Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One (25 page)

As the sun went down,
they moved inside to turn into their bunks.  Mikhail placed debris in front of
the crack so it would make noise if somebody tried to enter.  Turning to him
just before she slipped under the covers, she buried her face into his chest
and wrapped her arms around his waist, sobbing.  She was surprised when, not
only did he return the gesture, but he buried his face into her hair, his body
shuddering with whatever emotion he kept at bay.  His good wing, the one which
was not hampered by a splint, curled around her, as though he wished to shield
her from the ugliness they'd both witnessed today.

She withdrew and
whispered good night.  Without a word, she slipped off her shawl, slid beneath
the covers, and went to sleep.

Mikhail stood over her
a long time before doing the same.

~ * ~ * ~
* ~ * ~

For this
cause ought the woman

To have [a
veil] on her head,

Because of
the angels [she might tempt].

Corinthians
11:10

Galactic Standard Date:  152,323.02

Sata’an Empire:  Hades-6

Emperor Shay’tan

Shay’tan

Alliance legend
claimed that Shay'tan lived in a hellish cave which could only be accessed by
crossing a river of fire.  In truth, Hades-6 was just like any other
cosmopolitan homeworld, complete with skyscrapers and a busy spaceport. 
Shay'tan's palace rose above his capital city, Dis, like a fairytale castle,
with tall, slender spires and a moat filled with water, not fire.  Once upon a
time his ancestors
had
lived in caves, but then again, so had Hashem's
ancestors.  It was all propaganda, intended to smear his name so Alliance
citizens wouldn't be tempted by Sata'anic ideals of orderliness and wealth. 
All except for the bit about hoarding treasure. 
That
much was true…  

“Your Eminence,” Ba'al
Zebub bowed and tucked his tail up against the right side of his body.  “I have
the merchandise.”

“Ooh!  Let me see!” 
Shay'tan leaned forward like a little boy who had just been told he could have
a piece of candy.  “If this is what Hudhafah
said
it is, I'll be able to
win major concessions from my ancient adversary.”

The ornate carved
wooden doors, gilded with gold and precious jewels, opened.  Two lizard-like
Sata’an guards dragged in a terrified, ebony-skinned human female.  The woman
took one look at Shay'tan's enormous, dragon visage seated upon his ornate gilded
throne, with his leathery wings, sharp claws, and huge fangs, and immediately
fainted.

“Not very sturdy, are
they?” Shay’tan snuffled the unconscious woman with indignation.  “It's hard to
believe this is the foundation upon which Hashem built his armies.”

“All genetic tests
confirm our suspicions,” Ba'al Zebub said.  “This
is
the root stock of
the four hybrid races.”

“And Hashem thinks
they are extinct?” Shay’tan's snout turned upwards in a predatory grin. 
“Hmm….  How can I use this to our advantage?”

“Perhaps we could sell
a few to key players?" Ba'al Zebub said.  "Not enough to solve the
hybrid fertility problem.  Just to secure key allies?”

Shay’tan scratched a
loose scale as he schemed.  “We have destabilized their economy with these free
trade agreements of yours.  And I have quintupled my fleet … all paid for with
Alliance dollars.”

“The idiots are so
eager for peace that they haven't noticed their trade deficit is running 300 to
one,” Ba'al Zebub laughed.  “Should I gather more of these humans for trade?”

Shay'tan glanced at
the curtain behind his throne where he kept the enormous whirling map of the
galaxy he and his ancient adversary used to plot out their next move against
one another.  After countless millennia of playing for dominion over the
galaxy, he had enough of the map memorized to recall where the planet lay in
relation to his empire.

“No,” Shay’tan said. 
“The human homeworld is too far from my sphere of influence to properly
defend.  The hybrids are so desperate for a solution to their little problem
that they would go to war in a heartbeat to secure the planet under the guise
of freeing them.  It behooves us to keep humans in short supply.”

“But this could be
extremely profitable!” Ba'al Zebub protested.  “We could get even richer!”

“Not if we can't hold
onto that planet,” Shay’tan said.  “Right now, it's just a disputed resource
planet on one of the outermost spiral arms.  If Hashem wants it badly enough,
he'll just swoop in and take it.”

“But that would be an
act of war!” Ba'al Zebub said.

“It's not within the
current borders of the Sata’an Empire,” Shay’tan sighed.  “If humans invite the
Alliance to annex them, we can’t even lay claim to it as a Sata’an
Protectorate.  Been there.  Done that.  Lost the Spiderids that way.  Send in a
few troublemakers singing songs of free will and equality, milk and honey for
every citizen without having to get off their asses and work for it, and the
next thing you know the tribal chiefs will beg Hashem to swoop in and make them
an Alliance Trust Territory.”

“What if we keep the
location a secret?” Ba'al Zebub suggested. 

Shay’tan considered
Ba'al Zebub's proposal.  His second-in-command was a brilliant strategist, but
he lacked Shay’tan’s long view.  This was the biggest leverage he'd gained
against his ancient adversary in almost 150,000 years.  If he wanted to
keep
that advantage, he needed to plot his next move wisely. 

His snout turned
upwards in a toothy grin as he thought of a solution.  He hadn't come up with a
plan this brilliant since he'd tricked Hashem into creating a fifth race of …
ooh!  Even the
thought
of it gave Shay’tan chills!

“Hashem’s got spies
watching our every move,” Shay’tan said.  “We must be discrete.  Send an armada
to defend the planet, but send them the long way around.”

“From outside the
spiral arms?” Ba'al Zebub scowled.  “That could take months.  Before we can
even
launch
the darned thing, we would first need to gather ships and
outfit them with resources in such a way that it doesn't tip off Hashem's
spies.”

