, or a bookstore near you.(Readers from the United Kingdom and abroad can also find Clouds of Darkness on Amazon.co.uk )
From Chapter 11
The entrance to the Command Center opened, revealing a great central chamber and a host of anterooms around the periphery. Shyly, fa’Shenali stepped through the doorway into the arching, cavernous nerve center of the Forces of His Worthiness. The Great Room was nearly deserted, its dimmed lights making him pause to let his eyes adjust. Yet the screens brightly displayed the Universe around them, as the Flagship’s automated sensors continued their work undeterred by the lack of an audience, searching the heavens for the faintest trace of the enemy. The subaltern could hear muted and random voices as technicians went about their work, but could see nobody. Slowly, he walked toward the center of the room.
Continuing down the walkway, toward the far bank of computers, he stepped onto the grating that separated the command floor from the service area below. He stopped in front of the main tactical display screen. It was silent now, showing the stars beyond to the west. Somewhere, he thought—somewhere out there lurked the Beast, the One Most Hated. He knew that one day he would see the Beast’s ship in battle. He hoped he would be ready.
As he mused to himself, he slowly became conscious of a bitter, acrid aroma filling the air, wafting up from below, carried on currents of circulating air.
“By your leave,” called a voice. Fa’Shenali looked about, but saw none about him.
“By your leave, Subaltern.”
Looking down, Shenali saw movement in the darkness below, underneath the grating. Curious about its source, he peered intently until he discerned its shape. It was a menial, a technician, assigned to attend the machinery. The menial sighed sharply, making no effort to hide his temper.
“By your leave, your Subalternness!”
“Yes, Menial…what do you require?”
“Pffff!” sniffed the menial.
Taken aback by the breach of manners, fa’Shenali undertook to repeat himself.
“I said— ”
“If it is not too much trouble, Your Grand Lordship might try moving himself so that I am not trapped down here with the fumes.”
Looking about to find himself standing on the hatch opening, fa’Shenali stepped aside. The grating opened and a technician climbed up to the main floor. The menial’s face was darkened with soot, and his body reeked of smoke. He coughed to clear his throat, and took a deep breath.
“If you wished me to move...”
“Many thanks, Subaltern.”
“If you will pardon the question...”
“My name is lash’Hanna,” the menial replied with a bow of politeness.
“If you pardon the question, One Called Hanna,” repeated fa’Shenali, returning the bow formally, “but what were you— ”
“The machines and augmentors need constant monitoring and adjustment,” Hanna interrupted. Fa’Shenali stiffened at the interruption by one of his inferiors, but his show of rank went outwardly unnoticed. “My task is to keep them operating efficiently.” Wryness danced across his lips, and he permitted fa’Shenali to sense his amusement.
“Or perhaps, Your Exaltedness thought that all this equipment maintained itself.”
For a moment, fa’Shenali hesitated, unsure how to react to such a showing of familiarity. In the end, mindful of his own roots, he permitted himself an uncertain smile.
“Perhaps we are all too well insulated from the lives of others,” he replied.
“You are the commoner,” said the menial, wiping his hands on a rag hanging from his utility belt. “The One Called fa’Shenali?”
The young subaltern nodded.
“Your arrival has not gone unnoticed, fa’Shenali,” smiled Hanna. “Many here rejoice at your good fortune.”
“I am gratified. If only my work gave others similar cause— ”
“Pfff— ” scoffed Hanna. “Snooties are snooties, and it matters not how well you perform. To some, you will always be of the rabble. It has ever been, and will ever be.”
Fa’Shenali lowered his eyes and bowed, acknowledging the truth in what the menial said.
“But what of it?” the menial smiled warmly. “Royalty is mostly pomp and little substance, a thinness of sugar on the excrement of worms. You are better off without most of them. As for Ga’Glish and his reformist breed—well, we shall see what happens once the Terrans are no longer baying outside their bedchambers.”
“I see our mothers breed cynics like purebreds breed leeches.”
Lash’Hanna laughed heartily. “Well said, fa’Shenali. I see our betters have not snuffed out your wit.”
