The Chronicles of Ki
Book 1: In The Beginning
© Copyright 2024 Frank Walters Clark ~ All Rights Reserved
Over five kilometers in height, Mount Rumb cools quickly after dark. Moisture slowly condenses on the stone walls and ledges inside the Black Gloves’ mountain top headquarters, falling in echoing drips all around. Adjutant General Visor Majin stands beneath one of those dripping rock ledges with his head back, catching the drops on his tongue and smacking his lips and chuckling.
Lord Dalu has now been given complete freedom of movement, released from the crush of King Dal’s overbearing rule, away from the intrusive powers of the Council of Twelve. He sits in a finely carved rock depression, deep in thought and drinking from a jug of wine, plotting his next military action.
Across from him, leaning back with arms crossed and looking indifferent, High Commander Catma taps a foot impatiently. He has too many other things he should be doing, and not enough time to do them.
As far as he is concerned, Lord Dalu wastes his precious time and talent, and says, “Pardon my Lord, but can we cleave?”
Lord Dalu glowers at him out of the corner of his eye.
“What has become of that aging of fine wines you once spoke of, Catma? Do you no longer have patience to wait for the best?”
“Due respect, my lord. There is a distinct difference between waiting for the best and waiting on the best.”
“My recent royal diminishment is not for discussion, commander. A higher calling is at issue and I intend to answer, as will you.”
“At your command, my lord.”
“I want to review my troops, commander. I need to see for myself what my forces are capable of, their strengths and weaknesses.”
“That can be arranged, my lord. When would you desire this review? This day? Next day? Next Week? Next sar? Next millennia?”
“Do not be tetchy with your lord, old man. I expect better of you…”
“…I think this day will be best. Get your men in shape, Catma, hop to it. And need I remind you? You dare not fail me again.”
Catma stands on the icy launchpad with his blonde-haired giant second, Adjutant General Visor Majin, watching Lord Dalu’s shiny black T-7 lift off and then jump straight into sector leap.
“He is going to kill himself if he keeps doing that. I have witnessed a few of the new flyers trying that, and I ground each and every one of them for it. They forget why well- regulated two-phase lift offs are used. T-7s are not designed for instantaneous mass momentum shifts. Given the right structural stressors and the right weather conditions, they will implode.”
Majin grins, remembering his own punishment for a similar stunt he pulled while in flight school.
“Do you remember the time leader when I rotated…”
“…I remember it well, Majin. You tried adding an unauthorized sector leap to a vertical rotation and nearly killed yourself. Lucky for you, I had command override, and saved you from splashing your guts from here to parts unknown.”
“Thirty days you grounded me, leader. Bloody fingers, picking nettleberries for the kitchen. E-stylusing one hundred times a day, ‘I will not sector leap in training.’ Solo guard duty at 03:00 hours, on empty recycling bins, out behind the flight school.”
“Speaking of flight school… We need to get our tails over there and get things lined up for our illustrious leader’s review. Grab your T-7, Majin. It is time to rocket and roll.”
Sometimes I would just like to grab him by the neck and shake him.
* * *
Standing at the wide window overlooking the tarmac and watching third level flyers perform touch-and-go gravcar approaches, and second levels do coordinated skyship spin ups, Catma tries to relax into a meditation a Shem philosopher taught him long ago as a young cadet.
A clearing of the mind and a slowing of the breathing are all the silence requires. Or so he hopes.
Spending two hours, explaining the intricacies of training schedules and numerous minor details about weapon and supply manifests to Lord Dalu has brought him to a boiling point. The fact that his royalness has a migraine headache and can’t stand still for more than a few minutes at a time is not helping matters.
“Would my lord care to take an interval for a few minutes and have a cup of coffee? The caffeine might help your headache.”
“Thank you no, commander, I have neither the time nor the patience at the moment. I need to start working out the details of our next incursion.”
“I have some fine assault-tested strategists among our ranks if that would be of any help to my lord.”
A skyship suddenly breaks formation and rockets straight over the top of the control center, rattling windows and shaking furniture as it closes on the sound barrier. The proximity of its gyrogrid’s force field makes the lights flicker and blink off and back on and rudely fills their com set links with harsh static.
Quivering with rage, Lord Dalu rushes to the window and looks up at the sky.
“I want that man’s eagles in my hand! Then I want him executed for endangering the life of a blood royal prince!”
