The Gyst - Chapter 1

Fendala, third planet of the Fendalen system, was a pleasant enough world for life and prosperity. As a race, the Fendalens were righteous with pride on having their world united under one royal house after hundreds of years of petty wars between kings and nobility. They were also righteous in having discovered the secret of warp points, heralding a golden age of exploration and colonization. In two hundred years the High Kingdom had only know success and wealth. Forty-five worlds, much like Fendala itself, and hundreds of outposts and colonies placed on hostile rock harbored the race across 120 explored systems. Sedate in its power, the High Kingdom slowed down so as to enjoy the wealth it had earned. With no hostile powers at its boarders, and the rate of new surveys undertaken at a glacial pace, one could only think that life would go on as it has done indefinitely.
             While the Fendalens may have learned to treat its members with dignity and respect those morals didn’t extend to the races encountered in its expansion. Four races were discovered: the Barsat, Ohaj, Tekkel and Isset. All of them were less technically sophisticated than the Fendalens. Indeed, the Barsat and Ohaj were just bronze-age societies that were as inoffensive as one could imagine. Fendalen nobility, barons and dukes saw the quartet of races as opportunities for conquest. High Army divisions easily defeated the Barsat, Ohaj, and the steam-age Tekkel.
            Only the Isset proved a real challenge. A sixteen-system polity, the Isset Empire of the Paw had willfulness and pride. Those qualities, however abundant, could not stem the High Navy from controlling their space and the High Army from assaulting their planets. Upon the completion of the conquest King Esytel, admiring the fighting spirit of the Isset, ordered the placement of settlements on Isset worlds. Like what was done with the other three races, the settlements would allow for the integration of the conquered into the structure of the Kingdom. The Isset would be utilized for their labor and skills, becoming industrial workers, spacers and troopers serving side-by-side with their Fendalen counterparts. Esytel saw it as a compliment to a defeated foe that he found them worthy of inclusion into the Kingdom.
            The royal compliment was lost on the Isset. They saw the casual killing of non-combatants during ground campaigns. They witnessed the destruction of life pods that would’ve made it safely to nearby habitable worlds. Had they been able to, the Isset would’ve grimaced even more severely as their cultural and mineral treasures were harvested by carpet bagging nobility. Oh, how the various pack leaders wanted to continue the struggle even if it would ruin them. Stripped of office but not of authority, the former Pack Alpha, Marsuk, told the pack leaders to keep their cubs in line, for he had a plan. An underground network was started, and it grew to encompass all the packs, gathering strength and knowledge. With the inbred integrity that is the core of all Isset, the conquered race actually welcomed the integration of their people into the High Kingdom. Fervently believing in revenge, the day would come when the whole race would avail itself of any critical weakness the Kingdom should expose. So, from behind permanent scowls and subservient voices the Isset waited with infinite patience.
          Court intrigues and political maneuvering were part and parcel of life in the royal court. On the heels of the 200^th anniversary of the first warp point survey sad news was announced to the Kingdom. Gyst Hysax, the king, had died from a lung infection, leaving the Kingdom to his only child, the one-year-old Kysjyt, and the Regent, Hysax’s brother Wonset. There where those in the court that wanted the Regent to have come from the other side of the family. Queen Jylen, having died earlier from heart failure after delivering Kysjyt’s egg, was related to the Pulurtan family. Influential, wealthy, and imbued with a level of entitlement as one could find in any overly ambitious family, the Pulurtans campaigned to get one of their own as Regent, thus ruling the Kingdom and influencing the young Kysjyt as they saw fit.
            The royal court, nobility, and the various barons and dukes were split on the issue. For two years the Pulurtans, with a young and especially ambitious Lugan eyeing the post of Regent campaigned to have a Realm Court convened to settle the matter. In the background, however, the Pulurtans secretly plotted with other families to stage a palace takeover and depose Kysjyt and Wonset. The plot was narrowly foiled, but it forced Lugan into declaring a civil war. Behind bluster of lies and falsehoods, the Pulurtan family announced itself as the true heirs to the Diamond Throne and called upon the citizens to support their effort. Portions of the military could be counted on to support Lugan, now recognized as the leader of the revolt. The young (barely 18 years old) Fendalen could also count on having the vast majority of Isset personnel support him. His family had conquered the Isset one hundred years earlier in the name of the High Kingdom. From their palatial estates on Isset Prime the family made Isset military personnel swear loyalty to the High Kingdom in general and to the top members of the family in particular. For an intelligent, driven, and ambitious young royal Lugan could be forgiven for letting himself be blinded by the prize before him.
