The Ghost of Sephera Read online

  “I know!” I shout. He is too easily reminding me of my miscalculations. “Focus, Pritok! If we exit this ship through the hull, we may be able to seize a vessel from the inboard hangar. We must travel in outer space along the exterior of the ship with our suits. There is no way we can push through the corridors full of soldiers. If we get as far as the ship hangars, then seeking refuge on the planet Foita is our best option. At least, until we are ready to fight. They’ll never find us in our stronghold there.”

  “No. But don’t forget, Zane has leverage now that we could have never anticipated,” Pritok says.

  “Those damn teenagers. I wish I had seen this coming. We could lose my daughter! I could lose Tezmarine forever!”

  “I hate to be the one to say it, Your Majesty, but you positioned her too close to Zane.”

  “You don’t think I know that now! We all take risks; there is no telling which ones will unfold. No matter how far we evolved those Earth teenagers in the chamber of Rafal, their hormone-induced emotions will always get in the way! At least, we have a bit of luck remaining.”

  “How?”

  “With Theodore escaping the jungle of Tritillia in one piece. He has escaped, correct?” I am still in a state of disbelief, but it is now becoming apparent that Theodore is the leader we need; he liberated a major sentient plant population on the jungle planet Tritillia about an hour ago; it is a victory that may be overshadowed by Odion’s sacking of the planet with an all-out invasion. At least Theodore’s small victory gives Tritillian tribes a fighting chance against Dacturon servitude. All this attention toward the Omnian Zane and no thought goes to his brother, Odion—an Omnian who Theodore says would give any of the most evil despots in history a run for his money. “Well, has Theodore escaped or not?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. Theodore’s ship coordinates are too far to determine without tracking. They have disabled it. Theodore and his crew’s last approximate location was ten kiloparsecs from Karshiz.”

  “Then we are not totally lost. They are clever, aren’t they?”

  Pritok is too agitated to respond. He glances around and yells, “That’s it It’s time to go before we are captured!”

  “Have patience. You wait for my command! I have thought this through to the end.”

  “Sire. Your men, our brothers, will be here any minute...to arrest us. Are you sure he is worth all of this?”

  “Theodore?” I ask.

  “Yes, sire.”

  “Worth it?” I ask rhetorically, laughing. If my second-in-command is doubtful, then we may lose this fight. I don the remainder of my under-armor, and I can hear non-combative ship operators ordered to leave this sector of the ship; the sentries are closing in. I need to thoroughly convince my young commander quickly; our momentum and ferocity in battle depends on it. “Zane and his Urilian advisors cannot see beyond the hype of their technology. They could likely be after Theodore’s recently deceased friend, Lincoln, who is now a mechanical replica of his organic form, living on the planet Sephera.”

  “Don’t even get me started. A version of my sister is also on that godless planet.”

  “I feel your pain. But I need you to stay focused. Theodore’s got it. I need to know if you’re totally committed to our cause.”

  “He has doubts, Your Majesty.”

  “We all have doubts. Theodore... If you knew him... Really knew him... You wouldn’t think twice.” This conversation is slightly argumentative because not many people share the same faith that I do for the teenager from Earth, Theodore. He is our light in these dark times.

  “What if he goes the other way?”

  “No! Theodore is special. I said to focus!”

  Pritok nodded solemnly.

  I grasped him on both shoulders. “What is your answer?”

  “Yes, sire,” Pritok said. His eyes conveyed the resolution I’d been seeking.

  “Excellent. Now listen. I will use my Dietons to analyze the surroundings ... once we barge through the door. Got it? Don’t you move a mole hair without my order.”

  Microscopic Dieton devices, millions of them, which are creations of Zane’s, start to shroud my face. I communicate to them with a remote in the shape of a crown, known as a rolesk. The regal rolesk crown levitates above my head, waiting for my train of thought to cease. I start focusing my mind to issue orders to take command of the Dietons. Directing them with my rolesk to cover my face, I complete a transparent shield of these microscopic Dieton devices, matting the hair that covers my brow and cheekbones. My captain is amazed.

