Power Game

Kenneth McDonald

Kmcdonald4101@gmail.com

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2021 by Kenneth McDonald

Cover Credit: The cover image is adapted from The Crab Nebula, a Hubble Space Telescope image by NASA and the ESA. The image is in the public domain.

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Works by Kenneth McDonald

The Ogre at the Crossroads

Forgotten Lore

First Series

Secrets of a Lost Age

Warriors of Shadow

The Shattered Key

Mysteries of the Book

Second Series

The Road to Ironbridge

The Towers of Khormur-Dhain

Trouble on the Borderlands

The Horror in the Wood

The Graves Crew

The Graves Crew and the Restless Dead

The Graves Crew and the Damned Dam

The Graves Crew and the Firestar Amulet

The Graves Crew and the Road of Doom

The Graves Crew and the Magical Forest

The Graves Crew and the Mountain Fortress

The Adventures of the Graves Crew, Volume 1 (omnibus paperback edition)

The Adventures of the Graves Crew, Volume 2 (omnibus paperback edition)

Refugees of the Crucible

Powerless

Overpowered

Balance of Power

Legacy of the Bulrazi

Power Play

Power Game

Soul Weapons

Wizard’s Shield

Soul of the Sword

Wizard’s Stone

Tales of the Soul Weapons

The Dwarf on the Mountain

Legends of the Soul Weapons, Volume 1 (omnibus paperback edition)

Legends of the Soul Weapons, Volume 2 (omnibus paperback edition)

The Colors of Fate

Black Shadows Gather

Green Hearts Weep

Red Vengeance Rising

Faded Yellow Dreams

Blazing White Stars

Shiny Golden Schemes

Silent Gray Depths

The Colors of Fate, Volume 1 (omnibus paperback edition)

The Colors of Fate, Volume 2 (omnibus paperback edition)

The Mages of Sacreth

The Labyrinth

Of Spells and Demons

Grimm’s War

Grimm’s Loss

Grimm’s Love

Of Blood and Magic

Of Steel and Sorcery

The Godswar Trilogy

Paths of the Chosen

Choice of the Fallen

Fall of Creation

Daran’s Journey

Heart of a Hero

Soul of a Coward

Will of a Warrior

Courage of a Champion

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Prologue

The old Bulrazi stood staring through the armored viewport in a small antechamber adjacent to the docking port of Hunter’s Fang. Defanged now, he thought; from his vantage he could clearly see the forward armament pods attached to the sweeping arc-wings of the vessel, now obviously empty.

The deck seemed to lurch under him and he quickly grabbed hold of one of the zero-G struts for support. He didn’t know why they bothered with the gravity plating; in his view the stuff was more dangerous than helpful. He supposed it was intended as proof that the Bulrazi were a major spacefaring species, proficient in the technology of the galactic powers. Yet another technology stolen from the humans, he thought, like the Fordham Drive itself. Of course, in the end it hadn’t been enough.

The gravity field stabilized after a few moments, but he kept his hands on the supporting railing. His fighting days had been well past when this destructive conflict had begun, but his views had been respected, even honored. Not that the high councils would heed his warnings, of course. But now that they needed a peacemaker, someone not tainted with the legacy of the war, they had pulled him out of his quiet retreat and back into service.

He could feel the ship turning—no amount of fake gravity could hide the sense of a ship from him—and saw the station come into view in the distance ahead. It didn’t look like much from here, but of course, looks could be deceiving in the Vast. He got a better idea of its scale as a ship came into view, drifting closer to the Fang as it approached. He recognized the League cruiser, which dwarfed the Bulrazi ship.

There was a slight bustle in the hall outside the anteroom, a slightly frenetic sound of motion that announced who it was even before a head popped through the hatch and the familiar voice announced, Elder Vorrchauk! There you are. I have been searching all over the ship!

I am here, cousin.

We’re about to dock with the human station.

There is time yet, the old Bulrazi said. And we are eleven steps from the docking port, he didn’t say.

He flicked a glance over at his aide as the young Bulrazi came into the room and stepped up beside him at the viewport. He was barely an adult, his pristine diplomatic uniform unmarked by the slashes of rank. The elder’s, by contrast, was covered in a veritable labyrinth of insignia, some of which he suspected were completely meaningless.

Have to make an impressive show for our conquerors, he thought.

That cruiser, the aide said, fixing naturally on the approaching warship.

"The Achilles, the elder said. Named after a hero of human legend."

A symbol of our shame, the youth said. Humbling us before their might.

They earned that right, the elder thought. Aloud, he said, There is no dishonor in being defeated by a stronger foe, he said. We fought bravely, and look at where we are. He titled his head slightly to indicate that he was offering a lesson.

