The Chronicles of Ki
Book 1: In The Beginning
© Copyright 2024 Frank Walters Clark ~ All Rights Reserved
The panorama from the top is awe-inspiring to King Dal and his retinue of sycophants. Here to witness an historical event from an enclosed observatory jutting out from the side of Mount Parnar, the king is already taking credit for the occasion, telling everyone it was his idea.
Six kilometers below, on the brown western planes of Nibiru, thousands of small, bird-like gyrogrids come online near the base of the mountain. Sizzling with webs of lightning, their roaring chorus of thunder is powerfully moving.
Lord Xib, the king’s first-born son, is royal chief scientist and engineer, designer and architect. It is his knowledge and skills which have made this event possible, and RLS FelBok and his team who have dedicated countless hours of formulations and analyses to this achievement.
Obsequious to a fault, the royal heir Lord Dalu makes no secret of his intentions concerning the throne. It is his legal right, he often proclaims, and arguments with his half-brother over his claim often draw blood.
At King Dal’s side, he leans and whispers, “This, my lord, will be a sight like no other.”
King Dal bends an unwilling ear. Other court members are like his second-born.
Delighted to give counsel, questionable though the advice may be, weaselingly anxious and afraid to take action of their own accord.
Wide-shouldered, with silver-black hair and azure eyes, the king is habitually moody. He is unusually intent, squints and says, “Are you absolutely certain of the outcome, Dalu?”
” Not one iota of doubt, my lord.”
“We shall see, Dalu. We shall see.”
In the darkness, v-shaped lines of glistening blue beacons mark the edges of the landing quad’s several approaches. Regularly spaced domes of bright white-yellow lights on the ground outline the staging lanes and parking stalls.
Two hundred kilometers overhead and nearly blotting out the stars, the enormous bulk of the royal battleship Phalx glitters with jewel- like necklaces of portals wrapping her decks.
Laser tracking rays flash across her regions, like probing, red antennae.
In Phalx’s top-most deck of seven, Lord Xib is at command, focused but apprehensive. The primary control console he oversees is a matrix of red, yellow and green lights ringing two large vidplays. His helmsman, Qirt, is busy at his own post preparing for the critical moment.
Dozens of technicians and engineers, Heroes, are at their stations. A scene of organized chaos, they talk noisily, work vector and co-ordinate assignments and calculate disparities.
Taking a seat to one side in his personal console, Lord Xib quietly speaks to his helmsman over his comset. Things are about to get personal.
“Transmit positional vectorings, Qirt,” he says. “Bezel the horizontal and vertical assignments to my vidplay position.”
“At your command, my lord!”
As Lord Xib’s team, the Heroes’ mission is first to map out and then designate the specific sectors of the atmosphere needing critical repairs. Secondly, the ships will coordinate the placement and laying in of prototype strands of gold mesh.
The gyrogrids lift off en masse, and then hover twenty meters off the quad. Emitting waves of thunder and bolts of lighting, they instantly lift straight up into outer space.
Aligning in triangular formations beneath the command ship, they await their high commander’s signal.
The small bird-like ships are equipped with chemical-bonding cavities within their holds.
Their undersides are rigged with thin tubular-copper feeder sleeves, reminiscent of butterfly proboscis.
Lord Xib waits nervously, closely watching the three-dimensional green bubbles on his vidplay, marking the small ships’ individual positions. He raises a hand in anticipation, and once the ships are perfectly aligned in their respective triangles, he drops it.
A millisecond later, his order is executed. Intermittent splashes of fiery heat mark the measured cadences of ships performing the cross-hatching dances. Moving in the distance, needling in and out of Nibiru’s upper reaches, it is a syncopated light show.
On the zoomed screen of his vidplay, minutely thin, glistening strings of gold meld across one another. Knitting and netting, latticing in the atmosphere.
The corners of Lord Xib’s mouth crook in a weak smile. This might actually work, he thinks.
On the right side of his screen, a bright flash suddenly appears at one of the junctures of the triangles. A trail of flashes multiplies, fanning-out across the frail legs of the lattice.
Lord Xib jumps to his feet, stunned and horrified.
Racing out on the branches in flashing lights, the partially woven golden web slowly disintegrates. Decaying in hauntingly beautiful winks of blues and golds.
Lord Xib triple-finger touches his temple, overriding all traffic on the royal Z-1 channel. “Get those birds away, now!” he shouts. “Power shift! Sector leap! Get out!”
His commands come too late. One by one, the birds in and around the lattice ignite, like moths flaring and dying in a candle’s flame.
Lord Xib stands, tears pouring down his cheeks. His heart is breaking for his lost men.
His crew quietly comes to attention. Softly beating fists over hearts, they render the sacred rhythm of the ancient Sect of Shem.