Daniel Klein

King Rawls retreated to his territory after the clear defeat. The sun was rapidly setting behind him as the saunter pressed on. The diminishing amount of light, however, was no threat to identifying the path. The trek remained well lit from the glowing blue vines draped along the treetops. His home was not a long journey from the battlefield. The surviving Thezian warriors followed him, regrouping under his now precarious leadership. The king was at a total loss on what to do next.

The forest indeed had paths that the creatures could follow. One might not expect roads from the primitavely appearing beasts, but they were quite integral to the creatures. The paths had existed since the dawn of the Thezian culture. For a tribal leader to earn respect it was required of him, or her, to maintain these paths. The inability to do so marked their failure as a leader and left them at risk to being overthrown.

There was very little trade that occurred, but the Thezian beasts were a social creature. The only thing ever materially exchanged was art. Still within not so distant memory, survival had been their preeminent concern. However, within the past century, their hunting skills had become so refined that the act of living was now almost trivial. Adding significantly to their progress was the development of restraint. Learning to restrict their hunting was now leading to a steadily growing population. Even a decade ago, 200 beasts coordinating anything was an unimaginable thought. The attack on the spaceport was proof of the forward path they were on, even in spite of the defeat.

The species’ motivations were increasingly becoming driven by a desire for comfort rather than survival. The heat was a perennial detractor from comfort. The heat was mitigated somewhat by the few underground caves scattered around the surface of the planet Thez. These caves, due to their scarcity, were traditionally reserved for royalty. However, as a consequence of defeat, King Rawls was now obliged by his culture to share the luxury with all of those who fought under his banner. The King was still pondering on his trek how he would accommodate so many warriors in his royal abode.

Of the tribes already aware of the appearance of the cold structure,  the belief in its divine status was prevalent. The man-made spaceport’s holiness was deeply reinforced by its symbolic location only a few hundred yards away from the southernmost tip of their expansive road network. The placement happened to align with a pilgrimage that some of the wandering tribes forced their young adult members to undertake. Upon hearing the news of the arrival of the building, many a spiritual advisor were quick to point out the name of the first great Thezian King being the word for “South” in their native tongue.

The beasts of Thez were always reluctant to stray too far from the ocean. The tribes located on the coast were viewed as possessing a higher status due to how comfortably cool life was there. Accordingly, Rawls would be traditionally viewed as a lesser king. 

The ocean was not just a physical beauty but also held a sacred spiritual status in Thezian culture. The beasts’ religion revered the ocean as the primordial source of all coolness. The priests would posit the body of a water to be a vital counterbalance to the otherwise sweltering world they inhabited. It was widely accepted that the rain was drawn directly from the ocean’s vast reserves. A century ago, the pseudo-scientist who offered proof of the rain’s connection with the ocean made the Thezian culture more willing to accept those who did more than just hunt. Without the ocean, the Thezians believed the relentless heat would eventually lead to their demise and would do nothing that would possibly harm its health.

Fish teemed in what the Thezians affectionately called the “great pond,” an endearing term for their vast ocean. Despite an abundance of food that they once enjoyed, the beasts staunchly refused to hunt aquatic life anymore. The reluctance stemmed from a prophecy made long ago by a revered seer who warned that consuming the fish would cause the rains to cease entirely. The dread of losing this essential source of water was potent enough to halt many immature practices. The threat of no rain became a common parental admonition to keep children in check. The adults would often joke about the threat, but still there was a consistent adamant refusal to eat fish.

The beasts had, centuries ago, organized into tribes that delineated the rough boundaries of what could be considered counties. A lack of conciseness of the border was always an issue that was ultimately rectified by fighting. There was a system to the violence that prevented chaos from ever getting too out of hand. A tribal leader who successfully annexed three counties could proclaim themselves a king. Beneath kings ranked a viscounts at two counties, with tribal chiefs forming the lowest echelon of leadership with one domain under their command. While viscounts generally showed deference to kings, the latter’s influence was limited to force rather than any formal authority. Over millennia, history recorded the rise of great kings and, occasionally, queens. However, the peak of territorial control was held by one beast who managed to rule over 100 out of the total 200 counties. 

King Rawls, with a modest fifteen counties under his belt, was far from joining the ranks of these legends, though he harbored aspirations to one day stand among the greats. The recent alliance to conquer the spaceport had ballooned Rawls’ control to 25 counties.  All pledged to follow him in the conquest. Following the defeat, Rawls was unsure whether those who were just a few days ago so enthusiastic to follow his lead would remain so eager. There were many ten county kings on the planet Thez as things stood. The presence of political rivals only served to add pressure on King Rawls. Truthfully, he had not imagined defeat was possible today.

