Chapter 2.3

  Reports can lead one to the edge of insanity or the height of ecstasy.

  But not these reports.

  These reports will only bring you pain and suffering.

  Forge Commander Wescom...

  During the Forge’s first turnover of command

  Construction reports had been piling up for weeks on Mevasi’s desk in anticipation of the Arbiter’s upcoming visit. Everyone, from the south region’s dockworkers to the engineers from the northern highlands, had been trying their best to tie up all their loose ends before what was sure to be a maddening few days descended upon them all.

  To accomplish this monumental task, every construction order still on the books had to be expedited to completion. That translated into a shit load of raw materials having to be secured and accounted for by the end of tomorrow’s work cycle. That accelerated timetable meant that her job as mining supervisor just became not only the most thankless job on the Forge, but also the hardest.

  Why do those things have to make an appearance this close to the end of the cycle?

  The question sat near the periphery of her attention as she pored over a rather thick requisition file. There were pages and pages of documents within. But they all reached the same end point, she needed to procure two samples of fresh star core. Just the thought made a low guttural sound escape her already thinly stretched lips.

  “Why now?” The menace she normally conveyed in her voice seemingly found a new reservoir of hate from which to draw from as each word was practically spat out. “Couldn’t they find some other planet to harass instead?

  Her seemingly rhetorical question was soon answered by the rumbling of voices coming from just outside her cramped, windowless office. Loud enough to penetrate hardened steel, they weren’t even trying to hide their attempts at coercion anymore.

  “These demonstrations are getting completely out of hand.” A high-pitched voice she instantly recognized as Fiore said in a warning tone. “Sooner or later, it won’t be just one of the Fentees who gets punished. The entire higher cast will see judgment.”

  On Solon, Fentees denoted the formal moniker for males while Sentees represented females. This not so veiled threat was quickly followed by another voice Mevasi didn’t immediately recognize, though the tone and substance of what ensued was something quite familiar to her.

  “Now’s not the time to be exposing ourselves with such a brazen act… not without a purpose, Fiore. We need to bide our time and wait for a rallying call.”

  “A rallying call,” Fiore asked loudly, unafraid of anyone happening by and overhearing their ‘secret’ conversation. “Have you looked around here lately? To all those who stand strong against the tide without fail. This place is packed with them.”

  “Not the one we need.” The unknown voice chided. “Not the one that would matter.”

  “Would matter?” Mevasi whispered as she pushed their loud machinations out of her train of thought and instead focused on finishing her substantial workload.

  Normally, the mining manager cringed when those types of conversations happened anywhere within her earshot. But the controlled chaos of the last few weeks had numbed her to such things. Had numbed her to what people thought about her and the direction she was taking with her very short life.

  “Three cubic hectares of ore”, another file on her cluttered desk indicated. That was the precise amount of material the Tralons required for a new long range reconnaissance vehicle. An odd request given the fact that the Tralons didn’t have the need for another long-range reconnaissance vehicle or any other vessel for that matter.

  “Someone’s dreaming.” She said reflexively.

  A once mighty military power in this section of the galaxy, the Tralon Empire had fallen onto generational hard times as of late. Giant in stature, purple skinned, with three monstrous heads resting on very broad shoulders, these military titans were once charged with keeping the peace across three vast sectors of space.

  Armed with a fleet which rivaled the stars they patrolled, the Tralons were once referred to as the tip of the Arbiter’s sword. Feared by half the galaxy, the Tralon banners spelled doom for any species who would dare to step beyond the confines of their master’s immutable law.

  Of course, as most military powers often do, their grasp eventually grew too long for their common sense to manage. And in this case, the Tralon Empire decided to allow the foolish idea of insurrection to fester within each one of its very thick heads. So full of their own bluster, they gambled that all their ships were more powerful than the Arbiter’s singular influence.

  This blunder proved to be a monumental mistake. Why? Well, the Tralons made a fatal miscalculation in thinking that the Arbiters were bereft of their own fighting force. They weren’t. In fact, their armies were plentiful enough to blot out the skies over the Tralon home world for a whole year.

