Phoenix Rising (Dragon Legacy) (11 page)

Stella heard Mtumba stir, and sat down, leaning forward and staring at him until he woke up. It took a few minutes, but eventually he cracked an eye open and saw her. He smacked his mouth, tasting something there that he didn't like. “Hi,” he said, waking up. “How long was I asleep?”

She shrugged. “I dunno, but you were muttering again.”

He scowled. “I don't mutter.”

“Well, in your sleep you do,” she retorted with a wry grin, and Mtumba shook his head, laughing. “It sounds like the language you sang the song in,” she prompted, and he nodded, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Well, I only know two languages,” he said, smiling. “And if it wasn't the one I'm using right now, well then...” he let it hang in the air, unspoken. He looked around, grimacing. “Is there any food around here?”

He woke up real quick, apologizing profusely, and she let him feel guilty about the gaffe. Reasonable, she thought. Even better, in an effort to make it up to her, he went off to find the food himself, and ended up bringing some back for her. As well as a bottle of water. She accepted everything he offered graciously, and smiled to herself with satisfaction as she took a delicate bite of her nutrient bar. Sweet, like the taste of victory.

In an abbey set high in the mountains, a solid-looking man sat with eyes closed in meditation, breathing a deep and slow mantra as he listened to the rhythm of the world beneath him. Rama Gaddion knew there were many changes afoot in the universe, but was currently more interested in perfecting his spiritual attunement than diving into a storm of political intrigue. He was focusing on establishing a waking connection with the merkabic guardian whom he believed resided deep within this planet's core. Or perhaps it was more of an essence, and he needed to be open to that possibility as well. Yes...

There, he definitely felt something at the edge of his awareness, gently tugging at his attention. Perhaps, finally, he had managed to communicate with the great guardian he had sought for so many-

“Daddy,” a little voice interrupted his meditation.

Rama cracked open an eye with a puckered sideways smile, and closed his eyes again. He laughed, and it was a sound both rich and warm. It was his daughter, Nya. The merkabic deity would simply have to wait, it seemed. He let out a deep breath and nodded, then opened his deep brown eyes. His daughter stood directly in front of him, and upon seeing he was clearly awake, giggled and jumped on his lap, knocking the wind out of him. “Oof,” he heard come out of his mouth.

Nya looked up at him thoughtfully, already wise beyond her three years of age. “Daddy,” she asked, “what were you doing before?”

He laughed and brought her to his chest in a gentle hug, kissing her forehead. “Sweetie, daddy was meditating.”

She didn't object so much to the idea of meditation, it seemed, as to the fact that it meant he wasn't paying attention to her while he did it. Rama knew this, and decided he'd done as much as he could today, anyway. He looked at his daughter, her curly brown hair and mocha complexion reminding him of her mother. She would be a heartbreaker someday...Suddenly he felt his protective instincts kick in. It amazed him how quickly those parental instincts could well up. He smiled.

Perhaps she was right, but...No, Rama was certain that there was something here. Something ancient and advanced. It called to him in his dreams, so he knew it was real, even if it was difficult to commune with while he was awake. Someday, though, perhaps it would respond to him and reveal its many long-forgotten mysteries of spiritual mastery...

Nya was looking at him expectantly, and he spoke. “Well, perhaps it's less that I can't speak to the world, and more that I can't hear what the world is telling me,” he suggested.

She laughed. “Daddy, you're funny!” Then she hugged him tight, laughed again and ran into the next room screaming as children do, eliciting an admonition from her mother to be careful while she was cooking.

Ah, Raya...how had Rama been so fortunate to find such an amazing woman? As the scent of dinner caught his nose, he felt himself thankful yet again as he was beckoned by a force stronger than anything he was feeling from deep in the earth. Hunger, he chuckled. So, he rose to his feet and stretched for a moment, then headed into the other room to join his wife and daughter at the table.

