Chapter 5

The Imperial Dreadnought Fall of Kartesh glided silently through the eerily shimmering void of OtherSpace alongside its sister vessels. Easily twice as large as the Destroyers, it was an impressive sight indeed, as it had to be ... this was the flagship of Battle Group Nine, which had never seen defeat in almost a thousand years of history.

Among its crew of nearly ten thousand, and the demonstrated ability to destroy whole planets with the combined force of its batteries, the ship was also notable in that it housed, among many senior Naval Officers, the Fleet Admiral, a man of devastating power and horrific potential.

The intercom buzzed as he was cleaning up the mess his latest “guest” had made in the center of his ornate living quarters. Fleet Admiral Kasov Brennij glanced in annoyance at the insistently blinking light on the wall panel near the entrance to his quarters. Scowling, he strode over and hit the Acknowledge button with his uniformed elbow—he knew from past experience that the walls were surprisingly difficult to clean, especially from bloodstains. “Yes?” He controlled his deep baritone to betray nothing of his irritation. His crew knew full well that he was not to be interrupted when ... entertaining ... one of the slaves.

“Sir, you have a real-time communiqué with Valor Command on channel one, sir.” The tremor in the communications officer’s voice was unmistakable. The young man could not have wished for a more undesirable circumstance. Disregarding the Admiral’s “Do Not Disturb” orders merited severe punishment, oftentimes up to— and including— becoming his next victim, but a priority communication, especially real-time, could not be ignored.

Brennij blinked in surprise, his displeasure at being interrupted momentarily forgotten. A real-time communiqué required the entire Battle Group to drop out of OtherSpace, so that the relativistic effects of FTL travel did not interfere. It was costly and extremely inconvenient, implying that the person on the other end of the call was not only very high-ranking, but had very important news. “I’ll take it in my study, ensign.”

“Yes, sir. Routing now.” No question the poor officer was vastly relieved that Brennij did not demand his name. He stepped into his office and, even though he was in his personal quarters, he willed the door behind him to close and lock.

It was easy to envelop himself in the Essence after his entertainment. Such violence would normally excite a man, and truth to tell, excitement was always there at first ... but after, in the afterglow of the carnage, was when he was most fully in control of the power around him. Channeling the energy across his body, he focused on the blood staining his hands, and watched in fascination as the coagulating gore gathered itself into rivulets, defying the artificial gravity as it flowed directly from his body into the waste disposal unit across the small room. In seconds, he was presentable again.

His office, like the rest of his quarters, was a study of understated, brooding opulence; dark, plush carpets and stained hardwood furniture, liberally dotted with disquieting abstract paintings on the wall set the exact mood he wanted to convey. It was designed to impress, and to exude an aura of power; it was also designed to distract—an easy way to gain a small psychological advantage when dealing with difficult people. As a Captain, Third Order, commanding his first frigate-class ship, he had learned that power was far more based on perception than anything else—contrary to what the fools at the Academy prattled on about. By creating and nurturing that perception, he had risen through the ranks much faster than his peers, gaining notoriety as a brilliant and ruthless tactician, and a military leader of unparalleled vision and versatility.

Of course, it was all crap. Kasov himself knew he had little tactical ability, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t inspire a crew to go above and beyond expectations. His technique was simple—he terrified them. They knew he had no qualms torturing someone to death for failure, and he regularly proved it. Many at Valor Command disapproved of his methods, but it could not be denied he got results. As such, though his ... hobby ... was well known, there were none who would chastise him for it. An agreeable impasse, as far as the admiral was concerned.

He sat down in his plush chair and made himself comfortable, then reached across his desk and activated the communicator. Immediately the little communications console scanned him, verifying his retinal pattern, genetic makeup, and Essence signature ... not surprising, since it was fairly obvious this was an important call.

Once the console was satisfied that he was indeed Kasov Brennij, the red indicator light on the bottom of the unit started blinking, confirming the channel was secure and classified. Seconds later, he found himself sitting across the desk from First Admiral Rotan Voistra, Valor Command’s top military officer. Without being consciously aware of it, he straightened in his seat. Voistra was the Emperor’s personal military advisor, and it would not do to inadvertently show disrespect to the man.

“There you are, Kasov. I was beginning to wonder if I was getting the runaround,” He groused.

Voistra was a balding man of middle years, tending toward the portly side, with a large nose and small eyes. He talked like a soldier, straight to the point, all business, using commoner colloquialisms in a halfhearted attempt to relate to his enlisted aides. He had little respect for ceremony, which suited Brennij just fine, but rumor said he was impossible to work for. Kasov had turned down a position on his staff in favor of the Battle Group command, something that had earned him notice (and not necessarily of the favorable kind) from the First Admiral.

