Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) (106 page)

Galactic Standard Date:  152,324.01 AE

Haven-2

Supreme Commander-General Abaddon

Abaddon

Designed by Lucifer so every delegate had an equal opportunity to speak, the enormous Alliance Parliament had been built as a series of circles; an outer office building where much of the business of the Alliance was conducted; a courtyard, complete with a miniature replica of the Eternal Garden; and then a smaller circular building where the great hearings were broadcast live throughout the Alliance. That group of buildings had been built
after
the Eternal Emperor had disappeared, leaving the then-fifteen year old Lucifer in charge.

The
original
Parliamentary building bumped out of the Great Hall like a pimple, its ornate gothic lines disrupting the clean Doric columns which held up Parliament's roof. When the newer complex had been built, there had still been much nostalgia for the missing Emperor, so the original building had been preserved, a quaint museum to a time when only a few token delegates met with the Emperor to discuss matters of very little importance. The
original
building was rectangular, with row upon row of hard-seated benches lined up neatly in orderly pews, with a red-carpeted aisle down the center which provided a glimpse of a raised dais.

Nobody used this building anymore. Lucifer had weaned the Alliance off its dependence on a sovereign god into the thriving democracy it was today, but no matter
which
version of government the Alliance used, one thing had never changed. Without the galvanizing force of a charismatic leader to quell the competing interests which constantly clamored for their piece of the Alliance pie, any governing body quickly devolved into petty squabbles.

Such was the case with Parliament now…

Supreme Commander-General Abaddon waited in the
old
Parliamentary building like a man awaiting the executioner. He stared up at the throne of the Emperor he had once served; and then cast off because Hashem had stopped caring about whether or not his species died. Vandals had spray-painted expletives all over the Emperor's dais. Beside the throne, a small statue had been toppled off of its pedestal, its head snapped off and hand smashed to pieces. Abaddon limped over and set the statue upright, placing the Emperor's head next to his feet so that if anybody ever wished to put the statue back together, all they would need is a bit of glue.

The cacophony from the other side of the door grew louder, echoing into the empty old hall
like a flock of angry vultures, each delegate shouting louder to drown out the voice of another. His debriefing was about to begin.

Debriefing? Hah! Abaddon wasn't stupid. A lynch mob would be a more appropriate description. His hand slid down to caress the hilt of his sword and mourned its seizure at the door. Unlike the last few times he had been here, the guards had politely insisted
all
visitors must be disarmed, even the general charged with protecting them.

The door opened. A long, slender snout peeked in, the Speaker of the Commons' pretty legislative aide.

"They're ready for you, Supreme Commander-General," she said.

"Thank you," Abaddon said.

He leaned on his cane and moved painfully towards the door, wincing as his still-raw flesh scraped against the unforgiving fabric of his uniform. Over 70% of his body had been burned, and while his wife had healed his wounds, the process of healing was not an overnight one.
He
was mortal, as was Sarvenaz, and there was only so much light an imperfect vessel such as himself could absorb. Or at least that was the explanation he'd gotten when he'd researched the matter and found what little information the Emperor hadn't suppressed about his species' innate ability to heal.

"Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye," the Speaker of the Commons bellowed. "This joint investigatory hearing is now in session."

The tall, slender Muqqibat dragon pointed at the entrance where Abaddon stood in the shadows. The Speaker had postponed the inquest after learning the extent of his injuries, but he would hold the vultures off no longer. The mob was hungry. It was time to answer for his mistakes.

Abaddon felt the delegates hungry eyes fall upon him as he limped out; he, a corpse, and they a flock of carrion birds eager to pick his flesh and devour his bones for the defeat he'd brought to the Alliance.

"Do you swear the testimony you're about to give is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you gods?"

"I swear," Abaddon said.

"Ten days ago," the Speaker said, "nearly one-third of the Alliance fleet was destroyed when
you
stepped into Shay'tan's very clever trap. Do you admit or deny this allegation?"

Anger boiled in Abaddon's veins, but he'd never been one to shirk from the truth, not even when that truth made him out to be a failure.

"We followed a lead which led us to Shemijaza's legendary genetics laboratory," Abaddon said. "This is a major breakthrough. We learned about the real forces which compelled Shemijaza to rebel."

"That wasn't what we asked," the Speaker of the Commons said. "We asked if
you
told our fleet to follow you there?"

"I did, Sir," Abaddon said.

"And what was the purpose of this little side-trip?"

"It wasn't a side-trip, Sir," Abaddon said. "The military has been searching for that laboratory for almost four hundred years."

"The
Alliance military?" the Speaker asked. "Or
Hashem's?
"

"I don't understand the question," Abaddon said.

"Was this mission to find this legendary laboratory an edict you received directly from
this
governing body? Or was it an old edict, dating back from before the Emperor even disappeared?"

So? It was to be politics, eh? Abaddon hid the sinking feeling in his gut behind his habitual glower.

"Aren't the edicts one and the same?"

"Don't play coy with us, general," the Speaker said. "The people who put you in power over your predecessor,
Parliament,
wish to have an explanation for the destruction of our fleet."

Abaddon tucked his still-charred wings tightly against his back, ignoring the itching of the prickly pinfeathers which had begun to erupt from the scar tissue. He wondered how much of their disrespect was due to the fact they now viewed him as
physically
disabled? Not just politically.

