Deviance of Time Read online

  His armor dulled and powered down, returning the corridor completely back to shadow. His enhancers slipped over his eyes to reveal the passage to the weary soldier; the green luminance extended across the room. Rider pressed the enhancers and they clicked one plane deeper. He could now see farther, through the walls into the next room.

  Rider flexed his forearm and a plasma pistol shot forward into his outstretched hand. Upon impact, he fired three consecutive bursts, exploding the door inward.

  “Mela?” called Rider into the darkness of the room. “Wei?” He could hear murmurs from the corner of the room, and through the enhancers he found the light panel and ran his hand over it, lighting up the room. Mela and Wei were bound at their hands and feet, a dark fabric taped across their mouths, muffling their calls.

  He pulled the fabric away, tearing it off with a quick, piercing motion. Mela inhaled deeply, taking in the uninhibited air. Wei rose and rubbed his previously bound wrists in irritation; the skin reddened and worn.

  “Rider, I thought that monster had got to you,” said Mela with tears in her eyes. She readjusted her rifle across her back and strapped her boots back up, making sure to tuck the plasma blade in line with her boot.

  “What happened to that smiling bastard?” Wei’s tone held an air of humor and disappointment. His dark eyes shone with a sliver of gold. His aura rose to the surface, causing his body to have a resonant hum.

  “He had to take a meeting,” replied Rider as he peered out the door, checking for an accompanying charge of foot soldiers. Rider’s enhancers slipped over his clouded eyes, and his head swiveled from side to side scanning the area for life-form readings.

  “What now?” Wei adjusted the sword sheath across his back and pulled the dark mask over his face, its end covering everything except the small of his chin.

  “We go, now.” Rider ran quickly through the dark, his plasma staff bouncing clumsily at his side. Mela quickly followed with her vision enhancers down, scouring the trail that lay ahead. Wei moved stealthily behind, keeping up out of necessity only. He served as the rear guard for most of his tenure in the Spacehawks and planned on upholding that post far into their darkest hour.

  “The insurrection of one shall set the stages for the end of time and the merger of the realms. To be conspirator is to be a pawn of time, and this pawn will make a king. In time, the cycle shall reverse and the king shall be a pawn again.”

  -First Tier of Chronos to the Seven Riders

  The inner chambers of the council fell to desperate silence, their eyes averted, none looking at another. Robert Welvon stood out. His entire body stood straight, his face beaming in pure pleasure. His voracious frame seemed to radiate his cruelty, his insane desire for leadership; his eyes staring vacantly out into the place where he alone stood as the ultimate power.

  “Supreme Council Welvon, what about the covert team on the Baldor moon?” asked one of the councilmen.

  The question took Welvon aback, his train of thought veering at the unexpected query. He coughed dismissively into his clenched fist and smoothed the wrinkles of his hefty robes. “There is really nothing we can do without starting a war with Xzin,” began Welvon. “I suppose they must be counted as casualties of peace, and we must move on. In their memory, we should vow that a mistake of this magnitude never happens again.”

  “No, this is impossible,” called Supremator Nama, standing from within the assemblage. “This mission was supposed to be a secret, yet we were ambushed. I suppose we will never know what happened exactly, but we can’t leave three soldiers to defend themselves from a planet of hostiles.”

  “These are the consequences of hate mongering. When they joined the military, they knew the dangers associated. If I am not mistaken, they are there protecting the ideals of the State. These are soldiers, not victims of a war that should never have taken place.”

  “That does not change that they are unaware of what has transpired far from their location,” called back Nama, his voice rising above the others.

  “Very well then, Supremator Nama. We shall conduct a vote here and now as to what we are going to do in this most delicate situation.” Welvon’s opinion now possessed far more weight than it ever had, and the council recognized that power, not wanting to displease their new ruler.

  “I must grudgingly agree with Supreme Council Welvon. The members of the mission on Baldor must be pronounced casualties of war because of the fragile nature of both our withdrawal, and presence there.” The oldest and most respected member in the council’s long history stood up as he spoke.

