Soul Jacker - Original Fiction - Military Sci-Fi Space

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 40

Finished with his meeting agenda for the day, Evandor left the bridge area and went straight to the medical center of the ship. He stepped into the active medical bay, the one being used to absorb the bodies of the captives who refused to join him. It was a difficult and dark edict, but he was never one to shy away from those. He had little patience or use for those who opposed him, but this was different because these captives were once allies.

Fortunately several saw the benefits of joining him, but there were many who stubbornly refused which lead to a series of abductions that would provide bodies for his crew to live in. Not near enough, but it was a start. He had watched the first series of take overs. Confident that the system was working well, he let Major Asuna, director of personnel resources aboard his fortress, oversee the other procedures. Today's line up had one person he wanted to speak to face-to-face.

"Captain Alexander Chard," said Evandor as he walked through the door and spotted the grey man from Andorin.

"Are you here to gloat?" asked Captain Alexander Chard. He was strapped down onto one of the medical beds. Black straps around his chest, upper and lower arms, and his legs. The cyberjack support helmet was already on his head, but he was not yet plugged into the system.

"Hardly," Evandor said as he walked up to the bound man. "I am here to give you another chance."

"For what? To become a ghoul like you?"

"A ghoul?" asked Evandor, raising an eyebrow.

"What else would you call you and your kind?"

"That is a harsh and unfair assessment," replied Evandor.

"I call it the way I see it," said Chard. "You should all be put down."

"Why are you so hostile towards us?"

"Me? Hostile?" Chard barked out a laugh. "You attacked first!"

"There are mistakes we all have to live with," replied Evandor. "Don't make one yourself."

"The only mistake I made was getting captured so I couldn't kill you myself. That would have saved me and the others from what you're doing to us."

Evandor sighed and looked away, the words stung. Needing a distraction he brought up his right hand and he rubbed his fingers together feeling the texture of the flesh of his dead body. He knew he had to be resolute even as an idle thought crossed his mind as he wondered if his fingernails and hair would keep growing. "I was never known for one to keep prisoners. This is no different."

"No different? You are stealing the bodies of the living!" Chard said, his voice rose with the emotions behind them.

"If I choose to eliminate my prisoners, does it matter to them what I do with the bodies?" Evandor asked. "Dead is dead. It doesn't matter to them what happens to their remains. If I repurpose their flesh to something useful, then all the better."

Chard watched the admiral as he casually ran his thumb over his fingernails. His callous demeanor made Chard's teeth grind together. "Are you proud of what you have become? This vile creature of evil."

The words caught the admiral's attention. "Strong words, Captain," his voice flat as if he just commented that the floor plating was a medium grey color. "Hero or villain, it is all a matter of perspective. On this side of the frontier, I am a hero and called the Lion of Tomlin.

"It is not mere perspective," said Chard cutting him off. His voice terse and restrained like a hydro dam holding back megatons of water.

"Do not be naive. You are no different," said Evandor, cutting him off. "You protect your own and kill those who threaten you. You are no more noble or evil than I am or those in the other star nations. We believe what we are doing is right because we grew up in this culture and drank in what it told us to believe."

"There is more to it than that. The reasons why you kill or defend determine your character, your morals, and ethics."

"Morals and ethics?" Evandor scoffed, his ruined mouth twisted. "Those are discussion topics for those who are well fed and sit in warm chairs and are light years away from the threat of war. For those of us who put our lives in harm's way, it always comes down to protecting those that we value the most."

"Then you don't value the Republic?" Chard questioned, "The place you were born?"

"I foremost value those who trust me to protect them." Evandor's eyes went distant, he would never admit it, but the damn captain's words were hitting cords. It was no easy thing to leave one's home.

"Last year I discovered what the Tribes called me. Lou Gaurou," said Evandor shifting the subject. He saw that Chard did not react to the name. "I didn't know what that meant at first either," continued Evandor. "I did some research. It translates into 'the breathing demon,' or perhaps more like the 'demon who breaths."

Chard kept his face blank.

Evandor continued. "He is the superstitious representation of unknown deaths among the Tribes. Usually during exploration into new territories where death is often silent due to radiation, poisonous gases, oxygen deprivation, microbes, bacteria, or anything similar that can kill a person before they know what is happening. Lou Gaurou is the demon who comes and steals your soul. You do not know he is coming until you hear him breathing beside you. By then it is too late. It is like he breathes on you, and his breath takes your soul."

Evandor could see the look of recognition in Chard's eyes as he processed the meaning of the name. "I know it is not perfect, but I do appreciate the sense of irony. I find it a sense of accomplishment to be so highly thought of by one's enemies." Evandor gave Chard a half smile, pride in his eyes. "Lou Gaurou, the demon who takes your soul with a breath."

He walked up to the grey-skinned captain strapped to the bed and hovered over him. He peered down on the restrained man, bringing his face uncomfortably close to Chard's. "You rejected the first offer to join us, now I have come to ask you personally." Evandor said, focusing eye to eye. His voice became a whisper, meant only for the two of them, "Captain Chard, of the 2nd fleet, join me. Join us, the new Immortals. This is your chance to write history, to create a new and better universe where each of us will have time to achieve everything we may desire."

Chard held his gaze, steadfast and strong. "You do not understand, Admiral. This is no different from a Tribes' warlord asking me to join them, or a priest from the Dynasty of Peace or a baron from the Syver Dominion. There is nothing that you can offer for me to betray my loyalty and my people. I am not a traitor like you."

Evandor stood up straight, "You have my respect. If I were in your position I would likely make the exact same choice. Yet it is the wrong choice. We are on the edge of evolution."

Chard stared back hard, lips pressed tight in a thin line.

"I see that you value your old way of thinking too much. You will never understand." Evandor said. He let out a sigh, it sounded of disappointment.

"Take him," Evandor said to the medical clerk, one of the few who survived the event. The man reached over and plugged Chard in, moved back to his control pad and tapped a single key. Evandor kept his eyes on Chard's face and his stoic expressionless mask. "You may find this hard to believe, but I am more disappointed in what is about to happen than you."

Chard glared back at him, strapped to the medical bed, a look of stubborn defiance about him. He held a certain smugness. They all did at first, believing they could beat the system. The first sign of him cracking was his eyes bulging ever so slightly. He recovered quickly, but his pupils started to quickly dart side to side. Evandor knew that he no longer saw anything as he was fighting the invading souls of the dead. His body started to convulse as the internal battle intensified. It was not long before he threw his head back and let loose the silent scream. It looked like he was screaming from bone rattling pain, but not a sound escaped his outstretched lips. This was the death of his soul, going from the spark of life to the lifeless data file stored in the computer to analyze and pick through later. Everyone went through this part the same, the silent scream.

Chard's body came to rest, looking at peace, eyes closed. A smile came across him, his eyes fluttered open, and he gave a deep satisfied smile.

"War Admiral Evandor, Sir," said the person hosted by Chard's body.

Evandor glanced at the monitor at the head of the bed. The body now held Private Scott Everly. "Welcome to the new world, soldier."

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 40

Finished with his meeting agenda for the day, Evandor left the bridge area and went straight to the medical center of the ship. He stepped into the active medical bay, the one being used to absorb the bodies of the captives who refused to join him. It was a difficult and dark edict, but he was never one to shy away from those. He had little patience or use for those who opposed him, but this was different because these captives were once allies.

Fortunately several saw the benefits of joining him, but there were many who stubbornly refused which lead to a series of abductions that would provide bodies for his crew to live in. Not near enough, but it was a start. He had watched the first series of take overs. Confident that the system was working well, he let Major Asuna, director of personnel resources aboard his fortress, oversee the other procedures. Today's line up had one person he wanted to speak to face-to-face.

"Captain Alexander Chard," said Evandor as he walked through the door and spotted the grey man from Andorin.

"Are you here to gloat?" asked Captain Alexander Chard. He was strapped down onto one of the medical beds. Black straps around his chest, upper and lower arms, and his legs. The cyberjack support helmet was already on his head, but he was not yet plugged into the system.

"Hardly," Evandor said as he walked up to the bound man. "I am here to give you another chance."

"For what? To become a ghoul like you?"

"A ghoul?" asked Evandor, raising an eyebrow.

"What else would you call you and your kind?"

"That is a harsh and unfair assessment," replied Evandor.

"I call it the way I see it," said Chard. "You should all be put down."

"Why are you so hostile towards us?"

"Me? Hostile?" Chard barked out a laugh. "You attacked first!"

"There are mistakes we all have to live with," replied Evandor. "Don't make one yourself."

"The only mistake I made was getting captured so I couldn't kill you myself. That would have saved me and the others from what you're doing to us."

Evandor sighed and looked away, the words stung. Needing a distraction he brought up his right hand and he rubbed his fingers together feeling the texture of the flesh of his dead body. He knew he had to be resolute even as an idle thought crossed his mind as he wondered if his fingernails and hair would keep growing. "I was never known for one to keep prisoners. This is no different."

"No different? You are stealing the bodies of the living!" Chard said, his voice rose with the emotions behind them.

"If I choose to eliminate my prisoners, does it matter to them what I do with the bodies?" Evandor asked. "Dead is dead. It doesn't matter to them what happens to their remains. If I repurpose their flesh to something useful, then all the better."

Chard watched the admiral as he casually ran his thumb over his fingernails. His callous demeanor made Chard's teeth grind together. "Are you proud of what you have become? This vile creature of evil."

The words caught the admiral's attention. "Strong words, Captain," his voice flat as if he just commented that the floor plating was a medium grey color. "Hero or villain, it is all a matter of perspective. On this side of the frontier, I am a hero and called the Lion of Tomlin.

"It is not mere perspective," said Chard cutting him off. His voice terse and restrained like a hydro dam holding back megatons of water.

"Do not be naive. You are no different," said Evandor, cutting him off. "You protect your own and kill those who threaten you. You are no more noble or evil than I am or those in the other star nations. We believe what we are doing is right because we grew up in this culture and drank in what it told us to believe."

"There is more to it than that. The reasons why you kill or defend determine your character, your morals, and ethics."

"Morals and ethics?" Evandor scoffed, his ruined mouth twisted. "Those are discussion topics for those who are well fed and sit in warm chairs and are light years away from the threat of war. For those of us who put our lives in harm's way, it always comes down to protecting those that we value the most."

"Then you don't value the Republic?" Chard questioned, "The place you were born?"

"I foremost value those who trust me to protect them." Evandor's eyes went distant, he would never admit it, but the damn captain's words were hitting cords. It was no easy thing to leave one's home.

"Last year I discovered what the Tribes called me. Lou Gaurou," said Evandor shifting the subject. He saw that Chard did not react to the name. "I didn't know what that meant at first either," continued Evandor. "I did some research. It translates into 'the breathing demon,' or perhaps more like the 'demon who breaths."

Chard kept his face blank.

Evandor continued. "He is the superstitious representation of unknown deaths among the Tribes. Usually during exploration into new territories where death is often silent due to radiation, poisonous gases, oxygen deprivation, microbes, bacteria, or anything similar that can kill a person before they know what is happening. Lou Gaurou is the demon who comes and steals your soul. You do not know he is coming until you hear him breathing beside you. By then it is too late. It is like he breathes on you, and his breath takes your soul."

Evandor could see the look of recognition in Chard's eyes as he processed the meaning of the name. "I know it is not perfect, but I do appreciate the sense of irony. I find it a sense of accomplishment to be so highly thought of by one's enemies." Evandor gave Chard a half smile, pride in his eyes. "Lou Gaurou, the demon who takes your soul with a breath."

He walked up to the grey-skinned captain strapped to the bed and hovered over him. He peered down on the restrained man, bringing his face uncomfortably close to Chard's. "You rejected the first offer to join us, now I have come to ask you personally." Evandor said, focusing eye to eye. His voice became a whisper, meant only for the two of them, "Captain Chard, of the 2nd fleet, join me. Join us, the new Immortals. This is your chance to write history, to create a new and better universe where each of us will have time to achieve everything we may desire."

Chard held his gaze, steadfast and strong. "You do not understand, Admiral. This is no different from a Tribes' warlord asking me to join them, or a priest from the Dynasty of Peace or a baron from the Syver Dominion. There is nothing that you can offer for me to betray my loyalty and my people. I am not a traitor like you."

Evandor stood up straight, "You have my respect. If I were in your position I would likely make the exact same choice. Yet it is the wrong choice. We are on the edge of evolution."

Chard stared back hard, lips pressed tight in a thin line.

"I see that you value your old way of thinking too much. You will never understand." Evandor said. He let out a sigh, it sounded of disappointment.

"Take him," Evandor said to the medical clerk, one of the few who survived the event. The man reached over and plugged Chard in, moved back to his control pad and tapped a single key. Evandor kept his eyes on Chard's face and his stoic expressionless mask. "You may find this hard to believe, but I am more disappointed in what is about to happen than you."

Chard glared back at him, strapped to the medical bed, a look of stubborn defiance about him. He held a certain smugness. They all did at first, believing they could beat the system. The first sign of him cracking was his eyes bulging ever so slightly. He recovered quickly, but his pupils started to quickly dart side to side. Evandor knew that he no longer saw anything as he was fighting the invading souls of the dead. His body started to convulse as the internal battle intensified. It was not long before he threw his head back and let loose the silent scream. It looked like he was screaming from bone rattling pain, but not a sound escaped his outstretched lips. This was the death of his soul, going from the spark of life to the lifeless data file stored in the computer to analyze and pick through later. Everyone went through this part the same, the silent scream.

Chard's body came to rest, looking at peace, eyes closed. A smile came across him, his eyes fluttered open, and he gave a deep satisfied smile.

"War Admiral Evandor, Sir," said the person hosted by Chard's body.

Evandor glanced at the monitor at the head of the bed. The body now held Private Scott Everly. "Welcome to the new world, soldier."

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 41

Captain Sharran Blike stepped into the inner ship transit trolley. The Valiant was too big to walk everywhere. It would take an impractical amount of time. Sharran stepped through the sliding doors and told the computer her desired destination, the medical bays where the body transfers were taking place. She had to go pick up her new body before meeting the war admiral in the officer's galley. She was running thin on time because she had to reinstall the governor in her Lancer, it would have been irresponsible to leave her ship in non-operational condition. Going through the calibration and setting process took her longer than she would have thought. Once she got the green light for the systems check, she sprinted to the transit trolley.

During her run to the trolley, she realized her body did not fatigue, the muscles did not burn, nor was she winded. She simply had to command it to run, coordinate the muscle movement and off she went. Sharran thought she could sprint like this all the way to the medical bay if she so chose. It was like playing a video game, she commanded her avatar where to go, and off it went with zero concern. Sprinting aside, the trolley was still faster. The forward hanger being the distance it was from medical bay, which was in the back half of the ship.

Standing in the trolley, holding the top rail for support, her mind wandered to her latest mission. Lead chef for the admiral's banquet. She read the dossier that Reis had downloaded to her data pad earlier. It was worse than she thought. Evandor was hosting the other five full fledge admirals in the fleet. She had heard inklings that admirals would get together like this when they met in deep space, but she would have never fathomed that she would have to prepare the chow. It gave her a deep sense of dread.

Sure, she had aced culinary courses during school back on her home planet of Emilin. Her grandmother was an excellent chef herself, and a young Sharran learned under her tutelage. She needed some extra credits during school so she decided to take what she would breeze through so she could focus on her real studies of galactic navigation and gravitational theory that she needed to get into the pilot academy. It seemed the choice of gaming the system had come back to haunt her.

