Читать книгу The Band - PJ Shay - Страница 6

“It’s really amazing, you know,” Matakh told his sister as they walked through the front door. He held up his newest coin, marveling at the elaborate engravings. “The odds of finding this on the street? I can’t even imagine.”

Meea nodded. “Yeah. But it’s like the Bible says; God will reward those who follow in his ways.”

Matakh beamed at his sister and clapped her fondly on the shoulder. “You’re right. You know, I bet I could turn this coin into a real conversation piece. And who knows? We might just see our new foxy friend again. Maybe next time we can actually meet him!”

Meea grinned. “Now that would be awesome. And I’ll bet he’d like that, too. He looks like he could really use some friends, all alone out there.”

Matakh nodded and tossed the Peace Commemorative into the air, the bright glow from the ceiling lights glinting off of its polished surface. As it began a lazy spiral back down, he deftly snatched it from the air and closed his fingers around it, enjoying the feel of the cool metal. “I’m going to go put this up in one of my binders. Don’t want anything to happen to it now.”

Meea nodded. “Good thinking. Race you!”

“You’re on,” Matakh replied, the two of them taking off and bounding up the stairs.

“Careful!” Linalia called up after them, but a bright smile was on her face. Such friendly games were a part of daily life with her children, and seeing them so happy together made her heart swell with motherly joy and pride.

In the end, it was Meea who reached the top first. She turned to her brother with a broad grin on her face. “Beat ya,” she teased, winking mischievously.

“Cheater,” Matakh joked. “You’re lighter than I am.”

“Aww,” she pouted, doing her best to look genuinely hurt around the playful gleam in her eyes. “No-one likes a sore loser, big brother.” Matakh’s only reply was to stick his tongue out at her playfully, which set them both to giggling.

As they opened the door, the sounds of the fountain and the soft scent of warmed fragrance oil washed over them like a cooling wave. Matakh breathed in deeply, letting the therapeutic scent fill his nose, before striding over to his desk. Opening one of the drawers, he hefted a blue binder from the many others stored inside and began leafing through the clear plastic sleeves, each of which contained a sparkling silver, gold, or bronze-colored coin.

Finally, he found a page with a vacant spot still available, looking bare against the shine of the coins around it. He smiled and placed a finger on the spot, then held up the Peace Commemorative to the light. It really was quite beautiful, pure silver, with a dove carrying a rose and olive branch on one side, and a planet orbiting a peace sign on the reverse. Engraved in small but clear letters were the words ‘Peace and Unity are the True Sources of Strength’. “That’s very true,” he thought to himself, slipping the coin into its new home. “A rare coin and a new friend. It really has been an interesting day.”

“And it’s only just beginning,” Meea said in response, locking eyes with her brother and giving him a warm smile. Matakh nodded and replaced the binder in its appropriate drawer before taking his sister’s hand. Together, they walked from his room and strode down the steps, unaware that their lives were about to be changed forever.

“This isn’t good,” Matakh’s father said solemnly. “Not good at all.”

Matakh looked up at his father with concern. “What do you mean, Dad?”

Kotaho sighed deeply and adjusted his reading glasses. “I’m afraid that we may be losing our unity.” He slid the paper across the table’s polished surface, and Matakh quickly reached out his hand to catch it. “Read the headlines.”

Matakh picked up the printed sheet and did as he was told. As soon as he saw the bold letters, his eyes widened in shock. Blaring from the page were the words ‘Race Tensions Heighten: Threats Exchanged!’

Looking up, he stared at his father in disbelief. “I don’t understand. How is this possible? We’ve sworn ourselves to peace!”

“Read on,” his father stated in answer. Matakh turned back to the page, reading the story below the headline. With every sentence he felt a cold pit growing in his stomach, and he slipped into an empty chair as his legs began to tremble.

‘For the first time in a century, Filius may be teetering on the edge of war. Disagreements over territory are heightening into threats of violence. Now a world devoted to peace may be on the verge of losing everything it has worked for.

