Prologue:
2
Desan Korhil
“You’re hesitating!”
“I’m considering,” Desan corrected General Stanton easily, a barely there smile tugging at his lip, more at the fact that the smile was irritating Stanton than at the blithe correction.
The old man turned and stared at the holomap on the table, as if willing the display to change as he did.
It didn’t. Stubbornly refusing the old man’s quiet demands, it continued to show a very real problem in bright pixels and bent lights.
“What are our options?” Chancellor Stewart called from his seat, ever searching for compromise, as was his usual way.
It was Secretary Douglas, the treasurer, who answered him. “The same as it’s been in the past.” He pressed some keys in front of his seat, and now the holomap changed from a map to a graph. But, graph or map; it was still a “problem” on its display.
“We still control nearly forty percent of the subsector’s food supply,” Douglas continued. “Cutting off our exports will strangle any talk of war as it has in the past.”
“Our intelligence has shown that both House Argave and House Repanse have gone to great lengths to emancipate themselves from their dependence on our food supply. At least long enough to conduct a campaign,” General Stanton shot back hotly, his great salt and pepper beard seeming to puff out with his anger and flushed cheeks. “When they open hostilities, we won’t be able to force a ceasefire by starving the both of them out.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Chancellor Stewart asked, hands fiddling with his cane, twirling it between his fingers.
“We’ve always maintained our neutrality in any conflict because we’ve always had the ability to force it through control of food supply to the subsector. That is no longer the case. We are a solar system of four habitable planets and six with raw materials that can be mined. Twenty-five billion sentients. Both Houses Argave and Repanse hold ten times that number, each.” Stanton shifted the holo display again to the map, the sigils and colors of the houses and their claims of controlled space highlighted. Dark blue for Repanse to the galactic east, red for Argave to the northwest.
The old general leaned forward, hunching over the table as he voiced his proposal. “If we can no longer force a ceasefire to a conflict that will sweep us up into it before too long, since both houses wish to monopolize the food supply themselves”—Stanton pulled the map outward, showing the wider subsector still accessible to them— the parts not cut off by the ever present Shroud. “then I suggest we enter negotiations with House Gilson to declare ourselves a protectorate of theirs.”
The colors of the map shifted, beginning with the fiery orange of the house of Korhil—its tiny dot on the map becoming the bright gold of House Gilson far to the galactic south.
“You would have us be subservient to a boy war-mongering tyrant a hundred solar systems away?” Secretary Douglas scoffed.
General Stanton scowled. “We have never been a great military power.” He glared hotly towards the old man at the head of the table, the accusation plain as day to see. “Despite my numerous requests to expand the defense fleet and invest in orbital defenses, none of these have been taken up.”
Ahh. Perhaps he’d felt it was a bit too subtle in a strictly unspoken form.
The old man kept his silence, letting the warhorse continue, watching the man beginning to work himself up as he shouted, nominally at the room in general.
“We do not have the military strength to push back either of these powers when they decide to annex us in their coming conflict. This is our only option.” He leaned over the table, making no effort to hide the fact that he was shouting at the old man now.
Again, perhaps he felt himself too subtle before. “And you, Lord Desan, are hesitating!” he accused, going so far as to point a meaty finger the lord’s way, his jowls jiggling rather prominently even with his thick beard.
“I am considering,” the old man repeated, smiling wanly at the general.
Stanton flushed, his face going red as a plump cherry. No doubt there were several things he would have said had he less control of his temper, or less respect.
Stanton pushed himself off the table, standing straight.
As he spoke now, he was all but screaming, his thunderous voice swallowing the whole of the room. “Either we enter our negotiations now while we still hold at least the appearance of a powerful position, or we come crawling to them, begging for fleets and aid when the enemy is at our door and all but surrender at that point! There’s nothing else to consider!”
“M-militarily.” Chancellor Stewart cleared his throat. “What can we muster in-”
Lord Desan let his eyes wander to the wall clock.
Six, almost time for supper…
He couldn’t have looked at it for more than a second. But someone did take notice.
For the first time, Lord Rahan moved. Standing from his seat behind Desan, he was a mountain of muscle and sinew. Born in the void of space, he was startlingly tall. Nearly six feet, nine inches of elongated human. Dressed in deep reds and dark greys, he cut an eye-catching figure as he stepped forward with great clomps of his boots.
“We will adjourn for now,” he rumbled. His voice somehow carried over Stanton’s shouts, quieting the rapidly escalating argument. “Allow our tempers to cool and our minds to consider.”
Stanton still flushed, ground his teeth, and rounded on the man. “More time wasted!” he snarled. “War could break out any day now, but certainly, let's simply head on off at barely the cusp of the evening to retire and consider!”
Rahan stared down at the man with a look that was so filled with disdain one could detect it even through his face mask, a featureless, metal thing with a single slit for the eyes that gleamed in the low light.
