This is the first Chapter of the book I'm working on right now.
I'm looking for commentary, specifically constructive criticism.






The Losh tea had begun to take full effect on the beggar’s mind and body, he was drifting away from the mortal plane to the sublime home of dreams and illusions when his happy journey was interrupted by the sudden and rude arrival of a pair of hallucinations travelling down the empty, dusty street. He looked at the figments hard then he looked down into his empty bowl to see if there was any Losh left.

To his dissatisfaction the Losh was all gone and when he looked up he saw to his frustration that the pair of illusions had not disappeared on the second glance as was customary for the other hallucinations that usually visited him. They were a pair of persistent figments that were overstaying their welcome. There was a brown figment and a purple figment; yes that’s what they were. They walked and talked like people but they couldn’t be people. They spoke in strange tongues and wore stranger clothing, their skin was pinkish-white and dark brown respectively and their faces were covered in hair. The beggar squinted hard and hoped they would go away and leave him to his happy daydreams; sadly they were quite keen on staying.

“Tell me, William,” began Raja Muraja, the shorter of the two with the purple suit, “What do you know of the Thra’ha’ken?” William Walden, the younger, taller man with the brown suit slowed his stride as if to contemplate the question for a moment.
“Not much,” William admitted, “I do know that they’re halfway between being reptiles and being mammals and that they keep slaves. Oh and they have some bizarre fetish for apostrophes.”

“That’s mostly right,” Muraja said with a good-natured chuckle. Raja Muraja was a well travelled man who had visited more planets than William had seen pictures of and spoke more languages than even the most well versed linguists on Earth, “Except Thra’ha’ken only keep slaves on planets with low rates of industrialization these days and the reason for all the apostrophes is the lack of spaces in Thra’ha’ken writing.”
“Should we really be walking out here alone like this?” William asked, eyeing the few denizens of the street with suspicion.
“You’re with me William,” Muraja assured his younger companion, “Remember the last time someone tried to start trouble with us?”

“Do I remember it?” William snorted, “It took me days to get the blood stains out of my shirt! How could I forget?”
“I said I was sorry about that, when all you have is a meat cleaver to defend yourself…” Muraja shrugged and threw William a sheepish look. Muraja was a man in his mid thirties, of average height with a dark complexion that made people speculate whether one of his parents was African. In truth not even Muraja knew who his father was, though he knew his mother was the neglectful prostitute from Jaipur. Muraja’s most distinguishing features outside of his colorful choice of clothing were his neatly trimmed circle beard and his bright green eyes.

The eyes were the one thing of any value he inherited from his mother; they were what made her “popular” in her line of work. They helped make Muraja popular too; no one could ever forget his face because of the sharp contrast between his almost iridescent jade colored eyes and his dark brown skin and dark black hair. Other men who met him (including William himself) would describe him as sickeningly handsome. He was essentially accent-less in that he spoke with a different accent depending on the language he was speaking at the moment. For instance when he spoke English Americans and Canadians would think he had a “British” Accent while English people would think he sounded a bit South African.

When he spoke French, Frenchmen thought he sounded Belgian and Belgians thought he sounded Swiss. The trend repeated itself in virtually every language and though he always pronounced his words well and spoke clearly and equally eruditely in every language he always sounded a bit foreign no matter whom he spoke to. Raja Muraja’s name was a constructed name that was on his admission an anagram of sorts of his real birth name. He made it because he liked the repetition and it stuck in people’s minds when they heard it. William was a different sort of person. Whereas Muraja was a boy from the slums of Jaipur who managed to educate himself and after graduating from Harvard at the top of his class build a business Empire who’s revenue was equal to the combined earnings of the next five largest companies combined, William was a rich kid from Boston who dropped out of Harvard in his Junior year and would have probably floundered through life had Muraja not taken an interest in him.

To this day William couldn’t say why Muraja recruited him, only that he was glad he did. William had brown hair that he always kept neatly combed and a small brown goatee-mustache combo. William was tall but not too tall, he was wiry and pasty (especially when he stood next to Muraja) and he was the only person he knew that wore glasses. The need for glasses had been all but eradicated by the 2030’s but even now in the year 2049 William Walden still wore a pair of glasses. People noticed him, for good or bad, because of the glasses. Glasses or no William was going to attract the attention of every last person in the street, as was Muraja. None of the street’s denizens had ever seen a human in person, if at all and they were immensely curious and at the same time suspicious. All of them had seen Kadians, and humans looked like Kadians, at least superficially.

“Muraja don’t use that excuse. I’ve seen you defend yourself without using any weapons in a much, much cleaner and more efficient manner. Admit that you just wanted to kill a man by throwing a meat cleaver at him!”
“Keep your voice down,” Muraja said reproachfully, “And I suppose I was interested in it but it wasn’t like I had another choice. I couldn’t have reached you in time and you know I don’t like using guns. They’re too noisy,” Muraja dusted off the lapel of his purple coat.
“Well fine then, you still didn’t need to hit him in his carotid artery,” William said, looking at his shirt and remembering the blood stains with displeasure.

“I told you it’s the quickest kill,” Muraja said with a smile.
“Yeah and the messiest,” William grunted, “Now where exactly are we going?”
“We are going for a leisurely walk through this charming little slum on the way to the prison,” Muraja said cheerily.
“Are we really?” William asked suspiciously.
“Yes, now we’re going to ask for directions,” Muraja began to approach the beggar who still regarded him as nothing more than a persistent hallucination.
“Yeah I’m sure the local color will be a lot of help,” William said sarcastically, “Muraja this is like South Boston: lots of people but no ones going to give you the time of day. You’ll be lucky to get an ‘up yours’ from these people.”

“Nonsense, William. Show them respect and they’ll reciprocate,” Muraja said with a confident smile. He bent down and dipped his head in a slight bow in front of the beggar. Such a polite figment, the beggar thought to himself, “Good day, fine sir,” Muraja began in flawless Jen’dir’sha (the most common language on planet Ha’ken). What Muraja didn’t know was that in the particular slum they were in Jen’dir’sha was rather uncommon and the primary language was the much simpler and vulgar dialect known as Tek’to’kum. Fortunately the beggar was one of the few people there who spoke Jen’dir’sha and indeed preferred it. It warmed his heart to be spoken to with the language of the Upper Class, the Class he had belonged to long ago, “I was wondering if you might point me and my friend over there in the direction of the Great Kesh’tir Prison?” Muraja spoke in the politest possible tone and made sure not to make eye contact.

Eye contact in Kesh’tir culture was a sign of equality and by avoiding eye contact Muraja showed the beggar deference. The beggar smiled widely, he had never been treated so well by any of his hallucinations. They were usually abusive or mocking to him, but this one spoke to him as if he were a Prince. The beggar had a policy against speaking to figments of his imagination but he felt like he owed this particular polite (if exceptionally ridiculous looking) figment an answer. With a wide smile the beggar’s shaky, emaciated right arm picked itself up and pointed to a narrow alley that led into a much larger street.

“Follow that alley to that street, strange thing,” the beggar said with his raspy worn-out voice, “You can’t miss the prison, it’s the enormous dark building with the seven towers surrounding it.” Muraja looked thoughtfully down at the beggar and handed him a shiny piece of Thra’ha’ken currency: a rounded rectangle of iridium that had the portrait of a long dead Emperor of the Second Dynasty on it. The beggar’s eyes widened and he quickly snatched the coin out of the generous and polite figment’s non-existent hand. He bit the coin like some prospector to see if it was real. The pain he felt in his gums from biting the hard metal proved how real it was.
“Thank you, good sir,” Muraja said primly.

“Well alright, so we go that way then?” William asked pointing down at the alley.
“Yes, I see your comprehension of the language is improving,” Muraja sounded pleased.
“Yeah I’ve been practicing,” William said with a shallow shrug, “So now what?”
“Simple my dear boy, we go visit The’kar,” Muraja said, tugging on William’s sleeve to signify it was time to go.
“Yeah about that,” William always hated how quick Muraja’s stride was. Despite William’s longer legs Muraja still walked much faster than he did and he practically had to run to keep up half the time, “What’s The’kar like?”
“Hmm?” Muraja acted like he hadn’t heard the question.

“How should I act around him?” William asked, refining the query. Often Muraja wouldn’t even acknowledge vague questions; it was one of his quirks.
“Well William act how any reasonable person would act,” Muraja answered.
“Well is The’kar the type to take offence easily?” William asked. He was greatly concerned about making a good impression on the man they were about to visit.
“No, no,” Muraja assured him, “The’kar may look imposing but he’s quite the gentle giant. At least when he’s not in combat that is. Just try not to stare at him,” Muraja advised.

“Why would I stare? I mean sure I’ve heard he’s a big guy but I’ve seen big guys before without staring too long at them.”
“Oh well let’s hope so,” Muraja shrugged. Indeed the beggar had been correct for as soon as the two got out of the cramped alley they found themselves in an enormous street that ran the entire length of the city and couldn’t have been narrower than a football stadium. William had to stop and take in the sights for a moment; he was utterly overwhelmed by what he saw. Market stalls as far as the eye could see, long rows of houses and shops, and above there were hundreds of crisscrossing Rope Bridge overpasses which each ferried scores of men, women, and children at any given second. There had to be a million people in the street if not more. William had read numbers and statistics of Kesh’tir but had never truly understood their meaning.

On paper sixty million people didn’t seem so great; Earth had half a dozen cities with more. But to see it was something else. The street was bordered on both sides by two seven-story tall wall-like rows of buildings that looked like boxes stacked up on one another. The yellow clay looked almost red in the light of Ha’ken’s huge orange sun. Ha’ken could survive being much closer to its sun than Earth was to it’s because the sun of the Ha’ken system was a weak orange star, much larger and much older but also much colder than Sol. William felt Muraja’s hand grab his arm and tug on it. It was like snapping out of a trance, “William, I see the prison,” Muraja pointed to the end of the street where there was an enormous black dome-shaped building surrounded by seven high towers.

In each of the towers was a small garrison of troops with heavy weapons. The prison truly dominated its area, as no pedestrians ventured within a hundred meters of it as if some invisible barrier protected it. Even the carefree, lackadaisical little children who chased one another and stepped on other’s feet without so much as a care made sure to stay clear of it. Behind the prison was the enormous white granite wall that had been built ten thousand years ago when the Thra’ha’ken were a pre-space civilization and walls were actually a good means of protecting cities. The wall was as high as the Hoover Dam but was thick enough to land mid-sized starships on its ramparts and it was long enough to completely encompass an area the size of Connecticut. William tried to imagine the effort that went into constructing it. Just quarrying the granite would outshine the greatest achievements of the Egyptians and the Ancient Chinese.

There must have been more white granite in the wall than there was on the Earth’s surface. It took some time but eventually William and Raja managed to get past the enormous crowds that flowed in every direction like so many rivers to the empty space beyond. Now in the shadow of the huge prison and the even bigger wall behind it William felt truly small. Even the skyscrapers of the largest city on Earth: Atlantis looked rather tame in comparison. It wasn’t the size: these things would be dwarfed by the skyscrapers. It was the atmosphere that surrounded them, the mystic quality of both great monuments that arrested William’s attention. The juxtaposition between the black stone that made up the prison and the white granite that made up the wall was also something to marvel at.

Muraja tugged the dumbstruck William away from the foot of the long bridge that led up to the prison gate. When they reached the high, imposing steel gate they were greeted by a quartet of large, sinuous soldiers who were equipped with rifles with almost comically-large bayonets fixed on them. Thra’ha’ken weapons at first glance would appear somewhat primitive to humans and kadians but that was something of a misconception. Thra’ha’ken weapons were the product of centuries of refinement and trial and error that came together to make the most reliable and efficient killing machines in the sector. Thra’ha’ken swords may seem archaic but even the ones that aren’t Neutronium-tipped can slice through Kadian body armor like if it were papier-mâché.

Even Kadian science has trouble understanding the metallurgy the Thra’ha’ken employ and the term “Ancient Thra’ha’ken Secret” is a Kadian science joke for something that is currently unknown and inscrutable. Their semi-automatic rifles never jam and are purely point and shoot weapons. Their bullets travel straight and sure for hundreds of meters and even somehow adjust for powerful winds or heavy gravity. Tellingly while much more advanced technology is available the most common weapon employed by Kadian assassins is the standard iron-sighted Thra’ha’ken infantry rifle. The guards regarded Muraja and William with great suspicion; no one ever approached them, much less humans. Only one of them had even seen a human before, and it was a dead human at that.

“Umm Muraja,” William leaned in to Muraja’s ear and whispered nervously, “You did, call ahead didn’t you?”
“You can’t “call ahead” William,” Muraja said, unfazed by the hard stares the soldiers were giving him, “But I’ll straighten things out. Just stay put,” Muraja took a single step forward and as soon as he did the soldier nearest to him slid his hand down from the high stock of his rifle to the trigger guard. Muraja quickly bowed deeply, signifying his deference. Muraja reached into his coat pocket, immediately the other soldiers slid their hands over the trigger guard of their rifles but when Muraja handed the soldier a sheathed knife, pommel first they relaxed.

The nearest soldier took the knife and grunted at Muraja, ordering him to identify himself. Muraja did so, he informed the soldier in the politest possible Tek’to’kum that they were important dignitaries from Earth who had business with The’kar. The soldiers were less than convinced but when Muraja flashed at them the Empress’s seal they grumbled an apology and moved aside. The Empress’s seal was an intricate and ornate talisman made up of two halves of two different shells from two different animals studded with various gems and marked with scrawled out patterns that signified the Empress’s blessings of whoever carried it. Still not entirely sure if they were legitimate the lead soldier reluctantly barked out an order to the men who controlled the gate. With a mighty rush of cold air the gates swung open.

The prison was kept incredibly cold on the inside as a way to punish the prisoners and it stood in marked contrast to the outside which was as hot as Baghdad at Noon in the summer. The pair were escorted by two large, stoic, and silent soldiers with whip-swords at their hips. Whip-swords were exactly what they sounded like, they were swords who were segmented and made of a flexible metal that allowed them to be used like a whip. Whip-swords were weapons that while immensely “cool” to outside observers were mostly ceremonial due to the difficulty in mastering them. Those who could use a whip-sword well (or the rare swordsman who was proficient at dual-wielding them) were to be feared and respected. The soldiers silently led Muraja and William through a long winding corridor all the way to the end where a large door signified The’kar’s cell. The door was a big one, easily the biggest non-electronic metal door William had ever seen.

“Remind me why he’s locked up,” William nudged Muraja as the soldier was trying to find the right key to fit in the lock.
“He’s locked up for treasonous acts in the face of the enemy,” Muraja whispered.
“Quiet,” the soldier grunted. He was struggling with the huge and heavy key-ring enough as it was without having to tune out their chatter. He had over a hundred keys on the ring and they were all roughly the same size. After what must have been fifteen minutes the soldier found the right key and fit it into the thick lock. William could hear the gears turning and clicking into place as the lock budged open and the door was freed.

The soldier then grabbed the door by two large metal handles and straining every muscle in his body he pulled the door wide open. Still panting the soldier pushed his head through the opening, “Visitors for you,” he said curtly. With that he departed and left the door wide open for William and Muraja. William was confused, how could he leave the door open like that? Muraja saw the look of confusion and smiled.
“The’kar’s not the type to escape, the guards know that,” Muraja stretched and yawned, he hadn’t gotten the best sleep during the trip from Earth, “Well in we go, William,” he pushed William in before him and nearly caused his friend to trip over the threshold of the door. When William straightened out he gasped.

There was The’kar, all 320+ kilograms of him. The’kar was occupying his time in the prison by reading and exercising his body. When William stumbled through the doorway The’kar was using one massive hand to hold open a philosophy book while his other hand was occupied performing two-fingered push ups. When he moved up and down the mountains of muscle in his arms surged and contracted but his face remained still, unflustered by the exertions, “The’kar you old brute,” Muraja stepped through the doorway and immediately The’kar’s concentration was broken.

“Muraja?” The’kar was surprised to see his old friend. The surprise was mostly due to the timing, he hadn’t expected him just yet. The’kar felt remised at greeting Muraja shirtless and quickly set about rectifying this. The’kar pushed himself off the ground with his one hand and carefully placed the book on top of a pile of other books. Now that he was on his feet the true gravity of The’kar’s size dawned on William. The’kar was easily eight and a half feet tall and on top of that bulging with muscle. His wasn’t the lean, taught muscle that covered Muraja’s frame; his was the heavy, meaty kind that wrestlers and strongmen had.

His face was equally intimidating, with a strong chin and a large, sloping forehead. Like all Thra’ha’ken he lacked extraneous ears, a nose, and he was completely hairless. His face was covered in battle scars that ranged from little nicks to huge channels dug through his skin and flesh. When he saw Muraja he smiled, and in doing so showed his twin rows of sharp pale-yellow teeth, the kind that sharks have. Thra’ha’ken didn’t have noses and had scaly skin which made them somewhat frightening to look at but The’kar was scarier than most Thra’ha’ken due to his eyes being a bright yellow hue with thin cat-like slit pupils resting in their centers.

The yellow color of his eyes was related to chemicals he had ingested as part of his training in the elite forces of the Thra’ha’ken military. The chemicals sped up his reaction time and lowered his sensitivity to pain but they also made his eyes look predatory. Still he was friendly enough and even acted embarrassed at being seen without being fully clothed. The’kar put on a white shirt that William probably could have used as a table cloth but fit snuggly around The’kar’s frame.
“How are you doing old friend?” Muraja asked in English.
“I’m doing fine, thank you,” The’kar replied in flawless English, “Aside from the fact that I’m being tried for treason I can’t complain,” William was impressed by his impeccable speech, “Who’s your friend?” The’kar asked motioning to William, who was staring stupidly at him.

“Allow me to present William Waltham Walden the Third,” Muraja threw his arm around William and patted him on the chest lightly.
“Well it’s nice to meet you William,” The’kar said with a good-natured smile, “Now if you please I don’t like being stared at.”
“Oh I’m sorry,” William immediately broke out of his trance and stared down at his feet.
“It’s alright, I’m used to it,” The’kar gave out a short chuckle.
“It’s really good to meet you, sir,” William said in a suppliant tone, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“And I hope you didn’t believe most of it,” The’kar said with a grin. He took a seat in a large chair that could have fit both Muraja and William comfortably but just barely passed the size test for The’kar.
“Good to see you’re keeping in shape, The’kar,” Muraja said.

“Yes, I try,” The’kar clenched his two fists tightly, the veins in his arms dilated and swelled as blood pumped through them furiously. Each one of his hands could comfortably fit around a man’s skull and crush it like an egg. William reached for the book The’kar was reading and found to his surprise that it was a human book on philosophy, written in German.
“Immanuel Kant?” William mused, flipping open the worn out cover and skimming through the pages.
“Yes I’ve been reading philosophy recently,” The’kar shrugged, “It helps put things in perspective.” Beneath that book were many other works of philosophy and religion. Some of the books like this one were human texts and a few were of Kadian origin but the majority were Thra’ha’ken, “Tell me boy,” The’kar said to William, “Did Muraja lead you through some slums?”

“He did, actually,” William said, surprised by The’kar’s prescience.
“Hmm, still the same old Muraja then,” The’kar chuckled again.
“What can I say I like the atmosphere, it reminds me of home,” Muraja said with a smile and a shrug.
“Well in any case, I want to thank you both for coming,” The’kar said with a warm smile, “Your testimony will be invaluable for me.”
“It’s the least I could do,” Muraja replied, “I can’t allow someone like you to go to the chopping block over some misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?” The’kar shook his head, “No they’re right, I did allow a Kadian ship to escape which under the law of the Empire counts as treason. I’m not arguing against that, I’m arguing that “treason” was the right thing to do in the particular situation.”
“Then you’re facing something of an uphill battle,” Muraja said with a laugh, his green eyes smiled along with his lips.
“That’s why you’re here,” The’kar replied, “You’ve always been good for miracles.”

Kwizr was the pretty one; she was always the pretty one. In the huge Teysr family the standard of beauty was high, so high in fact that the glamorous Jylna was considered rather homely by comparison. Of course humans who met them couldn’t really understand that but the Teysr sisters all knew Kwizr to be the fairest of them all. The “homely” Jylna didn’t fault her for being so pleasing to the eye, she loved her sister dearly. Even by Kadian standards the Teysr family was enormous. In all there were currently forty-seven wives married to three husbands with about two-hundred eighty seven daughters and one son.

Of these daughters eighty-two of them had a total of five hundred and thirty eight daughters and eight sons. Kadian society had a female to male ratio of 13:1 which meant that it was dominated by the females, not that the males had anything to complain about. Kadian men were rarely seen by outsiders because they often sequestered themselves away in the company of their favorite women. They had a good deal going until the discovery or robotics which made men less scarce a resource. It was made worse with the discovery of humans who were similar enough to be considered attractive by Kadians and who were all too willing to provide companionship.

Kadians are eerily similar to humans outwardly and inwardly and evolved from creatures similar to Chimpanzees. Kadians are easily distinguishable from humans because of their gray skin, hairless bodies, exotically colored eyes, and their bright colored fleshy locks that act as their hair. In truth their “hair” is truly nerve-packed sensors that give kadians a faint ‘sixth sense’ by allowing them to sense electromagnetic forces humans can’t fathom. This sense comes in handy in physical sciences where kadians find they can intuitively understand things like conductivity without running any tests. Kadian science is the most advanced of any society native to the Sector, the only other society that comes close being the mysterious and isolationist Dinuthians.

The Kadian systems are ruled by a Plutocratic Hegemony of the most powerful and rich Kadian family: the Teysr Family. It was at the base of the enormous Teysr Tower that Jylna and Kwizr decided to have their lunch that morning. The sounds of the city were suppressed by noise cancelling pylons that surrounded the base of the building but the faint twitter of little Kesh Bats and the rustle of the soft wind were allowed to filter through. This allowed the sisters to have a nice conversation after finishing their lunch.

“Look at that ugly little excuse for a ship,” Kwizr pointed up to one of the human warships that was docked in one of the high towers of Teysr City, “It’s like no one ever told the humans about aesthetics.”
“Oh I think they call that ship the Helios,” Jylna said, looking up at the squarish, black and gray ship that was supported by a latticework of strong, slender metal cables connected to the many nearby towers that surrounded it.
“Dumb name,” Kwizr said with a snort.
“I don’t know, Kwi,” Jylna began, “I think it looks alright.”

“Oh please,” Kwizr rolled her eyes, “You’re just saying that because you’re seeing one of its crewmen.”
“That’s not the reason at all,” Jylna protested. The pale gray skin of her face turned darker as she blushed, “And his name is Martin.”
“Another dumb name,” Kwizr said dismissively, “What’s with humans and dumb names?”
“I bet our names sound really weird to them too,” Jylna shot back, feeling that an attack on her beau was an attack on her.

“Who cares what they think? Humans are good for one thing and that’s make themselves available when they’re wanted and getting out of the way when they aren’t.” It wasn’t that Kadian society encouraged haughtiness and jingoism per se. It was more the fact that it did nothing to discourage it.
“That isn’t true,” Jylna said half-heartedly, “Martin’s very sweet to me and I enjoy his company. I even feel bad when I gossip in front of him. He just sits there and smiles. If he knew what I was saying…” Jylna noticed the vacant look on her sister’s face, “Hey are you listening to me?” Jylna grabbed Kwizr by the shoulder and shook her to get her attention.
“Oh sorry,” Kwizr smiled innocently, “I was just opening up the database.” The database was the colloquial name given to the Kadian information network that all Kadians had access to from birth.