  “By all means, all this talk of publicly abandoning this mission is insulting, and I will not be a part of it.” Supremator Nama made his way to the floating pedestal and was coming closer to Welvon. His hands were clenched at his sides, and his face was distorted in an untamed look of disgust. “I will not stand here and watch the decision of so few destroy the lives of three of the most dedicated soldiers in the whole of the State’s military. This is absolute nonsense.”

  “Your disagreement has been recorded, but the will of the council is to remove all responsibility of the State and to pronounce them consequences of war.”

  There was a series of ayes and the crowd became silent once again. Nama shook his head and did not bother to quibble with the other members of the council any longer. He took his leave of their foul political stench. Welvon stretched his hands over the podium and beamed at the crowd, knowing that there was nothing now that could stop him, ever.

  * * * * *

  The hillside two miles north was the rendezvous point for the members of Alpha Zero, and that was where their salvation lay, in the hands of a pilot they had never met. They crested the rocky hills, and in the distance they spotted two storms glittering in the moonlight. They made their way carefully toward the ships, not wanting to attract any more attention than they had already received. As they neared, they saw a lone man standing in the steady winds. His Spacehawks jacket whipped in the storm. Rider pulled the enhancers off his face and powered off his suit, the emerald trail extinguishing in the storm winds.

  “Identify yourself.” Rider’s voice fluctuated in the gale, and he remained out of sight until he could evaluate the response. Without the enhancer’s cloaking, the area of the sky seemed to glow with the repulsors of the Baldorian crafts amidst the stars above.

  “Captain Xeno Lobo, Covert Mission Alpha Zeta One,” the voice whispered slightly on the wind, his facial features hidden by debris careening through the air. Rider nodded to Mela and Wei, and they emerged from their cover and made their way alongside the solo figure of Xeno.

  “James Rider.” He introduced himself then turned to his companions. “This is Captain Mela Alvarez and Jonathon Wei.”

  Xeno gripped each of their hands firmly and quickly. Pointing up to the night sky, he traced several bright spots and their vapor trails. “I’ve been listening on the comm, and we suffered heavy casualties up there. Our fleet has withdrawn. We have to move now or we may never leave this moon.” Xeno had the trademark of cocky and daring pilots: a grin.

  Rider shook his head in dismay. “Alright, I’m going with Xeno in his storm. You guys take the one Xeno towed as a backup,” called Rider as the wind picked up.

  The ground began to rumble and the group ran to the overlook. Scores of armored tankers and smaller hovercrafts were making their way toward the rendezvous point.

  “We were followed,” Mela yelled over the rumbling of the storm. Ten soldiers from the military vehicle opened fire, sending bursts hailing far over their position. Mela leapt into the pilot’s seat, while Wei positioned himself against the ship to return fire, drawing his plasma cannon from within his armor.

  A wave of fire cut Wei along the chest, and he slumped against the seat of the ship, a defeated scream escaping him before he blacked out in the copilot’s bay. Mela ran her hands over the controls, initiating liftoff, and the craft abruptly jolted toward the upper atmosphere.

  Rider’s st
orm was already in space as Mela pressed her ship to catch up, the thruster core whining under the tremendous strain. The blackness of space filled her viewport as they escaped the surface of the moon.

  The transient flickers of the city below soon faded into something far more sinister. As they rounded the moon they saw the Roseblade and the entirety of the Baldorian fleet resting peacefully, their reserve thrusters glowing dully in the darkness of space.

  “Rider, we’ve got company,” called Mela through her headset. Wei moaned in the other seat, and his breaths started to come in shallow gasps. “I think Wei is dying. What the hell are we going to do?”

  “Get Wei to safety. I’ll catch up later. No questions, just go,” replied Rider as Xeno turned the ship back toward the Roseblade. Mela shook her head grimly and turned away, pushing the thrusters into full gear and heading for Nabul, their only hope for a tomorrow.

