Chapter Twenty
Date unknown
Time unknown
Winduster, Kalar
IT WAS SO beautiful.
Rolling fields of the most vibrant grass Svetlana had ever seen whizzed by as she pressed her face against the train window. The runa legras had disappeared from her view some time ago, replaced by a blue-green foliage that was as unlike anything she’d ever seen as the pink landscape they’d left behind. This palette of colors on this alien world was dreamlike. It was so extraterrestrial that it seemed wrong, like it was induced by some hallucinogenic drug. Speckled among the fields were tall trees of a similar color, though they were few and far between—oddities among the turquoise expanse.
To say the events of the morning contained far less pomp than the prior day was an understatement. There were no glorifiers to tend to her, no featherglow to achieve. There was only the donning of her blue, skin-tight jumpsuit and the tying of her ponytail. That was just as well for her. She’d had quite enough formality for one week.
Svetlana had decided to include everyone but Mishka on the journey. Being that the Khuladi had been captured in a damaged Zone Runner and that Wuteel was a capable engineer, the hope was that he could look at the spacecraft and then isolate and possibly fix whatever had made the ship inoperable at the time of its capture.
“We are nearing Winduster,” Yigôzien said from the seat beside her. Svetlana glanced at her briefly, one of the few times during the whole journey that her eyes graced the interior of the train car. Across the way, she caught sight of the rest of her alien comrades, though none looked at her. That was just as well, too.
Svetlana had tried to think little of her encounter with Tauthin and the beatdown he had dished out. This was made easier by the fact that no one—not a Kalarael or Bakma—dared mention it themselves. Just the same, it was impossible to purge the experience completely from her thoughts. Shame was no stranger to her, but this was shame on a level she’d never quite felt before. This was her getting knocked off a pedestal. That it was a pedestal she never should have been on in the first placed mattered little. The fall still hurt.
Still, Svetlana knew enough about awkward circumstances to know that at some point, she and Tauthin would talk. The Bakma leader was more human than maybe even he liked to admit. If he didn’t address the issue, she would. Eventually. For now, such emotions and drama were nothing but distractions. Winduster was there, and with it, the potential for the unlocking of knowledge. She felt like she’d learned so much about the Khuladi already. How much more could she learn when she actually saw one?
So far as settlements went, Winduster was considerably larger than Ban-Hezikal, roughly the size of several city blocks. There were numerous squat, matte silver structures spread out over a distance, with architecture that was decidedly more angular in appearance than anything she’d seen previously. It looked like a military base, even if it was smaller than most on Earth.
Surprisingly, the Zone Runner was not hidden in some underground chamber, but parked in a sort of open hangar structure that was right in the middle of the base. Though it all fell in line with the openness of Kalarael culture, she couldn’t help but wonder at what point openness became stupidity. This thing needed to be sealed away.
It was as she observed the damaged Zone Runner that a new thought entered her mind. What if Wuteel could indeed repair the damaged spacecraft, whatever its issues were? It was right there for the taking. If Linjan and her ilk tried to prevent them from leaving Kalar…
…well, it was an option.
As the train slowed to a stop, the Kalarael around Svetlana unstrapped themselves and rose to their feet. Svetlana and company did the same. With nowhere near the fanfare of her visit to Sélestere, she was escorted off the train and onto the turquoise grass.
“Winduster,” Yigôzien said, extending her arms to indicate the facilities before them.
Svetlana knelt down next to her, her focus on the strange vegetation they’d stepped out upon. It wasn’t grass at all, but more like a kind of moist, leafy moss. She wondered if the valesprings were playing a part of the moisture, though it mattered little. She was just thankful not to be walking on pink mud. When Yigôzien performed a bajuine, Svetlana rose to her feet again.
Approaching them from one of the structures were King Xi`qirian, Queen Chechera, High Priestess Linjan, and Darishukan Korlustus. All wore identical garb to what she’d seen them in before.
After a brief reintroduction and a series of bajuines, Yigôzien turned to Svetlana and asked, “Do you feel Ed would be able to connect all of us together at once? With as much as I’m sure there will be to say, the job of translation will be considerably difficult.”
Glancing at the Ithini, Svetlana raised an eyebrow.
I will try, Ed said in response. The Ithini’s eyes widened. Almost to Svetlana’s surprise, the wide-area connection came quickly. Color her impressed. Ed could sense it. I feel I am beginning to master communication with this species.
They do not seem as adversely affected by connections as we do, Svetlana asked him. Is there a reason?
A sense of uncertainty came from the alien. I do not know for sure, but I suspect it may be associated with the openness of their minds and emotions. Whereas humans feel telepathy as an intrusion and naturally resist it, the Kalarael do not seem fazed by it at all.
Was Yigôzien affected by it in the Zone Runner when we first connected? She couldn’t remember.
I do not know, master—though any seemingly adverse reaction may have been a general stress response to the situation. Regardless, it matters little now.
To that, he was right. She returned her focus to the now-connected group. “It is a pleasure to see you all again.”
“We are equally pleased,” King Xi`qirian answered. His voice was rich—and translated into British. “Thank you for your visit to Sélestere yesterday. I am sure we will have many things to discuss today.
Stepping forward, the resplendent Chechera offered Svetlana an actual bajuine—the first she’d received by this particular group. “My goddess,” the young queen said. Extending her hands, she offered what appeared to be a necklace, complete with a small, attached medallion encrusted with a yellow stone. “A gift, from Clan Amaester.”
