20. Xandor
Chapter 20
Xandor
Peace
“ H ow gracious, my sexy little puffrio,” I reply, brimming with renewed resolve and a lightness I haven’t felt in—perhaps ever. It’s as if Tyrxie has drawn the darkness out of my soul, just as she removes pain and heals wounds. The Gods have truly blessed me, and I will not betray their gifts or her trust. I will control my rage; I will bring peace.
Stepping inside, I’m stuck by the immensity of the room, ancient in its grandeur. The timeless marble suggests the Nebians hold it in reverence. I frown at the imposing vertical seating arrangement: rows of elevated marble benches rising in concentric tiers—complete with important looking short-stuffs. They’re positioned to peer down upon the central floor, their attention focused on the Imperator in the center.
As we approach, our footsteps echo across the grand space, amplified by the soaring ceilings topped with a dominating domed skylight. But I’m more interested in placing the numerous guards dotted along the rim, and the immense battlesuits standing like statues. Retreat will be difficult; the only entrance is the one we’ve just come through.
Behind us, the door bangs shut, as if in response to my thoughts. The sudden noise startles Tyrxie, making her whirl around and reach in her sleeve for a knife she shouldn’t have. So fierce, she warms my heart and brings a smile to my face. But she has nothing to fear—not anymore.
I place a reassuring arm around her petite waist. “Look at them up there,” I nod at the ludicrously high heights of the Consuls. “Like little angry puffrios gawking at us from trees.”
“As long as that’s the only thing they’re doing,” Tyrxie retorts, her eyes now spying the towering battlesuits.
It’s obvious this room is designed to intimidate. Is it for my benefit, or does everyone receive this welcome? We won’t wait long to find out. Closer now, I notice the heart of the chamber: a circular platform made of translucent, shimmering material that pulses with an inner light. The Imperator stands waiting, surrounded by low glowing rings, one orange, the other blue.
“Hail, Imperator Bulba, fourth of your name, protector of the twin-sunned empire!” I boom, my voice resonating through the immense space as I lower my head to the gleaming marble floor. I hate every second of this debasement, but I swallow my pride, choosing the path of peace.
Tyrxie scrambles to join me, and we both share a sneaky, hidden smile. “Rise, please. There’s no need for the ancient formalities, although your knowledge of them does you credit,” the Imperator greets us.
Information I gleaned from one of the paths. A version of me that somehow enjoys reading—Scholar’s pet Xandor.
“Thank you, Dominus,” I say, standing almost distracted, noticing the ringed tiers the Consuls sit upon is rotating slowly. “But forgive me, I had hoped we had already acquired suitable credit to discuss the alliance terms in a less...” My gaze sweeps the room, lingering on the battlesuits. “... formal setting.”
“You’re fortunate you’re not rotting in a cell for assaulting our Imperial palace and killing Prefect Horaxus Domna!” an irksome female voice echoes through the chamber, amplified from an unseen location.
I offer a mocking smile, raising the stump of my arm for all to see. “I can’t say I enjoyed losing my eye and arm in your... less-than-hospitable cells,” I say, tone dripping with false contrition. “And I’m rather loath to lose the others.” Turning to Tyrxie with a smirking shrug, I add, “How would I wipe my ass?”
Tyrxie scrunches her beautiful face as if she’s eaten something sour. It’s to be expected, but she has nothing to fear. I won’t fail, and there’s no reason not to have some fun. Mutters of disapproval echo from above, like the useless droppings of wild, noisy puffrios. But my gaze falls to the Imperator as he suppresses a chuckle—he is the key.
“Drones is the answer,” The Imperator mutters with a smile before turning to the Consuls, his voice booming. “Prefect Horaxus Domna’s actions brought shame to us all! A Klendathian peace envoy destroyed, their ambassador tortured. It’s only by the strangest twist of fate that we’re given this second chance to make amends. Let’s not squander it!”
It’s jarring to see the Imperator now, his bearing proud, his eyes clear and focused, his voice loud and steady. He seems like a different person, hundreds of years younger—Tyrxie’s gift is truly a miracle. A far cry from our initial meeting, where the Imperator’s simple mind clung to his fragile body, faint as a whisper.
A cacophony of muttering and grumbling twitches my long ears, although the great height and rotation of the Consuls makes it difficult to ascertain their overall attitudes. “I would like to review the security streams,” a male’s amplified voice echoes.