“I have every trust in
you, my friend!" Shay'tan chuckled.  "It's the only way to keep the
Alliance’s nose out of our business.  If we want to keep that planet, we must
gerrymander a border out to annex it and grant its residents full diplomatic
privileges … with all of the attendant rights and responsibilities.”

“But the humans still
throw sticks and stones!" Ba'al Zebub protested.  "Granting full
Sata’anic membership to such cavemen would be akin to … to … to …”

“Humans were once as
technologically advanced as we are,” Shay’tan gave his second-in-command a
warning snort which caused a puff of smoke to exude from his nostrils.  “Don't
underestimate them.  This group survived the destruction of their original
homeworld
and
escaped our notice … probably because they
were
knocked back into the Stone Age.  We didn't pick up any energy signatures, so
we had no reason to go investigate.  No … granting them full Sata’anic
membership is the right course of action.”

“But then we won’t be
able to sell them!” Ba'al Zebub said.  “Citizenship implies rights.”

“And
responsibilities,” Shay’tan added with a toothy smirk.   

He rubbed his claws
together with delight at the thought of adding another sentient species to his
workforce, especially one as versatile as the root stock of Hashem's hybrid
armies.  Sata’anic tributaries turned over all youngsters who reached sexual
maturity for their mandatory twenty-year tenure of service.  After two decades
serving on civilized worlds, human males would be as loyal as any other
Sata'anic subject, while human females would be gifted as wives to those who
acted for the good of the Empire, just like any other Sata’anic female,
ensuring that only those males who had proved their loyalty to him could
reproduce. 

Yes … it behooved him
to bring humans into the fold as quickly as possible.  All he'd to do was play
it fast and cool for the next twenty years and he would have Hashem over a
barrel.  Twenty years!  It wasn't even a blink of an eye to an immortal such as
himself.  He could just
see
the look on Hashem’s face when he sprang
that
chess move on him during a future match!

“Who’s to say a few of
those brides can’t be gifted to Alliance males who promote Sata’an policies?”
Ba'al Zebub suggested.  “Mercantilists.  Or politicians with fertility problems,
perhaps?  A little black-market side-trade to grease the wheels of commerce?”

“Slavery is outlawed
in the Alliance,” Shay’tan said.  “Hashem will never agree to it.”

“Not as slaves!” Ba'al
Zebub said.  “How about … wives?  Mail-order brides?”

“We have strict rules
about how a wife is to be treated,” Shay’tan growled, his tail twitching.  “I'm
not willing to throw away our Sata’anic mores just to tweak Hashem’s nose.”

Every Sata’an female's
first loyalty lay with the good of the Empire, then her offspring, and then her
husband.  Marriage, and the children born of that marriage, was of vital
interest to the state.  Shay’tan had
socially
engineered Sata’an society
to kick Hashem’s ass the same way Hashem had
genetically
engineered his
hybrid super-soldiers to kick
his
long red tail.  Thanks to policies
promoting family, Sata’anic citizens outnumbered Alliance ones six-to-one,
while Hashem's super-soldiers were dying out, casualties of too many
generations of selective breeding and being used as cannon fodder when much
less valuable species should have been used.  By being an ivory tower elitist,
Hashem had done Shay'tan's dirty work
for
him. 

Soldiers!  Sata’anic
females’ first duty was to breed soldiers for his armies!  What would happen
when he'd increased human numbers enough to send the mythological root-stock of
Hashem’s own armies against his genetically engineered super-soldiers?  The
ones who were desperate to
reproduce
with them?  Not kill them…

Spectacular!

“How do we even know
this female is still genetically compatible enough to mate with an Alliance
male?”  Ba'al Zebub gestured to the ebony female collapsed upon the floor. 
“Their species have been separated for 74,000 years.  For all we know, enough
genetic drift has occurred for their species to diverge.”

“Why not gift her to
an Alliance citizen who has done something to further our interests?” Shay’tan
suggested.  “Gift her as a bride on the condition her existence be kept a
secret.  Report back how our little … experiment … went.”

“I have just the
sleazy politician in mind,” Ba'al Zebub rubbed his claws together.  “This
little  package will solve a very public problem he’s been having.  Shall I
wrap her up and give her as a goodwill gift from you?”

Shay’tan
immediately
knew which politician Ba'al Zebub had in mind.  He laughed so hard the
foundation of his palace trembled. 

Check!

“Genius!” Shay’tan
laughed.  “And for theatrics, make sure she is suitably attired.  And a priest
brought along to read the marriage vows.”  He slapped his paw upon his throne
with delight.  “No loose Alliance morals for our newest Sata’an females!  Oh
…no!  We are setting a precedent with this one!  Hashem will have an apoplexy
when he discovers his own son flaunted his ridiculous ‘no marriage, no same
mate twice’ breeding policies and hid the offspring.  I can't wait to see how
this plays out!”

“Right away, your
eminence,” Ba'al Zebub bowed.  He signaled the two guards to carry the
unconscious female out of the throne room.  “Make sure you don't damage the
merchandise!”

Shay’tan noted the
stiffness to his second-in-command’s posture.  Anger?  Impossible!  This
discovery was good for everyone, including the secret bank account that Ba'al
Zebub had no idea Shay’tan monitored.  No.  Other than Ba'al Zebub’s habit of
skimming a percentage of every trade deal he brokered, a common and officially
‘ignored’ part of the upper echelons of Sata’an society, Ba'al Zebub was his
most loyal subject.  He'd had 32 wives gifted to him for exemplary service. 
Was he upset because he thought Shay’tan was ignoring his advice?