Shenali shook his head. “I wish it were so, though often I wonder. I make little progress on my work, and fear it will reflect poorly on the Lord Commander. But the task itself is impossible.”
“And what task is that?”
Fa’Shenali looked toward the large viewer on the west facing of the arching canopy overhead. “It is the One Called Khu’ukh. He is my field of study, his mind and all its workings. I try to understand him, to help us find a better way to fight him, but my work is of no use. He remains a mystery to me, as to all others.”
“Oh, the Beast is a clever one,” Hanna nodded, his words carrying a conviction that fa’Shenali found surprising. “He soars far above our own simpletons—like an eagle soars above the vermin in the field. I fear your task may well be impossible, my friend. His art is like music from a troubadour’s lute, but his bite is deadly as a viper’s.”
“How come you to talk so glowingly about an enemy you have never seen?” Fa’Shenali was astonished that a menial would dare talk of such things. He was even more astonished that his rebuke was met by the laughter of derision.
“Oh we have seen more than you might imagine,” the menial replied good-naturedly. He stepped toward the control panel on the nearby wall. Pressing a few buttons, he turned to face his new acquaintance, a wry smile upon his lips. Soon, the remaining lights dimmed, and all around them was darkness, lit only by the dancing lights on the viewscreen above them.
“Attend.”
At first he saw nothing but dots of light, darting about the screen like evening bugs on a warm summer night. To his amazement, he soon found himself recognizing the patterns, and realized that he was watching a replay of the Battle of Geroulanash. To the left were the doomed ships of Lord Grena, moving against a badly outnumbered Terran attack wing. To the right, the longnose ships moved along a broad front, slipping closer and closer to the g’Khruushtani until the Terran flank suddenly turned to strike at the heart of the oncoming forces of His Worthiness, the center pivoting sharply to shatter the g’Khruushtani battle lines, and splintering the fleet beyond recognition. Then, the Terrans turned upon and destroyed the helpless squadrons as they struggled to regroup. As fa’Shenali watched, he saw the dots forming together like the brushstrokes of an artist, arching and flowing their ballet of death into a beauty as cold as space. For an instant, he was floating among the stars, wondering at the regal grace and artistry that was filling his mind as stars filled the heavens.
Soon, the screen went dark, and light returned to the Command Center.
“How came you to make such a thing?”
“Such things are far beyond my capacity, Subaltern,” Hanna smiled; fa’Shenali could sense the bitter irony in the menial’s words. “ I only work the machines. The computers do the rest.”
“But why has no one told me? Why have we not...?”
Hanna’s irony ripened into anguished laughter.
“Why? You may as well ask why our betters see only themselves when they look into a crowd, One Called fa’Shenali. Few bother to see a battle replayed in this matter, and no one uses it for study. Our leaders are mated to graphs and maps and wishful reports. They cannot see their own noses, much less remember that they have other senses with which to enjoy the Universe. And of course, none would condescend to listen to the rabble. Such a fall would admit that knowledge is not a prerogative limited to Royalty. But I am hardly the first menial to notice their limitations. Nor am I the only one who has seen the mastery of the Beast with his own eyes.”
Fa’Shenali breathed deeply, and raised his eyes toward the giant screen looming above him. Lash’Hanna was right of course. They were incredibly stupid—all of them, himself included. After millennia of pursuing knowledge, it seemed that civilization had bred all the sense out of them. They could reach the highest pinnacles of attainment known to the Galaxy, only to be beaten bloody by a race of savages, too proud or too ignorant to know their own limitations. And if the Terrans knew no such constraints, who could truly call them savages?
Fa’Shenali harbored no doubt that the Terrans would use anything that would help them destroy an enemy. He also hoped that Fate would smile upon the g’Khruushtani at least once during this ordeal—that the Terran’s primitive science would make machines such as the one he had just discovered beyond their capacity, and that they would be permitted at least this one small advantage in their struggle for survival.