Ukkron’s Claw? the youth asked.

The elder nodded in negation. Triconeran. Not Bulrazar. We were able to keep them out of our home system this time, and we will maintain a joint presence in this system, so close to ours.

A garrison, the aide said.

A chance to learn, the elder corrected.

Do you think that the humans will sign the treaty?

The details were all worked out beforehand, the elder said. This, this part is all just ritual.

Will they honor it, then?

The humans do not seek to prolong this war, the elder said. The war that we started, he silently added. There were lessons that his young charge was not ready to learn, but he would, slowly, through observation and assimilation of new information. There were some who said that his aide had gained his position through blood alone, but he was bright, and fast to learn.

The youth was still watching the human cruiser as they slid past it on approach to the station. So big, he said. And powerful. Will we ever build ships so large, do you think?

I hope not, the elder said. He cocked his head slightly. I think that we are done fighting the humans, he said.

Peace is not our way, the youth said.

Perhaps it is time that we learn a new way, the elder said.

Learn the human way?

Why not?

We tried to learn from them before, the youth said. That brought us to this end.

We didn’t seek to learn, we stole, the elder said, a hint of steel creeping into his tone. We captured one of their ships, and murdered their crew. We were thieves who took technology we barely understood and used it to build weapons of war in secret. His paws tightened on the rail, but his claws did not come out. We lost our way out here, among the stars.

Forgive me, Elder, the youth said. I did not mean… I did not seek to offend.

You do not offend me by asking questions, cousin, Vorrchauk said. Just remember your lessons on diplomatic deference, when we are in there. He gestured toward the station, now almost filling the viewport as they drew near. They could clearly mark out the docking port that was their destination, rimmed by bright lights that flashed a welcome.

The elder noticed that the youth was flicking his claws in a nervous gesture. Do you know that it all began here? Vorrchauk asked. Almost exactly in this place. He indicated the curve of the huge gas giant just visible along the edge of the viewport. "Not these precise coordinates, of course. But the Far Voyager met its end close to that planetary traveler."

I know the story of the noble sacrifice, the youth said, cautious now as he sensed another lesson brewing.

Noble sacrifice. Yes, it was taught as such in my day as well. There is truth to those words, and I do not seek to sully the memory of those who did their duty and gave their lives to preserve Bulrazar and our identity. But it is also a story of futility. There was one Bulrazi on that ship, a warrior of our line. His name was Vorrhusk.

I do not know that name, the youth said.

Nor would I expect you to. He was a figure of important rank, a subcommander, but his account is not a focus of the tales we tell. But he played a very important role. You know that we took prisoners in the conflict here. As the youth blinked in agreement, Vorrchauk continued, Vorrhusk was placed in charge of the human prisoners. He learned from them, and got to know them. He knew that what had happened here would lead to war between our peoples, but he also knew that there had to be a dialogue, and understanding of each other if that war was ever to end. He studied them, learned their language, and tried to understand them. And in the end, when his commander ordered their death, he spared their lives.

The young Bulrazi looked like he was about to speak—no doubt noting the obvious, that Vorrhusk had betrayed his duty—but then paused, a thoughtful look on his face. Finally, he said, "How do you know all this? There were no survivors from the Far Voyager."

"No Bulrazi survivors," Vorrchauk said.

The youth’s face was blank as he assimilated this information. Why is this not taught as part of the story? he finally asked.

Ah, now you get to the core of the matter, the elder said. But see, we are about to dock. We must not keep the humans waiting.

The rest of the diplomatic party were already waiting for them. But they were all junior representatives, with Vorrchauk the only senior member of the delegation authorized to sign the treaty on behalf of the Bulrazi Demesne. It was an awesome responsibility, but the elder would have been more humbled by it if he didn’t know that it was because the members of the Tribbhokk did not want to be tainted by the dishonor of having to sign such a humiliating agreement. To admit the magnitude of their defeat—the second in a row—against the human forces of the League.

The two members of the Bulrazi honor guard saluted as he and his aide came into the small docking bay. But they too were mainly ornaments, their blast rifles replaced by ceremonial staves. Even that was a concession; Vorrchauk suspected that a blow from the flexible jattak wood, in the hands of a Bulrazi warrior, would crush a human’s fragile bones and perhaps even be fatal. But the guards had been briefed on their role, and would not raise their weapons even if provoked.

Elder? his aide prodded, and Vorrchauk realized that he’d let his thoughts wander; the docking had completed and the airlock doors were already cycling. Even that little detail was another bit of testimony; an identical maneuver with a Bulrazi station would have been a lot louder.