Nearly all information was available through a small device that was implanted in the brain and it could be accessed intuitively in the same way that actual memories could be recalled.
“What are you looking up?” Jylna asked, curious why her sister would be looking through the database in the middle of a conversation.
“I just finished looking up the Manifest of the Helios,” Kwizr said with a sly smile.
“Oh,” Jylna sounded worried.
“Yeah I looked up Chief Petty Officer Martin Cole’s personal file,” Kwizr tilted her eyes up, away from Jylna and the sly smile grew wider, “It said he was fluent in seven Kadian dialects,” Jylna looked aghast, “Which you should have known considering he made no secret of the fact that he was one of the ship’s interpreters.”

Jylna looked down at her feet and hung her head low in shame.
“So he just sits there and acts like he can’t understand that I’m making fun of him?” Jylna buried her face in her palms.
“Yeah either he doesn’t mind being laughed at by a dozen alien women or he’s willing to put up with it if it means he can get into your pants twice a day,” Kwizr said with a shrug. Then she noticed how badly her sister was taking it and she felt awful, “Hey now it’s alright,” she patted her sister on the back and offered a genuine smile, “I’m sure he’s just to polite to say anything. And even if he is just interested in you on a physical level there’s hundreds where he came from,” Kwizr pointed up at the Helios, “Why don’t we talk about something other than your problems with men. How about we talk about Telk?” Kwizr offered.

Jylna looked up and raised an eyebrow (figuratively speaking, Kadians don’t really have eyebrows).
“Telk?” Jylna asked. Jylna guessed correctly that Telk was one of their sisters unfortunately there were so many of them that it was almost impossible to keep track of them all.
“Yeah, she just got back from a long mission in Thra’ha’ken space,” Kwizr said, “Hey look there she is now!” Kwizr leaned over the table and pointed past Jylna’s shoulder at a tall crimson ‘haired’ woman with orange eyes who was slowly making her way to their location. She looked lost and a bit confused; she was constantly looking over her shoulder and looking to her sides as if someone was following her.

“Oh now I remember her,” Jylna had visual-based memory and once she saw something she would immediately recollect almost every little thing about it.
“Hey over here!” Kwizr stood up and waved her arms at Telk to flag her down. Telk looked puzzled for a moment before she recognized the pair as her sisters, “Get over here Telk!” Kwizr shouted, unconcerned that the other people who were eating there were starting to stare. They were the Teysr family, no one argued with them and everyone wanted to be in their good graces. Telk hesitated for a moment; she was worried because she didn’t know much about them.

She recognized Kwizr almost immediately and was able to match a face to a name because Kwizr was the ‘pretty one’ in the family. The other sister she only faintly recognized as her kin but couldn’t for the life of her remember her name. After the moment’s hesitation Telk marched double-time down to the table and nervously grabbed a seat that was far enough from her sisters to leave some space but close enough to not cause them offence.
“It’s good to see you again Kwizr and uhh,” Telk trailed off as she was addressing Jylna.

“Jylna,” said Jylna, not too offended that her name had been forgotten.
“Right, sorry,” Telk blushed and lowered her head.
“So how are things on that ship of yours?” Kwizr asked, leaning in intently.
“Things are fine I suppose,” Telk scratched the back of her head and leaned back in her seat just as Kwizr was leaning in.
“I heard you survived a battle with none other than Grand General The’kar himself.”

“Oh yeah it was a close one but we pulled through,” Telk was noticeably stressed about something.
“From what I hear The’kar got himself in trouble with the Thra’ha’ken High Command,” Jylna said, picking at some food that was stuck in between her teeth.
“He did?” Telk asked shakily.
“Yeah I know what you’re talking about,” Kwizr said, seemingly unaware of Telk’s unease, “He’s in chains right now for treason or something. Typical barbarians, always ready to pile the blame onto someone when they fail to get results. I wonder how he’ll be executed.”

“Executed?” Telk gulped.
“Yeah he’ll be sentenced for sure,” Kwizr said, almost cheerily, “Their legal system has a 99% conviction rate or something crazy like that.”
“Ooh I bet they’ll cut his head off,” Jylna said in gossip-like tone.
“I pity the poor fool who has to carry it off,” Kwizr laughed, “Knowing that gigantic brute he’ll take a few down with him.” Kwizr and Jylna laughed for a bit but stopped when they noticed the glum look on Telk’s face. Telk looked like she was ashamed and guilt-ridden though her sisters couldn’t imagine why.

“Hey what’s up with you?” Jylna asked in a concerned voice.
“Did you forget something?” Kwizr asked, “I always get that look when I’ve forgotten something.”
“No its not that,” Telk said morosely.
“Then what is it?” Jylna asked, “When we mentioned The’kar you got all—” the realization dawned on her suddenly, “What you don’t feel sorry for him do you?”

“You’ve got no reason to feel bad for him, honey,” Kwizr said with a dismissive flick of her wrist and a smile.
“I don’t feel bad for The’kar,” Telk said defensively, “I just… I forgot something.” Telk got up from her seat and started walking away from her sisters as fast as she could without actually running from them. Jylna and Kwizr exchanged confused looks and watched as she hurried off without so much as waving goodbye.
“She always was the weird one,” Jylna said once Telk was out of ear-shot.

Tourism is practically non-existent in Thra’ha’ken worlds because there’s no tourist infrastructure to accommodate it. Only ambassadors and dignitaries can find places to stay at and these places usually aren’t much to talk about. The living space that Muraja and William managed to wrangle was actually a very good find, for one thing they didn’t have to share a bed which is something of a luxury in Thra’ha’ken culture. William never understood how someone so used to living in upscale mansions like Raja could be so comfortable in such squalid conditions.

He always kept an upbeat attitude going, something that could grate on William. William woke up several times; it was difficult to try to sleep while the sun was still out. They were used to 24 hour days; the days on Ha’ken however were roughly 57 hours. On Ha’ken people took short naps every few hours when they weren’t working to get through the long days. William tried his best to get back to sleep after waking up for a third time but it was a fruitless exercise. If it hadn’t been for the fact that William was already having trouble sleeping he might have been seriously annoyed when a pair of soldiers busted through the door and woke them up.

Muraja wasn’t the least bit peeved by their intrusion; in fact he seemed to have been expecting it. William didn’t like the idea of wearing the same clothes again but the Thra’ha’ken soldiers had taken his suitcase already and spirited it away somewhere and he didn’t have the wherewithal to ask them about it. Muraja had seemingly anticipated this little snafu and had specifically set aside a change of clothing in the corner of the room. This suit was even more garish than the purple one he had arrived in, it was a Tiger orange blazer that utterly befuddled the Thra’ha’ken soldiers.

Men wore colors like red, brown, and white. Underneath this blazer he wore a comparatively tame light-pink and white horizontally striped undershirt which flowed perfectly with his almost obnoxiously bright white pants. It took a lot of restraint on the part of the younger of the two soldiers to resist touching Muraja’s pants; they seemed too clean to be real to him. But the effect Muraja had on the Thra’ha’ken was by no means isolated, even William had yet to get used to his style of dress.

“What’s the deal here?” William asked Muraja, who was polishing one of the buttons on the sleeve of his blazer.
“These fine gentlemen are acting on behalf of the Empress herself,” Muraja said in a self-satisfied way.
“Well that’s good to know,” William said with a yawn, he may not have been able to sleep but that didn’t mean he wasn’t exhausted, “But what are they doing here?”
“Simple, they’re here to retrieve us,” Muraja said with a smile, “Now you better hurry up they don’t have all day, or night as it were.” As had happened before many, many times William found himself being pushed through the doorway
“What does the Empress want with us?” William asked just as he had cleared the threshold.

“She probably heard I was in town and felt an immense sense of moral outrage that I was staying at a sty like this,” Muraja said with a conceited grin.
“Right I’m sure she’d feel remised I she didn’t invite you to stay in her Palace,” William replied dryly.
“Well I am her favorite human. Now come William we have to get down stairs there’s a craft awaiting us.” Muraja began to walk quickly yet leisurely to the stairwell.
“How do you know?” William asked, trying his best to shake off his drowsiness.

“Because I looked out the window and saw one,” Muraja shot back, “Got any more difficult questions for me?”
“No my queries are all done smartass,” William snarled back. The Thra’ha’ken were utterly confused by the relationship between the two men though it was clear that the short, dark one was in charge. Muraja had been correct as always, in the street there was a small vehicle large enough to fit eight people and carry them through the air safely. The Thra’ha’ken were an odd trans-industrial society.

They had advanced technology in the areas of military science and manufacturing as well as advanced knowledge of planoforming, which explains how they built up such an enormous Empire in the space of only four centuries. What they lacked was technological development in the area of consumer goods and appliances and there was next to no dissemination of information technology, not even simple Radios found use on most Thra’ha’ken planets. As a result the craft that bore William and Muraja to the Palace was something of a rarity and elicited wide-eyed reactions from the citizens who beheld it as it crossed the skies and hummed along.

The craft was advanced by human standards but would have looked like a horse and buggy to the Kadians. Of course everything looked like a horse and buggy to the Kadians. The only time the Kadians had ever been humbled was when they came into contact with a race known to humans as the Dropa. These short little gray aliens with large heads and big black eyes had technology the Kadians could only dream of and haughty attitudes to match their high technology. The Dropa were mysterious though, no one had even heard a report of them in a decade and it was suspected they may not even live in the Milky Way Galaxy let alone Sector 207. The little ship sped through the air at a fast but comfortable speed and it actually felt good to William to have the wind rush through his hair.

The sun was finally setting over the enormous city of Kesh’tir and the sight from up in the air was spectacular. William could see all the great monuments from his vantage point. He could see the entire length of the pristine white wall, the sheer majesty of it made the Great Wall of China look like a chain link fence. The somber black prison was visible as well; the shadows of the creeping evening made it look even darker and more forbidding. Also clear to see was the Great Temple of Kesh’tir which had long ago been the Second Holiest site in the entire Empire after the Temple of Pak’chir in the Vdak system. However two centuries back the Priests and Mystics of the Faith as it was called started to become too greedy for the Emperor’s liking.

They said that the Eight Principal Gods demanded greater homage from the Emperor and even dared to suggest that the Empire belonged to the Gods’ principal servants. The Emperor soon reminded them that Gods tend to support those with the stronger armies and there was no army stronger than the Emperor’s. In a single year the Faith was dismantled and the names of the Gods themselves became anathema in the Empire. Such was the way of the Empire, the word of the Emperor or Empress was unquestionable law. Now the Temple of Kesh’tir served a less ecclesiastic purpose. It was the Thra’ha’ken Supreme Court so to speak, it would be there that The’kar’s trial would commence. Beyond the great Temple was an even greater sight: that of the Palace itself.

The Palace was the oldest structure in the city by at least two centuries and had stood for seven millennia all the way back to the Thra’ha’ken equivalent of the Iron Age when the foundation was laid down on the order of Ko’tir, the Third King of the Kingdom of Kesh’tir. In more than seven thousand years the Palace had been renovated and repaired only three times. The Palace owed its longevity to the fact that it was built from the finest materials and that the foundation was constructed over a stable slab of granite. However this wasn’t to say it hadn’t gone through cosmetic changes: the original Palace was only a fifth the size of the current one and was constructed from wood and sandstone.

The Palace that now acted as the seat of the Empress’s power was built with golden-yellow marble blocks, each of which was the size of William’s birth home. The Palace was the length of three football fields and was roughly eight stories high. The windows were special gold-tinted affairs which were all the more impressive with an orange sun reflecting off them. While overall the style was vaguely reminiscent of Babylonian or Sumerian architecture, the roof was clearly more suggestive of Oriental design. It was comprised of thousands of identically cut and crafted clay shingles, each of which was painted crimson red and glossed over with a powerful coat of varnish that aside from giving the shingles a spectacular shining veneer also made them highly resistant to weathering and erosion.

The Palace was surrounded by incredibly high gold-coated steel fencing with a single gate standing opposite the front entrance. At this gate two behemoth stone watchers stood guard, one was a lion-like creature, the other resembled a Dragon, both had their eyes fixed on the Temple of Kesh’tir which was at the other end of the incredibly large and wide Palace street. Between the gate and the entrance proper was a two acre-wide courtyard covered with a strange bluish-green grass-type plant. The courtyard was well tended and even now several dozen groundskeepers were trimming the ‘grass’. The craft stopped moving when it reached the center of the courtyard, once there it hovered in place about a dozen meters in the air for what seemed like several minutes to William.

After the pilot received some signal that William couldn’t deduce he began the slow landing process. It took a full five minutes before the little craft touched down on the stone walkway leading to the Palace entrance. While the engines whirred to a stop and cooled down two of the soldiers jumped out, each of them carrying one of their guests’ suitcases. They marched quickly to the main entrance, not slowed in the least by the heavy baggage they were carrying and disappeared from sight. After the engine had finally shut-off completely the pilot barked out an order to let the doors open, an order which was carried out by the oldest soldier.

“So what do you think of the Palace so far?” Muraja asked his younger companion. William whistled as he scanned the Palace’s front façade. When the Ancient Greeks constructed their Parthenon they made certain to angle the pillars slightly to avoid creating the illusion that the high building was about to fall on anyone who stood at its base. The Thra’ha’ken hadn’t thought of that and it did appear that the tall monument was bearing down on William.
“It’s amazing,” William said humbly, “I’ve been to the Vatican City. Compared to this,” William pointed to the Palace and its many spires and shiny red roof, “The Vatican’s like my old neighbors tool shed.”

“Well good to see you’re impressed,” Muraja grinned widely, “But wait till you get inside.” The Thra’ha’ken liked building things big. There’s an old human saying that good things come in small packages. The Thra’ha’ken had never heard that so they never worried about building things small and instead concentrated on finding ways to make their slaves toil harder and faster while they hauled enormous blocks of granite, limestone, and marble across huge deserts and through endless grasslands and steamy, parasite-infested jungles without the aid of wheeled transport or beasts of burden.

Once William and Raja were ushered through the entrance by the soldiers they were treated to the sight of the leviathanesque anteroom. At their feet was the edge of a long, narrow and shallow reflecting pool of sorts that bisected the room and led to an impressive fountain with a statue of the first Emperor Ko’shar as its centerpiece. From his mouth had come the original edict of the Thra’ha’ken that had proclaimed the start of the Empire and from the statue’s mouth flowed the water. The statue was life-sized and carved from a single tusk from some monstrously large and now extinct creature that had once walked the entire breadth of Ha’ken in enormous herds, unafraid of any and all predators, that is until the Thra’ha’ken hunter gatherers started to settle down and make weapons from iron and bronze.

From that point on the beasts were on the incredibly slow path to extinction. The last one died four hundred years before humans first walked on the moon. On each side of the channel of water there were symmetric and identical flights of stairs that led to the separate wings of the palace. When William craned his head up he could see the high ceiling and the intricate murals that documented the founding of the Empire and lauded the accomplishments of the great heroes and generals that had created it with blood, steel, tears, sweat, and fire.

The lighting was the most amazing facet of all, inside of each hand-blown glass orb was a luminescent living creature from some distant and strange world. These little bugs lived off bacteria in the air and could survive for millennia; their practical effect was to produce brilliant rays of light that was both incredibly natural to the eye and unspeakably alien.
“As awed as I am right now I have to ask you which one of the staircases we have to take to get to the Empress,” William said plainly.

“We’re not taking either of them,” Muraja said pointing to the far end of the room where an ethereal staircase of lily-pad-like structures was slowly crossing the room and descending on their position, “That’s the one example of Kadian technology you’re likely to find here. It’s so damn convenient and wonderful the Thra’ha’ken swallow their pride and accept it despite its origin.”
“I’ve heard about these things but I’ve never actually used one,” William cocked his head and squinted at the little stepping-pad that hovered in the air as if by magic, “Are they really safe?” the question elicited a chuckle from Muraja.

“William the Kadians are good at two things: bedroom gymnastics and safe, reliable Clarke’s-Third-Law gadgetry,” Without hesitation Muraja took the first step and began to ascend the floating pads of light. It didn’t look natural to William, how could anything composed of light support that much weight? Behind William the soldiers growled, they were obligated to stay with him until he made his way up the steps but they had other tasks they had to complete and they didn’t want to fall behind on their duties just because some wiry human was afraid of using the stairs, “What are you waiting for?” Muraja stopped in the middle of his ascent and turned his head to see that William had yet to make a move. With a gulp William nervously picked up his right foot and set it down on the first circular pad of light.

To his amazement the pad felt as solid as a tar road and as stable as a concrete bridge. From then on it was easy, halfway through William forgot how impossible it looked and treated it like any ordinary solid staircase. When his feet pressed down on the pads the light intensified around the sole of his shoe but otherwise the pads were unaffected by his weight and the pressure of supporting him. He felt so confident in the pads by the time he was near the end that it didn’t even bother him to look down and see how far the fall would be for him if the pads gave way or if he slipped. At last they had reached the upper section of the Palace’s main room, the enormous throne room where the court lay.

The floor beneath their feet was a brilliant mosaic diagram of the Ha’ken system with its sun and all its planets, planetoids, moons, asteroid belts, and gas giants. The ceiling above was of an entirely different cosmology: that of the Pantheon of the old Faith. The Gods’ names had long since been wiped clean by the Empire but their likenesses still graced the ceiling of the Throne Room. Here they were, these nameless Gods, watching over the Empress and her underlings from above. Like nearly everything else William had encountered so far in Kesh’tir the Throne Room was enormous and ornately decorated.

So many wondrous artifacts and works of art were displayed that the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles looked barren in comparison. Lining and affixed to the walls were tapestries, talismans, sculptures, idols, paintings, scrolls, and etchings looted from all the various races and cultures the Thra’ha’ken had brutally subjugated over the centuries.
“So this is the Throne Room?” William felt overwhelmed once more.
“Yes, the Empress is waiting at the end of the Hallway,” Muraja replied, “When we meet the Empress try not to stare.”
“With any luck I’ll be too distracted by the amount of precious gems on her Throne to even so much as glance at her,” William replied earnestly. William felt guilty walking through the Throne room.

He felt guilty for not shaking the dirt and dust off his shoes before walking over the exquisite mosaic floor and he felt guilty for wearing his sweat stained, dust covered suit that he wore yesterday in the presence of so much regal splendor. Muraja felt at home though, he always felt at home no matter where he was whether it was the most dingy and putrid of slums or the most resplendent and ancient of Palaces. It helped that he was wearing clean clothes too, “I’m not sure how I’m expected to behave around her,” William admitted, “I’ve never met an Empress before.”

“Well just think about how you would behave around the most powerful, regal person you’ve ever met,” Muraja advised, he didn’t bother with the tapestries, he had seen them all before.
“That’s a bit of a problem,” William said with a nervous smile, “You’re the most powerful, regal person I’ve ever met and I talk to you the same way as I talk to anyone else.”
“That is a bit of a problem. Just try to imagine how you would act around me if you didn’t know me, if you were in danger of being put to death at any moment,” Muraja said helpfully.

As the large and ornate throne came into view he slid his hand into his blazer and withdrew a small box wrapped in yellow paper, evidently some small present for the Empress.
“Is she that kind of ruler?” William asked apprehensively. On his forehead little droplets of sweat were coalescing into larger beads that started to flow down to his eyebrows and to the bridge of his nose. The sweat was due mostly to the apprehension he felt but the humidity that pervaded every corner of Kesh’tir wasn’t helping.
“She isn’t axe-happy if that’s what you’re worried about but I find it’s always in good-taste not to offend a woman who has the means to have you destroyed with a single word,” Muraja replied succinctly, or at least succinctly considering it was Muraja who was speaking.

The pair passed through row after row of immaculately sculpted white marble columns, each of which was decorated with a long tapestry on which the likeness of one of the many Emperors and Empresses from throughout the Empire’s long history. Then at last they reached the end of the Throne room and William saw the old woman who was the closest thing to a deity that the Thra’ha’ken had. Empress Ko’mem IV ‘the Radiant’ was ancient to say the least, she ascended to the throne at the age of thirteen (twelve Earth years) at roughly the same moment as John F. Kennedy’s famous joint-speech to Congress that officially began the space-race.

Nearly one century later she was still the unquestioned ruler of nearly two trillion people. Considering her advanced age (most Thra’ha’ken never made it to fifty and she had recently become a centenarian) she still had good health and vitality and it was clear to William that she had once been pretty by human standards (if you ignored the absence of the nose and the dagger-like teeth) and devastatingly beautiful by Thra’ha’ken standards. She wore red robes, red being the color of the Empire, robes that had hundreds of diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and all manner of precious stones weaved into the fabric. The robes were weaved from something akin to silk and were an heirloom that had been worn by the last ten Empresses. Her eyesight was poor so it was not until Muraja came close enough for the combination of his obnoxiously orange blazer and the strong aroma of his cologne assaulted her senses and alerted her to his presence.

Her thin lips drew tightly and her wizened cheeks stretched as a smile crept over her face. William understood now why Muraja had chosen to wear the Orange suit with the white pants; it was for the benefit of the Empress’s eyes. William looked in every direction at the assembled court: there were Generals, Consuls, Viziers, Hand-maidens, and Consorts. All of them were staring at him and Raja Muraja. William was so distracted by all the people that he probably would have walked right into the Throne if Muraja’s arm hadn’t barred his way and held him in place.

William took a deep breath and tried not to dwell on the fact that he almost bumped into the Empress’s throne. The Empress looked down on the two humans before her, her smile widening by the second. She didn’t recognize Muraja’s friend but she would give him the benefit of the doubt considering he was travelling with a man like Raja Muraja. Her old chest heaved as she drew in a deep breath; speech was difficult at her age.
“It is good…” she began, her voice was still strong and majestic, “…To see you again, Raja Muraja.” At that Raja Muraja bowed his head and compelled William to do the same.

“The feeling is of course mutual, my dear Empress,” Muraja said in a sweet, courteous voice. Then Muraja looked across the room at all the important people that regarded him with distrust and looked askance at him, “Eternal is the Empress!” Muraja shouted abruptly. The saying was often described inaccurately by human ‘experts’ as the Thra’ha’ken equivalent of ‘God Save the Queen’ when in truth it had more in common with the Nazi salutation ‘Heil Hitler’. It was something obligatory, something that once uttered had to be repeated by any and all in the Empress’s presence. Across the room the various dignitaries and members of the court simultaneously sighed internally before raising their fists in the air and parroting back: “Eternal is the Empress!”

“You don’t need…to show…such obeisance to me…Raja,” the Empress said slowly, “You come here as a friend and a guest,” the Empress’s speech was improving slowly, almost as if she was remembering how to speak.
“You honor me, Empress,” Muraja’s eyes were always the indicator for William if he was being sincere or fulsome. His warm, semi-informal, and friendly tone could be manufactured, what couldn’t (as far as William knew) be fabricated was the genuine warmth in his green eyes as he gazed up at the Empress.

Muraja turned away from the Empress to William, who was indeed staring at the dazzling jewels that encrusted the solid gold and platinum throne, “This fine young man here,” Muraja began, gesturing to William with a flat hand, “Is William Waltham Walden of Boston,” before William could manage to say hello Muraja’s hand slapped him on the shoulder, “He doesn’t talk much.” William wasn’t the quiet type at all; in fact he was a bit of a know-it-all and someone who often spoke his mind. But he knew that Muraja was right in saying that to cover the fact that William didn’t know how to speak to the Empress. It wasn’t that he didn’t speak the language: he was fluent in Jen’dir’sha and five other Thra’ha’ken dialects. It was the fact that in Jen’dir’sha tense and pronunciation was everything. A slight change in tense could make the difference between sounding polite and sounding snide. Luckily Muraja had politeness in spades.

“It is… good to meet you William,” the Empress nodded at William who returned her nod with a full bow. To William’s relief the bow was exactly what was expected of him and the suspicious faces of the members of the Imperial Court began to soften and grow more sympathetic to the humans. All but the Grand Vizier Shak’xur who glared fiercely at them. Shak’xur sat in a smaller secondary throne adjacent to the main grand throne as befitting his status as the Empress’s right hand.