“My apologies, sir, I was engaged in something.” Brennij replied neutrally. Voistra was always crabby, it was no indication of what this important message was about; offering an excuse or explanation would only sidetrack the man, inviting questions and commentary. Besides, it was likely that the man already knew precisely what he was “engaged” in.

Voistra snorted, and then glanced at Brennij, as if weighing him. Aware of the scrutiny, Brennij schooled his features and remained absolutely still. It would appear that this conference was not going well, so far.

Finally Voistra sighed and leaned back in his chair. “The Emperor’s concubine Myra has given birth to a son. A son with 313 genomes. Yes, you’ve guessed it,” he said, noting the widening of Kasov’s eyes, “A true Oracle. I don’t know how much meddling the techs did with the poor boy’s genes to make him that way, and the Emperor himself won’t admit to any tampering, but the odds of it happening naturally are so astronomically ... but that’s not the point. Point is, kid was out of the womb for all of a minute and a half before he started prophesying. Can’t say a damn word of his own self, but his predictions come out clear as a bell. It’s the most unnatural thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot.”

Brennij took the news in stride. It had been proven long ago that such a gift was possible, given the precise number and placement of genomes, but it was exceedingly unlikely. However, this news wasn’t so hugely important in itself. Unless ... He felt his eyes widening again.

Voistra had been watching him, guessing his thought process, and nodded. “The boy’s made some fairly bleak prophecies, as far as the Empire’s concerned. I won’t horrify you with the details, but the meat of it suggests your mission to that colony in the would-be mining system is at the heart of it all. Problem is, we can’t make out which actions will trigger these things. If it was up to me, I’d say wipe out the place, but for all we know that’s what will start this cataclysm that the brat keeps caterwauling about.”

“Cataclysm?” Brennij was pleased that his voice still remained under control, a deceptively mild baritone that could inspire confidence or terror, depending on how he used it.

“Of some sort. It’s all mystical funny talk, you have to be fairly swimming in Essence to understand a damn word, but when you are, it’s disturbingly clear.” The First Admiral’s Essence rating wasn’t far below the Emperor’s, as Kasov recalled. Not that his was, either. “Basically the kid says that this world is going to somehow destroy the Empire.”

“So my orders are ... what? Avoid it? Observe it? Destroy it utterly? If we do not know how this event is to take place, how do we take steps to avoid it?”

Voistra grunted acknowledgement of his point. “True Prophecy is touchy, but the priests entrusted with the young Prince’s care are sure they can guide him to more details as time gets closer. In the meantime, keep your wits about you. If you see something that could cause problems for the Empire, take steps. Quickly.”

“Of course, sir.” Brennij hesitated. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“If it is a True Prophecy...”

“ ... can it be avoided? I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does. All we can do is try. And hope our efforts don’t make it come true.” Voistra half-shrugged, half-shuddered. “The whole idea is insane, I feel like I’ve been living a horror story for the past week.” He looked Brennij directly in the eye. “The Imperial Navy has always been the first line of defense for the Empire. Do not let us down.”

“I understand completely, sir.”

“Good. I’m ordering Battle Groups 5, 11, and 13 to rendezvous with you just in case, but the nearest won’t be there until months after your arrival, so plan accordingly. You’ll be the ranking admiral.” Voistra stared hard at him for a moment, then nodded to himself. Without another word, he severed the communications link.

Minutes passed as Kasov absorbed that last bit. Three other Battle Groups?! The galaxy hadn’t seen an armada that huge since well before the Slave’s Revolt. The force that he would command would be virtually unstoppable...

Abruptly, an idea blossomed in the admiral’s mind. What if the Empire were to fall? The largest force in the galaxy would already be firmly under his control, to do with as he saw fit ... it wouldn’t be a huge step from being Admiral Kasov Brennij to being Emperor Kasov Brennij. In fact, in that light, perhaps it would be in his best interests to ensure disaster struck. After all, in terms of Essence the Emperor only had about 10 million Jerits more than he—a drop in the bucket, so to speak...

It was a long time before he gave the order to resume their journey.

The intricate matrix of Essence shattered into thousands of pretty sparks all around him as the construct once again failed to achieve its desired purpose.

Eric grinned at Kurana’s sigh of frustration, which earned him one of her venomous looks. As always, he took it in stride. He knew the root of her angst, and he could not deny he shared it with her.

Three months had seen a collection of highly talented Terrans desperately trying to figure out how to call upon the Essence within themselves. Three months of some rather impressive (and often dramatic) failures. Four men and two women had died from the experience, and it had a sobering effect on the others. They knew the risk, and they knew what they were fighting for, but after three months many were beginning to doubt that they truly had the potential these alien visitors claimed.