All that led her to this, captain of the Sabre Squadron of the 5th CASF before her 28th birthday. That position put her in prestigious company. She was one of the best pilots in the entire ECR. Very possible the best damn pilot in the known universe. Not just because of her reflexes and agility, but also because of her battle sense, being able to feel the flow of battle and predict what would happen. It wasn't something she would cognitively think about in the heat of battle, rather it was a skill that transcended thought, an innate ability that put her ahead of the competition. She knew others had it as well, this battle premonition skill, but her combination of pilot reflexes, combat senses, and navigational intelligence made her one hell of an ace pilot.

Her mind wandered back to the defining moment that jump-started her career and brought her here. She had earned her first combat wins against some pirates when she was part of the 2nd CASF fresh out of the academy. A few other skirmishes and police action got her noticed and transferred to the combat group with the Kenlin's Pride battleship fleet. She was stationed on the DC-0108 carrier that was part of the fleet.

The Tribes' attack fleet arrived and the saboteurs made their presence known. Initially, ECR intelligence thought the saboteurs where from the Tribes, but it was later discovered they were from the Dynasty of Peace coordinating with the Tribes against the Republic.

Their bombs killed the pilots of the only Lancer squadron onboard the carrier. At the time, the Lancer was making its debut in combat, proving itself the best strike craft to come off the ECR's drawing boards in years. It was not the only bomb to go off, others claimed more lives in key positions in the fleet. The most significant was Admiral Kar of the Kenlin's Pride. Stripped of its commanding officer and some of its best pilots the fleet stationed at the Deketer System was put on the defensive.

The Tribes had orchestrated skirmished across the sector that kept nearby elements of the ECR fleet from redeploying to Deketer, which was the primary goal of the assailants. If they could take the system, they would take control of key Republic planets, the resources that came with them, and have an access point to deeper Republic planets.

The only reinforcements to back up the beleaguered defenders was Evandor's, who at the time was an admiral in command of the mega-carrier Mattius' Rampage and her associated support fleet of destroyers and frigates. Evandor came to the battle late, finding the command structure of the defending forces in ruins. He took over control of the remaining military elements. The battle raged across the system, from the small colonies, mining facilities across moons, various planetary landscapes, and the void of space. She reminisced about the first time Admiral Evandor, the legendary Lion of Tomlin, ever spoke to her.

"You are to engage the rear elements of the strike force targeting the bombers and assault corvettes. You will continue to engage them until you are no longer able." Blike did not react to the last words. 'Until you are no longer able' was military speak that meant the order was to fight until you were incapacitated, captured, or killed. She knew that the battle was on the edge of being lost, but those were grim orders for him to issue. Still, she had to admit, she respected the fact that he delivered them personally instead of making a subordinate do it.

"I would have preferred to give this assignment to anyone else," she heard him say, her eyes focused back on his face. He looked as exhausted as she felt, but his mannerisms showed a steely determination, "but, you are the only one I have that is capable of succeeding in this task. The entire counter offensive is dependent on your ability to stave off this strike force. You will have the element of surprise, but you will be badly outnumbered with no reinforcements available."

Despite herself, a smile creeped across her face, unseen because of the breathing mask. She had just received orders that amounted to a death sentence, but reading between the lines, Admiral Evandor, the most accomplished citizen, pilot, commander, and the pride of Tomlin system, just told her that she was the best pilot he had under his command. That he would have done anything not to lose her so he could keep his best pilot, but he had no choice because no one else was capable of doing the mission. She felt a surge of pride that he would consider her with such high regard. She flipped up the visor of her helmet so she could meet him eye to eye. "You can count on me, sir," she said and gave him a wink.

A twitch of a smile came to corner of his thin lips. "Thank you," was all he said as he cut transmission, his face disappearing from her monitor.

"Did I just wink at the fleet commander?" Blike asked herself, a sense of horror flushing over her at the blatant break in military protocol. She could feel the heat of a blush run across her face, which was very unlike her. As any Tomlin, she prided herself on having a level head and a calmness of purpose. Now she felt like some sort of Earth schoolgirl. Giving her head a shake, she flipped down the chromatic visor.

"All right Vermillion Squadron," she said keying her comms to her squadron channel. "Prepare to launch, form up on me. We are going to strike the under belly of the wolf. It will be a target rich environment, control your rate of fire, and watch your wingmen." With the sudden shortage of elite pilots for the new Lancers, she had the privilege of taking them to the dance.

They came in hot on the planetary assault ships. The flight plan had them use the gravity wells from both orbiting moons to bring them in behind the planetary assault ships laden with infantry and vehicles. The planets remaining defenses would not be able to hold off these fresh troops for long. If the Tribes' infantry took the planet and lodged themselves in, the remaining ECR forces would not be able to take back the planet. It would have been a disaster.

The planets survival depended on the Vermillion Squadron's ability to thin the pack before they reached the planet. Her reinforced squadron of eighteen stealth Lancers dove in from behind slicing past the rearguard elements who were taken completely by surprise. The Lancers hit assault ships as they were preparing to enter the atmosphere, which forced them into a predictable and vulnerable flight path.

The Tribes' lead fighter wing had already entered the atmosphere in escort and could not help their beleaguered comrades. Blike's squadron lit up the heavy assault corvettes as they transitioned from space to air. It did not take much damage to set a ship at a wrong angle or compromise its heat shields sending it into a burning death spiral.

Their timing was impeccable. They ignored the rearguard because once they got into the atmosphere the space-only fighters would not be able to follow. They reacted too slowly to the unexpected threat giving only sporadic and wild fire before having to give up the chase. The last thing they expected was to have attackers come in from behind them. Out of the action, they stayed in orbit preventing any hope of retreat for the Lancers. That didn't matter because retreat was not in the plans. If anything, it tied up enemy combat units from participating in the fleet battle that was taking place near the sixth planet. Evandor was striking the main enemy fleet after it disgorged the majority of its fighting force to planetary assault and was acting as the high guard to prevent any ECR forces to try to rescue the beleaguered planetary defenders.

Conventional wisdom would have been to protect the vital resources of the planet. However, Evandor did not have the habit of being conventional. Instead, he used the planet as bait to strike at the enemy fleet. Though outnumbered, he knew if he could force the Tribes' Fleet to retreat, and if the planet could hold, then the ECR would win the day. This was his best chance, and he was going to take it.

Once the assault ships recovered from the initial shock of being attacked from behind during atmosphere entry, they began to fire back. Blike and her squadron went from full-time freewheeling predators, to spending more time trying to keep out of the crosshairs of the enemy gunners. Their combat effectiveness depreciated, as they were no longer able to lay all their guns on a single target making short work of it. With all the counter fire, they had to break formation and take shots as they came. Over the next several hours, they did attack runs on landing ships in the air, strafing runs on ground troops and fortifications, and engaged in dogfights with enemy fighters. They skittered from one battle zone to another trying to catch landing ships before they off loaded their troops. They did get some relief from the air force elements defending the planet, taking turns saving each other from certain doom.

The battle raged for the entire day. She kept her Lancers in the fight by landing in forward supply depots provided by the defending army. Landing long enough to fill the Lancers fuel tank and having the ground crew toss field rations and water into the cockpit to fuel the pilots, the engines didn't even get a chance to cool down. The ability to land vertically allowed the supply depots to remain hidden, but as the battle ebbed and flowed, they became less available as some pulled back, and others were overrun.

Enemy weapon fire took its toll on her squadron. It did not matter how talented the pilots were or how excellent the new Lancer flex fighters were built, eventually death caught up to them. Those who fell went in a blaze of glory, like Lieutenant Mazt, who came in on a Tribes' landing ship head on. He was flying less than twenty meters off the ground as he raced toward the enemy ship zipping over the rolling grass plains. He knew his quasar guns could not breach the front armor of the large ship so he came in low and fired his weapons into the opening maw where the soldiers would be pouring out. His shots sliced through front rows of the infantry rending torsos in half. The ground troops recovered quickly and fired back, the hail of fire struck his rear flight control stabilizers before he could pull up out of harm's way. No longer being able to steer his craft he engaged the afterburners hurtling himself in the hanger full of infantry squeezing the trigger the whole time. His compromised ship turned into a fireball as he crashed into the belly of the ship at nearly supersonic speeds. The heavy corvette shuddered before the side blew out of it sending it careening in the opposite direction landing roughly on its side, the gaping wound pouring flame licked black smoke out of it. Blike did not get a chance to see if any ground forces managed to get out of it, but she knew that ship would not be participating in any further operations.

Over the day, she skimmed over oceans and grasslands, sliced through rock canyons and cityscapes, and blasted into low orbit to evade planet bound air fighters. Her guns ran hot, so did her engines. The frame of the Lancer held strong and true throughout countless combat maneuvers. As twilight approached, her squadron was down to herself and one other still in flight. One pilot, Kennd Urnant, managed to eject from his stricken craft and made his way to friendly ground forces where he joined the infantry defenders. All others were lost and later confirmed killed in action.

The defenders were down to their last fortress, it was near the capital city of Demar. It was surrounded and taking a pounding. Blike and her remaining wingman Terrel were flying back to the city. They had just left the battle where the second to last fortress fell. There were no more options to refuel or rearm as every field air base was overrun and the air base in Demar was unreachable because the Tribes owned the air zone. There was no way they could hope to land and take off from those runways. Even if they could, she was not able to raise the control tower.

The sun was setting as they approached the fortress, its tall armored walls rising all around it reflecting orange hues. They could not see the invaders from this distance, but she was sure their armor and infantry divisions lay in the surrounding country like rodents ready to lunge forward and take the spoils.

"Looks like they don't see use coming," Blike said over the radio to Terrel.

"Yeah, we'll teach them for being arrogant bastards," said Terrel, snorting in mock laughter. They both knew they were out of options. Nowhere to run and reports indicated that the Tribes were not taking prisoners. It was possible the Tribes' commanders might change their prisoner policy now that the battle was wrapping up, but that was a hope she wouldn't put money on.

"Let's see if we can find something that looks important and put lots of holes into it."

"Sure," said Terrel. "I hope you didn't have any plans for tomorrow," he laughed.

"Well, I was planning to wash my hair. Why? Are you asking me out?"

"Damn right I am," he said playing along.

"I will be done washing my hair by eighteen hundred hours' local time. Pick me up then."

"I will, and wear something pretty with a skirt."

She laughed, "Don't worry, I will show some leg for you."

"Good, good."

They flew in silence for the next few minutes, going over the readouts on their scanners as they approached the last battle scene.

"We got chasers," Terrel said, all sense of jovial flirting gone from his voice. Blike recalibrate her scanners, sure enough multiple airborne contacts behind them.

"Shit, that looks like an entire fighter wing behind us." Blike expected the enemy southern battle group to arrive, but they came much faster than she would have expected. With the enemy airborne contacts registering in front of them they had nowhere to go and would have a very short life expectancy.

"Permission to join your strike team, Lieutenant Blike," came the words from a female voice over her comms.

"Identify yourself," she countered.

"This is Captain Tenner of the Warhogs," she answered. Blike recognized the pilot and squadron name from the mega-carrier Mattias' Rampage, which was Evandor's ship.

"Sharran," said Terrel on a secured channel. "They are Lancers chasing us with gun and assault corvettes coming in behind!"

If she were in her body she would have laughed, hooted, and hollered. The reinforcements she wasn't to expect had just arrived. "Permission granted, Captain," she responded.

"Form up with me and let's shred the Tribes a new one," he said, his voice all business.

"Hey, Sharran," said Terrel still on their secure channel. "Make sure you wear something low cut for me when I pick you up tomorrow."

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 42

The chime of the transit system with the monotone genderless voice announced the arrival at her destination and brought her out of the memory. The doors slid open and she stepped out.

That battle was the turning point of the campaign against the United Free Tribes. Both sides lost more than they wanted, it would have been worse if Evandor had not come in to intervene. After that battle, the old war admiral was led to retirement and Evandor stepped into the vacancy.

The surviving pilots of the Vermillion Squadron all went on to bigger roles. Evandor claimed Blike for his new command on Victor's Valiant. Terrel went to Mattius's Rampage, and Kennd Urnant who was shot down was taken by the 2nd CASF mega-carrier, Juno's Courage.

She pushed all that out her head, with the imminent reality of finally getting a living body. She wondered whom she would get. How attractive she was, her height, body type, hair color all rolled in her mind. How it would feel to be with a different phenomenon, to feel the warmth of life, blood pumping through her body. The thoughts thrilled her. Anticipation, excitement, desire all twirled inside of her.

She stepped into the medical bay, the door closing behind her. Her eyes jumped from bed to bed quickly finding the one with a living female body. Blike walked up to it, anticipation escalating inside of her. Her hands began to tremble, she wanted to jump right into this person and take her.

Blike looked down at the body. It looked peacefully asleep. Eyes closed, breathing shallow. She definitely was attractive, almond shaped eyes, jet-black hair cascading around her face, and red, full lips. She would guess she was in her early thirties. It will definitely be a change compared to her thin features and pale coloring. Sharran was considered slender among the Tomlins, which made her rail thin compared to most other humans.

Her call sign, 'Slice' was a by-product of her being so thin. Her first operations officer commented how she was just 'a little slice of pie,' which regrettably stuck. In time she earned her wings, combat kills and promotions but the call sign stayed with her. Now she used it in an aggressive form of how she will 'slice' through her enemies, or 'slice' up her target.

"This one mine?" she asked the medical tech hunched over a console. He turned in his chair just enough to see her over his shoulder, squinting dead dry eyes at her.

"Captain Blike," he said with his raspy voice. "I have been expecting you. Yes, that is the one you're allotted." He turned back to the console and went back to tapping the touch screens with his bony fingers. "Please lay down in the bed next to her and plug yourself in."

Sharran walked around the slumbering body to the bed the med tech pointed out. Her eyes never left the body, "Where is she from?"

"Merlur."

Merlur? That's interesting. She could see how their heightened senses would be a useful talent when it came to cooking. Sharran gave the black hair a tug, it was real. Normally hairless like the males of Merlur, the females tended to get hair implants to appease normal social pressures of attractiveness. She lay down on the bed, plugged herself in, and waited. "Now what?"

"I have set up a relay between you two," rattled off the med tech by rote. "Jack in, follow the path. It's easy."

"Easy you say," Blike repeated. She forced her eyelids closed, dry flesh scrapping dry eyes. She focused on the cyberjack port and sent her essence rushing through it. It was as simple as promised as she passed through the relay and found the destination. She could practically feel the warmth of life drawing her forward. It was like leaving a cold winter night and walking onto a lush tropical beach.

As her spirit filled the new body, she could feel herself trembling with sheer ecstasy with the first lungful of air. Her mind flushed filling with the sensation of heat and touch. It was as if electricity raced up and down her skin as her mind connected with the new brain registering the sensory organs. Fireworks of sensation exploded in her mind, she let out a shuddering breath. "Wow."

Sharran opened her eyes. Vivid colors erupted in her vision. "Wow," she said again. "This is better than how I remember life." She reached up to unplug her new body. She missed the cable on the first try, and took a second attempt to grasp it and pull it out. She sat up, still holding the plug. She rubbed the plastic jack with her fingers noticing how she could feel the grain of the flexible plastic though she could not see anything with her eyes.

"The Merlurian touch sensation is amazing," she said as she sat up swinging her legs off the bed. She dropped the cyberjack and jumped off the bed. She misjudged her landing and pitched forward ending up on all fours. Sharran carefully stood up. She realized this body had shorter legs than she was used to and that threw off her landing.