  They didn’t even bombard the planet from orbit. No civilians were killed by mistake. Of course, that wasn’t because the Arbiters were noble. It was because there are no civilians on the Tralon home world, only warriors. From birth to death, they fought. So, the Arbiters just sat there in orbit and blew up any ship trying to fight or escape into oblivion.

  Eventually, even the most hardened warrior realizes their defeat. And that defeat meant an imposed isolation from the rest of the universe that lasted almost a hundred years. But every punishment ends and now, after years of hobbling them in every imaginable way, the real power in this universe has decided to allow the sword a peek outside of its confining scabbard.

  And with that freedom came ships. Unfortunately, those ships were small, unarmed and extremely limited in range. Or in other words, the perfect leash for an unruly dog

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  “Three cubic hectares wouldn’t even build a decent scout ship.” Mevasi acknowledged this fact as she closed the yet to be completed requisition form and put it back onto her cluttered desk. “Well, maybe a two-seater scout ship.”

  Given their pitiful position, she couldn’t help but wonder why they even bothered making the request in the first place. Why do they demean themselves in this way? Mevasi, like everyone else on the Forge, knew what power the Tralon generals used to wield.

  And how could she not?

  Not when every ship ever constructed within this massive structure was electronically cataloged for later use by the legion of engineering teams buried deep within the bowels of the main fabrication unit.

  In the beginning of her time here, she would often escape from her doldrums and sneak down to their labs. There, safely nestled away in some unused alcove, she would pore over past builds with longing eyes. Huge ships of destruction used to depart this place in droves, but the Arbiters now strictly controlled what a species could have and in turn what the Forge built.

  Which was a monumental shame, in her opinion, because Mevasi always wanted to design a grand ship of war. A vessel so draped in destructive power that her creation would rival any Arbiter mother ship. Not haulers and freighters for wayward planets to piddle around in, but something the Tralons could only dream of once again piloting into battle.

  “Why build something so small?” Mevasi angrily lamented.

  From underneath a medium sized stack of proposed long-range cruisers and tiny orbital weather stations, a small monitor began to menacingly flash bright orange. Without even needing to shove any of her paperwork clear, she knew exactly what the alert meant. There was one final meeting of the day and the orange light signified that it had already begun without her.

  Begrudgingly, Mevasi lithely jumped up from her well-worn seat and hurried toward the open door leaving the never-ending pile of work unfinished. Focused on the ensuing boredom which lay ahead, she failed to see Fiore standing in the dimly lit corridor. Consequently, the two of them collided with such force that each one of them was knocked a bit silly.

  “Pardon me,” she growled after her senses returned. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

  “What?” More rattled by their collision, Fiore’s tone was even more confused. “Oh, no worry, Mevasi. I should have been more watchful of my surroundings.”

  “No,” Mevasi felt shame for having been in such a hurry to get to a construction meeting that she injured another. And it wasn’t like any of the Fentees ever listened to what she had to contribute. Like most males of Solon, they saw her tokenisms as an impediment to their highly productive day. “It is my disgrace for striking without provocation.”

  “The blood descendant needs no provocation to strike.”

  For the first time since knocking Fiore silly, Mevasi took notice of another, undersized female standing defiantly a few feet away from them. “Why do you refer to me that way?” She asked in a more belligerent tone.

  Even though the light within the corridor was scarce, the mining manager’s well-trained eyes easily made out the small scars which covered the unknown Sentee’s face. In fact, she was surprised by how closely they mirrored her own.

  “Is that not what you are, the descendant?”

  Mevasi’s shoulders tensed up with haggard frustration at the mere mention of the word. This moniker, or more accurately brand, had followed her throughout most of her adult life. And no matter how often it was used, the intended familiarity which usually came from repetition never seemed to appear.

  “My name is Mevasi, and I am from the central plains. My father was a simple harvester and my mother an engineer of the first order. Anything else you might have heard concerning my family is either an error or an over exaggeration.”

  She angrily turned her attention to a still befuddled Fiore. “Why do you still bring them around to me? Why do you give them such false hope? Have I not made my feelings about this matter clear to you?”