© 2011 by Jeffrey Caminsky
* * *
The entrance to the Command Center opened, revealing a great central chamber and a host of anterooms around the periphery. Shyly, fa’Shenali stepped through the doorway into the arching, cavernous nerve center of the Forces of His Worthiness. The Great Room was nearly deserted, its dimmed lights making him pause to let his eyes adjust. Yet the screens brightly displayed the Universe around them, as the Flagship’s automated sensors continued their work undeterred by the lack of an audience, searching the heavens for the faintest trace of the enemy. The subaltern could hear muted and random voices as technicians went about their work, but could see nobody. Slowly, he walked toward the center of the room.Beneath the arching canopy and endless bands of monitors, fa’Shenali felt the humbling lack of his own worth. Within these walls, he mused, the future of his people would be decided, by the dedication and energy of those who served the Lord Commander. He felt lost and bewildered, like a small child who had wandered into a Chamber of Solitude and had no notion of what Meditation really meant for the soul. If he had come to the Great Room for solace or inspiration, it was not working.
Continuing down the walkway, toward the far bank of computers, he stepped onto the grating that separated the command floor from the service area below. He stopped in front of the main tactical display screen. It was silent now, showing the stars beyond to the west. Somewhere, he thought—somewhere out there lurked the Beast, the One Most Hated. He knew that one day he would see the Beast’s ship in battle. He hoped he would be ready.
As he mused to himself, he slowly became conscious of a bitter, acrid aroma filling the air, wafting up from below, carried on currents of circulating air.
“By your leave,” called a voice. Fa’Shenali looked about, but saw none about him.
“By your leave, Subaltern.”
Looking down, Shenali saw movement in the darkness below, underneath the grating. Curious about its source, he peered intently until he discerned its shape. It was a menial, a technician, assigned to attend the machinery. The menial sighed sharply, making no effort to hide his temper.
“By your leave, your Subalternness!”
“Yes, Menial…what do you require?”
“Pffff!” sniffed the menial.
Taken aback by the breach of manners, fa’Shenali undertook to repeat himself.
“I said— ”
“If it is not too much trouble, Your Grand Lordship might try moving himself so that I am not trapped down here with the fumes.”
Looking about to find himself standing on the hatch opening, fa’Shenali stepped aside. The grating opened and a technician climbed up to the main floor. The menial’s face was darkened with soot, and his body reeked of smoke. He coughed to clear his throat, and took a deep breath.
“If you wished me to move...”
“Many thanks, Subaltern.”
“If you will pardon the question...”
“My name is lash’Hanna,” the menial replied with a bow of politeness.
“If you pardon the question, One Called Hanna,” repeated fa’Shenali, returning the bow formally, “but what were you— ”
“The machines and augmentors need constant monitoring and adjustment,” Hanna interrupted. Fa’Shenali stiffened at the interruption by one of his inferiors, but his show of rank went outwardly unnoticed. “My task is to keep them operating efficiently.” Wryness danced across his lips, and he permitted fa’Shenali to sense his amusement.
“Or perhaps, Your Exaltedness thought that all this equipment maintained itself.”
For a moment, fa’Shenali hesitated, unsure how to react to such a showing of familiarity. In the end, mindful of his own roots, he permitted himself an uncertain smile.
“Perhaps we are all too well insulated from the lives of others,” he replied.
“You are the commoner,” said the menial, wiping his hands on a rag hanging from his utility belt. “The One Called fa’Shenali?”
The young subaltern nodded.
“Your arrival has not gone unnoticed, fa’Shenali,” smiled Hanna. “Many here rejoice at your good fortune.”
“I am gratified. If only my work gave others similar cause— ”
“Pfff— ” scoffed Hanna. “Snooties are snooties, and it matters not how well you perform. To some, you will always be of the rabble. It has ever been, and will ever be.”
Fa’Shenali lowered his eyes and bowed, acknowledging the truth in what the menial said.
“But what of it?” the menial smiled warmly. “Royalty is mostly pomp and little substance, a thinness of sugar on the excrement of worms. You are better off without most of them. As for Ga’Glish and his reformist breed—well, we shall see what happens once the Terrans are no longer baying outside their bedchambers.”
“I see our mothers breed cynics like purebreds breed leeches.”