The necklace sparkled beneath the Daystar. Genuinely touched by the gesture, Svetlana took it in hand carefully. There were inscriptions on the medallion, all written in Kalarael. Before she could examine it too closely, Yigôzien stepped in to assist Svetlana in clasping it around her neck. With a magnetic click, the necklace was in place.
It was not lost on Svetlana that the significance of being handed a medallion from the queen’s clan—from the queen herself—was tremendous. She felt wholly undeserving of it. Before she could gather her thoughts, the salutations continued.
“Daystar shine upon you, Incarnate,” said Linjan.
“High priestess,” Svetlana said, a touch cordially. The blueness in Linjan’s eyes was as vibrant as any Kalarael that Svetlana had seen. How she hated it.
The last to greet her was Korlustus, the orange-skinned, silver-maned darishukan. His translated voice was deep, guttural, and unmistakably…Dutch. “I look forward to our discussions today, Incarnate.” For the most fleeting of moments, Svetlana’s eyes narrowed, and she cast a glance Ed’s way. The accent was an obvious allusion to Ignatius van Thoor.
The Ithini responded to her look with a simple question. Am I wrong?
He was not. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. Focus returning to the group, she said, “I saw the Zone Runner as I entered Winduster.”
King Xi`qirian replied. “We would very much appreciate your engineer repairing its damaged components and sharing with us its secrets.”
She would appreciate that, too, if for no other reason than to give her and her comrades another option of escape—as potentially dangerous as it might have been. “I will have Wuteel inspect the spacecraft, but first, I should like to see the Khuladi.” It was the whole reason she was there.
“Of course, Incarnate,” the king answered. “Follow, and we shall take you there.” Turning toward one of the structures, he led Svetlana into the base.
With every step Svetlana took, she found her attention shifting more and more away from the structures themselves and instead to the turquoise, mossy surface they strode upon. As moist and slippery as it appeared, she found that she had no issues whatsoever maintaining her footing. In fact, as paradoxical as it seemed, she found her footing on the ground covering to actually be improved. It took the full walk across the grounds to understand why, but she did eventually realize it was because the vegetation was literally sticking to her like little suction-cupped tentacles. Her assumption was that this was a vegetative surface, but on an alien world, who knew? She could have been treading on a widespread colony of small, alien lifeforms—a zooid of some sort.
It was impossible to discern any overall shape to Winduster from where she was standing. It seemed as if its tallest buildings were centrally located, but in even that, she wasn’t entirely certain. She knew only that there was quite a gap between each of the structures—at least thirty meters. She hypothesized that they must have been connected underground, allowing the more sensitive-skinned Kalarael the ability to traverse Winduster with no threat from the Daystar. This hypothesis turned out to be correct, as she soon found herself escorted down an open ramp into a subterranean structure.
Once the ramp leveled off, the group found themselves traversing a small corridor that looked similar to a military base on Earth. The walls were stark white, but unlike Ban-Hezikal, she saw no panels to control wall-mounted murals. At long last, after several twists and turns through the structure, they came upon the holding area.
The room was full of rows of cylindrical glass cells, almost each of which contained a Bakma prisoner. She had never seen a layout like this before, which allowed for three-hundred-and-sixty-degree viewing of the subjects within. It was like walking through a zoo or aquarium. It must have felt like such a violation of privacy to be inside one of the cells. Despite the fact that these were Bakma with little sympathy to be deserved, she felt a tinge of pity for them.
Oddly, none of the Bakma acknowledged them as they walked by. She realized soon after that this was because they couldn’t see her. These glass cylinders must have been like her first quarters on the space station, with walls that could be turned opaque. How terrible it must have been to be in one of those cylinders. It must have been like solitary confinement.
But Bakma were not the only lifeforms in them. An assortment of strange creatures were also present, indeed much like a zoo, complete with what looked like mock habitats for each. One-eyed crawling creatures, furry-looking mammals, vibrantly colored insects. It was alien life sensory overload. Staring at a slimy, crawling, spider-like thing, she asked aloud to anyone who would answer, “What is this place?”
It was Chechera who answered. Smiling widely, the young queen said, “Winduster serves as a military research facility. Our species strives to learn about the many species we share Kalar with. Through this knowledge, we technologically advance.”
Humans, of course, did the same thing. She’d just never seen it with quite this much flair. “We have research centers on my planet, but I have never seen one like this.”
At long last, at the far end of the room, there appeared the main event. The reason she was sticking around on Kalar in the first place. The enemy of them all.
When Svetlana saw the Khuladi in the last cylinder, sitting cross-legged on the floor, she drew to a stop. It was the same kind of creature she’d seen in the vision Ed had provided her back in the Zone Runner. It was like stepping into a dream.
It was perfect in form. Completely humanoid, but with muscles so toned it was like looking at an ancient sculpture of a divine figure. Though the creature had appeared the deepest of blacks in the vision, she could now see in the bright room that its skin was actually blue—the darkest blue she’d ever seen on a living thing. Blue like midnight.
Just like in the vision, its face was nearly featureless save two things: large, oval bulges where eyes normally would have been and a pair of vertical slits where there should have been a mouth. Other than that, there was nothing. No hair. No features. Nothing but pure form.