Two weeks ago, the Tigers seized control of several mines of ovaritanium, which have proved to hold some of the richest deposits on the planet. In doing so, they threaten to corner the market on the mineral. Worse still, a number of these mines are in territories owned by other races, making their seizure an act that directly violates agreements between our peoples.

Negotiations between races have begun in an attempt to retake the mines controlled by the Tigers. However, they are unwilling to release their grip on them. In the words of their leader, Lucama Dario, “We have uncovered a valuable asset, and have taken it for ourselves. We were the ones who first discovered the deposits, and we therefore have a right to them. The fact that they are in the territories of others is irrelevant. They did not take advantage of the bounty, and we have therefore seen fit to take control of a prize they did not claim.”

The first serious threats were exchanged yesterday in a meeting between leaders and representatives of all races, including Cheetah Ezrachi Saticol, Leopard Jugo Makilla, Lions Ozmari Dafili and Galika Lukanol, Puma Omali Tuthur, and Lucama Dario. The delegates’ originally professional conversation grew heated after Lucama Dario commented, “If all you other kitty-cats are just going to sit around and complain, why don’t you just leave the business matters to the real felines? Namely us tigers.”

He then responded to an accusation hurled by Ezrachi Saticol by saying, “Why don’t you just take your spotted coat and hang it out to dry after you’re done mewling like a newborn kitten? You spotties are all the same.” This quickly flared tempers to the point where it seemed blows were to be exchanged.

Lucama continued hurling insults at the other delegates for quite some time, gradually raising the tension in the room. But the pressure reached a critical point with Galika Lukanol’s chilling words. “It seems as though diplomacy is once again failing. But why are we all sitting on our fat behinds and gabbing when we could be acting? It would be a simple matter to take what is ours back by armed force. If that is what it takes to end this fracas, I would not hesitate to rearm. After all, all we ever really gained we gained by action, not squabbling in a council chamber.” It was the first war threat to have been heard for a century.

As yet, is does not appear that any side is taking serious action against the other. However, as tensions rise, it is possible that conflicts of a physical nature could begin. Now a world devoted to peace holds its breath for what could become war.’

“It can’t be…” Matakh whispered in horror as he gazed at the last sentence. He shut his eyes and slammed the paper onto the table so hard that the salt and pepper shakers leapt a few inches from the surface before clattering back down. “They can’t just throw away our ideals over petty stones!” he blurted hysterically. “Why can’t they just resolve this diplomatically?”

Kotaho shook his head sadly. “I’m not sure, but I guess that it’s pride. The Tigers, Dario in particular, are too focused on wealth and power to see the folly of what they’re doing. And the other delegates are so embroiled in political jargon and policy that they fail to see the big picture. Whenever two rigid parties press against each other, something eventually snaps.”

“But war…” Matakh shivered. “Could it really happen, after so long?”

Kotaho just sighed. “I’m not sure. If our leaders can’t put their grievances aside and solve this peacefully, it’s a possibility. Frankly, it’s hard to say; I don’t know the future. All we can do is hope and pray that God will grant our world peace and strength.”

“But the Conglomerate,” Meea spoke up. “They’d never allow this, would they? Not after the mess that the Rival War caused.”

“Not to mention the Schism,” Matakh added, recalling the last great intergalactic conflict fought against the Milky Way. “There’s no way they’ll let another war break out.”

Kotaho looked at them sadly. “I wouldn’t hold out too much hope for an intervention from the U.C.,” he told them. “I doubt they’ll get involved.”

“But why?” Meea pressed.

“The Conglomerate has the entire civilized universe to worry about, thousands of systems and worlds. If war does start here, it will be considered an internal affair, outside of their jurisdiction. Unless the fighting spreads or other worlds get involved, they won’t be willing to intervene.” He sat back in his chair. “At least if war does break out, our family will stay together. I’m too old to be drafted, and Matakh is too young.”

“Let’s just pray that all of this goes away quietly,” Meea said.