Shak’xur was a tiny, emaciated, round-shouldered goblin of a man who hid his fragile physique under several thick robes. On the opposite side was yet another throne which belonged to the Empress’s daughter. At present the throne was vacant.
“Now that introductions are finished I have a little present for you,” Muraja offered up the little wrapped box to the Empress who stretched out her old hand and closed her bony fingers around it. The little package had something inside it that rattled when it moved, something solid. It was a small, neat little box wrapped in parchment sealed by delicate-looking but surprisingly strong white lace.

“May I open it?” the Empress asked with a hopeful smile.
“You are the Empress; as such it is at your discretion whether you open it here or whether you open it in a more… private setting. It is beyond me to dictate what you must do but if you wish to honor me you will wait until you are alone to see what’s inside.” At that the Grand Vizier’s suspicion turned to outright hostility.

“I had no idea you were in the business of assassinating Empresses, Raja Muraja,” Shak’xur said with his dry, thin lips drawn back to reveal a contumelious toothy snarl. His teeth were yellow and rotted despite the fact that a person of his station would have the means to keep them clean and healthy. Shak’xur had miscalculated, and any suspicion that the rest of the Court may have held for Muraja’s gift was dropped and replaced by indignance for Shak’xur’s insulting remark. Before the Empress could reproach him Muraja made his own response.

“And I,” he began with a supremely confident look of waggish amusement, “Had no idea you were in the business of insulting the Empress by insulting her guests,” Checkmate. Shak’xur retreated back into his throne and there was a hushed rumble of quiet laughter arising from the rest of the Court who were tired of Shak’xur and enjoyed seeing him put in his place, “I assure you the gift is harmless,” Muraja proclaimed with the utmost certainty and conviction, “And if it pleases your subjects you may open it here and now and show that it is most harmless.” The Empress appeared to consider opening the box for a moment. She slid her long sharp index finger under the lace as if to cut it open but instead she drew her finger back and stashed the box away in her silk robes.

“My trust is not easily earned,” the Empress said thoughtfully. Her forehead crinkled and her eyes narrowed pensively, “But those that have earned it…need not be held as suspect in my court,” Muraja shifted his glance ever so slightly so as to lock eyes with Shak’xur. As Shak’xur’s blood boiled and his rotted teeth bit down hard on his lower lip he caught the brief but devastating little smirk that Muraja flashed at him.

Oooh, original fiction. I'm far too tired from my day job to work on anything of my own. No one's sent me anything to crit as-of-late. I feel as if I need to do something writing-related before I go crash for the night... I'm making this thread my bitch. Well, the first chapter, anyway.

It's probably worth mentioning that I'm blunt. I come from a "Your writing's bad, and you should feel bad!" school of concrit. I think I'm nice. The people I crit for just don't always share that opinion. Feel free to ignore any/all of the following.

Now that that's out of the way... make way for some very sleepy concrit...



The Losh tea had begun to take full effect on the beggar’s mind and body, he was drifting away from the mortal plane to the sublime home of dreams and illusions when his happy journey was interrupted by the sudden and rude arrival of a pair of hallucinations travelling down the empty, dusty street.

Is this the first line? It makes me want to stop reading a little. First lines should be to-the-point. They should grab the reader and yank them in. A story that begins with a run on sentence and three four five?! lots of adjectives makes me re-read and mentally correct and think. I just started this story, and you're asking me to think? I don't know if I'm ready to make that kind of commitment yet.

To his dissatisfaction the Losh was all gone and when he looked up he saw to his frustration

That's redundant.

There was a brown figment and a purple figment; yes that’s what they were.

I know that's what that were. You've told me what they are several times already. Why are you telling me again?

pinkish-white and dark brown

More of a pet peeve than a crit. A lot of your descriptions are very text-book and dry. There can be all kinds of "dark brown"... skin the color of milk chocolate, toffee candies, cinnamon bark (I must be hungry or something.)

Also, pinkish-white is peach or some similar color that's a hell of a lot easier for me to imagine than "pinkish".


“Tell me, William,” began Raja Muraja, the shorter of the two with the purple suit, “What do you know of the Thra’ha’ken?”

Wait. He has a name and he's not ACTUALLY purple? I need this info, like, last paragraph. I was picturing some fellow standing there glowing purple.

Also, no comma before "What do you..." The sentence ended after "purple suit".

William Walden, the younger, taller man with the brown suit slowed his stride as if to contemplate the question for a moment. “Not much,” William admitted

I don't understand why you're not beginning a new paragraph when someone new speaks. We need to inject some formatting 101 here. Things would be a hell of lot easier to follow for it.

...Oh and they have some bizarre fetish for apostrophes.”

My fetish is for the word "akimbo". Mmm... akimbo.


“Do I remember it?” William snorted, “It took me days to get the blood stains out of my shirt! How could I forget?”
“I said I was sorry about that, when all you have is a meat cleaver to defend yourself…” Muraja shrugged and threw William a sheepish look. Muraja was a man in his mid thirties, of average height with a dark complexion that made people speculate whether one of his parents was African. In truth not even Muraja knew who his father was, though he knew his mother was the neglectful prostitute from Jaipur. Muraja’s most distinguishing features outside of his colorful choice of clothing were his neatly trimmed circle beard and his bright green eyes.

This was a bit of a weird place for a sudden, detailed description - complete with a sudden PoV change. Editors will eat you alive for PoV changes. I know. Oh, gods do I know... It keeps me up nights.


The eyes were the one thing of any value he inherited from his mother; they were what made her “popular” in her line of work.

Why is popular in quotations? I'm assuming she was a prostitute? Why not just mention that rather that be vague? Even so, I'm not sure popular needs to be in quotations. A popular whore is still popular in accordance with the normal definition of the word.

Paragraph 6 - 8

Show. Don't tell. I just got more information than I EVER wanted to know about these characters in one sitting. All of these details can be worked into the plot later on. Don't shove it all at the reader up-front.


“Muraja don’t use that excuse. I’ve seen you defend yourself without using any weapons in a much, much cleaner and more efficient manner. Admit that you just wanted to kill a man by throwing a meat cleaver at him!”

I completely forgot what we were talking about. There were three lengthy paragraphs between character A's "excuse" and characters B's retort.

Okay, I'm going to stop here for now. This is becoming a tad more time consuming than I expected it to be.

Some general advice:

Brush up on your grammar. It's most everyone's least favorite part of writing, but without polish your prose read like a joke. You have some problems with run on sentences and punctuation in relation to dialogue.

And speaking of dialogue... Watch your tags.

Muraja said with a smile.
William grunted
Muraja said cheerily.
William asked suspiciously.
William said sarcastically

People can just "said". Don't be afraid to keep it simple. A different dialogue tag EVERY time is incredibly distracting. Gratuitous adverbs are a big no-no.

That's all I can really (coherently) offer for now, but hopefully there was something of use in there.

It's not redundant at all, if you had actually read the line you'd see that the beggar is reacting to two different factors. He's disappointed that the tea is all gone and he's frustrated by the fact that the two "hallucinations" are still there.
Also on the subject of the tags, do you have any idea how bare an entire page of dialogue looks if its all just 'he said, she said, he asked, she asked'?
As for you critique about a perceived lack of information I'd like to remind you that the first POV is a drunken beggar who has no idea what's going on. I wouldn't go so far as to call the style in that section stream of consciousness but its definitely up that alley.
Otherwise I'll admit that there are some weak points that I'll iron out once the story is finished and its time for editing and buffering.

I realize that, and I should have been clearer. The words you used are redundant. I've been working morning shifts at work this past week and it's made my phrasing go all wonky. You used "to his ___" twice in the same sentence. It reads a little weird and feels clunky.



That's one of those big grade school lies I want to go back and kick my old lit teachers for. Pick any book off the shelf and take a look at a dialogue-heavy page. "said ___", "he said", she said" are there and they're fine. They read naturally. Sure, occasionally writers, myself included, will throw in "asked" or replied", or "quipped", "laughed", "teased" ect. Changing it up every time is distracting for most readers. Sometimes people don't do anything more than "said". For the love of all that's holy, just let them "said".

Oh, forgive me, I had to be at work at 6AM this morning. I'm all shades of weird this afternoon.

To take it one step further with the dialogue tags - yours contain a lot of adverbs. I don't know who you show your fiction to, but a lot of fellow writers and editors are going to pound you for that. "Take them out blah..." "They encourage passive voice blah, blah." Me? I like adverbs. Like a hard malt beverage (I really wish I had one of those right now... ) they're fine in moderation. Lots of writers use them and use them well. Something like, William asked suspiciously. is forgivable, but you're doing it a lot. It comes off as lazy writing.

Some description would be nice. You don't even have to use the word "suspicious". Body language, an edge to his voice; something that the reader doesn't even really notice but can picture clearly.



Pick a PoV and stick with it then. Save yourself the agony. I don't know how serious you are about writing, but keeping the PoV consistent is imperative. Pick it early and stick the hell with it. It's going to save you a very time consuming rewrite.

Do you belong to/have you considered joining a crit group? Some collective feedback would probably benefit you a lot.

Well I'm in the process of getting ready to send a Query for a book I just finished (not this one) to an Agent.
And yeah I'm thinking about something like a crit group, I'll probably take a creative writing class or something along those lines next semester for that very reason.
I personally like adverbs, I think without them dialogue tags seem barren and mechanical, like if you're just making a transcript rather than actual dialogue. I'm not too worried about little grammar rules like that, I'm trying to write a book not a High School essay. Sometimes writing style goes beyond grammar rules, example: Moon is a Harsh Mistress by Heinlein. Anyone who points out that the grammar is terrible in that book gets laughed at. I'm not saying my book incorporates non-standard grammar into it intentionally, I'm just saying that grammar has next to no real worth when it comes to literary merit unless the grammar is so glaringly bad it makes you want to throw up.

Good luck with that

Rejections hurt. I'm just gonna say that now. Form rejections hurt more. I just advise that you get both your query and manuscript as polished as possible before whoring it out. Writing it great for writers. Never stop writing. Sending out an unpolished manuscript is just bad business. If you've never happened upon the infamous blog right here in this link, I couldn't recommend it more.


Also, "bad grammar" is one of those learn the rules then break them deals. Finding your own voice is great! PoV and adverbs aren't a voice. They're PoV and adverbs. Some exceptions to those rules apply, but you're no Vonnegut. This isn't nearly stylistic enough to pull it off. An excess of adverbs and PoV switches kills prose dead. So it goes.

There's also the matter of punctuation. I'm not sure if you're including that in grammar so I'm adding that here.


“Umm Muraja,” William leaned in to Muraja’s ear and whispered nervously, “You did, call ahead didn’t you?”
“You can’t “call ahead” William,” Muraja said, unfazed by the hard stares the soldiers were giving him, “But I’ll straighten things out. Just stay put,” Muraja took a single step forward and as soon as he did the soldier nearest to him slid his hand down from the high stock of his rifle to the trigger guard.

I don't care how talented you are. This is going to earn a form rejection so fast your head will spin.

You have some nice turns of phrase, some nice descriptions - but, based on this, I'm not sure you're ready for publication yet. (Haven't seen your finished work, so obviously my opinion's a tad limited.) I'd still recommend finding a good crit group. Sites like Critters and Critique Circle are free. Granted, I wasn't a big fan of the first one, and I've never tried the latter.

There are also writing related forums like Forward Motion and Absolute Write.

Back in the day, I wrote fanfiction to get a feel for what readers liked and what I could do to improve. Oh, hell. Who am I kidding? I still write fanfiction between original projects. (It's such a guilty pleasure. ) Almost any feedback is good feedback. It's important and nutritious and any writer who wants to get paid for doing what they do cannot live without it.

Congrats for finishing a book, though. That's an achievement in and of itself. I started writing novels when I was 9. The key word there being "started". I must have started, well over, 50 novels in my lifetime - and what's sad is that I'm not that old. It's quite the commitment to see just a single idea through to a full-length novel.

Yeah I've actually been receiving some help on getting published from my Cousin who is an actual published author, so far he's helped me shape my Query letter into something more effective than my first attempt.
The book that I actually finished has some samples up on this forum as well. The writing style in that book is a little more energetic and less emphasis on detail and more on actions.

Jen’shar was known for two things: his contemplative and balanced personality and the tuft of gray hair under his chin. Thra’ha’ken were reptilian at first glance and indeed they were semi-cold blooded and had the ability to reproduce through egg-laying but they had more in common with Earth mammals. For instance Thra’ha’ken females had the necessary organs to give birth to live children (indeed it was the preferred method, “egg-born” children were looked down upon and often became slaves) and the mammaries necessary to feed those children. Thra’ha’ken were odd in that they were the only known species to have both options available.

Also like mammals Thra’ha’ken had hair, though much like the hair found on a Dolphin or a Whale it was mostly unnoticeable. In some astronomically rare cases a Thra’ha’ken will have a patch of hair grow unexpectedly to the point where it becomes visible. For the Thra’ha’ken having a beard was the equivalent of a human baby being born with a full set of teeth. Jen’shar was a well-built middle-aged man with a stern countenance that would have been fierce had it not been for his gentle black eyes which offset his other features. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, having kept up the same fitness regimen from when he was a young recruit in the Thra’ha’ken fleet twenty years ago.

At present he was no longer a part of the Thra’ha’ken military command structure having retired three years ago at the impressive rank of Grand General. There were only five Grand Generals at any given time, currently The’kar was one of those five though given his current predicament it didn’t seem that would be the case for long. Grand Generals rank far above Shipmasters (commanders of single Dreadnoughts), Force Commanders (commanders of groups of four to twelve Dreadnoughts known as Forces), Planetary Governors, and Fleet Lords (commanders of several or more combined Forces). They are roughly equal in authority to the Empress’s dozen or so Viziers and are out-ranked only by the Grand Vizier and the current Emperor or Empress.

As befitting his former station Jen’shar bore at his waist the Neutronium sword of a Grand General. He passed through the Gate of the Kesh’tir Prison without trouble; he didn’t even have to show the Guards the Seal that identified him as one of the Empress’s Viziers. His beard and sword was all the identification the Guards needed to make haste and open the gate for him. After that he knew the way to The’kar’s cell well enough to proceed alone. The heavy door was still open from when Muraja and William visited the day before, the guards knew The’kar wouldn’t try escaping and they didn’t think it was a good use of their time to go through the trouble of closing the heavy thing again.

The’kar was reading, as always, when Jen’shar arrived. The book he was reading was a several centuries old Kadian tome of philosophy which had its closest human-mate in Ayn Rand’s The Virtue of Selfishness. The views expressed within the book however would have made the most extreme Objectivist uneasy and The’kar realized that it was a good thing that the majority of Kadian society had moved on from such extreme views. When Jen’shar entered the room The’kar immediately put the book aside and rose to greet the Vizier.

“Don’t bother standing The’kar,” Jen’shar said with a wave of his hand, “This isn’t an official visit.”
“Then what is it?” The’kar asked, returning to his seat. Jen’shar took the only other chair in the cell and got comfortable.
“You’ve heard that I’ve been selected as one of your Judges in the impending trial, haven’t you?” Jen’shar asked, mostly rhetorically. Of course The’kar knew, he may have been imprisoned but he was still a man in the know.
“Yes, of course I have,” The’kar leaned back in his seat and folded his huge hands together, “I’ve also heard that Shak’xur is to be the Accuser.”

“Was that detail ever in doubt?” Jen’shar asked in an almost bemused manner. Shak’xur’s professional and personal distaste for The’kar was well known.
“I should have known he would get his chance to destroy me one day,” The’kar said ruefully, “I just never dreamed that he would do it on behalf of the Empress. Talk about mixing business with pleasure,” The’kar buried his head into his hands and sighed.

“More like sadistic glee,” Jen’shar amended, “You should know that the Empress isn’t certain she agrees with Shak’xur just yet,” The’kar picked his head up from out of his hands; he had achieved some small repose.
“How do you know that?” The’kar asked, “Have you spoken to her?”
“Briefly, when she summoned me to her presence two days ago and informed me of my duties as a Judge. As you know in cases of this magnitude the three Judges are always Viziers,” Jen’shar drew the dazzling Neutronium blade that hung at his waist. He stared at the pristine, godly metal and saw a perfect reflection of his face in it.

Neutronium wasn’t so much a metal as much as it was an all purpose multi-phase compound of over seventy different elements that scientifically speaking shouldn’t be able to come together in the way that they did. Not even the Kadians understood Neutronium but they respected the fact that it was invaluable for its role in making slipstream generators and for making the nearly indestructible hulls of Kadian ships. The Thra’ha’ken had many secret techniques that allowed their weaponers to smelt raw solid-state Neutronium into workable metal to make swords that could cut through anything and was nigh-unbreakable once they cooled down.

Because Neutronium was so heavy (roughly ten times as heavy as iron though it more than made up for it by being more than five-hundred times as powerful) the blades had to be thin which wasn’t a problem because of their supernatural durability, “But the Empress realizes that another viewpoint is necessary in a military trial.”
“So she found the only current Vizier who has ever held a higher rank than Shipmaster,” The’kar nodded his head, “An enlightened sentiment on the Empress’s part.”
“She also told me, privately and in strict confidence, that she doesn’t trust Shak’xur’s motives in this trial and that she wishes there was a more qualified Accuser,” Jen’shar said, sheathing his sword once more.

“There’s the irony,” The’kar chuckled, “No doubt were anyone else on trial I would have been the chosen Accuser.”
“She said the same thing,” Jen’shar said, scratching his beard reflectively.
“Well now that I understand the Empress’s position I have to ask what your position is,” The’kar said, leaning in and staring intently at Jen’shar.
“I have not made a decision yet,” Jen’shar admitted, “I’m trying to keep an open mind but the Grand General in me thinks your guilty of treason and the Vizier in me agrees with him wholeheartedly.”

“But do your inner-selves trust Shak’xur?” The’kar asked.
“No not entirely,” Jen’shar rubbed the back of his head, “I don’t think you’ve ever done him any harm yet he hates you, even more than he hates most things.”
“His father and my father were enemies, and when he looks at me he sees the old monster in me and I can’t say I blame him. His family was all but destroyed when they were framed by my father for conspiring against the Empress,” The’kar cracked his knuckles and grunted, he didn’t like thinking about his father, there were too many horrible memories of physical and emotional abuse.

“I knew The’kar the Elder, you’re nothing like him,” Jen’shar replied, “That being said, Shak’xur intends to make you pay for his sins.”
“What would you say my chances are of being cleared?” The’kar asked, cutting to the chase.
“Well with most of your own crewmen swearing that you allowed a Kadian ship to slip through your grasp I’d say that your chances don’t look very good,” Jen’shar shook his head and frowned, “What possessed you to allow that ship to escape?” he asked suddenly, sounding infuriated at The’kar, “You know that Imperial Law is quite rigid when it comes to the Rules of Engagement. Every Kadian ship has the capability to destroy an entire world so it makes no sense whatsoever to allow one to escape when it is very much at your mercy. Why didn’t you just do your duty and wipe it?” Jen’shar used military jargon like ‘wipe’ when he was angry. Wipe was Thra’ha’ken military slang for when a Kadian ship was destroyed. The exotic propulsion systems they used would cause compromised ships to literally disappear as they were sucked into a nano-singularity.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” The’kar said plaintively.
“Why not?” Jen’shar demanded.
“Be patient Jen’shar,” The’kar said with a calm voice, “I don’t intend to be found guilty and I have a defense planned but now isn’t the time for that.”

“I find it difficult to believe you can disprove the overwhelming evidence against you,” Jen’shar said earnestly.
“I won’t try to challenge the truth,” The’kar cracked his knuckles again, “What I intend to do is to challenge the legal definition of treason.”
“Well then I can only wish you luck then,” Jen’shar stood up from his chair, “You’ll have no chance on that front.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” The’kar said to his old friend as he was leaving.

It was late; the sun was at long last setting on the ancient city and all its great monuments and millions of people. The star turned from safety-orange to deep blood-red as it sank on the horizon and imparted its last rays of light on Kesh’tir. It was at this time that Chei’ki, the Captain of the Empress’s guards usually drilled her troops. Chei’ki had high standards for her troops in the areas of fitness, readiness, and loyalty.

Other than that she had a fairly laidback style of command, discipline wasn’t much of a concern for her so long as the soldiers obeyed orders and kept in top of the line shape. She would trade insults rather than pull rank or if insults wouldn’t suffice she wasn’t above beating the daylights out of her soldiers should they become too flippant. Chei’ki was large for a woman, with a strong back and a heavy frame. If it hadn’t been for the fact she was also quite tall her dense musculature would have made her appear squat and somewhat masculine. She wore the somewhat cumbersome armor of the Palace Guard without any trouble despite its weight.

The armor was mostly ceremonial and in the few times that the Palace had required defending Chei’ki had always made sure to remove it before going into combat. She was attractive, but in a dangerous way and was rather adept at handling unwanted advances with or without the use of physical violence (as a matter of preference she usually did use violence though). Every day of the week a different group of her soldiers would join her for exercise and combat practice. The practice took place in one of the many small courtyards that separated the many buildings that together formed the bottom floor of the Palace.

This courtyard was a relatively small one with the usual tile flooring removed and replaced by soft sand for the benefit of Chei’ki’s soldiers. Presently the combat practice was between To’cher’vo, the youngest of the Empress’s guard and Ven’xur, one of the more experienced soldiers in her command. To’cher’vo came from a poor lower class family, hence his third name. Whereas in most cultures an additional name would mean greater prestige, in Thra’ha’ken society a third name was a demeaning fixture.

In his case his third name was ‘vo’ because his father was a locksmith, vo being the word for locksmith in Tek’to’kum. “Cherv” as To’cher’vo was known to his friends was an average sized young man with plain features and somewhat small hands. This proved a great disadvantage in his sparring match with the larger and big-fisted Ven’xur who could shrug off Cherk’s attacks even if he couldn’t dodge them all that well.

Chei’ki leaned against one of the walls, it was still warm from the sun’s last rays and as darkness fell the air grew colder and the warmth of the wall became a more and more attractive concept. Chei’ki was so enrapt by the contest between the two men that she didn’t notice when Raja Muraja walked into the courtyard and leaned on the spot of wall just a few feet to the right of Chei’ki. Both men had been going at it for more than twenty minutes when Muraja showed up and they were growing tired. Chei’ki didn’t like seeing them slow down, she wanted to see fists fly, not to see two men panting like tired, beaten draft animals.

“Did I say you little boys could rest?” Chei’ki snarled. With that the two men resumed their match in spite of their mutual fatigue.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Muraja said with a hint of bemusement in his voice. Chei’ki didn’t bother checking who it was standing next to her; all she could tell was that he seemed to posses an off-worlder accent that she couldn’t place.
“What’s not to enjoy?” Chei’ki asked. Ordinarily she didn’t like it when strangers started talking to her unprompted, but she was in a good mood that day, “I guarantee you there are people right now who’re paying good money to see this.”
“I’m sure there are,” Muraja agreed, “Though I doubt they’ll be watching a sparring match between two fighters trained in Char’kek’lan’ti.”

“You’ve got a good set of eyes on you,” Chei’ki said, somewhat impressed that the man could recognize the style. She took her eyes off the fight for one second and was stunned to see she was talking to a human, “Hey you’re the Empress’s guest aren’t you?” Chei’ki knew the answer, there was no one else fitting his description on the entire planet.
“Yes, I’m Raja Muraja, I just arrived here in Ha’ken this morning,” Muraja said.

“My name is Chei’ki,” she said, straightening out her back as she did. Muraja held out his hand for her. The handshake was as recognized a greeting practice for the Thra’ha’ken as it was for humans but for different reasons. Back in the times when the Faith ruled Imperial society the handshake was a sort of mini-ritual that ensured productive dealings between two parties. Chei’ki understood the gesture but instead of shaking Muraja’s hand she grabbed it and felt it.
“Is there something about my hands that interests you?” Muraja asked. Chei’ki was indeed mystified by Muraja’s hands, there was something unnatural about them.