  * * * * *

  Damon moved slowly through his personal chambers, his robes dragging along the polished marble floor. His face was drawn tight enough that his jaw muscles tensed in sequential patterns, causing his face to shift forward and back in a distressed way. He stopped on the balcony overlooking the grasslands surrounding his home, the one place that Welvon had not acquired as supreme council.

  He thought of all that had befallen them that day, not just himself, but also Erinana, Nama, and the other council members who had renounced the State. In time, they would become enemies of the State under the guidance and foul leadership of Robert Welvon. The misrepresentation of one man would ruin many lives. Damon’s head went up instinctively, anticipating the small knock from within the chamber moments before it sounded.

  “Come in.” His voice remained low and calm, not allowing the deeds of the day to affect his countenance. The incredible figure of Erinana arrived beside him on the narrow balcony and fixed her eyes on the horizon.

  “What happens now?” Her question was soft and delicate, not probing or anxious, allowing only for a straightforward answer.

  “We all will, in time, become decadents in the eyes of the State. Our presence will invoke hatred and angst in people. We will be seen as traitors of the worst sort, abandoning our democracy at the most pivotal and important hour.” The words rolled off his tongue.

  “Be that as it may, but we still have to do something. The members of Alpha Zero are stranded on that moon, and with their testimony we could still change the tide.”

  Erinana shifted her weight and cocked her head to meet the defeated gaze of Damon, knowing that his pride had been diminished today and, with it, his ability to stop the indiscretions of the council.

  “They have been given up as dead; and if they do survive, they will be hunted down by Welvon’s orders to conceal his aspirations and treachery. For years we have speculated that Welvon served Xzin, but we came to that understanding far too late.”

  Damon lowered his head and undid the top collar of his royal robes, exposing the mauve fabrics underneath. He produced a chain with a dangling sphere. He rubbed it between his forefingers as if it were a charm of some sort.

  “We give up then. That is your plan.” Erinana’s hair was pulled back in a bun, exposing her eyes to the elements, the pupils glowing in despair in the thinning light. “I have fought hard and long for the freedom of all people, and now, when shadow crosses the land, you cower.”

  “We have no choice.” Damon couldn’t meet her eyes knowing that she would see his defeat. His pride could not handle more ridicule. “Welvon will unite our military and that of Baldor’s, and within a short time they will have the capability of assimilating the entire universe.”

  “Then I will take my fight to someone else, someone who will stand up to these injustices. The State was formed during these same times, when tyrants ruled and peace and democracy were nonexistent. Now you shirk your right to be free. Where is the man who came to my planet to help us find peace?”

  “He is dead and gone. The man you refer to was a man in a position of power. I have nothing.” Damon’s response clouded her beautiful eyes further, and she turned away suppressing the misery and loss of faith she felt toward the broken man.

  “Then so be it. But know one thing: you are responsible now. When you refuse to fight what is wrong, you make it worse. Power is not in your position in life, but rather in knowing oneself and what you can truly do. If you cannot defeat your own demons, you are cursing yourself to a walking death.”

  Erinana spun on the heels of her crystalline slippers, her mind dwelling on what to do now that the walls of decency had crumbled.

  * * * * *

  The viewport of the Roseblade went crimson as the alarms destroyed the silence of the vast control room. The navigation boards lit up, as well as the perimeter sensors. The helmsman ran his finger across them and prompted the information onto the screeching view port. “Ma’am, we seem to have an attacker approaching us,” called a helmsman, obvious confusion in his voice.

  “What class of ship is it, helmsman?” asked Reckson.

  “It seems to be a Model 45 Firestorm Class A, but I don’t understand where it came from. It is a State ship and the State’s fleet has already been dispatched,” replied the helmsman, his brow sweating slightly, anticipating a volatile lashing out on his commander’s part for the sudden appearance of a State vessel.

