Heavens of Glory

Chapter XII

Battle School! The mere name sent shivers down Orion’s spine, calling to mind feelings of terror and power. Yet there it was, looming in his future, unavoidable.
         The survivors of the “AMA massacre,” as it had come to be called, had been divided up. Many went to the Eastern Training Facility on the Water Planet, others went to numerous off-world schools to continue to their training. But a select few, the tops of their classes in the higher years had been selected to immediately graduate from the Alliance Military Academy.
         Now Orion held his new diploma in his hand as he looked up through the translucent roof of the shuttle at the gigantic space-station. The stars loomed, ominously big, around the massive structure as they approached. In the next seat back, Seedo shifted in his unseeing sleep.
         The Battle School was the official training facility for bonscouts in this sector. It housed over twenty thousand soon-to-be-soldiers, with almost ten thousand more studying abroad, all enrolled in the grueling four-year course combination of intense battle-practice and rigorous studies. The station was designed ideally for this purpose, with hundreds of classrooms and top-notch teachers in the middle floors, and gigantic rooms to host mock-battles in on the outer floors, which sported over three times the simulated gravity as the Water Planet, and on the inner-most floors, with no gravity at all. Dozens of military officials taught the art of war to the students every hour of every day, training them to be superior officers.
         The shuttle joined in with the stations fleet of a dozen cargo frigates used to supply the necessary supplies. It began shifting its engines in odd directions to line up with the station, which used the antiquated method of spinning to create its AG. Seedo awoke next to Orion as the shuttle noisily locked into the docking clamps on the outside of the station…

         The press room was silent as Carla entered, a first occurrence ever, but it was nonetheless not unexpected. The room stood completely evacuated except for the two cameras hovering over the vacant seats. A small light blinked on at the silver podium once the Triumvir had settled into her spot. Another LED turned on a second later, signaling that the cameras were now broadcasting. She looked directly into the nearest one.
          “Dear friends, dear citizens of the Alliance, a once-grand nation which has now been torn asunder by these causers of strife, these radicals, these Ultimates.” She uttered the name with all the hatred she could muster, which was considerable indeed. “We stand now on a brink where once was a plateau, a plateau which has been mined down and narrowed to little more than a solitary rock by these factionalists. To waver even but a little now from our morals, from our greatest goals, will cause the destruction of our nation. The Ultimates have stripped us of our ideals and purity, they have stripped us of the few allies we had in our struggle, and they have stripped us of our unity.
          “Over three inner months ago, the Ultimates announced their goals to the Alliance. They intended, and still do, ‘to take our government back from the radicals which have overtaken it.’ In other words, they wish to sweep our election and turn our government into a totalitarian dictatorship. To date, they have brainwashed, threatened, executed, and committed acts of terror against innumerable citizens to ensure their success to these ends.” Carla’s eyes pleaded with the cameras.
          “Please, please don’t submit to this. Don’t join them, do not aid them. What started as a small insurgence as become a nation-threatening terrorist group.” Now her eyes were glistening with tears.
          “Our nation is falling. Even as the Ultimates set the bomb to bring down our walls, more and more of you are joining them. Please, listen to reason. You have been misguided, blind-folded. Come back to us, and save our nation. These revolutions offered by the Ultimates are no more than a military coup.
         We have now found and tried the assassins of the other two Leaders, as well as the murderer of the Speaker. They have confessed the direct connection and involvement of the Ultimates in their crimes. Leaders of this faction have been caught transmitting high-level information that will compromise the stability and security of our government and nation to the Union, resulting in many of the recent lethal bombing raids. The only end to war that the Ultimates can bring is the victory of the Union.
          “You have all heard our speeches. You all know what it is that the followers of the old government propose. Where the Ultimates offer a wasteful and ultimately futile stream of attacks, we present the peaceful reform of Species Annexation. I assure you now, as I have before, that we have done everything that can be done to end this war favorably, and soon. Please, keep reason in your minds as your centuries gather, look to see what is sensible for our nation, rather than swaying to this public flood of Ultimatism, and keep our nation alive and in one peace with your votes. I love the Alliance, and I would hate to see it fail…. and fall.
          “Semper Pax Opsque,” she ended with the ancient motto, and turned to leave the empty room as the cameras followed. Immediately outside, four August Guards stepped into formation around Carla, offering the tightest security after the recent killings. Over two score other guards, the Triumvir knew, were stationed elsewhere, watching her every step. The glass halls of the evacuated Curia echoed ominously as she stepped towards the entrance. The band paused by the massive doors, topped by the inscription in eight different languages, “Where openness, knowledge. Where knowledge, prosperity.” As the August Guards outside cleared the last stragglers from the sidewalk, ejecting all from the area in order to allow passage for the Triumvir, Carla Laos looked up at the ancient lettering worn into the weathered stone, hoping that they would continue to stand with meaning to the new Senators and Leaders who would enter below them. A voice rang through the four guards’ comms and the doors were opened. A distant roar denoted the departure of a massive liner from the starport on towards some distant cruise.
         The last Triumvir moved into the hollowly deserted sunlight.

