Star Keepers: Prologue
by
Paul Adams
The night sky overhead was a cloudy gray. The slight
smell of rain, a clear omen that a downpour was not too far away, hung in the
air. A cold wind whipped about Leonard Centaurus’s gray hair and green Earth
Space Force uniform. Everything seemed to have molded itself to perfectly match
his inward feelings.
Ever since he’d received the news that his son and
daughter-in-law had been killed alongside other comrades in battle, Leonard had
been dreading this day. It felt almost as if he had been in a dream the past
few days, and that it wouldn’t be real until the messengers arrived in person
to confirm the fact.
A silent hush woke Leonard from his thoughts. He
turned to look at his daughter Angelica, who was silently rocking her infant
son Kent to sleep. She too had lost an important person in her life. More than
just a brother and a sister-in-law, her husband, the child’s father, had been
among the casualties.
Leonard couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming surge
of affection for his daughter. When her mother died, she had been the lifeline
that had given him the strength to carry on day after day. Now it was she who
would have to endure this trial.
Leonard turned his attention back to the sky. A small
patch of stars had managed to shine through a small opening in the clouds that
otherwise completely blocked out the remainder of the night sky. Leonard
thought back to his youth, when he would stare up at those stars every night in
wonder and amazement pondering the multitude of spectacular wonders that could
be out there.
That was before this war began. Before Filius, the son
Leonard had now lost forever, even existed. Before entire planets lived in fear
that Lord Compuzon and his confederation of power-hungry rulers would send
their combined forces to decimate their world as they had done to so many
others. Leonard considered it a cruel twist of irony that the place he had once
looked upon as wondrous and awe-inspiring now felt foreboding and treacherous.
As Leonard pondered them, he became so deep in thought
that he almost didn’t notice when one of the stars slowly started growing and
moving towards him.
Thousands of miles above Leonard, the Earth Space
Force commissioned star cruiser, the Arrowhead, swiftly entered the
earth’s atmosphere and began its swift descent toward the planet’s surface. A
century ago, any craft to attempt such a feat would have burned up shortly
after entry. Now, thanks to great technological advancements, and communion
with more highly advanced races, the ship could easily endure the Earth’s
atmospheric pressure, and the ship’s airfoil design allowed it to move smoothly
and easily with little resistance.
Within minutes, the hangar in which Leonard and
Angelica were waiting came into view. The ship’s pilot flew the craft directly
over the landing pad. The patient spectators covered their faces to block the
intense wind as the ship slowly descended into the hangar and landed gently
upon the tarmac.
A gentle hum signified the ship powering down, and the
roar of the engines slowly died. A brief burst of air was jettisoned to release
the air pressure of the interior of the ship. For a few moments, there was
absolute silence.
A hatch opened on the side of the ship, and a ramp
descended. Leonard watched as the crew slowly filed out. He recognized most of
them. During his years of service as Fleet Admiral, he had grown to be very
good friends and comrades with many of those who had currently been serving
alongside his son. Leonard winced at the solemn look upon each crewmember’s
face.
The two people at the forefront of the throng came out
to meet him. These were the two he had been expecting. Those who were
specifically chosen to act as messengers. One of the two men carried a large
ornate chest, while the other was cradling a small bundle in his arms. They
stopped when they reached Leonard.
The man carrying the chest, a straight-laced man with
high cheekbones, spoke first.
“Admiral Centaurus. Angelica,” he addressed them
curtly.
Leonard gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. “Hewlett,
Jamisen,” he replied, unable to get out any more than that. His throat felt
dry. He turned his attention to the chest in Hewlett’s arms.
Hewlett held it out. He looked slightly sick.
“Their remains,” he said. Leonard looked at the box,
feeling slightly nauseous himself. He had hoped that at least the bodies would
be still intact. From what he’d heard of the person responsible for their
deaths, most of his previous victims had been left with only a burn mark upon
their foreheads. There must have been something else involved this time.
Leonard momentarily considered inquiring about it, but he felt he probably
wouldn’t be able to stomach the answer. It was bad enough thinking about the
bits of Filius, Deah, and Tyler contained within a chest less than five feet
away from him.
He took the chest, and turned his attention to the one
good thing to come from this day: the bundle in Jamisen’s arms. The tall man
brushed back the lock of unkempt hair he had been allowing the child in his
arms to play with and stepped forward.
“Leonard, Jelly,” he said sympathetically, handing
Leonard the baby. Leonard looked down at the child. His grandson was staring up
at him with large, curious eyes. Leonard smiled at him, but was inwardly pained
at the thought of this innocent soul growing up without his parents.
His attention was drawn to two distinct features of
the child. First, was the gem placed on top of the infant’s blanket, a gem
which appeared to be a simple diamond from a distance, but upon closer
inspection a bolt of lightning appeared to be preserved within it. Secondly,
although the child’s hair was mostly brown, two small patches, one on each side
of his head, had lost their color completely.
Jamisen noticed Leonard’s observation of the baby’s
hair, and attempted to explain. “The phantasm, whatever he was using, it had a
lot more power than we had ever expected. Korvan, he, well, he was slightly
grazed by its power when it . . .” he stopped short, and made a quick glance in
the chest’s direction.
Leonard nodded. Although this helped him to comprehend
just a little better, he was still concerned and much more afraid. What kind of
weapon were they dealing with?
Hewlett whispered something to Jamisen, and Jamisen
nodded in reply. He turned back to Leonard.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Leonard,” he added, in
parting words of comfort, “and you too, Jelly. Filius was a great friend, and
I’m sure he was an even better son and brother, and Tyler and Deah were no
less.”
He bent over and gave the child in Leonard’s arms a
kiss on the forehead. The infant reached out to grab at his hair again, but he
softly lowered the small hand back down. “Good-bye, sweet Korvan,” he
whispered, “I hope to see you again one day. Until then, grow up happy and
safe. Your destiny is far greater than you can possibly hope to comprehend.
Good luck, little one.”
He straightened up and gave Leonard one last parting
glance, his eyes full of sorrow, then he and Hewlett turned and slowly made
their way out of the chamber. Leonard watched them go. When they were gone he
turned his attention back to the infant in his arms. The child stared up at him
with those large inquisitive eyes again. The words Jamisen had spoken were all
too true. Little Korvan’s destiny was far greater than he, or anyone else for
that matter, could ever possibly hope to comprehend. The gem within Korvan’s
blanket glowed slightly as Leonard turned his gaze back toward the night sky.
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