Date: 2nd of February 2017Location: 52° 4’12.91"N 4°18’2.61"ETime: 3.21pm
His Royal Majesty, King Heinrich Wernher, stood on the prow of his lightship, The Songstress, looking down at the royal palace in distaste. It was a green jewel, resplendent with King Mycroft’s colors of white and gold, and a testament to his power and prestige.
From his airborne vantage point, Heinrich surveyed the acres of sculpted and manicured grounds that surrounded the palace like plush carpet. The ornamental hedge maze with its mosaic central courtyard, so similar to his wife’s. The tiered fountains that might beguile children to play on warm summer days to the dismay of their nursemaids.
Heinrich loathed it.
Too many dark memories surfaced just by looking at it. It reminded him of everything the rebels had stolen when they destroyed his world key.
Outside of Kansas City, and nestled against the shore of a sunlit lake, his own palace had been of a simpler and more beautiful design. Not at all like this garish, sprawling testament to power and opulence. But the gardens that surrounded it were similar.
In distaste, he turned away and strode back along the polished wood of the deck to the bridge, nodding distractedly at the salutes given to him by his crew. He heard the telltale tone of the comm and suppressed a sigh. An hour could not pass without one of the other Monarchs requesting a status update.
This latest development with the Rebels worried all the Monarchs. And rightly so. The similarities between their recent activities and the theft of his world key were too striking. Whatever they hoped to achieve spoke of long-term planning, the same type of planning that had resulted in the Day of White Flame.
Almost imperceptibly, his brow furrowed as his thoughts turned to that day.
On that day, his wife and three children had been inside his palace. The destruction caused when the rebels destroyed his world key was so enormous it had created the Great American Wasteland: seventeen American states had been wiped off the map, in the matter of minutes. Tens of millions of his loyal and peaceful subjects dead. The explosion threw enough dust into the air to threaten a new ice age in addition to the inevitable famine, and disruption in farming for an entire hemisphere.
And . . . Heinrich forcibly averted his thoughts before their images might coalesce in his mind’s eye and etch a more permanent scowl across his countenance.
If not it hadn’t been for the actions of the other Monarchs, King Mahmoot, the Dragon and King Mycroft, the Hand of Light, the world would surely have slipped into an icy hell as it had many times past. Not that Heinrich could summon much motivation beyond revenge for those responsible. Not that it mattered. Hell. . . was a world in which everything one loved has been taken from oneself and been replaced by darkness. His thoughts lingered grimly. My own personal, dark hell . . . He was fairly certain he was already there.
That was what he called it, that sense of hollowness, that unseen and gaping scar. The darkness: hell seemed fitting enough. And despite his efforts, their images resurfaced and the crease in his brow deepened visibly. On the day his wife and children had died, so did his purpose in the world that by and large resembled King Mycroft’s vision of peace and prosperity. The Day of White Flame forged a new purpose for him., the darkness had moved into his soul. It defined him and colored every aspect of his existence.
He didn’t feel like much of a man any more. He was hollow aside from the angry pain, which seeped out like poisoned oil if he wasn’t careful. The music he loved no longer assuaged his mood. The taste of his favorite foods rarely pleased him. He knew, deep in whatever remnants of soul he had remaining, that he would never know the touch of human connection again. He now lived in a state of anesthesia. Numb, not feeling anything inside the cotton wrappings of his own personal loss that had shattered his soul.
Heinrich left the bridge, with its finely crafted controls and hand-picked crew. He took the corridor that led him into the bowels of the ship and the holding cells. He wanted to check the prisoners one last time before he delivered them to King Mycroft.
He ran a hand along the mahogany and onyx panelling, as if he were stroking a lover’s cheek. The Songstress, this was his only home now. A shining glass and metal lightship. Solidly constructed, it was a work of art, befitting the King he was and a fearsome weapon as well.
A beautiful blade to be thrust into the heart of the Rebellion. Heinrich smiled.
His ships, identified by his colors and compass rose crest, differed from the normal lightships that plied the air. His were the only lightships capable of transit travel, quantum movement from one location to another. His fleet of ships moved cargo and passengers far faster than any other kind of trade vessel. A privilege for which citizens of every realm paid handsomely.
However, they served a greater purpose now. It was also his greatest weapon against the Rebels. Intelligence beamed reports to him and his lightships traveled almost instantly to any location around the globe upon his command. It approximated having his Gift at full strength and obscured the crippling handicap the rebels dealt him with the destruction of his key. Excessively using his gift now left him in a state of exhaustion that took days to recover.
“Your Majesty. We are nearly ready to dock with the tower and take on our passengers.” The melodious voice of Thalia, The Songstress’ AI, appeared to come from the holographic image she projected next to him, floating down the corridor as he walked. Thalia chose to appear as she usually did: dressed in a Grecian toga, almost black hair styled in heavy dark ringlets, the very picture of her muse namesake.
Her appearance broke his train of thought and Heinrich nodded his acknowledgement, “Have the Countess welcome them aboard and send two drones to the holding cells and prepare to transfer the prisoners to King Mycrofts’ custody.”