Galika Lukanol sat in his office in the Filian Supreme Senate Building, leaning back in his leather armchair. “No appointments left for the day,” he grumbled, before casting an annoyed glance at the clutter before him. The usually immaculate desktop was covered in stacks of v-pads and mounds of paper, some tied with plastic strips or thread, others simply heaped together in a haphazard fashion. All were printed with the insignias of other races and delegates, as well as stamps labeling them “Critically Important,” “Top Priority”, or “Utmost Urgency”. Only a few had even been touched by the lion, and he hadn’t given any of them any real attention.

He knew what they were; bills from the other representatives pleading for a course of action in response to the betrayal of the Tigers. The few he had flipped through contained nothing surprising, just endless pages of arguments, evidence, and ideals that had been spouted hundreds of times before. Nothing worth the time or effort of his consideration, and in all frankness the pages he had read had threatened to bore him to sleep. And of course they all had a blank spot under their list of co-sponsors, lines which he knew were there for him to add his name.

The size of the pile was of no surprise to him. After all, he was a very important cat. Of all the representatives of the Leonid race, indeed in the whole Filian Senate, he was known as one of the most influential. And this power was also bolstered by an impressive fortune, with which he could afford the various extravagances laid around his office, or provide significant funding to movements and campaigns. A great number of people wanted him on their side, knowing that his word could potentially tip the balance of the political seesaw the planet now sat upon.

Frankly, Lukanol could have cared less about the other delegates or their bills. From his position, they were all fools, puppets of the government spouting pointless political jargon like idiotic parrots. And the bills they had sent him, he would rather burn to ashes and scatter on the wind than suffer through a single word. They took up energy he could not spare, and time he did not have, not to mention space on his desk. But he had a reputation to keep, and when the documents had arrived, he had made a big show of accepting them, promising he would look through them right away. He had an image to maintain, after all.

“What a pack of useless clowns,” he grumbled to himself. “As if I don’t already have enough to do.” He picked up one of the bills and snorted contemptuously. “Utmost urgency, my foot.” A flick of his wrist sent the offending packet into his recycling bin, and he smiled with satisfaction as the mechanics within reduced the papers to slivers. Still, a huge pile remained before him, its size positively daunting.

“Eh, it’s a start,” he mused, picking up a crystal flute sitting off to the side of his desk and setting it to his lips. He took a long draught, savoring the exotic flavor of the Nathili wine and enjoying the gentle fizzing against his tongue. “Not bad,” he admitted. “Considering it was made by dogs.” When his secretary had first brought in the wine, he had been put off by the Cunian label, but now he was finding himself growing quite fond of it. He made a mental note to have her stock his personal cooler with several bottles.

Pouring himself another glass, he watched the bubbles swirl within the rose-colored liquid before lifting it high. “A toast,” he said aloud, a broad grin spreading across his face. “To the start of our victory, and the realization of a plan.” With that, he tipped the contents down his throat and settled back into his chair.

To anyone observing, Galika’s good humor would have been disturbing in the face of the events transpiring around him. Tensions between the Filian races were escalating in leaps and bounds, hostilities higher than anyone could remember. Now the threat of a new war was hanging over the planet, fear that the peace they had preserved for a hundred years would give way to violence. And Galika could not have been happier. Not that he made a big show of celebration in public, of course. No, he would keep his reverie confined to the privacy of his office; to the rest of the world, he seemed calm and aloof, as if he barely noticed the troubles that surrounded him.

This stoicism struck many as troubling, especially considering the lion’s normally confrontational demeanor and penchant for aggressive actions. Others, primarily the more disillusioned and inexperienced, took it as indecision, and had quickly made attempts to convince him of their cause for peace. This, of course, was the reason for the mountains of papers before him. Anyone who had dealt with Lukanol before greatly doubted that he would take any of them to heart.

They were right, though none of them could have guessed the true reason. Galika was not suffering from any sort of indecision; he knew where he stood on current matters, and that was on the side of war and reactivation of the Filian Military. And despite appearances, he was far from idle. Indeed, he had been very busy over the past several months, though no-one had any notion of it.

Truthfully, this whole conflict was both his hope and his idea, all part of a grand scheme that he had been brooding on long before he had ever set foot in office. It was a plan two decades in the making, one that was even now becoming a reality.

