Chapter 6 – Plans and Troubles
Discipline
is the soul of an army. It makes small numbers formidable; procures
success to the weak, and esteem to all.
-George Washington, 18th Century Earth-Relic Politician and
General
Pathros – New Badris – Keep Taynen
Sunday, 17th Day of the 4th Cycle, 3579 A.D.
It had been over fifteen minutes since he had last written anything,
yet Dalmer had been staring at his Tablet the entire time. The
digital notepad displayed on the surface of the Tablet contained a
neatly organized list, although most of his writing was scratched
out. The Lord Executive tapped the stylus against the Tablet,
unintentionally decorating the top left corner of the surface with
dozens of dots. His eyes moved up and down the surface, reading and
re-reading every note he had taken.
Stars! Is that it?
Habitually, Dalmer’s lips moved as he read, but no sound was made.
It didn’t seem to matter, though, how many times he reviewed his
notes.
That’s the only option, then.
The list, recorded on the digital notepad, was the physical
incarnation of Dalmer’s frantic attempt to come up with something,
anything, that could solve House Taynen’s problems. In the past four
days, he had reviewed everything he could about House Taynen’s
current situation. The young Lord Executive had studied the House
Budget, the current Contracts of the House, and the plans his late
father had made for the allocation of House Taynen finances. He’d
studied the status of the relationship House Taynen had with the
other Major Houses, the friends, the enemies, and those who had
potential still to become either. Everything Dalmer had looked at had
pointed in one direction.
The idiot Dukes were right.
Now, they weren’t right about everything that they had said. Dalmer
was determined not to abandon Pathros. House Taynen didn’t have to go
chasing the asteroid mining industry in the Austria-Brazil System.
House Taynen didn’t have to back down from the challenge and flee.
House Taynen could still be benefactors of the Historiarch’s
Proclamation.
We just can’t do it with what we’ve got now. . .
None of House Taynen’s current assets had power to save them from
the hard times ahead. The Lord Executive commanded no military power,
no economic power, no diplomatic, cultural, or religious power. House
Taynen was out of cards.
Pathros wasn’t.
Accompanied by a moderately therapeutic humming sound, the door to
Dalmer’s office slid open, and in walked Zeke Bastille, wearing a
gaudy green cape that Dalmer detested so. A few steps behind the Lord
Executive’s brother-in-law was one dressed in a much more martial
regalia. Roger Markham, Tier-Six Wing Captain of House Taynen’s
Dragoons.
“You called for us, Lord Taynen?”
“Yes, Lord Bastille. Both of you,” Dalmer motioned towards
two soft chairs that sat in front of his desk, “take a seat.”
Both the militant Captain Markham and the congenial Lord Bastille
accepted Dalmer’s offer and seated themselves in the nice chairs.
Zeke settled down comfortably in the chair, whilst Roger held a rigid
posture. The two were so different from each other, in so many ways,
but they held one thing in common. Lord Bastille and Captain Markham,
the courtier and the soldier, were the only ones who were truly loyal
to House Taynen.
“Now,” began Dalmer, “I have a few matters to discuss
with the two of you.”
“We’re all ears,” assured Zeke.
“First off, I’ll have you know that I have not made any
progress in appointing new Dukes. I’ve certainly had more than a few
people approach me about the open positions, but I’ve really not had
any time to think about it.”
From the look on Lord Bastille’s face, it was apparent to Dalmer
that his brother-in-law wasn’t entirely surprised. Captain Markham,
however, betrayed little concern for the matter. He had never been
fond of the Dukes, anyway.
“I will, I assure you, get to that in due time. For now,
however, there is another matter that is much more pressing.”
“And what would that be?” asked Captain Markham.
“The Historiarch’s Proclamation,” answered Dalmer. Again,
Lord Bastille’s expression showed no surprise. “I have spent the
past few days searching through everything I could, looking for the
thing that will pull House Taynen through this.”
Lord Bastille leaned forward in his chair, one hand rising to stroke
his short beard. “What did you find, Lord Taynen?”