Unlike in the vision, this Khuladi was not clad in violet armor. It wore nothing at all. Its muscle tone made it look male, though there were no discernable genitalia she could identify. It simply looked perfect. Its pose was akin to a yoga pose, cross-legged with its hands resting atop its knees and its head bowed as if it was in some meditative or transcendental state. It was almost perfectly statuesque. She could barely tell it was even breathing.
Next to Svetlana, Tauthin, Wuteel, and Kraash-nagun’s gazes were fixed—the latter through Svetlana’s eyes, courtesy of Ed. The Khuladi, much like the Bakma before it, seemed oblivious to the observers’ presence. She was ready for that to change. Eyes still on the alien, she tilted her head in the Kalaraels’ direction. “Let him see me.”
Xi`qirian said, “Do as the Incarnate asks.”
One of the Kalarael approached a nearby pedestal, above which hovered a holographic control panel. The being’s delicate fingers swept across the hologram a single time, causing a faint shimmer to appear across the glass cylinder’s surface.
The reaction from the Khuladi was instant. Lifting its chin, its bulging receptors homed in on Svetlana.
Svetlana had braced herself for the Khuladi’s inevitable reaction to her, expecting it to leap to its feet and stand face-to-face with her in an effort to startle her. But the being did nothing. There was no expression to read, no noticeable difference in the alien’s breathing. It just looked at her.
She couldn’t get over how strong it looked. Its muscles were so tight, like they were designed to absorb blow after blow. Like they were designed to kill.
Slowly, the Khuladi turned its head to the Bakma, causing them all to step back.
It doesn’t matter that this creature is behind glass, Svetlana thought to herself. It doesn’t matter that Tauthin and Kraash-nagun despise it. They are submissive; they back away like scared dogs.
As for the Kalarael, their dark, yellow eyes were equally split between the Khuladi and Svetlana, clearly eager to see what her reaction would be to it. Eager to see what their goddess would say or do. But she could bring herself to do nothing. She was frozen in awe.
Slowly, the Khuladi pressed its palm—a five-fingered hand that looked much like a human’s—against the floor. Upon uncrossing its legs, it pushed to a stand. Eye bulges on Svetlana, it approached her.
The first wave of nerves hit her as they stood face to face. This thing—this destroyer of worlds—was peering right through her. She was scarcely an obstacle. Not daring to tear her eyes away from it, she relayed the question to Ed, Can you connect me to it?
The Ithini replied, There is no need. She looked at him. You already speak its language.
Bakmanese. A language wrongly attributed to the only species humanity had ever heard speak it. The language of the Khuladi. Her head turned back to it. She tried to find her reflection in its eyes, but there was none. Preparing herself, she addressed it in its native tongue. “Do you know what I am?”
Svetlana had thought that it might have been surprised to hear her speak its language, but it once again offered no outward reaction. If it was surprised, it was hiding it well. At long last, after almost fifteen seconds of silence, she heard the alien’s ethereal, almost whispering voice. “Incomplete.” There was no movement in the two vertical slits at the bottom of its face as it spoke. It was as if its voice simply emanated from the slits themselves.
Her brow furrowed at its answer. “What do you mean, incomplete?”
This time, its answer came quickly. “You are the pre-subjugated. That which is lacking in form and purpose. You are dust.”
“Dust?” she asked incredulously—perhaps even with a trace of nerve. “If I am dust, what are you?”
“I am the—”
“—you are captured,” she interrupted. “That is what you are. Do not forget it.”
Beside her, Tauthin and Wuteel looked at each other. Leaning toward her, his voice warning, Tauthin said, “Setana…”
“I am not afraid of this thing. Of this…creature,” she said, her eyes locked on it. “You call me incomplete because you presume to be the one to complete me. To give me form and purpose. To mold this walking pile of dust into something you can use. That is what your species believes, is it not?”
“Please be cautious,” Tauthin said quietly.
“Cautious,” she said, uttering a single huff of laughter. “All my life, I have been cautious. It has never gotten me anywhere.” Her blue eyes locked onto the Khuladi, and she shook her head. “No. This monster does not recognize caution. Only strength.”
The Khuladi continued to stare straight into Svetlana. Straight through to her soul, until it spoke again. “Are you a warrior?”
She had no intention of answering the question—not because she didn’t have an answer, but because she wanted to establish early on that it was she, not he, who was doing the asking. And so she asked, “When is your species going to attack Earth?”
No answer came. It only looked at her in silence.
She continued, her tone sharpening. “Have you figured out what you will do with us, yet? If we will be workers? Warriors? Entertainers? I am curious how you think we will best serve our new masters?”
“Setana…” Tauthin said behind her, his voice growing firmer.
“Or perhaps you don’t yet know. Perhaps you are still figuring us out. Trying to determine our true purpose. Trying to determine what Uladek intended.”
Finally—at the invocation of its god—the Khuladi tilted its head.
Svetlana’s eyes narrowed. “I am not supposed to know of Uladek, am I? An Earthae is not supposed to know the name of the Khuladi god. Oh, but I know more than you think.” She leaned in closer to the glass. “I have seen the Dishan. And the Nerifinn. And the Annihl. I have basked in the violet glow of Vasvuul. I have stared myself in the face as I attempted to decipher Uladek’s purpose for us. I have heard the chants of your servants. Bringer of Order. Bringer of Chaos. Keeper of the Eternal.”