The return to King Rawls’ underground keep was carried out mostly in silence. One could occasionally hear the cries of the wounded. However, their pain was often silenced due to the disgrace they felt. Only when it was completely unbearable would a beast let out a whimper. Finally arriving, the wounded went immediately into the cool underground. One or two Thezian beasts had to be pushed into the keep. They refused to be rewarded for the shocking defeat. The creatures who had survived remained above ground. The beasts wondered aimlessly around the camp trying to comprehend the sudden end of the battle. 

The emergence of weapons without organic owners had penetrated the psyche of the beasts deeply. Their intelligence was enough to comprehend that the turrets were not like any foe they had seen before. Still, they were not yet developed enough to grasp who exactly was in charge of the machines. Waiting for King Rawls at the head of the cave was his wife, the queen, and another male beast who he did not recognize.  

“King Rawls,” said the elderly beast with a bow of his head. His fur was a unique sight. It had begun to develop patches of gray. Such an advanced age of a Thezian beast was quite a strange sight to see. This beast, known as the Prophet Mathkar, was easily twice the age of the oldest member of Rawls’ tribe.

“Greetings, King Rawls, I can see from the faces of your soldiers that you have suffered defeat today,” he spoke with a tone of respect, knowing that he was on foreign ground.

“Indeed, we have. And who are you?” replied the King.

The elder beast introduced himself as Mathkar, “…a prophet to some. Perhaps, I can be of service to your conquest. I am capable of bringing the power of the gods to your campaign. I assure you that your conquest will serve our species well. More important to the practical side of things, I can prevent the interference of other kings in your conquest.” 

Rawls had heard the name Mathkar before. The name of the prophet was often whispered by those discontent with a leader. A very small minority of the beasts was more interested in religion than the rule of tribal chiefs.

When he spoke, Rawls’ voice carried frustration given that the man had shown up now, “I am well aware of this eastern religion. I’ve heard the tales of their cunning attempts to undermine the tribal chiefs. They think they can sway our people, erode our authority, and bend us to their will with promises and visions that we are more than capable of delivering. You may have been successful in the East, but here I have little patience for you.” Rawls paused, his gaze steady yet guarded, as if measuring the stranger before him. He was determined to not be so easy to accept the prophet’s influence.

The prophet Mathkar was unbothered by the initial refusal. He began to clarify his intentions, “I can understand why my sudden presence here might stir your suspicions. We come not to conquer a tribe – and would never attempt to deceive a King like you. Our purpose is pure. We seek only to unify our people under a shared dream of reaching the cool, together.”

Rawls hadn’t risen to his position of king by naively trusting the words of strangers, particularly those bold enough to request a role of influence in his court. He strongly suspected that Mathkar, this so-called prophet, had conned his wife into granting him an audience. Despite his reservations, Rawls decided it was prudent to at least hear the man out, if only to gauge his intentions. Yet, no sooner had he prepared himself to endure the prophet’s lofty wisdom than a commotion interrupted him. Viscount Mallaw was striding purposefully toward him, each heavy step ringed of indignation. The viscount’s posture radiated displeasure so fiercely that words seemed almost unnecessary.

“How could you possibly have lost this battle?” the viscount demanded the king’s attention, but not answer. His voice was sharp with incredulity. “There were so few enemies compared to our forces. Do you take us for fools that are blind to your incompetence? Or is it something more sinister. Perhaps, this delay of inevitable victory was a deliberate scheme driven by your ambition to thin our ranks and pave the way for you to seize control of the remaining counties? Regardless of the reason, I have had enough. I’m withdrawing my troops from your command. I’ll conquer the place myself.” He delivered his declaration with finality. There was no pause to entertain the possibility of a reply.

Rawls had long held the view that Viscount Mallaws was a coward. His cunning had masked it well among some of his peers. Rawls vented his frustration with a booming roar right on top of his hall. Yet, beneath his bluster, the harsh truth remained that his alliance was crumbling. He couldn’t afford to confront the desertion of Mallaws with his own forces in such dire condition. The battered state of his men was the crisis that demanded his more immediate attention.

