fulfil my God's will…"
"Then d'yeh have the courage to finish what we have started?" Fëdor inquired. "To surrender yerself to whatever divine plan yer God has cooked up when he decided to send you to a fallen templar?"
"I have no room for doubts," Alessandro insisted.
"To become Ophanim means yeh must first become truly alien. It will change you inside as well as out…" There was a moment's pity that passed behind the undeadman's eyes, as his fingers brushed his own scars. "But there is no reason why I can't create art as well as functionality. You will not look the same, but I will create the vision of an angel to bring death down upon the twisted sister of our great lord."
His hands rifled through papers till he produced a book of saints from underneath. "Now the question is, which would suit your vanity, and your plethora of sins? Vanity… violence… oh and who could forget yer disgustin' perversion of sexuality…" Fëdor flipped through the book. Pausing and shaking his head. "Oh that would be perfection personified…"
He turned the book, Saint Gabriel printed on a relief.
"The patron saint of Homosexuals… well not really, legend has it he had to keep beating them off with a stick, but we all know the louder he doth protest… eh boy?" Fëdor cackled as he shook his head… setting the book down. "Yeh will find he was a dab shot as well, amusing for a monk if yeh ask me. Perfect for yeh, perfect." He rounded the table, taking Alessandro's face in his, looking casually over his prize. "No, yeh will no longer be yeh… but then God doesn't need yeh, he needs a Saintly-Marshal for his heavenly host… Yeh are the second Ophanim I have resurrected… Did yeh know I built Kardiac in this fashion? Of course my young apprentice turned out to be more devil than saint, but then conviction is tricky to manipulate." He cackled as he ran a withered and bony finger down Alessandro's ragged skin. "My beautiful boy…"