Chapter Three

The eight-foot dark green gargoyle seemed twice his height as he stood on tiptoe atop one of the Resistance’s many stone-carved meeting tables.

“Man,” Miles lamented, shaking his triangular head. “You’d think they’d make these things a little higher off the ground, you know?”

Beneath him, Angel elegantly leaned against the doorway of the second floor conservatory. The two Resistance followers had known each other for three years now, and during that time, their instantaneous friendship throughout their training had only grown stronger.

“Well, in that case, I’ll be sure to remind the construction crew to redesign the entire Resistance structure, just so you can disobey orders more efficiently,” she said in mock sincerity.

Her eyes continued to study the ceiling as Miles humored her with a short chuckle. “Good,” he said authoritatively. “And while you’re at it, see if you can do something about Tuesday night dinners.” He gently began to drill a hole through the plaster. “Seafood Surprise wasn’t so much unanticipated as startling.”

The illustrious Miles Defarious, architect extraordinaire, had been eavesdropping since he was old enough to hold a glass to the wall, and seventeen years later, his skills had only proved more and more useful over time. So of course, when Angel, a descendant of the tribe of Dimarkirig, asked him to find out what the Resistance board had in mind for their next course of action, Miles had enthusiastically taken the request with a trademark wink and grin.

“Miles, I can pass ordinances. I can examine trainers. I can use my powers of the mind to amaze, dazzle, and confuse.” She grinned. “But making an unauthorized change to Resistance lunch menu. Now, that’s just crazy talk.”

“Yeah, well, when you’re laid up in sick bay with a tender stomach and a bad case of the runs, don’t come crying to me.”

Leaning against the doorway, Angel performed the duty of “look-out”, checking each end of the corridors as he violated rule #371 of the Resistance handbook. “Nice slang,” she added as an afterthought, watching him work.

“Thanks,” he said, distracted. “My English is getting gooder.”

Angel smirked. “Better.”

“Don’t worry, it will.” He bit his bottom lip. “Hmm. I could probably tap in right…” Miles licked his finger before marking a crease in the stone. “Here.” Leaning in, he tested his ear against the cold granite. “I better hope Retsamemit’s too preoccupied to notice a few fruit-flies.”

“‘Flies on the wall,’” Angel corrected somewhat nervously. “It means listening without the party’s notice.”

Miles shrugged exaggeratedly, before returning to the task at hand. “Well, even if they do notice my fly on the wall, the only one who’ll beat my brains in is Apocsey, not Retsamemit.”

The tiny red dot across Angel’s forehead, which marked her as an inhabitant of the planet of Cordeina, furrowed. “Still, I’d take no chances,” she reminded him.

“Madame, I shall be caution himself,” he chivalrously reassured her.

But despite his own words of comfort, even as Miles listened beneath the Resistance gathering room’s granite floor, he could feel the tension that the higher-level apprentices had been speaking of in whispered voices for weeks.

The moment the rumors and confidences began, he had known someone would offer him a favor or two in return for his services, but Miles had never expected that Angel would be the first. Thrilled as the gargoyle was to be able to help his friend in any way after all she had done for him, it still mildly disturbed him that the wholly moral and straight-laced individual had thought the situation called for such drastic measures as breaking Resistance codes and rules.

“This does mean a lot to me, Miles.” Working to find her smile, Angel’s voice remained melodious with appreciation. “Retsamemit just didn’t want me to come to this gathering because he was probably too overwhelmed with all the strains he’s been under recently.”

Miles nodded to her knowingly. Though she spoke with nonchalance, every apprentice in the Resistance knew how terribly disappointed and wounded Angel had been by the lack of an invitation to the upstairs gathering. Easily the most sensitive and powerful of those learning under the protection of the base, she had been Retsamemit’s first apprentice and most dared say his favorite. His protégé, she had always been privy to news the commanders and captains were due to receive, and since the beginning, her opinions had been valued and her actions, respected.

It caused Angel to question her worth within the Resistance, and Miles hated to see her upset with worry. If left unattended, she would analyze herself to destruction.

Miles bent down to squeeze his friend’s shoulder. “You’re a true friend, Angel, and a good person.” He grinned sincerely. “Which is the only reason I’m breaking my oath with Apocsey in the first place.”

Unaware of his thoughts, Angel smiled, watching him. She thought of him as she always had - the young, fun-loving gargoyle with too much of a pension for the mischievous and too big of a heart for close friends. Yet because she knew where his loyalties would always lie, Angel couldn’t help feeling like she was taking advantage of him. But her guilt could hold no bearing on her decision. She simply had to know what information was so confidential that her ears and mind could not be trusted with its secrets.

“Careful now,” she once again urged in a whisper, watching her oafish friend find his balance. “Dante’ll take his orders and fry your hide for late afternoon meal if you’re discovered.” She crossed her arms, an intriguing smirk across her smooth-skinned face. “Not unlike last time.”

“Shh, no more talk,” Miles whispered, focusing in on the laced murmurs and mumblings. He paused to let the silence calm his senses. “They’re starting.”

