Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One

Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.05

  Haven-1: Royal Palace

  Prime Minister Lucifer

  Lucifer

  Lucifer stared down at the magnificent white palace which had been home for the first fifteen years of his life. The Eternal Tree the Emperor had planted the day the Alliance was founded, which tradition said would flourish so long as the Alliance did, was in full blossom, but for so long as he'd been alive, the tree had never set any fruit. Sterile. Like him… The pilot circled around to the small landing pad located at the rear, as far away from the garden as the Emperor had been able to design it.

  When he'd lived here, everything had been an adventure, each moment more delightful than the one before as he'd helped the Emperor beat the socks off of the old dragon in their eternal game of galactic chess. Nowadays, when his father wasn't in the ascended realms matching wits against Shay'tan, he was in his genetics laboratory. It was to this series of buildings, jutting out the back of the palace like the tail in the letter 'Q', which he headed as soon as his shuttle landed.

  At the inner door, he met the first of three sets of Cherubim guards, the thirteen-foot-tall ant-like warriors fierce and resplendent in their armor which accentuated their naturally armored bodies. He was known here, but they still made him go through a retinal scanner and answer a series of questions to prove he was who he said he was, searching for the signs of oddity or delay which signaled the presence of a 'squatter,' whatever the hell that was. If such a thing existed, the Emperor had never enlightened him. Just outside the main laboratory he was stopped a second time.

  Once upon a time, the Cherubim had been under orders to simply let him in, a boy whose curiosity the Emperor liked to pique. Nowadays, it was all he could do to get the Emperor to return his calls. He'd left more than a dozen messages, not one of them returned. The Emperor was angry he refused to rescind the trade deal and was giving him the cold shoulder. He'd come in desperation because what he had to say couldn't wait.

  That small, nasty voice that always taunted that his father didn't care about him had grown louder since leaving 51-Pegasi-4. His subconscious whispered to quit making excuses, but the first fifteen years of his life had been so happy. The Emperor had made him happy. No matter how many times the Emperor now pushed him aside, blew him off, pooh-poohed his requests and minimized his concerns, that part of him that had grown up adoring the man he called 'father' refused to die.

  Even the small, nasty voice was silent today…

  He waited while they forwarded his message requesting an audience, his white wings snapping with irritation. The door to the laboratory opened. His stomach sank the moment he lay eyes upon the person his father had sent to answer.

  “I need to see him,” Lucifer said.

  “He is running a genetics experiment and can't be disturbed." Dephar was Muqqibat, a long-lived species of wingless, dragon-like creatures. He'd served as the Emperor's chief geneticist for longer than Lucifer had been alive.

  “He can't just bury his head in the sand and not deal with this problem!" Lucifer's white wings flapped with frustration.

  “He's busy!" Dephar tasted the air with disgust. “He doesn't have time for your little … intrigues.”

  “I'm his son! I have a right to see my own father!”

  “You are Asherah’s son,” Dephar said coldly. “Not his! He never legally adopted you. For 225 years you and that slimy assistant of yours have been lying to the press.”

  Lucifer felt as though he'd just been punched in the stomach.

  “He is the only father I have ever known,” Lucifer said. “He always insisted I call him Father. Zepar said the adoption became official after both of my biological parents died.”

  “Well it didn't!” Dephar snapped, hatred flashing in his eyes. “Why do you think he's avoided you ever since he got back? He doesn't want you any more than your mother wanted him.“

  He'd always known that Dephar didn't like him. Not even as a little boy. The Muqqibat were one of the old races who fought tooth and claw to prevent the genetically engineered hybrids from gaining the same legal rights as the naturally evolved species and there had always been some sort of tension between the wingless dragon and his mother, but he'd never realized until now that his father's chief geneticist hated him.

  “I need to see him,” Lucifer pleaded. “Dephar, please. He can't just continue to pretend there is not a problem. I was on a Leonid battle cruiser yesterday. There were no Leonid’s on it! Only Spiderids.”

  “The Spiderids are taking over for the Leonids,” Dephar said, “just as the Leonids took over for another race that's now extinct. The Leonids are defective creatures who are being replaced.”

  “Don't you even care that the Leonids will all be gone soon?” Lucifer shouted. “There are less than 3,500 left!”

  “Your species are tools,” Dephar's snout contorted into a snarl. “Created to serve the naturally evolved races. Not the other way around. The Emperor doesn't make time to fix you because your species are not real.”

  “That’s not true!" Lucifer felt sick.

  “You're nothing but another one of Hashem’s failed experiments!"

  With a disgusted snuffle, Dephar turned and disappeared back into the genetics laboratory, signaling the two Cherubim guards to evict him from the palace. They silently escorted him back to his waiting shuttle. As it took off and cleared orbit, hopping between terraformed worlds to where Parliament sat on Haven-3, that small, wise voice which was always heartbreakingly right returned to taunt him.