“Well, I’m afraid that, after having looked over everything I
could think of, I have come to the conclusion that House Taynen has
nothing.”
Lord Bastille leaned back in his chair, disappointment clearly
strewn across his face. Captain Markham lowered his head, slightly,
eyes closing.
“However,” continued Dalmer, “that doesn’t mean we
are beat. House Taynen may be out of cards, but we can always draw
another.”
Both the nobleman and the warrior perked up, their faces, one fair
and one weathered, now alive with interest.
“Go on,” urged Captain Markham.
“It’s about the recent discovery at Harvesting Facility J-7.
You’ve both heard of it, have you not?”
“Certainly, Lord Taynen. It has been all over the news these
past few days.”
“Well, I think it is our best option,” announced the young
Lord Executive.
His brow furrowed, Roger spoke up, “I’m sorry, Lord Taynen, I’m
afraid I don’t follow you.”
“Are you familiar with Goratii, and their history?”
“Vaguely,” admitted Lord Bastille, “but I fail to see
how this applies.”
“The Goratii,” began Dalmer, “are, as you both know,
the only other sentient race in the galaxy, as far as we are aware.”
The two nodded. “Their planet, Geshaii, was discovered by the
Hammadas Trade Company. The one’s credited for discovering the
Goratii, however, were a few students from a university in the
Baptist Empire. Do you know why that is?”
“I must admit, Lord Taynen, I do not.”
“Nor I,” professed Captain Markham.
“Well, I can’t blame you,” admitted Dalmer. “Had I
not read an article about the Goratii in a periodical a few months
back, I wouldn’t have either.”
Zeke let out an audible sigh of relief. The man took pride in his
learning, so he was obviously relieved that he wasn’t the only one
unaware of the history of the Goratii.
“When the Hammadas Trade Company discovered Geshaii, they found
on it the remains of a small village. Not much, just a few bits of
pottery, a decrepit hut, and a few odds and ends. Although there was
little there, it was an incredible find. It was the first sign of
sentient non-human life in the galaxy! It was incredible! The
Hammadas Trade Company became famous, overnight. They became stars,
known throughout the whole of humankind. However, their fame didn’t
last.
“The Hammadas Trade Company was satisfied with their find.
Others were not, however. Among the dozens of universities that sent
their top archaeologists were a few students from the New
West Virginia University. While a few other archaeologists found a
few more ruins, the students from NWVU found a real village. They
made first contact with an alien species.”
Dalmer pause for a moment, almost unintentionally, for effect, then
continued.
“Do you know what became of those students?”
“I would imagine,” began Roger in answer to the Lord
Executive’s question, “that they became richer than the Hammadas
Trade Company.”
“Not just the students, Captain Markham,” added Dalmer,
“but the university, as well. In fact, the entire planet of New
West Virginia, and even the Baptist Empire profited from it. For
discovering a sentient race — even one that was only in a stone age,
and still is — they made it big.” Dalmer made a deliberate
pause, before asking, “Do you see where I’m going with this?”
Lord Bastille, once again stroking his short beard, slowly raised
his eyebrows, answering, “I think I just might. . .”
“The ruins found at J-7 were a major find,” continued
Dalmer. “Were this any other planet, House Crayn would have it
all to themselves. Fortunately for us, this is Pathros. For at least
the next six months, the Historiarch owns the planet, and the Cracks
at J-7 are only being leased out to House Crayn.”
In reality, they were being leased out to House Giles, who was
leasing them out to House Crayn, but those details were irrelevant.
The fact remained: House Crayn couldn’t lawfully restrict anyone from
investigating those ruins.
“I’ve looked into the details,” assured the Lord
Executive, “and all I have to do to get a team of our men
investigating the ruins is send in a simple form to House Crayn.”
Dalmer leaned back in his executive chair, a smug smile crawling
across his face. “What do you think?”
The suave gentleman and the grizzled warrior exchanged glances, then
both looked back at their Lord Executive.