The Khuladi leaned closer to her.
“I have felt that singular purpose you instill in all those you subjugate. I have felt it.” Behind her half mask, she bared her teeth. “I reject it.”
Smack!
The Khuladi’s palm slammed against the glass right in front of Svetlana’s face. Everyone—the Kalarael, the Bakma, Ed—leapt back in startlement. Everyone but one.
Blue orbs steadfast, the corners of Svetlana’s lips curved as she released a single, soft laugh. “Hph. That is what you have come to expect, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice quiet—almost whispering. “For everyone before you to fear. For everyone before you to tremble. You crave it. You need it.” The whole while she spoke, the Khuladi stayed still, its open palm still pressed inches in front of her face. “Every species you meet bows down in terror. They submit to your will, just as you intended. They do not even fight back.” Her eyes narrowed, as her already hushed tone found new depths of hate. “But you have not yet met me.”
Slowly, the Khuladi pulled its hand from the glass, withdrawing it back to its side. The two vertical slits at the bottom of its face widened, as a pair of long, white appendages flickered out like a snake’s tongue. They retracted and disappeared, and the alien stepped backward. Its skin-covered eyes staying on Svetlana, it lowered itself back to the floor, where it sat crisscrossed as it had when she’d first seen it. It slowly lowered its head until its gaze was aimed down, its efforts to maintain eye contact abandoned for the sake of its meditation.
In contrast, Svetlana lifted her chin as she watched it. “What is this Khuladi’s name?” she asked the Kalarael around her.
Korlustus answered, “It has not given us one. It has told us very little about anything. What we have learned, we have done so from the Bakma.”
Gaze still on the being, she asked, “And what do they call it?”
“They call him Caragbuul.”
“Caragbuul,” Svetlana repeated. She looked back at Tauthin. “Does that name have a meaning?”
He grunted quietly. “It does not. Slave names are assigned by function. The Khuladis’ sole function is to rule.”
A few more seconds passed before she stepped back from the cell and looked at the Kalarael. “I would very much like to discuss this creature now—I would like to hear all that you have learned of it. I will share with you what I know, as well.”
Korlustus bajuined. “As you wish, my goddess.” Gesturing to a room along the back wall, the darishukan led Svetlana and the rest of the party inside.
In the heat of the moment, it was difficult for Svetlana to put into context the significance of the encounter that’d just occurred. She had just stared a Khuladi in the face. She’d just stared into the eyes—so to speak—of the villain behind the Alien War. She wasn’t sure whether it bothered her or not that she was left unimpressed. Perhaps it was the righteous indignation in her. Perhaps she had been blinded by her abject hatred of them. Or perhaps, it was the fact that the Khuladi—Caragbuul—was locked in a cell.
“Setana.”
Tauthin’s voice emerged behind her as she approached one of the many floating stools positioned around a similarly antigravitational table. She angled her head the Bakma’s way.
“Some of the Bakma imprisoned here may not be loyal to Uladek. I would like to speak with them to ascertain their level of allegiance. Some may be willing to join our cause—whatever it may be.”
Those last words had been inserted with purpose. She had spoken little to Tauthin since their clash in the wet runa legras. With the high priestess issuing ultimatums about their being allowed to leave, Tauthin was likely wondering what their next step would be. Svetlana was, too. Tauthin may have sounded disgruntled, but it was better than sounding despondent. “Do so,” she answered with a tip of the head toward the door. She turned her focus to King Xi`qirian. “We will need as full a crew as we can assemble upon our departure. I am sending Tauthinilaas to speak with the Bakma you have captured. Whichever ones show disloyalty to the Khuladi god, we will take.” She was through asking permission. As they would soon discover, declaring her an Incarnate for their own personal gain would be a double-edged sword.
Xi`qirian looked at her strangely—at least, by Kalarael standards as she’d experienced them thus far. She swore she saw the blue in his eyes fade a bit. Finally bajuining, a significant gesture considering it came from their king, he dipped his head. “As you wish, my goddess.”
“I will also send my engineer, Wuteel, to inspect the damaged Bakma spacecraft. Please have him escorted there at once.”
This time, there was a more visible reaction. Xi`qirian and Korlustus exchanged a very noticeable and wary look. There was no subtle shift in their eye color this time. They went straight to dark yellow. After a hesitation that bordered on uncomfortable—and an unwavering stare from Svetlana herself—the king acquiesced. “As you wish, my goddess.” Turning his head to several guarding darishu, he relayed the instruction.
The hushed voice of Tauthin addressed her from nearby. “Do not overestimate your power.”
There was nothing to overestimate. This was the Kalaraels’ doing, not hers.
Svetlana watched as the Kalarael divvied up darishu between the two parties—Tauthin’s and Wuteel’s. The fox-eared aliens would not be able to understand what the Bakma were saying, but that mattered little for the purpose of what they were doing. Tauthin and Wuteel just needed to observe, report, and in the engineer’s case, potentially repair. Beyond asking a darishu to pass him a wrench, what else could Wuteel possibly need?
There was but one Bakma who didn’t have a task. Turning her head toward the blinded elite, Svetlana said, “Kraash-nagun, you will answer any questions as it pertains to the Khuladi or your species’ subservience to them.”
Kraash-nagun’s chin dipped. “Of course, my lady.”