It wasn’t merely that she was unaccustomed to the texture of human skin; she had interacted with plenty of human soldiers and ambassadors in her time as the Head of the Palace Guard. What mystified her was the fact that his hands were both soft and strong. The nails were evenly filed and completely free of dirt and the palm of his hand was soft like a baby’s.
“Squeeze my hand as hard as you can,” Chei’ki said.
“I beg your pardon?”

“Just do it,” she said forcefully. Muraja complied and Chei’ki winced as she felt his soft well-groomed fingers turn into a vice-grip around her own hand. After a few seconds Chei’ki pulled her hand away, “That’s some grip you have,” she rubbed her hand, “You’re a lot stronger than you look aren’t you?”
“Most people would whimper if you squeezed them like that,” Muraja said, looking at Chei’ki’s swelling hand.
“I’m not most people,” Chei’ki replied proudly.

“I can see that. Is there any chance I might be allowed to join your soldiers for some sparring?” Muraja asked.
“If I let you get your face beaten in by one of my soldiers the Empress would literally have my hide for it,” Chei’ki declared, “But I figure that you being here is proof enough that you can handle yourself,” Chei’ki then yelled out the command to end the current sparring match. The two soldiers at this point were battered and exhausted, blood and sweat mixed freely and ran down their legs in small trickles. They gladly ended the fight and went to lie down on the cold sand in the corner of the yard.

“Excellent. Who am I sparring with?” Muraja asked keenly. Chei’ki surveyed the choices before her and decided to start Muraja off with an intermediate challenge.
“Okay then, She’shar’lan get in the middle right now!” Chei’ki pointed at one of the younger, less experienced soldiers. Immediately the young man hurried to the center and started doing some warm up stretches. Muraja removed his orange blazer and handed it to Chei’ki.

“Hold this, please,” Chei’ki took the blazer but didn’t feel like holding it so she tossed it to one of the soldiers.
“Hold that,” Chei’ki repeated to the soldier who complied without protest. Chei’ki could see Muraja’s back muscles through his pink and white undershirt; clearly his clothes hid a rather impressive physique. Her eyes travelled down from Muraja’s back to his legs. The sheer whiteness of his pants staggered Chei’ki, if she had such fine clothes she would never wear them to a sparring match, “Hey there,” Chei’ki grabbed Muraja by his shoulder, “You’re not worried about getting those pants dirty?”

“I don’t intend to be knocked down,” Muraja replied with a smirk.
“Alright then,” Chei’ki wasn’t sure if he was a blustering fool or if he truly had the skill to back up his bravado but either way she felt she was in for quite a show.
“What’s the signal to begin?” Muraja asked.

“Go.” As soon as the command left Chei’ki’s lips She’shar’lan began his charge. He came at Muraja with a right hook aimed directly at Muraja’s perfectly formed nose but was stunned when Muraja effortlessly caught the punch with his right hand and squeezed down with the same force he had used on Chei’ki earlier. Muraja’s left leg crossed behind his opponents left leg and pulled it out from under him. She’shar’lan’s back struck the sandy ground hard. Before he could recover Muraja’s foot came to rest over his neck, signaling the end of the match. In Thra’ha’ken orthodox fighting rules a foot to the throat was the equivalent of the ten count, because if you had your foot to someone’s throat there was but a simple action required to end their life.

“How was that?” Muraja turned back to Chei’ki who was surprised but not shocked.
“Not bad,” she admitted, “Do you feel like having another quick match?”
“Of course,” Muraja grinned, “Who’s up next?” he looked to the remaining three soldiers but Chei’ki had other plans.
“I don’t usually partake in sparring matches,” Chei’ki said. She removed her shoulder and chest armor and tossed it aside. The metal and ceramic plates hit the ground with a heavy thud, Chei’ki was glad to be out of it, “But it’s been a while and I want to see the reason the Empress thinks so highly of you.”

“Are you going to start off slow?” Muraja asked.
“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to insult you,” Chei’ki replied with a wide grin. While Muraja and Chei’ki traded blows the sounds of their little contest travelled up through the air and reached all the way to William’s room on the fourth floor of the Palace. Try as he might William couldn’t sleep; despite all the walking and the sheer amount of time he had spent awake he couldn’t find rest even in the most comfortable of beds. It was the first time William had left Earth and the impact of this wasn’t lost on him. Everything he had ever known was on Earth, and to be suddenly removed from that was a strange, almost frightening experience. It wasn’t like travelling to another country or even taking a trip to the Moon.

When William looked up at the night sky he couldn’t recognize any of the stars, at least not as he could on Earth. The constellations were all wrong and there were three moons in the sky, a pale blue moon, a yellow moon, and an almost pink-hued moon. After two hours of staring at the ceiling and trying in vain to catch some shut-eye, William abandoned the fruitless effort and decided to read one of the numerous books on the shelf at the other end of his large, well-furnished room. He wasn’t quite sure at first glance if the books were real or if they were just for show. William remembered his childhood home, a good-sized mansion in North Boston with a large well stocked library.

He remembered reading every single book on the first shelf only to discover to his immense disappointment that the remaining thirteen shelves were filled with fake books which had blank pages in them. To William’s relief the first book he picked out from the shelf near the fireplace was indeed a real honest-to-god tome. The book he picked out was a collection of ancient Thra’ha’ken texts that had been written before Kesh’tir was ever built. The language was difficult to get a handle on because it was comprised of ancient and now long-dead languages translated into archaic Jen’dir’sha.

When he had visited The’kar he had noticed one of the books in his possession was the Leviathan by Thomas Hobbes. The’kar was fluent in English but it must have been incredibly difficult for him to read such archaic word-play, just as it was difficult for William to understand what he was reading now. William was having so much trouble getting past one particularly wordy paragraph that he didn’t notice when the door to his room opened and someone stepped inside. William struggled with the words, no matter how hard he tried they kept slipping from his mind. He would read the first two lines ten times only to realize that he hadn’t absorbed a single word.

It was only when a shadow grew long across the old pages that William was alerted to the presence of another person.
“Aa—” William’s first reaction was to scream but before his scream could wake anyone up he felt a warm hand cover his mouth.
“Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you,” the woman said, genuinely penitent for having frightened him. She slid her hand from William’s mouth when his wide eyes calmed down a bit. The first thing William noticed about her was how young she was, she couldn’t have been older than twenty. William had seen Thra’ha’ken females before but most of them were large, boisterous and rather intimidating merchantwomen or wizened old women like the Empress.

This girl was different; she was lithe and delicate with moist, supple skin and a small bone-structure. She wore what would best be described as a corset coupled with undergarments that ended half-way down her thighs. Over this were three layers of diaphanous gauze-like fabric which together served to keep some of her body’s finer details hidden from William’s roving eyes. She had thin wrists, even compared to the rather svelte William and small hands and feet. Her neck was long and graceful and her eyes were a most unusual (for a Thra’ha’ken) blue. William looked at her face and noted the presence of a nasal ridge, a sort of faux-nose that made her appear more human and a little less alien to his eyes. For the Thra’ha’ken however the nasal ridge was an anomaly just like her blue eyes and depending on the standards of the person in question she may have been considered homely in her society.

“You could have knocked,” William replied with a bit more poise than before. His heart was still pounding furiously but he no longer felt agitated and was more or less relaxed.
“I am sorry,” the woman sat down at the foot of William’s bed, “But I noticed you were having trouble sleeping and I thought you might want some company,” she said with a soft, gentle voice.
“What do you mean you noticed I was having trouble sleeping?” William asked, suddenly worried he was being spied on.
“My room is directly below yours,” she said, removing her small slippers from her diminutive feet, “When you moved through your room I heard your footsteps and I realized that your room was the room the Empress had given to one of the humans.”

“Are you one of the Empress’s servants?” William asked.
“We are all in some way the Empress’s servants,” she replied, “Tell me, it must be strange for you here.”
“It’s a little different from Earth but it’s nothing I can’t get used to,” he answered with a shrug, “Am I the first human you’ve ever seen?”
“No, but you are the first I’ve traded words with,” she shuffled up from the foot of the bed and stopped when she was less than a meter away from William, “And the first I’ve been so close to,” her right hand came to rest on William’s knee for a moment before slowly travelling up his leg.

“And what’s your impression of me so far?” William asked, his heart was beating hard in his chest still but for an entirely different reason.
“I was told that you humans were like the Kadians in appearance,” she explained. With great care for the fragile fabric she removed the outermost layer of diaphanous clothing and set it aside at the foot of the bed. William could now see her narrow waist and the outlines of her young breasts more clearly. There was much of Thra’ha’ken culture he didn’t understand and the girl’s presence wasn’t quite as clear cut in his mind as it should have been.
“Well we are… remarkably similar to the Kadians in a lot of ways,” William replied.

“And yet I don’t think you are like the Kadians,” she wasn’t speaking about humans in general; she was speaking of William alone.
“How’s that?” William’s voice almost cracked when the girl’s hand reached the end of his leg and found his crotch.
“You are humble and your voice is gentle, and the Kadians I’ve met spoke to me as if I were a dumb animal,” she said with a downcast glance. Evidently she wasn’t much of a fan of the Kadians, an inclination she shared with most of the Empire.

“Well I wouldn’t worry too much about it; they talk to everyone like that,” William said reassuringly. The girl’s hand moved over William’s chest then settled on his face. She was interested in his glasses.
“What is that on your face?” she poked the lens of his eyewear with a sharp index fingernail.
“They’re called eyeglasses,” William replied. He took them off and showed them to the girl who studied them for a moment.

“What are they for?” she asked, taking them from his hands.
“You wear them on your face and they correct bad eyesight,” William was so used to his glasses that having them off for even a short time made him uneasy. The girl placed the glasses over her face but without ears or a nose they didn’t stay on so she had to keep her hands on the frame.

“If you say so,” she sounded disappointed, “My eyes do not work as they should. And if there is truly some benefit you gain from these it doesn’t work for me,” she handed William back his glasses. Suddenly William understood why she had blue eyes, perhaps blue eyes were just indicators of some ophthalmologic disorder that afflicted the Thra’ha’ken. It would go a long way to explain why she didn’t look at William with the same mild disgust as her fellow Thra’ha’ken, she had terrible vision. It was a wonder she even noticed that he had glasses at all.

“Well the reason they don’t work for you is that everyone has different vision, what helps me see may make seeing harder for someone else,” William said, putting his glasses back on. When he had his glasses on again he saw that the girl was removing her second layer. She folded it up neatly and placed it at the same spot as she had placed the first one. William could now see her body clearly. For all the little differences the Thra’ha’ken were remarkably similar to humans morphologically, so much so that their standards of feminine beauty were the same when it came to overall body shape.

“Do you have difficulty sleeping because you feel separated from someone?” the girl asked suddenly. She shuffled her body just a little bit further down the bed so as to be closer to William. The time between each of William’s breaths increased with each passing second, “Is there someone you love that you left behind when you came here?” she asked. Slowly she peeled off the last layer of gossamer fabric and set it aside with the others. William could feel the heat radiating from her soft skin as she drew closer.
“No, it’s been quite some time since I’ve been in a relationship,” William admitted.

“Why is that?” the girl asked naively.
“Well it’s a lot of things really,” William tried to keep his voice steady, “For one thing I’m usually too busy for that sort of thing, I mean with Muraja and his schedule…”
“Oh,” the girl drew back a bit, “You and him?” William’s eyes widened, he hated when people assumed that him and Muraja were more than just associates and friends.
“No, no,” William assured her, “Look the real reason is most women I’m attracted to either don’t understand me or outright hate Me.”

“What’s there to understand?” The girl asked. She peeled off a few straps and the corset came off. It was at this point that any and all possible ambiguity in the cause for her actions ended for William. Her soft hands closed around William’s wrists and pulled his hands up, bringing one hand to her face and the other to her breast and the beating heart beneath it, “Now let’s see if a warmer bed will help you get some sleep.”

The Temple that served as the Highest Official Court in the Empire had been built for organized worship and as such was the perfect building for holding a trial. It was built similarly to a theater in that it had excellent acoustics and featured two semi-circular platforms with hundreds of seats that overlooked the circular stage below where rituals and religious rites had been performed and sermons had been given. William and Raja had woken up early and as a result they made it into the Great Temple before the lion’s share of the Tribunal had even gotten out of bed.

Muraja’s little sparring match with Chei’ki was just what he needed to get the restless energy out of his system and allow him to get some sleep. William too had managed to find sleep; the girl’s warmth was just what he needed to calm his nerves. He was disappointed when he woke up in an empty and mostly cold bed. Raja had held back during the sparring match but that in of itself made it more difficult as Chei’ki put everything she had into trying to knock Muraja down. When it was over the victorious Muraja asked Chei’ki to his room, an offer she accepted. They were both too exhausted for anything to happen and they both slept in their sweat-soaked clothes.

Looking at him right now it would be impossible to tell that he had ever allowed his person to become so disheveled. His current attire consisted of a three-piece suit comprised of a Prussian-blue single-breasted jacket with classic notched-lapels, a crimson waistcoat, and a creamy yellow undershirt that was so crisp one might suspect it was ironed onto his body. Completing the ensemble was his favorite tiger-orange tie, a sharp pair of Yale-blue pinstripe dress pants, and a set of pristine white alligator-leather shoes he had never worn before.

As always William was the more modestly dressed, he had a simple gray double-breasted coat with a white undershirt and a red tie, gray pants, and classic black dress shoes. It was an hour of waiting before the first sign of the huge procession made it to William’s eyes. Looming over the front entrance of the Temple was a large balcony that could hold close to a hundred people. The balcony was a good twenty meters from the street below it and commanded an amazing view of the Grand Street. The Grand Street was the largest avenue in Kesh’tir both in terms of width and length as it bisected the roughly circular city and was wide enough that if filled with water it could accommodate the largest of Oil tankers easily.

The Grand Street was so long in fact that even from a high vantage point like the Temple Balcony it was impossible to see from end to the other because the planet’s curvature went into effect. At first the procession appeared as the faintest of smudges on the horizon but within less than half an hour’s time it came into full view from the Balcony. There were thousands of them and they ranged from the Empress and her Viziers to common soldiers. At the heels and flanks of the procession was a mobile cottage industry. Attracted by the commotion citizens gathered in huge crowds and moved along slowly to keep pace with the parade.

With these citizens was the promise of commerce and street vendors and peddlers of all types descended on the street offering whatever the spectators wanted or needed for a hefty inflated price. At the front of the press was the cynosure, the accused: The’kar. Ever the stoic mountain he calmly walked down the enormous Grand Street without concern for the merciless scorching sun or the hundred plus kilograms worth of iron chains that bound his arms and legs together. His steps were measured and small, a result of the chains binding his legs but his perseverance was admirable and he never once slowed the procession down.

The guards who wielded shock-sticks (motivational devices akin to cattle-prods) never once had to use their tools on him and eventually they lowered their guard and walked casually the rest of the way. Behind The’kar scores of servants dressed in white silk robes bore litters on which the Empress and her Viziers rested. The Accuser, Shak’xur had more servants on hand than the Empress herself. There were the six strong men who supported his litter and the two young women who fanned him and of course there was the little boy who held his ceremonial hat when Shak’xur didn’t feel like wearing it, which was most of the time.

The little boy was required to keep the ridiculous purple and red mitre off the ground at all times which meant his arms were in the same exact position for hours on end. The little boy wanted to rub his elbows and switch positions but he nearly dropped the mitre in the process, a mistake Shak’xur noticed. Not feeling inclined to do it himself Shak’xur had one of the girls slap the boy for him, to teach him a lesson. At the very rear of the procession was Jen’shar who had brought no servants with him and declined the offer to join his fellow Judges on their litter. Instead he walked alone down the vast flagstone artery without even a single servant girl to keep him company.

On both sides of the dignitaries and their numerous servants were two very large infantry columns comprised of both ceremonial guards and actual battle-tested soldiers that ensured that the wealthy people need not fear the crowds that surrounded them on all sides. Chei’ki was at the head of the left column; from there she led the ceremonial guard. The incident with the human had left her exhausted and drained. Her legs felt rubbery and it was immense strain on her to keep her shoulders back. She wasn’t angry at Muraja so much for besting her as much as she was angry at him for inviting her to his bed and then promptly succumbing to his sleepiness once they got there.

She wasn’t the type to let anything get in the way of her desires so she tried pulling his pants down but weariness overcame her halfway through the process and she too collapsed from exhaustion. The procession came to a halt when The’kar’s right foot touched the very edge of the Temple’s long shadow. Without any prompting The’kar turned to face the procession and promptly got on his knees. Even kneeling The’kar was taller than most of the men in the procession and even those in the back like Jen’shar could see him.

As if following The’kar’s example Chei’ki too took a knee and had her troops do the same. It was all part of protocol but she was thankful for the opportunity to rest her legs nonetheless. The servants lowered their litters and kneeled as well. Even the Viziers and Shak’xur himself were compelled to kneel, for it was the Empress’s time to disembark from her mobile throne. William didn’t know she could even walk at her age; she seemed so frail yesterday that it practically floored William when she stood up unassisted and sauntered down a ramp made up of prostrate servants. Clad in three layers of light white fabric with a shawl wrapped around her old head she stood before The’kar and with an outstretched hand bade him to rise. William was utterly transfixed by the spectacle and was only brought back to reality when Muraja tugged on his elbow.

“Come on, William,” Muraja said, “They’ll be filing in soon; we should find some good seats.” With great effort William managed to peel his gaze away from the display below. Muraja and William found a pair of seats near the railing of the Northern side of the top tier of seating, some of the best seats that weren’t reserved for the Empress and her closest servants and officials. The’kar was the first person to enter the Temple; he walked slowly and stoically to the center of the enormous Temple where he would stand for many hours without pause, a task that to William seemed hellishly difficult with the added burden of the chains. The’kar stood in the center of a ray of light that shone through a small circular opening at the top of the Temple’s dome; it made his cynosure status even more evident.

On the bottom floor, surrounding the center floor were five podiums, three for the Judges, one for whatever witness or counsel may be called up, and one for the Accuser. With some reluctance Shak’xur grabbed his mitre from the servant boy and placed it on his head. Within only a few seconds of putting it on he felt an immense amount of aggravation, he hated the hat for many reasons not least of which was the fact that it was top heavy and would blow down in the gentlest of winds. Shak’xur took his seat at the tallest of the podiums, the podium that had long ago been the pulpit from which the High Mystic of the Faith preached to the masses of Kesh’tir.

Shak’xur had one of his own chairs brought from his house to serve as his seat behind the podium; it was a luxurious and comfortable chair that might have suited him perfectly if it were not for the fact that his servant girls had to wait outside. Soon after Shak’xur took his seat the three judges arrived, with Jen’shar being the last to file in. The audience and the many dignitaries filed in with remarkable speed and efficiency. In all it took about two minutes for two thousand people to ascend the steps and find their seats. Perched directly across from where William and Raja were seated was the Empress on a special throne that was reserved for her and her alone. William jumped in his seat and gasped when he saw the girl from the night before sitting next to her.

“What’s wrong William?” Muraja asked. William’s short spasm was not lost on Raja, nor was it lost on the man who sat on William’s other shoulder. William apologized to the man in three different languages before turning to answer Muraja.
“Remember how I told you that a girl visited me last night? Well that’s her right there,” William gestured without pointing to the Empress’s general vicinity.

“You mean the girl sitting next to the Empress?” Muraja asked. A smile crept across his face.
“Uhh yeah,” William said uneasily, “Is she the Empress’s personal attendant or something?”
“You might say that,” Muraja chuckled, “Of course it would me more apposite to refer to her as the Empress’s daughter.”
“Oh God, you mean I deflowered the Empress’s daughter?” William asked, clearly horrified at the graveness of his transgression.

“That depends, was she a virgin?” Muraja asked calmly.
“I don’t know,” William buried his face into his hands, “I think so, she seemed even less experienced than me.”
“Than I, less experienced than I,” Muraja corrected, “I don’t see what you’re worried about.”
“What do you mean?” William felt like yelling but he knew he had to keep his voice down in such a formal proceeding as the pre-trial ceremony, “Look, just be honest with me here. If the Empress finds out what happened what would you say, on a scale of 1 to 10 the odds are of my head being mounted on a pike come next morning?”

“Zero,” Muraja said quickly, “You obviously don’t have a very good understanding of the culture you’re dealing with.”
“What that’s normal?” William asked, flabbergasted.
“Of course, in ancient times before the Thra’ha’ken had a well established civilization the tribes of the grasslands lived in what amounted to Yurts. In the middle of these Yurts would be a roaring fire, and on the border of this fire the family which occupied the Yurt would make their beds to survive the cold nights. Now visitors would have to sleep far from the fire but so as to prevent them freezing to death they would be provided with one of the women to sleep with and share warmth. You know how customs morph throughout time. You should be happy that the Empress sent her daughter to your room, that shows her approval of you.”

“Somehow I doubt its so clear cut,” William said, “I have a feeling she was sent to your room but when it turned out you were busy elsewhere she settled for me.”
“Perhaps that’s the case William,” Muraja shrugged, “But the fact is you slept with the Empress’s daughter while I spent the night comatose with an equally unconscious sweat-soaked woman piled on top of me. For one of the first times since we’ve known each other, you had a better night than I did.”
“Yeah, it will be a while before that happens again,” William said with a self-deprecating laugh.
“Shhh,” the man next to William elbowed him in the ribs, which universally meant ‘shut up’.

The regular patrons glared at the newcomer in between gulps of tea. The newcomer was a middle-aged man with bags under his eyes and a constant frown on his face. He wore a warm, thick brown cloak over his body which fended off the draft that pervaded the poorly constructed tavern. In time the regular patrons adjusted to his unwanted presence and went back to focusing on their tea. Losh tea is strong stuff. The alcohol that humans and kadians consume and enjoy wreaks havoc on the digestive systems of the Thra’ha’ken but since before they began to record their history they had Losh tea to fulfill the same purpose alcohol fulfilled for humans and kadians.

Losh was brewed from Lok leaves from the equatorial jungles boiled in Kosh milk from the lumbering Kosh beasts that wandered the vast grasslands that sprawled across the center of the Eastern continent. The bacteria in the Kosh milk would migrate to the leaves to escape the increased temperatures and once inside the leaves they would feed upon them and release a special waste chemical that would both give the Losh tea its distinct creamy raspberry-like taste and would provide the kick that could quickly make the largest of men drunk once it passed their lips. Losh tea was a drink that united everyone, from the poorest of beggars to the richest of landowners because of its low cost and effectiveness.

It was served both in fine restaurants and seedy watering-holes to rich men and thieving scum without much difference in quality. There was little chance for alteration as Losh tea didn’t mix well with other flavor additives. An exception to this rule was Mint Losh, a type of Losh Tea brewed with an addition of the Earth-born herb Mint which had recently come into Thra’ha’ken possession. So popular was the new concoction that in under a decade since its discovery mint had become the tenth largest crop in terms of volume in the entire Empire.

Mint Losh wasn’t on the menu in the less affluent taverns however. When the newcomer asked for Mint Losh he was treated to a snorting, raspy laugh courtesy of the big tieren who ran the establishment. Tieren were big, hairy, and ugly: such was the consensus that Thra’ha’ken, humans, and kadians reached. The nickname humans had for tieren was ‘wolf-men’ likely because they had a vague resemblance to the creature from the old black and white horror film. Tieren had short snouts, large lupine ears, thick shoulders, slightly hunched backs, long clawed fingers (with four digits on each hand), and big fang-like teeth. They were covered in thick fur which varied in length from short and bristly to long and shaggy.

