The Astronites

Chapter Thirteen: Constitute

A mix of betrayal, sickness, hurt, and disgust lashed about in Aleph's stomach like a swarm of locusts. His looming Xemplaric guards confined him to a single seat on the Crusader's bridge by the window. Had Culpatian not been hounding his every waking moment with babbling, incoherent talk, Aleph could have enjoyed the lightshow of starspeed. Instead, the High Auctor prevented him from thinking or even concentrating on a single thought.

"Aleph, don't despair. You're going to see that we're on the side of justice. The Xemplar and I liberated you from invisible chains you've been shackled in your whole life."

"I don't think so," Aleph replied, finally breaking his vow of silence after several painful hours. "I don't think you have the faintest clue as to what you're talking about, Archibald."

"Says every man afraid of change," the High Auctor waved away. "Change, Aleph, is the only natural thing in this life that we're entitled to. Let the Xemplar into your heart. He and I have made discoveries you wouldn't think possible. What do you have to fear?"

Aleph shook his head. This wasn't the same Culpatian he came to laud. This was something lesser and more despicable. "I don't know what they've done to you, Archibald," he said. "The dictator you call Xemplar will throw your life away before he considers sacrificing his own."

"But you barely know the man, Aleph!"

"I've seen enough bloodshed to form my opinion. I'd love to see you explain to our students why you support the man who was responsible for so many of their parents' deaths."

A high-ranking Mandata officer approached Aleph and Culpatian. He was thinner than most of the soldiers aboard Endgon's warship.

"The Xemplar requests the two of you prepare for starspeed deceleration," he relayed.

"Thank you, General Wrothor," Culpatian replied, standing and courteously bowing as the Mandata officer returned to Endgon. The Xemplar was nestled in his regal seat, flanked on both sides by Vice and the two menacing Münts.

Aleph slung a seatbelt across his lap as the bridge's white lights dimmed to a soft crimson. General Wrothor's voice boomed down from above:

"All Mandata officers stand by. Decelerating from starspeed in one minute."

Aleph firmly planted his feet onto the sleek floor. An obnoxious force pressed against his back, attempting to wrest him from his seat. The lightshow outside disintegrated, and the Crusader shuttered until it slowed to a steady speed. They had arrived at Endgon's "old friend." A planet with white clouds swirling over vast swathes of lush, plotted farmlands.

A bolt of memories struck Aleph's soul. He had been here before, eight years ago.

Constitute.

To Aleph's left and right, thousands of Mandata warships stampeded ahead of the Crusader and released their swarms of warplanes. Endgon's eye-shaped space station cruised by just below Aleph's feet. Aleph searched the stars for any UEF fleetships or fleetjets. There weren't any.

"ZSAR!" Aleph bellowed, freeing himself from his seat and charging up to the Xemplaric guards. They easily blocked him and looked to their Xemplar for direction. Endgon waved his hand, and the guards lowered their arms.

Aleph marched up to Endgon as Mandata officers shouted to each other.

"All warplanes are scrambled!"

"Warships in position!"

"Mandata captains awaiting further orders, Xemplar!"

Endgon leaned over to Vice and General Wrothor, both of whom had tablets in hand, and said, "Give me the pre-battle report."