The Imperator stiffens at the request, mirroring a sliver of my own displeasure. “Is this to be a trial, then? Accused by faceless voices mimicking gods upon the clouds?” A rage shimmers within me, ready to erupt. “Haven’t I...” my voice tapers off, remembering my vow to Tyrxie and the future worth preserving. “Forgive my outburst. It’s been a trying few days.”
Tyrxie, my love, squeezes next to me, offering a heartwarming smile and nod. At least she appreciates my titanic efforts. “Understandable, Ambassador Xandor,” the Imperator states with a slight nod. “But let us indulge Consul Gnaeuthan’s request, so we can move on to more hopeful matters.”
At his words, dozens of drones assemble, forming a hovering square which fills the gulf of empty space in the massive room. Each emits a glowing blue holographic projection—part of a whole, forming the largest screen I’ve ever seen.
“Wow,” Tyrxie exclaims, her head tilted upward, her beautiful emerald eyes glittering with wonder. The enormous projection shifts to show a recording of me charging up the stairs in the Imperator’s fortress.
“This should be fun,” I lean down to whisper in Tyrxie’s delicate, tiny ear. The screen’s angle changes to show five Nebians chatting as I land amongst them, rendering them helpless in a mere second under my savage punches and kicks. Watching it, I can’t help but smile, and my hand twitches, reliving each blow. Until I notice one of my attacks lacks perfect technique, wrinkling my brow with disappointment.
There’s always room for improvement.
The Consuls are also displeased, but I doubt it’s because of my technique. They grumble and gasp at each crunching blow. The squeamishness of other species can be so tiresome. The worst is yet to come as the screen shows me extending my claws to loom ominously. A potential disaster if not for my sweet Tyrxie pulling me back from the brink.
“Savage! Look how it sought to spill their blood!” the irksome female from before exclaims. Her words pass over me like a light breeze as I choose the path of peace.
“Please Consul Juliara. If you can’t observe even a modicum of respect for the Ambassador, I will have you removed,” the Imperator snaps with a grimace. I think I may be warming to old Bulba. “Although an explanation may help ease the doubts of the others,” The Imperator suggests, gesturing towards me. I take it back.
Thank the Gods Tyrxie was there, or this would’ve been a very different type of meeting. “My companions and I took great care to spare the lives of your noble soldiers.” Bunch of weak short-stuffs. “What you witnessed here was an involuntary emotional response, brought about by the injuries I suffered at the Prefect’s hands,” I reply, bowing my head in feigned shame. The truth is enough—after all, it’s already written in the future paths.
A soft murmur greets my words. Good, let the shame of their people’s actions temper their fiery blood. The massive screen speeds through the recording. “Nice!” Tyrxie exclaims, stroking my ego delightfully, when she witnesses me slicing through the battlesuit with a blindingly perfect strike.
She has a good eye for quality.
I give her a playful bump and a smile when the stream speeds through the part where her accurate shots took out the three sniper drones. “We should ask them for a copy of this,” I jest, causing Tyrxie to suppress a cute chuckle.
The stream continues, showing me entering the room to face the final Nebian defenders. My blood stirs within, watching it, threatening to spill forth my golden Rush. I can almost feel the heat of the laser beams, my hair tussling as I dodge, the adrenaline surging within, the joy in my heart. But for now, it’s the part where I ask permission to pass that’s most relevant.
Mutterings of disbelief echo out as I appear like a blur dodging crimson light itself. How I long to fight again, to put my skills to the test unbarred by the need for restraint, unburdened by revenge. Unshackled and free, the pinnacle of our noble blood, the manifestation of the Gods’ will.
I almost don’t notice the recording speed onward, lost in my joyous musings. It now shows the final confrontation with the soulless Prefect, where I divined the correct paths, ensuring he attacked me first, knowing this moment would come—feeling the weight of history.
“Look at how the Prefect disrespected the noble Imperator,” I gesture to the massive screen, highlighting, when the Prefect referred to Bulba as an ‘old fool.’
“Shut up! My Horaxus fought for the good of all Nebians to protect us from the likes of him!” The irksome female voice echoes. Despite the amplification, it still conveys raw emotion and seething anger.
The Prefect’s lover, perhaps? A little nest of vipertails.
“He was a usurper, corrupted by hate...” My words veer off as a sudden realization hits me like an orbital drop. The Prefect was the end result of my dark path, where honor gives way to something sinister, where mutual respect for a fearsome advisory becomes twisted into the vilest, disgust and loathing.