“Include him in the connection, Ed.” The subtle presence of Kraash-nagun emerged in her mind. With all tasks attended, she set her eyes upon the Kalarael. It was time to talk. “Shall I begin, or shall you?”
“If you would be so inclined, my goddess,” Xi`qirian said, “it would please us to hear first from you.”
As the Kalarael listened, Svetlana recanted the full account of Earth’s experience with the Alien War. She explained that the Bakma had been the first to appear over one of their cities and that they’d attacked without so much as an attempt at communication. She explained that the Golathoch had appeared shortly after. To the best her memory could serve her, she explained how humanity was thrust from an era of peace into a war the likes of which the planet had never seen. She talked about her vision of the great gulf in her mind and how she had seen the slave species of the Khuladi. She told of their roles. The Ithini to innovate. The Bakma to agitate. The Nerifinn to herald. The Dishan to serve. The Annihl to destroy. The Khuladi to rule.
In addition to the events of the war, she explained how she came to be involved in things. How she’d entered the Academy to become a combat medic—a healer, so to speak—and how she found herself at a base called Novosibirsk. She explained how she came to be kidnapped by the Bakma and imprisoned on their spaceship. But it was at that point in the story that she decided to rewrite history. The notion came to her as she was speaking—a deliberate, on-the-fly edit. She claimed that shortly after the Bakma attacked the Kalarael spacecraft, she began to feel the presence of Shanras within her. She began to feel her transformation take place.
It was a calculated move that would not only cement her status among the Kalarael present as an Incarnate but also offer a clue as to who among the gathered may have been privy to the truth: that she was nothing more than a pawn in their war against the Kalareim. She was gambling that their expressions—that the colors in their eyes—might reveal the conspirators. She was right.
Linjan. Korlustus. Xi`qirian. The high priestess, the darishukan, and the king. The only one present from the Sovereignty, or whatever they called it, that showed no dimming of the eyes was Queen Chechera. The queen listened in awe as others around her watched in growing leeriness. Svetlana realized that if she was to have any influence on royal affairs, it was the queen who would have to be her conduit. Quite frankly, she could trust no one else.
In the end, however, this subtle revelation was far less significant than it was enlightening. It would not affect the retelling of her story beyond a single, selective edit. It would not actually change history—just her situation, as trivial a change as it may have ultimately been.
As for the other side of the table, they listened to the story of the Alien War with the keenest of interest. In addition to numerous darishu positioned about the room, there were also Kalarael who seemed to serve as scribes, feverishly writing as Linjan spoke to them, repeating Svetlana’s words word-for-word for the purpose of dictation in the Kalarael language. It was not lost to Svetlana just how valuable this information was for them. It was giving them a preview of what was potentially to come. What could humanity have done with such an advanced report on the Alien War? After she finished her story, she addressed that very thing.
“You have now heard my story,” she said to the gathered. Yellow-eyed and still, they listened with flattened whiskers. “What will you now do?”
The Kalarael remained silent for a good while—looking at her, looking at each other—before Xi`qirian offered a reply. “There is much for us to consider.”
“You are more technologically advanced than we were when we were attacked,” Svetlana said. “You may have time to prepare—to forge a global army, as we did.”
Korlustus spoke. “We have numerous vessels traversing the system. Perhaps they should be recalled.”
“Yigôzien and I saw what one Zone Runner could do,” Svetlana said. “Imagine a star system full of them. I agree, recalling whatever spaceships you have in the system would be wise.”
“We must also summon the War Council,” the darishukan said. “If the clans are to unite under this purpose, it must be done in an official capacity.”
Angling her head cautiously, Svetlana hesitated before asking, “Perhaps the Kalareim would be willing to set aside their differences with you to join in this effort?”
The beings’ red eyes glowed fervently. Several of the fox-eared aliens even hissed. The only two present who seemed able to control their emotions to a degree were Yigôzien and Akàziendi, the former of which turned to Svetlana to address the issue. “It would be unwise to suggest a course of action that cannot be. You are not as familiar with the Kalareim as we are. There can be no harmony between our species.”
Voice lowered and eyes a tad narrow, Svetlana looked squarely at her. “I would very much like to see this species I am supposed to be fearful of.”
“A conversation for a different time, my goddess.”
“We will summon the War Council,” said Korlustus again. “Only then can we properly discuss a unification of the clans. I will determine the time and location soon.”
Folding her arms atop the table, Svetlana waited for the next Kalarael to speak. Seconds passed in silence. Arching her eyebrows, she glanced between the Kalarael leaders in front of her. “Anything else?”
“I do not understand your question, my goddess,” Korlustus answered.
“I mean, will you do anything else? Besides summon the War Council? Will you take no other action?”
Eyes a medium shade of yellow, the darishukan answered, “Summoning the War Council is enough for now. We will determine a course of action in due time.”
“In due time?” She scoffed. “I don’t think you understand the threat that you face.”
“I assure you, my goddess,” Korlustus said, his eyes shifting a shade of red, “we will take the proper courses of action to prepare. It is impossible to make any decisions without first processing the information we have heard. That will require much time and discussion.”
She sighed. “Listen, Korlustus—”
The redness brightened. In contrast, the yellow shade of the Kalarael around him dimmed. They were getting nervous. “There is nothing more we can do at this time, my goddess. It is not a matter of desire. It is a matter of logistics.”