In fact tieren identified different racial groups based not on color but on hair length. This particular tieren was of the slightly shaggy variety. Tieren males averaged at around two and a quarter meters tall and weighed in at more than 120 kilograms while the females were slightly smaller. The tieren who ran the Tavern was large even for a tieren and had a thick stomach that was neither fat nor muscle but some kind of mix of the two.
“We don’t serve that here,” the tieren said, lifting a huge barrel filled with some kind of flour as if it were as light as a feather.
“Then I’ll just have some regular Losh then,” the newcomer said disappointedly.

“Right then,” the tieren took a gold coin from the man’s hand and set to work preparing a bowl of Losh tea. The newcomer wasn’t like the Tavern’s usual clientele. His clothes were indicative of a higher class and his teeth showed no sign of rotting or deterioration, unlike the other patrons who had to soak their bread in soup for minutes before chewing it. The tieren passed him a brown clay bowl filled with warm creamy Losh tea that had the color of the inside of a banana and smelled a bit like oatmeal with lots of brown sugar, and cinnamon mixed in.
“Thank you,” the reached out and took the bowl from the tieren’s hand and in so doing revealed the tattoo on the inside of his forearm.

“Say I recognize that,” the tieren pulled up his own meaty right arm and pushed aside some thick brown hair to reveal his own tattoo identical to the man’s. It was the tattoo of an Officer of the Fleet. The tieren started to think back fondly to the now long past days when he was the commander of a small detachment of Tieren Shock Troops stationed on a Dreadnought warship. The Tieren had once numbered in the tens of billions and had a sizeable empire before they were conquered completely by the Thra’ha’ken a century ago, now their numbers had dwindled considerably.

Most of them joined the military and were assigned to segregated units but some tieren would be integrated if they were stationed in garrisons on backwater worlds where the demand for purity was overridden by the demand for efficiency and cohesion. They had no home-world now and they were a mongrel species who’s largest Diaspora was a ten-million strong population in one of the larger cities of the planet Jenya, “Tell me something boy, what exactly is it that you do?” the tieren sounded a little more friendly now that he recognized a fellow soldier.

“I was an Engineer on the Ko’shar,” the man replied, taking a deep sip from the warm tea.
“You don’t say,” the tieren chuckled, “I have a cousin who was stationed on that ship as The’kar’s bodyguard.”
“Was your cousin by any chance the tieren that was tortured to death by a Kadian patrol on Verkir?” the Engineer asked, looking up from his Losh tea.
“Ah so you knew him,” the tieren scratched his itchy chest with a huge clawed hand. He remembered with some discomfort the body that was discovered in a thicket by a patrol of riflemen after it had festered for three weeks in a steamy jungle. Even with all the decomposition the evidence of the Kadians’ cruelty was still evident and it was clear that maggots and worms didn’t cause the slashes to his tendons.

“I knew of him,” the Engineer clarified, “It’s not like I had much of a chance to talk with him.”
“Oh I understand. You’re actually the first Engineer I’ve talked to and I was in the service for nearly twenty years,” the tieren said.
“Twenty years? You must be proud,” the Engineer replied.
“Damn right I am,” the tieren said. He smacked himself in the chest with his fist as was the salute of the Shock Troops, “What about you? Are you proud of what you’ve done?”
“I was until recently,” the Engineer replied morosely.

“I’m not the most well-informed person,” the tieren began, “But I do know my current events. Are you referring to the incident your ship had with that Kadian ship that slipped away?”
“Yes,” the Engineer nodded and took a deep draught of Losh tea.
“Say, it isn’t your fault that they got away is it?” the tieren asked.
“No it wasn’t my fault,” the Engineer muttered before finishing the last of the tea in the bowl, “Another one, please.” The Engineer handed the bowl back with another gold coin in it as advanced payment. In time the tieren returned with another steaming bowl of Losh and the Engineer took it greedily from his paws and downed it in three draughts.

“Something must be seriously troubling you to guzzle down Losh like that,” the tieren said, concerned for the Engineer.
“Just get me another bowl,” the Engineer replied, handing the bowl back with two gold coins inside of it. The tieren scratched his head with a fat claw and stared down at the gold coins. He was never adverse to money, but despite what impressions may be made of his run-down establishment he did have a sense of responsibility. The Engineer wasn’t the largest of men and Losh tea wasn’t meant to be drunk so quickly, the Engineer was being careless. Burying his concerns for the sake of appeasing his love of money, the tieren took the bowl back and pocketed the coins.

With some hesitance he reached into a big bag of Lok leaves. His huge clawed fingers raked through the contents of the bag like a plow through dirt and withdrew a somewhat smaller than average bunch of leaves. The tieren shuffled over to the enormous barrel of Kosh milk at the end of the bar. Kosh milk doesn’t curdle and as long as it is stirred regularly it won’t clump up, as such it can be stored for months at a time. He pulled down the lever that released a stream of greenish-white liquid into the bowl of leaves. Almost instantly a chemical reaction commenced and the leaves floated up to the top and dissolved away into nothingness. In addition to giving the Kosh milk its potency and its flavor, the reaction also heated the milk up and changed its color to the customary pale yellow hue.

He may have been overcome by greed but that didn’t mean he was about to let the Engineer hurt himself. Hopefully he’d be too drunk to notice that this bowl was weaker than usual. The very second the tieren picked the bowl up the Engineer’s arms reached over the counter and snatched it out of his hands. The tea disappeared down the Engineer’s gullet in just a few seconds, alarming the tieren, “Another,” the Engineer handed back the bowl, this time with five gold coins in the center of it. But the tieren took the bowl and gave him back his gold coins.
“Sorry, friend, but I can’t in good conscience serve you another bowl,” the tieren replied resolutely.

“Conscience?” the Engineer who was at this point heavily drunk threw his head back and laughed sickly, “Fine then, I know where this is going,” he clumsily dug his hand into his pocket and produced and additional three gold coins but the tieren would have none of it.
“Look friend, I won’t sell you anymore tea. With the amount you’ve drunk it’s a miracle you can even think let alone talk! I wouldn’t even drink that much, it ain’t healthy!” the tieren pounded the bar with his fist, causing the clay bowl to rattle and shake.
“What do you care?” the Engineer sneered back, now slurring his words, “Look around you,” he motioned to the broken tables and the many holes that perforated the walls of the Tavern and let the cold air in, “This place could use some good business!”
“I’m not going to sell you the rope to hang yourself!” the tieren roared back, startling the mostly zoned-out patrons that clung to the edge of the Tavern, “Now get out of my Tavern,” the tieren pointed to the door with his long index finger claw. The Engineer looked up and scowled.

“You people are all the same,” he spat, “You and that lying little rat Jal’nek’ko!”
“Get out of here before I throw you out myself!” the big tieren snarled. Defeated, the Engineer got up to leave. His drunkenness had taken its toll on his motor skills though, and there were a few times that he nearly fell down even before reaching the door. The tieren stared at him as he left and felt a sense of dread for what might happen to the man, this was a terrible part of the city and a man like him who spoke loud and carried so many coins on him would make a fine target for a thief.

But the tieren reminded himself that it wasn’t his problem anymore. The Engineer shambled through the dark, cold alley, muttering to himself every few seconds. The wind was brutal and his inebriation made walking a formidable task. Somehow he had to find his way to another Tavern, a Tavern with a less conscientious server and less drafty walls. When he saw the light of one of the moons glinting on a piece of steel he treated as he would any other hallucination. So too was the strange hooded figure which held the steel. When the Engineer felt the sharp, stinging pain of a blade being rammed through his chest he chocked it up as just another hallucination.

Shak’xur derived some pleasure merely from reading out the charges made against The’kar, the Defendant. As Accuser it was Shak’xur’s job to persuade the three judges into recognizing the Defendant’s guilt. It was also Shak’xur’s job to convince the Empress of The’kar’s guilt. While the Judges each had one vote and the Accuser had a vote which was equal to one and a half Judge-votes the Empress could be the real deciding factor in a close vote by overturning a decision with her vote, which was equivalent to the votes of two Judges.

Aside from Jen’shar, the other two Judges were both Viziers of high repute and good judgment who were more or less neutral when it came to the well known rivalry between The’kar and Shak’xur. The one nearest to Jen’shar was a genial old man named Vesh’nur. He had been a Vizier longer than many in the crowd had been alive and there was some talk that he may be too old for the position of Judge. The third Judge was a relatively young man named Chei’sar, the youngest of the Empress’s Viziers and the younger brother of the Captain of the Palace Guard, Chei’ki.

Similar to the inclusion of Vesh’nur, Chei’sar’s inclusion had drawn some skepticism, with many believing him to be too young for the position of Judge. The’kar had a good relationship with the Empress and with the Thra’ha’ken people because of his exemplary war record. Until the recent incident he was without a doubt the greatest of the Grand Generals and one of the most respected soldiers in the entire history of the Empire. He was a good tactician but his real effectiveness stemmed from his confidence and his ability to always make the right decisions under fire.

It was for these reasons that his mistake was taken so seriously by the Empire. It was like discovering that a man you’ve known for years with a loving family turns out to be an adulterer. The Empire felt betrayed and quite a few people called for The’kar’s blood. But to get The’kar’s blood Shak’xur would have to work for it. Shak’xur held in his long, bony fingers a scroll upon which The’kar’s formal charges were enumerated.

“Are you not The’kar, son of The’kar of Jan’yat, Grand General of the Empress’s Fleet, Commander of Her Radiance’s Ship the Ko’shar, and the former Provisional Governor of Jan’yat?” Shak’xur asked. The rhetorical question was necessary to begin the trial.
“I am,” The’kar replied, his voice as steady as ever despite the fact that thousands of eyes were fixed on him. The’kar had become accustomed to being a cynosure; his great height meant that people would stare at him regardless of what he was doing.

As a Grand General he had on many occasions given speeches to as many as ten million assembled soldiers at once, all of whom had their eyes fixed on him. Despite his great skill and immense strength and toughness, The’kar had stopped leading his troops from the front years ago when it became apparent that the Kadians all yearned to have the great honor of killing him and because he was such a big and recognizable target on the battlefield. In comparison to being shot at by hundreds of blood-thirsty kadians the trial was rather easy for him.

“You, The’kar stand accused of multiple counts of Treason, Incompetence, and conduct unbefitting an Officer of your station. How do you plead?” Shak’xur set the scroll down and took his seat, awaiting the inevitable plea of “not guilty”.
“Guilty,” The’kar replied in his deep, steady voice. William Walden joined the majority of the Temple’s audience (including Shak’xur) in gasping. William was puzzled to see that Raja Muraja was calm and unperturbed as always. If he was surprised by the plea he was doing an amazing job of hiding it. Jen’shar’s eyes widened when he heard the plea and his fellow Judges traded nervous whispers.

“In that case,” Shak’xur reached out for the baton that was at his side. Instead of banging gavels Thra’ha’ken judges and Accusers banged on miniature gongs. Shak’xur didn’t look too happy to hear the plea, he had hoped for a little more fight out of his opponent.
“Let me finish, Shak’xur,” The’kar chimed back before Shak’xur could find his baton.
“What’s to finish?” Shak’xur asked.

“When I said I was guilty, I admitted to being guilty under the current definition of Treason,” The’kar replied.
“Your point being?” Shak’xur asked, glaring at The’kar.
“My point is that as a Grand General I have the right to challenge the definition of Treason as it applies to my actions while in the Line of Duty,” The’kar said, still with the same quiet confidence that always infuriated Shak’xur.

“That may be so,” Shak’xur cast a sideways glance and frowned, “But I’m sure you’ll recall that for such a Challenge to proceed the Empress must approve of it,” Shak’xur said with his arms crossed and his eyes glowering at The’kar.
“I understand that, now it’s your duty to ask her for her decision on the matter, isn’t it?” The’kar asked with a slight, barely visible smirk.

“Watch your tone with me, The’kar,” Shak’xur said, pointing his finger at The’kar menacingly, “Don’t forget who I am!”
“Oh I’ll never forget who and what you are Shak’xur,” The’kar replied, less than impressed by Shak’xur’s threats, “Now if you please I’m interested in the Empress’s ruling.” Shak’xur grumbled inaudibly before standing and turning to face his Empress who was sitting quietly and watching the proceedings with the collected calm of a seasoned observer. Like Muraja she demonstrated little in the way of shock when The’kar began his defense with a Guilty plea. No doubt she understood that his case as it stood was hopeless and that his only chance was to use his power as a Grand General to challenge the Law itself, in the Empire the Empress was the living embodiment and will of the Law. The Empress slowly lowered her gaze to meet Shak’xur’s.

“This all seems a bit suspicious to me,” William whispered to Muraja. Muraja was staring intensely at the crowd across from them, no doubt analyzing each and every person and taking quick mental notes of them.
“What’s suspicious?” Muraja asked without moving his eyes away from the crowd.
“That The’kar can just redirect the case away from his guilt and put the Law itself on trial,” William replied, “I admit to not knowing much about how things work here but that just seems to be a bad way of carrying out the Law.”
“It all depends on the Empress you see,” Muraja replied, “She is the Law.” Back in the center of the room Shak’xur was clearing his throat in preparation to address the Empress above him.

“Empress,” Shak’xur began, outstretching his arms in the fashion of a Priest asking for the word of his God, “What say you to the Accused’s request?” The Empress closed her eyes and appeared to meditate for a moment. Then after a few tense, silent seconds her eyes opened again and her old chest heaved as she took a deep breath.
“I believe that… in recognition of The’kar’s past service to the Empire and to me… that it is worth reviewing whether or not the act he admitted to having committed… should indeed be called Treason,” the Empress’s speech started out slow and labored but with each passing second her voice grew stronger and her speech more natural, “The trial is suspended for now. Tomorrow we shall reconvene and then we shall decide if The’kar is or isn’t a traitor,” the Empress took in another deep breath, “That is all.”

“Thank you, your Radiance,” The’kar did his best to offer a humble bow, hindered as he was by the chains.
“Very well then,” Shak’xur said, stung by the Empress’s decision and feeling cheated, “As the Empress said, this Tribunal will reconvene tomorrow whereupon we shall review The’kar’s case and determine the veracity of the charge of Treason,” Shak’xur found the baton that he had been looking for, hidden under one of the folds of his robes, “Until then, this trial is formally suspended.” He struck the miniature gong to his left as hard as he could with the baton.

The gong produced a powerful din that was surprising for its size, immediately the people began to stand up from their seats and shuffle away. Chei’ki sent three guards to the center floor to escort The’kar out of the Temple while she and a few of her subordinates saw to the Empress’s own departure out one of the back doors where a craft was waiting for her and her daughter to return them to the Palace. The Empress’s daughter cast one final glance in William and Raja’s direction before disappearing down a corridor. William wasn’t sure if she was looking at him, after all she had incredibly poor eyesight, but she was certainly looking at something.

“Well The’kar’s off to a good start,” Muraja said in his usual cheerful and assured voice.
“Am I right in thinking this has little to do with actual law?” William asked. He looked around and was surprised to find that they were mostly alone, the crowd had dispersed quickly and had left William and Muraja and some of the slower persons behind.
“It has more to do with honor and reputation than innocence or guilt,” Muraja replied.

“I get the feeling the Empress doesn’t want The’kar lose but isn’t going to outright countermand Shak’xur for a lot of reasons,” William said.
“You’re right about one thing, the Empress doesn’t exactly see eye-to-eye with Shak’xur in this instance,” Muraja agreed.
“But why doesn’t she just pardon him?” William asked.
“The Empress is the Supreme Authority of the Empire but she can’t just wave her hand and absolve The’kar,” Muraja replied.

“She doesn’t want to look like she’s playing favorites,” William said. He was beginning to understand how the system worked.
“Exactly,” Muraja replied with a smile, “Ordinarily The’kar’s defense wouldn’t hold up but since the Empress supports him he can use it as a means to meet the Empress halfway and give her an opportunity to clear him without anyone being able to cry foul.”

“Huh,” William stood up and stretched his arms and legs, “Now that we got a whole day left, what are we supposed to do?” he asked Muraja, who was standing up as well.
“Well this morning I received word from Shak’xur by way of one of his servants inviting us to his home,” Muraja said.
“Oh great, he’s probably got a whole death-trap prepared for us, perhaps a trap-door underneath the welcome mat,” William chuckled. The two men walked down their row of seats to one of the exits where Muraja paused for a moment.

“No, he’d never kill someone in his own home; it’s thought that having guests perish in your home visits bad luck on you and Shak’xur’s the sort of person to put stock in foolish notions like luck,” Muraja shrugged, “In any case it’s a standing invitation so before we go I think it would be best to check up on The’kar again.”

Ten years ago humans were something of a curiosity to the kadians of Hyrklx but at this point they were so common that they were practically part of the scenery along with the great waterfalls that surrounded the enormous city. Hyrklx was an impressive architectural feat, a city built on top of an enormous artificial lake that was fed by a dozen mighty artificial waterfalls each of which were twice the size of the largest waterfall on Earth: Angel Falls in the Amazon.

The city had no true foundation; instead there was a 1250 square kilometer energy platform hovering just a meter above the lake and powered by an Anti-Matter generator that could actually exceed the output of the system’s star. The generator was also the power source for the city above the platform and the truly leviathanesque pumps that fed the waterfalls that lent the city its distinctive beauty.

The generator was so powerful that even the energy-guzzling kadian people couldn’t adequately channel its power and there were great amounts of waste heat that could only be mitigated by the lake acting as coolant. The lake itself was contained in yet another wonder of engineering: a cavernous canyon dug out of basalt bedrock large enough to hold 2,000 cubic kilometers of water. As impressive as the waterfalls and the lake were the true wonder was the city itself. The city was immaculately planned out to have perfect radial symmetry, with the great Teysr Tower as its origin point.

The architect who designed the city was also somewhat obsessed with mathematics and as a result every important building was spaced out (roughly) 3.1459 eties (an ety being the closest kadian distance measurement to the kilometer) from one another. The largest towers lay at the center of the city and the further from the origin point that someone may travel the shorter the buildings became. At the edge of the city there were no buildings, only a large and beautiful ring-shaped park which was where most of the city’s inhabitants came to relax. The streets of Hyrklx were not paved; instead they were comprised of the same hard-light that comprised the city’s ‘foundation’.

The hard-light looked like glass unless it was inspected at a sharp angle whereupon the observer would see the light bending at the edges. Beneath the city the lake provided many large and small creatures with a home and every morning the “King of the Lake” a behemoth amphibious beast that looked vaguely like a scaly whale would swim near the surface and feed on the bacteria that had evolved to actually adhere to the hard-light foundation. The first time visiting humans saw the King of the Lake their reactions were usually that of intense fear which would never cease to amuse the locals.

The locals had a symbiotic relationship with the humans that visited the city, whether they were soldiers on leave or diplomats or travelling businessmen. Until recently human ships that docked in Hyrklx would become swamped with kadians curious about the humans and their quaint old-fashioned technology. It became a serious problem, to the point that the Global Alliance High Command instituted the closed-ship policy whereby the only people allowed on human ships were the crews of those ships and other people with official business.

That didn’t stop fraternization though, it only moved the staging ground and forced the humans to leave their ships and explore the city. Among the more popular places to visit were restaurants, bars, and gyms. Human ships like the Helios had excellent gymnasiums on board but they lacked ambiance. That is there was a paucity of kadian women when compared to the facilities in the city. In the Vekyl Gym the ratio of humans to kadians was roughly 1:9.

It was here that a few of the crewmen of the Helios decided to visit in the hopes of alleviating the greatest enemy of a peacetime military: boredom. Global Alliance military personnel came from all walks of life and all regions of Earth (as well as from some of the incipient colonies that Earth had spent the last decade and a half setting up). To illustrate this point the group that entered the gym was comprised of a German, an Indian, a Canadian, a Kenyan, and a Laotian. They all spoke the mandatory military dialect known colloquially as Lantian after its place of origin: the Global Alliance Capital, Atlantis.

Lantian was a language with much of its vocabulary rooted in various Indo-European languages but with definite influences from Mandarin Chinese in the area of grammar. The group’s oldest member was a thirty-two year old Junior Officer from Bavaria a Lieutenant by the name of Dietrich von Gneisenau. Lt. von Gneisenau was a tall, handsome, muscular man known throughout the service by virtue of possessing “the most German-sounding name” in the entire military as well as his good looks which had made him a model for one of the Global Alliance recruitment posters.

The Lieutenant’s looks had also gotten him the immediate attention of most every kadian in the entire gym the moment he walked through the window at the entrance. Kadian buildings didn’t have solid doors (unless privacy was an issue) instead they usually just had windows made of a transparent, permeable substance that blocked out wind, rain, and debris but allowed people and objects those people carried with them pass through without issue. Dietrich stood at around two meters and weighed close to one hundred kilograms most of which was muscle.

He had an incredibly rare combination of genes that derived from his partial Italian heritage that allowed him to tan well despite having blond hair and blue eyes. He showed nothing but indifference to the kadians’ admiring stares, much to the befuddlement of the men who followed him. The Ensign from Canada paused at the entrance to survey the spread of women to choose from. He couldn’t understand Dietrich’s lack of interest in the kadians, seeing as when they were stationed in Rio de Janeiro he spent almost all his free time traversing the beach and picking up women.

Ensign Steven Frost was a twenty-four year old from near Yellowknife with pale skin that contrasted heavily with his dark black hair. He happily returned the stares of what few kadians weren’t busy drooling over the Lieutenant and held one stare long enough to necessitate being pushed forward by the Indian Sub-Lieutenant from Dhamtari. Sub-Lieutenant Singh was a short, dark-faced man with a short beard and bushy eyebrows. He wasn’t much to look at but there were few men who had his level of confidence.

It was this confidence that made him successful at almost everything he attempted even if his actual skills were sub-par. Facial hair like Singh’s beard was permitted for Officers so long as it didn’t get out of hand or interfere with their duties. Enlisted men on the other hand had to keep their heads and faces clean-shaven. Another fact that upheld the old naval tradition of making the life of an Officer infinitely better than the life of an enlisted man was the fact that only Officers were allowed to leave the ship without the official permission of the ship’s commander, unless of course there was a lockdown in which case no one could leave the ship under any circumstance.

After Singh shoved Frost out of the way the Laotian Midshipman and the Kenyan Spacer were able to make it inside and escape the humidity of the outside air. The Laotian rarely spoke and when he did he spoke meekly, even to subordinates, in fact no one even knew his given name (it was not required that first names be made public, only rank and surname), all they knew was that he was Midshipman Keorattanavong (or as most referred to him ‘Vong’) and that he was always ready to help others if they needed his help.

The combination of his automatic deferential behavior and his helpfulness is what promoted him from Spacer to Midshipman in only six months despite not showing much in the way of initiative. The way the military was constructed people like Vong could go far and Lt. von Gneisenau would privately admit that he expected Vong would retire with the rank of Commander or possibly even Captain at the rate he was going. The youngest and lowest-ranking of the group was the Spacer Initiate Thabiti Migwi, a fresh-faced boy from rural Kenya who was utterly enthralled by the wondrous city around him and all its beautiful buildings and people.

Migwi had just recovered from a nasty case of Turkish flu that he had probably received when he served as the escort for a government inspector from Jordan who had been sneezing constantly while inspecting the engine room. The Commander of the Helios felt bad for the boy and gave him permission to leave the ship with the officers to have some fun to make up for having spent the last two weeks trapped in the Infirmary with half a dozen tubes pumping various chemicals into his veins. Migwi practically overloaded when he saw so many good looking kadian women exercising and sweating. His gaze bounced around the room, unable to focus on anything in particular for too long because each time he saw one girl his peripherals would catch sight of another and he would glance in the new direction.

“Alright guys, listen up,” Lieutenant von Gneisenau as always was in command, even if the current activity was as informal as picking up women at a Gym, “You can look all you want but I don’t want you touching anything,” he said adamantly, “I mean it Mig,” he said, pointing to Migwi who was like the others confused by the Lieutenant’s rather out-of-character solemnity.

