Tommy Thorn Marked (45 page)

“There you will remain, alive but without life,” he continued, “dead but without the peace of death—only darkness, despair, and madness as you suffer in silence for one hundred years.”

Gary’s eyes rolled up a bit as the box was slowly lowered.

“Your name is to be removed from all rolls. No one is to see your face, nor will anyone hear your endless silent screams.”

Gary took one last look at light before the box sealed with a long, snake-like hiss.

After a moment, over the murmurs of the audience, Grand Marshal Ethos turned to Tommy, who was still fixated on the black flashing cabinet that entombed his friend. “Lieutenant Commander Thomas Thorn.”

Tommy turned to face Ethos and stiffened.

“In consideration for years of faithful service, and because of your relationship with the former Chairman Remus…”

Even now the marshal could not call Tommy the son of Remus or publicly recognize his citizenship.

“You are to be discharged from the Star Force without honor, forfeiture of rank and all rights including citizenship.” Ethos paused to enjoy the moment and moved closer to Tommy’s face, close enough to speak softly. “No, Thorn, your head will not be removed and kept alive for a hundred years in darkness,” he said, his lips curling into a thin smile. “You will live and every day remember your comrade, a friend, as he rots away with the forgotten on Tarchein,” the marshal said and stepped back before nodding to a member of his staff.

“Formation! Turn and face!” one of the staff officers shouted.

Tradition required that the formation, while still at attention, turn away from the convicted, symbolically turning their back on their disgraced comrade. They, however, did not turn, but stood in place defiantly.

Ethos paused, only for a moment, and made a decision not to admonish the agitated formation before continuing. “You are to be stripped of rank.”

Tarchein officers tore off Tommy’s rank insignia and tossed it to the floor.

“Expelled from the ranks of the Star Force,” he continued as Tommy’s Force insignia, medals, and pilot’s badge were roughly removed and flung down in disgust.

“And you will be removed, without honor, from the rolls of the Marked…”

At this, the medical officer came forward, removed the energy bands, and ordered Tommy to hold out his right hand. Couragians then stepped forward, ready to assist if needed, as the officer took a laser scalpel and began cutting the marked symbol from Tommy’s palm.

The procedure was meant to inflict pain, but Tommy, remembering the bravery of Gary, made not a whimper, much to the displeasure of the grand marshal.

As the Tarchein worked to cut the Marked symbol from his hand, Tommy drew on his training to focus only on his hatred. Hatred for Ethos, the Empire, and all things Tarchein. Up until this day, he had thought of Humans and Tarchein as “we,” but now there was only them—a feeling he knew was shared by the assembled members of the Mark.

A display that the marshal had intended to strengthen the Empire and satisfy his alien hatred, had quite the opposite effect. This day the Tarchein had separated much more than a brave warrior’s head. They had begun a tear between the two races that would not soon, if ever, be mended.

A day of days
, Tommy thought. And as he was led from the hall, glancing back at the hideous black box.
I will return for you, Gary, somehow I will set this right. If I have to kill every Tarchein SOB in the galaxy—I will set you free,
he vowed, making no effort to subdue the hatred that now flowed within.

The day was cold and wet, with dark low-hanging clouds that partially obscured a lone Tarchein command shuttle as it circled, then descended to a well-lit landing platform. One of several perched high on the royal palace’s towering black spirals. With graviton generators adjusted to zero, three stout-looking gears gently took up the shuttle’s mass as Admiral Ty, already standing, waited for indicator lights, advising of the boarding tunnel’s successful attachment, to flash green before hitting his ship’s hatch release. He then led his staff through the clear tube, streaked with tiny rivers formed by the light drizzle, into the main receiving area. Ty did not trying to hide his disdain at the sight of the Queen’s guards standing like statues at the rooms entrance.

Couragian…
He would have liked, just once, to get a look at one of these royal guards.
There’s no way, regardless of what the Queen says, that these eight-foot creatures are Tarchein,
he thought, briskly leading twelve officers of his personal staff through the shadowy hall.