Perhaps, this turn of events might ultimately serve Rawls’ interests. The viscount had made it abundantly clear that he intended to press the offensive, a decision that could unwittingly benefit the king. If Rawls could rally and reorganize his weary troops, he might seize the opportunity created by the pressure Mallaws was applying to his enemies. As the treacherous viscount stormed out of the encampment, Mathkar seized the moment to speak again, “I have seen a vision, young king—a path to resolve your troubles. I can not only stop the interference of the Kings to the north, but provide you a plan approved by the god themselves.” Exhausted from the day’s turmoil, Rawls replied with a curt nod, his tone weary but firm. “I’ll hear you in the morning. For now, I need rest.”

The victory, at first, rang hollow in the hearts of the Oblahomian soldiers. This muted response was only natural in the wake of the battle’s end. Exhaustion and contemplation dulled the thrill of triumph. Their Oblahomian upbringing was rooted in a culture that revered peace above all else. Historically, the empire had never been the first to declare war on another political entity, priding itself on restraint. Yet, it would be naive to deny their skill at provocation. Subtly goading rival sovereignties into striking first, only to respond with overwhelming force, was how the empire had once ballooned in size with a population always passionate to defend the homeland. This conflict was yet another instance of the doctrine of aggressive defense. Unbeknownst to them, however, the Oblahomians had stumbled into a fight with a beast capable of organized maneuvers.

Colonel Urmann, ever decisive, had already issued his orders to the weary troops: relax, take a drink, and rest. He assured them that the automated defenses around the spaceport would hold firm for the night. The experienced colonel knew that often after such an arduous fight that good soldiers would fear that they were still needed on the front lines. Despite his knowledge, a much needed respite was being granted for the soldiers, and he needed them to appreciate it. Recuperation was necessary for any strategy the colonel was to employ moving forward. He intended to see his soldiers restored before any further action.

Every Oblahomian prefabricated spaceport came equipped with what was formally dubbed a “drinking station.” This was a purely utilitarian name coined by its designer who was infamous for the practice. Thomas de Vries was a man with a penchant for labeling structures with blunt, functional descriptors. The station’s design was old, but still functional. So old was the design that de Vries had lived 700 years before Hausteller’s arrival on Thez.

The hallway connecting the front gate to the bar was short in physical distance. It spanned no great empirical length, yet it felt endless to the recruits. The spiritual weight of the battle clung to them heavy. A veteran’s steady stride stood in stark contrast to the diminished gait of the two surviving recruits, the difference distinguished them as clearly as any badge of rank.

The spaceport’s gray metal walls, were nearly identical in shade to the soldiers’ armor. The typical green glow of an Oblahomian door framed the entry to the bar. As the soldiers shuffled into view, the team of researchers waiting there erupted into joyous applause. Their cheers were full of glee. Colonel Urmann, stepping forward, was the first to voice his praise aloud. “Take off your helmets, men,” he ordered, his tone still firm. The weariness he refused to express out loud was still visible to the soldiers. He rubbed his eyes before continuing on, “there’ll be no more orders today. Your bravery was nothing short of commendable. I would give you a medal if I could. Don’t for a moment think it was technology alone that won this fight—it was your spirit that held the line!”

From behind the bar, each soldier received a drink, beer from a renowned brewery on the capital planet. Its familiar label a comforting sight amid the uncertainty of their surroundings. The clinking of glasses had scarcely begun when Colonel Urmann raised his voice again, interrupting the jubiliation with a somber note. “We’ll tend to the fallen in due time,” he said in a moment of dourness. “For now, this drink is to their memory!”‘

With that, the colonel excused himself from the drinking station, mentioning unspecified business that required his attention. In his absence, a party took shape within the bar. The soldiers were craving social interaction.

The initial loudness of the introductions would gradually settle into a murmur. The soldiers and the researchers began to intermingle. . Hausteller was still unaccustomed to the weight of battle. He sat perched on a stool alone. He positioned himself near the edge of the bar and away from the tables. His helmet rested on the counter beside his bottle of beer. The beer’s bitterness was unfamiliar. He was not from the capital and was only a citizen of the empire through his parents. He eventually looked down to see his armor, scuffed from the day’s clash. The adrenaline that had carried him through the fight had long since ebbed away. It seemed forever ago since the time he picked himself up from the ground on the battlefield after falling over in retreat. He was staring into the amber liquid. While lost in thought, he caught a woman approaching him in the corner of his eye.

“Hausteller, right?” spoke a measured voice. He looked up to see a figure standing before him. The easily thirty year old woman was clad in the sleek, blue gray attire of the research team. Her dark hair was pulled back tightly, and her eyes carried an intensity that seemed to indicate a great dedication to her craft. She extended a hand, more a formality than any gesture of warmth. “I’m Dr. Kiel, head of the research contingent here.”