“The Prefect was a warrior like me. He had seen too much, endured too much. It ate away at him, just as it eats away at us all. The Scythians’ endless war has done this to our noble brothers and sisters. I say it’s time to put an end to the hate and the suffering. That’s why I endured, why I fought like the light itself, so I could stand before you now, to make this final plea. Let us work together against the Scythians. Let us achieve a glorious victory and a lasting peace,” I declare, my heart soaring, carried away in the moment as my golden Rush drifts from my eye.
A deafening silence follows, threatening to dampen my elation, fearing my passionate words may be wasted. Tyrxie presses against me, beaming with the sweetest smile. I could get lost for an eternity in her emerald paradises of adoration.
Glad she liked my heartfelt words, even if the others didn’t.
Then, a faint rhythmic thudding reaches my ears, almost imperceptible even for my senses. I scan the room, locating the source above. The Consuls high up are stamping their tiny feet—hopefully a gesture of approval.
An answer comes in the form of a smiling Imperator, his orange eyes glowing like orbs of Elerium. “Well spoken, Ambassador!” he exclaims, nodding towards me. “I was going to save the vote until after more deliberations, but after your fine words, there’s no bloody point waiting!”
“You honor me, Imperator. I simply spoke from the heart,” I reply, nodding, wondering if the Gods inspired me.
“And a fine heart it is,” the imperator retorts, before turning to address the Consuls above with arms raised. “All in favor of the Nebian-Klendathian alliance as proposed by High Chieftain Krogoth.”
The enormous screen shifts to a circle already half filled with a deep blue. “The Imperator’s vote counts as forty percent, and a vote needs seventy-five percent to pass,” Tyrxie whispers beside me, her eyes glued to the glimmering projection. “Come on,” she repeats, urging the fates, growing more excited with each utterance.
Ignoring the vote, I instead watch Tyrxie with a smile, filled with love for her, because I know what the result will be, the futures paths now all converging into a glowing victory. “I love you, Tyrxie,” I mutter softly.
“What?” Tyrxie says absently, before she leaps on the spot cheering, her arms pumping frantically. “You did it! Ninety-one percent only a single vote against!” She turns to me, her face brimming with excitement.
“We both did,” I correct her, mesmerized by her joy and my good fortune that the Gods brought us together. “Without you, there was no future.” The words leave my lips, although Tyrxie may never understand the full extent of my words.
“Don’t be silly, you big dummy,” she says, leaping into my arm, her laughter echoing out as I spin her round. “I knew you could do it, Xandor. Peace between your peoples!” I clutch my love, holding her tight next to my heart where she’ll always belong.
My face beams and my heart soars, not just for the victory, but for the adoration I see in Tyrxie eyes reflecting my own. However, peace is such a vague concept, lacking the raw, visceral passions that stir my soul. I know this is just the first step of many to secure the future. The possible paths sprawled out before my mind’s eye show many trials ahead. Krogoth especially will have his hands full.
“Congratulations, Ambassador!” The Imperator declares, drawing me back to reality. I set the panting Tyrxie down, surprised to see the elated Bulba standing before me with a leg raised.
“They bump knees,” Tyrxie whispers, leaning against me a bit unsteadily. I’d seen this in the paths, the Nebians’ form of cementing oaths and agreements.
I carefully bump my knee against the Imperator’s, not wishing to send him staggering and jeopardizing our budding peace. “In your wisdom, you may have saved both our noble peoples,” I state with a nod and a smile.
“I know!” The Imperator laughs, tussling his bushy white beard and eyebrows. “There’s something special about you two. I can feel it in my bones, even if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” he adds, returning to stand in the pulsing shimmering material at the heart of the immense chamber. “But there are some points in High Chieftain Krogoth’s proposal that need discussing.”
This was to be expected. Krogoth made many requests for aid and assistance, knowing the Nebians are likely desperate for any advantage against the Scythians. And what better advantage than turning your enemies’ most powerful forces against themselves?
“Krogoth’s request for access to our laser technology cannot be granted. We Nebians take great pride in our technological achievements, and it is strictly forbidden to reveal their secrets,” the Imperator states with a cool tone.
At least he’s not offended. Krogoth knew we wouldn’t get everything he wanted, like a frantic barrage of plasma fire hoping some shots land. Although looking at the Imperator, I judge a little nudge might be worth the attempt.
“Of course, Imperator, it is well known,” I begin with a slight nod, feeling Tyrxie stiffen beside me, which almost distracts me, forcing me to suppress laughter. “But I understand you sometimes equip foreign mercenaries with your superior technologies. Could such an arrangement be made for selected warriors?”