  Mevasi pointed out a rather large scar running along Fiore’s right shoulder blade where the hair no longer grew. “Or do I have to make them clear one more time?”

  For a second, Fiore’s nostrils flared out of anger, but this instinctual reaction quickly was tempered by the memory of their previous dealings. Not wanting to make a new one, she shrank back against a bulkhead like a scorned child who had pushed their parent too far.

  “We were only talking about the Arbiter’s visit, Mevasi… nothing else.”

  The mining manager stared threateningly from one hapless soul to the other, not sure of what to say next. Part of her sympathized with their cause, how could she not. Layers and layers of scars constantly reminded her of a world where a Sentee’s choices brought consequences.

  Consequences she happily bore.

  And she also knew they weren’t trying to be a painful reminder of her past. But a painful reminder they still were. In times before, tradition would have demanded such a slight, perceived or factual, be dealt with immediately and unmercifully in the most violent manner possible.

  That’s how things were settled on Solon before civility was thrust upon them by the Arbiters’ laws and their courts of judgment. Back then, outcomes between Fentees were attained simply through blood and bone. Now… now grievances between enemies were decided within the shadows of their ruling civility.

  That train of thought brought her back to the reason for all her work.

  Mevasi hated every time one of their sky ships appeared from within the outer belts. She hated the thought of someone not of this world, not of her people, ruling on matters which would shape the direction of Solon’s future generations. She hated almost everything about them. But most of all, Mevasi hated the reason they were drawn here in the first place.

  “Blood descendant,” that was what the small female referred to her as, descendant of the first sacrifice to lawful rule. Could she have been born under a worse destiny than that?

  “Fiore,” the mining manager allowed her body to relax just enough to not appear threatening. “Please make this the last time you bring your followers around here. Or next time the Arbiters come to pass judgment on someone, it will be me.”

  Without saying anything further, she gracefully sidestepped between the two of them and was out of their sight before either barely had time to register her movements.

  Recalling the checkered past the two of them shared, Fiore shrank further back against the corridor wall out of an abundance of caution. “I think this avenue may finally be closed to us, sister. I fear any further attempts to cajole her would prove to be quite unhealthy for us.”

  Unlike her wilting companion, the diminutive stranger held her head up high. More than most, she too bore the scars of choice. The threat of violence was nothing new to her.

  “The blood descendant has the spirit of a warrior in her, I’ll grant you that.” The scarred woman said purposively in a loud, clear voice for everyone to hear. “No matter how castrated we have become as a species.”

  “Of that I have no doubt.” Instinctively, Fiore drew a shaky hand across the long scar stretched out upon her shoulder blade. “That woman has more anger and venom within her soul than any of her previous lineage combined. I don’t care how much of her true self she hides behind her token position. Mevasi is a fighter.”

  “And that’s what will eventually lead her to our cause, sister… her pain. The blood descendant was always destined to finish what the original one started so long ago. No matter what it costs us and no matter what it will eventually cost her. There’s a fight on the horizon, Fiore. Of that much I am certain. And no matter how badly Mevasi wants to remain near the edges, that’s just not an option.”

  “So how do we convince her to finish the fight?”

  Unlike Fiore, this stranger didn’t bother to rub her scars apprehensively or regretfully. She proudly displayed them to anyone who cared to look.

  “Finishing the fight is not the problem. You put that creature on the path to vengeance and everything else will sort itself out accordingly. No, the real problem is getting her started upon the path. She needs a spark… a reason to indulge her darkness.”

  “Where can we find such a spark, Sotera?” Fiore asked. “I have been trying for a whole cycle to convince her there is no other way.”

  “I do not know sister.” Sotera turned away from the path Mevasi had just taken and began to hurriedly walk toward the nearest elevator.

  Fiore furiously attempted to keep pace with her much shorter companion. But the speed at which she moved away from the Manager’s office precluded that from happening. So instead of seeing the expression, Fiore could only imagine the look on her companion’s face when she uttered a cryptic warning.

  “Though we better find it before the Arbiters deliver their so-called justice. Because I fear if things go against us in the trial without our rallying call, all will be lost.”