Hausteller straightened instinctively and set his beer down. “Uh, yes, ma’am, Recruit Hausteller of the 31st Pioneer Division,” he replied, his voice betraying his unease. He had never spoken with a person of rank. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Dr. Kiel didn’t waste time with pleasantries. She leaned in slightly, her tone dropping to conspiracy. “I need your help, Hausteller. There’s something out there in the forest that I need, it is the very reason that this mission began. I know you might have been told this planet was researched for farming purposes. This is a cover of sorts. There is an electric vine that I believe might be the key to unlocking great scientific progress. I’ve spent the past two months lobbying the empire to fund this mission just to get my hands on this, and now that we’re here, I can’t let the opportunity slip away. We came here for one singular purpose and due to the immediate assault by the creatures we have yet to even venture into the forest.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the objective and her discontent. “A vine? I don’t understand what it could possibly offer to science.”

She straightened, folding her arms nervously as she was about to reveal a theory she had yet to test, “It’s not just a vine. I believe it is the key to activating nanomachine medicines. If I’m right, the vine’s electric properties could fuel these machines with enough energy to function, but due to the delivery mechanism it would not harm the body.”

The other soldiers were too absorbed in their drinks or conversations to notice the mission being assigned to Hausteller. “I do not mean to be rude, but I’m just a recruit. Shouldn’t you be asking Colonel Urmann for a soldier to go on the mission?”

“Urmann is a fool. I do not trust him. Do you trust him? I fear I am only motivated to ask you because I can trust you. Your abilities are something I can only infer from your survival. I also know you are not a traitor since the subterfuge began before you came.” she said plainly.

Hausteller had figured something was off given that no one had alerted high-command of the situation, but for her to put forth the accusation of treason so bluntly was a shock.

Acknowledging the fact that she may have been going too fast for the fresh recruit, she clarified, “I do not know if you have figured this, but there is a traitor in our midst. There must be some internal subterfuge that has prevented our reinforcement. This is why I refer to Urmann as a fool. His priority has been maintaining the exterior defense when he should have been attempting to locate the source of the interference. His repair of the defenses only showed him to be a better mechanic than leader.” Dr. Kiel knew she had perhaps gone too far with her open insubordination. She gave a quick nod to this in asking Hausteller to not repeat any of her criticisms.

She continued after taking an audible breathe. “But to me, the whole traitor business is neither here nor there at the present. I do not think those beasts are capable of overcoming the bases’ automatic defenses. I also think the Colonel will not dare to venture out of the spaceport. I just need one of those vines. I need my theory to be proven before the reinforcements arrive.”

Hausteller opened his mouth to ask how she knew reinforcements would be on on the way, but Dr. Kiel’s urgency was too much to wait for him to voice his question. “Listen, Hausteller,” she said sharply, “this is a priority we must resolve by tomorrow. The ship that dropped you recruits off? When it fails to return on schedule, they’ll send reinforcements. Once those reinforcements flood in, this place could be abandoned. I might be taken away from the planet and never have a chance to return, if the cost of fighting the beasts is deemed to outweigh the value of an unproven world. I can not take that risk. We have two days to procure a vine for research. I will give myself six days to construct a report and then we can say that we have accomplished something here.” Hausteller’s mind quickly pondered what was being asked of him. The massive jungle forest outside the spaceport was certainly home to the beasts he had fought today. He knew that the Colonel would definitely not approve any mission that further risked the danger of his men. He thought of the fallen comrades honored just moments ago. Maybe this was a chance to make their deaths mean something more than just casualties in a skirmish.

“What exactly do you need me to do?” Hausteller asked.

Dr. Kiel’s lips curved into a smile. She was close to being granted her request of the young soldier. “Tomorrow, at 5:00, meet me by the gate. Bring your full gear. We’ll slip out, find a vine at the nearest tree, and get back before anyone notices.”

Hausteller hesitated to affirm, but eventually gave in. 

“Good,” she said, stepping away from the table to return to her scientific team. “Get some rest tonight. You’ll need it. You look tired.” With that, she left, leaving Hausteller alone once more with his drink.

The recruit did not loiter about any longer than he needed to, and went off to his quarters. The other soldiers had taken to a drinking game and were still quite noisy by the time he left. Hausteller knew he would eventually need to find the time to be sociable with his new comrades, but that would have to wait for another time.