Once the machines had confirmed that everything was safe, the inner door opened and a human stepped forward. Even after everything it was still a surprise to see how small they were, with only thin shocks of fur here and there, and bare skin showing everywhere it wasn’t covered by their uniforms. The starburst insignia on his breast showed his allegiance, while tabs near his neck showed his rank. Vorrchauk reviewed all of those cues as a matter of course, but he already knew who this was.

The human came up directly to Vorrchauk—a minor insult against the honor guard, whose slight shift probably went unnoticed—and offered a Bulrazi salute. It was a bit ridiculous, given that the human lacked claws, but Vorrchauk accepted it in the spirit it was offered and made the ritual response. Ambassador Vorrchauk, the human said. It is an honor to finally meet you in person.

Lieutenant Commander Roland, Vorrchauk replied. The honor is mine. He extended a paw; beside him his aide suddenly tensed, then relaxed as he remembered that this was part of the human greeting ritual. As they shook hands, Vorrchauk made a mental note to offer the youth a refresher on human diplomatic rituals later. This is my aide and kinsman, Burrhosk.

Burrhosk, the human said. Turning toward the airlock, he said, in almost perfect Bulrazi, Please accept my invitation to come aboard Triconeran Station.

We accept, Vorrchauk replied.

With that, the diplomatic party left their vessel to ratify the end of the second war between the Bulrazi and the League, and to accept the humiliation of formally accepting their defeat.

* * *

For Burrhosk, his first experience on a human station was almost overwhelming.

Everything seemed both huge and awkwardly small at the same time, and he occasionally had to duck to avoid a low surface, such as when they passed through hatchways separating sections of the station. He was nervous, desperate to avoid making an error that would dishonor the elder and bring shame upon himself.

Humans were everywhere, making room for the diplomatic party but otherwise moving swiftly about their business. He’d been warned about the strange smells and sounds he would encounter, but in the moment it only added to the barrage of sensations he was feeling. Even the gravity was different, though the transition as they’d passed from one ship to the next was so smooth that he’d barely felt it. But now he had to walk carefully lest he launch himself into one of those low bulkheads and leave himself lying sprawled out upon the deck, a scene which the humans would no doubt find quite hilarious.

Their escorts—the human who had introduced himself and a few others who felt like guards—kept moving them forward. The station was huge. They passed a row of tall windows that overlooked a multilevel ship bay. Burrhosk glanced over and had to resist the urge to stare as he saw rank upon rank of drone fighters in heavy launch cradles, along with an assortment of shuttles and other varied craft. A brief span later they went through another low door to pass yet another bay. This one was even larger, with an entire spacefaring vessel enclosed within the space. The ship was considerably smaller than the Hunter’s Fang, but Burrhosk recognized the familiar assemblage of a fold-drive surrounding its aft hull.

He glanced over at the elder and noticed one of the guards watching them. A thought occurred to him; perhaps the humans had deliberately taken them along this route, to impress the Bulrazi with their power? He filed that thought and tried to focus more on their immediate surroundings.

They finally came to another door that led onto a smaller, more familiar-looking chamber. An assortment of humans had gathered there, obviously waiting for them, and Burrhosk was surprised to see the silver-shrouded form of a Sky Lord, its features partially concealed by the translucent glass of its bubble-shaped helmet. The O’lendi had been talking with one of the humans as the delegation entered, but it turned to watch as the Bulrazi were escorted forward.

Ambassador, a human officer—high ranking from all the decorations on his uniform—said as he came forward. He did not offer a claw-salute or a greeting in his guests’ language, but Vorrchauk shook his tiny hand politely. Welcome to Triconeran Station. I’m Captain Chellis, commander of this facility. I hope you’ve had an uneventful journey.

Burrhosk stiffened, but reminded himself that the human did not mean offense; he was just ignorant. We are pleased to be here, to formally end this destructive conflict, Vorrchauk said.

Chellis made a gesture that Burrhosk could not interpret. We have a formal reception planned for later, the human said. But Admiral Telland and Envoy Saris wondered if we could have a brief word with you in private before the official business begins.

Burrhosk looked over in alarm, but Vorrchauk merely nodded—signaling agreement to the humans. Of course.

Your staff can enjoy our hospitality, it will only be a few minutes, Roland said, but Chellis was already escorting the elder forward. Burrhosk did not immediately know what to do. It wasn’t really his place to offer conversation to any of the junior members of the diplomatic delegation, and the honor guards wouldn’t say a word even if the humans started trying to tear their arms out of their sockets. There was a table along one wall that held what looked like an assortment of snacks and beverages, but Burrhosk’s sense of adventure did not extend to sampling human cuisine.

As a compromise, he made his way to a spot halfway between the food table and the Bulrazi diplomats. He focused his attention to where the elder had departed,