* * * * *

Her footsteps coming to a halt, Apocsey heaved a deep sigh and collapsed into her seat, completing the circle the Resistance council formed. The pixie leaned her head backwards, letting it teeter wearily from her neck.

While often times Apocsey could no more attribute her exhaustion to any one person as she could gravity to any one half-baked scientific theory, today there was a distinct reason for the captain’s fatigue. The human-sized winged pixie had just returned from a trip to Earth with the good-humored yet exhaustingly mischievous Miles Defarious. Earth was trouble enough without that overwhelming, inquisitive delinquent at her side. Drained from the experience, it could be certain that any remnants of Apocsey’s patience left from her journey were fading fast.

Sitting there enjoying the stillness, minutes passed and seats were taken. Conversations grew, and when they all died in their timely fashions, Retsamemit rose from his seat.

“The meeting of the Resistance counsel, as all members requested are present, shall proceed as planned,” he declared, as he did at the beginning of every gathering.

Attempting to sit upright as the meeting began, the Amentian fairy was almost surprised when the meeting of officers began without the bang and clamor of a courtroom gavel. Apocsey rubbed her temples, unsettled. Damn those earthlings and their incessant, needless noise. Only a few hours within their realm, and already she had contracted a – what did they call it?

Oh, yes. Apocsey grimaced.

A migraine…

Seated around a rotund, granite gathering table, Retsamemit, Zane Alexi, Commander Dante Ambrten, Commander Verdes, Captain Liembre, and Apocsey formed a circle, as custom when matters required immediate discussion. Looming her elfin eyes about the room, they fell upon the empty chair belonging to that of Angel, Retsamemit’s trusted apprentice.

The pixie’s wings flitted nervously. It was better than the girl was no present for this.

Though Retsamemit was traditionally the first to make opening remarks, he politely waved his hand to an anxious Zane Alexi, who was literally on the edge of his seat. A lowly land-tending Zardac from the Smaller Third Planet of ‘Zempei’, the young yet commanding Zane had risen with honor and prestige within the fledgling Resistance community. He was well-loved and regarded almost unanimously with dignity and respect. Having just returned from his home world, Apocsey knew that news would be had.

However the question remained. What kind of news…

As his body rose, there was no need for words in order to have her question answered. The look upon the Zardac’s face told her all that she would ever need to know.

“The legions,” Zane began, standing strong, “have overtaken the valleys of Zamnacroft.”

A hushed, near spiritual silence fell over the group of five as they turned their eyes away from Zane’s grieving gaze.

Their respectful pause allowed for him to continue. “While the villagers fought bravely, their fervor was of no concern to the armies. By sunset, the fields of the valley were overrun with rotting corpses and mutilated villagers, frozen in terror with their mouths open to the sky.” He sat down, his eyes empty, his voice lost. “Leaving behind only a barren wasteland.”

Captain Liembre turned her sympathetic eyes to the Zardac and put a soft hand on his shoulder before standing to speak. Her black dot in the middle of her forehead marked her as an unmistakable inhabitant of the planet ‘Cordeina’, Angel’s home planet. The woman had matching black hair and eyebrows against soft, pallid skin, giving the impression of an unwavering ghost back to claim its vengeance.

The description ironically enough mirrored the actual.

The woman’s words flowed from her mouth like sweet cream. “The army of ‘Cordeina’ sympathizes with your situation.”

Of course, they do, Apocsey thought cynically. That intervening planet constantly involved Cordeina’s representatives in matters where their empathy did not belong.

Liembre’s voice reassured as her features creased. “Our armies will support you through this time of pain and suffering.”

“Armies,” the portly Captain Verdes scoffed, his garbled voice interjecting. His large form shifted uncomfortably as he crossed his arms. “Hmph. What a delightfully inappropriate term to describe your inferior ragtag defensive. Ha…Army…” His blue tentacles coiled as he huffed. “More like a deficient church charity.”

Commander Ambrten arched her neck in confusion. “I beg your pardon-”

“Please dismiss the Captain’s Earthen terms,” Zane quickly interjected in an attempt to avoid conflict. The gargoyle sent the tactless captain a warning glance before once again addressing the commander. “’Zempei’ accepts your support in the most gracious of manners,” he answered her. As per custom, he bowed deeply before Commander Liembre with a sincerity that earned Apocsey’s approval.

“We are continuing to transport as many Zardacs off planet as possible, though our means of transportation are limited.” Zane gave a distinct pause, but when no individual offered the assistance of added transportation on behalf of his or her respective planet, he continued. “Our relocation destination remains ‘Fordayn’, its loyal brotherland, upon the direction of ‘Cordeina.’” Zane stopped mid-statement. “Of course, that is with the merciful acquiescence of Fordayn and its leaders. Of course,” he repeated as he smiled hopefully to Dante.

Dante, skin and body hardened beyond recognition from the severity of warfare, gave a slow, gracious nod. “Fordayn will continue to harbor Resistance refugees as long as we remain out of the military control of Exply Surafis and his troops.” Apocsey’s face showed weariness for the military maverick where he did not allow himself. Dante could promise no other commitments, no matter how much his heart yearned to, if he was to honor his first covenant of protection to the people of his own planet.