Perhaps Raya would be able to offer some insights about the sacred merkabic guardian over dinner. Rama would have to mention that the dreams had returned, and hoped she would understand what he had to do next, whatever it was. He was listening.

12

King Harris reviewed the map overlays of his kingdom on his three-dimensional projector. He still felt unresolved on how to facilitate improved relationships between several of his Holding Companies and a now-scattered tribe they'd had to relocate. The unfortunate result of discovering a priceless deposit of chrystum. Unfortunate, but unavoidable. Now he also had an intelliNet insurgency on his hands. Messy. All sorts of messes to deal with lately, he scowled.

The demands of war prevailed upon Harris to do what was necessary for the economy. He couldn't always slow down to maintain the cultural continuity of every tribe and community that had decided to squat on his undeveloped worlds. He closed his eyes, unable to see the best solution to this dilemma. He didn't see it yet, he corrected himself, going back to the maps. This kind of thing had earned him his gray hairs in the first place.

“Harris,” a familiar voice interrupted. The weary monarch steeled himself not to jump at the surprise, and turned regally to greet the High King. He fell to one knee, hand over his heart.

“My liege,” he responded, “how may I serve the people?”

John Phoenix walked over to the table and looked at it. “Good to see the Highreach Citadel in good repair as I came in. But it seems we have a problem to address.” Phoenix fixed his gaze on the king, his ancient clear blue eyes exuding calm authority. Harris nodded somberly, and the High King signaled to the projector. “Fill me in.”

“Yes, majesty,” he nodded, and signaled his earbud to display a file from one of the meta-chip rings he wore as part of his office. “Here it is,” he said as the file executed on the projector.

Satellite footage of the explosion of Regent Varion's tower appeared, and then it was rewound, zooming in to a close-up of the Regent receiving an alert right before the attack. It continued to show Varion's speech, and the polls he'd been accessing during it. John closed his eyes, pained by what appeared to be a betrayal of the trust he'd placed in his Regent. “Do we have audio for that call?”

“No, majesty,” Harris replied. “However, one of my sources logged an automated alert sent from a private number to a proxy that pinged at exactly the right moment and location for that transmission. It seems highly unusual, don't you think?”

“This is serious.” The High King looked at the footage, his face grim. “I have to take care of this. Blast,” he cursed. “He's playing with fire! He doesn't even understand!”

“He's too young to remember the last time we were really at war with the dragons, majesty.”

The High King gave a solemn nod. “So are you, Harris. Nevertheless, I know what you mean. War is hell, and why he would want to visit that upon my people...it's unconscionable.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “We may find ourselves thrust into war despite our strong desires for peace, and if that happens, we must prepare ourselves.” Commander Tobias entered, and John spoke without turning. “Tobias, inform the Knights of the first company that their presence is requested at the Prime Citadel in one month.” Tobias nodded and sent out the dispatches.

Harris looked at the table, shaking his head with concern about what lay ahead. For the High King had returned, and he was committed to setting his house in order.

“We'll see,” Harris smiled. Things would begin moving quickly now.

Regent Varion stood at the speaking podium in front of the assembled House of Lords, ready to lead the debate on whether to declare open war on the dragons, and what to do about the draconian sympathizers. He'd been working toward this for three years, and nothing was going to stand in the way of fulfilling his vision. Not today. This day...it belonged to him. With a smile, he began by addressing the assembly with his arms outstretched in a welcoming embrace of everyone in the great hall.

“Brothers and sisters of the Brigadier Empire...this vote will be remembered in history as the defining moment when we come together to ensure that our children and the future of civilization as we know it shall not be stamped out in the night by the creatures of darkness, nor by those who would serve them!” There was a rumble through the crowd, and he continued. “Who here will join me in passing legislation to preserve our way of life, and guarantee that we shall not go silently into that dark abyss, but that we will search out and destroy all those who would do us harm?” He pumped his fist for emphasis, his expression as determined as cold steel. More cheers, louder this time. Good. He kept going.