“So, you expect to find some mysterious, alien civilization in
those ruins?” asked Captain Markham, making sure he had heard
correctly.
“Now, I don’t know if we’ll be finding any advanced
civilizations down there, but if we can find any living proof of
another sentient species in the galaxy, here on Pathros, I think we
just might have a chance at being the Historiarch’s choice in six
months.”
“Well, Lord Taynen, it’s a stretch,” admitted Lord
Bastille. “Now, sure, the ruins obviously mean something. They
didn’t just appear there: someone had to build them. Whether that
someone still exists, though, is the question.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I don’t think it’s that likely, I’m afraid. Pathros was
colonized two hundred years ago. You would think that, were someone
still here, we would have seen signs of it quite some time ago.”
“I understand you concern, Lord Bastile. In all reality,
though, it’s our only chance.”
“I’m not sure that House Taynen is in the position to take such
risks.”
“Zeke, I am thoroughly convinced that the fact that House
Taynen has not taken any risks in the past thirty years, that we are
in the position we are in. Again, I feel that this is our only
chance.” Dalmer’s voice was stern. His mind was already made up.
For a moment there was silence between the three. Captain Markham
maintained his stern position, his eyes deep in contemplation. Lord
Bastille remained uncertain, yet withheld further comments. Lord
Executive Dalmer Graham Taynen had his hands clasped before him on
his desk, his gaze shifting between his two associates, an undeniable
aura of determination all about him.
“I’ll be contacting House Crayn. We should be able to get a
team over there within a few weeks.”
* * *
Pathros – Vandax City – Baglarosh of the Raz Te
Monday, 18th Day of the 4th Cycle, 3579 A.D.
Cleon struggled to relax as he walked through the homely doors of
the humble Baglarosh. In this simple Raz Te sanctuary, Cleon should
be able to be at ease. The sight of flickering candlelight on the
walls, and the scent of ever-burning incense should allow him to
clear his mind. Removing his boots at the entrance, his feet felt the
soft carpeting, yet not the comfort that should accompany it.
His worries persisted.
I’m here, in the Baglarosh, and yet, I still can’t cast off these
burdens.
“Cleon, welcome,” came a soft voice from within the
sanctuary. The voice came from a beautiful young woman, roughly the
same age as Cleon, who was dressed in the customary robes of one who
worked in the Baglarosh. On the simple blue robes was a symbol that
could be found in numerous other places in the sanctuary: the Star of
the Raz Havaar. On a wristband that Cleon wore was the same symbol.
It was a reminder of the glorious deities who sustained his life, and
kept the entire universe in order. This woman was truly privileged to
be able to wear the symbol on her robes. “It’s good to see you
here.”
As Cleon approached his childhood friend, he met her with a bow.
“It’s good to see you, too, Tierra.” Just being around her,
Cleon felt, just a little bit, his worries dissipating.
Tierra turned back to the incense burner she was lighting, the light
of the candles reflecting off of the simple ornament that held her
long black hair back in a ponytail. “It has been awhile.”
“Yeah,” admitted Cleon, reaching a hand back to scratch
behind his head, “it has.”
Cleon wasn’t even sure the last time he had been there. Was it two,
three cycles? It had certainly been a while. The Raz Te, the first
religion to be born in the stars, had been what Cleon believed in for
the better part of ten years, now, and yet he rarely made time for
it.
Having lit the incense burner, Tierra faced her good friend, her
green eyes glimmering. “Why have you come today?”
Why have I?
“I don’t know. . . I guess I just felt like I needed to. I’ve
just felt a bit overburdened, lately.”
“And so you thought you’d come here and have your load
lightened?”
Cleon let out a sigh and confessed, “Yeah, pretty much.”
“And is it working?” she inquired.
“I guess, a little bit. Not so much as I had hoped.”
A look that Cleon had seen on Tierra’s face before, almost like
sympathy, but more like pity, stared back at him. “Cleon, I’ve
told you before, when you wait so long before coming to the
Baglarosh, you let those burdens build up. The worries accumulate,
and then when you finally come here, it will take more than that to
relieve yourself of them.”