*           *          *

         Orion had not really expected any difficulties in teaching Tringar’s students about Alliancic customs, but the actual deed turned out to be far easier than he ever could have imagined. For the first half of the day, from breakfast, which was a fairly droll meal always made out of the same green mush, until lunch, which didn’t offer much more sustenance than breakfast, the students merely followed the three bonscouts about the school, taking notes on or merely observing their behavior and interactions. The trio had actually found the experience somewhat enjoyable, and were themselves learning just as much about the denesecs as the other way around.
         For about an hour in the afternoon, the three would give a small lecture to the entire school. These lectures ranged from how to make grass baskets (an idea which instantly became a favorite among the students, many of whom could now be found toting massive woven baskets) to the purpose of the fork. However, the overall idea of the fork and knife to eat meat was completely lost on the incredibly dedicated vegetarians (Orion wasn’t quite sure if the term was accurate, since just about everything seemed to be a vegetable on this planet).
         It was after one of these lectures concerning the concept of interstellar war, a few weeks into their captivity, when Orion found himself sitting outside the main doors to the school, legs stretched out before him. The two suns stood high in the cloudless light-blue sky, and the Eternal Star, which was close enough to be visible even at midday, was setting on the western horizon. Orion moved his hand idly around on the dirt, rubbing the grains under his fingernails. He leaned his head back on the adobe wall and gazed off into the swaying forest. A dense sigh escaped his lungs.
         How much longer will I be stuck here? How much longer will our separation last, Tournia?
         A small breeze blew across the dirt and fungal blooms, kicking dust into the air around Orion, embracing his entire body until it drifted away into the unexplored forest. Orion shifted under the heat from the two hot suns and stood up, ready to head in. He found Shpil standing outside the massive living doors into the school, contentedly photosynthesizing in the hot suns. The denesec turned to him as he approached.
          “Greetings, Oryan,” Shpil said. Orion head decided that whatever the denesecs had for ears couldn’t quite comprehend all the syllable used in Common Galactic.
          “Afternoon, Shpil. How’re the suns today?”
          “Oh, quite wonderful and delicious.” Delicious, as it turned out, more or less meant warm. “That was another wonderful lecture, Oryan. But I still don’t quite understand- what is the purpose of these wars? Surely there was no initial threat that needed responding to, and it can’t be healthy for the species?”
         Orion shrugged. “It’s just in our nature as animals. WE need territory and property, and this fuels conquest.”
          “When there is no more room for a T’Lick’Tar” Shpil motioned to the forest, “It merely bundles itself into a T’Lick’Rin, a cacoon, and allows the wind to take it to a more open region. Thus forests spread across the World-Lake and provide food and shade to all. It is a benefit for them not to compete.”
          “A truly unique lifestyle.” Orion smiled. “But I don’t think the Milky Way could ever adopt anything like it. Eventually, there is always one race that has to be in control. Besides, I don’t think a mass-spread of Alliance and Union people would be a good thing for a universe.”
         Shpil’s preg waved irritably. “Don’t say that. The All-Tree teaches that life is eternally good, no matter what.” The prevailing religion among the denesecs revolved around the All-Tree, a massive plant which, as best Orion could tell, had both made the universe and was the universe. The denesecs believed it was bad Preg-luck, bad karma, to talk too much about the All-Tree. Orion wasn’t sure if even they knew exactly what it was.
          “Still, I don’t think it could ever happen, whether for good or otherwise.” Orion turned to the school’s Brictipar. He paused before pushing them open, once again admiring the ingeniousness of the design. Brictipar were actually still-living plants which had been trained to open for friends, yet were remarkably hard lest a stranger try to force entry. He became incredibly away of the distance between him, standing next to these other-worldly doors, and his own normal life back in the Alliance. He turned back to the denesec, letting his arm fall back to his side.
          “Shpil… when will I go home?” But the denesec, having moved to a different spot to get some better light, didn’t appear to have heard him.
         Orion headed inside. He walked into his room where he found Seedo and Eguria talking and sat down on the floor next to them.
          “We need to get out of here.”
         Seedo turned to look at him. “And where exactly did you want to go, glorious leader?”
         Orion rested his head in his hands. “Home.”
          “Captain, you may not have noticed this, but we don’t exactly have a ship in which to get back”
          “We have the Neyna.”
          “Yeah, if it hasn’t been shot down.”
          “It’s out there. The crew’s searching for us. We’ll get home. Even if it’s not immediately, we’ll get home. First, though, we need to start figuring out what’s happening elsewhere on this world. We need to see if the denesecs have seen any of the crew. And then we can figure out how to contact them.”
         Eguria stood up and looked out the holographic window. “They must have television and a broadcast system if they have these holograms. They can’t be completely backwards.”
         Seedo nodded his agreement. “I’ll go ask Tringar for something to watch the news with.” The lenothias walked out through the holographic door. The drinking room, where most of the lectures were held and where the denesecs usually haunted, was only a short distance down the hall. Seedo stepped into the open courtyard and found a small group of denesecs enjoying the sunlight, Tringar among them.
         The headmaster walked over to greet Seedo. “What can I do for you?”
          “We would like a television.” Seedo cut immediately to the point. They had long since discovered that doing anything else would simply serve to confuse the ancient plant teacher.
          “A what?”
          “A… a device used to see things that happen, or already have happened, far away.”
          “Oh, you mean a Shtri’Blit’Icklotang’Rick!”
          “Yeah… a television. Can we have one to put in our rooms?”
          “Of course.” He motioned to one of the other students in the drinking room. “Leashta, can you bring a Shtri’Blit’Icklotang’Rick to the Alliance rooms?” The student shook his preg in confirmation and hurried off to get the device from some unknown room.
          “Thank you,” Seedo said, turning back to the entrance. Tringar, having no concept of the phrase ‘your welcome,’ turned back to his feast of sunlight.
         Once the device had been placed in Orion’s room and the student, having shown them how to operate it, had left, Eguria turned the television on.
         The first thing that greeted the three Alliance soldiers was the unmistakable and familiar face of Scarth. A voiceover was speaking as the camera followed Scarth about:
          “For three weeks these aliens have been trying to gain an audience with the Hegemon. For three weeks the Hegemon has delayed. However, thanks to your support of this unusual situation, the Hegemon has finally agreed to meet with them and see what exactly they want on our planet. The same trio that attacked the Palace of the Third Samy upon their arrival are now just a short distance from entering the Hegemon’s primary office. Of course, they have sworn not to do any more damage, and despite their lack of the Preg, this reporter thinks that they are trustworthy to their oath. Keep watching, for soon this group will be meeting in person with the elusive Hegemon, and I, as their appointed ambassador to our great World-Lake, have been accorded permission to join them in this conference.”
         Orion looked at the other two bonscouts in the room.
          “See, I told you we’d be going home soon.”