He decided his best course of action would be to go on the attack.

"
Your
fleet?" Abaddon roared. "It is not
your
fleet, but the people's!"

The vultures who peered down at him in judgment cawed with mock-indignation. What do you mean? The People's Fleet? WE are the people. Look at him … he's nothing but an old man. Who does this asshole think he is?

"In case you forget,
general,
" the Speaker said, accentuating the word
general
and not calling him by his full proper title. "Parliament
-is-
the voice of the free and elected people of this Alliance!"

Abaddon's mouth curved up into a cruel grin. The Speaker had just handed him a weapon. If there was one thing Abaddon had learned from hanging around Lucifer all these years, it was to show his good side to the camera. He turned to face, not the Speaker, but the row of network television cameras set up to record the event.

"And in case
you
forget, Sir," Abaddon growled, "this Parliament only has authority to pass laws
if
the Prime Minister is here to sign or veto it."

"That was your mission," the Speaker said. "To find Lucifer. Not go chasing after a bunch of fairy tales."

"Lucifer gave his
life
to chase after those fairy tales," Abaddon said. "We searched for him, but we could find no sign of his body so we could give the man a decent burial."

"What about his wives and offspring," the Speaker said.

"Is
that
all you care about?" Abaddon asked. "To find his lawful heirs so your right to exist does not expire?"

"
That
was your mission!" the Speaker glowered.

"No," Abaddon said. "
My
mission is to complete
his
mission, the mission he would order me to complete if he was still alive. His mission would be to find the origin of our species, so that we don't die out. So that
you
do not have to reach into people's homes and order them to sacrifice their sons and daughters for the kinds of battles I have waged against Shay'tan for the last 635 years."

"The newer sentient races serve our Alliance willingly!"

"Do they?" Abaddon asked. "Or do they serve because it's the only way this fossilized legislative body will grant their homeworlds entrance to this Alliance?" He stalked forward, his cane raised before him like his sword. "Do you know what the recruitment rate is of the newer sentient races you let into the Alliance within the last century?"

"What does it matter?"

"It matters because these worlds no longer send their children to die," Abaddon said. "Without a strong hybrid army, you will have no
choice
but to reach into their homes with the draft."

"I thought you supported the draft?" the Speaker said.

"I do," Abaddon said. "Because when it is
your
son or daughter and not some slave-species of soldier you never have to rub elbows with in your everyday world, it gives you pause. It makes you think, is this war worth it? Is this war worth sacrificing my child? Or is this an old man's war? A rich man's war? A war waged, not for all that is good and right within this Alliance, but for the mercantilists? The billionaires? For titans of industry and politicians and madmen?"

The media abandoned their candid one-shots of the various Parliamentary delegates picking their noses in the balconies and all turned every camera in the room to focus on
him.

"You have not answered the question, general," the Speaker said.

"What question did you wish to have answered?"

"Did you, or did you not, sacrifice your fleet to indulge your scientific curiosity?" the Speaker asked.

Abaddon hesitated. His wing-nubs drooped.

"Yes," Abaddon said softly. "I should have known better than to go down into that cave."

Parliament exploded with chatter as the vultures leaned off their balconies as though about to tear his wounded flesh apart like an animal which had been ambushed by a predator. Some of the delegates booed. Because of him, they had lost dozens of ships and thousands of lives, while the rest of their ships were badly damaged. Only the fact he had ordered the
Emperor's Vengeance
commander to return to his ship had saved his fleet from utter annihilation. And to add insult to injury, not only had they lost the battle, but they had also lost the chance to pick apart the secrets of Shemijaza's genetics laboratory.

The Speaker of the Commons held out a sheet of paper. Paper. Real, honest-to-gods, mashed wood pulp paper. The kind of paper that was only used for marriage contracts and a bill filed before Parliament for ratification.

"I have a task for you, General," the Speaker said. "And if you do not wish to fulfill it, I have right here a bill to
strip
you of the title of Supreme Commander-General and give that title to Re-Harakhti of the Leonids!"

Abaddon leaned forward onto his cane. For all he resented the fact that Hashem had bequeathed the title of Supreme Commander-General on an upstart cadet, the truth was that commanding an army, and the intrigues that went along with it, had grown tiresome. If there was any commander he would wish to govern in his place, it would be Harakhti, who, if given the choice between a headless Parliament and a return of rule by the Emperor, would throw his support behind Hashem.

The only problem was he did not wish to relinquish his title until
after
he found Earth. If he relinquished it sooner, there was no guarantee these idiots would let
them continue the search for humans. His species continued survival depended on completing the mission that Lucifer had not lived long enough to finish.

He stood straight and tucked his wings against his back in mock-obsequiousness.

"And what mission would
that
be, Sir?" Abaddon asked.

The Speaker of the Commons waved the paper towards the cameras.

"While you were off battling the dragon," the Speaker of the Commons said, "that renegade Jophiel
absconded
from the Eternal Palace, hijacked a command carrier, and then disappeared into the uncharted territories!"

Abaddon bared his teeth into a smirk. Jophiel's former lover had come to him with a hypothetical question: what should he do if an unnamed political prisoner with inside knowledge about a missing armada wished to launch a mission which wasn't antithetical to the Alliance's interests?