Galika was the son of a proud warrior lineage; all Lukanols were known for their prowess in battle, as well as their fiery tempers and violent temperament. Galika had inherited these same traits, though to a greater extent than most. His experiences growing up had further fueled his lust for combat, as in his early childhood he spent many nights listening to the stories of his grandfather, Bakira, who had served as a General during the Rival War. These tales captivated the young lion, and he began to idolize conflict and battle at an early age.

Another driving force in Lukanol’s life- and his plans- was an overriding disdain for races other than his own. This contempt was fostered by his parents. As long as he could remember, they had told him that all lions carried within their veins the blood of royalty, dating back to a time hundreds of years in Filius’ past. They were not entirely wrong; Filius had not always been a Republic of the people. In its dawning era it had been a monarchy, ruled by Leonid family dynasties until their eventual downfall. The notion that he may have had royal ancestors inflated Galika’s ego, and influenced his interactions with other children. He would dominate in all activities, demanding the attention and respect of all around him so that many of his classmates would go out of their way to avoid him. Any children who were not of Leonid descent were ignored unless they could prove they were worth his time.

This prejudicial pride only grew stronger with age, extending not only to those of other races, but on members of his own who enjoyed their company. By middle school, he had severed ties with any friends who did not share his views, and avoided contact with any non-Leonid whenever possible. Of course, such actions earned him a great deal of criticism, and he was viewed by many as arrogant and hatefully racist, but he never paid such labels any mind. His pride was kept intact, and to him the opinions of others meant nothing.

His college years, however, were when the wheels were truly set in motion. Galika’s studies in law included a course on the ancient history of his world, and during one late night of research he came across a document that would change his view on everything. It was a copy of a tablet from the last days of the Leonid Dynasties, and buried amidst the myriad dates and figures was the name of the final king, Methikoda Lukonil, whose last name was the original spelling of his own. A check into his ancestral tree proved his suspicions; the last of the kings had been a Lukanol, and therefore one of his own forerunners.

The very next day, while he was still brooding over his discovery, he found himself in a class discussion on equal racial rights. And at that moment, he felt something inside of his mind snap. The words of his professor seemed to fade away, replaced with a powerful realization. His ancestors had been kings, ruling over his world and maintaining order, but they had been betrayed by the other peoples of Filius. The other peoples of this world were far worse than he had thought; they were traitors, mutineers and rebels that had brought his ancestors to ruin, and replaced their noble rule with a weak and corrupt system. He was born to be a king, but now he found himself trapped in the stagnation of bureaucracy. He had been denied his rightful place in the world, and the other races were all to blame.

The change in his behavior was immediate and frightening. It went beyond just avoiding non-Leonids; hatred and aggression permeated every interaction he had with them. Those who stepped too close to him would often receive threatening growls, and he would lash out at any who touched him. His teachers noticed the change, but they quickly found that trying to intervene did no good. Galika would not hear reason, and anyone who got involved found themselves plagued by a slew of problems. Students would have grades plummet for no apparent reason, and instructors were confounded by technical problems during lessons. But there was never any proof that could link Galika to these troubles, so no corrective action was ever taken.

Galika now held hatred for more than just other races, however; the current government disgusted him as well. In his mind, the Senatorial system was nothing but a joke, a squabbling mass of incompetents bereft of leadership and devoid of strength. Rhetoric and campaigning for months to pass bills that his ancestors would have decided on immediately made no sense to him. He began to dream of bringing the entire crippled government to its knees, smashing it into oblivion. In its place, he would see the rise of a new order, or rather the return of an ancient one- the Leonid monarchy, with himself as the first ruler. These fantasies dominated his waking thoughts and filled his dreams at night, and his every word and action was influenced by them.

When the time came for him to give his graduating dissertation, he was careful in his wordage. Knowing full-well that open racism or slighting of the current government would put a huge black mark on his political resume, the entire discourse was planned carefully to avoid causing any blatant offense. He was noticeably terse and sharp in his style, and those who knew him well enough could easily read between the lines to find hidden references to either the bygone monarchy or his views on present affairs. But without any real proof, his exemplary writing style allowed him to pass with flying colors.