It astounded her how they could simultaneously refer to her as their goddess and argue her points. She knew, deep down, that they were correct. She had literally finished telling them about the Alien War a minute ago. It was reasonable to expect a delay in the decision-making. But she didn’t want to be reasonable. She wanted the Kalarael ready. Now. Angling her head in Yigôzien’s direction, she whispered, “Is it customary for Kalarael to display such anger at an Incarnate?”
“Custom dictates very little in an affair such as this,” Yigôzien said, a tad nervously. “I do not believe he is arguing against your will—he is simply stating that, at present, summoning the War Council is his only possible course of action. Once summoned, they will determine how best to proceed.”
Ed chimed in. Once more, may I remind you that the darishukan’s eye color is indicative only of his frustration, not a desire to defy your will. I am sure there have been many times in your life where you have been angry with your Creator, yet you worship Him still.
Beneath her half mask, she was almost snarling. Stop it.
Stop what, master? I am only making sense.
You are defending them.
A swell of disappointment emanated. I sense that your response has more to do with your pride and the appearance of rejection than it does Korlustus’s argument. Might I suggest that you attempt to behave more rationally?
Unaware of the mental back and forth, Queen Chechera leaned forward. Beneath her canine nose, she smiled. “If it pleases you, my goddess, I will let you know when the War Council will meet. Perhaps you would like to accompany me there? As queen, I am permitted to attend anything I desire.”
Svetlana was on the verge of telling Chechera that, indeed, she would like that, when Ed’s mental prodding returned. Rationality, master. We do not know when this event will take place. It may be days, weeks, or months away. I would caution against accepting any offers that might delay our departure—if indeed, you still wish to depart as soon as possible. Might I remind you, you are not responsible for the well-being of this species. That is up to them.
She did want to depart as soon as possible. She also wanted to attend this meeting of the War Council. What Ed was saying was that she might not be able to do both. Closing her eyes, she said to herself, Be rational. Be rational.
That is very wise—
Get out of my head when I am talking to myself! After allowing herself a final moment, she opened her eyes and looked at the queen. “I appreciate your offer. It is very kind of you. I need not be present at this summoning of the War Council.” She turned her focus to the darishukan. “I am sure much will come from this meeting, Korlustus. The Kalarael are in good hands.” A needless word of flattery, but she inserted it anyway. It was better than a goddess apologizing. Leaning back, she surveyed the table at large. “Is there anything else that is to be discussed? If there is not, I would very much like to hear what you have learned about Caragbuul—however little it may be.” At this stage, she was just ready to move on.
And so they did.
For what felt like the next hour, Svetlana listened as the Kalarael discussed the Khuladi in full detail. As Caragbuul had apparently shown little interest in conveying anything helpful, much of what they’d learned was either from his Bakma underlings or their biological scans—but of the latter, they’d learned a great deal.
A pair of scientists in the meeting room was able to bring up a full image of the Khuladi, much as one would have expected to find in a medical textbook. Svetlana found this fascinating, and immediately asked if she could receive a copy of their information not only for Caragbuul, but for all of the extraterrestrials they’d encountered. Much to her delight, they agreed. These images were far more detailed than anything she’d seen from Earthae scientists. She was certain there was a great amount to be learned, even concerning the species humanity had already encountered.
As for the Khuladi, they were biologically fascinating from the top down. Their visual receptors, as it turned out, were indeed under a thin layer of skin that served as protection, not wholly dissimilar from the brille that covered the eyes of some reptiles. As for the strange, vertical slits on the lower portion of his face, it was primarily used as an olfactory receptor, but also to create speech. Where things really went into left field was when the two white appendages that protruded from the slits were discussed. In addition to being a visual display of some kind, it was also the means by which the Khuladi consumed sustenance. Like a strange sort of stylet, the two appendages could fully protrude to allow the Khuladi to drink up liquid as if through a pair of straws. The beings possessed no teeth of any kind. All of their consumption was liquid-based. The stylets themselves were quite sharp, enabling them to pierce the flesh of whatever prey they targeted. This meant that, essentially, a Khuladi could kill prey and then penetrate the target’s flesh with the stylets to drink its fluids. The stylets were attached to maxillary sacs containing digestive enzymes, meaning that much like a spider, the Khuladi had the ability to liquify the insides of prey via enzyme injection.
In other words, they were horrifying.
The Kalarael had been feeding Caragbuul primarily with mastrin, the same chalky paste substance they’d fed her on the space station, though they had also provided him with several different meats and vegetations simply to observe the manner in which he digested and ate his food.
It was during that conversation that she learned about nura—one of the bits of information they’d gleaned from the captured Bakma. Nura was a type of thick nectar that the Khuladi were keen on consuming. Several specimens of what the Kalarael referred to as a nura plant had been present on the Zone Runner. The Kalarael escorted Svetlana to a cylindrical tank that housed the nura plants they’d taken—it was one of the many tanks she’d passed on her way through the observatory zoo. There was nothing extraterrestrial about the plant or its flowers at all. They looked like elongated bluebells. At the base of the plant, which was somewhat large for the size of its flowers, there sat a large, leafy basin. It was practically overflowing with thick, clear liquid. The scientists explained that the nectar from the flowers constantly dripped into the basin, which could be filled to the brim in a matter of hours. It was this nectar—this nura, as the Bakma called it—that gave the Khuladi their strength.
Literally.