You’re right. I think I knew it, but just didn’t want to admit
it, were Cleon’s thoughts, but he did not reveal them.
“Yeah,” he said, “you’ve got a point. I’ll try harder
to come here more frequently.”
Tierra placed a hand on his arm and led him over to a pew. As they
sat down, she assured, “That’s okay. You can work on that, but
for now, I’d like to hear about what burdens you.”
Cleon was quiet for a moment, unsure of how to express what weighed
on his soul. A gentle smile graced Tierra’s face, which seemed to
ease Cleon’s burden’s just a bit, just enough to get him past his
hesitation and speak.
“Lately, I’ve just felt, felt like I’ve been missing
something.”
Again, Cleon hesitated. Tierra nodded slowly, showing that she heard
and understood. Still, the look in her eyes said, “Go on, I know
there’s more.”
Sighing, Cleon continued, “It doesn’t seem to make a lot of
sense to me. Everything is going so good, right now, yet I feel so
worried. I’ve been doing so well in the Dragoons. Because of Garlan’s
hard work, Varkas and the other Wing-Captains are finally looking
past the reputation left by my father, and I’m getting some respect
from them. I’ve been entrusted with more important missions, and just
last week I was went to my first unsupervised Negotiation.”
Cleon paused again, being reminded by the look on Tierra’s face that
she wasn’t happy to hear that. Cleon knew that the teachings of the
Raz Te did not approve of what he did as a Dragoon, but, how could he
explain it to her?
He continued, “Tomorrow, I’m going on a special assignment to
J-7, the Harvesting Facility that was attacked last week. Things
should be going great, but even with the success I’m having, Tierra,
I just feel like I’m missing out on something. I can see it in my
art. Whenever I feel this emptiness, I can’t paint, or draw, and
that’s usually the only way I can relax.” Cleon looked directly
at his close friend, a hopeless look upon his face. “What do I
do, Tierra? What do I do?”
Tierra placed reassuring hand on his, and for a while she was
silent, contemplating the things Cleon had just shared with her.
Cleon felt good, being here. It felt good to have someone to share
his worries with. It didn’t make them go away, but it was at least a
good feeling.
“Cleon, what of your Purging?” asked his dear friend,
loving concern in both her voice and her vivid green eyes. “Have
you been Purging the Shade?”
“I. . .” began Cleon immediately, but he trailed off
before he got any further. That was the question he knew she would
ask, but the one he wished she would not. It was the answer to his
troubles that he had known all along, but which he sought to avoid.
“Cleon, my dear friend, and fellow Lam Te, the troubles you
have described to me can be nothing other than your Shade. It is that
bit of Chaos that Uktaarag has left in your Soul.”
Cleon nodded, silently. He knew she was right. It was not emptiness
that he felt, it was Chaos. It was his Shade.
“The Raz Havaar want nothing more than for you to Purge that
Shade, so that your eternal course is not stricken with Chaos, but is
unblemished.”
Cleon sighed, acknowledging the truthfulness of Tierra’s words. The
Raz Havaar, those undying, resplendent beings Cleon recognized as his
gods, wanted him to Purge his Shade. It was only through Purging that
his Soul could be unblemished, and granted entrance into the Space
Beyond the Stars. Cleon believed that doctrine with all of his heart,
and yet he feared it.
“You’re right. I need to Purge my Shade.”
“And Cleon, what is your Shade? You know what it is, don’t
you?”
He did. Cleon knew his Shade, the sin he was plagued with.
My ambition.
“I do,” the Dragoon confessed. “When I spoke with
the Daslam, three years ago, he warned me of my Shade. My ambitions.
He warned me of the need to Purge them away.”
“And yet, what do you do about it?” inquired Tierra,
knowing the answer herself, but asking the question to remind Cleon
of the answer.
Cleon chuckled, a pitiful chuckle, of the sort that admits failure,
yet seeks to make light of it. With a hopeless smile, he admitted,
“I’ve nurtured it. I’ve cultivated it, and let those ambitions
take over my life.”