“I urge you each to search your conscience and please...do what is needed. For our culture to survive, we must take the war to the dragons! Who is with me? Who will help our people live free among the stars?”

The great hall erupted into wild cheers. There were no dissenters. Not here. No, they'd all been taken care of for today at least, and today was the only day it would matter. Varion smiled as the votes were cast, seeing his glorious future spread out before him.

Thus, it happened that legislation was passed granting wartime authority to the Office of the Regency. The gears of the great machine had begun to move, and all opposition to the stability of their fair civilization would be crushed. There were riots in the streets, and the intelliNet was abuzz with news of war. Indications were that all branches of the military would experience enlistment spikes, which would continue climbing over the next month. Varion was pleased.

Captain Eli saw the news over his earbud, and shook his head. Not good. He'd seen the results of war on the planets he'd delivered aid to in the past. It was dark, sad, and hopeless. Skippy was back at the ship doing maintenance on ol' Slowpoke's ventilation systems, so Eli had decided to catch a drink before heading out.

Eli looked around at some of the other men in the bar. They seemed excited to participate in the carnage ahead, and he suppressed a wince. He didn't raise his glass when they made an obscene toast in support of the war. Not when it made him sick to think about what was coming. Even if it was against the dragons, he had a hard time supporting it. A lot of innocent people would be maimed and worse...children...women. Eli shook his head, frustrated that the House of Lords had done this. One of the men saw him and swayed over, massive and menacing.

He looked at Eli and slurred, “Whas yer problem, man?”

Eli smiled, and looked into his empty glass. He decided to see if he could avoid a fight, and held it up. “I'm out.”

The big bruiser was confused, but burst into a laugh. “Well, why didn' you shay so?” He looked at the bartender and ordered a bottle of brew for Eli, who sighed, not really wanting to drink it. What he needed was to get off this planet. His aunt had warned him that there were people around looking to arrest those who had any sympathy for the dragons, direct or otherwise. That made him uncomfortable, but he'd decided to catch one last drink and real meal before hitting the sky. Turned out that was a bad call, he chuckled to himself.

“Drink up,” the man clapped him heavily on the shoulder, and raised his own mug. “Thish is for all the dragons I'm gonna kill!” he yelled, knocking it back. Eli groaned and let his drink sit where it was, untouched. “They'll all rue the day they met Bluko Dahr, future dragon-killer!” His friends egged him on, and the man kept drinking. Eli decided it was time for him to leave, and stood up, pushing away from the bar.

“Hey, you didn't touch your drink!” Bluko yelled, storming over and getting in Eli's face. “You a dragon-lover?” He was getting suspicious, and seemed like the kind of man who didn't need much provocation to start a fight. He was flexing his fists, still holding the thick mug in his right hand. His eyes glinted even through his drunken haze.

Eli put up his hands. “Look, all I'm doing is leaving,” he said, and put some credit on the counter for his meal and drink. “I don't need any trouble.”

“You don't need it, but you're getting' it anyway,” the big man growled, throwing a punch. Luckily, Eli was quick, and dodged it.

“Stop and think about it!” Eli shouted at Bluko as he deflected a heavy punch from the large man. “Why would we want to go to war right now?” Eli continued, and a few people looked over at him, listening. “The dragons? No! Nothing's changed! War's nothing but a rich man's power play! And people like you are their cannon fodder!”

“Kark you!” Bluko yelled, and swung as hard as he could, but missed, and took out a table behind Eli, drinks spilling everywhere in a spray of glass and shouts from angry patrons.

Bluko Dahr's swarthy friends jumped up to join the fracas, but fortunately for Eli, so did the rest of the bar, and Eli knocked the big lug out with a bottle across the head. The bar devolved into a crazy blur of fists, angry shouts, smashed chairs, and broken glass. The proprietor looked horrified, and put his hand to his ear, probably to call the local patrol. That would be bad for Eli.