  I take in a moment more of guided meditation and envision Earth’s contribution to this war—Theodore. He almost brought down Zane’s mothership not long ago, with an ancient gun blade and a tenacity that cannot be taught. Pritok’s gut instinct is sound; under the wrong guidance, Theodore can be trouble. The type of courage he exudes is both dangerous and wonderful.

  My decision is settled. Once I get out of here, Theodore will be my first contact. His guidance will be paramount, as I am losing my handle on this situation.

  Captain Pritok is watching the door and turns to continue his nervous conversation with me. “If it gets ugly, will your army of a million microscopic minions be able to get us out of here? I have never seen you summon them in battle, with that crown of yours. I am not even sure it works!” Pritok laughs, not realizing that one day, long ago, I had to earn my crown through battle. History tells of such a story, but this new generation of soldiers, now coming through the ranks, only study their tactical and weapon manuals, rather than test their mettle through fighting.

  “You mean Zane’s army of Dietons? My rolesk is more than a crown ol’ boy. One thought is all it takes, and I will have a billion of those damn microscopic machines crushing anything that gets in our way. Let’s face it, we can’t win without Theodore, and if we are defeated here, on my ship, this run of ours is over—Opposition obliterated.”

  Pritok turns back to me. “They’re coming, and lieutenant Xalag is with them!” Pritok whispers loudly. He has grown fond of the approaching lieutenant, Xalag, and seems to worry about the upcoming irrevocable rupture of their comradeship.

  “Then we will finally see where Xalag stands in all of this. On my mark, soldier. We didn’t come this far for nothing! The Opposition needs us. Armor up!” My voice command elicits action from my armor to encase and ensconce me. Ergonomically, my metallic suit of armor slides, locks, and adjusts with perfection. My head captain, Pritok, follows my lead and raises his weapon to the “ready” position, gazing at his exogenous armor with approval.

  I am ready.

  My captain squares his feet; our defensive move is moments away. I press my body against Pritok’s, peering over his shoulder through the slight opening in the door; I can smell the sweat-covered beast in front of me, and he stinks like a wet garment left unwashed for days.

  “You need a shower, Captain.”

  “I’ll need a grave. Let’s do this.”

  The hallway is twelve by twelve feet, at least, and it will be like shooting bugs in a bunther barrel if we choose to fight here. This is a skyway and not really much for taking cover from incoming fire.

  “Now!” I shout to initiate our objective—which is to escape at all costs by commandeering one of my own vessels from the inboard air hangar. Following Pritok closely, I exit and see my soldiers thirty feet down the hallway, marching eagerly, but their strides slow as I draw my blade; its heat and crimson glowing near my face reminds me of past battles. Kings don’t raise blades often unless the perils of war arise, and that time has come.

  Pritok and I stand strong, intimidating the detainment crew with our ruthless stares, as well as elite weapons that are only issued to the upper Urilian echelons of Zane’s army.

  The soldiers and their on-the-spot leader, surely hesitate by halting their advance.

  “Arrest a king of Karshiz?” I ask loud and sarcastically. “Not unheard of, I guess.”

  “Zane ordered us,” Xalag says.
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  “You are my men! There comes a time when you must decide for yourself what is right!” I intercept, yelling as my armored suit’s intercom amplifies my voice. Their orders are to detain me, but that is a monumental task. I place my free left hand on the shoulder of Pritok. Quietly, I assure my captain, “They will retreat. Hold your position.”

  “By Zane’s order, we demand you to place your weapons down and surrender!” the lieutenant yells. Xalag is my star recruit, having earned his position by exemplary leadership that allowed him to rocket through the ranks. All I have done for him comes to naught as he presses toward me with mind-cuffs in hand.

  “I hope you don’t plan on numbing my mind with that temporalysis device. You will lose if that is your plan. Think about your families back on Karshiz!” I yell to the soldiers that are visibly hesitant and probably wavering in conviction after the command of defiance by their king standing before them. I am their king, but being king is only a position; it is honor that men follow. I can only hope at one time they saw honor in me.