Tierra was quiet. She was giving Cleon time to dwell upon his own
confession, which he did. In his mind he struggled with the knowledge
he had been suppressing for weeks. He knew exactly what he had to do.
But he didn’t want to.
“I, I just don’t know. Most of my life, I’ve been working
towards one thing, just one thing. I have wanted nothing more than to
be House Crayn’s finest.” Cleon could not withhold the emotion
in his voice. He avoided his friend’s empathetic gaze. “I have
striven, for the past fifteen years, to become exactly what my father
wasn’t. I wasn’t just seeking to be House Crayn’s most skilled
Dragoon, but their most loyal. Their finest!
“And now, now that I’m on that course, I learn that my gods
want otherwise for me. I learn that my attitude is contrary to their
designs.”
Again, there was silence. Tierra knew well enough to give time for
Cleon’s own words to sink into his open heart. He had said them,
himself, and it was imperative that he always retain a memory of
those words.
At length, Tierra spoke once more, “Cleon, I understand your
troubles. Your ambitions, they aren’t just idle whims; your ambitions
are rooted deep in your heart. The emotions that fuel them, spawned
from the actions of your father, so many years ago, make it more than
just a desire to excel in your career. This means a lot to you.”
Tierra’s words couldn’t have been more true.
“However, it is for that very reason that your ambitions are
the embodiment of your Shade. They lead your life into Chaos, yet,
deceptively, appear to provide structure.”
Cleon turned his head to face his friend once more, and asked, with
utmost sincerity, “Then what do I do? How do I Purge this Shade,
and when I do, what really does provide structure to my life?”
“The Vaardas teach that when the Shade has been Purged, the
light of the Raz Havaar will guide you from then, onto eternity. This
much I know to be true. You will just have to take that much on
faith.” Tierra’s answer, although not what he wanted, was
exactly what Cleon needed.
Where has my faith been? I have let it remain dormant.
The pious young woman continued, “As for what you do
now, I don’t know. You do, though. You may try to hide it, but you
know what you must do. The Daslam, by Divine Cognition, showed you
what you had to do to Purge your Shade. The only counsel I can give
is that you follow through with what the Daslam told you to do.”
She was right. The Daslam, three years prior, had told Cleon what
must be done. Cleon knew that the Daslam was right, too. He feared
it, though. Feared it so much, that he didn’t dare to recall it. If
he did, and he allowed himself to dwell upon it for any length of
time, Cleon would feel compelled to do it.
“You’re right, Tierra. I know what I need to do. I know it,
and I fear it.”
“Then what you need to do, my friend, is overcome that fear. I
want you to put more effort into that, and I think the best way to do
that would be to think about it more. I can tell, just from this
short talk we’ve had, that you’ve been suppressing these things.”
Tierra was right on the mark. “Nothing we have talked about
today, you didn’t already know. You knew what your problem was. You
knew the solution. You just fear it, and so you suppress it.”
That same, hopeless smile spread wide beneath Cleon’s nose.
“Listen, Cleon, just come by here more often. I promise you,
the guidance of the Raz Havaar will become clear, if you just invest
the time, and the effort. You can Purge your Shade. I know you can,
and you know you can.”
Nodding, Cleon acknowledged, “You’re right. I’ve got to stop
hiding this from myself, and face it.”
“Exactly.”
After several moments more of silence, Cleon began to stand up, “I
ought to get going, now, Tierra, but thank you so much.”
The black haired woman stood up with him, and walked with her friend
to the door of the humble Baglarosh. “You’re welcome,” she
said.
Having pulled on his boots, Cleon opened the door to walk out.
“Cleon,” Tierra called, softly.
“Yeah?”
“How do you feel?”
Although it took him a moment to decide, Cleon answered, “Better.
I feel better.”
Tierra smiled, and Cleon smiled back. He couldn’t stop smiling as he
left the Baglarosh, and walked through the busy streets of Vandax
City to his home. He felt better.
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