Patterns of Chaos: Book One - The First War

“They’ve made their move?” Stragdoc asked, not even bothering to turn around to face Calixta as she entered his sanctum. His gaze was centered on new construction work being done to the vessel, as large non-vital portions of it were carefully disassembled and re-configured, lengthening and streamlining it.

“Yes, sir. The outlying nations opposed to the Alliance have been attacked by member nations. The Alliance is determined to stop the flow of our shipments to the surface.” She shifted uncomfortably in the new uniform she had been gifted along with her promotion to Chief of Intelligence, putting her in charge of monitoring events on the planet. “Additionally, the Americans are continuing to experiment with orbital craft, trying to find a design that could conceivably come after us.”

“Let them try.” The Emperor still had not turned to face her.

“Sir? Have I done something to displease you?” she fretted at his seeming indifference.

At that, he slowly turned to face her. “Not at all.” Like others, she had been stunned at the revelation of his true face. He looked her age, which was very disconcerting. “If anything, I should apologize to you. I never should have trusted the humans with your safety.”

“Sir, that’s...that’s not necessary.” Calixta stammered. “You couldn’t have known-”

“That makes me a poor leader then, if I couldn’t have predicted what was going to happen.” He sank slowly into a nearby chair. “Look at that.” He gestured to the great work taking place outside. “If I were any kind of leader, would this be necessary? A plan for escape and resettlement?”

Calixta kneeled next to the chair, looking pained. “Sir, you are the best possible leader we could’ve asked for. Without you, so many of us would be dead or dying. I would be dying.” At the time of her undergoing the Alphite process, she had been diagnosed with ALS. The early signs - the muscle weakness, the slurred speech - had already begun. Forty-four hours after the first injection, she had been cured completely. Her loyalty from that point had been absolute; her loyalty from the point of her rescue had been fanatical.

“True, I suppose.” Stragdoc sighed yet again. “I’m probably just homesick.” He waved halfheartedly at the nearby moon. “We mustn’t forget that the surface of Earth is where we came from, and to be forced into this exile, well.” He closed his eyes. “I long to feel the soil beneath my feet, to hear the lapping of the waves.” When he opened his eyes, they were cold. “And I am denied that.”

Calixta nodded. “What can I do, my lord?”

Stragdoc turned to face her, reached out and touched her face. “Hurt them, dear Calixta. Make them suffer.”

At that she nodded again, and without a word left his side planning how best to fulfill his desire. She felt a headache beginning, something that had been happening a lot lately to most of the Alphites, and thus distracted did not notice the Emperor’s expression change behind her to one of perverse pleasure.

“I should have entered politics years ago.” he murmured, chuckling. While it was true that he did miss non-recycled oxygen and water, the melancholy was simply an act. He was curious how motivated his people would be if he appeared distressed. It was an interesting experiment for him, nothing more.

He looked again at the rebuilding efforts. More children had been born and were displaying psionic talent. On top of that, he had begun sensing flickers of ability all over the vessel. His people were waking up, and he would need to do something soon, before they tried to break from his control.