  “Notify the smaller ships. Bring our shields to full power and maintain our position,” ordered Reckson. The lower bay of the Roseblade exploded open and twenty small crafts were deposited into space, their engines screaming in the freezing, desolate span.

  The ships’ weapons flared in the hope of striking the weaving target of Rider and Xeno, their vessel making extreme maneuvers to dodge through the onslaught of the fleet.

  Xeno pushed the storm to full speed and rode alongside the Roseblade, so that the smaller crafts wouldn’t risk firing on them. As he rounded the Roseblade, he came into plain sight of ten or so smaller crafts, which, in turn, opened fire on the now exposed storm.

  Xeno craned his neck and called to Rider. “We’re getting torn up, and I don’t know how much longer the ship can handle this abuse. We might ….”

  The control board exploded, killing Xeno instantly and leaving the ship adrift in the dead void. Rider pushed the body aside and surveyed the damage frantically, rummaging over the shattered control board.

  The only functioning system was the dimensional drive and even that was rapidly losing power. Rider set a course for the one place he knew no one would follow: the Dark Realm. The thrusters kicked in and the ship shot off through space in a flash of light. The smaller ships’ pilots pulled back in astonishment as the storm cut through space and disappeared into the distant stars.

  * * * * *

  Mela set the ship down softly on the Nabul sand. She toggled the ignition switch, shutting the engine off. She leaned over the pilot’s seat and grasped Wei’s wrist, grimacing at his weakness. Wei’s pulse was dangerously slow and his breathing was shallow.

  She opened the atmospheric hatch and carried Wei to the medical building, his clothes tattered and the blood pooled in his Spacehawks uniform. She brought Wei’s limp body into the first room and placed him on one of the beds, scattering the medical equipment on the flawless floors.

  A nurse responded immediately to the noise and came bursting through the door yelling, “You can’t just barge in here. This is a restricted facility.”

  “This is Jonathon Wei, a Spacehawks soldier. He is dying,” replied Mela as she turned and left the room, leaving the nurse to help Wei.

  She walked onto the lift, and her mind crawled.

  Tears sprung into her eyes.

  The lift shuddered to a stop.

  She stalked out and pushed open the only door on the seventh floor – the office of Supremator Nama. Her entrance startled the aged officer, and he rose slowly, not knowing what to make of her appearance.

  “Captain Alvarez, I apologize. I assumed the worst,” he began, but Mela cut him off.


  “Wei is dying, and Rider is probably already dead. Where was our support? We were stranded there and had to fight our way out. They knew we were coming and set an ambush at the reactor. Is Supreme Council Damon on Nabul?” Mela spoke harshly, her hands clenched in fists and shoved against the table in anger.

  “Damon is no longer Supreme Council. Robert Welvon has taken charge, and he is the one who moved for the abandonment of the Baldor mission. There was nothing I could do,” replied Nama. He sat back in his chair, lowering his head, knowing that their lives had been sacrificed in vain.

  “This can’t be happening. All that work is wasted because of one man’s foolish actions? Why can’t we get rid of Welvon?” Mela’s frustration took over; her voice had risen from angry to wailing.

  “He is in charge now, and he has the approval of every remaining member of the council. He won’t be stopped by anyone. Those who opposed his ascension resigned, and all others will be dealt with in time.” Nama spun his chair toward Mela and spread his hands out on the table. He rose slightly to try and rationalize with her.

  “But, he’s Xzin’s mole.”

  “That doesn’t matter anymore.” Nama turned and sat down, staring out the window once again. He turned at a clinking sound on the table. Mela was walking from the room. The Spacehawk insignia lay on the table with her armor chip beside it. He rose from his chair quickly and tried to intercede in her exit.

  “Mela, what are you doing?” he asked as he picked up the chip and insignia.

  “The State is crumbling, and I don’t intend on falling with it. I have lost everything that I care about. I am alone,” she replied, a look of desperation in her eyes.

  “You’ll have no friends, and you will be hunted.” Nama pocketed the armor chip and tacked the insignia on the bulletin wall in line with other various memos.