            For their patience the Isset were awarded with their golden opportunity. After one hundred years of servility the Empire of the Paw stood to be reborn. It was six months into the civil war. Both sides, Gyst and Pulurtan, had mobilized their forces completely. On some ships the Isset formed the majority of the crew. Whole battalions of High Army troops were exclusively composed of Isset personnel. Serret, the secret leader of the Underground, gave the fateful order for all Isset to rise up and obliterate the Fendalens. On Isset Prime, Serret proclaimed himself as the new Pack Alpha and marched onto the estates of the Pulurtan family. Within an hour all Fendalens in those estates, including a large portion of the Pulurtan family, were killed.
            Across the realm acts of rebellion blossomed. Where they failed the Isset were killed where they stood. Where they succeeded, which was more often, the vengeful race enacted genocide against their former masters. In a span of a month over half of the High Kingdom was dead. Isset-controlled destroyer and cruiser squadrons bombarded Fendalen worlds into radioactive graveyards. Fendalens settlements on the six Isset worlds were razed to the ground. The civil war was all but forgotten for two years as Gyst and Pulurtan forces fought the reborn Empire of the Paw.
            The Isset, along with the Barsat, Ohaj, and Tekkel were all exterminated in the end. The two year war saw broken fleets of desperate and ever more skilled spacers battle to either save or exterminate whole populations. Once heralding 45 planets the High Kingdom was reduced to just two. Asteroid and hostile environment enclaves went from the hundreds to just two as well. Only four billion Fendalens out of a pre-war population of 25 billion were left, and the vast majority of them were on the homeworld. And that world was controlled by the Pulurtan family.
            As for the other world, Acre, it didn’t have the wherewithal to hold off the remnants of the High Navy much less prosecute a successful conclusion to the civil war for the Gyst. In their council the Gyst leaders decided to flee High Kingdom space and establish a new empire that, over time, would grow strong enough to defeat the Pulurtans. Unable to head to the ‘western’ part of the Kingdom to utilize the few unexplored warp points located there, the Gyst decided to head for the Sauna system in the eastern section of the Kingdom. Using hastily built buoy control ships to cover their retreat, the now-exiled royal family led the refugee fleet in a head long flight for survival.
            Upon reaching Sauna the entry warp point was guarded by laser buoys and three controls ships. It was here also that another major event would alter the course of Fendalen history.

Xhali Cussel, Duke of the Xhali family, looked on with great displeasure as Gyst Wonset, Arch Duke and Regent for the nearly six-year-old Prince Kysjyt, walked into the ward room of the cruiser Silverblade. For one held captive on a communications base and tortured by the Pulurtans for a year the Regent came out of the experience radiating more dignity. Wonset, with the help of the last few Gyst loyalists in Pulurtan controlled space, managed to escape and commandeer an escort ship. Moving fast and hard, the freed Regent made it to Acre only to find that the refugee fleet had left two weeks earlier. It was only because the escorting warships had slowed down the freighters that Wonset reached the fleet at all.
            Tugging on his left front antenna in a habit indicating impatience, Cussel spoke his peace in an upraised voice. “After all the blood spilt in protecting the heritage and future of the Kingdom you have the gall to rip away what is rightfully mine. You’re going back on your word that you made me swear to.”
            Wonset didn’t bother sitting in the offered angled trough that served as a chair for Fendalens. With his mantis-like head bearing random scars and the back portions of his second pair of antennae missing the Gyst royal looked every bit the part of a grizzled war veteran. “Don’t raise your voice at me, Cussel. I’m far from deaf, despite what you see.” The rear pair of mutilated antennae stood up straight to emphasize his point. “I’m also able to smell quite well, including the load you tried to peddle in my absence.”