There was a time, long ago, when it was thought that these giant warriors would become the standard for special ops, the elite fighting arm of the fleet. This, however, proved to be untrue. The genetic changes using alleged Tarchein DNA, although outwardly extensive, also included a subtle psychological modification, removing any instinct for fear. And, as it turned out, a bit of fear was a good thing for a warrior. Without fear, the Couragians would charge headlong into any foe, no matter the odds, a flawed trait that resulted in the needless slaughter of many Couragians. Truthfully, Tarchein high command cared little for the loss of these beasts, but it made for bad tactics, putting their own troops and mission objectives at risk. So, after years of experimentation produced results that were less than satisfactory, the Couragian were relegated to duties involving the protection of the royal house. They did make excellent bodyguards, and Queen Darvona had several thousand of them scattered throughout the galaxy, the mindless attack dogs of the royal house.

Dropping his escort, as was required, Admiral Ty proceeded alone into the obscenely large throne room where, with heels clicking against the black-mirrored floor, he marched between more of the giant guards. Always dressed for combat, the Queen’s personal guards were particularly resplendent in their gloss-black battle armor, complete with thick red capes and winged helmets, left hand tucked behind their waists, the other clutched a ten-foot command blaster staff—standard weapon of the guard.

Ty gave them not a glance but looked straight ahead, trying to control his thoughts. To be sure, there were many privileges that came with the rank of fleet admiral, but as he continued to marched toward the giant folded wings of a golden firebird, bathed in soft yellow light, he thought,
Being called to an audience with the Queen isn’t one of them.
More than one admiral has had his head put in a box. Just keep your mouth shut
,
and get through this,
thought Ty. Then, abruptly, ten feet short of the massive throne, still covered by enormous folded wings, he stopped, dropped to one knee, and waited—and waited—and waited.

Ty had been through this before. It was one of the Queen’s intimidation tactics, and it was normally very effective. But after twenty minutes, the admiral, already displeased at being summoned, was becoming really annoyed; a dangerous emotion when near the Queen. His leg was beginning to ache, and the idea that a fleet admiral should be made to…
This is outrageous
, he thought, staring at his reflection in the mirrored floor, and then caught himself.
Be careful of the great witch
,
guard your mind, Ty
.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the silence of the hall was disturbed by a soft rasping noise, a noise Ty recognized immediately as the artifact’s great wings unfolding.
Here we go
, he thought as the gleaming wolf-like head of the great bird stirred—large red jeweled eyes flashed, and the wings slowly spread. Once fully extended, the intricately detailed wings stretched to the width of the great hall, revealing and illuminating the great Queen Darvona—seated on her majestic throne.

The admiral bowed his head even lower, saying nothing, working to clear his mind.

Rise, Admiral
,
the great witch would have words with you
. Queen Darvona’s voice forced itself into Ty’s mind.

The admiral stood, trying to gather his wits. He would never get used to these invasions. “My Queen, forgive my—”

She raised a hand to interrupt, this time speaking. “It is of no concern, Admiral. Besides, this is a happy occasion.”

Ty stared straight ahead, focusing on the large jewel that hung at the base of her neck. He dared not look into those golden eyes.

The Queen smiled. “I have decided to make you admiral of the Imperial fleet.”

Fleet admiral… but what of Ethos
? he thought before speaking. “Yes, my sovereign, thank you.”

“Grand Marshal Ethos has been reassigned,” Darvona said dryly.

Ty shifted his eyes to an area behind and to the left of the Queen, where a row of black boxes, each mounted on a dimly lit pedestal stood in stark silence.

“No, my dear Admiral.” Her left arm casually waved in the direction of the gruesome containers. “As you know, I was displeased over the Titan incident. Such a reckless disregard for operating procedures to satisfy a personal vendetta. Although,” she smiled, “I do admire his hatred.”

Ty nodded respectfully.

“He has been reduced to the rank of general and assigned to command the first Vandal Horde,” she continued.

The Order of the Vandal
… Ty thought they had been disbanded.

“Quite right, Admiral, but I’ve decided to reinstate the unit,” Darvona added at once.

Ty silently cursed his weak mind.

“Your armies have grown soft, Admiral. The Tarchein have lost their savagery and have become far too dependent on alien forces. But with the addition of the Regulus—“

The Regulus, but how?
The admiral forgot himself and looked into Darvona’s eyes.