Looking down she realized this body's breasts were massive. Well, maybe not massive, but considerably larger then what she was used to further throwing off her balance. Reaching up she grabbed them with her hands. "These things are huge," she said as she squished and fondled them. She wondered how this woman didn't fall over all the time.

"New bodies sometimes take a few minutes to get used," said the med tech over his shoulder. Sharran quickly dropped her hands and smoothed the fabric of her uniform pants around her hips. "The mind is used to your old body's proportions," he continued. "Don't worry, you will soon assimilate with the muscle memory inherent in the brain in this body and you will be fine."

Sharran ran her hands over her new hips. This woman was fit, but compared to her old Tomlin body she was curvy and voluptuous. She couldn't help but tug at her collar, these clothes seemed rough and chaffed against her, it would feel good to be rid of them and find some of better quality. Taking a precarious step forward she tried to figure out how to walk with this new set of hips and body. Foot placement was different and she realized that if she swayed her hips in time to her steps that it felt fluid and probably looked normal.

She went back to her original body. She took off the wrist data pad interface and fastened it to her new body. She checked the time and got going. She had to meet the admiral and that involved another trip on the transit system. She discovered the faster she walked the more she had to sway her hips. Really, this body was not very practical.



Chapter 43

War Admiral Marcus Evandor ran his fingers along the stainless-steel counter top in the officer's galley. Large pots and pans dangled from hooks in the ceiling, as did large utensils. He never had a passion or desire to put his energies into learning the culinary fine arts. He barely knew what most of these cooking tools were called let alone their correct application. As far as he was concerned, he had more important topics to study. Still, he did admire the look and feel of a well-kept kitchen. All the gleaming items spotlessly clean and precisely placed in what he assumed was practical and efficient locations.

Losing his entire galley staff was a big loss. They had no reason to cyberjack in during the battle and when the power failed, they all perished. The thought of his crew suffering such a fate made his blood boil. The emotional reaction was more than he was used to, no doubt an attribute of this body. The one he was occupying came from the Strana system. Tall at six foot three, it looked and felt bigger because of the massive muscular barrel chest and wide shoulders common among its people, as were the oversized hands and feet. He wanted to test out its strength in the fitness room later. He was sure this body could lift more weight than he could have ever imagined trying in his Tomlin body, even at the peak of his physical strength.

Strength aside, he did not like how his emotions flared up in this one. It was a heady feeling and was hard to control. He wondered if this was how all the other races had to cope every day. No wonder some of them were not leadership material. He could feel his body heat rise, making him start to sweat. He undid his over shirt and stripped down to the grey military issued t-shirt underneath. Not as formal as he would like, but it was an informal meeting and he did not like sweating. It was rather uncivil.

His mind went to Captain Blike, he was glad that she had some culinary skills because he knew he could trust her. After the battle at Deketer, he pulled some strings to promote her to his flagship. Some said he was playing favorites because she was a fellow Tomlin, but her record spoke for itself and any self-respecting strike craft commander wanted as many Tomlins as possible. If he didn't pluck her from her posting when he did, someone else would have. It was not just her pilot's skills, but her uncanny battle sense as well. She knew where to be and when, to not take undue risks, but still be daring at the same time. That combat intuition will eventually get her promoted out of the cockpit to a command position in a large ship. It would be a shame to lose her as a pilot, but it would be a greater shame to leave her as one.



Captain Sharran Blike rounded the corner. The door to the officer's galley was up ahead. She felt flustered with the body she occupied. She must be doing something wrong, she had more than one crew member she passed give her an odd look, one male even had the gall to whistle at her after she walked past him. Turning back, she caught him getting an eye full of her rear end. Not really her butt, but the one that belonged to this Merlurian woman. Blike tried to slow her stride and change her gait to take some of the sashay out her hips as she walked. She was pretty sure she was doing it better.

She paused at the door, took a deep breath, and steeled herself. Through that door would be the galley, the commander of the fleet, and the most renowned citizen of the Tomlin race. It would be her first encounter with him alone and it made her more nervous than flying into a battle. She stepped forward. The automatic door sensed her and opened.



Evandor heard the door open and lifted his eyes from the data pad. He had downloaded a menu highlighting some of the favorite dishes of the other admirals and the planets they hailed from.

He caught sight of the woman coming through the door. She was talking about something, but the words seemed to bounce off him without registering. He could not help but to watch her move. Her hips swished from side to side in that wildly alluring manner, those large breasts joining in the seductive rhythm of her body. He felt the Strana body rise in temperature. Blood accelerated through his veins and he felt the body react in other ways. Evandor casually sidestepped so that he would be behind the counter, putting it between him and Blike.

He realized she stopped talking. He tore his eyes upwards to look her in the face. She had an expectant look about her, that alluring face with those big blue eyes. She must have asked a question that Marcus did not catch. He began talking and gestured her forward.



Blike walked through the door, spotted the lone man standing inside and presumed it was the admiral. She walked forward in what she was sure was a confident stride and recited her credentials for the upcoming mission as odd as the situation was to her.

She did not understand why he was just wearing a t-shirt, one that looked a size too small and hugged that muscular chest of his. She ripped her eyes off the well-defined torso and moved them upwards as his eyes were up there. She almost faltered when she saw his expression. He looked positively intense, was he angry about something? Did she say something wrong? Finishing her monologue, she asked the admiral what he had in mind.

Coming to halt she waited for his answer. He stepped behind the counter island and waved her over. She could not help but notice the size of his hands. They were massive and looked so strong. She jumped when he started talking, launching herself forward she thought it would be best to come around to his side. She hurried over, her breath coming fast and heavy. She was sure it was the occasion, maybe the body she was in had something to do with it as well.



Evandor focused on his data pad, going over the flow of events and how many courses there were to be for the meal. He then went over each admiral attending and his or her preferences. He kept his eyes on the data screen, but he could sense her come around the corner and was soon standing next to him. They were practically touching elbows.

She was leaning forward looking at the information on his data pad. He could not help, but notice her jet-black hair and her heaving chest. He was sure chests normally did not heave like that.

He gave his head a shake. He had forgotten what it was to be in his early twenties. This body's drive was considerably more intense then how he remembered it in his youth. His rational mind told him he needed to leave. As an officer, he prided himself on an above board with a clean record. He kept himself far removed from scandals, not even a hint of corruption or abuse of power so that he was above reproach when he was considered for promotions.

He felt this body reacting, its body chemistry influencing his thoughts. Wisdom attempted to tell him to step away. To get himself to a safe distance and reconvene his train of thought. Yet, he relished how good it felt to feel like this again. It was completely improper, as he was an old man in a high position.



Sharran was standing closer to the admiral then she intended. She could feel the heat emanating off his body. She thought about stepping away, but that seemed like it might be an awkward move. Like she was shrinking back, and she was not one to shy away or to look weak.

Yet, a part of her was telling her that the proper course of action would be to step away and try to make it look casual. The only problem was that another part of her was enjoying being this close to Evandor. She had read about him in the academy, his exploits and fame.

Closing her eyes, she could feel his presence near her. She regretted that she would have to find a way to step away.



Stifling a sigh, Evandor made his decision, the morally upstanding choice because that was him. He looked at her. He was standing slightly behind her. He took in her beauty. The physical body was one thing, but the person underneath complimented it. Perhaps it was the other way around. He was going to tell her that their time had run out and he had another appointment he had to attend. However, he would first take one last pleasure. He leaned forward and smelled her hair. Intoxicating.

She turned to him, her face looking up. Large blue eyes, searching into his, mouth slightly open, as if to say something. Evandor did not tell his right hand to move to the small of her back. Nor did he tell it to draw her in close, her body pressing against his. He did however tell his other hand to reach behind her head and draw her in so he could kiss her. The passion coursing through their bodies freed their minds of all inhibitions.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 44

Tamiki sat in her the small cell alone. She had reported to the bridge of the Tribes' destroyer as instructed where the Rippers were waiting for her. She was disarmed and was placed with the group they had already captured. They were corralled to the hangar and transported over to the Valiant, which is when she saw the rest of the dead that Chard had warned about in his message.

Sure enough, they walked and talked. They took her with the others to holding cells on the big ship. The Valianthad a large cellblock, the designers factoring in that it would be in engagements that could result in the capture of enemy ships or planets and would need a suitable sized brig to hold prisoners.

She curled up on the bottom bunk, knees tucked under her chin with arms wrapped around her legs. Her green eyes stared into nothingness, her mind replayed the events of her capture. Once scene in particular, that of Sanzzer getting impaled and struggle for breath kept coming back over and over again. Waves of guilt washed over her for leaving Sanzzer with the demented Ripper. Tamiki knew Sanzzer suffered and died because the ripper had mistakenly thought she killed the other ripper pilot. Her nerves where on edge, and she expected that Ripper to find out the truth and come to her cell.

She stared hard at the wall. In her peripheral vision, she could see prisoners being escorted out. She never saw them return. Her mind had begun to disassociate from her reality, as it could not accept what it perceived. It wandered back to memories of her home planet Skalorr, to the times where she ran through the great plains of soft green knee high grasslands over gently rolling hills, racing with her group of family and friends in a pack. Blue skies, warm breeze, and laughter on the winds. They did not run to go anywhere. They just ran for the sheer pleasure of running. Feeling the strength of their powerful legs, lungs drawing in air, minds clear as the sky, hair flowing behind them. Visualizing herself running, triggered her Skalorrian physiology. Not as much as if she was physically running, but she could feel the stress hormones begin to break down and wash out of her mind allowing it to function better. Her shoulders loosened, as did her grip around her legs. Her head rolled back leaning against the cold metal wall. Despite the brevity of fond memories, she knew she was doomed and tears would slip down her cheeks.

She sensed the presence of someone watching her. Her eyes opened to slits. Sure enough, she could see a figure of a man standing in front of her in the tiny cell.

"Tamiki?" Captain Rahmore asked his voice soft and gentle. She looked like a mess, eyes dark and puffy. Her jet-black hair was no longer pinned up and was cascading around her shoulders where it fell. Her light grey uniform was rumpled and had blood splatters on her boots and pants.

"Tamiki?" he asked again when she didn't respond. Her eyes opened a crack wider, lashes looking lumpy.

"Rylan?" she asked her voice dry and raw. "Is that you?" She peered at him through bleary eyes. She could have sworn he had a hint of an amused smile on his face. Did that man ever take anything seriously?

"It is"

"I thought you died."

"I almost did," he said his voice soft as his stance, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly slouched forward. "There was lots of chaos when they awoke."

"They attacked us."

"They thought we attacked them first."

"What?"

"They saw us docked with the enemy destroyer and thought we had sided with them."

Silence hung thick in the air, Tamiki blinked twice as she mulled that last statement in her mind. Her head swam. "That's stupid."

"They woke up dead, in pain and confused," Rahmore said, shrugging with shoulders and eyebrows. "They thought we killed them and they reacted harshly."

"That's an understatement and why are you making excuses for them?"

Rahmore had nothing to stay. They both reminisced of their personal horror of the events following the event when the 5th Fleet rose from the dead. Both of them had skated on the edge of death.

"Anyway," Rahmore said, shaking himself out of his thoughts. "They are still in pain and would like our help."

Tamiki barked out a short burst of laughter. She wondered if she had gone insane and was hallucinating this ridiculous conversation.

"I'm serious."

"No, you're not."

"I am."

Tamiki rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. "What are you talking about?"

Rahmore paused, a half smile may have been on his lips, but his eyes did not reflect any merriment. He leaned against the wall behind him, hands still in pockets. "I know it sounds crazy, but I will get to the point. War Admiral Evandor and I have talked. They didn't choose to become what they are, but now that they are what they are, they need to deal with it and carry on. Understanding how it happened will go a long way to building themselves into a new society."

Tamiki listened, her ears perked, catching every word as his story sparked her curiosity and desire to understand. "New society?"

"Evandor has come to terms that they will not be accepted as they are back into the Republic."

Tamiki snorted out another laugh "No shit."

"So they are going to pack up and leave," Rahmore continued ignoring her comment. "They will set a course through the Tribes' space, aid the 5th Army, raid a few planets along the way, and carry on into unknown space disappearing into eternity."

"And you believe him?" she asked, eyebrow arched, a doubtful look on his face.

"Evandor is straightforward in what he wants. He is hard as nails and honestly he intimidates the hell out of me, but now that emotions have cooled, he seems like a normal rational person as you would expect an admiral to be."

Tamiki eyes narrowed as she took in Rahmore's words. "Rylan, have you gone insane?"

"Check his files yourself. He is on record as being an honorable person."

"They killed Sanzzer," she said, her voice blunt as a steel beam to the face causing Rahmore to wince. "Why should I help them?"

"Because if they get what they want, we would be free to go back to Republic space."

Tamiki saw the first glimmer of hope since being captured. She wanted to grab for it, but didn't know if she could trust it. "They will let us go?"

"The admiral is going to give everyone a choice to stay with the Republic or go with him into unknown space."

"That sounds hard to believe."

"I know, but he will broadcast the announcement in a day or two. You will see then with your own eyes." Rahmore watched Tamiki, he could see in her eyes she was thinking about it seriously. He had seen that look before. "You are the best person I have seen at understanding energy waves and their effect. I know the medical and cyber side of the science. Between us we will be able to figure this out."

"And if I say no?"

Rahmore paused, taking in a couple of breaths. A flash of pain crossed his face. "Then I will move on to the next best person for the job and give them the offer. I am hoping to build a team."

"What would happen to me?"

Rahmore gave her a flat look. His eyes glanced to the right at the cell door. "I don't know and I don't want to guess," his voice quiet.

"Either way, there is something you should know," said Rahmore. "I'm going to stay with them regardless of what happens. There is too much for me here. I have to stay and ride this out."

"Lets me get this straight," Tamiki said, her voice gaining in volume. "Say if we do figure out everything they want us to figure out. And say we unlock whatever secrets they are after and Evandor is true to his word and gives a ticket to go back home for a job well done." She paused for dramatic effect, trying to search Rahmore for the answer. "You are going to stay with these monsters and fly into unknown space?"

"They're not monsters, no more so than some of the others with crazy phenomenons out there."

"Oh please," she said as she rolled her eyes at him. "That's not the same."

"Isn't it? They are a product of their environment. It's a type of phenomenon where they broke the metaphysical link between soul and body." Rahmore put a strong emphasis on the last sentence. He could tell by the expression on Tamiki's face she did not get what he was trying to say.

"You see," he continued, "once the link between the soul and body is broken it means that the death of the body doesn't kill the soul. They are immune to old age, disease, and all the other human failings of the body. They can live forever."

"They escape those by jumping to fresh bodies, right?

"That's the plan."

Tamiki may not have been running at the moment, but she was still plenty sharp. "You do realize that riding around in other people's bodies will change you. That the genomes and brain chemistry that influence personality will influence the host?"

"Not if we keep going back to the original bodies."

"The original will eventually be unusable. Second rule of thermal dynamics still apply."

"Death doesn't prevent them from going back and they have other options."

Tamiki opened her mouth, but the only word that came out was, "damn." Then she stated, "They can still be killed," thinking of the brain splatter against the wall of the one she shot. She never shot, let alone killed anyone before. She forced the memory quickly out of mind.

"If you destroy the vessel the soul is in. Otherwise, they will live forever. Which is exactly what I want to do a well."