The Imperator frowns, a stubby hand stroking his long white beard. His answer, which hung in the balance, becomes crystal clear the moment the words leave my lips. It’s hard not to smile, knowing what’s coming. It’s hard to behave normally when I can predict events and words before they’re spoken, having to feign surprise. Increasingly, I exist in my mind’s eye. My present is now the future paths coming into focus.
“On one condition,” The Imperator offers. “I want access to all your Scythian tech. We’re especially interested in their use of cyber-organics.” His face twists into a look of disdain. “It’s a struggle to even speak the words. But they surpass us in that field.”
I have no qualms giving the Nebians that information, anything to help bring down the Scythians. It’s the fact that the Imperator can admit their inferiority in that arena that gives me hope for my last request—the most important one of all. “You are wise, Imperator. You will have full access.” I nod.
“Very good!” The Imperator booms, “Then we shall oversee the deployment of our technologies to a selected few, under supervision and I must add: our technologies, if tampered with, will cease to function and our agreement will be null and void,” he adds with a stern look.
The Nebians guard their technology like their Mortakin-Kis’s pussies.
Another well-known truth is to interfere with Nebian technology, to attempt to glean their secrets, results in death. The devices usually explode in murderous crimson revenge, taking out the one foolish enough to try, and much of the surrounding area. Simple and effective, this way, the Nebians have maintained their grip on their technology and power.
“It goes without saying, Imperator. We’d never be foolish enough to spit in the eye of such a great gift,” I add with a slight bow.
The Imperator glances at his wrist console. “Now, this matter about aiding in locating your lost Klendathian females.” His eyes snap back with an expression of pity. “We’ve no knowledge of them. At the outbreak of war, we did penetrate deep into the Scythian systems. They have entire planets turned over to their machinations, on a scale that belies belief, overwhelming all native life. Maybe within such a system, they keep your females?” He suggests, although his uncertain voice and softened eyes leave no doubt—he thinks them lost.
And the gut-wrenching truth is I share that opinion. The futures I can glimpse are absent of our sisters, mothers, and daughters. No matter how deep I search, pushing at the furthest boundaries that threaten to sear my mind with too much knowing. Not even the weakest path reveals the possibility of their existence, except the presence of a singular female, shrouded in darkness so thick I cannot pierce. I pray that it’s because the paths are out of reach, waiting to divulge their secrets.
“We would never hold you to achieve the impossible, Imperator. Only that you pass on any information to us Klendathians. The absence of our Mortakin-Kis’s, mothers, sisters and daughters is a terrible wound that festers deep,” I reply, feeling a surprisingly intense pang of sadness.
Tyrxie, my love, rubs my back as if sensing my discomfort, though I’m unsure how much she knows of my people’s history presently. “I understand and sympathize. You have my word we’ll keep a lookout for them,” the Imperator proposes with a gracious nod, glancing at his wrist console again.
“Aid in finding a cure for the Scythians’ corruption of your youth?” the Imperator inquires, grimacing. “I was not aware of this,” he adds, looking towards the Consuls up high. “The Fallen are brutal masters,” he finishes, shaking his head.
“Indeed, they are, Imperator,” I almost laugh at this request, knowing how irrelevant it’ll be soon, but I can still use it to press forward another concern that has irked me. “There are many, including myself, who seethe with rage to bring retribution upon them for their crimes. None more so than my war brothers, Logarn and Noroth, who are still in your custody. Logarn himself is a corrupted youth, bought here to discover if your great scientists could aid in this matter.”
The Imperator strokes his bushy beard with a furrowed brow. “As I mentioned, our cyber-organics pale compared to the Scythians. But we’ll do what we can to help,” he declares, his eyes snapping to mine with a smile. “I will, of course, have your soldiers released immediately and your items restored to you all.”
I exhale at his words before smiling, glad to get my war brothers out of the Nebians’ clutches, knowing treatment for us Klendathians at their hands is as unpredictable as an angry wild borack. “You have my thanks, gracious Imperator.”
Bulba returns to staring at his wrist console, mumbling as he reads. “Seems these other requests are suitable,” he says after a moment. I almost choke in surprise that he didn’t balk at Krogoth’s request for ten billion credits, a sum we both thought ludicrous. But like Krogoth said, it’s better to aim for the stars, so we might hit the moon. Well, it seems we’ve hit all the voiding moons and their stars too! “I’m keen to discuss our first coordinated military action. The Scythians press us hard on Argon Six, threatening our industrial capacity.”