All the Monarchs wanted to know what the Rebels hoped to achieve. To that end, the other Monarchs insisted on sending him Minders of their own, his imminent ‘guests’. The council tasked him with uncovering the rebels’ plans because he had detected the strange quantum distortion in the first instance. His subsequent investigation revealed the hidden rebel base and more importantly the plans for a device capable of a new kind of transit travel.
Not one that simply traveled vast distances, but one that enabled travel between realities.
He doubted how much real help these minders would be, but it could prove useful to have other gifted aboard besides himself. And the Monarchs demanded it, for however long it took to hunt down this latest ploy by the rebels to destabilize the five realms. And Heinrich suspected that these minders were not merely present to keep tabs on the Rebels after their inevitable capture.
Babysitters or usurpers? Heinrich hadn’t decided.
As he approached the secure area below decks which contained the holding cells, two humanoid, robotic drones moved out of a side corridor and Thalia’s voice respectfully greeted him from one of them.
“Thalia tell me about our guests.” he commanded waving a hand over the identification pad to gain access to the secure area.
“Yes, your Majesty. King Mycroft has sent an emissary only referred to as Mr. Delta. Strangely, my files do not contain any information about him.”
Delta . . . haven’t heard that name in ten years. I wonder if it’s the boy all grown up? Mycroft never did give me a proper explanation for that mess. Heinrich mused.
“King Mahmoot has sent his third son and twenty of his armored Elites to serve as the Prince’s personal bodyguard. Prince Ahmed Al Aziri. I have extensive files, his life is a matter of public record. Shall I have a copy of the pertinent information sent to the data reader in your quarters?”
“Please.”
“Queen Romanov offered to send the Princess Belya, but the news report on the local infonet indicates the Princess has disobeyed her mother by all accounts and is nowhere to be found.”
“Undoubtedly a blessing., I didn’t relish the prospect of having to dealing with any of those she-wolf slatterns she calls daughters trying to hump their way through my male crew.” Heinrich said as he approached the final doorway.
The only other contribution was the Empress having one of her son’s installation of the much improved device the she’d designed from the crude schematics developed by the Rebels during their most recent conspiracy. Her gift was perhaps the strangest of all of those imbued by the World Key’s. Not a physical gift, but a vast, overwhelming, and almost incomprehensible database of technological wonders and knowledge contained in her key and the ability to read it. She described it as a library lacking a reference key. Once she knew what to look for, she could find information on almost anything. After reviewing what little they’d retrieved from the Rebels’ plans, she quickly produced a device capable of allowing The Songstress to follow the renegade band to wherever they had run to ground.
The final door to the holding cells dilated open revealing its treacherous inhabitants. The older, Asian man carried himself with a proud bearing layered on an athletic figure despite the manacles. Beside him, a younger, Caucasian man with dark hair and an Eastern European look about him slumped in defeat. Despite the persuasive actions of Heinrich’s crew, as evidenced by the discoloration of their faces and hands, they had given him nothing. They wouldn’t fare as well with King Mycroft. The Hand of Light’s Gift would drag their secrets kicking and screaming into the light of day.
Heinrich sneered at them. Rebels. Violent, stupid and brutish. Unenlightened. It was the Principles. Mycroft’s vision encapsulated nine principles to establish a near Utopian society. When Citizens abided by them, the principles worked; the utopia thrived. Almost every Citizen in the five realms lived happy and productive lives. A Citizen lived with others who shared their goals and dreams. Fulfillment was only a matter of effort.
But the rebels.
They couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see that the average human being needed limits and guidance. Without the principles, there was anarchy, with the principles came peace. Like immature teenagers hell-bent on their own destruction and uncaring or unthinking about the future, the rebels pushed at their confines.
If they pushed too hard, Heinrich and the local Royal forces were always there to push back. When they ran, as they inevitably did, he gave chase. When he caught them, as he inevitably would, he’d punish them accordingly.
Seeing the King and his flanking metal guardians, the prisoners rose shakily, yet proudly. “Where are you taking us?” The older Asian man demanded, his head proudly raised, his eyes glimmering defiantly.
“You’re being delivered into The Hand of Light’s custody.” Heinrich answered nonchalantly. He took vicious satisfaction in watching their faces pale.
“Depending upon what he learns from you, you’ll either be scheduled for execution, or your status will be confirmed as Lifers. Given that you are rebels, I don’t fancy your chances of the second option. Unless there is some kind of leverage or usefulness in keeping you alive, you may not live out the month. Is there anything you’d like to tell me before you are handed over? I don’t need to tell you that your co-operation is more likely to result in staying alive,” his voice was ice, though he hinted at a promise of some human compassion.
The compassion was a lie.
With an angry glare from the older man and a defeated shake of the head from the younger they refused.
Heinrich shrugged and with a gesture, the armored robots strode forward, the containment field dissipating at their approach as they prepared the prisoners for transfer. Pity they didn’t give me anything more useful than an afternoon’s distraction. Maybe I’ll attend their execution when I return.