            “Absence? Absence?!” Cussel shot up from his chair and pointed an accusatory finger. “A whole year had gone by. For all intents and purposes you were dead when the Thrusting Cut was boarded and self-destructed. Not one hint of you being alive came across our contacts in the Pulurtan camp. For the child’s sake, I would’ve moved the heavens to rescue you had we known of your survival. My assumption of the duty as Lord Protector was within my right. You made to swear to assume that duty in case of your death.”
            Wonset’s face turned a bit darker than its usual shade of yellow. “Lord Protector, yes, but not Regent. That title was for my wife. You overstepped your oath and ignored the royal orders that were to be open in case of my death.”
            “Yes, about that, Wonset. It seemed that the issue of Wykken become Regent was a rather sticky one. The other barons and dukes decided in a royal council to have Wykken’s role as Regent a symbolic one, leaving all the important decisions to the council to decide.”  Cussel moved on quickly to forestall Wonset’s impending outburst. “More importantly, Wykken’s health, already poor from before the war, is an issue. We can’t afford to lose another Regent when morale is as important as ever.”
            The scarred old Fendalen’s pink eyes were boring into the duke’s green ones. “Since you’re putting all the cards on the table, Cussel, go ahead and say the real reason. Leave nothing in doubt.”
            Now with only fifty centimeters between them, the duke told it as he saw it. “Fact of the matter is that the council, me included, doesn’t trust Wykken. She’s the niece of Lugan’s oldest brother. She also kept in contact with her twin sister back in royal court, now occupied by those Pulurtan pretenders. On several occasions while you were ‘absent’, she openly lamented that had she the opportunity she would return to Fendala so as to spend her final years and be laid to rest on home soil.” Cussel didn’t waiver as Wonset’s glare became full-fledged hate. “Wykken has not the steel and righteousness to champion our cause. Had she been made the actual Regent, she would’ve surrendered all our forces to our enemies. Our sacrifices would’ve been made in vain. I, for one, will not be executed while the ‘sick girl of the family’ gets a pass and spends the rest of her days in a humidified room fighting back coughing fits.”
            He expected something, even a stabbing by a holdout dagger, but Cussel got a slap across the face so hard that blood was drawn from his lower left eyelid. “You’ve become a whore to your ambitious, just like Lugan,” Wonset seethed. “Wykken has proven to me and others that her loyalty is to the Gyst. As is my right as Regent, I’ve called the heads of the royal families to come aboard this ship for a meeting. The wheat will be separated from the chaff, Cussel. Those that don’t affirm my position, a legal act of my dearly departed brother King Hysax, will be dealt with in a manner that best suits the continued safety and security of this fleet.”
            The Xhali duke bowed his head in both real and sarcastic reverence. “It will be a most enlightening occasion for all. Please tell Prince Kysjyt, future King for which you’re acting on his behalf, that I will be in attendance.”
            Radiating cold emotions worthy of stone Wonset left Cussel alone to wipe away the blood that had begun to dry under his left eye.

On the Silverblade the meeting of the royal families lasted only two hours. Sides had already been drawn beforehand: only the formalities of presenting the arguments for the record remained. Duke Cussel and two barons felt that Wonset’s absence lent credibility to Cussel’s leadership role while those for Wonset supported him out of loyalty and obligation. It was within Wonset's power as Regent to condemn Cussel and remove his ducal title. Words and attitudes became weapons in the place of actual bullets and blades.
            From the royal seat at the head of the conference table, Prince Kysjyt, having been silent for most of the meeting, spoke out. "It seems I'm faced with an impasse," said the very young prince. For a child his age Kysjyt was quite intelligent and perceptive, traits that others would later attribute to his upbringing in a precarious and shifting environment. "Should those that disagree with my Regent stay within the council I would only invite intrigues that caused the fall of the Kingdom. If I demote and push aside those who refuse to acknowledge my Regent then morale and faith would go down. I can only think of one solution."
            Wonset flexed his antennae in a display of curiosity. "What does Your Highness propose?"
            "Duke Cussel and those nobles that share his opinions should take their leave and remove themselves and their kin from my realm."
            Those words polarized the atmosphere in the room. Cussel and his confederates stood up. "Fine words to come from one so young. I can only compliment those that have taught the prince to use them. Rather than see infighting and intrigues bring about the complete victory that Lugan so craves, I will take my leave and remove myself from your court, Your Highness." Bowing respectfully, the Duke then focused on the Regent. "What I say now I will never take back. I have been unjustly wronged in what I saw as my duty to the prince and people. This insult cannot be put passed. Should the fates deem my position righteous, I and my people will create a new nation. We will seek the utter defeat of the Pulurtan pretenders, and those that played their word false will be made to pay."
