Calan - The Immortality Paradox

Chapter Seventeen: The Secrets of Castell, Part Two

Date: 406, OA19,655

Location: Castell, Canol System

'I don't like the smell of this place. Too fresh and pristine. Like an infirmary that's been washed clean to hide the stench of corpses.' The Administrator's words were crude, and discharged with blatant loathing. But what he said had cause, even if the idiot had not intended it that way. Castell was unapologetically ostentatious; a fitting symbol of the Calan's obsession with themselves. Every coiling branch reeked of their false pledges. Whatever intentions the fortress originally had in its construction was lost the moment the Gathering was arranged. A readymade exhibition of superiority for those naive enough to take the bait.

Lyndon Summers had arrived two days ago, acting envoy of His Majesty, King Taio Swindlehurst, and the Kingdom of his people. Royal Counsellor no longer, he had volunteered on the King's behalf to represent the Scorpion Chapter at the Calan's sham of a summit. Journeying from Regalis in Stingsail - his pride and joy, and private space-yacht - took over a year. A small retinue kept him company, including the King's General, Elias Ainsworth - bald and brooding - along with his pet canine, Albert. Shaggy and unaccustomed to space travel, the beast stood at the oval windows, staring out and howling, as if daring the stars to come closer. Summers had a mind to strangle the creature, had he not spotted the General tousling its unkempt, brown-hair as fondly as a father would a son's head. Other passengers, ordered to join by the young King, were a group of royal servants to offer constitutional advice, and a pair of loyal palace sentries who offered very little by way of conversation. Protective as he was over his cherished ship, Lyndon found it extremely difficult to acquiesce to His Royal Highness's wishes. The cognitive alterations had transformed the King into a monarch more fearful than his own mother. He recalled Queen Alyssa's tempestuous habits and the pitiless way she used to rule. Taio had inherited ten times her ferocity, and reconfigured himself with a tonne more narcissism.

Though his choice of shipmates remained the indulgence of the King, Lyndon didn't hold back on the contents of his hull. A self-confessed wayfarer, he often enjoyed the exotic foods and flavours to be found across the galaxy and also collected souvenirs from the planets and satellites he had honoured with his presence. The tokens he acquired were very rarely handed over willingly. Upon arrival, he ordered the sentries and servants to carry all the cargo to his designated chamber - crates of spiced goods, cryogenically-packed meat from foreign quarry, a selection of weapons both functional and damaged, and a thorough collection of sumptuous clothing he always kept in his wardrobe. Summers was born into a wealthy family, and he found it difficult to forsake his privilege. Luxury had a way of causing disappointment when it wasn't there any longer. Instead, he carried it wherever he could.

The foreign dignitaries didn't hide their incredulity as they entered the temporary abode of the Scorpion Chapter delegation. For his own comfort, he had bedaubed all the alien, synthetic walls in rich, luscious tapestries. Completely obscuring the Calanian silicone underneath. It resembled the inside of an obscene realm of fabrics. He'd also placed eminent, decorative pieces around the chamber to show all his visitors how much he'd travelled. Rare gifts and offerings he'd acquired honestly and dishonestly. Summers never shied away from showcasing his life, no matter how questionable people found his conduct.

Administrator Dominic Drindlock arrived before the others. He was unchanged from their first encounter. Feeble for his middle age, any fool might have mistaken him for being an invertebrate. Spindly legs barely carried a malnourished body. His face was so gaunt, Lyndon could almost see the skeleton attempting to climb out of his skin. Thin, stringy-white hair was folded back on itself, darker grey near the scalp. His face was fixed perpetually in a state of seriousness. Here was a man barely clinging to life, and with what little strength he had left had opted to betray his own people. Spineless, indeed. But the Leonian was key to King Swindlehurst's plan. With the amiability of someone reuniting with an old friend, Lyndon clapped the Administrator on the shoulder and handed him a generous glass of a heady beverage and invited him to sit.