Catma turns slowly to the compudata and softly asks the specialist to bring up the offender’s pulse tracking ordinates. It is Visor Majin, showing off.
Young man, this time you have gone too far… he thinks.
“At your command, my lord. I will personally strip the wrong doer’s eagles and arrange for his immediate transfer to the cocooning facility at Emerald Lake.”
Moving quickly around and crowding to view the information on the compudata’s screen, Dal gloats. Another failing in his second’s judgment.
“So, Catma. This is your fine young officer?
Visor, and now Adjutant General. What other surprises do you have in store for me, high commander? Will you be the next one to violate my trust… again?”
Hiding his grinding teeth behind his fist, Catma struggles to contain his anger.
Condemning a soldier to death for a momentary lapse in judgment is not how things are done, not ever, in his martialing of the forces.
“I am at your command my Lord, and I will obey your orders.”
But first I will see to your death.
* * *
“Stand down, chevron! On my authority as your commander, I personally will attend to the transport of Visor Majin.”
Hands behind his back, locked in electropulse cuffs and trembling, Visor Majin’s face is ashen and he is afraid to meet his leader’s eyes. He shrinks away when the guard releases his pulse control and steps away, handing the unit to Catma for his own use.
“I now have control, chevron. Thank you for your attendance.”
The soldier salutes then leaves. The two friends are alone in the hanger’s holding area staring at each other, wondering who will speak first.
“Now it is my turn to save your life, Visor Majin, as you once saved mine. Do you remember? How you pulled me from a fiery wreck? Put out my burning uniform with your bare hands?”
Visor Majin’s eyes are filled with tears and he nods, hearing love in his leader’s voice, in his commander’s words.
“I remember my commander. I could think of nothing except getting you out. Nothing else mattered. I had to.”
Catma activates the pulse control unit and takes Majin by the arm, turning him toward the doorway.
“Then you will understand what I am about to say, Majin. Do not speak until we are aboard my craft. Act as if you are on your final trip to your cocoon. And do not be afraid, son.
Everything will turn out fine.”
He leads his prisoner out the doorway and over to his T-7, waiting at a launchpad a few steps away. Once they are aboard, Catma e- harnesses Visor Majin and then himself, brings up the gyrogrids and codes the command links for lift-off staging.
Airborne and flying the vectors that would normally take them to the facility at Emerald Lake, Catma engages the autoengineer and swings around to face Visor Majin, e-harnessed into a bulkhead sling seat. He is grinning like a hyena, and turns off the pulse unit, setting his charge free of his bonds.
“In a few minutes, Majin, you will see a very interesting thing happen. Something I have been planning and refitting for, for quite some time. You will not believe it, so do not ask me to explain it right now. Just watch and enjoy.”
Using his compad to verify the timing sequences he needs for the phase shift, Catma resets several sequence digitizers to zero, then starts the program running. Watching the count-up reach the point of no return, he hits a key on his compad.
“Here we go Majin, hold your breath!”
Suddenly the bottom drops out, the bulkheads disappear, and it seems as if they are sitting mid-air, flying. Clear skies all around, the ground a thousand kilometers below, and not a thing holding them up except the seats they are strapped into. The control console is still visible, but everything else is gone.
Visor Majin is gasping and laughing and stomping his feet on—nothing.
“Leader! What just happened? We are floating!”
Catma giggles like a little girl. He has the only copy of this awesome phase-shifting system, and he has no intention of sharing it.
“The ship is still all around us, but it has been phase-shifted slightly. It not only is hidden to us, it is invisible to everyone and everything else, including electrotracking monitors. Meaning the royals… and Lord Dalu… can’t see us or hear us, Visor Majin!”
Catma spins and sets a new course on his compad, then motions for Majin to take the navigation position next to him. Keying in a sector leap on the console, he enters the new destination and executes the leap, and the ship ribbons up.
“I am taking you to Mount Elsu. I have a nice little hideaway tucked back in the woods you can stay at while I sort things out.
Everything you will need is already stocked and plentiful.
“I am grateful, leader. I would be off spirit- scouting infinity were it not for your intervention. That was a little too close for me.”
Catma laughs and slaps his second on the shoulder.
“You chose the wrong time to entertain the troops, Visor. But we can take advantage of the mishap. Something I will need you to do. We can discuss it when I get back later this week.”