Lash’Hanna laughed heartily. “Well said, fa’Shenali. I see our betters have not snuffed out your wit.”
Shenali shook his head. “I wish it were so, though often I wonder. I make little progress on my work, and fear it will reflect poorly on the Lord Commander. But the task itself is impossible.”
“And what task is that?”
Fa’Shenali looked toward the large viewer on the west facing of the arching canopy overhead. “It is the One Called Khu’ukh. He is my field of study, his mind and all its workings. I try to understand him, to help us find a better way to fight him, but my work is of no use. He remains a mystery to me, as to all others.”
“Oh, the Beast is a clever one,” Hanna nodded, his words carrying a conviction that fa’Shenali found surprising. “He soars far above our own simpletons—like an eagle soars above the vermin in the field. I fear your task may well be impossible, my friend. His art is like music from a troubadour’s lute, but his bite is deadly as a viper’s.”
“How come you to talk so glowingly about an enemy you have never seen?” Fa’Shenali was astonished that a menial would dare talk of such things. He was even more astonished that his rebuke was met by the laughter of derision.
“Oh we have seen more than you might imagine,” the menial replied good-naturedly. He stepped toward the control panel on the nearby wall. Pressing a few buttons, he turned to face his new acquaintance, a wry smile upon his lips. Soon, the remaining lights dimmed, and all around them was darkness, lit only by the dancing lights on the viewscreen above them.
“Attend.”
At first he saw nothing but dots of light, darting about the screen like evening bugs on a warm summer night. To his amazement, he soon found himself recognizing the patterns, and realized that he was watching a replay of the Battle of Geroulanash. To the left were the doomed ships of Lord Grena, moving against a badly outnumbered Terran attack wing. To the right, the longnose ships moved along a broad front, slipping closer and closer to the g’Khruushtani until the Terran flank suddenly turned to strike at the heart of the oncoming forces of His Worthiness, the center pivoting sharply to shatter the g’Khruushtani battle lines, and splintering the fleet beyond recognition. Then, the Terrans turned upon and destroyed the helpless squadrons as they struggled to regroup. As fa’Shenali watched, he saw the dots forming together like the brushstrokes of an artist, arching and flowing their ballet of death into a beauty as cold as space. For an instant, he was floating among the stars, wondering at the regal grace and artistry that was filling his mind as stars filled the heavens.
Soon, the screen went dark, and light returned to the Command Center.
“How came you to make such a thing?”
“Such things are far beyond my capacity, Subaltern,” Hanna smiled; fa’Shenali could sense the bitter irony in the menial’s words. “ I only work the machines. The computers do the rest.”
“But why has no one told me? Why have we not...?”
Hanna’s irony ripened into anguished laughter.
“Why? You may as well ask why our betters see only themselves when they look into a crowd, One Called fa’Shenali. Few bother to see a battle replayed in this matter, and no one uses it for study. Our leaders are mated to graphs and maps and wishful reports. They cannot see their own noses, much less remember that they have other senses with which to enjoy the Universe. And of course, none would condescend to listen to the rabble. Such a fall would admit that knowledge is not a prerogative limited to Royalty. But I am hardly the first menial to notice their limitations. Nor am I the only one who has seen the mastery of the Beast with his own eyes.”
Fa’Shenali breathed deeply, and raised his eyes toward the giant screen looming above him. Lash’Hanna was right of course. They were incredibly stupid—all of them, himself included. After millennia of pursuing knowledge, it seemed that civilization had bred all the sense out of them. They could reach the highest pinnacles of attainment known to the Galaxy, only to be beaten bloody by a race of savages, too proud or too ignorant to know their own limitations. And if the Terrans knew no such constraints, who could truly call them savages?
Fa’Shenali harbored no doubt that the Terrans would use anything that would help them destroy an enemy. He also hoped that Fate would smile upon the g’Khruushtani at least once during this ordeal—that the Terran’s primitive science would make machines such as the one he had just discovered beyond their capacity, and that they would be permitted at least this one small advantage in their struggle for survival.
© 2011 by Jeffrey Caminsky
