Patterns of Chaos: Book One - The First War

When the articles detailing the strange gaps pointing towards the newly minted Emperor came out, the backlash was immediate. Two of the journalists who had taken part in the investigation died under mysterious circumstances. The Europeans recalled Mueller from the Chancel...except he refused to return, calling the accusations baseless and that his home was now the orbiting city. Medical records almost eighty years old were unsealed by court order, revealing that Stragdoc was the one hospitalized. And considering his listed date of birth was the summer of 1981, his youthful appearance showed that the process by which he granted the gift of immortality had to be far older than the incident of ’47.

In his lunar orbit, Stragdoc fumed. He had gone to great pains to delete his history, silencing those who might recall it, ensuring that when he reemerged that he would be relatively anonymous. Somehow, he had missed that the absence of information might itself be evidence against him. Despite his anger raging within him, he managed to maintain a level of focus that most could not, scanning news reports from across the globe. Morsalis had been arrested, with the entire Psi-Omegan embassy being seized by the European governments, who were awaiting American investigators, having persuaded the Europeans to allow them to take part. Morsalis and her Alphite staff were being permitted to remain within the embassy, pending the additional arrival of interrogators.

“So.” He began, turning to face a group of advisors who had arrived. “The humans have seized our property and citizenry who are guilty of nothing more than attempting to maintain diplomatic relations with our original home.”

“My lord, we cannot allow this to stand. I have what small fleet we have prepared to launch an orbital assault in retaliation.” A slight woman offered. This was Tilial Dalth, commander of all transports and ships the Chancel carried. By default, she carried the title of Admiral of the Fleet.

“No...No...We do that and they’ll vivisect our people...they’re animals down on the planet, in need of strict leadership and guidance…” Stragdoc murmured. He did not actually believe the first part of that statement, of course, but was rehearsing his eventual statement to the whole Chancel. “Our best course of action at this point in time is to send a small force to rescue the staff and destroy the embassy.”

“Destroy it, sir?” That was Simon Peters, chief scientist under the Emperor.

“Yes. I have no intention of allowing our earthbound cousins retaining any knowledge we have left there.” Stragdoc rose from his information bank. “Admiral, prepare a shuttle for a stealth mission. Additionally, I will accompany the team selected. It is time that the humans realize precisely what they are dealing with.”

The gathered advisors glanced nervously at each other. “My lord, I don’t…” A representative of the engineers in charge of the Chancel’s defense began before suddenly being thrown backwards against a far wall. He struck it head first, snapping his neck.

Paul Stragdoc, the Emperor, had not moved an inch. He waited until the man’s body hit the floor, and then strode forward towards the broken body, which was already mending. Grabbing the soon to be former advisor by the hair, he dragged him to his feet, eyes burning into the poor man’s terrified face. “You dare question me?” He snarled. His presence seemed to fill the room, the lights almost darkening from the sense of oppression. Stragdoc turned to face the others, who with a few exceptions (notably Dalth and Peters), were struck with terrified awe at the unleashed power of their leader. There had been rumors of the Emperor’s rages and secret power since his escape from his trial, and to see it unleashed was utterly terrifying. “Would anyone else care to question my orders?”

Dalth was the first to speak. “I would not dream of it, my lord, I only express concern for your well-being should things go wrong on the surface.” Dalth had witnessed the Emperor’s anger before, upon delivering the report on the shuttle explosion and had volunteered her life as forfeit for the failure to prevent the sabotage. Despite his temptation to vent his rage against her, he had admired her devotion to the cause and had instead given her charge of the fleet of remaining shuttles. Stragdoc nodded at her.

“Then I shall have to try very hard to not give cause for concern.” He snapped, and threw his victim across the room again. “As for that worm, space him immediately.” A pair of guards dragged the poor man from the room, him moaning objections the whole way. “Now, a small extraction team is to be assigned within the hour. I will meet them in the shuttle bay at that time. Dismissed.”

Once his advisors left, he glared at the blue-green globe far below. Damn you. He swore in his head against his opponent, directing his rage with laser-like precision at the planetary surface. Unexpectedly, a voice entered his mind unbidden.

You damned yourself long ago, Paul. It lamented sadly.

Stragdoc took a step back, shocked briefly. Gritting his teeth, he responded mentally. So. You inherited the power as well.

Sad to say, but yes. The woman’s voice came back. Not that I wanted it.

Stragdoc’s mind whirled. He had assumed that his own abilities resulted from the massive reconstruction his neural pathways had undergone following his injury long ago. However, her brain had not been destroyed the way his had.

Nope. Her voice was sadly smug, if such a thing were possible. Looks like the development of psionic ability is an inevitable consequence of your particular brand of evolution.

Swearing aloud now, Stragdoc erected a mental barrier, cutting off contact with the woman who had become his chief nemesis. “Damn her.” It always seemed to come back to her, time and time again. He was confident that she had not been rooting around in his head, confident that she did not know he was going back tonight.

Confident that this was the opening salvo in a war he had been planning for over half a century, which he had, manipulated global events to orchestrate, and that nothing, not Earth politics, not public opinion, and certainly not Jennifer Safyo was going to prevent him from bringing to fruition.