            Wonset glared at the Duke, finding his resolve unshakable. "The Duke will be provided with enough provisions for his people to have as good a chance for survival as ours. I must remind him, however, that by splitting our forces the overall chances of our respective survivals will been lessened. Does the prince still wish to continue this course of action?"
            The painfully young royal nodded. "Yes. The Duke should go now. May the more righteous prevail."
            Cussel raised his front antennae in amazement. "More words from the mouth of babes. I regret that in my leaving I won't be able to hear more of such witticisms." The Duke and his two baron compatriots bowed and left. What remained of the council waited for a minute in uneasy silence before Wonset dismissed them.
            The older royal looked at his young charge like a professor questioning an impudent student. “For one so young you have the boldness that some nobles sorely lack. Did some of that come from Cussel during my absence?”
            “Some of it, Uncle, but Aunt Wykken and the historical records were the sources for my words.”
            “Ah, I can understand how Wykken inspired you. You have to be bold when you ask her for a second helping of dessert.” Wonset chuckled for a moment. “As for the histories, Kysjyt, you must take them with a grain of salt. Kings become kings no so much through inheritance, but by learning from and surviving their mistakes. If you fail, boldness can easily be described as foolishness in the histories.”
            Kysjyt stroked his antennae in a purposeful manner. “Will the histories record what happened here today as an act of boldness or foolishness?”
            “Only time will tell, Your Highness.”

Despite the distance of 72 light minutes Tytus felt uneasy as his flotilla made its closest approach to the primaries. The ships he detailed for WP 2, traveling at a slower speed, were 84 LMs from the red giant and its dwarf companion. As for the two Gyst buoy ships, moving a full 40% faster, they’ve cleared the 72 LM sensor envelope. Now it was anyone’s guess which warp point they where heading towards.
            No surveys were ever made of the systems on the other side of WPs 2 and 3. More than warships, Tytus wished he had more scout and survey ships. Acre’s space station was building more, but it would be months before a respectable number became available. In that time, depending if he got the Gyst exit point right, the chase would carry on for months, even years. The one side benefit of having so many freighters was their lower maintenance needs. Each Gyst ship was loaded to the gills with provisions. Even the few warships could be sustained for years of normal activity.
            Tytus grinned a Fendalen’s equivalent of a grin. It didn’t matter how far the Gyst could run, or the supplies they carried. Eventually the refugees would become restless from being cooped up in what were little more than mobile warehouses. Any habitable planet they happen to settle on would be found in due time. The only true way they could lose their pursuers was if an alien ship obligingly showed them a closed warp point for them to use. If that highly unlikely scenario happened, then the flotilla could spend decades searching and find nothing in the end. Tytus glanced at his primary flat panel display. He couldn’t help but think that the odds of the Gyst getting a heaven-sent way of eluding pursuit was the same as the white dwarf companion going supernova in the next five minutes.
            “Admiral,” the comm tech said with some urgency, “the science team on frigate YX-031 has detected some anomalous activity on Primary-B. They are 90% certain that B is undergoing its deflagration phase. Transferring relevant data to your station.”
            With mouth closed to keep his astonishment hidden Tytus looked at the image on his main panel and the nearby 3-D imager. So much for the hundred year leeway, he thought as he watched whole sections of the white dwarf’s surface swell and collapse upon itself. The little star had indeed collected enough of its companion’s mass on its surface to undergo and complete its required period of convection. It was matter of time, perhaps just a few hours, before the star explodes, destroying itself in the process. The shock wave alone would denude its companion much of its mass and destroy the innermost planet and send asteroids tumbling towards deep space. As for the gas giants, they, like the red giant, would be stripped of much of their mass and the iceball planet would turn into so much vapor.
            It wouldn’t be the wave front of physical destruction that’ll kill us, Tytus thought quickly, but the radiation of the explosion. It was likely that it was already too late, but Tytus was suddenly determined to be remembered for at least trying to save his command instead of continuing a pursuit that was now utterly pointless. “Helm,” he said in an unrushed, dignified manner, “set course for WP 1, maximum speed.”