*           *          *

         For the past ten weeks, Mork had become a regular among the crew of the Neyna as they had rebuilt the ship as best they could. He had been constantly broadcasting to the entire planet the progress made on the Neyna as well as personal notes and diaries of the crew, showing the denesec people that these were not hostile species and that they had been wrongly provoked. And as he had done this, the denesecs in turn had begun to develop a great sympathy for these shipwrecked aliens. They had rose up to the Hegemon and demanded that the bonscouts be granted an audience. Now finally the Hegemon had agreed to the meeting.
         Scarth, Tano, and Sel, the original group that had blasted the doors to the regent’s office, now stood outside the Palace of the Hegemon, waiting for his personal assistant to come out and admit them access. The lenothias, monte and scyther lounged in the giant paved courtyard as a massive throng of the green natives crowded around. There was no constant murmur coming from the assembled, as the bonscouts would expect in the Alliance, but rather an eerie silence. It seemed that these denesecs were very well controlled when it came to public gatherings. Tano ground his foot into the hard white tiles in boredom.
          “So we got here two hours ago. We were supposed to meet with the Hegemon one hour ago. As far as we can tell, he’s probably just skipped town.”
         Sel clacked his blades against the ovular stone column behind him. “Well, you can’t blame him. We were not exactly the politest of guests for the last official we met with.”
         Scarth gazed up into the sky, squinting. “Frankly, if they don’t come out soon, we might just have to do the same thing here. But this time with a specific target in mind.” He began pacing back and forth, in and out of the marble palace’s shadow. The suns continued to glide lower in the sky.
         At last the massive brictipar groaned open. Behind them, a short denesec stood in the shade as the low sun filtered in through the opening. Without waiting for an invitation, the three bonscouts walked in, directly past the green custodian. The denesec hurried to overtake them and take the lead. Past the black-and white marble entrance hall, covered by rows of great arches, they found themselves standing before a solitary door, this one of solid platinum, rather than the traditional wooden brictipar. Four guards outside the doors began tugging them slowly open, one at a time.
          “Do you think you’d be able to force those things open?” Scarth muttered to Tano, barely audibly.
         The reply came, “Maybe, if I had both of you with me to help. But it would still take a while.”
          “So we’ll be effectively trapped once those doors shut again. Great.” But the three walked into the Hegemon’s office, nonetheless.
         Directly across from the massive doors, a huge window, divided into nine panes, shed light throughout the room. A little above the denesecs’ head height, a row containing scores of pictures encircled the room, each bearing the profile of a denesec. There were no chairs in the room. The bonscouts had already learned that the denesecs did not sit, or even lay down. Indeed, their strange gait gave away their lack of knees. The only furnishing in the officewas a tall desk, approximately elbow height for one of the native creatures, which curved in a graceful crescent around half the room, dividing it into two. On the other side were three denesecs: two guards, and the hegemon. The guards, Scarth assumed, were merely for show. It had already been proven that they were no match for Alliance soldiers.
         Flanked by the other two bonscouts, Scarth approached the middle of the crescent desk. “You are the Hegemon?” he started in way of greeting to the center denesec. One of the guards looked ready to pound him for insubordination, but the leader merely gave a quick flick of its Preg in assent.
          “You have captured three of our crewmembers. We demand their safe return.”
          “And who are you to be making such demands? Even should I care for the lives of three… slaves….” the Hegemon appeared to eye Scarth in disgust “you are insignificant and of no consequence. There is nothing that you can do, I’m afraid.”
          “Are you aware that your world has committed an act of war against our nation by downing an Alliancic battleship and taking three of its crew as hostages, and that if not properly corrected, we shall commence a war which will totally annihilate your population?” The same Preg flick as before accompanied this remark. “In that case, I will give you three minutes to explain your actions before we begin full hostilities. We will not respond kindly to your aggressions. Your time starts now.”