  Over my intercom, I hear Xalag’s voice, communicating solely with me—I hope. “You are my king. I am with you to the end, but we need to at least make it seem like we put up a fight.”

  The lieutenant is with us!

  I communicate along the same channel, through my suit. I say, “Then let’s put on a show for that bastard Zane! I’m sure he is watching.” I turn to Pritok. “Pritok, fire at the wall over there.” I point to a section of the hallway next to the soldiers detaining us.

  “Sire? Shouldn’t I—”

  “Are you questioning me, Captain? Try not to injure anyone.” He is only questioning my lead, but my duty as leader is to encourage him to comply. He answers my rhetoric with action, firing at the wall near the soldiers.

  My weapon, a gun blade, can either function as gun or as a blade, using plasma energy. The red plasma blade will work much better in this situation. I lance a large section out of the roof of the ship with my gun blade, as piping and shards of metal scatter and fill the deck with debris. We ascend using our anti-gravity boosters within our power suits. My troops now are scrambling in horror to duck the rapid fire that Pritok is directing toward them, even as they don masks to overcome the ship’s exposure to outer space.

  “Aerial mode!” I shout to verbally command my suit’s preparatory response to the volatile space environment; it takes but a second to comply with my order. My suit prepares its outer layers for the extremes of outer space by sealing its crevices with vacuum pressurized insolation. Pritok follows my lead and preps for the deathly cold of the cosmos.

  The troops within the vessel are holding on to whatever is in reach in order to avoid being sucked up by the powerful vortex caused by the rupture in the hull. I catch a glimpse of one of these soldiers, making a call from the ships hallway communication dashboard. I then realize that, given the speed of their communication, we must hurry.

  I can feel the depressurization within the ship, pulling my armored flight suit toward the opening. In an instant, I grab Pritok by the shoulder, while verbally commanding slight adjustments to the thrusters on my suit; they carefully project us through the opening and into outer space. As Pritok makes his ascent, he continues to fire upon my troops, but just close enough to scare them, to put on a convincing show for Zane. We nearly cut against the sharp carved out edges of the ship’s hull. The enormous size of this vessel is enough to keep us gravitationally in orbit near the exterior during our maneuver.

  We will need to walk on the exterior hull until we reach the vessel’s cargo bay, using our magnetic boots. “Follow me! Use your boots to stay in contact with the ship’s hull!” I yell over private communication with Pritok.

  “This escape will only delay the inevitable, sire. We will have to fight.”

  “At least we know we still have an ally on the inside, in the lieutenant.” After several more meters of exaggerated strides on the ship’s hull, we finally see the outline of the giant sealed door to the inboard air hanger. “There is the opening! I will use the Dietons to disable the troops and shield us from their weapons!”

  “There won’t be enough of those microscopic Dietons. We will need to fight!” Pritok shouts over coms.

  “Don’t flood the microphone! Ease up on the volume of your voice. Now, Captain! It won’t be long before Zane disables my rolesk crown, and all others. Soon, we will have no control over the Dietons, and we will be left with only our gun blades to use in this fight.”

  “Then this is for the galaxy. No sense in holding back!” I use my rolesk for accessing the mainframe. I will open the massive sealed entry, if is not reconfigured. The ground crew will be in a panic, not able to react to the exposure and fight at the same time.

  The sealed door parts open at its central seam. The gigantic sliding doors glide along fixed rails into the opposite walls.

  “For the galaxy!” Pritok shouts, as we enter the gaping exit of the inboard hangar, back inside our massive spaceship. I know my captain is with me now and is ready to sacrifice everything.

  We will hopefully hijack a smaller aerial vessel to leave this mother ship and flee to safety. Unless Zane appoints an interim magistrate, I am still the king of Karshiz, but as for my role with the Urilians, with Zane, this is the end; right now is the official finality of my pretend alliance with him.

  “There’s the escape ship! Direct your suppressive fire upon the defensive soldiers on the bridge!” I yell. The soldiers arrive as the ground crew frantically dons equipment to guard against fatal exposure.

  Into the fight we go, to survive among the attacks of my own men that were once under my command. This war tears an army apart, an army that relies on cohesion. Savoring victory, I adopt my captain’s motivational focus and yell, “Yes! For the galaxy!”