“Oh come on, Sir,” Frost patted the Lieutenant on the shoulder, “You don’t expect us to just look do you?” Frost was accustomed to having a very laid-back superior in von Gneisenau and he couldn’t take the Lieutenant’s warning seriously.

“Look Steve, I can’t stop you from chasing after those…” Dietrich glanced over to a small gaggle of perspiring kadian women who were relaxing after a long time spent exercising with one another. He seemed to regard them not with a yearning, hungry eye as did the others but instead with suspicion “…women,” he said after some pause, “But I can tell you that if there’s one thing you don’t want it’s to catch Blue Vein.”

“Oh god not this again…” Frost buried his face into his hand and sighed. Blue Vein was the slang term for the kadian venereal disease known to Doctors as Vyrran Fever (named after the Kadian homeworld Vyrra where Hyrklx was located). It was so named because one of its symptoms was the swelling of all the veins in the extremities of a human infectee to the point where they became highly visible through the skin.

However painful the swelling was the real horror of Blue Vein was the fever itself which aside from causing mild dementia would also stimulate the nociceptors of the body and make the infectee feel like their entire body was being stabbed by little needles. Of course the more severe symptoms could be easily mitigated by simple human medicine but the disease could only be cured by Kadian doctors. The disease had long since lost its effect on the kadians themselves but it still proved quite dangerous to humans. The one reason why it was not treated as a great threat was the fact that it couldn’t be spread from human to human.

“Don’t ignore my warning Frost,” the Lieutenant said, wagging his finger at the Canadian, “Same goes to all of you!” Migwi wasn’t paying attention to Dietrich’s warnings; he was too busy carrying out a non-verbal conversation with a yellow-headed kadian girl at one of the many treadmills. Singh brushed past Dietrich and started chatting up a pair of buxom beauties near one of the water fountains while the meek Vong was plucked away by a tall magenta-eyed woman. Vong neither welcomed nor resisted the woman, as always he was passive and silent. When Migwi pushed past Frost to make it to the girl at the treadmill Dietrich made an effort to hold him back but Frost gently pushed the Lieutenant aside to allow Migwi to make it to his target unmolested.

“Let him go,” Frost said reproachfully.

“Migwi’s just a dumb kid but I’d expect better from you,” Dietrich said disappointedly. With that he left Frost, having failed to stop the others from doing what he considered an enormous mistake. He could have ordered them to leave the Gym and return to the ship for inspection or some other excuse but he hated pulling rank and was never big on discipline. Dietrich did what he always did when he was frustrated, he started weight-lifting. Kadian weight-training equipment relies on gravitic force to simulate weight so an empty curling bar needs no iron weights or any cumbersome extra equipment to give the user a workout. Dietrich could curl seventy-five kilograms without any serious strain but he only ever tried to curl more than forty-five kilograms when he was upset as he was right now. At the moment the curling bar he held in his hands was dialed up to the equivalent of sixty-eight kilograms. It wasn’t that he didn’t find the kadians attractive; it was his pathological fear of contracting Blue Vein again. Frost followed Dietrich, intent on figuring out just what his problem was.

“You don’t think you’re being a little hypocritical?” Frost asked.

“How am I being hypocritical?” Dietrich asked back.

“For one thing you’re preaching abstinence which is the last thing you’re known for and for another I’ve seen you hanging out with that Jylna girl,” Frost replied.

“Jylna’s my friend’s girl, I’m not screwing her and what’s more I know that she’s clean so it’s alright that he is screwing her. I fail to see your point here,” Dietrich started to huff as the strain of the repetition grew harder on his arms.

“You must be pretty damn blue-balled right now,” Frost said, leaning back against the section of wall close to where Dietrich was curling.

“I’d rather be…” Dietrich’s speech became labored as he started curling faster and faster, “…blue-balled than have to suffer through Blue Vein again,” Dietrich said.

“Come on, Sir,” Frost patted Dietrich on the back, “How bad can it be? I mean what are the chances of catching Blue Vein from clean, healthy girls like these?”

“Last I checked, some three percent of all kadians carry the virus in their systems,” Dietrich replied. As his workout grew more and more intensive it got harder and harder to ignore the eyes that were glued on him. About half of the kadians in the room were staring at him now that he was sweating like a roasted pig, a fact that wasn’t lost on the increasingly frustrated Lieutenant.

“Only three percent?” Frost couldn’t believe how worked up Dietrich got over such a small issue.

“Murphy’s law applies big time, Frost,” Dietrich said, dialing the weight up by three more kilograms, “I’ve only slept with two different kadians on two different occasions and both times I contracted Blue Vein. I was like you when I first set foot on Hyrklx about nine years ago. There was this unbelievably attractive kadian with blue ‘hair’ and deep indigo eyes. She was a dancer and a singer at that little club down the corner from this Gym,” despite all the bad memories attached to her it seemed Dietrich still had some warm feelings for the girl in question because Frost could see a glint in his eye and detect a certain wistfulness in his voice, “I tell you that was probably the most magical night I’ve ever had. But the next morning I was dragged out of Heaven and down to Hell by the worst case of Blue Vein my Ship’s Doctor had ever seen,” Dietrich winced due to a combination of the strain of exerting his body through curling and the painful memories of the day spent in the infirmary.

“What happened then?” Frost asked.

“They gave me some seriously powerful pain-killers and some pills to keep the fever in check so I’d be lucid enough to head down to a kadian clinic and get the virus cured for real,” Dietrich dialed up the weight by a kilogram.

“So did the treatment work?” Frost asked.

“Of course it worked, Frost,” Dietrich answered with a huff. His tan face was growing darker as the blood started to pour into the capillaries of his face, “When has kadian science ever failed?”

“Alright so it sounds to me like you owe a kadian for curing you,” Frost pointed out, “Doesn’t that sort of make up for the fact that you got the disease from a kadian?”

“Not at all,” Dietrich said.

“Well, why the hell not?” Frost demanded. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Two reasons, Ensign,” Dietrich said, his voice strained from the intense exercise, “Firstly it’s not like she did it out of the goodness of her own heart. The treatment was expensive, so much so that the military wouldn’t pay for it. I spent the next eight years paying the kadian doctor back with interest by giving her about 45% of my paycheck every month,” Dietrich punctuated the sentence with an aggravated grunt.

“What’s the second reason?” Frost asked, at this point more curious than anything else.

“The second reason is that immediately after the virus was gone and I made a recovery the doctor convinced me to through caution to the wind and celebrate my newfound health with a little fun under her desk,” Dietrich stopped curling for a moment and let out a deep sigh, “Care to guess what happened next?”

“You contracted Blue Vein from her?” Frost suggested.

“Damn right I did. Needless to say I found a different doctor to cure the second infection. The second doctor was nice enough to cure me for free after she got a good long laugh at my expense once I told this little story I’m telling you now,” The curling bar dropped from Dietrich’s hands and hit the floor with a heavy thud, the safety feature that dialed the weight down when the bar was released kicked in too slowly to stop the bar from breaking a tile. It was fortunate that the tiles were made with ‘memory’ built in that allowed them to repair themselves. Dietrich was heaving and hunched over, his arms resting on his knees. The combination of curling vigorously and keeping up a conversation had finally caught up with him. His agonized expression and the painful heaving in his chest served only to further excite the kadians who took his indifference as something of a formal challenge.

“That is quite a story,” Frost admitted, “I can see you have your reasons for acting the way you do but it’s not like anyone ever had fun playing things safe,” Frost patted Dietrich on the shoulder once more, this time it was a more reassuring gesture rather than an act of playful disrespect, “If it makes you feel any better you’ve convinced me to use a condom.”

“That won’t…” Dietrich struggled to regain his composure and catch his breath, “…that won’t do shit,” at length he managed to straighten out thanks to a bottle of water handed to him by a kadian looking to score some points with him, so to speak. He had been talking loudly and one of the advantages kadians had in the database was the ability to translate speech in real time, this feature worked for 107 human languages including Lantian. The kadians had heard his story and a quiet bet had been made to see who among the girls at the Gym could manage to ensnare him.

“What do you mean?” Frost asked.

“Blue vein doesn’t spread that way,” Dietrich explained. He removed his shirt and wiped the sweat from his face before lying down on the cool tile flooring in attempt to cool down, “See what most people don’t realize is that Blue Vein spreads through the air.”

“What seriously?” Frost started taking shallower breaths.

“It’s not that bad, you can breathe easy,” Dietrich said, noticing Frost’s concern, “What I meant was that Blue Vein spreads through the air because when kadians get…stimulated… there’s these little glands all over their body that release a cloud of all sorts of chemicals, why they have them I’m not sure. Ask a doctor. But anyway it’s in these glands that the virus makes its home. When the glands release their contents the virus travels through the air and most of it dies out but it just takes a single viral particle to completely screw your body over. See the virus doesn’t spread from human to human because the virus can’t survive for long in our bodies and while it burns out its effects stay with you until you can get the right treatment to set your body right,” Dietrich managed to pull his back off from the floor and sit up.

“Well that’s certainly a frightening thought,” Frost shrugged, “But I feel lucky,” Frost zeroed in on a kadian who was using one of the complicated machines that worked out her core muscles.

“Wait, you’re not seriously going to listen to that whole story and then just ignore it are you?” Dietrich was mortified.

“Why not? If I get Blue Vein then you can tell me “I told you so” and I’ll never do it again. But if I just have some fun and nothing bad happens it will just prove that you can’t go through life worrying over what might happen. Look at her,” Frost pointed to the crimson headed girl, “She’s practically glowing!”

“Sweaty women do that when the light hits them just right,” Dietrich said dryly, “The girl from the club was a fucking super-nova. Not always a good sign.”

“Ah forget you,” Frost said, “I’m going for it.”

“Oh I won’t just say I told you so, Frost. When it happens I’ll probably strangle you to death to keep the gene pool free of idiots like you!” Dietrich raised his voice to the point that every person in the room looked his way. All except Teysr Telk that is, who was far too busy trying to bury her worries with exercise to notice anything else. The little messenger in her left ‘ear’ started buzzing, indicating someone was trying to message her. Kadian ears were more similar to the ears of the Thra’ha’ken than to the ears of humans, as they weren’t nearly as extraneous and could be closed at will to protect them from noise pollution and weather conditions. Telk had to merely think about accepting the call to open up the channel; it was her friend Khsyvr Ikvr, a scientist who had been friends with Telk since they were both children. She was sitting at the opposite end of the Gym and saw Ensign Frost bearing down on Telk’s position.

“What is it, Ikvr?” Telk didn’t respond vocally, instead the personal messengers the kadians used translated brainwaves into recognizable information that was received at the other end as if it had actually been spoken, with the original voice simulated and all the little inflections and emotions that were intended by the sender included. In this case the tone of the message that reached Ikvr was one of annoyance.

“Well, nice to hear from you again, too,” Ikvr brushed aside Telk’s gruff response, “I just want to give you a heads up about the nice cut of meat that’s heading your way,” she said in reference to Frost.

“What makes you think I’m interested in him?” Telk asked without looking to see who it was.

“Have you looked at him?” Ikvr asked.

“No, I’m a little busy here,” Telk replied, “I’m trying to get rid of this awful feeling I have by burying it with exercise.”

“You know maybe spending a little time with a cute guy will take your mind off whatever’s troubling you,” Ikvr suggested.

“You seem pretty interested in him, why don’t you go for it yourself?” Telk asked brusquely.

“He’s interested in you, honey,” Ikvr said, still not bothered in the least by her friend’s distance.

“Look when he gets to me I’ll just tell him I’m not interested, goodbye Ikvr,” with that Telk shut down the link, ending the conversation. The primary advantage of the kadian personal messengers over verbal communication was the fact that a conversation that could take minutes normally could occur in only seconds’ time, limited only by the speed of the computers and the speed of the users’ minds. The conversation was started and ended in about the same time that it took for Frost to take three steps in Telk’s direction. Telk turned her head slightly to see the man Ikvr was talking about. He was handsome, even by the high standards of the kadians, but Telk didn’t feel in the mood for the mindless indulgence she normally would have embraced.

“Hey, my name’s Steven, Steven Frost,” Frost said, smiling warmly at Telk, who was trying to think of the nicest possible way to shoot him down.

“Uhh hi,” Telk tried her best to return his smile but failed, “Teysr Telk,” she said without any emotion.

“Hey I think my friends seeing your sister,” Frost said, recognizing the name.

“I wouldn’t doubt it, I have a lot of sisters,” Telk replied.

“So I was thinking—”

“Look Steven,” Telk cut him off, “You seem nice but right now is just not a good time for me,” Telk tried to sound as gentle as possible, “I recommend you go for some easier game,” she pointed to Khsyvr Ikvr on the other end of the Gym who was watching the conversation from afar.

“Uhh sure, okay,” Frost sounded disappointed but to Telk’s relief he was able to take it in stride and apparently take her advice to heart and pursue the much more open Ikvr. Telk’s ear buzzed again, this time the call was from Nyka, one of her sisters.

“Hey Telk what’s going on?” Nyka sounded concerned.

“Nothing, I’m just working out right now.”

“Did you forget?” Nyka asked.

“Did I forget what?” Telk asked back, not intending to sound so curt.

“You were going to have lunch with me and my friends,” Nyka replied, “I haven’t seen you since your ship left Vyrra two points ago.” Points were spans of time that equaled to one tenth of a kadian standard year, or 0.1 years and in human terms came out to roughly six months.

“Oh hell I did forget,” on top of the over-riding guilt she felt since returning she now had to feel the shame of having forgotten her lunch date with her younger sister.

“It’s alright,” Nyka said understandingly, “Is something the matter?”

“You have no idea,” Telk replied morosely.

“I talked to Kwizr recently, she thinks something happened to you during your ship’s last mission.”

“Well for the first time in her life she’s right about something,” Telk admitted.

“What’s it all about?” Nyka asked, “You can tell me.”

“Has anyone ever gotten in trouble for helping you out Nyka?” Telk asked.

“Yeah, you got punished for going out after bed time to find my lost pet Kesh bat when we were little,” Nyka said.

“And how did it make you feel?”

“I felt bad knowing you took the fall for my carelessness,” Nyka said, “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Right now The’kar is being tried for treason just because he showed our ship mercy and let us go when he could have just as easily turned us into trillions of little pieces of debris,” Telk said, “Right now I feel guilty even though I know I have no reason to. I mean it’s not like I’ve done anything wrong but…” she could finish her sentence; her mind was muddled and confused.

“I think you should talk to someone about it,” Nyka suggested, “Someone who’s good for advice. This is a little out of my element,” she admitted.

“I understand,” Telk said, “So do you want to have dinner together?” She offered, feeling rotten for having stood Nyka up.

“No, we can reconnect some other time,” Nyka said, somewhat hesitantly. She wanted to see her sister again but she knew that Telk had too much on her head, “You need to talk to someone with some wisdom and experience with these sorts of things. Talk to you later Telk,” with that Nyka ended the conversation and left Telk to her thoughts. Meanwhile Dietrich had at last cooled down (both physically and emotionally) but was having trouble finding his shirt which he had removed and left on the floor. He turned 360 degrees and scanned ten meters in every direction but the shirt was nowhere in sight. Nor were any of his fellow crewmen. Frost had immediately hit it off with Ikvr and had left with her, Vong was spirited away by his woman to some unknown place, Singh had left triumphantly with a kadian in each arm, and Migwi had followed the yellow haired kadian out the back door. Dietrich was all alone, shirtless, and covered in sweat with close to forty women all of whom were staring at him. Ordinarily he liked when women paid attention to him but this was the wrong kind of attention: it was predatory.

“You look like you could use a towel,” Dietrich turned around to see a clean white towel thrust in his face. Holding the towel was a petite kadian girl with orange eyes and peach-colored locks. Dietrich accepted the towel silently and used it to wipe away the sweat that had rolled down his forehead and was stinging his eyes.

“Uhh thanks,” Dietrich said, handing the towel back to the girl. She took the towel back with a smile.

“Don’t mention it,” she said with a friendly pat of her hand on Dietrich’s bare chest, “You know I couldn’t help but overhear your story,” she said, inching closer to Dietrich.

“Oh right, I probably shouldn’t have talked so loud,” Dietrich was getting red in the face, not because of exhaustion anymore but because of embarrassment and mortification at the thought of so many strange women knowing his story.

“Oh it’s alright; things were pretty boring until you showed up anyway,” the kadian edged even closer to Dietrich and stood on the tips of her toes so as to whisper in his ear, “You know if it’s that much of a problem for you I could always get tested for Blue Vein. I don’t mind going through the trouble if it will put your mind at ease.”

“Excuse me?” Dietrich edged away from the little kadian, simultaneously aroused and repulsed by her forwardness. He wanted to tell her to leave him alone but he realized that she was the one thing keeping the other women at bay. If he told her off two or three more would immediately take her place.

“I’ll be honest; I thought you were serious when you threatened to strangle your friend,” the little kadian giggled.

“Yeah I was pretty angry right then, but I’m calm now,” Dietrich scratched his head, “Do you know where my shirt went?” he asked suddenly.

“Was it a black muscle shirt with a tear in the right sleeve?” the kadian posited.

“Uhh yeah,” Dietrich smiled, “That’s exactly what it was.”

“Haven’t seen it,” the girl said, rolling her eyes.

“But you just—”

“You know if you’re into strangling I’ve never been adverse to a little aggressive foreplay,” the kadian said, jamming her elbow into his abdominals. Dietrich had a moment of clarity, and he suddenly realized where the shirt was.

“You’ve got my shirt,” he said, “And if I understand the situation you won’t give it back until I cave in to your advances.”

“Took you long enough,” the girl smiled wickedly and poked Dietrich’s forehead with a sharp fingernail, “Good to see you have the brains to figure out stuff and you’re not just another pretty face…” her gaze fell on his chest, “…and body.”

“Its just a shirt,” Dietrich said.

“Yeah but it had a big hole in it,” she replied.

“Yeah so?”

“Well I know from experience that when clothes get ruined like that people only keep them if they mean something to them. What’s the shirt to you that you’d keep it even when your entire damn shoulder is poking out?”

“It was my dad’s shirt, it’s the only thing I have from him,” Dietrich admitted, “Can I please have it back?” he asked pleadingly.

“Tell you what, handsome,” the girl placed her open right hand on Dietrich’s chest and dug into his skin with her nails until it hurt him, “You follow me to the nearest clinic where I’ll prove to you that I’m clean. And after you see that you aren’t in any danger you follow me back to my place. When we’ve had our fun you can your shirt back,” Dietrich felt her little left hand alighting on his back, “Or you can refuse and I’ll leave it to you to find your way out of the lion’s den,” she motioned with her eyes to the other kadian women who were waiting to see if they were going to get a chance at him, “It’s all up to you.” Dietrich had to admire the little girl’s tenacity and ruthlessness, and he realized that he didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

“Alright,” he said, “You win,” he said, admitting utter defeat.

“Eeee!” a high-pitched squeal escaped the girl’s mouth and her arms were thrown around Dietrich’s midsection. Dietrich gasped for air as the girl’s deceptively strong arms squeezed the breath from his lungs, “Let’s go, lover.” She said, tugging him along by the arm toward the window.

“Wait, I can’t just go out there like this,” he said, gesturing to his bare chest.

“You look fine to me.”

“Yeah but…” he buried his face into his hands and sighed, “Does anyone here have a shirt I could wear out?” Dietrich asked the entire gym. To his surprise he was bombarded by dozens of clean men’s shirts. He selected one, a plain white t-shirt and put it on. Had it not been for the fact that he was under severe duress and was too confused for coherent thinking he may have took some time to wonder why every one of the kadians was carrying a man’s shirt, as it happened he wouldn’t go back to that particular peculiarity until much later that night.

“Uhh thank you,” he said to all the women who had tossed him a shirt.

“You’re welcome!” roared back a chorus of women. Dietrich felt a sharp pain on his buttocks; the diminutive kadian was pinching him with her dagger-sharp nails to motivate him to leave the Gym with her in a more timely fashion.

“Hey no need for that,” Dietrich protested.

“Let’s get out of here,” the little kadian tugged the man who was twice her weight with ease; such was her determination that Dietrich doubted she’d be denied if he were actively tugging against her.

“You realize you’re a crazy little bitch don’t you?” Dietrich said as he was tugged through the door.

“A crazy little bitch who just won a huge bet,” she said in her own language, under her breath.

“What was that?” Dietrich asked, more suspicious of her than ever.

“Less talking, more walking!” she roared back fiercely, tugging him with all her might through the window and into the outside. As soon as the couple had cleared the window a chorus of disappointed sighs rang out through the gym.

Hi Jonath

First let me say I applaud your use of paragraph breaks complete with spaces the first time I came into the fan fiction section I saw stuff that made my eyes feel like they were bleeding.

I just read the first chapter and I have a few thoughts. Let me know if their useful, I'll try to be more constructive than critical but I have a natural tendacy to be critical when reviewing almost anything. For the most part I'll leave grammar and description alone and only mention things that charred me while reading and mostly focus on the storytelling. In general a bit more description would be a good idea since were on an alien world with alien species having a better idea of what they're like. If you do so I'd suggest trying to use verbs to explain movement and action (REH is great at this, no one else has fasinated me so much with descriptions of the hallway someones running through).

First I really like the proverb at the beginning. Simply having a proverb to start a chapter is a nice touch. Yours sounds like a real proverb and ties into the theme of the chapter. Way to go.

Unfortunatly the next bit I did not find as good and I'd suggest some a minor re-write. Partially because I was confronted with the immediate sense that you haven't done hallocinogens but are choosing to write about them anyways which is not encouraging. Also I didn't feel very well hooked at the start but I can't really say why.

It improved after that though and overall I liked it, just your opening made me unoptamistic about your writting and a weak opening is a very bad thing. After that your writting got a lot better and I liked the reveal that not only was this an alien world but that the initial pov character hadn't been human.

The early description of Muraja's language skills and knowledge of various planets felt a bit clunky and unclear on why I was being told this. It might go better in response to something possibly just the other side of the meeting with the losh head. As is you know why this needs to be explain but the reader doesn't. Also one of your paragraph breaks seemed very off and should have been a sentence later.

Fairly impressive prison, very vague street leading to it. Maybe some stuff on the behavior of all the adults to go with the part of kids stepping on each others feet. Is this street an open bazaar or just a large and crowded pathway? I'm unclear on this and being an alien world no frame of reference. For that matter I don't have a clue what their architure is like until we get to the prison and have trouble picturing the other buildings in my head.

The chapter felt a little long but it's possible I'm just finally starting to get tired. Very nice hook at the end. Atleast you have a good reason to make the reader not abandon your story right when you really need it. Bravo.

Overall I did like it so if I sound harsh it's because pointing out what's good won't help you much. Hope this helps.

Thanks for the advice. This is the first draft, I assure you when I'm finished with the story (shouldn't be more than two, three weeks from now, maybe less) I'll go over it again and iron out the weaknesses.

No problem. I'll probably keep reading when I have bits of time infront of the computer. If you want more thoughts I'll share them. If you want to know more about vivid hallocinations I might know a thing or too. Probably best to do that in PM though.

Overall I like it. By the way are you planning on getting an education in writting or do you have other plans? I'm asking since my little bro is going to university as an English major so I've heard many varying opinions on such schooling.

The hallucinations don't matter much, the only other time they come up the person drinking also confuses a real object for a hallucination so I might add in some information to the effect that Losh tea only sometimes creates real hallucinations but people expect them anyway and get confused.

I might take a creative writing class next semester in my college and while my ideal career is professional writer I'm going to college for a degree in Law. You know to get a degree that has a high probability of landing me a steady career. My writing is 99% self-taught.

Just thought I'd offer since starting your book seeming like you don't know what your talking about isn't a good first impression. Although that probably only effects a small segment of the population.