         The Hegemon, leader of a green world, merely gave the equivalent of a shrug, slowly wagging his Preg, and said, “I can not be responsible for any of the actions of others.”
         Scarth was taken aback. He felt rage growing within him. “Cannot… cannot be responsible? They are your followers! Your people! What they do as a nation is led by you, what they do as individuals is inspired by you! You are responsible for every action they make! If you do not accept this burden, then you do not, you CANNOT deserve your office!”
         The four denesecs, including Mork, were silent after Scarth’s outburst until one muttered “Pre’gtio’inj’k’k’t-la’tin’ket.” Scarth looked questioningly at Mork after the long train of consonants, seeking an explanation. One was no long in coming.
          “It means ‘preg-worth.’ Essentially, you’ve just challenged the Hegemon to a duel for his office.”
          “A duel? But… I didn’t want that. I just…”
          “Once Pre’gtio’inj’k’k’t-la’tin’ket has been uttered, it cannot be recalled. The duel must occur. I think we should go now. We’ll send an envoy later to arrange the time for the duel.” Scarth nodded and, led by Tano and Sel, the group made their way solemnly out of the Palace. Once all four had gotten back in the shuttle and the doors were firmly shut, Scarth turned on Mork.
          “Alright, now we need some explanations.”
         The denesec, now accustomed to the rapid mood-swings of the bonscouts, was unshaken by the lenothias’ rage. He started talking at his usual somewhat-slow pace.
          “The Pre’gtio’inj’k’k’t-la’tin’ket is an ancient and honored ritual. Whenever someone in audience with an authority questions the ability of that authority to hold his office, this duel take place to settle it. However… you will have to forfeit, Scarth. You cannot fight.”
          “So I forfeit. Big deal.”
          “It is a big deal. You will loose your life if you forfeit.”
         Now Scarth really raged. “What! So why the hell would I want to do that?!”
          “Because you cannot fight. It is phsycally impossible for you. You have no Preg.”
          “Yeah, so?”
          “The Pre’gtio’inj’k’k’t-la’tin’ket is fought with the Pregs Whoever cuts of their opponents first wins, thereby permanently dishonoring and dumbfounding the loser for life. But you have no Preg. You cannot fight.”
         Sel brought his tail around to wave in Mork’s face. “What about this? A tail should fill in nicely for the roll of Preg.” Mork, who had only ever seen Sel’s tail as coiled unobtrusively around his leg, gazed curiously at the limb, but bobbed his Preg in a negative reply to the scyther’s inquiry.
          “I don’t think you understand. The Preg is not just some appendage. It is the source of our life. It is the tool by which we are intelligent, it is our direct link to the All-Tree. Without it, we will cease to be…” he searched for the right word, “… thinking.”
          “You mean sentient?”
          “Yes. Sentient.”
         Scarth sat down slowly in the pilot’s chair. “So then what? I must forfeit my life?”
         Mork wagged his Preg. “Unless you can grow a Preg within the next few days, yes.”
          “Well, who’s to say that my tail isn’t a Preg? You’ve constantly referred to us as Pregless, but that doesn’t really mean anything literal, does it?” Mork’s Preg bobbed, confirming the statement. “Can’t we just convince the populace that it is the source of my consciousness?”
          “No. I’ve sent to many messages with you waving your tail in random, confusing, and meaningless ways to the people. Such movements confirm that it cannot be the source of intelligence.”
          “Then, perhaps all is indeed lost.” Scarth turned around pensively in the pilot’s chair till his hands lined up with the controls. He slipped a fist around each of the bars and pulled them up, lifting off the shuttle. He began piloting the craft back to the crash sight.
          “Perhaps not,” Tano spoke up from the cabin’s aft. “Maybe you can grow a Preg- at least, a fake one. We have the medical equipment to re-grow limbs. I’m shore it can be modified to create a muscle-mass on the back of your skull.”
          “That would be very questionable. I doubt if we could make it look convincing.”
          “What other choices do we have? Besides, don’t underestimate the surgical prowess of the medical staff.”
         Scarth sighed. “Well, for the captain.”
          “For the captain!” the other two cheered.

