Sunlord (3 page)

He had ordered the swat team to search out the
offenders, and by all reports they had been successful. But the
Admiral knew that there would be more rebels, and the trouble
needed to be nipped in the bud.

His thoughts turned from his musing as the door
hissed open, two shadows standing silhouetted in the doorway. As
they stepped forward, the light fell over the figure of a Sunlord
guard who held a leash. Pulling at the leash was a dark creature,
its crouch looking totally inhuman. The burly guard restrained the
creature as it pawed dog-like at the ground, snuffling and
growling.

The creature tilted its spider-like head to regard
the Admiral. Its body was plated in a flexible exoskeleton that
gleamed in the pale light; the tough resilient skin would turn any
blade without marring the surface. It crouched upon four legs,
giving it panther like speed and grace, and its jaws were lined
with a glistening array of razor sharp teeth. It was a Lectar, an
underling race to the Starmen. The creatures were savage fighters
and were ideal reinforcement to Sunlord infantry lines. The Lectars
were used extensively aboard the Urisa to assist the guards in
patrolling the many corridors of the great starship.

The Sunlord guard bowed.

"What is it?" commanded the Admiral.

"The Currach ambassador awaits your presence,
Sir."

The Admiral acknowledged the guard. "Bring him
in."

The guard nodded curtly and dropped back into the
shadows and out of sight. Moments later the Vizier appeared in the
doorway, his small primitive form out of place in the polished
halls of the battle cruiser. He stood bedazzled by all the flashing
lights about him.

Admiral Karthorn grunted in disgust. He fitted a
small mechanical box to his throat and inserted an earpiece. It
would enable him to understand the rich fluting complex tones of
the Currach language, and also translate his speech so that the
native could understand.

"I understand you speak for all the Currach," said
the Admiral impatiently.

The Vizier broke off his reverie. "Uh, yes, Great
One. Yes I am."

"Good. You understand the situation? I need this
planet, and your people are making it difficult."

"I most humbly apologise. It is not in the nature of
the Currach to fight, yet your men take our land."

"We take what we want, savage!"

"But the farmers-"

"Enough! We need your crops and harvest in processing
our fuels. Believe me, we are taking only what we need."

"But surely we can reach an agreement," persisted the
Vizier stubbornly. Half of his soul quivered in fear in the
presence of the aliens, but his tone was bold. "Maybe our farmers
could help you harvest and produce to your needs."

"To inefficient," snapped Karthorn. "We shall be gone
in a matter of days, so until then you shall have to bear it
out."

"You treat my race unkindly," rebuked the Vizier. "I
respect your right to the planet, but please, many hundred of my
people have been killed-"

He was cut short.

"I did not invite you here to talk of your rights, or
of any agreements. Consider this visit as a warning to leave my
troops alone. As you probably know, a scout car was taken - a
costly inconvenience. Keep your farmers off my men or we will
declare you an enemy of the Kingdom and systematically destroy
every member of your race. Do you understand? I have brought you
here so you can see the power at my fingertips. We have control
over entire worlds and over the vastness of space."

The Vizier's eyes widened in awe and fear.

"Disobey us and you will bring that power down upon
your people. We have the ability to destroy your entire planet with
the press of a single button." The Admiral knew that the
probability of such a threat being carried out was improbable. The
strategic computer aboard the recuperating battleship would not
accept this option; nuking the planet would destroy all the
valuable resources that the ship's tanks so desperately needed.
Avatar, the mother computer, had also expressed a mysterious
concern in keeping the planet intact.

But at least he could scare the native into
submission.

"Think about it," finished Karthorn. His sunken eyes
glistened like marbles. "You shall be in charge of controlling
these outbreaks. For your sake, do not let such an incident happen
again. I would not normally worry about a warning, but it seems you
are fortunate. You see, my ship is resting, preparing for the
battle ahead, and I would like to avoid any skirmish that would
merely inconvenience my troops." The Admiral paced around the room,
his hands clasped behind this back. He swirled suddenly. "There
will be only one warning. Next time, your cities will be levelled.
You are dismissed!"