Good for you an education that leads to more definate employment is a good plan. I'm kind of worried about my brother's future. He's confident he could atleast get a publication job as an editor but to me that still seems kind of tenious and he could end up one of those overly educated minimum wage jockey's. Well not minimum wage since he's smart enough to make management whenever he works fulltime but still not a great assurance of a future for him.

I avoid going into detail about the hallucinations for exactly that purpose. And remember the chemicals aren't going to be the same as those you might find on Earth.

It's the lack of detail that's a big part of the give away along with a few blantantly wierd misconceptions. Hallocinations are usually incredibly vivid and having them brings on a fasination with what your observing beyond that of a lucid mind. True and neither is the phsyiology of those taking them. I read a series once where alien somewhat lizard like invaders of Earth developed crippling addiction to ginger.

Still I'd suggest something like my paragraph below. Free for you to ignore or hack up to match your writting style and use as you see fit.

As the losh began to take effect the city scape started to melt away without becoming any less clear it danced and rolled endlessly further away leaving a void of nothing but blured trails surrounding him. Then to strange figures on the horizon that certainly could not be began to push the world back towards him... and then into your description of the humans.

“The Thra’ha’ken have never given a true name to the class of ship that forms the core of their truly enormous fleet. They were colloquially referred to as Vej ships: Vej meaning ‘bird of prey’ or more accurately ‘raptor’ in the Jen’dir’sha dialect for the last several centuries. This terminology is derived from the shape of the vessels which is clearly modeled after the monstrous birds* that long ago soared over the plains of central Bashak (the Eastern Continent of Ha’ken where the Thra’ha’ken evolved) and terrorized the early peoples of that land with their fearsome beaks influencing the design of the bow of the ships.

Recently the word ‘Dreadnought’ has found some use in an official sense with many references to the ships as “Dred’nat” class vessels being made by top officials. This terminology is of course lent from the English word that once described a particular class of influential warships but has now come to mean any exceptionally powerful ship. Evidently the Thra’ha’ken overheard humans referring to the ships in such a way and liked the ring of it. In any case these ships have served as the primary troop transports, attack ships, and command vessels of the Thra’ha’ken military for the last two centuries with very little changes in the overall design besides numerous upgrades in the area of weaponry and shields.

The Dreadnoughts are approximately two kilometers long and have an average estimated gross tonnage of 1.2 million tonnes making each one of them roughly one eighth the size of the entire Global Alliance Combined Fleet. During peace-time their complement is around 18,000 (including both necessary personnel and supplementary troops) while during times of war (virtually all the time for the Empire) their crews’ peak at around 47,000 much of which is comprised of ground troops that rely on the Dreadnoughts for transport from one star system to another. In all about 20,000 are in service, some of which have been in service since before the current Empress was born.

It was not until the Thra’ha’ken expanded into Hemisphere A of the Sector and their interests began to clash with the Kadian Systems a century ago that the ships have begun to show their age. While they can still trade shots with the newest Kadian Warships they rarely get the opportunity to gain a decisive victory due to the fact that the Kadian Battlecruisers can literally run rings around them and won’t waste any time retreating if the Thra’ha’ken seize an advantage. Though for a time there was a plan to slowly phase out the ships by scrapping them and using the resources to build a larger, less unwieldy fleet of smaller, more precise ships the plan has now changed to one of supplementation.

In this supplementation the older ships are being upgraded while the roles of the command ships is being taken on both by the new class of ‘Super Dreadnoughts’** and the nine-kilometer long behemoths that have been named the Shak’xur class in honor of the man who approved their construction. When built the Shak’xur and its five sister ships (one for each Grand General) will be the largest ships of any kind in the Sector. That honor is currently held by the six and a half kilometer long Hkrl class Evac-ship used by the Teysr Family’s Emergency Services to evacuate entire Kadian colonies. Like the Palace of Kesh’tir or the Empress herself the Dreadnoughts represent the Empire to outsiders. They are at once majestic, terrifying, awe-inspiring, and (for some) a symbol of the backwardness and out-dated thinking that pervades the Empire.

*While they are not true birds in the Terrestrial sense these extinct animals evolved in such a way that they could be considered birds for all intents and purposes.

**This is only a place-holder name. Unlike its predecessor class there is an intended name, it just hasn’t been officially given.”

Jen’shar wasn’t a man who enjoyed being idle. To him work was not an aspect of life, it was life and his work concerned the matters of the State of the Empire and its assets, including its fleet. Viziers had many over-sight powers that allowed them to effectively inspect any facility or ship that belonged to the Thra’ha’ken military. When the Trial was suspended and an entire day was open for Jen’shar he was overcome by an immense feeling of boredom and restlessness.

Years ago he would have spent the time with his wife but she had died along with the child that Jen’shar never got to see ten years ago and he was in no state to remarry, not that there weren’t plenty of women who would want to be the wife of a man as famous and well-regarded as he. He had once been the proud father of bright young daughter but she had succumbed to illness roughly one year after the death of his wife, leaving Jen’shar alone.

Jen’shar was almost happy when he received word that the body of the Former Chief Engineer of the Ko’shar was discovered in an alley in one of the worst slums in the city. He wasn’t thrilled by the death as much as he was thrilled by the prospect of being occupied. The death was as suspicious as deaths came: a man who recently renounced his post after an event that involved his ship had ruffled the entire Empire’s feathers killed in such a fashion that a “normal robbery gone wrong” couldn’t begin to explain it.

In the poorest of slums the Tavern where the man was murdered was undergoing maintenance for the first time in half a decade. The big holes in the walls were filled in with wood and plaster and the shingles that made up the roof were ripped out and replaced by a sheet of rust-proof tin with actual gutters installed to catch the rain and funnel it into the streets. The big tieren who kept the Tavern was pleased to finally have something of a respectable establishment. He was so pleased with himself and his Tavern that he didn’t notice Jen’shar walking up behind him. The tieren was grinning from furry ear to furry ear, his spine arched back and his neck craned to look at the new roof.

“That’s a fine roof there,” Jen’shar commented, “Is it new?”

“Sure is,” the tieren replied proudly, “Just got it yesterday,” the Tieren turned his whole body (like Gorillas, Tieren cannot turn their heads as their shoulder muscles are too massive and as such must turn their whole upper body to see things behind them) and gasped when he saw who he was speaking to, “Wh-what are you doing here?” he stammered. The beard was a dead give-away, even someone like the uneducated Tavern-owner could recognize him from a single glance as Jen’shar the Vizier.

“I’m told that two nights ago an Engineer visited your Tavern and upon leaving was murdered not far from where you stand now,” Jen’shar said, speaking to the tieren as if he were a murder suspect.

“Uhh… perhaps we should talk about this inside,” the tieren said, scratching his chin the way he always did when he was nervous.

“If I agree to enter your…establishment… will you promise that I won’t end up dead like poor Yal’tek?” Jen’shar asked.

“Was that his name?” the tieren was still scratching his chin, “Look you’re in no danger here your Excellency,” the tieren assured him, “An Engineer is one thing but if your body turned up the Empress would probably raze this entire section of the city and build a monument in your name over the ashes and rubble. Besides if you’re half what you’re reputed to be that sword isn’t just for decoration,” the tieren pointed to Jen’shar’s sword which as always hung from his hip, eternally ready to spill blood once more. Jen’shar was indeed quite the swordsman and had only lost once to The’kar during a fencing match. However that was the only one The’kar won and the other seven matches all ended in Jen’shar’s favor. Jen’shar had been even better before his hand was broken many years ago in an incident he never told anyone about.

“Very well, you first,” Jen’shar gestured to the door. This was due less to politeness and more to not wanting to be the first to enter and leave his back exposed. Jen’shar followed the tieren into his quaint Tavern and took a seat in one of the less dilapidated chairs while the tieren stepped behind the counter. For the Tavern-keeper the counter was necessary for conversation as it made him feel much less nervous in the presence of someone like Jen’shar.

“Can I get you anything?” the tieren asked Jen’shar.

“Just some information, thank you,” Jen’shar replied, testing out the sturdiness of his chair’s legs by leaning back on it.

“What do you want to know?” The tieren rested his big right elbow on the counter, causing the wood to creak. He looked nervous and pensive; Jen’shar had the power to have the tieren destroyed merely for not showing the proper respect. The tieren realized this but wasn’t sure what the “proper respect” was for a Vizier.

“You said you just put that new roof in yesterday, did you not?” Jen’shar asked.

“Yes, that’s right, I did,” the tieren said with a nod.

“Tell me. How did you pay for it?”

“Not long after the Engineer left another fellow entered,” the Tieren explained.

“What did he look like?” Jen’shar asked.

“I don’t know, he wore a hood that covered the top of his face, it was cold out that night so I didn’t ask any questions,” the tieren shrugged, “He just ordered a small glass of water. I asked him what he was doing in these parts and he sorta panicked.”

“Panicked?”

“Yeah, he paid for his water with ten gold coins and got up and left. I was suspicious but I was too tired and I just really wanted to close up and head home,” the tieren scratched his chin again, “I paid for the renovations with money I’ve been saving up for a long time, your Excellency. I’ve got a lot of faults but I’m not a murderer.”

“I believe you,” Jen’shar waved his hand in front of the Tieren with his first three fingers and thumb extended, a gesture that meant “calm down” in Thra’ha’ken society, “I never accused you of murder. Though if there’s anything else you can tell me about the Chief Engineer before he left your Tavern I’d appreciate it greatly,” Jen’shar reached into his robes and produced a heavy little sack of coins, the tieren’s apprehension transformed into interest, which manifested in his ears literally pricking up when he heard the jingle of coinage.

“Well now that I’m thinking about it I do remember he said something before he left,” the Tieren said, trying to be helpful.

“What did he say?” Jen’shar inquired.

“After I refused to serve him any more tea he started yelling at me. Said something about some lying rat, the name escapes me,” the tieren shrugged and continued to stare at the little bag of coins.

“Could you try to remember it?” Jen’shar took out a single gold coin and flicked it at the tieren. The Tavern Keeper caught it and stared at the Empress’s portrait for a moment before he “remembered”.

“Jal’nek’ko was the name,” the tieren said, holding out his big hand like a child expecting a treat from its mother. Jen’shar nodded and tossed the entire bag to the Tieren who nearly fell over the counter when Jen’shar’s toss fell short, forcing him to jump to it.

“Thank you for your time,” Jen’shar said, giving the tieren a shallow bow of his head which the tieren returned with a full bow. As Jen’shar was leaving he turned his head one last time to see the tieren counting the money greedily, “I suggest you use some of that money to buy some new chairs and tables.”

“Excellent suggestion, your Excellency!” the tieren said jovially, “I’ll do just that, good luck with your investigation!” the tieren loved his money, it was the best way to put him in a good mood. Jen’shar recognized the name; he had read it in some report: it was the name of one of the Ko’shar’s Engineers that much he knew. With this knowledge Jen’shar called for transport using a transponder planted in a pendant hanging from his necklace. Within a few minutes one of the many small craft from the Palace arrived and touched down in the middle of the empty street. There were four men on the craft, a pilot, a technician, and two soldiers that acted as guards.

The two soldiers bowed as the craft settled down while the technician tried to shut the engine down. The propulsion systems kicked up dust and dirt in every direction, it had been days since the last rain and the streets were accumulating filth faster than the locals could deal with. Jen’shar shielded his face from the dust but had to sacrifice his fine robes which were now coated in a fine, even layer of brown grit. The pilot of the craft apologized profusely but Jen’shar was as always even keeled and told the pilot to concentrate on getting him to the Ko’shar as quickly as possible.

The pilot complied and skipped a few of the less important procedures out of respect for the Vizier’s valuable time. In truth Jen’shar had no real need to hurry other than his own impatience when it came to his personal investigation but as a Vizier he had a right to demand haste of others. The little ship wobbled a bit as it took off, since one of the skipped procedures was turning on the stabilizers but once in the air the craft found its balance thanks to the pilot’s skill and intuition and the rest of the flight was rather peaceful and without incident.

The Ko’shar was one of thousands of Dreadnoughts but stood out from the rest because of its rich history as the Flagship of dozens of Grand Generals and Fleet Lords. It was named after Ko’shar the Great, the first of the Emperors and like its namesake it was almost holy to the Empire. Until recently it had never failed a mission and had been the death of dozens of Kadian ships, serving in all three wars between the Kadian Systems and the Thra’ha’ken Empire with distinction. The ship was an old one though, and it was to be scrapped by the end of the decade to be replaced by the Shak’xur, the first of the class of “Ultra-Dreadnoughts” currently under construction in secret shipyards on the edges of the Empire.

Now in the shadow of the Ko’shar, the Vizier’s head was flooded with memories of his time as a military man, when his sword really was more than just decoration and when he was respected for his actions, not just his station and the Seal he carried on him. Jen’shar ran a finger through his beard as he always did when he was momentarily overcome by a wave of wistfulness and nostalgia. The craft slowed down and maneuvered through a web of cables to a ramp that extended from one of the larger support towers to one of the cargo passages of the ship.

The open passage was quite small relative to the rest of the ship and would have been barely noticeable if viewed from the perspective of the entire ship’s profile but was still large enough for a vessel three times the size of the Palace Shuttle to pass comfortably. The cargo hold was a spacious, dimly lit room permeated by a pungent, musty smell that Jen’shar recognized as the awful Emergency Rations he had been forced to consume many times. The stuff was similar in theory to jerky but instead of drying and preserving meat with spices the meat was simply dehydrated and slathered with a foul-tasting anti-bacterial powder that while edible made consuming the rations unbearable.

The smell was all the fault of that damn powder. Jen’shar was glad to be rid of certain things about military life, even if he did miss it from time to time. Still the number of soldiers who owed their lives to the Rations more than made up for the terrible taste, after all they could be stored for decades without expiring and when soaked overnight in salt water (assuming any is on hand) the powder can be removed and the meat becomes a little less chewy. Jen’shar stepped out of the craft with two rifles pointed at his face.

The soldiers knew who he was but regulations dictated that until real identification was given all trespassers should be regarded as unlawful intruders. Jen’shar flashed the Empress’s seal at the soldiers, almost immediately they lowered their weapons and bowed their heads as Jen’shar continued on his way. Pointing their weapons at a Vizier was one of the most terrifying things either of them had ever done, if one of their guns had been accidentally fired (however unlikely that scenario was, Thra’ha’ken rifles rarely misfire and their triggers take some strength to pull back) they would have been charged with the murder of a Vizier.

Of course had they allowed him passage without first holding him at gunpoint they would have suffered some punitive lashing for breach of duty. Before Jen’shar could take more than ten steps from the shuttle he was waylaid by a small welcoming party comprised of the acting Commander of the Ship, her young “assistant”, and a ten man guard unit.

“I must say it is a surprise to see someone of your status in my Cargo Bay,” Yan’vel said in a pleasantly surprised way. Yan’vel stood apart from most of the Thra’ha’ken military’s female personnel in that she hadn’t lost any of her femininity during basic training and her early years of service as a grunt. Women weren’t uncommon in the military but women like Yan’vel were. Generally women faced harassment from both their superiors and subordinates and had to find a way to fend off unwanted attention.

In Yan’vel’s case she originally made it through as a foot-soldier by becoming her commanding officer’s mistress. Any man caught so much as looking at her in a funny way would be severely punished. Eventually she rose through the ranks due to her charm and her undeniable tactical skill when under fire. Her true moment to shine came when her Unit was captured by Kadian forces after a particularly nasty battle. She befriended some of her captors by feigning Stockholm syndrome and when the time was right she liberated her fellow soldiers and killed the Kadians to the last. Afterwards she led the men to a kadian scout ship which they seized and piloted to a Thra’ha’ken system.

Immediately she was promoted to the rank of Commander and put in charge of the Ko’shar under The’kar’s direct command. Now that The’kar was being put through the Gauntlet Yan’vel was the highest ranking officer on the ship and was rather happy about it. Her assistant was a handsome young soldier whose job was ostensibly to follow her around and though no one said it out loud the entire crew knew exactly what “assistance” he was providing her, “To what do I owe this honor?”

“I’m here because the death of your former Chief Engineer has been brought to my attention,” Jen’shar said, rather put off by the heavy amount of perfume Yan’vel had on.

“Oh right, Yal’tek,” Yan’vel giggled a bit.

“What’s so funny?” Jen’shar asked in a sober voice.

“Oh nothing,” Yan’vel tried to wipe the grin off her face and straighten out, “Your Excellency, Yal’tek was a very secretive person. I laughed because it’s rather silly to think that you could learn much about his death here.” Yan’vel realized what powers Jen’shar had and why it was a bad idea to speak to him with her usual informality.

“You think I’m being silly?” Jen’shar asked, looking askance at the Commander.

“Oh no, of course not!” Yan’vel blurted out, fearing Jen’shar’s wrath.

“Good,” Jen’shar cracked a half-smile, amused by Yan’vel’s nervous apology, “Now I’d like to have an audience with one of your Engineers.”

“Of course, your Excellency,” Yan’vel bowed low, “Any Engineer in particular?”

“Yes. I need to speak with Jal’nek’ko, is he here?”

“Yes,” Yan’vel said, “I’ll send for him.”

“That won’t be necessary, Commander,” Jen’shar said, waving his hand in a gesture that meant “no thank you”, “Just tell me where I might find him so I can speak with him personally.”

“Absolutely your Excellency,” Yan’vel nodded, “Here, one of my guards will show you the way to the Computer Core.

That’s where the little rat hides.” Yan’vel said the last part with some disgust.

“Little rat seems to be an epithet that follows him around,” Jen’shar commented.

“Yeah, you’ll find out why soon enough,” Yan’vel said, with a smile, “Good day, your Excellency.” With that Yan’vel departed, leaving a single guard to act as guide for Jen’shar. In all it was a half hour long walk to get from the cargo bay to the Computer Core Room where Jal’nek’ko spent almost all of his time.

“Tell me something,” Jen’shar turned to his guide, “Is Jal’nek’ko a rather secretive fellow?”

“Yes, your Excellency,” the soldier replied, “Truth be told that’s how all Engineers are. They’re a breed apart, not quite scientists but not quite soldiers and certainly not friendly people. He’s really involved in his work; matter of fact the only time I remember him taking leave was a few days ago. Said he needed some fresh air,” the soldier snorted, “If you ask me the man needs a lot more than fresh air.”

“Interesting…” Jen’shar stroked his beard thoughtfully, “I thank you for guiding me here,” he said to the soldier, “You’re free to go about your business.”

“Are you sure you won’t need my help to find your way out?” the soldier asked, expressing concern for Jen’shar.

“Thank you but I have a good memory,” Jen’shar dipped his head, signifying his gratitude to the soldier. Jen’shar found himself in a dark, cold room where the air was sterile and unnatural. The only light in the entire room came from the flashing lights of the temperature meters, the lights of the many monitors, and the faint glow that illuminated the many key-boards that controlled the Computer Core. Hunched over the primary console was a short, shabbily dressed little man who was more interested in the blinking lights in front of him than he was in the Vizier that stood behind him.

“I apologize, Vizier, if my little cave isn’t up to your standards,” Jal’nek’ko said, rather amused by his own cleverness, “As you can imagine I don’t often entertain guests of your… level.” The Engineer kept his back turned on Jen’shar, a brazen act that would have been unforgivable but for the fact that he was an Engineer and such distance was expected of him.

“These surroundings are something of an improvement over the last place I visited. It was a little dilapidated tavern run by a big tieren man,” Jen’shar paused, “I don’t suppose you know which one I speak of?” the Engineer was silent for a little while.
“No, as my fellow crewmen would happily attest to, I don’t leave this room much,” the Engineer said, “And when I do it’s usually to eat with the other technical officers in the Mess Chamber.” Jal’nek’ko was a master of veiled contempt and condescension. When others spoke to him they always got the feeling he was insulting them but the way he spoke it was impossible for them to prove it and in the end they always chocked it up to him being an Engineer and thus having next to no people skills. In this case he had to tread carefully; a Vizier could have his head for making unauthorized eye contact if he wanted to. Not that Jal’nek’ko would ever look another man in the eye.

“Do you have a good relationship with your fellow Engineers?” Jen’shar asked, brushing past Jal’nek’ko’s sickeningly grating tone of voice.

“We don’t kill each other, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jal’nek’ko replied with the slightest of snarls. He still had his back turned to his eminent guest. Jen’shar was the most patient and humble of the Empress’s servants. Had Shak’xur been in Jen’shar’s place the Engineer would doubtless be in a world of pain. Fortunately for the Engineer, Jen’shar was not anything like Shak’xur, “I’m aware that my… superior… Yal’tek was murdered two days ago in some slum. We didn’t have the best relationship but I didn’t murder him.”

“I’ve been informed that you were missing around the same time that Yal’tek was murdered,” Jen’shar said flatly, “You don’t have the best case in my eyes.”

“It’s true, I left the ship around the same time that my late colleague was murdered but there’s no proof I was anywhere near him during that time,” Jal’nek’ko slowly turned away from the console to face Jen’shar for the first time. The Engineer was a sickly looking fellow with sunken cheeks and noticeable rings around his eyes. His teeth were stained dark yellow and his lips were dry and cracked.

He was so unimpressive on a physical level that he made Shak’xur look dashing in comparison, “With respect to your Excellency, I don’t have much time to spare for an interrogation,” Jal’nek’ko flirted with the line between curtness and outright impertinence with every word, “I think it would benefit both of us if you could explain to me exactly why a Vizier is investigating the death of an Engineer. Don’t you have more important things to—” before Jal’nek’ko could finish, Jen’shar slid his sword out of the sash that held it. He reached out with his free hand and grabbed the stunned Engineer by the throat. Jal’nek’ko’s head smashed into one of the monitors behind him, but he scarcely noticed: he was far too concerned by the Neutronium blade at his throat. Jen’shar hoisted the little Engineer off his feet and held him there like a limp ragdoll.

“Listen to me, you little rat,” Jen’shar growled icily, “Why don’t we forget that you’re the Engineer and I’m the Vizier? Instead we’ll look at it this way: you’re the patient and I’m the surgeon. The patient doesn’t ask questions or tell the surgeon how to cut him open, he just stays still and let’s the surgeon do his job!” Jen’shar’s voice went from icy to bellicose in a matter of seconds, “Does that sound like a good arrangement to you?” the Engineer’s smugness vanished as soon as he realized that the Vizier could kill him on whim alone without any real repercussions. Slowly, Jal’nek’ko remembered how to speak.

“Just tell me what you want to know,” he said, in a timid, respectful murmur. Jen’shar released the Engineer and put his sword away. Jal’nek’ko clutched his throat with one hand and rubbed the sore back of his head with the other.

“Let me see the ships records,” Jen’shar commanded in a much less threatening voice, “I need to see the data concerning the last battle this ship was involved in.”

“Of course, but what does that have to do with your investigation?” Jal’nek’ko cringed, fearing Jen’shar might strike him for questioning him.

“I need to see if there’s anything in the ship’s Computer that may have gotten a man like Yal’tek killed,” Jen’shar explained, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think there wasn’t a connection between his death and the incident that put The’kar in chains. Now are you going to open up the Records or do I have to perform some surgery?” the moment Jen’shar’s hand fell on the pommel of his sword the Engineer rushed to one of the primary consoles and started to pull up the Records. Jen’shar shoved him out of the way and poured over the streams of data the screen displayed. Jen’shar immediately discovered a large gap in the relevant data that aroused his suspicion, “Why is there missing data here?” Jen’shar pointed to the missing information.

“Your Excellency, the primary Frontal Sensor was damaged during the engagement and as a result all the data it collected was corrupted. So I wiped the data,” Jal’nek’ko said.

“That’s against Imperial Law!” Jen’shar grabbed the Engineer by the collar and pulled him close.