Darvon smiled. “It is safe my dear Admiral; under repair and being readied for General Ethos and 20,000 of the Vandals.”

“But, my Queen, the alien technology—how”

Once again Darvona stopped the admiral, this time lifting just a few fingers of her right hand. “We are fully capable of understanding and utilizing this, alien, technology Admiral.” The queen looked up into the cathedral like ceiling, but only for a moment. “I will, however, require a commander.”

A commander! How in the world can she expect me to find the alien crew —“stop thinking,”
Ty said softly.

Darvona laughed, then stood to approach the Admiral. “I only require an officer with ambition,” she said.

Ty, with head still bowed, had closed his eyes, forcing his mind to focus only on the Queen, when he felt an icy touch. Queen Darvona had come down from her throne and now stood behind him.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, letting on long fingernail tap against his chest—just above his pounding heart. “A Tarchein flag officer, someone passionate, with a thirst for glory that I myself will ensure is—shall we say, capable,” Darvona continued softly, her words pouring out like thick honey.

“Yes my Queen, it will be done,” Ty said without turning. He could not remember feeling so uncomfortable, and was therefore greatly relieved when Darvona returned to her throne.

“Once repairs on the Regulus are completed, this chosen commander, along with General Ethos and his forces will forge a new era of dominance for the Tarchein Empire,” Darvona said coolly.

Ty moved his eyes, trying to focus again on the large red ruby in an effort to keep his mind a blank, when an image of a ship departing from the damaged Regulus after the attack near Drake was pushed into his consciousness.

“The capture of the Regulus was a great triumph, and one which will not go without reward—“

Ty bowed his head in acknowledgement.

“But with the escape of the ship’s captain.” Darvona paused, unnerved by what she now felt compelled to say. “A new and terrible threat to our Empire now exist,” she continued.

Ty lifted his head. “A single alien my, Queen?”

Darvona glared at the admiral. “I assure you, Fleet Admiral Ty, this is no ordinary creature.” She paused and allowed the admiral to drop to a knee. “Seek out and destroy this alien, Admiral—whatever the coast! Is that clearly understood?”

Ty only nodded; head still bowed.

“Are we clear on the importance of this assignment, Admiral?” Darvona repeated more vigorously.

Ty lifted his head, but mesmerized by those large golden eyes, he was just barely able to reply. “Yes, my Queen, of course,” he stammered.

Queen Darvona’s lips formed a sickening sweet smiled. “I know I can count on you, Admiral,” she said and pointed toward a guard, who then moved into position behind one of the boxes.

Admiral Ty, assuming he had been dismissed and greatly relieved, bowed from the waist, turned, and started to march out of the hall, when again the Queen beckoned.

“Oh, Admiral.”

Ty stopped and reluctantly faced Darvona. “Yes, my sovereign.”

She motioned to the guard, who in turn opened one of the boxes. “Would you like to say hello to Admiral Kada? I believe you two were classmates at the Academy,” she said coldly.

Ty looked on in horror as Kada, skin sagging from his ashen face, blinked his eyes in an effort to adjust to the light. His lips curled grotesquely in an attempted scream, but of course, the bodiless admiral had no lungs—no air to force past what remained of a throat. Then, after agonizing minutes, his now-toothless mouth began to silently form words: “Kill me, kill me.”

At the sight, Darvona began to laugh. “I’m not going to kill you, Admiral Kada.”

Kada’s swollen, bloodshot eyes rolled to the right in an effort to see the Queen—to plead…

“You’re going to live, Admiral—for hundreds of years,” she continued. “Time enough to think about how disappointed I was over your very poor judgment,” she said, throwing her head back and laughing. It was a sickening cackle, one that Admiral Ty would not soon forget.

The Queen motioned for the guard to lower the box, Kada moving his head violently from side to side in protest as Darvona looked on and smiled. She waited for the hiss, a sound that confirmed Kada’s tomb had once again been sealed before turning to Ty. “We do not expect you to disappoint, Admiral.” Darvona glared, and casually waved her hand; a dismissal.