Vermette - Iota 7

Iota 7

by Joseph Vermette

Copyright 2006 by Joseph Vermette. No material from this work may be reproduced without permission. To obtain permission, contact DawningHybridz. All rights reserved.

Iota 7

by Joseph P. Vermette

Dedicated to all my fellow dreamersthey know who they are.

Life is but a series of challenges which you must conquer.

Lt. Steven Frederick Saunders

It was a clear and cloudless afternoon in Freedahmer, the busiest and most prosperous city on Iota 7. The glowing horizon was nearly engulfed by the sprawling skyline, which was no longer praised as the architectural triumph it was. Long abandoned watchtowers encircled Freedahmer, connected by massive shielded barricades that had recently been converted into shopping promenades. The Shadows inhabiting the hamlet did not even vaguely recall the ancient and formidable threat that had prompted their ancestors to so entrench them.

None of them, that is, but for Conan Switzgerald. For him, the heat of the battle still lived as memories of the old glory days came to dance on his eyelids in the thick of the night. Shadowkind had been transformed since the end of the war, but Conan's mind had not digressed but in the tiniest of ways. The hardened veteran both laughed and shook his head at the antics of the new and inexperienced generation. How would Lord Damon have dealt with such frivolity?

He knew how he looked to the youth, though. He was a dusty and cobwebbed relic, better off in a museum than on the streets. His skin was leathery and marred by criss-crossing scars, his close-cropped hair white. He had a short beard and mustache that greatly accentuated his age.

Walking with a CR-pistol on his hip, Conan refused to degrade himself by joining in on new trends. He refused to wear anything but the silver and black uniform of the Emperor's elect guard, including when off-duty. The present ruler, Cliff II, was rather slack and submissive. Consistently, the once small but adept guard had quadrupled in size in the past quarter century. It seemed there was nothing sacred in this era.

As he maneuvered the bustling streets, Conan observed the decadence of his once great people. The roads and walkways were marked by graffiti and garbage, as if these testaments to time were valueless. Statues erected in honor of a string of Shadoway Emperors had been defaced and slicked with grime. In disgust, he noticed that there were call girls on almost every corner.

What had happened to the Shadoway Empire? In its prime, it had been formidable and cutting-edge, wresting the Earth from its lazy natives. Now it appeared to have become as inept as the fools it had deposed.

Lord Damon had told Conan he would one day lead the empire. He had waited patiently since then, never expecting it would be so long. Now he suspected that the fruit was ripe for the picking and he would not let it slip through his fingers. The current ruler would have to be sacked, for he was finalizing the Shadoway's demise. If Conan waited too long, there would be no empire for him to guide.

The Citadel overshadowed the downtown area, an ornate and

ostentatious superstructure. Three large tiers emerged from a central hub that was heavily shielded and gold-plated. Extremely small slits around the contour were actually windows, like dozens of hidden eyes. Airmobiles did not come within a block of the edifice's no-fly zone, making it seem even more dark.

Conan did not find it eerie in the least. In fact, he found himself right at home within the Citadel's periphery. He slipped right past the guards, who out of habit gave a curt salute.

Inside, the Citadel seemed even more huge. Conan passed room after room after room in what seemed to be an interminable wide and high-ceilinged corridor. Flux lights activated by his body heat projected a crimson incandescence, coming alive one-by-one.

When he walked into the presentation room, his footfalls foreboding his appearance, Conan was displeased to see that His Eminence was picking something out from underneath his fingernails. Captain of the Guard, he thought, and I still have to pander to this comedian!

Seeing that the Captain of His guard had arrived, Emperor Cliff Gildran II sat up in his gigantic throne, which looked more like it had been carved out of coal than a n opulent mineral. He spoke in his harsh and abrupt manner: "Glad to see you are still breathing, Switzgerald. Everybody else..." He looked around the room so that the other soldiers smirked. "...Everybody else decided you had been killed by Zenithian insurrectionists!" He chuckled in his rasping and disdainful way.

Highly affronted, Conan held back a yell. Anyone with sense would realize that by being vigilant about the Zenith, the human military movement, he was simply trying to consolidate the empire. But the current emperor, even worse than his predecessor, insisted on making of fool of Conan and his "paranoia". He could not deny that there had been limited contact with the Zenith, no more than a few minor skirmishes in the last two-hundred years. But to him the threat was always pressing, especially since he had led the original campaign against humanity.

Conan tried his best to sound harried. "I'm lucky to have survived, Your Highness. The Zenith has begun a full-scale invasion of this system and perhaps others. The weapons they are using...are unlike anything I have ever seen."

Silence overcame the audience chamber as the Emperor decided whether or not Conan was genuine. Finally, in an irritated timbre, he said,

"Enough of your nonsense. I was hoping you would not take long to get here... because we've something out-of-the-ordinary to discuss, something which hasnothing at all to do with the Zenith! "

"And what would that be?" asked Conan, putting as much haughtiness into the remark as was achievable. He did not address the Emperor any more than he would a commoner.

Cliff II came forward in his throne, his large stomach heaving, and snarled to reveal yellowed teeth. Large and bulbous flux lights beamed red light onto his face, so his pinched gray eyes looked all the more sinister. "You will address your Emperor as 'Your Highness' or 'my Lord'. Or do you have an issue with that, Captain?"

Deliberately Conan took several heartbeats to respond. "No no problem, Your Highness." He put enough phony sincerity into the reply to keep his life's blood, but anyone could have detected the irony. For effect, he added, "I am truly sorry to have offended you." This transfer reminded Conan of a frivolous human, putting the utmost emphasis on title and grandeur. In his heart, he heaved a massive sigh.

"Splendid," Cliff the Second returned, wondering if perhaps he had subtlety been made a mockery of. "Now that we've settled that, we can move on to a truly important enterprise. Follow me."

The over-fat glutton came off of his unimpressive chair and moved slowly to the corridor. Conan moved with him breast-to-breast while the remaining guards flanked him on all sides. The Captain knew that at least two of his five counterparts would be willing to do in the feeble ruler if the time and method was delicately set.

As they approached the conference room, they passed Conan's daughter, Faith Switzgerald. Quickly, Conan asked, "My Lord, would you mind if my daughter accompanied us?" The nineteen-year-old was intelligent and acted as a sounding board for ideas. The Emperor had recently began letting her sit in on more minor conferences.

Cliff II chuckled, but not out of maliciousness. "I sent for your dear Faith, Captain. I believe she should be included in all aspects of government from now on."