  'You have always known this to be true…'

  He made his way to his office in a fog, oblivious to the reporters who hounded him and the constituents who rushed up asking for favors. All he could think about was the adoption. Never completed? Could it be true? Zepar had always insisted he leave the past alone. He'd ceded those kinds of details to his Chief of Staff, always too busy to go digging on his own. Every time he'd tried, Zepar would reassign whoever he'd sent to dig and loaded up his schedule until he wondered why he even cared. He sensed that if he wanted to know now, he would need to go through alternate channels.

  And he knew just which channel he could use…

  One of the gifts the Emperor had endowed his species with was beauty. Fair haired, fair skinned, with perfect, aquiline features, it was rare to find an Angelic who was less than pretty. Just this last year, however, the training academy had rotated in a new cadet, a legislative aide who was not simply less than beautiful, but downright plain. Pravuil had developed a hopeless crush on him, for he could see the thoughts that danced through her mind every time the idealistic young trainee opened her mouth. Every single thought involved a daydream about him.

  At first it had been simply because, with so many females lined up on his appointment schedule, he hadn't been interested in fucking an Angelic who was ugly. Pravuil's heat cycle had come and gone and, for the first time in history, a cadet straight out of the academy had been in his office and remained a virgin. He didn't use his gift on her. He didn't seduce her. Heck! He didn't even flirt with her! Anything to avoid encouraging the affection which gushed forth from her subconscious like water. He might be the biggest alpha-stud in the Alliance, but he wasn't deliberately cruel.

  But a funny thing had happened as she stumbled into his office each morning, fumbling the paperwork he had to sign and stuttering like an idiot. Pravuil didn't like Zepar, and he'd found himself enlisting her aid on more than one occasion to thwart his Chief of Staff, who he liked these days less and less. He'd begun, not to flirt with her, for she was still as plain as dirt, but to talk to her. As he hadn't talked to any other person, either male or female, in his 240 year lifetime.

  Pravuil was the closest thing he'd ever gotten to having a friend.

  She still had a crush on him. Sometimes the images were annoying because he didn't think of her in that way, but he found himself actually looking forward to their conversations. As soon as he got back to his office, he waved off Zep
ar and summoned Pravuil into his office.

  "M-m-mister Prime Minister," Pravuil stammered, her mousy beige wings fluttered with angst, matching her mousy, baby fine hair that no amount of hair gel could coax into holding a shape.

  He'd been in a snappish mood when he left this morning, arguing with Zepar and storming out of here when Zepar had refused to accompany him to the palace. Lucifer smiled to put her at ease, pushing the silent apology into her mind as he asked her to sit down. He leaned back in his leather chair, tapping his fingers together thoughtfully.

  "I have a favor to ask."

  "Of me?" Pravuil's wings perked up with surprise.

  "Yes, of you." He gave her that practiced smile he knew she fantasized about. Right away, he regretted it. He'd made up his mind that if one had a true friend, which was not something he knew a lot about, for when you were born into a position of power you merely gathered people who wanted you to do something for them, or people who wanted to take something away from you, then you should always try to be forthright with that friend. Pravuil was his first-ever experiment in having a friend. A rather one-sided experiment as he called all the shots, but he was trying to be fair about it. He decided to frown instead.

  "Is something wrong?" Pravuil asked.

  "Yes." Lucifer tapped his fingers together once more. This aide had covered his tail feathers on many occasions with things he didn't feel like arguing about with Zepar. He would grant her a modicum of trust. "It's about a matter which is very … delicate."

  "How can I help?"

  She leaned forward, eager to be of assistance. In this matter, she could be useful. What Pravuil lacked in beauty or social skills, she more than made up for in her ability to dig up buried treasure. It had been his excuse to make Zepar keep her around when her first rotation had been up.

  "Can I trust you to be discreet?" He stretched his gift into her mind to see if the images which danced through it matched up with her words. He, better than anyone, knew that words and intentions usually diverged.

  "Of course you can, Sir!" Pravuil's eyes were wide and earnest.

  Lucifer didn't trust words or the body language used to convey those words. Body language could be schooled to lie just as much as words could. But the image which jumped into his mind of her jumping in front of him, wings flared, with a pen in her hand wielded like a sword, made his heart do an interesting little flip-flop. Not in a sexual way, of course, for she was still ugly, but in an 'aww, somebody really cares about me' kind of way.

  He stared across the room to a picture of himself as a small boy standing next to his mother, his white wings a contrast to her nearly black ones. They had both possessed the same facial features at that point in his life, an echo of a dead woman he suspected still haunted the Emperor even though adulthood had squared off his features.