Tamiki's jaw dropped as her eyes opened wide. "You seriously want to become one of them!"

"You want to grow old, wither, and die?"

"Well, no."

"Then this is the chance of a lifetime," Rahmore said. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, putting them out to his sides, palms out. "Like I said, I will stay. Once we are done, you may go back to the Republic and take what we have learned so that this will never happen to anyone again. And Tamiki, think of the science! We are literally the first to get our hands on this!"

Tamiki released the grip around her legs letting them stretch, her feet falling to the ground, her hands resting on her lap. "Tell you what," she started her expression thoughtful. "If Evandor truly does allow everyone a choice to stay or go I will help you. If I don't see this open offer, then just kill me now. There is no way I will help you knowing that I will be killed regardless."

Rahmore gave her his best winning smile. "Glad to hear it, I will go have your personal quarters prepared for you." With that, he turned and walked out of her cell. "I'll return after the broadcast."

Tamiki watched him leave, head cocked to one side. "He seemed awfully confident," she said quietly as she began to wonder how good her grasp of the situation really was.

 

[Kris Wicker]

1 Day Later

Turrin Star System, Location of the Event

Chapter 45

Evandor stood straight and tall, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the salvage efforts through the transparent wall. The Valiant had maneuvered closer to the fragmenting object that was once a perfect orb. He was in his old body, the one that died over a week ago. It still worked, if not a bit stiff and clumsy. He was standing in the forward lounge that was used for hosting dignitaries and other important guests. Usually behind a thick layer of armor for protection, he had the armor plates slide back and servomotors move the lounge up and forward giving it a clear panoramic view of space from the top side of his mobile war fortress.

His guests were due to arrive soon. They were the other admirals in his fleet that suffered the same effects of the incident. Every Combined Arms Space Fleet in the ECR had a single war admiral overseeing the entire operations. The next rank down was the admiral, who commanded one of the large capital ships and its associated support fleet. After that, came the vice admiral who commanded the next class of ship and smaller fleets or task forces. It had been a long-standing tradition that when two admiral's fleets met together, if time allowed they would sit down together and have a formal dinner with the higher ranking, or more senior admiral, being the host. This was not always possible, as many times ships would pass each other with very short time constraints due to missions that did not allow such luxuries.

The beginning of Operation Storm Anvil was one such occasion, the preparation for battle prevented time for anything else. It was not often that the leaders took time to partake in this tradition between two admirals in the theater of war. It was nearly unheard of to have more than three admirals sit down together let alone the six that would be dining together today. This dinner was more than just food and camaraderie. It could be a turning point in human history. Evandor had contemplated his words and the course of events that were to follow. He had rehearsed them in his head, and made the decision to take this path.

He felt like a pilot sitting in his ship at the beginning of a launch tube designed to take the fighter from zero to combat speed in seconds. Once buckled in there was no turning back. The events that led him here pushed him forward, forced decisions he never thought he would have to make. Such was life. It was not so much how well you could formulate a plan, rather how well you could adapt once the plan went to hell.

He felt his face where the bullet had hit him. At first, he thought he would leave the huge gash in his left cheek, but decided against it once he realized it made his speech harder to understand. Rahmore was good on his promise to make the repairs. Usually new skin would have been grown and grafted on to him using his own DNA as the source material, but being dead prevented such medical techniques. Instead, he used skin from one of the dead bodies whose soul had perished. The one advantage of having extra dead bodies was all the spare parts. In his reflection, he could see the stitched in patch of skin on his cheek, plugging the hole, but keeping a gruesome image. He ran his dry tongue over the screws in his gums that held his new teeth in place.

He was intrigued by Rahmore's suggestion to maintain the dead bodies with everything from nutrient injections to chemical neural preservatives. If he could stop or even reverse the decaying process and get the blood flowing again, he could theoretically get the heart pumping which would bring the bodies back to some semblance of life. While it was an interesting theory, Evandor had him working on matters that were more important. He assigned the revitalization project to other medical personnel.

He heard the door slide open behind him announcing the arrival of guests. He turned and gave an attempt at a warm smile that managed to look ghastly. He had a hard time to look authentically cheerful in a dead body. At the far end of the room, five corpses walked in together. All wearing their formal military dress, high quality, finely pressed white fabric over rigid bodies, with rank on shoulders and rows of medals on their left breast.

"I, Marcus Evandor, War Admiral of the mobile war fortress Victor's Valiant welcome you," he said as he began the formal greeting. Between him and the group was a beautiful dining table, deep rich hardwood with fine carvings matched by the elegance of the chairs. There were settings for six people, plates, glasses, and cutlery neatly arranged. He had crew members use living bodies to prepare the room. It was quickly discovered that the dead bodies had begun to smell, which was very off-putting for the living. He had made sure everything was prepared by clean life, not stale death.

"I, Breanne Eskra, admiral of the mega carrier, Wolfe's Fang, thank you for your hospitality," she was the longest standing admiral of the group and it was fitting that she should start the formal response. She was from the Sierra Quadrant whose people looked normal enough other than the violet eyes. They did need a special breathing apparatus when off planet because of the need to inhale pollens that were native to their planets. The pollen gave them an uncanny intuition when reading people and their motives. Evandor was not sure if her deceased body still needed it, but she wore the breathing tubes that went under her nose regardless. She was lean and tall as many in the military were, with an orange tinge to her hair and freckles under her eyes and across the bridge of her nose.

"I, Robert Byrd, admiral of the battleship, Orion's Fist, thank you for your hospitality," he was the oldest of the group at seventy-two. He was from the Strana system, a very aggressive people known for their fiery temperament. His hands were disproportionally huge and strong, which was useful when he started his career as a flight deck officer. His crown of hair was short and had turned white long ago. He had explored some of the farthest reaches of space expanding Republic holdings earlier in his career.

"I, Jayne Dayle, admiral of the mega carrier, Juno's Courage, thank you for your hospitality." She was part of the 2nd Fleet that had been sent into the battle to reinforce the 5th Fleet. Evandor felt she was one of the two biggest wild cards as she could easily feel like an outsider. She was a star child, born off planet in a space station and had never spent much time on any one planet. As such, she had no phenomenon, the closest thing to being a primal without actually being born on Earth.

"I, Allen Drest, admiral of the space cannon, Ezra's Hammer, thank you for your hospitality." He was the second wild card. Born on Earth and part of the 1st fleet. He was dashingly handsome, near perfect physical specimen as were all the Primals. Evandor was more concerned about Drest than Dayle. Born and bred on Earth he would have all the inclinations and prejudices to be expected for the center of the universe. He was the youngest of the group, coming into his position in part by achievement, and part because of family connections.

"I, Clyna Koncz, admiral of the mega carrier, Mattius's Rampage, thank you for your hospitality." She was the newest admiral of the group. Promoted a few years ago as she took over the command of the Rampage when Evandor was promoted to war admiral leaving the position vacant. She was similar to Evandor in that she came through the combat pilot ranks, though she used to pilot light corvettes instead of the fighters that Evandor cut his teeth on. Her profound skills as a leader were in contrast to her ordinary looks. Koncz was a woman with no outstanding physical features. She was from Spluttorn, which itself was an ordinary enough planet with no recorded phenomenon. She had her light brown hair done up in a bun that was so tight it stretched the flesh of her round face.

"Thank you for coming, it is an honor to have you aboard my ship," Evandor said finishing off the formalities. There was a palatable tension in the air as a single war admiral faced five admirals from across the room. Everyone knew that this was not going to be an ordinary social event. "Normally we would get right into the meal, but as you all know these old bodies of ours are not conducive to enjoying dinner," he could see a few of his guests' eyes tighten. They did not like being reminded of their new failings. "With this in mind I have arranged an opportunity for us to have the most incredible dining experience of our lives," Evandor said with a slight flourish he waved his left hand out gesturing to the side, the high pitched raspy voice of death made it hard to sound eloquent. With his right hand behind his back, he entered a sequence on his wrist pad. To his left a large panel in the floor slides open and another grand dining table moved up. This one had twelve chairs. The six on the far side of the table were occupied by peacefully sleeping unoccupied living bodies. He had them arranged to be sitting neatly along the table directly across from an empty chair. They had their cyberjack ports connected to cables running to access points in the table. On the other side of the table, the side nearest to them was six empty chairs, with open cyberjack access ports waiting.

Evandor specifically choose the bodies. He wanted them young, strong, and attractive. They were all wearing formal civilian clothes, beautiful evening dresses for the ladies, and high quality evening suits for the men.

He watched the expressions of his guests closely. Only the Valiant and Hammer had living bodies, and he knew word had gotten out that the crew was using the captured bodies. Stories had reached every ear about the new sensations that this entailed. He had heard that there were grumblings about the ethics and morality of body snatching, but he knew that the lust for life would cause any reservations to melt away. He could see it on the faces of his guests. Even death could not hide what they felt. Drest was already smiling eyeing up the large male. Evandor knew he already had tried out other bodies on his ship. Byrd kept a stoic look on his face, but his eyes had zeroed in on his options. The three women looked hard at first, but when their eyes fell on the beautiful young ladies they could inhabit, they started to look eager. Vanity and the gift of youth had a strong appeal.

"Come, cyberjack in with me," Evandor said as he walked over to the empty chairs. They did not even notice him until he walked into their field of view. Drest was the first to move lurching forward in an awkward gate. They all fell in behind him, drawn by the warmth of life in front of them, beckoning them forward. Evandor walked up to the first chair for the body that he wanted and waited for the rest to fall in line. They all stood at the chairs for the bodies he had anticipated they would want. "Shall we?" he asked as he sat down. He reached out for the cyberjack cable and plugged himself in.

The others had followed suit taking their places and plugging in. "On the count of three we will do it together, three, two, one."



Chapter 46

Evandor focused himself through the cyberport. He felt his essence move forward through the cable and into the living body. The rush of heat flooded his senses and the pounding beat of the heart filled his ears. His skin was alight with sensation, the fabric against it felt like ecstasy. He sucked in air, filling and stretching his lungs, he let it out causing him to shudder with pleasure. He opened his eyes. A kaleidoscope of colors overwhelmed and disoriented him. His head swirled and swam.

He adjusted to the splendor, the warmth, and the moisture of life. Marcus looked to his right to see how the others were reacting. Breanne who sat next to him was running her fingers through the long luscious blonde hair of her new body. She was breathing deeply and looked as if she was vibrating. Robert was running his hands along his host's torso. No doubt feeling the rigid washboard abs the man had. Jayne was also running her new hands along herself, equally impressed with her cut physique. Allen stood up, stretching his arms wide and back giving a grunt of approval. Clyna carefully touched her face. The body she was in now was strikingly gorgeous. Her eyes welled up with tears. She had never been in possession of such beauty.

Marcus let himself have a pleased smile. He had anticipated that the effect of going from aged bodies to these exquisite specimens would have a profound effect. All of them were well past their physical prime, and while technology and nutrition allowed people to live longer functional lives, the strength of youth was a distant memory. To have it all come back now, to be given the opportunity to be young again was having a deep desire fulfilled. It wasn't just the youth, it was also the incredible delight to be alive, simply intoxicating with pleasure. No one wanted to grow old and feel his or her body weaken with time. Once the ravages of age started to take effect on an individual, they all lamented for their youth. Some keep it a secret, many vocalize it, but all longed for it. The super charging of sensations that occurred when going into a new body only enhanced it for them.

The first phase of his plan went as well as expected, and he could smell phase two starting. "My stars, what is that smell?" exclaimed Drest. He turned to see the other table being set with savory hot dishes. The smell of meats and sauces had reached them, filling their nostrils with an explosion of flavors. With the entire galley staff of the Valiant perishing during the incident, Evandor had to find soldiers who had culinary skills. There were not many, but enough to meet his needs. They were in the galley preparing the feast. They too were in borrowed bodies, as corpses did not make good chefs with the lack of smell or taste. Two of them, wearing white kitchen apparel were finishing placing the dishes of food upon the table. Evandor's thoughts briefly went to the head chef. His eyes twinkled and smiled a touch brighter.

Evandor made sure that the host bodies he had reserved for the admirals were running low on food. He could feel his own stomach growl at the smell. His mouth was salivating out of control. "Dinner is served," he announced, "Come ladies and gentlemen, let us dine together." He pushed himself from his seat and began to walk over to the table with the food waiting for him. It was difficult to keep a dignified pace, he wanted to sprint over and start stuffing food into his face with his bare hands.

The others were hot on his heels, emanating a restrained passion similar to a pack of wolves ready to pounce on dinner. They barely held back the wonton zeal to plunge head first in the seductive aromatic dishes that awaited them. Evandor sat himself at the head of the table, which was the tradition for the host. He keyed the wrist pad he had installed on his new body and the table where their carcasses now sat slid back underneath the deck out of sight. No need to have that unpleasant visual around. His guests were so distracted by the food they didn't even notice.

The others sat down at the table. Some were visibly trembling holding themselves back. "Please, help yourself," he said to start the lustful feeding frenzy.

The impromptu chefs Evandor recruited did a wonderful job. It wasn't exactly high-end fine dining, but it was a wide variety very good hearty home-style dishes. He was pleased to discover that his Captain Blike had lived up to the occasion. It had been a long time since he had authentic Tomlin food, and she did a good job with the subtle hints of spices she used. Ah, Blike, a woman of many surprising talents.

Together they partook in the meal of a lifetime.

 

[Kris Wicker]

On Earth, the Center of the Colonized Galaxy

Chapter 47

Lord Admiral Duzan, supreme commander of the Earth Core Republic Military forces found himself sitting in the High Command room again. This time he had a single guest in the room. He didn't sit at the head of the table as he normally did. Rather, he was sitting on one side. His guest, Doctor Jacque Corfur, the father of cyberjacking, was sitting across from him.

He mused how this could be the first time in history where half the attendees in this room were civilian. He chose his spot so he could observe Corfur watch the video playing on the main screen. It was the camera feed from Captain Rahmore's helmet on his exploration and recovery mission of the 5th Fleet.

The video came to him this morning, but he knew the events transpired three days ago. The great distances the message had to travel put him out of touch with the heartbeat of the actual events. It gnawed at him, the hungry dog of fate chewing on his bones. No telling what could have transpired in the last three days it took for the message to arrive. He could only hope, and he was not a man who relied on hope. He was a man who relied on sound judgment and action.

Duzan had watched the video twice by himself before he called the doctor. Then he watched again, from the beginning when Rahmore boarded the Soul Jacker to the very end on the Valiant when his helmet was removed. The events on the screen prompted him to bring the foremost prominent mind of cyberjacking to explain what he just saw. From what he knew, it should have been impossible.

The original battle plan should have given him the United Free Tribes' frontier and all of the riches that went with it including their people, resources, and food production. He defeated the Tribes' fleet at the cost of his 5th Fleet. Now his 5th Fleet was back, not alive, not dead. Rather they had become a new thing that he couldn't define. While their spirits were obviously alive, their original bodies were just as obviously dead, but they were remedying that problem by taking the bodies of others. Both a previously unheard of occurrence and perhaps a new type of phenomenon.

He focused his eyes back on the old doctor. The frail looking old man was completely engrossed by the images on the view screen. He looked like he was drinking it in. His eyes sparkled with excitement. Duzan had always felt that Corfur feigned to be weaker and more impeded by age than he really was. This was more evidence to back up his suspicions.

The video concluded, but the doctor continued to stare at screen, eyes blinking. "You seem very interested in what you saw," Duzan said flatly, his deep voice bringing weight to his words.