It was at this stage that Kraash-nagun spoke up for the first time. As an elite, he was apparently privy to more information than most as it concerned the Khuladi, who were incredibly secretive about their homeworld—the lush, boggy moon that orbited Vasvuul. The Khuladi, appropriately, called this homeworld Khuldaris. The nura plant was bountiful there, thriving under the glow of the violet gas giant. Their nectar was more than a sustenance to the Khuladi; it was a super booster. It accelerated their metabolism, it heightened their senses. It was like a steroid on steroids, with none of the ill side effects other than a slight increase in adrenaline. The more Svetlana heard about it, the more she wanted to guzzle a whole liter of the stuff just to see what it’d do to her body.
As Kraash-nagun explained, this would probably not be a good idea. Though he could not vouch for other species, he could attest that the Bakma were forbidden from drinking the liquid, as it apparently contained a toxin that the Khuladi were immune to but that caused foaming at the mouth, paralysis, and death to anyone else who ingested it. Before she could argue that perhaps this was a lie intended to stop the slave species from becoming powerful, the scientists confirmed the toxin’s presence. They had already determined that it was unsafe for their consumption. Svetlana had to assume that it was unsafe for hers, as well, considering the many similarities between Bakma and Earthae internal anatomy. It certainly changed her opinion about taking a sip.
Though the Khuladi could ingest all manner of liquid, or liquefied flesh in some instances, nura was essential for their survival, containing a nutrient that their body needed. The nura plant sustained them, and in return, the Khuladi treated it like precious metal. They grew it. They harvested it. They propagated it. They made it their most valuable commodity.
The Kalarael revealed that literally hundreds of vials of nura were found stored in the Zone Runner—rations for Caragbuul in the event the nura plants died. Carrying a nura stockpile was the only way the Khuladi could survive space travel. Without a steady supply of the nectar’s nutrients, they would die. And therein came the most stunning discovery.
Nura plants only grew on Khuldaris. It was that unique, boggy world—and that violet glow of Vasvuul above—that kept the nura plant alive. And it was in that news, that stunning revelation, that Svetlana saw a weakness.
If only the nura plant could be destroyed. A single application of planetary weed killer to liberate the galaxy. If only.
Unsurprisingly, it was not an original idea. With such a glaring weakness, Kraash-nagun explained, it was only logical to see it as a means of destroying the great scourge that was the Khuladi. But it was easier said than done. Only the greatest of elites was taken to Khuldaris. Kraash-nagun himself had not been among them. He had only heard stories. As a chieftain and rider, Nagogg had been taken to the moon as a sort of religious pilgrimage, hence how Svetlana had been able to see it in a vision formed from his memories. The moon was the most heavily guarded place in all of Khuladi space. Considering the critical nature of its central export, this was not hard to believe. But still.
But still.
There was little more of genuine intrigue to be gleaned from the discussion of Caragbuul. In the end, all that mattered was that he was stronger, faster, and more perceptive than any Bakma, Kalarael, or Earthae could ever pretend to be. He was trained in the art of every conceivable weapon from ballistics to blades and everything in-between. He would be superhuman, were he human at all. He was a monster not easily felled.
The only other topic of interest was a brief presentation of Caragbuul’s armor and weapons, which had been acquired from the damaged Zone Runner. The armor was a deep, vibrantly reflective metal that was violet in color, not unlike the revered gas giant, Vasvuul. It was relatively sparse so far as armor went, with a spandex-like covering for much of the torso and the only actual armor consisting of a large shoulder harness and knee-high leg guards. Kraash-nagun explained that Khuladi were minimalists when it came to body armor, preferring to keep their bodies as unhindered as possible. Considering how advanced the Khuladi were relative to humans and the Kalarael, the armor was somewhat unremarkable.
The same could not be said, however, for Caragbuul’s weapons—a pair of wrist-mounted devices that Kraash-nagun called battle gauntlets. Each gauntlet was dual purpose, containing both a long, retractable split blade and a mounted plasma blaster. With one attached to each hand, a Khuladi could decimate an opponent in close or ranged combat. According to Kraash-nagun, elites such as he were the only Bakma trained to use battle gauntlets in combat, though on strict, preordained basis. To his knowledge, no elites had been sent to Earth brandishing the weapons—yet.
Shortly after the discussion ended, Svetlana was rejoined by Tauthinilaas in the small meeting room. Having had an opportunity to visit the many Bakma the Kalarael had in custody, he presented Svetlana with a list of potential candidates for a crew—Bakma he was certain wouldn’t mind turning their backs on the Khuladi, even though they’d scarcely say it out loud. As a defector himself, Tauthin was one of the few with whom they’d likely share their willingness to trade allegiances.
As for Wuteel, he too returned shortly after. In his own words, the damage to the Zone Runner involved a short circuit both to its drive systems and its rift generator. Though neither was beyond repair, it would take additional visits to the spacecraft to put a plan into action. His time spent in the interim would be dedicated to formulating that plan. She was glad he at least had something to do.
Her final act before leaving Winduster was an extension of grace toward someone who in no way, shape, or form deserved it. Approaching one of the scientists away from the group, Svetlana inquired about the possibility of using their detailed scans of Bakma anatomy to create an optical device for Kraash-nagun. She had no idea if such a thing was possible, but they had created an apparatus to assist her breathing, so it was something she wanted to mention—out of earshot of the blinded elite, of course. As she expected, the scientist offered no promises, but he did say he would pass the request along.