He graduated summa cum laude with a doctorate in law and political systems, opening the door for his rise to power. It was an opportunity that he fully intended to make good use of.

At first, Galika had attempted to push his own agenda forward, and much of his first year out of the university was spent trying to bring others of his race over to his side. But each and every attempt failed, and he was forced to face the cold truth. Centuries as a democracy had, in his mind, left Filius a complacent and lethargic society, content to wallow in its brokenness, and the people had grown blind to reason, seeing him only as an imperialistic nuisance. And so he changed tactics, giving up his demands for a new government to falsely supporting the current one. When Leonid Representative Ramir Tathura died, he ran for office to take his place, and through a combination of campaign promises and political weaseling landed himself a leading seat in the Senate, effectively becoming one of the most powerful cats on the planet.

Once there, he had quickly set to work. He began to quietly listen in on other Leonid delegates, looking for any that might have held the same views as himself. For a long while, his eavesdropping was unproductive, and he began to fear that he alone did not support the democratic mud hole his world had gotten itself stuck in. It wasn’t until nearly twenty-three years after his election to office that he finally struck gold. Snippets of discrete transmissions led him to discover a small sect of delegates that had been keeping their true opinions hidden. Among them were Ozmari Dafili, Jokarad Vahiki, and Zetopa Kathim, other Leonids who held great power in the Senate.

He quickly made his move, approaching them one night during one of their meetings. Though at first they were understandably suspicious of him, he quickly assuaged their fears with a proposition too good to refuse. He wanted their help in bringing about the new world order they all desired, and in return he would offer them any post they wished when it came to be. They possessed influence and means that he could use, things which they were only too happy to provide. His honeyed words, coupled with grand promises that he could, in fact, make real, quickly convinced the others to make him their leader.

He already had a sound plan by that point. Not too long before their first meeting, Galika had intercepted a transmission from a mining corporation regarding a search for ovaritanium, a hyper-insulating metal and one of Filius’ most valuable resources. A group of geologists had recently discovered the richest deposit of the mineral yet, located conveniently within the territories of several races. And as luck would have it, the center of the vein was situated right in the middle of Tigrid land.

Seizing his chance, Galika had sent an anonymous transmission to leading Tigrid Senator Lucama Dario, one of the greediest cats in the Senate. He was very careful to include detailed schematics and scans of the area that showed the exact boundaries of the vein. He also made sure to emphasize the juicy tidbit that none of the other races had laid claim to the deposits, creating an opportunity too good to pass up. If Dario acted quickly, he could corner the market on ovaritanium, making billions in the process.

True to form, Lucama Dario had leapt at the chance. Under cover of darkness, he had mobilized a small militia of guards, police, and mercenaries and taken control of all access to the vein. And, quite predictably, the other delegates had erupted in a storm of protest and accusation which Galika quickly put to use. By pulling on the strings of those delegates he controlled, he had planted seeds of discontent and mistrust throughout the government, and Filius’ peace became clouded with the threat of conflict.

“So close,” he mused, taking another sip from his glass. “After so many years, the wait is nearly over. All that remains is that final push, and everything will fall apart.” Of course, he had prepared for that as well, discretely siphoning weapons and ammunition to the armies of various races through a group of corrupt officials. By carefully controlling the size of the shipments, he had ensured that when war began there would be chaos as territories tried to cope. And he had also made certain to better equip his own people than any of the others, as well as manipulating the strings of the Leonid military to cement his position as Supreme General when the war began.

The board was set, the pieces were in place, and now all that remained was the first move, which would begin the deadly game he had laid out. It was the other races of Filius versus Galika Lukanol and the Leonids. Winner takes all, including the loser. It was a game that would decide the fate of the entire planet. And it was a game that, no matter how well the others tried, Lukanol was sure to win.

The thought brought a smile to his face as he fingered the ostentatious ring on his hand, the ornate sapphire and gold crest actually the symbol of the ancient Filian Dynasties. It was to his great annoyance when his musings were interrupted by the pager on his desk. He tapped it sharply, and the voice of his secretary filtered through. “Sir, delegates Dafili, Vahiki, and Kathim to see you, as requested.”