*           *          *

         Four weeks had passed since election day. The individual centuries had voted, their votes had been taken to each millenium by their respective centurion. The results of the votes in the millenniums had been taken to the kiliums, and the kilium leaders took the results of the millenniates' votes to the gigiams. From the combined votes of the Gigiams, each planet was designated its votes, and these were carried in physical form to the grand capital world of the Alliance: Toan.
         Now the all votes had been collected; the ballots opened and counted before the Alliancic Senate in the Curia. Over one and a half trillian alliancits watched eagerly at their computers and holographic telereceivers on over five hundred worlds. Nearly a trillian voters and candidates waited, and sweated, for the results. Four hundred billion Ultimates watched expectently, patiently and knowingly. Clocks everywhere read two minutes before the new galactic standard
day began as telecasters continued to beam news reports to the farthest reaches of Alliancic space, and the singular First Speaker of the Senate shifted uneasily before the silent cameras floating before her and the eyes of the Senators uninterestedly resting.
         Ears strained. Eyes blurred. Minds numbed. Slowly, painfully, second by second, the two minutes passed by. Soon the Alliance would know what its new fate would be, whether the Ultimates would indeed gain a firm control over the government, or whether the Alliance would
continue with its a-party system, adhering to the ancient Charter of the Alliance.
         Seconds ticked by.
         At last, the ancient pendulum-clock in the pack of the Senate-room tolled the beginning of the new day. The tired eyes of the Speaker glanced down at the computer screen on the podium and, without any introduction, began reading names.
         The sleepless Alliance hushed as the Senator uttered the names barely audibly, names which immediately were ’casted into the emptiness of space onto have a thousand worlds, one drollingly following the last in an emotionless procession. Yet the ears which greeted these names were far from emotionless. First the Triumvirs, then the Senators, then the Planetary Councilors and Staff Members.
         By the time she had finished, the entire Alliance was in tumult. Innumerable heads counted the wins and losses: 2 Ultimate Triumvirs, three-hundred twelve out of seven-hundred eighty-two Senators, one-thousand one-hundred twelve out of two-thousand two-hundred forty-two Planetary Councilors.
         But it was only the first three names that everybody cared about, only the positions of Triumvir. Well, not quite everybody!