Corfur turned to him with his eyes alight. "I thought we had reached the limits of cyberjack technology," he said, words coming out fast one after the other. "We just witnessed the human spirit living beyond the limitation of the original body and being able to use another body as a host! This is groundbreaking! Absolutely incredible!"

Duzan's eyes narrowed, anger continuing to boil in his furnaces. The doctor was clearly was gushing over the science, but missing the point. "The men and women of the fleet," he cut in. "What have they become?"

Corfur blinked his eyes, mental gears grinding as he tried to change them. "What do you mean?"

"We know there were no life signs on board those ships," Duzan said. "Close proximity scans from the Insightproved that. Those people were dead."

"Technically, their flesh bodies were dead. Somehow, their life essence was in stasis inside the machines. It should be impossible according to all of our historical records. That purple shock wave had something to do with it. We need to find out how they did that."

"What of your personal tests," asked Duzan cutting to the chase. He knew very well that the good doctor has been conducting black file experiments. He had personally signed off on acquisition requests for questionable resources. It took him a while to figure out, but enough information came his way to be aware that something was going on. He pretended to have a blind eye to these special requests knowing that he could use any extra edge in new technology he could get his hands on.

"Ah, personal tests?" asked the doctor. He blinked several times giving a him deer in headlights look.

Duzan answered him with a flat level stare. Corfur's expression returned to normal realizing he had been caught. He could have tried playing dumb, but decided to go with it.

"I have never been able to save a mind once the body has been lost," Corfur began. He did not know how much the lord admiral knew, but he surmised that Duzan knew more than the he wanted. The lord admiral needed him and he needed Duzan in return. Some give and take was required. "I have tried every conceivable method. When the mind realized the body died, it too died. We all know that." He shifted his weight, eyes glancing sideways at the door. "The closest we got was cyberjacking a mind in a computer then unplugging the body."

"You unplugged them?" Duzan asked, his expression did not change, but his demeanor somehow had an air of disapproval.

"Yes, I did," responded Corfur, "both wired and wireless."

Corfur essentially admitted to an act that constituted murder. Duzan and Corfur stared each other down. Resolute wills of two strong men clashing silently in the air between them. Each man tolerated the other because of what he could provide for him. Duzan raised his right eyebrow ever so slightly. Corfur took the gesture as an acceptance of his methods and permission to continue.

"A traumatic thing to do no doubt, but I needed to push the limits. What happened was that a few of the souls survived the disconnect. Once the soul calmed down it was explained to them that their body had died."

"You killed the body?" Duzan asked.

"No, because then their spirit would leave. We just told them their body had died, but we managed to save their consciousness in the machine," Corfur explained. "Taking the story further we told them that we managed to secure a body that had been saved by life support, but were vacant. Desperate as they were to get back into the flesh they could not enter another body. They completely believed it was their only chance for survival, but they still couldn't."

"Do you know why body switching has never worked in the past?"

"I cannot scientifically prove it, but there is a metaphysical link between the persons consciousness and body. They are intrinsically connected. The soul and body know each other and will not accept another." He felt there was no reason why he should tell Duzan that he knew exactly about the link between body and soul.

"Were they able to get back to their own original bodies?" Duzan asked.

"Most of them did. It took some work to convince them that they could do it considering how we set it up."

"And those who could not?"

Corfur paused, collected his thoughts. "For some they could not reconcile that their body did not die like we told them. They psychologically could not go back in and choose to stay in the computer system. We created a virtual world for them to spend their days, but they broke down."

"Broke down?"

"Prolonged existence in cyberspace inevitably changes a person. They developed cybersickness and eventually become incoherently insane."

"How long does that take?"

Corfur licked his lips, his eyes seeing into his memories. "It depends on the person. For some it was quick, others held on for several months."

Duzan nodded, everyone had heard of cybersickness, and there were safe guards in place to prevent over exposure to cyberspace. However, this is the first time he had confirmed reports of it being more than a rumored threat.

Duzan kept his eyes trained on the man in front of him. The old doctor leaned back in his chair and calmly looked back. Duzan had always believed he was not as wonderful and benevolent as his public image suggested. "What does this mean for the crew of the 5th ?"

Corfur looked back at the screen. "I don't know. They should have all died and their spirits should be in the afterlife. Yet they remain."

"Can we expect insanity to take them?"

"Normally I would say yes. It would gradually set in and in matter of time before they become stark raving mad. The act of using their FTL jump drives would even speed up the process. However, since they can get into their old bodies, and living fresh bodies, it's hard to say."

Duzan leaned back in his chair and folded his thick arms over his chest. "In the meantime, are they with us or against us?"

Corfur looked back at Lord Admiral Duzan whose eyes remained glued to him, probing him for every microbe of information. "I have read War Admiral Evandor's file. He is as loyal and stalwart of a soldier that I have ever seen. However," Corfur paused to rewind the monitor to the part where Evandor is in Rahmore's face stating he would be next. "Here we see him being the aggressor taking the lives and literally the bodies of other Republic soldiers. That is completely out of character for him."

Duzan kept his eyes on the doctor as he mentally nodded in agreement. He did not have to be told of Evander's attributes as their careers arcs had crossed paths for extended times. Duzan had always been the senior officer, and had kept an eye on the young Tomlin prodigy helping guide Evandor through the perils of leadership. The selection of war admirals was a stringent process. He trusted each of them with vast resources and in making independent decisions of enormous magnitude. Each of them was trusted with the lives of billions. Duzan would even trust them with his own life.

"I can surmise that he may be in shock, pain, and probably in a state of confusion and possibly even feeling betrayed," said Corfur. "There is no accounting what a man may do when he is in that frame of mind."

Duzan was glad it was only three days' transit time for the transmission to get to him. They could not have gotten into that much trouble yet. "Are you suggesting they have gone rogue?"

"I am saying that I do not have enough data to know. It can be very possible that he can be talked down and convinced through a sense of duty to come back into the fold for the good of the Republic that he has sworn to protect."

Duzan nodded. He agreed with the doctor's assessment. The greatest victories were often the ones where a shot was never fired. That was his best option as he could ill afford the military strength to cull a rogue fleet.

"Doctor, you're coming with me to the Tribes' frontier. Pack your things and get ready, we leave in one day." Duzan did not make it an order as Corfur was a civilian, but he knew the doctor well and knew it wouldn't be necessary.

Corfur leaned forward, hands folded on the table. No hint of old age in his body, no shaking, no trembling, no frailty in his voice. "Can I bring my research team and assistants?"

"Yes, bring them all and every piece of equipment you may need." Duzan knew he had to be ready for anything, and he had to get out there before someone made a bad decision.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Turrin Star System, Location of the Event, Admirals Banquet

Chapter 48

For an hour, the six admirals acted like teenagers, laughing, eating, drinking and enjoying themselves in the moment. The tastes and smells, the wine flowed and the bodies tingled. There was even flirting across the table, which was unheard of among admirals in public. The meal wound down, plates were cleared from the table to be replaced by trays of small bite size desserts.

Evandor snatched a small red square from the nearest tray. He popped it in his mouth, eyebrows arching in surprise. It was a Tomlin Hot Kiss. A dessert he hadn't seen for decades. It was sweet, soft, and spicy with a warming sensation from the alcohol that was infused into it. His thoughts went to the hands of the chef who made it. That smile crossed his lips again.

He leaned into his high back chair, right elbow resting on the armrest holding a half-full glass of red wine that he was swirling. Evandor was not one to consume liquor, no admiral was as any person of such a distinguished rank. A belly full of food and a glass and a half of wine in him left him feeling warm and jovial. He could not remember the last time he felt like this. Nor could he find the words to describe it.

"My colleagues in arms," he said, projecting the deep voice of this body louder than the table conversation to get their attention. "Have any you ever had such a wonderful time at a meal?"

A rousing round of:

"Never!"

"Best ever!"

"Most spectacular!" and other positive exclamations came from the table along with raised glasses and a cheer.

"Very good, I am pleased," said Evandor, a warm smile that shined through his eyes. "It's rare for us to enjoy such splendors of life."

The smile dropped from his face, a somber expression taking its place. "Speaking of the splendors of life, we need to make a decision. A life changing decision, one that will forever alter the course of human history."

The other admirals at the table lost their smiles, the merriment that once was abundant melted away to nothing. They all knew that it was coming. They all had thought through the events that transpired, and the paths that lay before them. No person could achieve such an advanced rank without having a deep understanding of cause and effect and the power of foresight to understand the ramifications of each decision and action.

"Going into this campaign we all knew it would last about ten years," Evandor said. "We also knew that it would be each of our last tour of combat duty. We are all in the back quarter of our careers, and even our lives." His statement rang true and they all knew it. The youngest of them was in their sixties. Even with the advanced ages people could achieve, there was no question that they were coming near the end.

"I have thought of it, as I know you have as well," he continued. "The best we could have hoped for was either a glorious death, or an honorable retirement after the campaign. Then, if the high council deemed us worthy, we would teach at the academies and perhaps have a capitol ship named after us letting our legacy carry on past our lives. Either way, our stories would be closed."

Evandor paused for effect, taking a sip from his wine glass to allow time for what he said to sink in. He put words to the thoughts they all had. No one liked to think of their impending death and they tried to ignore it as long as they could. Yet, at a certain stage of life, where the road ahead is shorter than the one behind, it became impossible not to think of one's life and the legacy that they would leave behind.

"That all changed for us when the event happened," his eyes were on his wine glass, watching the liquid swirl around. No one liked to talk about the event. It still evoked a deep pain in the depth of the soul.

"When that happened new paths were created that lay before us now. The way I see it, we have two real choices." He leaned forward, his hand reaching under the table to the long rectangular box he had hidden there earlier. "We can continue on as part of the Republic. They will probably let us continue the war against the Tribes because Lord Admiral Duzan needs the strength of our fleet. The question is how long will they tolerate us and what we have become?" He took the time to look at each man and woman in the eye.

"If we stay, we will be replaced. Likely sooner than we would like. We would end up in the science labs to spend whatever existence is left to us in one of these." He lifted the grey rectangular box he had in his left hand. He flipped the lid open with his thumb. Inside was a row of data cards, their clear shell revealing the fibers that held data. Each had enough capacity to store one cyberjacked person and a virtual reality.

He slid the box across table. It caught on its edge and tipped over, spilling its contents across the table. The cards clattered creating a mess and the most dramatic effect Evandor could have hoped.

He waited for the last card to still itself. All eyes remained on it. They knew that he was right. That they would for all accounts, end up in one of those data cards, quarantined from everyone they had ever known. Their legacy would be reduced to tragic experiments for people wearing white lab coats.

"I for one would rather go our own way." Evandor said.

"Your suggesting treason? That we betray the ECR?" exclaimed Admiral Jayne Dayle. Her indignation echoed in her words. Evandor expected her to be the biggest opponent.

"Didn't we already commit treason?" Admiral Allen Drest of Ezra's Hammer asked, referring to the actions taken when they arose from the dead.

"Some of us have a clear conscious about that," Admiral Robert Byrd of Orion's Fist said. He and the others did not engage any ECR ships.

"Let's hear what Evandor has to say," said Admiral Breanne Eskra of Wolfe's Fang. She was known for her level head, nerves, and everlasting patience of ice in the face of any threat. "Please continue, Sir," she said nodding her head to the war admiral.

"Thank you, Admiral Eskra," Evandor said, nodding back to her in return. The other admirals turned their eyes back to him and waited. He was back on stage, the fate of the universe in his hands like a lump of clay, his to mold.

"This is what I propose and each of you will have a choice to follow me or choose your own path." He knew if any of the admirals decided to leave, he could hardly stop them from engaging their jump drives and departing.

"I believe we are the next evolution of humankind. We exist on three planes, cyber, death, and life. Each granting its own unique set of gifts and abilities. The new-found strength of our cyberselves, the resilient endurance of our former bodies, and the abundant life available by taking on these new bodies."

He stood up, arms open, wine glass still in his right hand. "Have you ever felt such sensations as in these new bodies? Have you ever wanted to know what it was like to have other phenomenons? To have other physical abilities? I know you all desired to feel the zeal of youth coursing through your veins again."

"Would you want to give this all up, to go to that?" He pointed at the data cards splayed out on the table. The others eyes flicked to the cards on the tables, then back to the war admiral.

"I believe you are like me in many ways," and Evandor knew they were, "you are honor bound by a sense of duty. Duty to our crews, to our fleets, and to the ECR." His eyes swept over the group again. Koncz remained silent at the end of the table. She had not said a word, her hands on her lap. Dayle leaned back in her chair, angled to her left, legs and arms crossed, with her brow knit together. Eskra sat tall and straight in perfect posture, her face void of any expression, her eyes calculating. Across the table was Byrd, his arms folded over his broad chest. Drest had a hint of a smile on his face. He was in a slight slouch, a dessert pastry being played with in his fingers. "We will not betray the ECR. We will help defend them by acting against the Tribes and supporting the 5th army," he said getting nods of approval from the others. "They do not have enough crew to operate our ships, so we will do it for them. Once we know they can defend their own border we will move on."

"Consider what we really fight for. Is it for the better life the politicians promise? Is that why we attack the Tribes?" He paused, "There is not one of us that is that naive." In their high-ranking positions the admirals had a different perspective. The citizens and lower ranks believed the media hype that was spewed out to them. How the enemy is inhuman, how they dared to destroy our lives, to take ECR planets and resources. How their very survival depended on the military crushing the foe. To prove that their culture and way of life was better than the enemies.

The elite ranks and the top politicians knew otherwise. Humans had established themselves in space. There were enough resources across the cosmos to satisfy every need for centuries to come, possibly into all eternity as new planets became settled and terraformed. If they really wanted to, they could come to a peaceful agreement, but pride and prejudice stood in the way.

The battles became a source of unifying the populations to focus on a common enemy, to cull the masses to give up liberties and their children for the cause of security and protection. That way the powerful elite can keep and grow their power, feed their pride and ambitious arrogance. As such, they always wanted a state of war or an imminent threat of war.

"We risk our lives and those who follow us to protect the people. The crews of our ships are our people. We know they would be ostracized by the ECR for what they have become. Therefore it is our duty to protect them. In fact, I believe we can offer them a better existence."

"That is debatable," Dayle said her voice placid.

Evandor smiled to her, "Have you ever lived like you had in the last hour?"

Dayle's face remained like stone, but she had no words to counter him.

"If you are to join me, then we would forge a new society together, we would reflect where we came from, but start anew as the new creations we have become. The first step is to rename our capitol ships. Each of you will have the privilege of naming your own ship."

"Only the high council can do that!" stated Byrd in protest. There was more than one shocked face in the group.

"He is saying that we will be the new high council," said Drest, "Isn't that correct, Marcus?" He had a grin plastered on his face that had become flushed red. He may have had one too many drinks.

"Astute as ever, Allen," Evandor said, a touch of a smile reaching the corners of his mouth. He had just promoted the admirals to high council, a feat that was formerly beyond their grasp. It was well known that no military person ever achieved such a high political position. Also, that the highest positions were reserved for the pure born citizens of Earth. With their current condition not a single one of them could be called pure regardless of where they were born.

They all knew that those who showed phenomenons of other planets could never reach the top ranks of the other fleets. If they showed exceptional skill, they found themselves transferred to the 5th Fleet because it was the most active frontier and needed the troops. The result was that the 5th fleet became a misfit organization of unwanted, but talented people.