            “Yes, Sir,” the helmsman said, resigned to what was going to happen. “All ships responding to the order.”
            “Communications, inform YC-033 and ESX-227of the situation. They are to make for WP 1 at best possible speed as well. Inform the commander of Y-057 to enter the warp point immediately and to take the supply ships back to Acre. ES-218 is to move away from the buoys and take station one quarter of a light minute away from the warp point. The ship is to stay in-system at the last possible moment and flee just before the radiation wave front hits it. All flotilla ships will keep sending updates to the WP1 buoy so that ES-218 can record them.”
            “As you command, Sir. Shall we send our recorder drones as well?”
            “I doubt they would survive the radiation front, given our distance, but it’s worth a try. If they make it, then at least something of the flotilla would be left for people to see in some museum.”
            “Acknowledged, Sir. First set of drones will launch in two minutes.”
            Tytus glared at the 3-D image. Due to the distance involved the dwarf may well have exploded already, but the light and hard radiation will still need to cover the better part of 90 LMs to reach the slower ships, namely the battlecruisers. The Admiral opened a private channel to the ship’s doctor. Since the crews were going to die then they might as well do it with their dignity intact.
 

So it was that the Gyst and Xhali parted ways. A full third of the refugee fleet, totaling 45,000,  made way for Sauna’s third warp point. Along with them went the sole mobile shipyard they were able to build in time back at Acre. Forty of the hundred survey ships went as well, with half of them belong to the Type-2 class, giving the Xhali a survey capacity roughly the same as the Gyst.
            Both sides were well aware of what was happening on the white dwarf. The two buoy ships sent tight-beam communications to a pre-selected patch a space before them, hoping that the comm buoy the fleet promised to deploy was there. Shifting course to WP 2 since it was closer, the crews on those two ships prayed that the fleet was already out of the system. The Gyst had departed before their reply reached the buoy ships. When the last Xhali ship slipped through WP 3 there was barely ten minutes to spare. By then the radiation had killed the crews of the two ships and the follow-up wave of physical destruction claimed the lifeless hulks. The Sauna system was becoming an actual hell of radiation and destruction. Just a few more lives were left to be claimed.

The bridge on the Gilded Glove was silent. Tytus suspected that the bridges on the other flotilla ships were silent as well. Given the disparity of speeds the surveyors were well ahead of the more sedate battlecruisers. Practically all ships had suffered engine burnout. Gilded Glove had lost an engine room eleven minutes ago due to the current and accumulated demands placed on it. Because of that the ship held the dubious honor of being the first flotilla ship to be destroyed by the supernova.
            Mounted at the front of the bridge was a huge flat panel display. It showed a view of the suns at normal magnification. At this distance they were like gemstones glowing in the night. In a walled-up part of Tytus’s mind a banished thought broke out. The tiny part of him still concerned about his career was wondering if it was all a mistake. What if the dwarf wasn’t going supernova, but instead undergoing its version of an upset stomach. Lugan wasn’t exactly the forgiving kind, not after what he did to those Isset that slew his family on Isset Prime. The least that could happen would’ve been a prison sentence. All the other possibilities involved death and hideous tortures that made one wish for death.
            The greater part of Tytus was ironically relieved when the screen brightened ever so briefly before the automatic filters darkened it to an almost stygian blackness. The initial wave front was still strong enough at this distance to make the ship rock slightly. At her station the life support officer made her report. “Admiral, gamma and x-ray radiation have already passed the hull tolerance limits. The outer hull will provide us with only five minutes of protection at this rate. Crew deaths will begin four minutes afterwards.”
            “Acknowledged.” With a heavy hand Tytus activated a ship-wide comm circuit. “This is your captain speaking. In less that five minutes lethal levels of radiation will flood the ship. Since you’ve been my crew for the last two years I know that all outstanding tasks have been done except one. The drug the doctor issued to all of you will induce an unbreakable unconscious state almost immediately. When the radiation alarms go off you are to take the drug. As my last act as captain I want to spare my crew a torturous, prolonged waking death at the hands of an invisible killer. I have stated as much in my last report to the Admiralty. In the hereafter should I find anyone who didn’t pass on quietly I shall dock them a whole month’s worth of rum privileges. Tytus out.”