  This entire event will reveal the potential saviors from Earth to the Council—those men and women chosen to represent each galactic realm. I pray that Theodore does not see the inside of the Galactic Council’s prison; but as all actions go, I can only ensure outcomes within my own control.

  2 THEODORE: PRESENT TIME

  “Prisoner eight-six-seven-five! Assume the static pose!” The static pose—a complex contortion of my body into a position that is difficult to maintain, even for the healthy, which I am definitely not.

  I hate being in this position. Oh, if ever I was the warden for a day, I would order every guard in this prison to assume the static pose for at least an hour to watch them suffer. My muscles strain to isolate my arms behind my back, while rocking forward on my knees until my forehead taps the wall. The weight of my body, compounded by my inability to balance on my kneecaps, jolts sensations of acute pain into my already flooded mind. I feel tiny granules of tracked-in dirt pressing against the skin covering my knees.

  “Warden. The prisoner is almost ready for transport. Got it, warden! Let’s go, men. Open request for eight-six-seven-five! Remember the five-point inspection! Everyone, cover your point. Verbalize what you see!” It seems they are instituting a new form of prisoner inspection, making my fantasies of escaping negligible. The vault slowly opens, and the guards enter the room like a close-quarters SWAT team. I can only catch glimpses of their faces through the face shields on their riot gear. I can’t even identify what species they are.

  “Hey loser,” a young-looking guard says as he taunts me, conveying his apparent disgust. “This is Theodore Crane? He looks like a punk to me.”

  “Private! Check your tongue! What’s the status of your sector?”

  “Sorry, Sarge! Point one is clear.”

  “Let’s go! Sound off!” the sarge yells.

  All at once, disparate voices yell out in unison, “Clear!!”

  “Private! Place the temporalysis!” the sarge says. The prison is colder than usual, and even the nodes of the temporalysis feel warm against my temples today. The temporalysis, an absurdly effective device that invokes paralysis, shocks me, causing me to collapse to the floor.

 
; As I awaken moments later, I can feel the hot breath of a guard next to me. The water vapor exits his mouth like a billow of steam, colliding with the cold of the cell.

  “I’ve been watching you prisoner,” the guard hisses into my ear, making me shudder. “I know they like to pamper you, but I’m not that easy. You two. Place the muzzles of your rifles on this prisoner. Move!” Pamper me! Is this guy nuts?

  “Yes, Sarge,” one of the ordered guards responds.

  “How do you like the temperature in here, prisoner? I know I like it. I love watching you freeze. This is my jurisdiction now. That old fogey assigned to watch over you before, he was a pretty little butterfly compared to me! Your ass is all mine! Keep your muzzle trained on the prisoner’s head, and don’t point your guns at each other, knuckleheads! Adjust your aim! You, pick up this sorry excuse for Earth’s messiah. And you! Place that bag on his head already! Wait! I almost forgot. The warden wants him to choke down this vial of crud.” The effervescent sludge is poured down my throat as the guard tilts a vial against my mouth. I can barely gulp because of my semi-paralytic state, so the green liquid seeps downwards, slowly. I consider spitting it out, but it would only aggravate them, leading to a more invasive method of force-feeding.

  A bag slips over my face quickly to blanket me from memorizing the layout of the corridors outside of my prison cell.

  Here we go again. Where are you taking me? Please don’t. Ouch, that hurts. I mock the guards in my mind as they haul me toward another interrogation, I assume. Moments pass and I realize we are en route to something significant this time. Usually the warden’s interrogation room is only a minute away. I have been traveling for at least five.

  Wait, is this fresh air?

  After being hauled for over ten minutes through various sectors of the prison, cool clean air flows down my windpipe after it streaks through my nostrils, then fills my lungs. I suck it in as if the pristine outside air was the only salvation to my starvation. It’s not, but I won’t mind gratifying my lungs with this elixir of freedom. I dizzy a bit as I rapidly inhale in an erratic manner. Slow down and enjoy it. I feel myself falling momentarily, as the guards toss me around.