“We’ll take them apart!” I smirk, showing eager fangs, ready to bring our so-called masters low. “High Chieftain Krogoth will rendezvous with our forces soon. Then, with your help, we’ll launch a surprise attack on the Scythians. They won’t know what’s hit them, attacked from both sides. But the details can be discussed closer to the time.”
I leave out the awkward part, knowing how difficult a task Krogoth has ahead of him, the futures leaving no doubt. I must warn and teach my old friend—or his death is almost certain. But the Imperator doesn’t need to know such details.
“Very good!” The Imperator booms, smashing his stubby hands together, a look of relish mirroring my own. “If there’s nothing else—”
“There are two other stipulations I’d like to add in light of recent events,” I interject with a bowed head. “Master Engineer Felixus should not be punished for aiding us. He acted in the best interests of Nebia, a true son of your noble people.”
The grumbling of displeasure, faint as a whisper, reaches me from the looming Consuls, stirring unease in my gut. My thoughts turn to my friend, knowing the paths that await him. He’ll be shunned, stripped of his post for helping us, despite it being for the greater good. The Imperator’s voice breaks through my worry, his tone grave. “There are those.” He pauses, eyes lifting to the vaulted ceiling, “who view his actions as treasonous, regardless of the outcome. He aided in breaching our once-impenetrable Imperial palace—a symbol of global pride, now tarnished. It’s a tremendous scandal, and the public are afraid. They demand answers.”
As I feared, Felixus’s future is ominous. Even the Imperator sounds displeased at his actions. I can’t allow poor short-stuff to suffer for saving my life and preserving peace! “I understand, but it’d be such a waste to not utilize short—um, I mean Felixus,” I say, stumbling slightly as Tyrxie snickers beside me. “Krogoth trusts him, I trust him, let him serve as an arbitrator between our peoples. He can oversee your loaned tech and help coordinate efforts,” I offer, hoping it’ll be enough.
More grumbling echoes from above, but my eye is locked on the Imperator—his decision is the one that matters. He frowns, stroking his ancient beard. “Very well. But we’ll frame it as an exile to the public.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and joy, knowing Felixus will be safe, even if it means enduring my endless taunts. Yep, events are turning out better than expected. “And your second stipulation, Ambassador?” the Imperator inquires.
The question slices through my elation like the sharpest venefex claw. There’s a remnant of the darkness in me that urges me to hold my tongue. But I suppress it as the two main future paths for the Nebians hang in the balance, the larger one leading off into oblivion, the other bright and leading to glory. All hinging on one thing.
I take a deep breath, the weight of billions of lives at stake. “Your NeuroLinks invite disaster. The Scythians will hack your network. They will take control,” I declare, my expression stern. My words hang in the air like a virus bomb, the miasmas taking time to spread.
“This is an outrage! He seeks to undermine our greatest advantage!” The angry voice of the female Consul challenges from above. “This whole sorry idea is a likely setup!”
That went about as well as I expected.
“Silence!” The Imperator roars, raising a hand. He shakes with tiny fury, me as the focus. “You know this how? All our scientists assured us the Scythians could not cross from the logarithmic barrier to the neuronic impulses!”
The Nebians reek of false certainty, their arrogance in their technology leading to their demise.
My mind reels, struggling to think of an explanation other than I can divine the futures. A truth that’ll either lead me to being laughed out of the room or studied under a healer’s knife. “You said it yourself. The Scythians are masters of cyber-organics. I assure you, it’s only a matter of time.”
“A Klendathian brute knows better than our finest minds! How ridiculous,” a male Consul mocks from above, perhaps sealing the fate of his entire species.
But the Imperator’s glowing orange eyes pierce mine, as if weighing every ounce of my soul. I return his glare unblinking, full of hardened resolve, letting him bathe in my harsh truth. A long, awkward tension stretches with not a whisper. “I shall think on this troubling problem,” he announces finally, with a soft shake of his head. “Your alliance offer isn’t dependent on this?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, it’s not a requirement, but my ardent wish is to save your people,” I reply.
The Imperator frowns, stroking his beard. “Very well. In that case, we shall meet in two days to solidify our alliance formally and indulge in some much-needed celebrations!” He lets out a deep breath.
I smile at his words, yet my heart is weary.
The Nebian’s fate looms dark.