            Ending his message with a bit a dark humor was Tytus’ signature whenever the ship was going into battle. It took the edge off the apprehension the crew felt. What was going to happen wasn’t a battle, where weapon strikes could wipe out whole compartments and kill dozens. It was more akin to a trapped submarine crew, where escape was impossible and the air turning toxic with each passing minute. Unlike a submarine, there would be no tomb to mark the deaths, for the far slower but much more powerful wave of physical destruction would splinter the ships like so much rotten wood.
            No countdown was announced or displayed in the ship. None was needed. Tytus had the one-shot injector ready in his hand. Applied between the eyes, one firm press, and it was done. His last thought was about his soon-to-be widowed wife. At least my admiral rank will give her a higher condolence check each month.
            Then the alarm went off…

With the dining hall empty of revelers the Crowne Complex staff moved in to begin cleaning. It was Lugan’s 23^rd birthday, and the young monarch ensured that no expense was spared. A rare cask of 400-year-old wine was opened, and despite tasting like so much vinegar Lugan poured down three complete glasses over the course of the evening. He was the last one to leave, taking a handful of fruit as he headed for the throne room. With the guards outside the young king finally had the privacy he so desperately needed.
            Just before the party started no other than the First Space Lord handed Lugan a secure data pad. He gave it a glance, and then decided it was better to wait until he was alone. Lugan wasn’t one to crush data pads upon reading bad news: he was more of a thrower. The pad skidded across the flawlessly polished marbled floor and hit the main doors.
            The Gyst and their allies were gone. Tytus and his ships were gone, and gone was any chance of further pursuit. When the white dwarf went supernova it had done something to the Table Rock/Sauna warp point. The WP still registered, but all attempts to enter it have failed. Drones and the survey ship kept bisecting the area of space but sailed on through harmlessly. It had something to do with spatial harmonics, but Lugan had stopped reading at that point.
            Lugan sat and brooded on the Diamond Throne. He still craved a complete victory over the Gyst, but now fate declared a freeze on that ambition. Other far more urgent tasks needed his leadership. There was an empire to rebuild, planets to be resettled, a fleet to be raised, and defenses erected. Once that was accomplished new surveys would be conducted. More systems will be added to the High Kingdom and perhaps one of these new warp links would be instrumental in finding the Gyst.
            In addition to the problems facing the High Kingdom the specter of marriage reared its head during the party. All too conscious on securing his legacy and legitimacy to the throne, Lugan could not bring himself about to even flirt with the eminently connected and fertile daughters of dukes and barons. He was still haunted by vicious nightmares of massacres at the Pulurtan estates on Isset Prime. In the High Army campaign on Isset Prime he lead the initial landings, centered on the primary family estate. He saw more than the aftermath of what the Isset visited upon his relatives and close family almost two years earlier. Actual footage was taken of the assaults, including the soul destroying sight of Isset eating Fendalen eggs.
            Pulurtan Lugan went beyond rage at that point. He became an Isset killing machine. Not the quick kill of high-velocity darts and lasers, but the messy kill of a 7mm tri-barrel gun and portable plasma thrower. In ship boarding actions and ground fighting prior to Isset Prime Lugan killed 30 members of that race. Now on the homeworld over 200 Isset met their fate at the hands of Lugan, including what he labeled as the Supreme Dung-Eater, the Isset Pack Alpha Serret. What little was left of Serret’s body after being shot and burned was further dismembered by High Army troops for souvenirs. Lugan didn’t need one: the sight of Serret’s death throws was a more than adequate keepsake.
            The one thing he did decide that night was the establishment of colonies in the Table Rock system. A fleet base would be built; ready to exploit the Table Rock/Sauna warp point should it became usable again. Also, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that, with god-given luck, the Gyst should actual thrive and pose a threat during the intervening time. After all, the best way to keep unwanted guests from entering is to have the front door locked.
            After finishing the fruit he brought with him Lugan adjourned for the royal bed chamber. He would get less sleep than usual this night, and had no intention of sleeping in. Work had to be done; every waking hour had to count in making the High Kingdom strong and prosperous again.

06/23/06