The Vizier lowered his head and shuffled out of the
room.

The Admiral beckoned to a nearby guard. "Prepare the
landing craft. The Currach is leaving now. Oh, and I hope you
remembered the sterilisation procedures. We don't want any diseases
from these filthy savages."

The armour clad Sunlord responded instantly. In
moments the small party had departed and the door hissed closed
behind them.

Admiral Karthorn turned to his Adviser.

"I am tempted to send out a platoon and wipe the
natives clean off the surface," he breathed.

The Adviser chuckled softly. "We must follow Avatar's
explicit orders. She has something planned for this planet. Anyway,
if that Currach carried out his duty there should be no more
outbreaks."

"I hope so. I can't wait until we get back to the
Kingdom. The Forces need this battleship, and we are doing no good
out here."

"Avatar says we need to recuperate."

"I know," barked the Admiral. "But do you think we
need to? We can get by with what supplies we have for another year
or so."

The Adviser shrugged. "I would not question Avatar,
sir. Besides, we might as well stock up when we can. We will need
it later."

They stopped as a Class Two droid entered the
bridge.

"Incoming message, sir."

"Put it through," demanded Admiral Karthorn.

"Immediately." The droid soon had the visiport up,
and the three metre high projection of the face of the Commander
appeared on it.

"Admiral Karthorn," began the pre-recorded voice.
"Your ship is to remain orbited about L/Cn-41a indefinitely. I have
taken the liberty of putting the commands into the Avatar mainframe
to establish a permanent orbit. You are to begin a Gamma scale
landing and establishment in preparation of the Royal Fleet."

"Gamma scale?" mouthed the Admiral in awe.

The recording continued. "The memory banks of Avatar
have already been beamed to us three standards ago and we request
all new information be immediately transmitted to us. Message
ends."

The image flickered, then when out.

The Admiral swirled to his Adviser. "Gamma scale!
What is the Royal Fleet up to? This backwater is of no strategic
importance-"

The Adviser cut him off. "It is wise not to question
orders from the Commander. It would be folly to demand an
explanation."

Karthorn calmed himself. "Your words carry wisdom.
Very well, I shall obey the orders." He turned to the droid. "Beam
an update through to the Fleet, and then again every hour. I also
want the crew and droids prepared for a Gamma scale landing."

"Very well, sir." The droid spun on its tracks and
disappeared.

The Admiral sank into his couch. His mind whirled
with the Commander's words. Deep in the pit of his stomach he could
feel the imminent thrill of battle.

If Karthorn guessed right, the Royal Fleet had
something big in store.

* * *

Councillor Orlin cast his gaze nervously over the
odium where scores of Currach milled about, taking their seats.
Tonight was a major performance; the playwright and actors
considered the best in their profession. Looking down upon them
from where he sat in the balcony Orlin could see that his people
were tired and drawn as they had worked too hard and had suffered
too much in these past few weeks. The star creatures had invaded
their homes and taken their farms, forced at gun point to harvest
their crops and load them aboard the alien's container ships. The
invaders took everything, like a band raiding barbarians.

But tonight these peaceful people tried to forget
their earthly woes. Play going had been a popular pastime before
the invasion and now were making a special effort to bring back
those old times.

Councillor Orlin was a well-respected man, ranking
highly in the Grand Council. His shaven head exaggerated the
elongated skull common to the Currach. It was a traditional cut and
only a few Currach still persisted with the old ways. His flowing
robes showed that this man was devoted to the Religion.

Orlin was not in the odium for his pleasure, for he
had far too much work back at the Grand Council. He was here
because of a curious letter he had received that had been signed by
the Vizier. It told him to be at this particular performance where
they would meet to discuss the planet's future.

The letter said no more. Curious to the point of
being irritated, Orlin counted down the days until this
meeting.