Despite his steadfast devotion to Fordayn, his people were beginning to lose faith in the once well-loved and popular military hero. Today, the planet was overrun with refugees from Cordeina. Their swarms smothered the land and caused riots in the streets. A beautiful planet at one point, the face of the land was now beginning to show from space a countryside raped of vegetation and resources. Above Fordayn, an unhealthy, pollution-ridden atmosphere proved a further reminder of the consequences of galactic war. The sickly smog that scholars had predicted would grow if those from surrounding planets fled into its domain coated the planet and poisoned its oxygen. Its once dominant wonders sagged with neglect and dishonor, and the natural environment mirrored the desperation of its people.

Dante looked Zane in the eye before turning brazenly to Commander Liembre. “We will expect the support you have offered to stand when we are challenged as well and march into battle against our enemies.”

“Of course,” Zane replied softly.

Commander Liembre nodded with a courage only theorized by the apprentices in their lesson plans. “We shall fight with you.”

Not exactly turned misty-eyed by their brave promises, Captain Verdes gave a long, loud snort through his huge nostrils, displaying his disapproval. “And once Fordayn is overrun by a ‘sea of endless corpses’, then where will you go?” he questioned, logically.

There was a short silence before he gave another scoff. “Brave intentions and courageous words hold no sanctity to that of ‘Erude.’ You’ll not annihilate the grandeur of our world with your suffocating refugee camps and ineffective sympathetic intentions, of that you can be certain,” he gruffly proclaimed.

Frowning, Commander Liembre’s eyes sent the captain an icy stare. “I’m confident you’ll not concern yourself with such a trifle, Captain,” Liembre said dourly. “Our people would not want to burden your intellectual mind with such unpleasant thoughts.”

For the first time, Retsamemit raised his hand in a gesture of silence. “Enough,” he said, his brow furrowing. “No more talk of planetary funeral preparations.” The group obediently silenced themselves, save a last murmur of discontentment from Captain Verdes.

Retsamemit stood up, looking commandingly over his followers. “We must be strong.”

“Strength, liberty, freedom…” Zane muttered, his tired heart heavy. “Is there nothing to put aside the cruel promises these ideals speak of but never present before our eyes?”

Retsamemit smiled kindly. “We are strong because we do not rely on the brute force of an army or the steadfast intentions of mortals.” Frowns met what seemed an insult. Retsamemit turned around and grasped a thick roll of parchment. “Rather, we are strong because of the promise handed down to us from generation to generation in word and deed.”

Commander Liembre’s eyelids folded painfully, and Zane shook his head. Not this talk ancients again, Apocsey thought grimly.

“The promise that our existence will live on. The promise that our god, goddess, gods, or goddesses will not forsake us in our time of need. The promise that our children will be given a home, and the promise that to our aid saviors will come.”

While his words should have inspired them to a fresh level of relief and assurance, his speech did no such wonder. Their master spoke of primevals that had long been abandoned by cultures and civilizations. Everyone worth speaking of had learned from a young age that the old writings held promises that no longer applied to their existence as a galaxy. They were ancient, out-dated, and harmful to all those who took faith in their unreliable messages.

Apocsey shook her head, dejectedly watching the elder continue. Why did he do this to himself? He mocked them with this talk, squandered their hope, and played the fool in front of an entire galaxy.

“They are our only hope, and the only way that we will destroy the Emptiness,” Retsamemit swore, holding up a decrepit copy of the Prophecies to the light.

Apocsey held her head in her hand, wishing to the Gods that it could be so simple. The Prophecies had been forgotten long, long ago for endless lucid reasons. Within the parchment, cryptic writing caused coincidences to be assumed and inconsistencies to abound. Deterioration of the mind had always surrounded them, and it seemed that Retsamemit would not be the first to defeat the tendency.

For months now, the counsel had attempted to ignore Retsamemit’s blatant bought of insanity. They prayed that their savior would realize his foolishness and stop his ridiculous proclamations. Apocsey frowned. The worst part was the media, always pressing for details. When questioned, they tried to pretend Retsamemit was as coherent and compelling as when their cause had begun. And who could blame them? They didn’t want to be true. None of them did.

But the truth was simply that Retsamemit was losing his grip on reality. Having given up his immortality, it was becoming obvious that his mind would be the first of many biological facilities to go. They would have to prepare themselves for the worst, for their time of glory had passed.

“It is for this reason,” Retsamemit whispered at a volume the circle had to strain themselves to hear, “that against my every wish and desire, I am going to leave you.” He took a deep breath, looking each in the eye. “And I am going to die.”

The council was rendered speechless.

“And as my last course of action,” he continued, “in accordance with the prophecies, I am going to order that the seven be brought into our world now as children, as our last hope for salvation.”

Her migraine escalated to a height it never had before, and Apocsey was not alone when she felt the distinct feeling that she was going to faint.

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