They had all reached the peak of their careers and they all knew it. Evandor was the first non-primal to be promoted to war admiral. He was now offering them the chance to further their careers. He appealed to their ambition and drive, as any of such rank would have.

"Henceforth, the mobile war fortress currently known as Victor's Valiant will be dubbed, Evandor's Archangel. The squadrons aboard will be known as my Angels."

Eyes danced across the table to each other. All of them hoped to have a ship named after themselves. Although, they doubted they would be alive to see it, as it was an honor was often given posthumously.

"I have all ways thought Drest's Thunder would be a great name for a space cannon," Drest said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile on his lips.

"You do realize there is no sound in space, right?" Byrd asked with a coy smile on his lips.

Drest looked over to him, his grin growing, "I do enjoy a sense of irony and I suppose you have never heard the cannon fire into an atmosphere?"

Byrd tilted his head, conceding the point.

"As fun as it may be to rename our ships, it is a hardly a plan," said Dayle. "Nor do I believe all the crew will accept the choice to leave the ECR if we go that route."

"Each individual will have his or her choice," said Evandor. "That is why I brought this to you first. We all have great influence over our respective crews and sub-fleets. We will present the choice, if done properly most will join."

"As you have presented it to us?" Eskra asked, her left eyebrow raising a hair in question.

Evandor nodded, "A fine example."

"Theatrics aside, we will still lose many," said Drest. He already sounded like he had made his decision. "We can ill afford to lose more crew and keep functioning at strength."

"That is why we will point our ships into Tribes' space," said Evandor. "We will take resources along the way to the other side. People, food, materials. We will find planets to settle and establish ourselves."

"That is a bold plan, War Admiral," said Dayle. "It will take many years, decades if you could even pull it off. I am not sure if I want to live out the last years of my life on the run."

Evandor smiled a knowing smile. "Time is on our side, for there is one important piece of information that you must consider."

Evandor picked up the bottle of wine in front of him and topped off his glass. The others watched and waited as he settled the wine bottle back down and raised his glass as if giving a toast. "We have been given the gift of immortality." The others stared at him as if he grew an arm out of his head.

"I am sorry," said Eskra, "I don't think I heard that right." She kept her face solid like stone, no hint of expression.

"Are you telling us you are going to give us immortality?" questioned Dayle, her voice betrayed her thoughts of disbelief.

"I cannot grant you immortality," Evandor replied, he turned to his left and slowly walked behind the chairs of Byrd and Drest. "Because you already have it," he said his voice calm as still waters. He stopped to take a drink from his glass to give time for the others who could not hold their tongues.

"What? When? How?"

"I still don't think I heard you right."

"How do you know this?"

"Where is the proof?'

Evandor let them have their outburst as he eyed his drink and gave it another swirl. He took a drink and he swished it in his mouth. It was a very good vintage. He would have to see if he could find more.

He raised his hand, palm to his audience to silence them. Once the noise subsided, he continued his casual stroll to the other end of the table. "As we all know cyberjacking has proved that we are more than just a collection of flesh and bones walking around. It is more than just our consciousness. It's our soul that projects out of our flesh bodies and into a machine. However, they are tied together. If the body dies, the soul soon perishes as well. If the soul dies, the body is no more than a slab of meat."

"As it turns out, Captain Rahmore from our science frigate is one of Doctor Jacque Corfur's cyberjack specialists." He did not want to get into the Forerunners at this time and skipped that detail. "He showed us how the link between the soul and our original bodies had been severed. Hence, that is why we are all still here."

He stood at the other end of the table now, all eyes on him. "Unhindered by death, old age, or otherwise. We are indeed immortal."

The admirals at the table traded glances, making eye contact with one another, unsure how to assimilate this new revelation. All of them had heard the soul jacking term, and how different groups talked about the soul, but never like this.

"We are a new phenomenon, a new evolution, a new people. Is it not our responsibility to build something new?"

"Let me get this straight," said Admiral Jayne Dayle. "You want us to leave the massive might of the ECR to start a fledging star nation that barely has a quarter million people and does not have a single piece of real estate?"

"We do have two entire frontier fleets," said Admiral Allen Drest.

"Which we can't even crew one properly," put in Admiral Robert Byrd.

"I'm sure we have the ability and strength to fix that given time," said Breanne Eskra. She was at the far end of the table now, leaning forward, left elbow on the table.

"Besides," War Admiral Marcus Evandor said, picking up one of the data cards off the table with his free hand. "Who would you rather trust with your immortal soul? One of your own kind or the politicians of the ECR High Council?" He snapped the data card he held in his hand against the edge of the table and tossed the pieces back on the table.

Dayle reached over to pick up one of the shards from the data card. "If I say no to your proposition, you would let me leave?"

"I would let you go," said Marcus. "Mind you, you would have to leave that beautiful young body behind." Dayle's eyebrows rose in protest. "It's not like Duzan would let you keep it either," Marcus said, cutting off any words she may have had.

"So then I can walk out of here," Jayne started, Marcus raised a single eyebrow, "in my old body," she conceded, "and fly back to my ship and jump back towards the ECR? Hypothetically speaking, of course."

"To make this a truly authentic new society I am giving everyone, and I mean everyone, the freedom to choose for his or herself. Do not take this opportunity lightly. For our entire lives, we were told what to do by others. To do what is expected of us, what is best for the family you were born in, for the community that you grew up in, the profession that you were guided into based on your skills and talents. All our lives we have been doing what others had been telling us, regardless if we are told overtly or silently, we were told.

Each one of us here came to this battle because someone told us to, that it was our duty to the Republic. So we came to this star system as good soldiers, and we were subjected to the Soul Jacker. Now, being the new beings we are, I'm giving everyone the freedom to choose what is best for them as an individual. Think about this offer, and think of your choice. It will shape the rest of your lives and may very well herald a birth of a new nation.

Those who choose to go to back to the ECR will be free to do so. I will ensure a safe passage, though I would humbly request that all military hardware remain with me. Those who choose to stay with me will be part of a new nation of immortals. Please be aware that after this meeting between us, I will broadcast the same offer to each and every person in our fleet. If I am going to give all of you a free choice, I will make absolutely sure, that you will not deprive any person of any station the same respect and honor of free will regardless of your personal decision.

I will give everyone a full forty-eight hours to decide if their fate will rest in the hands of the ECR High Council or with me." Finishing his well-rehearsed speech, he stood straight and tall at the end of the table. The chiseled body and face of the host he resided in emanated a confident, expectant, yet relaxed man. His left hand still held the same half-filled glass of red wine, his other hand behind his back. He waited.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 49

Admiral Clyna Koncz was the first to move. She stood up, graceful and beautiful in her body, wine glass raised in hand. The chair scraped against the floor as it was pushed back behind her. She spoke her first words since the discussion of allegiance started. "I, Admiral Clyna Koncz, commander of the newly named mega-carrier Koncz's Ghost will cast my fate with you, Lord Admiral Marcus Evandor." An electric current raced through the group as she used the rank lord admiral to address Evandor putting him on the same plateau as Lord Admiral Duzan of the ECR.

Evandor tilted his glass forward, "Thank you Koncz. However, if we are to proceed together my vision sees that you will hence forth be a Fleet Admiral, which would be the equivalent to a War Admiral from the ECR." he stated, amplifying the underlying charge in the air. "Welcome aboard, Fleet Admiral Koncz."

"I, Fleet Admiral Allen Drest," he said standing up, his wine glass raised in a toast, "will join you, Lord Admiral of the Immortals." Evandor tilted his head forward in acknowledgement of his pledge.

"And hear I was thinking you would be the one not to join," stated Dayle who remained seated and looked unimpressed.

"I'm surprised as well," admitted Byrd. "Why?"

Admiral Drest eyes went down and watched the red wine swirl in his glass. "Because of all of us here, I'm the one who knows how right he is." He did not gesture towards Evandor, there was no need. He looked up and the briefest of eye contact with Dayle and Byrd. "I hope the primals in my fleet follow my example and will not be naive enough to think they have a future back with the Republic.

"I will bring my fleet, my newly commissioned space cannon and all the crew who agree." Drest paused, his eyes swept over the table meeting all those that were looking back at him. His jovial wine fed demeanor slipped away leaving only a solemn expression. He turned his face to the head of the table, meeting Evandor. "If it is acceptable to you, I would like to keep the name Ezra's Hammer for my flagship. As a young man I served under Admiral Ezra and would like to keep his legacy." Evandor tilted his head in agreement giving a slight smile.

Breanne Eskra, the most pragmatic, cold, and logical of the group stood up next. She picked up her wine glass, poured fresh wine into it. There was a hint of a quirky grin creeping to the edges of her mouth breaking her usual stoic stone expression. Lifting her glass, looking the new lord admiral in the eyes stated, "I, Fleet Admiral Breanne Eskra, commander of the newly named mega carrier Eskra's Spirit, will cast my fate with you, Lord Admiral Evandor." She remained standing with the other two who gave their allegiance. The hint of mirth spread across her face, almost as if she was laughing at herself.

Robert Byrd, the stodgy old admiral of the ancient battleship watched the others make their declaration. Hardly believing his circumstances, he pushed himself up. "To guns and glory," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for all to hear. Straightening his posture, he lifted his glass and faced the others. "I, Fleet Admiral Robert Byrd, commander of the newly named battleship Byrd's Talon, will cast my fate with you, Lord Admiral Evandor." Decisive actions made by decisive people. Four down, one to go.

That left Jayne Dayle, the only member from the 2nd fleet, the other outsider of the group. All eyes moved to her, waiting. She sat there, slowly twirling her fork in her fingers contemplating her decision. She knew that she had maxed out her career growth with the Republic, the only non-primal admiral of the 2nd Fleet. She was a star child with no phenomenon, but not born on Earth. This flaw extinguished any hope for further advancement.

She would be going from the comfort and security of the Republic to blazing a new trail with a madman, living on the run with no guarantee of a future worth living however long it would last. Yet, if immortality was hers, and in her new state of being, did she trust the Republic to do right by her? She already knew the answer to that question. She flipped the fork with her fingers sending it tumbling end over end crashing into a silver platter half-full of bite size desserts. "Full power to the engines and damn the torpedoes," she said as she stood, wine glass in hand. Then to the others she said, "I Fleet Admiral Jayne Dayle, commander of the newly named mega carrier Jayne's Phantom, will cast my fate with you, Lord Admiral Evandor."

It did not go unnoticed by Evandor that she was the only one to use her first name when renaming her ship. Not an unheard of practice, but rather uncommon. Perhaps it was her way of standing out from the group. "Then here is to the birth of a nation," Lord Admiral Evandor said, raising his voice and his glass. "Here's to us, the Lords of the Immortal Council."

Together they drank.

 

[Kris Wicker]

On Earth, the Center of the Colonized Galaxy

Chapter 50

Jacque Corfur sat alone in his hover car as it sped back to his compound. Technologically viable for hundreds of years for independent personal transportation they were extremely rare outside cities. Hovering posed many challenges compared to good old-fashioned wheels. Part of the problem was the need for carbon super conductors to be inlaid into the road system so the magnetic levitation system could function. The cost was exorbitant, but with only the friction resistance of air, the vehicles were very easy to power with solar cells. Once established they were cost effective and clean. With energy and resources being poured into the expansion and survival of humanity, maglev transit systems did not make the priority list for centuries.

Only the wealthiest and most established planets had them. Earth, being the heart of all humanity was the most advanced planet. She gave a lot in way of soil and water to fuel the expansion into the universe, and she was abused with pollutants and overpopulation for far too long. With humankind settled across the stars it was decreed that it was humanity's turn to give back to Earth. Pollution sources were shut down and moved off planet, population was capped at two and a half billion, the privileged families. Earth recovered from the strains put on her, and she regained her former beauty, the most stunning jewel in the galaxy. The thriving industrial might in finance and technology, and the political seat of the Earth Core Republic kept it the center of the colonized galaxy.

Corfur's compound was in the country, far away from the city and prying eyes. He privately funded the laying of the super conductor highway to his private place. Even the government or military did not expand the network far outside of the cities because of the staggering costs. The result was the hovercraft private highways became a status symbol for the obscenely wealthy citizens.

The father and controlling entity of cyberjacking, Corfur was one such individual that could purchase anything he wanted. Rare, illicit, taboo, illegal, flamboyant, all manners of goods and services had been acquired by the doctor over the years. Often for advances in his research, others times for his personal pleasures.

His computer piloted car gave him the luxury of a smooth carefree ride wherever he wanted. He didn't notice any scenery as he drove back from his meeting with Duzan. His mind completely consumed with the exciting discoveries. He watched the video repeatedly the whole way back. Stopping, slowing, or reversing at sections to find any possible clue. He also watched the footage of the battle when the Soul Jacker was hit by the space cannon. The lack of analytical data would make it a challenge if not impossible to decipher how to duplicate the process.

If his theory was correct, the crew of the 5th awoke from apparent death and stole others bodies because the link between body and soul was broken. Which in turn meant they had stumbled across the secret to immortality, which he had become his ultimate life goal.

Cybernetics, drugs, hormone therapy, and surgery could prolong the body, but it still broke down. His physical brain being his biggest concern, it was bound to give out and when it started to fail, everything would go with it. He could feel death prying at the door trying to get in and wrap its cold talons around him. It seemed to Corfur the human condition had a time clock installed into its fabric. When the clock wound down to nothing, death would result. Science had been able to slow down the clock, but it kept ticking. Forever ticking without ceasing, he could hear it in his head now it was so near. That was precisely why he needed to find the key to eternal life. He had lived longer than any human before him. His wealth allowed him to use everything science had to offer, not to mention a practice that no other knew of to keep himself alive. Some of the former were legal, some the later were not, but he refused to die.

Long ago Corfur realized he could not solve the riddle of immortality himself, he was only one man and the universe was too large to explore without help, this led to the birth of his Forerunners. Men and women carefully picked and groomed to seek out answers for him. Each brilliant in their own right, he took the extra precaution of carefully laying programming in their cyberpsyches so that they would have an underlying obsession to find the answers he needed. A compulsion to take any risk necessary if there was any possibility of success.

He watched the footage up to the point where it cut out, right when Rahmore's helmet was removed. It was a shame to lose Rahmore, having to find and retrain a replacement was bad enough, but he couldn't replace the man's genius and aptitude towards cyber and biomedics. Granted he did have eccentric tendencies, but what genius didn't? To have an agent at the scene of the incident with all that data being compiled in his science frigate and lose it all was a hard blow to take. Yet not all was lost, he had several other agents imbedded in the 5th Fleet. He mentally went over their names, professions, and the ships they were assigned. Some of them must have survived the transformation. He just needed to find a way to get access to them and going with Duzan may be that method.

With Duzan on his mind, he wondered, how the admiral knew about his black file experiments. Was it a stab in the dark, or did he have evidence? Corfur went over his security protocols trying to determine what gave him away. Those who he employed in his inner circle were beyond loyal, but perhaps a careless mistake occurred. He will have to find it and either close it or exploit it by giving misdirection.

His thoughts stayed on Duzan. The man came across like a bull, in both size and personality. He did not have to act powerful because he was powerful. Any person who navigated their way to the premiere command position of the Republic military forces had incredible military and political prowess. His network of contacts would be extensive. Did he have one in Corfur's group? Or perhaps someone close to someone in his group?