As suddenly as it’d seemed Svetlana had arrived at Winduster, she was once again walking across the mossy vegetation to board the train back to Ban-Hezikal. As much as it would have been beneficial to go over Tauthin’s list of potential defectors or discuss the malfunctioning Zone Runner with Wuteel, she could bring herself to do little more than stare out of the window at the passing landscape. Eventually, the rolling, blue hills of vegetation transitioned into the pink runa legras to which she’d grown accustomed. Before she knew it, they were pulling up to Ban-Hezikal again.
Despite having seen the Khuladi once in a vision, Svetlana hadn’t known what to expect before she’d walked up to Caragbuul’s cell and looked him in the eyes. Her hope, long before they’d even docked on the Kalarael space station, was that by seeing a Khuladi, she would be able to bring something back to Earth that was of value. That mission had been accomplished. But it was not in the biological data provided to her by the scientists that she placed her highest regard. It was not the information on their diet and dependance on the nura plant. It was the fact that she, an Earthae, could stare one in the face and be unafraid.
Even as a recent convert to warrior status, Svetlana recognized that the first step in defeating an opponent was realizing that victory was possible. It was hard not to feel victorious standing on the outside of a glass cell looking in. Caragbuul, for all of his physical supremacy, was still a captive. The ramifications of that, far more than any biological information she could glean, were significant. It meant they could be on the losing side of things. The only reason that Caragbuul was alive now was because the Kalarael wanted him to be.
That message, as important as the tangible information she’d collected, was what she’d take back to Earth. They were beings of flesh and blood just like she was. Just like the Kalarael, the Bakma, the Ithini, and the Golathoch were. They were capable of being contained.
So, apparently, was Svetlana.
She had expected someone from the Sovereignty to approach her concerning the endorsement of a war against the Kalareim. It surprised her greatly when they did not. Perhaps her boldness in the meeting had given them pause. Perhaps it had forced them to regroup and reconsider. Or perhaps they’d just not yet come. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for the time.
Over the days that followed, Svetlana speculated on how she and her companions would leave Kalar. She addressed it several times with Yigôzien, who insisted every time that she had brought the request to the Sovereignty. They were simply yet to reply.
In the interim, Svetlana prepared for the possibility that she and her crew would have to take the damaged Zone Runner by force. It was not an ideal solution. Not only would they have to steal it, they would have to escape Kalar without getting shot down in a Zone Runner that couldn’t shift into the Zone. She wasn’t a fan of those odds.
She also prepared for her duel of dominance with Kraash-nagun. For hours every day, she practiced on the wet runa legras, which was continually saturated by the overflowing valesprings. Practice was a muddy, messy affair, only worsened by the fact that Akàziendi had replaced Tauthin as her sparring partner. To say that her purple-haired protector was a formidable opponent was an understatement. Akàziendi mopped the floor with her. By the end of the sessions, Svetlana was dragging herself into Ban-Hezikal caked from head to toe in pink, with Akàziendi following behind, mere speckles staining her from where Svetlana had fallen to the wet runa legras next to her. But she was getting better. She felt like she was getting better. She found herself more determined to improve every day.
Akàziendi, as it turned out, was far more willing to assault a goddess than Svetlana ever imagined she would be. Despite the prestige of being referred to as an Incarnate, Svetlana found that the only real benefit was that simple requests were carried out with more zealous efficiency. It most certainly did not mean that things were her way or the highway.
There was a reason for this, she discovered. While being christened an Incarnate meant that Shanras resided in her, it did not mean that it always spoke through her. It did not mean that it was her. She was merely a vessel that’d been chosen. When the Kalarael acknowledged her in deified terms, they were actually acknowledging Shanras inside her. And Shanras, apparently, could shine or not shine whenever it wanted.
All Svetlana could think was that this was far too convenient for the purpose of setting a person up as a religious or political prop. If Svetlana said something that royalty approved of, they could say it was Shanras. If she said something they disapproved of, they could claim it was not. This allowing of the Kalarael to pick and choose, in Svetlana’s mind, almost negated the entire aspect of being divine.
The bottom line for her was that with each passing day, the luster of being an Incarnate faded a little more. She was sure that at some point, it wouldn’t matter at all. But that point wasn’t quite there, yet. She would take advantage of the eager service while it lasted.
A duel and an escape. Those were Svetlana’s two priorities now. The thought did not escape her that with the potential for an expanded Bakma crew also came a lessening of the importance of Kraash-nagun’s loyalty. As it stood now, he was a fourth of her crew. Soon, he might be wholly irrelevant. The only thing preventing her from calling the whole duel off was not to lose face in front of the Kalarael, who were eagerly waiting to see this new, Earthae custom in action. That, and the fact that his disloyalty just bothered her. But that slight feeling of inadequacy, she surmised, would diminish in time, just as the prestige of being referred to as a goddess. Then, of course, there was her deep desire to just beat him.
That, she feared, would not go away soon.
And so, as one thirty-three-hour day gave way to the next, Svetlana practiced, plotted, and prepared for both her fight against Kraash-nagun and her escape from Kalar. Despite the perceived triviality of time in this new environment, she knew the clock was ticking. She knew that countless star systems away, home was waiting for her return.
Every moment that passed brought her closer.