expenditure of effort, so much waste of treasure, all for naught in the end. As it always is, so it will always be.”
Leaning toward her, an annoyed Vaako whispered tightly, “This is the Procession of Conquest. Mark your words and remember your place.”
Unperturbed, she hooked her arm through his and nodded in the direction of the Lord Marshal. “Why? Do you worry
he
will overhear? He is too full of the moment of victory, too full of himself right now, to notice anything that does not reflect on his glory. As for my place, that is at your side, dear Vaako. From now till the UnderVerse come. Never doubt that.”
“I don’t,” he replied with conviction. Raising a hand, he pointed. “Look. The ceremonial final.”
A pair of Necromonger fighter craft had zeroed in on the huge symbol that crowned the capitol dome. A few perfectly placed charges smashed through its base. The symbol teetered unsteadily. Then, falling as if in slow motion, it toppled and spilled to the ground, cratering the surface where it landed. Digging its own grave literally as well as symbolically, Vaako mused. He did not think the intentionally violent gesture out of place. As an experienced warrior, he knew well the importance of symbols. In case any still doubted, it was visual confirmation of the fall of Helion Prime.
In the central meeting chamber, the leaders of Helion waited uneasily. Politicians, bureaucrats, ministers, clerics, they waited and whispered while surrounded by an elite corps of Necromonger fighters led by Irgun the Strange. Some of the representatives had come willingly, hoping to negotiate the best possible terms of surrender for their people. Others had arrived with hopes of working with the conquerors. Still more had been rounded up and chivvied along against their will, unable to escape or turned in by the first of the inevitable collaborators.
Silence fell as the Lord Marshal and his retinue entered. Without fear or hesitation, he started down the stairs toward the central dais. No one had to part the milling Helions for him. That he advanced alone, without flanking security, was not lost on the onlookers. Backing away, they gave him plenty of space, as if the radius of fear that surrounded him was a palpable thing and not just an impression.
Mounting the dais, he took time to study his surroundings as the Purifier joined him. The interior of the capitol dome was impressive—in the usual transitory, meaningless way of the ignorant and misguided. Like everything else, that would soon be corrected. As the Purifier began to speak, his words were heard clearly all the way to the back of the circular auditorium. The voice of the senior spiritual adviser of Necromonger society had no need of amplification.
“Leaders of Helion! Harken unto me and learn of the true reality. In this ’verse, life is antagonistic to the natural state of being. Here, humans in all their societies and sects are but a spontaneous outbreak, as Covu realized, an unnatural occurrence, an unguided mistake. Our purpose in coming among you is to correct this mistake. Because of the nature of the truth, we are compelled to bring forward our message of understanding and deliverance by those means that cannot be argued.”
It was certainly not the speech the assembled had expected to hear: no talk of paying tribute, of installing satraps and governors over the existing provinces of Helion Prime. No thundering denunciations or threats of reprisal against the stiff resistance that had been put up by the planet’s defenders. Some of those who had gathered in fear now began to relax ever so slightly. Others maintained their guard, as wary of what they did not expect as they were of that which they did not understand.
The Purifier continued, his voice rising, cajoling, persuading. “But let me tell you of another ’verse. A ’verse where life is welcomed. Cherished. Appreciated for what it represents. A ravishing, wondrous, all-encompassing new place
Leaning toward her, an annoyed Vaako whispered tightly, “This is the Procession of Conquest. Mark your words and remember your place.”
Unperturbed, she hooked her arm through his and nodded in the direction of the Lord Marshal. “Why? Do you worry
he
will overhear? He is too full of the moment of victory, too full of himself right now, to notice anything that does not reflect on his glory. As for my place, that is at your side, dear Vaako. From now till the UnderVerse come. Never doubt that.”
“I don’t,” he replied with conviction. Raising a hand, he pointed. “Look. The ceremonial final.”
A pair of Necromonger fighter craft had zeroed in on the huge symbol that crowned the capitol dome. A few perfectly placed charges smashed through its base. The symbol teetered unsteadily. Then, falling as if in slow motion, it toppled and spilled to the ground, cratering the surface where it landed. Digging its own grave literally as well as symbolically, Vaako mused. He did not think the intentionally violent gesture out of place. As an experienced warrior, he knew well the importance of symbols. In case any still doubted, it was visual confirmation of the fall of Helion Prime.
In the central meeting chamber, the leaders of Helion waited uneasily. Politicians, bureaucrats, ministers, clerics, they waited and whispered while surrounded by an elite corps of Necromonger fighters led by Irgun the Strange. Some of the representatives had come willingly, hoping to negotiate the best possible terms of surrender for their people. Others had arrived with hopes of working with the conquerors. Still more had been rounded up and chivvied along against their will, unable to escape or turned in by the first of the inevitable collaborators.
Silence fell as the Lord Marshal and his retinue entered. Without fear or hesitation, he started down the stairs toward the central dais. No one had to part the milling Helions for him. That he advanced alone, without flanking security, was not lost on the onlookers. Backing away, they gave him plenty of space, as if the radius of fear that surrounded him was a palpable thing and not just an impression.
Mounting the dais, he took time to study his surroundings as the Purifier joined him. The interior of the capitol dome was impressive—in the usual transitory, meaningless way of the ignorant and misguided. Like everything else, that would soon be corrected. As the Purifier began to speak, his words were heard clearly all the way to the back of the circular auditorium. The voice of the senior spiritual adviser of Necromonger society had no need of amplification.
“Leaders of Helion! Harken unto me and learn of the true reality. In this ’verse, life is antagonistic to the natural state of being. Here, humans in all their societies and sects are but a spontaneous outbreak, as Covu realized, an unnatural occurrence, an unguided mistake. Our purpose in coming among you is to correct this mistake. Because of the nature of the truth, we are compelled to bring forward our message of understanding and deliverance by those means that cannot be argued.”
It was certainly not the speech the assembled had expected to hear: no talk of paying tribute, of installing satraps and governors over the existing provinces of Helion Prime. No thundering denunciations or threats of reprisal against the stiff resistance that had been put up by the planet’s defenders. Some of those who had gathered in fear now began to relax ever so slightly. Others maintained their guard, as wary of what they did not expect as they were of that which they did not understand.
The Purifier continued, his voice rising, cajoling, persuading. “But let me tell you of another ’verse. A ’verse where life is welcomed. Cherished. Appreciated for what it represents. A ravishing, wondrous, all-encompassing new place
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