Assistants extinguished the flaming torches on the
walls, dimming the surrounds so the play could commence.

Councillor Orlin became agitated. The Vizier still
wasn't here.

A hand clasped his on the shoulder and a familiar
voice sounded in his ear.

"Good to see you, Councillor."

Orlin turned and in the feeble light could see the
Vizier's haggard face.

The two Currach exchanged greetings, the palms of
their hands clasping in the age old gesture of friendship.

The Vizier lowered himself gently to the ground to
take his cross-legged position on the rug next to Orlin.

"By the goodness of Abas, what has happened to
you?"

The Vizier smiled grimly. The play below had begun so
the Vizier spoke in a whisper. "I was confined in the Starmen's
ship for eight hours. They cannot be blamed, they were being
cautious against disease."

"Are you ill?"

The Vizier shrugged off Orlin's attentions. "I am
fine."

Councillor Orlin was curious. "What did you find
aboard the Starmens' ship?"

"I found the Starmen a curious race. I spoke to a
guard on the way back down to the surface. I think they have become
like the machines that surround them; they have no deity, beliefs
or even emotions. They place themselves under mechanical care. It
took a great deal of will power for me to step into the steel
corridors. I kept thinking I was about to be swallowed alive."

Orlin was silent for a minute as he thought. "This is
indeed fascinating, but is this what you have come to talk about?
Surely the Grand Council would be a preferable venue?"

"No, Councillor. You see, what I have to say is
unorthodox. I am not sure the Grand Council would approve."

"What is it?"

The Vizier took a deep breath before plunging. "I
feel action must be taken against the Starmen." He saw Orlin was
about to speak, and cut him off. "Yes, I know that the Council
prohibits such action but I see my people fall beneath the boot of
an oppressor."

"You know the Council will never permit this!"

"But we must act before the rebels do something rash
and get us all into trouble."

"We must act?"

"The way the rebels are going about their attack is
wrong. It would be suicide to assault full frontal. Besides, I feel
strongly that all killing should be avoided. We need to intercept
the rebels before the blood of many flows."

"You want to move the Starmen's ship onwards?" asked
Orlin. "That may be possible. We would have to think of a way to
persuade them that they are needed elsewhere."

"Either that or make their ship take them."

Orlin's brows rose in surprise. "It needs
considering, of course. You realise that if word of this reached
the Council there would be an uproar. The members of the table are
very eager to avoid all forms of violence."

"This is why I confide in you, my friend. My plan
needs to be kept under tight wraps for another reason. If the
Starmen learn that we are turning against them it would be
disastrous."

Councillor Orlin was silent, so the Vizier
continued.

"We need someone to actually carry out the task.
There is only one race who can, with enough courage and ability to
act quickly; the Eloprin."

"The Eloprin!" Orlin was taken aback. "Indeed, this
is unorthodox thought, Vizier." He kept his emotions in tight check
as he spoke further. "The Eloprin cannot be trusted. We haven't
seen one of their kind for many years."

"Rifts can be mended."

"Well, of course. But you know as well as I what has
happened in the past. The Eloprin are born in the forest and that
shall always be their home. They ignore our Council and live a life
of ignorance. They are intellectual heathens!"

"Yes, I realise that," said the Vizier. "But their
strength and skill would be an asset. I intend to reach them
myself."

Orlin was speechless for a moment. "You what? You
realise that many missionaries have attempted to carry Abas' word
to the Eloprin, and none have come out of the forest alive! This is
suicide."

"I must carry the word for aid, and I also must guide
the hand of the savages to do our work."

"Do you intent to keep this wild scheme of yours from
the eyes of the Masters?" The Masters were the twelve wise men who
taught the Religion and ruled the table of the Grand Council, and
thus governed the land. Their wisdom was never doubted and their
word obeyed without question.

"It is necessary that only a few of us know about
this," pursued the Vizier. We have little choice, my partner. We
must do something before the rebels do it for us."