Lukanol smiled and activated the microphone. “Excellent. Send them in, Miss Rozwari. And call up a catering cart as well. I’m sure we’ll be a while.

Seconds later, the ornate wooden doors to Galika’s office opened, admitting the three lions into the auspicious chamber. Galika rose to his feet and smiled warmly. “Welcome, gentlemen. Please, be seated. I’ve already asked for food and drink to be brought up.”

The other representatives nodded and took their places before looking at Galika expectantly. For a few moments he remained silent, just gazing at the three lions seated across from him. Then he cleared his throat and looked at Dafili, fixing him in his sharp gaze. “Now, I trust all our preparations are proceeding smoothly? Weapons, spies, informants…”

The other lion brushed a spot of dust from his suit. “Everything is in place. The weapons have been distributed to your specifications, and all of our operatives are in position.” He smiled and flicked a silver lock of hair away from his face. “All we need now is the command.”

“Excellent.” Galika interlocked his fingers and turned his attention to Vahiki. “And what of our media informants? After all, we want to make sure the public knows what goes on in this conflict, or at least what we want them to.”

Jokarad shifted in his seat. “All in order. The people will hear what we want them to hear.”

Lukanol nodded and turned to Kathim. “And you. I presume our hit men are in position? I want to be sure any dissention will be dealt with promptly.”

Zetopa nodded. “All armed and accounted for. The only thing they need is your command.”

Lukanol sat back in his chair, thinking. For several moments, all was silence as the three delegates waited for their leader to speak. Finally, he sat forward once more, a wicked gleam in his golden eyes. “Very well. I think it’s time we set things in motion. Arrange a conference with the other leaders at the nearest convenient date. It won’t be long now before everything falls into place.”

He grinned and twisted the ring on his finger, feeling the contours of the ancient crest. “And then… Then we will rise to power once more.”

Over the next few weeks the media was consumed by a firestorm of stories revolving around the Tigrid’s seizure of the ovaritanium mines and the fear of war. Day after day the reports told of meetings between leading Senate members, but every one ended in crushing disappointment as negotiations broke down. No matter how hard the other leaders pushed, the Tigrids remained unmoving, and the harsh rebukes of Lucama Dario did nothing to ease the tension. With every passing sunset, hopes for a peaceful resolution to the conflict dwindled, and many began to prepare for the worst.

Amidst the mounting fear, Matakh felt a heavy weight building within his heart. With every failed meeting, every dismal headline, he grew more and more depressed. The changes in his behavior were a cause of great concern to his family, and his parents did all they could to try and lift his spirits. But every day he spoke less, and his appetite was beginning to suffer. He spent much of his time now sequestered in his room, praying and reading his Bible in a desperate search for comfort. Meea was growing especially concerned for her older brother, but even she couldn’t find a way to improve his mood.

Only one thing ever seemed to break through Matakh’s depression, and that was the continued visits of the little fox. Ever since that morning weeks before, the Etaris had made it a point to leave meals out for him, and more often than not they would find the plates cleaned off, a small trinket attached to them. He still remained in the shadows, and they never caught more than a brief glimpse of him. But nevertheless, the young fennec had become a large part of their lives, as well as a light for Matakh’s otherwise dark days.

Then, towards the middle of July, the newspapers exploded with a story that brought the first ray of hope in weeks. ‘Delegate Galika Lukanol Requests Gathering of Racial Leaders: Warrior Gone Pacifist? Filius Can Only Hope.’ When he read the headlines, Matakh finally saw a light at the end of the tunnel he had been trapped in. Everyone knew about Galika Lukanol, and while he was famous for his aggressive tactics and explosive nature, he was also one of the most influential people in the Filian Supreme Senate. If he chose to vote for peace, the chances of resolution would increase by leaps and bounds. That day, Matakh had spent hours in prayer, pleading that this hope would not be proven in vain. All that he, and the rest of Filius, could do was watch and wait for an event that could change its future forever. The fate of an entire planet rested in the hands of one person.