“You mistake yourself, General. You serve at the pleasure of the Lord Korhil.” Rahan didn’t point at the door, but he truthfully didn’t need to. “Leave. Now.”
At those words, two of the lord’s guard entered the room from the lone doorway. The quiet statement rang loudly in the silent room. Stanton’s sneer was a spectacular thing on his face. Stewart and Douglas each exchanged a look before they began to file out.
Desan caught Stewarts’ eye as his Chancellor left. He would catch up to his old friend later, privately.
Seeing his two colleagues leaving, Stanton offered one more withering look towards Lord Rahan, then turned and marched out before running the risk of being forcibly removed.
Desan didn’t rise from his seat, and Rahan did not sit after they left.
“I’ve always told you to be more patient.” The old man waited a long moment after he was sure they were all gone.
“I do not have your patience to suffer fools.”
His answer was matter-of-fact, but it made the old man smile regardless. “They’re good men whose counsel I listen to.”
“Or pretend to…” was Rahan’s dry observation.
The old lord looked to him then… this man who in a different life could have been something allowed. “What would you do?” he decided to ask, seeking advice.
“Why ask? You’ve already decided what to do,” Rahan accused, his voice a hiss of what may have been irritation just as easily as it might be amusement.
The head of House Korhil was not sure what gave him the impression that he had… perhaps he should take it as flattery that Rahan had such faith in his decisiveness rather than as a slight at being called manipulative.
“Pretend that’s not the case,” he amended blithely, pushing on as he smiled cheekily. “I’ll pretend to listen.”
Rahan chuffed, a sound that may have been a laugh or might have been a grunt of exasperation.
“I would begin building the military,” he said. “Stanton, for all his bluster, is correct. The defense fleet is inadequate. The lack of orbital platforms leaves our worlds vulnerable.”
“We have always been a peaceful world of the Federation.”
Rahan’s answering look was pointed.
“That was before. The Federation is gone.”
Desan lowered his eyes.
Yes… I suppose that’s true.
Before the galaxy had broken apart. Before the Shroud.
The silence was sudden and lingered. Rahan was the one who broke it.
“You remember those days,” the man said. “I was too young to have more than peripheral recollections.” He shrugged. “The children of today— Cari- Lady Korhil, your granddaughter… the Federation is little more than a myth. They will not come, screaming past the Shroud to set order to these worlds again. We must deal with the reality of now rather than the wistful nostalgia of then.”
Desan understood his point… and though it pained him, he needed to accept it as truth.
The boy was right.
“I suppose I am getting too old, aren’t I?” It wasn’t a question. Not really. He had gotten old. While the world around him had gotten younger somehow. It had become new.
Funny how that worked.
Rahan didn’t answer. The man shifted on his feet uncomfortably from boot to boot.
“You must be hungry,” he answered, in a clumsy attempt at an exit.
Desan smiled, something wistful and sad.
“I suppose I am.”
He forced himself to stand, feeling the rolling ache in his knees as they straightened from their long-seated position.
He still didn’t need to use a cane despite his age, but his pace was slow, especially beside the much taller, younger man beside him.
The two moved through the estate. Marble floors and walls gleamed in the late afternoon sun. The guards stood at intervals in the hallway, each offering sharp nods as the two men passed. Rahan was quiet, as was his way. He’d never been one for idle chatter.
Soon enough they arrived at the private dining room, and the old lord felt a smile spread across his lips.
“Rina.”
His granddaughter stood from the seat she’d evidently been waiting in, her own smile blossoming. “Grandfather,” she greeted. “And Lord Rahan.”
“Lady Carina.” The towering man inclined his head—not so deep as to be a bow but not so simple as a nod either, his voice just a touch softer.
The girl stepped closer, and Desan happily kissed her cheek before she offered her hand to the lord beside him, who took it in his, offering a polite shake, his fingers and palm all but swallowing her comparatively smaller digits.
She smiled, and Desan found it in himself to smile back.
Then she asked, “How was your day?”
The lord Korhil tried not to let his reaction show, but she must’ve seen something, as her features softened.
His dear girl reached down, taking his hand in hers. “Come. Let’s speak of it over dinner.”
It was, perhaps, the last thing he wished to do…
But she was his heir. The Heir of Korhil…
He sighed. “Yes. We have much to speak of…”
Well friends, for those of you unaware, this is the beginning of my first original work, I've been tinkering away at it for a long time, any Feedback, suggestions, speculations are welcome, it is infact what I think will ultimately help me finish it, so by all means don't be Lurkers, let me know what ya'll think and what you liked or even what you think needs some work.I'd like to thank those in the publisher tier for letting me release it to everyone.This story will be updated on the First and fifteenth of every month barring anything unexpected, so you can expect regular updates for the forseeable future. Next update as you can imagine will be on the 15th ya'll got this one a lil early :pYou can discuss it here; or if you prefer We have a Discord where you can find me, with a channel there for it as well. But by all means, let me know good or bad what your impressions are and lets start the journey of another great story together.