Corfur accessed the files on Evandor. He had already done his homework on him, but now he was going to read every scrap of data that mentioned him, from civilian to military as he had already wormed his way into classified military systems. He was going to learn everything about him, by the time he would meet him, he would know the war admiral better than he knew himself. He also brought up the names and files of the other admirals of the fleet. They would be next. By the time he was done with his research, he would be able to exploit any minutia of a character trait, personality flaw, or desire that they might have. He would also do the same with Duzan. However, only civilian data was available for him. There was only cursory data on him in the military networks, birthdate, promotions, and such. Missing was any psychological profiles or similar deeper data.

"Arrival at destination," announced the soft feminine voice of the computer pilot. Corfur looked up and out of the window. He had driven for over two hours to his country estate compound, went underground, and had come to a complete stop at the secret entrance to his private labs without notice. A spark of panic stabbed at his guts. He feared it was a sign he was losing his sharpness of mind. Forgetting things and missing details were all bad signs. He could feel the panic spread across his torso as nerve endings felt like they were firing cold pulses through him. He clenched his muscles tight and fought the panic attack. He focused on his breathing, focused on relaxing his muscles until the fear subsided. He was too close now to lose control of his faculties. Too close.

Once calm, Corfur opened the door and stepped out. The two servants were already waiting in position kneeling in front of him, foreheads nearly touching the grey marble tiled floor, hands splayed out wide to either side of them. They were wearing thin white robes that covered every inch of their bodies.

Corfur slipped the small plastic rod out of the cuff of his suit jacket. It was slightly thinner than his thumb. He pulled the tip and extended it to its full meter length. Giving it a quick once over, he began to beat his two servants with it. Cracking it down like a whip over their backs. After the third blow, they began to react to each strike, but to their credit, they barely let out a sound.

Inflicting pain made Corfur feel alive. The sudden scare at the end of the drive motivated him to land more blows than he normally would have. Once he saw red spreading on the back of their robes, he stopped. His mind felt clearer, letting out a satisfied breath. He tossed the plastic stick to the side. They will clean it later and carefully replace it for next time. Truly, money could buy anything. He would give their families a bonus payment this week. Being generous also helped him feel alive. Feeling alive was important, he would do whatever it takes.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 51

Lord Admiral Duzan was not surprised to find War Admiral Henkel Sevastian waiting for him when the elevator doors opened. "Early as usual I see," said Duzan.

Sevastian snapped a salute that Duzan reciprocated. "Of course Lord Admiral," he replied. "I wouldn't want to keep you waiting." He was a distinguished looking middle-aged man. Hair turned grey, face showing lines, yet still handsome. His physique, while not overweight, had a soft look of one who did not exercise.

Duzan gave him a slight nod. "What are your thoughts of the recent events?" There was no need to be specific. If Sevastian couldn't figure out what he meant then Duzan had half a mind to strip him of his rank. Sevastian was the only War Admiral that Duzan didn't specifically choose and groom himself. Rather he got to his rank due to the high political standings of his family. Duzan tried not to hold that against him.

Sevastian fell into step beside the larger man. They were aboard the Mobile War Fortress, Golan's Glory, which was assigned to the 1st CASF and was technically Sevastian's flagship. They walked through a corridor to the observation deck that over looked one of the top-secret shipboard construction yards that had been added to the ship. Gone where the days that the Glory was considered a front line combat vessel. Almost two hundred years old, it had been converted to an orbital station over Earth that was home to fleet command, high-level research, and sections designated for civilian tours.

"That is a multi-dimensional problem," started Sevastian, "requiring in-depth analysis and theoretical propositions."

"You will not always get time to run those analysis," replied Duzan. "This a fluid situation and I want your initial thoughts." Duzan had no patience for power word stall tactics. Mentoring his fleet officers was a practice he valued and he used every opportunity. Duzan continued walking with a steady pace, but he could feel the man next to him squirming under the pressure.

"I believe your recommendations to redistribute the fleets sounded like a solid plan to shore up the loss of the 5th," said Sevastian. He was with Duzan when he presented the situation and plan to the seven politicians of the high council. When Duzan didn't respond Sevastian continued. "The first fleet can expand its patrol territory, and since the other frontiers with the Dynasty and Dominion remain relatively calm those fleets should be able help shore up the positions the 2nd fleet is abandoning to get to the Tribes frontier."

"You said it sounded good?" asked Duzan. He needed to test the man, push him harder. Sevastian had grown up on Earth and never had left the solar system. He was soft.

"Forgive me, Lord Admiral," Sevastian started, then paused as he carefully considered his next words fearing to critique his superior officer. "While the realignment sounds good, we lost twenty three percent of our star navy. We are thin and vulnerable, if the other Star Nations decide to try take advantage."

Duzan took two more steps then stopped when nothing else was offered. He slowly turned and faced Sevastian, who in turn stopped as well. "And?"

"And, they will find out eventually, we have to gear up production and training. I can put requisitions for more emergency funds."

"You are right, in that they will find out," replied Duzan, "but you have to see past the numbers. I commend you on your efficiency and organization abilities. The first fleet has never run smoother. However, you are looking at just the numbers. We may have lost twenty three percent of our numbers, but what we also lost was our most battle experienced fleet. They have faced our most aggressive enemy and have met him head on. In comparison, the other fleets have been dealing with school yard brawls."

"I see," said Sevastian. Duzan was grateful that the man looked like he was registering the information. "Then how much of our true combat strength did we lose?"

"Closer to thirty five percent," said Duzan. He turned and continued to walk. The ceiling of the corridor became a glass dome letting them see out to the stars and all the ships and stations in orbit around Earth.

Sevastian's jaw dropped before he could recover. He had to hurry to catch up to the Lord Admiral and silently ran the numbers through his head.

"What happens when the civilians find out?" asked Duzan intending to keep Sevastian off balance.

"We have to keep this under wraps as long as possible," replied Sevastian. He lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Duzan recognized it as his habit for when he was trying to understand a situation. It spoke volumes of the mans subconscious values, as it wouldn't ruffle his immaculate hair or uniform.

"How long before the civilians find out?"

"With strict control of the media, and with the event being in a remote location I would say indefinite. Months, possibly years. We can have the official line that the 5th fleet is in precarious combat and we cannot risk any non-military communication so as not to risk their positions."

"What if it leaks?"

"Then it will spread like wildfire among the civilians," replied Sevastian. "It will be on every news stream and media outlet. Thousands of rumors, speculations and possibly even riots."

Duzan nodded. "What would you do when it happens?"

Sevastian opened his mouth, paused as he rethought his answer. "It would be best let the politicians decide that. I'm sure that they would find a way to label some view points as hate speech and that would squash them."

"Good answer," replied Duzan. It was very powerful to have the ability to label specific subjects as hate speech. Having that legal authority made it easier to run their agendas. "Never forget the military is to protect the people. We are not a police force, but will help if called upon."

"Of course, Lord Admiral," said Sevastian.

"While the potential civilian upheaval will be a nuisance, that isn't the main concern," said Duzan. "The real problem is that it would lead to the other star nations finding out and they may try to take advantage."

"Which would force us into defensive positions on two fronts," replied Sevastian. "It would be best to prevent that as long as possible."

Duzan would have preferred Sevastian to get to the conclusions himself, but he seemed to be catching on.

They walked in silence and reached the observation bubble. It was unheard of to have such a fragile structure on a military vessel, but if Earth ever was attacked, they would have bigger concerns than an oversized window.

The two men watched the construction yard attached to Golan's Glory. It was comparatively small, but was shrouded in secrecy as it yielded the newest breakthroughs in technology.

Finally, Sevastian asked the question. "What of Evandor and the 5th fleet? If I didn't see Chard's final message with my own eyes I wouldn't have believe a single word."

Duzan remained motionless, hands clasped behind his back. "I have to get him back into the fold."

Sevastian mimicked the bigger mans stance and stared out into space. "Is that possible? We both saw what he did."

"I have known Evandor for a long time," replied Duzan. "I saw the potential in him as a young captain. I have helped guide him and test him as he advanced through the ranks. He made his mistakes, but he always learned from them and kept improving. I know he is proud, loyal, driven and desires to protect his people. I believe he will see reason and stay with the Republic."

"What of his war crimes?" asked Sevastian. "And what he has become? He can't be called human anymore." The disrespect was easily heard on his words, it was bordering on disgust.

"The Republic is better off with the 5th fleet. The offensive would continue at full strength and we would take scores of terraformed planets from the Tribes. They would never recover. As the front stabilizes, we would bring in fresh troops in, rotate out the dead crews and give them the best medical treatment possible. Any war crimes trials can be suspended until a more prudent time to deal with them."

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 52

Dr. Jacque Corfur settled into his chair. He had descended into his underground laboratory, the real lab where he did his real work. The lab he had above ground with all the public white lab coat employees was mostly for show. They did good work, but it was vanilla.

His personal laboratory was clean and bright, as one would expect of any medical facility. He was at his personal computer. It was connected to an independent locked computer system, one that had no connection with the outside world. He could bring in data to dump it after the data had been thoroughly cleaned for any hack programs, but he could not reach out with it. Inconvenient at times, but it meant that no outside source could actively compromise his system. He had the best that money could buy, but Corfur was no fool and knew that if the military wanted in, they would find a way in. He discovered the military tendrils in his vanilla lab. They were very well placed and subtle. He left them there and let them spy on him. They would not find anything that he did not want them to find.

He opened the data card files he had on his desk, ran his fingers along their tops. He was not completely truthful with Duzan. He did not give every captured soul a chance to go back into their own bodies.

Each data card contained a soul, a battery, and a virtual world program. Their bodies lay in an induced coma in a nearby room, hooked up to respirators and IV's giving them life-sustaining nutrients. How he would love to step inside one of those bodies, to transfer his soul from his wretched decrepit body to one full of youth. Yet despite his best efforts, his brilliant intelligence, his dogged perseverance, and willingness to sacrifice anyone to make it happen, he always fell short.

It was simply impossible to take over another person's body. At least until he saw the recording of it happening before his very own eyes. The loss of Rahmore still disappointed him. It would have been so much better if he had survived.

Corfur pulled out a data card. It was dated from five months ago when he locked the soul into it. People did not last long when sequestered into cyberspace their mental collapse was inevitable. This specific subject he had purchased from Andorin. Corfur was methodically working his way through all the various phenomenons. Maybe, just maybe, he could find one that got him a step closer to his ultimate goal. Buying people was a highly illegal activity, but he had the resources to motivate just about anyone. The key was to be far enough detached that nothing could be traced back to him. Even if the person ended up in one of the stainless steel cages he had in the next room.

He slipped the data card into the computer, plugged himself into the cyberjack port, and met his patient in the computer. For the long-term subjects, he had a cyber world program developed for them. It was based off the real world using a virtual reality game engine for its foundation. Regardless of how well the world was designed, how active the person trapped in the system could be, it was not the same as real life. The subject knew he or she was in the machine, and eventually lost their grip on reality and their sanity.

This one was no different. It became a blabbering ball of goo months ago. A person's cyberself-image was based on his or her own personal identity. If insanity reigned in the mind, the cyberself reflected it. There was no landscape in this program, just a featureless white room. The person, or what was left of him, looked like a semi-humanoid creature scurrying along on all fours. It was muttering to itself with incomprehensible words.

"Come here," he thought out towards it. His thought projection was not loud, but it carried deep authority. The human creature stopped its mindless scurrying and shuffled towards him. It looked like a dog that had been whipped too many times as it whimpered towards its master.

Corfur could not help but feel disgust towards the creature. He could feel the revulsion in the back of his throat. "You have failed me, like the others," he told it. "Yet your sacrifice will not go in vain." The creature became calm as he spoke, as if his words gave it a semblance of peace.

"Stand before me," he said, and the creature complied. He felt a sense of regret for having to use up another life, not because of what was about to happen to the person, but rather because he had not yet found the solution to immortality. Corfur lifted his left hand, palm towards the human creature's chest. He projected a tendril to come out of his palm by sheer force of will. The tendril snaked out and struck the creature in its sternum. Instinctively it grabbed on to the tendril as the doctor began to drain its life essence into him. The tendril pulsed in its grip as it began to struggle.

"Hush, it will be okay," Corfur told it. "Hush," his thoughts soothing. The creature let go of its grip and stopped struggling. As Corfur devoured its life essence, the creature lost all of its coloring in the cyberworld becoming a monochrome featureless shape until it slowly was no longer.

Corfur felt stronger, revitalized from absorbing the soul. He learned this trick two decades ago and it gave him a new extension on life. Granted, he preferred the taste of someone unbroken because they didn't have the taint of insanity. Either way, eating another soul stretched his life span even further. How much longer, he was not sure, but any little bit was not insignificant. Turning his attention to his data files, he set his mind on the next task.

Duzan did not give him much time to get ready. Right after he left the council building he contacted Dr. Jean Bellerose, his personal assistant, to prepare the specialized equipment he would want on their voyage. He had acquired the manifest of what he would find on the ship they would be taking. It had a modern medical bay with all the expected top of the line equipment. Not near the same caliber of equipment he had in private, but nothing to be ashamed of.

It was an interesting dance put before him. Duzan was onto him about his secret experiments and the knowledge he had gained. Corfur was sure that the invitation to chase after Evandor and his undead horde was to get his expertise. Duzan would have access to both what was in his head and what was in his equipment. If he brought the best he had on board Duzan's ship, then the so-called lord admiral could learn everything. If Corfur did not bring the best, then his chances of solving the immortality riddle was lowered or at the very least delayed.

The candle of his life had nearly burned out. Years ago he may have waited patiently on Earth for Duzan to bring back the spoils, but now, time was not an asset he possessed. It was a sign of desperation that he was willing to risk so much on this voyage. If Duzan wishes to see all his secrets, then he would give him a firsthand demonstration.

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 53

Duzan and Sevastian patiently stood.

"They're running late," said Sevastian.

"The bay doors have opened," replied Duzan.

The two men waited for the ship to come out.

"Do you believe it's wise to leave Earth?" asked Sevastian breaking the silence.
Earth was light years away from the front, but it was still the central hub of communication and power.

Duzan smiled, not because he was amused, but more for the other man's sake so that he would think he was. "The high council wishes it so. They wanted me to leave earlier."

"But your ships weren't ready," Sevastian answered. Duzan nodded, it was a partial truth, but it would suffice. He didn't feel like telling him that the High Council was putting the blame of the disaster at Duzan's feet. Nor was it prudent to get into the details of the political shift of how Duzan suspected the High Council might be attempting to make him the scapegoat for when the news leaked out.

He was sure the High Council would prefer Sevastian to be the next Lord Admiral. Sevastian would run a tight organization, streamline systems, and lower costs. More importantly, he would do what he was told and not stand up to the high council, which Duzan believed would lead to the degradation of the military and the beginning of the end of the ECR.

"It's incredible how these ships are able to make four space jumps before needing recharges. It's unheard of," said Sevastian. "Will you test the quad-drive system?"

"They worked as expected with the other ships. The battle cruiser should be no different."

"So no tests?"

"The first jumps will be to established systems, that'll my safety net," Duzan answered.

"Look, it's coming out," said Sevastian, his face lit up with excitement.

The ship began to move out of its berth. Its nose protruded from the bay. It's hull darker than the void of space. Light seemed to not know what to do with the ship. He could not tell if it was absorbed by the stealth coating or bending around it. Either way, the eye had a hard time resting on it and wanted to slide off. These ships were the first of their kind to employ the advanced type of stealth covering that small strike craft like the Lancers had. The battle cruiser was half way through, its body was elongated to hold the four-charge jump drive and oversized sub light drive system making it, and its sister ships, the fastest in the known universe.