  He rose out of his chair like a cheetah, padding over to snatch the picture from the shelf. Halfway there, he remembered to soften that instinctive body language he used around women. He wanted Pravuil to help him because she thought of him as her friend, not because she hoped he would invite her for a mating attempt next heat cycle and then, silly romantic that she was, want him to keep her around. He'd made that kind of heartfelt invitation just once in his life and been shot down. Bitch! He didn't think Pravuil would do that to him, but then again, he hadn't thought the Bitch would do it to him, either, and she had.

  Instead of walking back to his desk, he sat down in the small chair opposite Pravuil, arranging his wings over the low back of the chair. He looked at the picture, his thumb next to his mother's face, and drooped his wings.

  "I never knew my biological father." The picture reflected the sadness which had always marred his mother's smile. It was her most enduring feature.

  "So I have heard, Sir." Pravuil trembled at having him sit this close.

  Lucifer gave her a wistful smile that was genuine this time. "Please. In here, when the others aren't around to gossip behind your back, just call me Lucifer."

  "Y-y-yes s-sir, I mean, Lucifer, Sir," Pravuil stammered.

  Lucifer stared at the picture once more.

  "Before she died, she made contact with my biological father." He caressed the glass. That old familiar feeling of loss, even though it had been 225 years since she'd died, still made his heart heavy. "Hashem was livid. Rumor has it … well … the truth is … I don't really know what happened. I was fifteen years old at the time. All I know is my real father claimed the adoption was invalid because my mother had never told him that I existed."

  Real father. He'd never called Shemijaza that before. He looked up to stare into Pravuil's eyes. What he got from her mind was not fluttery dreaminess or pity, but an emotion he rarely saw in people. Compassion. She saw him. And she wanted to help him. Not because he was the Prime Minister and she had a crush on him, or wished to garner a favor she could call in at some later date, but because … just because. It was strange, this sensation of all of a sudden having the shoe on the other foot.

  "I don't know who I am anymore," Lucifer whispered. "The Emperor … ever since he came back, he hasn't been the same. I just think … I think I would feel better if I knew the truth."

  "Have you not looked?" Pravuil asked.

  "Several times," Lucifer rolled his eyes. "You know Zepar. He tells me not to fill my head with such nonsense and reassigns the aides to do something more practical."

  "I don't think knowing who your family is impractical!" Pravuil said. "I may have been raised in the training academy, but my half-brother and my father always make sure to call me at least once per month. We get together once per year for a family reunion."

  Most hybrids only sporadically visited their offspring, if at all. A deliberate casualty of the anti-fraternization laws, which had been amended over the millennia to not only discourage mated pairs, but also to encourage Hashem's armies to look to him to be their father-figure instead of the parents who had given them life. Policies Lucifer had whole-heartedly embraced in his father's absence, driven by anger at his mother's suicide and egged on by Zepar.

  Lucifer handed her the photograph. "I'm not even sure where you would begin. All I know is that she died in the eleventh month of 152,098 and that, several months prior to that, my biological father initiated some sort of legal action. And then all of a sudden, he died, my mother died, and the Emperor just disappeared."

  "I'll research the media reports from that time period, Sir." Pravuil forgot to call him Lucifer. "And then I'll sift through the court records. If it was a contested adoption, the records would be sealed, but you can unseal them if you know what you're doing."

  The image Lucifer received from her mind as she spoke was of a bold investigative journalist, digging for the truth, an archetype Pravuil idealized. Her wings were still mousy-beige, her hair still too thin and stringy, and her features as plain as dirt, but when her eyes met his, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She'd seen him. And she would help him. Just because…

  The smile he gave her was genuine and heartfelt. A smile few people ever saw. The smile she gave him in return was just as genuine. It made him feel … warm. As though she'd reached into his empty heart and made a little place for herself there. A friend.

  "Thank you," Lucifer said. "I'll tell Zepar I have sent you on some bogus mission so he doesn't complain you're out of the office. Let's just keep this between you and me? Okay?"

  Pravuil rose and shook his hand. Her handshake was not sweaty and unsure, but firm. For him, she would be bold. His touch lingered far longer than the practiced two-and-a-half second handshake he'd spent the past 225 years perfecting, relishing the warm tingle which flowed from her hand into his. Her wings fluttered with determination as she walked out the door to complete the mission he'd just given to her.

  Yes. He'd finally made a friend. He made up his mind right then and there that he wouldn't mate with her when she came into her next heat cycle, either, because then Zepar would make her go away. Zepar was to
o tightly intertwined in his affairs to risk pissing off. The man had been his advisor ever since his mother had died, but beginning right now, he would start taking more control; starting with knowing the truth about his family! If the Emperor didn't want to be his father, then perhaps it was time he found out who his real father had been?

  What the hell are you doing? that small nasty voice hissed inside his mind.

  He told it to shut up!

  Chapter 48