“Protocol states that to maintain efficiency all corrupted data must be removed to preserve memory space and protect the systems from malformed code,” the Engineer replied, reciting it as if he were reading from a Handbook of some sort.

“Did you consult your Commanding Officers before you wiped the data?” Jen’shar asked. The Engineer shook his head, “Why not?”

“Because as an Engineer I don’t need anyone’s approval to fulfill my basic duties,” Jal’nek’ko explained, “It was Yal’tek who gave the order in the first place, I swear!”

“And yet I get the feeling that Yal’tek had second thoughts about it,” Jen’shar said, releasing the Engineer, “You’ll be glad to know that as it stands there’s nothing proving that you had anything to do with your Superior’s death. Nor is there any evidence that proves that his death has anything to do with the Incident. That being said,” Jen’shar stepped away from Jal’nek’ko but didn’t move his gaze, “I suggest you tread lightly. I don’t know if someone’s paid you to be so damn obstructive or if that’s just your nature but if we ever have to speak again know that I won’t suffer such impertinence. Have a nice day, Engineer.”

“Some of my closest friends are obtuse enough to look at the Thra’ha’ken Empire and label its people as a “Warrior Race”. Ignoring the sheer stupidity of such a generalization one must then consider why such a belief has taken hold in the popular imagination. Is it because the majority of the Thra’ha’ken we’ve seen so far have been soldiers? Or is it because what few civilians have been discovered by our Expeditionary Forces fought tooth and nail even though they had no chance? I believe it’s neither. I believe that a society as complacent and stagnant as ours cannot understand the concept of a people who must fight to survive every day. The Thra’ha’ken’s fierceness is derived not from any innate savagery but from the reality of their situation. They brazenly expanded out into unknown space, planoforming and colonizing worlds that we Kadians wouldn’t think of touching and as a result the majority of them live on the edge with survival less a right and more a privilege. Is it any wonder then that their youngest children are put to bed clutching knives or that one meal every two days per family is considered something of a luxury?”


The guards had yet to close the door to The’kar’s cell, it had remained open the entire time he was gone, though to be fair they did post a guard to ensure no one entered it in that time. At this point The’kar was rather accustomed to the cell and had even begun to adjust to the mattress he slept on so much so that he had forgotten how his old bed on the Ko’shar felt.

He didn’t like to think of his old bed, he knew that Commander Yan’vel had coveted it and the realization that she was using it with that “assistant” of hers made him a little sick. He made a mental note that when this was all over he would have the sheets burned and the mattress thoroughly cleansed. Not long after he returned to his cell and had the chains removed from him he received another visit from William and Raja Muraja.

William looked worn out from yet another long walk through the entire city while as always Muraja was in his usual pristine condition, without even a single bead of sweat on his entire body. William took a seat in one of the small “chairs” (really more stools than anything else) near the wall opposite of The’kar’s bed, Muraja remained standing.

“I’m glad to say I have my shirt on this time,” The’kar said with a grin.

“I must say I was impressed at how you carried yourself through the street with all that weight and all those eyes on you,” Muraja commented.

“I can carry a lot more weight than those chains, I’ve got a strong back,” The’kar said, “And being the center of attention is hardly a new experience for someone like me. I was born with dozens of eyes staring at Me.”

“Why?” William asked.

“Apparently the midwives and servants that tended to my mother while she was going through labor believed that the seed of The’kar’s loins would be some sort of abomination and they were prepared to kill whatever was pushed out. They weren’t far off with their fears, for at the very least my abnormal size was what killed my mother. I’m told with her last breath she asked that they care for me and make sure I didn’t take after my father,” The’kar’s enormous shoulders were raised in a shrug, “Honestly if it seems I’m a little too calm about this whole situation it’s most likely because the threat of death is hardly new to me.”

“I guess someone in your line of work wouldn’t be too intimidated by a guy like Shak’xur,” William said.

“Well the performance you saw today is nothing compared to what Shak’xur’s capable of,” The’kar snorted, “Shak’xur’s one of the most vain, pompous, disagreeable, and utterly insufferable people the Empire has ever produced.”

“I don’t understand how someone like him could ever amass so much power,” William said, scratching the back of his head.

“What Shak’xur lacks in charisma, he more than makes up for with organizational genius,” Muraja explained, “I remember one of my Professors in Harvard was always fond of saying that there are two kinds of effective leaders: there are Bismarcks and there are Hitlers. Of course I don’t agree with such a broad generalization but for the purpose of this explanation Shak’xur is a Bismarck. You see, William, Bismarcks don’t get along well with others and they don’t have the same power of the Hitlers to galvanize the masses but they do have the uncanny ability to -–in spite of their unpleasantness-- gain influence and power and use that power to do great things.”

“Precisely,” The’kar nodded, “Shak’xur rose to the rank of Grand Vizier in the wake of my father’s death. You see Shak’xur had spent years gathering evidence that proved to the Empire just how depraved the old man was. Shak’xur effectively broke the stranglehold that my father’s supporters had over the Empire and for that he has the Empress’s eternal gratitude.”

“I guess Shak’xur wasn’t content ruining just one The’kar,” William replied.

“Speaking of Shak’xur,” Muraja cut in, “We’re going to visit him in his home after we’re finished here. I was wondering if you’ve ever been in his home.”

“I have, only once,” The’kar replied, “Next to the Palace itself, his Mansion is the most opulent in the entire city. Perhaps you may want to consider getting in his good graces,” The’kar suggested, “He may allow you to stay in his home which would be an enormous step-up from whatever accommodations you’ve managed to wrangle while staying in the city.”

“Actually we’re staying in the Palace,” Muraja said, proud of the fact.

“Really? My, my, aren’t you the intrepid traveler,” The’kar chuckled, “Is that true boy?” he turned to William who nodded back in acknowledgement, “How are the beds? Are they as comfortable as I remember?”

“Well I suppose they’re nice,” William admitted, “I still had trouble sleeping in them though.”

“I can’t imagine why,” The’kar said, surprised to hear that anyone could have trouble finding rest in such comfortable beds.

“I think it was my restlessness, I mean this is the first time on another world for me and I’m only now getting used to it. I mean I woke up today and I had to remind myself ten times that I wasn’t on Earth.”

“Yes I know the feeling,” The’kar nodded and leaned back in his enormous chair, “How did you get to sleep?”

“Apparently the Empress sent her daughter to his room,” Muraja said with a smile. He elbowed William playfully. William looked away and tried not to let on how embarrassed he was.

“That’ll usually do it,” The’kar said with a deep chuckle, “So then William, I guess you’ve entered that small but proud association of men who can boast to having deflowered a Princess.”

“It’s a swell club,” Muraja agreed with a wide grin and a congratulatory pat on William’s shoulder.

“I understand how you can maintain your composure throughout the trial but how can you make jokes in your situation?” William asked, rather flummoxed by The’kar’s lack of concern.

“As I’ve said before this Trial is nothing new to me,” The’kar said, “I’ve been in more battles than Muraja’s had women.”
“So, quadruple digits?” Muraja asked with a chuckle.

“Let me put it this way: two years after I first joined the service I was involved in a short campaign across seven different systems. You see there was a rebellion that had sprouted up in some of the Outer Systems of the Empire and the commander of the ship I was on took it upon himself to crush it without any aid from other Thra’ha’ken forces. He was something of an attention seeker and a vainglorious fool. In the course of this campaign the ship I was on travelled through slipspace from system to system, each time we exited a slipstream we would be transported down to the surface of the planet by way of hundreds of little shuttles and Drop Ships.

Losses were heavy before we even reached the surface but they shot up once the attack really began. It was on the first planet that I had my first real brush with death. My unit was assaulting a bunker that contained the leaders of the Rebellion on that Planet and as you can imagine it was defended fiercely. Our commanding Officer was hit during the first charge and put me in command shortly before he died. Like a fool I charged the bunker, sword in hand, yelling at the top of my lungs. I got hit in the shoulder, luckily the bullet missed the artery, but I probably would have been put out of commission for good had it not been for a brave young grunt dodging the enemy fire to get close enough to detonate some heavy explosives, killing himself and everyone in the bunker.

Then the Drop Ships returned and took us back to the ship so that we could repeat the process again six more times. Each time we arrived at the planet and were spread hopelessly thin, each time it was my unit that had to assault the most heavily defended spot, and each time we were nearly wiped out and saved only by miraculous acts of heroism performed by brave souls who never got a proper burial. The Commander among other faults was an impatient man and placed an absolute deadline for the Drop Ships. Any transports which didn’t make it back in time were left behind to deal with the now infuriated locals. You see our campaign didn’t crush the Rebellion; all it did was waste lives.

Our attacks were little more than raids that if anything helped the Rebellion out by giving their troops some much needed combat experience. It wasn’t until much later that a proper fleet comprised of thirty Dreadnoughts was put together and the Rebellion was flattened for good. By the time our ship left the slipstream and entered the last system our numbers had thinned considerably. From a full 33,000 men and women when the ‘campaign’ commenced we were down to just 7,300 tired and demoralized soldiers.

In a rare show of competence the Commander realized that his hit and run strategy was wasteful and frankly insane so he elected to choose a single spot, a beach-head, to land the troops. Unfortunately the rebels on this planet were well equipped and had the means to transport half their forces to converge around our landing zone. We were dug in and outnumbered twenty to one, I got shot three times at that last engagement before I lost my patience and took command. I had the Drop Ships land and under heavy fire I led the evacuation of the planet. Once we returned to the ship the Commander had the gall to order my arrest.

Bleeding from three wounds and exhausted I managed to find the strength to kill the bastard by slicing him in half with my late Unit Leader’s sword. I was cleared of all charges of course. Even Shak’xur realized that the Commander deserved it and that I did the right thing in abandoning the attack. The point of this long tale is that when you’ve been through hell as many times as I have little things like Trials don’t bother you much.” The’kar closed his eyes and a noticeable if brief grimace flashed over his face. He hated telling that story.

It was no bit of hyperbole on The’kar’s part when he said that Shak’xur had the second most opulent home in all of Kesh’tir. Surrounded by Edenic gardens and golden gates his Mansion made all the other nearby residences look quite small and quaint by comparison. Considering Shak’xur’s neighbors included a man who owned three quarters of all the agricultural land on Ha’ken and the shipwright whose enormous firm was responsible for producing the Empire’s warships this was quite an achievement.

The house had over four hundred rooms including a cavernous dining hall Shak’xur rarely ever used and entire sections that served as living quarters to Shak’xur’s many servants. He had so many servants that they formed something of a small enclosed community, united by their quiet, subdued disdain for their master. Officially slavery was illegal on Ha’ken but to William it seemed Shak’xur had missed the memo.

The servants were utterly terrified of making any mistakes and when the child servant who held Shak’xur’s hat nearly dropped it he was later pulled aside by his mother. Even from many rooms down William could hear the sounds of his mother’s hand slapping him across the face while he cried and made his apologies. When the two had arrived they were shown in by one of the servants to the anteroom where they were expected to wait. In usual fashion Muraja told William to stay put while he found Shak’xur himself.

Five minutes passed and William decided to do a little exploring to alleviate his boredom. There was a door to one side of the anteroom that looked like it might be the room to a broom closet. To illustrate just how bored William was he decided to poke his head through the door and see if the Thra’ha’ken had the same kind of brooms that humans did. To his surprise and embarrassment the innocuous door didn’t lead into a broom closet, instead it led to a bedroom of sorts where at present a woman was breastfeeding a baby.

The woman gasped and covered herself once she saw William’s face through the opening of the doorway. William’s instinct was to back away and shut the door but the woman was quick to barge through the doorway. William backed up, fearing that she might try to attack him but instead she got on her knees and started making frenzied gesticulations along with a flurry of words that while too fast for William to gather a true understanding were obviously apologetic in nature.

It just didn’t make sense to William; here she was with every reason to be angry and offended at him but instead she was apologizing and making contrite gestures at his feet. William didn’t know what to do with the woman, whether he should let her run her course or if he should try to show that he wasn’t angry with her and that she didn’t need to grovel to him. He put one single finger on her shoulder and her face froze in a look of abject terror the likes of which William had never seen before.

With her baby tucked under her left arm the woman bolted off at an obscene speed down the hallway, leaving William shell-shocked and confused. At that moment Muraja returned, a furious look emblazoned on his face.

“William, what the hell did you to that poor woman?!” for one of the first times since William had known him, Muraja was angry.

“I didn’t do anything!” William shouted back, raising his hands defensively.

“Only joking, William,” Muraja’s glare faded, replaced by his customary self-satisfied grin, “I’d say these servants are jumpy but that would be far too generous.”

“So you believe me?”

“Of course, I know you William, hurting others isn’t in your nature,” Muraja put his arm around the still frazzled William and patted his shoulder reassuringly, “It really says something about Shak’xur that his servants are so anemic and fearful.”

“So did you find Shak’xur?” William asked.

“Yes, I found him in his study,” Muraja replied.

“What was he doing there?”

“Well when I entered he was counting vials on a shelf. You see he’s something of an eccentric collector and the shelf he was bothering with was stocked with all manners of poisons from across the Sector.”

“Yeah because there’s nothing creepy about that at all,” William said sardonically, “Anything else of interest in there? Does he also have a collection of skulls?”

“No just the shrunken left hand of every person to ever mock his hat,” Muraja said, completely straight-faced.

“I can never tell when you’re joking,” William replied nervously.

“Well I’m joking now,” Muraja answered, “Shak’xur’s waiting for us in the Lounge upstairs.”

“Well I’d hate to keep the Grand Vizier waiting,” William said, gazing up at the long, winding staircase. The Longue was grander than William would have expected with many well crafted chairs carved from the finest hardwood in the Empire, elegant couches decorated liberally with soft, golden pillows, and intricately-patterned crimson curtains at every window. The floor was made from the finest white marble and cleaned rigorously each day to the point that the light reflected from it hurt William’s eyes.

In one corner two young women –girls really- stood silently with their heads bowed low, ready to do any task Shak’xur demanded of them. The girls were dressed similarly to the Empress’s daughter only instead of three layers of vapor-like fabric over a linen (or something like linen) bodice and petticoat combo they had only one layer of gauze-like cloth, a strip of cloth that wrapped around their upper torsos and long purple skirts that hung over the front of their legs but left their backside mostly exposed.

The girls were used to the dress-code at this point and their sullen mood was due mostly to boredom. As demanding as he could be at times Shak’xur preferred doing most things himself (he could never trust anyone else to get anything done as he had his own ideas about the “right way” to do something) and the hardest part of the job for a good portion of his servants was dealing with boredom.

“Welcome to my home,” Shak’xur said, neither hostile nor particularly hospitable in tone, “Do take a seat,” he motioned to a pair of fine looking chairs. William was all too happy to take a seat and rest his legs after having to walk up a deceptively long staircase. Shak’xur was laying back in recumbent chair with his hands folded over one another and his feet soaking in a small tub of warm salt-water.

Shak’xur was still wrapped up in robes but now a rather opulent pendant was visible outside of his robes, a Neutronium pendant with a tiger-orange precious stone the size of a walnut set inside of it. As William would later discover the pendant was a treasured family heirloom that originally belonged to Shak’xur’s vaunted ancestor Shak’kar, the Vizier and philosopher. Shak’xur observed Muraja for a moment before shifting his gaze to William, “You’re not really the quiet type are you, boy?” Shak’xur asked him.

“Not really no, your Excellency,” William replied politely.

“Please call me Shak’xur,” Shak’xur said that as a courtesy but from his eyes William could tell he wasn’t quite sincere about that. William would continue to call him “Excellency”.

“Your friend just didn’t want you to embarrass yourself… or embarrass him,” Shak’xur leaned his head back and gazed up at the ceiling. There were a few cobwebs gathering in one corner that bothered him, he made a mental note to have the ceiling cleaner whipped later, “But don’t be concerned about things like that. You’re not in the Palace anymore. Feel free to speak your mind.”

“With respect, Excellency, whenever I speak my mind people get offended,” William answered.

“And do I look like the sort of person who is easily offended?” Shak’xur asked. William’s brain was screaming ‘Hell yes you are!’ but he held that thought back and simply shook his head. Shak’xur raised one hand and pointed at the two girls in the corner who rushed to his side. A set of quick hand gestures and whispered staccato Tek’to’kum commands were all that the girls needed to know exactly what was required of them.

While one girl rushed off, her skirt raised up to avoid tripping over it, to fetch refreshments the other ran in the opposite direction to a chest of drawers and withdrew a wooden box that contained a chess board and a full set of pieces. The board was one of those simple cardboard mats with a picture of a chessboard printed and laminated on top of it. Its humble inornateness flew in the face of the opulence that everything else in Shak’xur’s home displayed.

The pieces were not so Spartan however, they were not black and white plastic as one would expect to compliment such a simple board, and they weren’t even the Ivory pieces William’s father used. The pieces Shak’xur possessed came in two different colors representing the two sides: one set was carved from the finest Jade stone while the other set was made from Blue Topaz.

“Chess, eh?” Muraja was a Jack of all Trades for the most part but there were three things he truly excelled at: linguistics, martial arts, and Chess.

“Yes it’s the only thing of human make of any interest to me,” Shak’xur said, setting up the board on a marble pedestal in front of his lounge chair and placing the pieces with great concern for getting each one in the exact center of each square. It seemed Shak’xur had among other issues mild obsessive-compulsive disorder.

“So what’s the story on the board?” William asked, “I know those pieces didn’t come with that board.”

“I visited your planet ten years ago, I’m sure you heard about it. While there I discovered this game and acquired a fine set from a little shop of treasures in the province called China. Unfortunately the board was broken several years ago by a clumsy servant who was immediately reprimanded and thrown out. A year ago a human diplomat gave me this board as a gift. It is rather plain and flimsy but I never waste a gift.”

“Why don’t you just have a new board made?” William asked, “It’s not like it’s a difficult pattern.”

“Like I said, I never waste a gift,” Shak’xur replied. What that really meant was that Shak’xur for all the useless luxuries and decorations he subscribed to was at heart a practical, thrifty person.

“A quick game would be nice,” Muraja proclaimed, meshing his hands together and cracking his knuckles. Shak’xur knew better than to play someone like Muraja at his own game but in William he saw an easier challenge.

“Perhaps your young friend would like to go first,” Shak’xur suggested.

“Oh sure…” William scooted his chair up closer to Shak’xur, close enough to reach the board. William may not have been Muraja’s equal but he was still no pushover when it came to the game, having beaten his father (a Master with an Elo Rating of 2230) a total of five times. The game started as most games start between two skilled players with the white side (in this case Shak’xur with the Blue Topaz filling in for the white) making the first move with a center pawn and the opponent mirroring the move and blocking the pawn’s path.

The second servant girl returned shortly with a tray with some coffee and a set of cups. The wafting, potent aroma of authentic Arabic Coffee reached Muraja’s nostrils before the girl was even through the doorway.

“Coffee?” Muraja chuckled, surprised at the appearance of a familiar smell on an alien world.

“Pardon me, but I spoke too soon when I said that Chess was the only human thing I appreciated,” Shak’xur took a cup from the tray and filled it near to the brim with hot, black coffee, “Unfortunately I seem to be the only person in the Empire who appreciates it and I don’t own any land suitable for its cultivation. Of course,” Shak’xur moved his Queen’s Bishop so that William’s King’s Knight was in its direct path.

A nervous beginner would make the mistake of moving the Knight despite the fact that it was protected by an adjacent pawn and leave said pawn exposed to the Bishop. William wasn’t a beginner and didn’t fall for that, much to Shak’xur’s disappointment. Shak’xur didn’t believe that William was a fool but he did severely underestimate his skill. With every move that William blocked and every trap that failed Shak’xur came closer to realizing that he was in a serious contest. The idea of losing was abhorrent to Shak’xur and he stopped sipping coffee and started to work hard on his strategies to ensure a victory.

Muraja wasn’t paying attention to the game, instead he was enjoying a neck massage courtesy of one the servant girls who was rather pleasantly surprised by the fact that he asked for it politely, even saying please, something Shak’xur would never do. William wasn’t taking the game as seriously as Shak’xur but that didn’t mean he wasn’t putting out his best game. After a long, difficult, and drawn out match Shak’xur managed to back William’s King into a corner and achieved Check Mate.

“I’m up next,” Muraja said, taking William’s place. But it seemed that Shak’xur had no intention of playing Muraja, not at Chess at least. Instead Shak’xur would force Muraja to play a Thra’ha’ken game, the game known as Kek’mur. Kek’mur was like Chess but about four times older and four times as complicated, it worked with three different boards stacked up on top of each other with a pole running through the middle.

The object of Kek’mur was simple, (at least that’s what an expert player would tell you) to bring ten pieces to the top level while avoiding losing too many piece to the opponent. The top level represented the highest place of power (traditionally this symbolized the realm of the Gods) while the two bottom levels symbolized Heaven (Tesh) and Earth (Ha’ken) respectively. Pieces on the same level moved similarly to pieces on a regular chess board but pieces on higher levels could descend and essentially attack any piece they wanted to.

The catch was they could only move up again by taking another piece on the current board, and while this move-down snatch-a-piece tactic was certainly effective for getting out of tight spots and saving a trapped piece or taking a strategic piece it detracted from the overall goal of the game and made capturing the highest level more difficult.

“I hope you’re not too unfamiliar with this game,” Shak’xur said, feigning concern.

“I’ve played it a few times,” Muraja replied, calm and undeterred as ever. The game began with Shak’xur playing aggressively, trying to poke at Muraja’s weak points in the bottom two levels while consolidating his pieces already at the top level. Kek’mur ends when one player gets more than half of their pieces to the highest level. When the game ends the total pieces each player has on the three boards is added up, with the player with the most surviving pieces still in play.

The game between Shak’xur and Muraja went by fast and ended in Muraja’s favor, much to Shak’xur’s chagrin. What made it all the more painful for Shak’xur was the fact that Muraja played the entire game without showing the slightest sign of mental effort on his part. There were no pauses for strategizing, no long-held looks at his pieces; it was as if he had the entire game planned out before it even began. He paid more attention to the back massage he was getting from the servant girl than he did to the game at hand.

“Outrageous…” Shak’xur grumbled, under his breath. Defeat was not something Shak’xur was used to but being beaten by someone like Muraja was almost enough to make him blow a gasket.

“Am I the first person to beat you?” Muraja asked politely. It wasn’t in his nature to rub anything in but no matter what Muraja said or did Shak’xur was bound to take offence.

“No,” Shak’xur admitted painfully, “I’ve been beaten by two people before you.”

“Was The’kar one of those people?” Muraja asked, with one eyebrow raised and a sly smile crossing his face.

“Yes he was,” Shak’xur said. The nails of his long bony fingers clawed into the arm of his chair. He would rather lose a thousand times to Muraja than lose one more time to The’kar, this was the reason he never tried a rematch with The’kar. The desire for evening the score was overpowered by his fear of losing one more time, “But enough of the past, I want to know more about The’kar’s present. More specifically I want to know exactly what two humans have to do with his trial.”
“We are here to testify on The’kar’s behalf,” Muraja replied, “I’m sure the Empress told you as much.”

“What could you possibly say that will have any bearing on this trial?” Shak’xur demanded, “Surely you weren’t on either of the ships involved in the Incident.”

“Look Shak’xur,” Muraja gave a quick non-verbal command to the girl to halt the massage. When the girl backed away Muraja sat up straight in his chair and adjusted his suit’s collar, “You know better than anyone that Thra’ha’ken law is a living, breathing entity. Innocence and guilt are not all that matters in this case, facts may damn The’kar but opinions matter too.”

“Opinions?” Shak’xur snorted.

“Yes, more specifically my opinions,” Muraja replied, standing up from his chair. When he stood up he towered over Shak’xur. Even when Shak’xur stood up, the 176 cm tall Muraja’s chin was still at Shak’xur’s eye-level, “In the end beliefs and opinions shape the world around us more than do facts, for better or for worse.”