War Admiral Sevastian let out a low soft whistle as the ship cleared its moorings, "Take a look at that, you can't even see its energy plume." Duzan did not feel the need to respond to the statement, content with watching his new personal ship maneuver to the rest of his strike fleet.

"Do you have the updates on the their manufacturing?" asked Duzan.

Sevastian lifted his left arm and activated the forearm projector that was built seamlessly into the sleeve of his uniform. A hologram display projected out and he tapped at it. "Manufacturing and food process all show optimum. They will be able to keep the ships in service indefinitely."

"Crew status?"

Sevastian changed the readouts. "Flight crews already on board. Rippers will board in two hours." He tapped at the readouts again. "You're not bringing any infantry or armored vehicles?"

"Not for these ships," replied Duzan.

Sevastian kept looking at the schematics. "You've set these up to be the perfect strike force. Invisible, fast, and hard hitting."

"Exactly," replied Duzan with a slight nod of approval.

They watched the new battle cruiser fly to where the other cruisers waited. If they didn't know where to look, they would've never been able to spot
them. As it was, they could make out the silhouettes of five defense cruisers, and two each of hybrid and mainline cruisers.

"That being said, with all due respect," said Sevastian. "I'm uncomfortable with you going out to confront Evandor. You have ten ships, he has an entire fleet."

"I will," Duzan responded and wondered if Sevastian was oblivious of the political games being played. "We cannot send enough ships to effectively confront him and the 5th Fleet. My goal is to persuade him to come back to the fold. If not, then I will eliminate him by cutting off the head of the pack. Without him, the rest will falter and come back to us."

"What if one of the other admirals picks up the mantle?"

"Then they'll be the next one in line for my guns," Duzan said, his deep voice resolute.

"Not meaning to question you Sir," started Sevastian. His eyebrows arched giving him an apologetic look. "But, you're grossly outnumbered."

Duzan smiled his first authentic smile since the incident. "This old bull is not without his tricks." It reminded him of the old days when he commanded ships on the frontiers. Not the same, but similar enough. Back then, he didn't have to concern himself with politics, internal ploys, and the rest. He just had one opponent to worry about and he had his barrels pointing at them. Now, he was the bull going into the open fields, pushed forward by a den of political wolves, with a cyberjack viper in his back pocket, while trying to tame a wild lion.

Sevastian kept his eyes on the slow moving battle cruiser. "You have my deepest admiration and respect, Lord Admiral."

Duzan didn't respond to the flattery.

"Look at that beautiful ship, Commander Spretza out did himself again," said Sevastian, his speech sped up with the compliments. "First the
lancers, then the space cannons and now these stealth cruisers! That man is a generational genius!" Sevastian's chest puffed out and Duzan let him keep boasting. It wasn't the first time.

"It still baffles me the other star nations don't simply give up their ways and come under our fold. We are the Earth Core Republic. Easily the greatest and noblest of nations. We have the highest standard living, the best economy and we have Earth, the cradle of all life and the purest expression of humanity!"

His tirade of propaganda made Duzan weary. Everything he said was true, but he was laying it on thick.

"While I'm on the front, keep me apprised of the troop transfers," said Duzan to change the subject.

"Of course, Sir," replied Sevastian. "I will see to every letter of your orders."

"I'm sure you will," said Duzan.

Sevastian tracked the battle cruiser as it was coming around. The black depth of it is hull hiding the stars behind it. "What will you call them?" he asked as no official name was given to the fleet.

"They're my Dragoneers."

"The Dragoneers," Sevastian said feeling out the words. "An appropriate name if I ever heard one. What of your flagship?"

"That'll be my Dragon."

"Duzan's Dragon," said Sevastian. "I like it."

 

[Kris Wicker]

Turrin Star System, Location of the Event

Chapter 54

Marcus Evandor, the self appointed Lord Admiral of the Immortals was in cyberspace. Not one of the crew stations, rather a virtual rendition of his personal crew quarters. Colonel Kyle Reis had recently joined him.

"The software engineers have done remarkable work," said Reis as he surveyed room. "Barebones, but they will begin filling the personal touches in time."

Evandor was standing in front of a mirror inspecting him self. His image was as he was in life, but perhaps ten years younger. He attributed it to feeling invigorated.

"I commend you on the idea of having them reconstruct the entire ship based off the blue prints," said Evandor.

"I have to give the credit to Major Asuna, the idea was hers," replied Reis. "We needed livable spaces in the cyberworld. We can't exactly be shuffling though the corridors in our corpses. We're lucky almost all the software engineers survived."

"Luck is something we can use more of," replied Evandor. He turned to his executive officer. "I assume you have watched my video."

"Twice. It was very well done and delivered as promised," said Reis. His expression darkened.

"You didn't like it?" asked Evandor. He could practically see the weight on Reis' shoulders.

Reis dropped his eyes to Evandor's chest. His face tightened before he looked back to meet his commanding officer in the eye. "I am going back to Earth."

This time Evandor's eyes tightened. "I know you have mixed feelings, but I want you to stay. I need good people like you."

"I have made my decision."

Evandor shifted, turning on his heel. "Computer, show image of the starboard side." He waved his hand at the wall and it shifted, effectively disappearing giving the feeling they were standing on a ledge over looking space. They looked over the fleet with the Turrin star as a backdrop.

Evandor willed a mental image of a glass of orange juice that he held. It offered a taste sensation, but nothing else. "My entire life I have fought for and defended the ECR. I have seen more combat than any one person should." He paused to pass the glass from one hand to the other before letting it go and disappear without taking a drink. "I have authored the death of tens of thousands, some would argue hundreds of thousands. Yet, I find it strange that not a single drop of blood has touched my hands."

He turned to Reis, "I have loved waging war. I'm good at it, but lately I have wondered if I love it because that is all I have been tasked to do. Now, now I want more. I no longer want to kill and destroy. I want to build."

Reis watched the fleet elements slowly move. He was still the XO, and part of his mind was cataloging the ship movements to ensure they were aligned to what he wanted. "This is a dangerous game. Before you had authority because those above you gave you authority and they had the backing of the entire Earth Core Republic. Now it's just you."

"It's fragile," said Evandor. "I've talked with the other admirals and we are aware of our precarious position. That's why it is essential to keep everyone busy and soon we will begin preparing for our first conquests. Progress will bring unity."

Reis didn't respond. He could feel his insides twisting.

"I know I'm a warlord, that is all I know," continued Evandor. "The other admirals also see that same flaw. We know we need civilians, we need a real government."

"And you are ready to give power to politicians?" asked Reis.

"Once we are established and at a state of peace, then absolutely."

"I don't mean to question your character Marcus, but-"

"Power corrupts and consumes," said Evandor cutting him off.

Reis watched a cannon frigate settle into formation with other ships in its class. "You also have the problem living bodies," he said changing the subject. "There have been a few incidents where crew in living bodies where accosted by those in dead bodies. The living is hard to resist."

"Anything serious?" asked Evandor. There was too much that demanded attention. He had to trust others.

"Nothing beyond bruises and scrapes," said Reis. "Fortunately a few ripper pilots where nearby and broke it up. It seems they are more resilient to temptation than most."

"It could be a result of having their bodies mostly made out of cybernetics," said Evandor.

"That's what Asuna and I thought as well. Anyway, we have arranged it so that all the living bodies will stay in the city, which is off limits to everyone else."

"This is another example why I need you to stay Kyle. I can't do everything myself and need people I can trust."

Reis grimaced. He turned to his long time friend and commander. "I'm sorry Marcus. I'm still going back. You said you would give everyone a choice."

Evandor took a deep breath. He had expected many to choose to return the ECR, but he didn't want Kyle to be one of them. "Is it that you don't trust me?"

"No, that's not it."

"Well then. What?"

"It's that you can't trust me," said Reis.

Evandor answered with a quizzical look.

Reis turned back to watch the fleet. "You see, I want it too bad. I lust for living bodies. I couldn't help myself with the captives before, and I don't think I can again. I can't be trusted."

Evandor looked over his friend. Unsure.

"Besides," said Reis attempting a smile. "Someone has to go back and pay the piper for treason. I might as well be the scapegoat."

"I can't imagine that going well for you," replied Evandor.

This time Reis laughed. "No, no it won't. One the bright side I bet I will get to meet the famous Doctor Jacque Corfur. That'll be interesting."

Evandor smirked. He knew Reis had made up his mind. He let the moment pass and accepted the decision. "Well then, time is short and I plan to work you to the bone before having to let you go," he said as he clasped Reis on the shoulder.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't Lord Admiral."

The computer chimed, announcing that crewmembers had begun to register their decision. A pop up display appeared showing the tally.

"Looks like you won't be alone," said Reis.

"You'll have some company as well," said Evandor. The two watched the numbers grow. Those choosing to stay were outnumbering those that wanted to leave. The building blocks were beginning to form.

Evandor thought back on the discussions with the fleet admirals after they all agreed to join him. They knew that while they were accomplished military professionals they lacked experience in building an economy or a society. They would need to get civilians to build an infrastructure. Land holdings would eventually be needed and held for the civilians. They had the fleet to protect it, but currently lacked two major components, an army to take and hold land, and the actual civilians. Without land holdings, they would eventually exhaust themselves, but with land, they would have a stationary target for others. They had discussed this at length. They would have to tread carefully as they move forward, it would be all about the timing of each step.

Then there was the laying down of the fundamentals of leadership they wanted to build on. It was a very lively debate on psychology and the human condition. They decided in principal that their goal as the high council was to be trusted and respected by the people who they would empower and protect. Ruling by fear, control, and enslavement was not what they wanted to be known for, but rather they wanted to be a place people desired to go, not to escape from. They agreed that everyone wanted to belong to something, to be able to identify with a group of people they felt an affinity or a kinship. Immortality would polarize them together, as would the sense of them united against a universe that would not accept them.

The masses would look to them for guidance because when it really came down to it, most people did not want to lead or even know how to lead. The average individual wants to be a part of something where they could thrive and be accepted. To be able to use their talents and abilities having a positive contribution that others recognize and appreciate. That was the key; they needed to build a society where each individual could contribute in a manner that would edify themselves as well as the group.

"You just reached a thousand who will stay with you," said Reis.

Evandor came out of his thoughts and focused back on the numbers. The 5th fleet still trusted him. "Let's get to work. We have a nation to build."

 

[Kris Wicker]

Chapter 55

Fleet Admiral Jayne Dayle was flying back to her mega-carrier. She sat in the passenger section of the shuttle corvette reserved for dignitaries. She was alone, the pilots closed off in the cockpit, which was good because they smelled ripe. She was in a living body, not the same one she had at dinner because she switched out to try a different one on for size. Evandor gifted each of them at the table with six bodies to take back with them. The first of many, as it was decided each capital ship would have an equal share of live bodies that their crews, and associated ships, could use in their cities. Not many, but with so few to go around it was something to start. She would have to set up a rotational schedule for her crew starting with the officers.

The body she was in wasn't as attractive as the last, but she had curly locks of brown hair that she could not resist twirling in her fingers. She would have to try one of the male bodies, maybe sooner than later just for the experience. What woman hadn't wondered what it would be like to be in one those, all hairy and with that extra appendage?

She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest squishing her breasts. They were much bigger than she was used to, and these arms were shorter than expected. She unfolded her arms and settled for lacing her fingers together on her lap. She had watched the broadcast Evandor said he would send out, and he was true to his word. He released it on short-range transmission to the whole fleet. It was a well-put together presentation very similar to what he did in person with them over dinner. It was more commercialized and edited, but the message was the same. Something about it seemed familiar. It did not take her long to find the source of inspiration.

She watched the history files of when Pirate King Myrrond gave his infamous speech after his raid on Linstor nearly three centuries ago. He was the self-proclaimed pirate king who started the arms race and set the universe into a never-ending state of war. He used the same tactics of plying freedom of choice and a chance to create something new, to be their own people. Granted Evandor also played the immortality card, which was incredibly appealing. She sighed to herself. She joined a man inspired by a pirate king. Now they are the self-proclaimed immortal lords. Surely, Evandor was mad. Maybe she was no less insane for siding with him.

What really bothered her was at the end of Evandor's video presentation to the fleet he showed the footage of each of the new fleet admirals declaring their allegiance to him and the new society. In the back of her mind, she wanted the option of being able to back out of what she thought was said in private and escape with her fleet. Now her choice was openly made public.

Damn that man. She was sure he used their declaration to seal them to their words and help sway the crews to his way of thinking. If the highest-ranking officials among them choose to side with Evandor, then many lower ranks will join simply just because of that. Those on the fence would likely decide that if the top ranks thought it was best to become a new nation, then they must have good reasons to do so.

Now she had to face her crew and the other commanders of the 2nd Fleet that were sent into battle with her. Her carrier fleet and the associated destroyer task forces that were under her command. Theoretically, they were on loan to the 5th in what was supposed to be a historical battle with the Tribes. Their added strength was to bring victory and seize the day.

"Historical indeed," she muttered.

Now she was caught, her pride kept her from considering herself part of the 5th Fleet, and she wondered how many of her crew would stay or go. For all she knew, they could even be plotting mutiny against her for her unexpected public declaration of loyalty to the new immortal lord admiral.

She had to admit it was a bold move to take that rank title. He just put himself on the same level as Lord Admiral Duzan. That was a strong declaration that he considered them as equals along with a message of independence. Arrogant or insane, she couldn't make up her mind.

The journey to her ship wasn't far. She set an easy pace and it took them over an hour as she wanted time alone to think. The corvette entered the rear hanger of her newly named mega-carrier Jayne's Phantom. The pilot brought it to a gentle landing, touching down on all three landing pads at the same time with barely a bump. She stood up tugging on the bottom of her uniform tunic to straighten it out. The airlock side panel popped open with a hiss and lowered the stairs for her to depart. She stepped through the doorway and stopped at the top of the stairs.

Before her, filling the entire hangar was her crew standing at attention in precise rank and file order, stretching wide and going deep to the back wall. It looked as if every surviving soldier on board was present, their cadavers dressed in parade uniform with rifles held against their sides, barrels pointing straight up.

Colonel Emeel Lang, her second-in-command, stepped forward military boot striking the metal deck with a clang. Dayle could not help but notice he wore his sidearm on his hip. Every last one of them was armed.

Lang snapped to attention, heels clicking together and right arm coming up to a sharp salute, "ALL HAIL FLEET ADMIRAL DAYLE," he shouted, his words echoed in the large metal room.

The crew all snapped to attention presenting their arms forward and striking their left heel on the deck in unison creating a thunderous report.

"ALL HAIL FLEET ADMIRAL DAYLE," they shouted together, their voices booming and echoing in the metal walled cavernous hangar.

"ALL HAIL THE IMMORTAL LORDS," shouted Lang next, still rigidly standing with a salute in place.

"ALL HAIL THE IMMORTAL LORDS," repeated the crew, there was no doubt about their decision or their loyalty.

Fleet Admiral Jayne Dayle snapped herself to attention returning the salute. "ALL HAIL TO US, THE IMMORTAL LEGION," she shouted. A smile crossed her face despite herself. She believed Evandor was a madman, but she had to admit he was a bloody genius. She was no longer sure if she would want it any other way.

 

[Kris Wicker]

And that's a wrap on the first novel everyone. Comes in at 89k words.

If there is interest, I am working on the second book.