Galactic Mandate: A Radical Cause

Prologue

A clear, simulated sky covered the dome, its fake sun feeling just as warm as any real one. Insects buzzed around, birds chirped, and the tropical bio-dome was full of life. Devante, a timid boy, sat near his father, Reign, waiting for the hover car to arrive. It wasn’t long before an immense tank-like vehicle pulled up, loaded with all the hunting gear they required.

Take this shotgun, Reign ordered. Looking down, he saw Devante’s eyes raised with concern. It will get the job done quickly. Trust me. You don’t want this to linger on.

Devante stopped inspecting the gun and jumped aboard the hovering SUV. Then they were off on their journey to complete the hunt.

About forty-five minutes passed while they tracked broken branches, searching for their prey. Frustrated at not finding anything, the driver called out, We can always call it a day. There’ll be plenty of hunting to do tomorrow.

Hell no, yelled Reign. I paid good money for this. We get this done or we stay out here.

Devante felt his sense of relief fade away at his father’s words. Suddenly, a bush shook, and the driver fired at it. Laser fire scorched the air as he took two quick shots.

The entire party set out on foot, rushing after their quarry. Devante quickly outpaced his father, following close behind the driver, who was an expert tracker. Soon, they heard a human voice up ahead shouting, Ahh! This was followed by a thud. Suddenly, a rock struck the driver’s face, and he smacked against the ground with another thud.

Devante looked down, his eyes focused on the sight before him. His mouth curled down in a frown, and his eyes watered. The emotions flooding through him made his skin crawl with horror. An exact copy of himself stared back, equally shocked.

The firm hands of his father came to rest on his shoulders. Take the shot, son.

Chapter 1

The Galactic Planetary League had called its members to recognize Tyron Jamal of the Acolytes. As a principal member of the galactic security council, with veto rights, the elderly President Sky Lova Chatavic, his hair white and his clothes as ornate as the room, introduced Tyron to the members who had gathered to hear his speech.

Tyron surveyed the room to see who was there. The room was full of colorful, traditional outfits from each planet. The members of the Clone Defense Force sat opposite him, their delegation the only one as large as his. They stood out because of their triplet clone assistants—they seemed to organize their clones in threes in formal settings. The air was pleasant and perfumed. The climate was routinely rotated, and today’s was a forest, giving the room a woody smell. Tyron’s tongue could still taste the sweet fruits of the cafeteria. It was a departure from the fancy restaurants he was accustomed to, but there was no time to dwell on that today.

The Acolyte Empire, he said to the group, under the guidance of our ruler, the living God, has vetoed the ban of nuclear and conventional weapons. What should be banned are the laser weapons that the CDF peddles. They are just trying to sell overpriced weapons to planets and governments that are foolish enough to buy them. Most of the independent planets would be forced to modernize, which is obviously a ploy.

The dignitaries of the independent planets, who sat in the middle of the room, mostly nodded in agreement. Mycelia, the head ambassador for the CDF, stood in defiance. Her clones immediately sat down and looked at the floor. Nonsense, she said. Ever since Tyron got his anti-cloning legislation on the docket, he’s been trying to push more and more of this anti-CDF agenda. The others looked at Tyron with a cynical eye.

The Acolytes want to disarm us so we can’t resist their aggression, stated Ambassador Deshaun Young. There have been roaming fleets out destroying worlds. And no one knows who is doing it. How will we protect ourselves against pirates and thieves? I don’t know about you, but on my planet, Donwait, we don’t have defense platforms and huge armadas. We need everything we can get, he finished, to much applause from the room.

The loud bang of a mallet on a reinforced desk pierced through the noise. Settle down. I will not have conspiracy theories enter these chambers, said Sky.

You are on the Acolyte’s dime. You are corrupt, said Jan Lee, a young minister from Planet Kubai.

How dare you? I should bar your entire delegation, Sky replied, and the room erupted in a sudden argument.

Don’t get caught between a rock and a hard place! Deshaun shouted.

The CDF is nothing but slavers, and they deserve everything they get, said Rasheed, one of the Acolytes’ closest allies.

They’ll conquer all of you. The imperialists never stop. God-Reign is a false god! Mycelia shouted.

The various cronies of each faction started to actually fight, lifting their seats and physically hurling them at each other, running over to delegates from opposing countries and punching them in the face. Tyron was hurried out by his Imperial Guard, as his underlings rushed in to join the sudden brawl that had unfolded. Sky and Mycelia were also escorted out from separate exits.

Once in the hall, Tyron smiled. His job was never done—it was never considered a success. Anytime the Galactic Congress is derailed, it’s technically a success, but how will my many different masters perceive this? Tyron thought while rushing to his assigned room. When they were safely down the hall, he and his guards realized the immediate danger was gone. Now to report to my superiors, he thought as he reached the door.

In her room, Mycelia poured herself a pink alcoholic concoction. It smelled only of dragon fruit, but it was special. It was infused with forbidden mutations of various kinds. They had a very potent and intoxicating effect. Drinking too much would impair the drinker’s judgment and then deliver an unprecedented high. The drink was highly addictive, and this was her third glass this evening.

What is this I hear? asked Teresa, the foreign affairs minister. Are you promising more protection contracts for the independent planets? We can’t afford to do more than what we are doing. Cancel this deal right now.

They are scared. They don’t know what will happen, Mycelia replied.

You know as well as I do that we can’t afford to extend protection to any new planets. We are overstretched and plagued with defections. You need to face the new reality. We are not in the position we used to be fifty years ago. The legacy of the genetic war bankrupted us. Cancel the contracts, or I will replace you with someone who will. Teresa discontinued the connection.

Mycelia’s lone assistant had various forms ready on data pads that demanded Mycelia’s immediate attention. She gave them her signature and unique ID. All right, out! she commanded.

The assistant left the door open while the representatives from the united independent planets came strolling in. Their faces were covered with fresh scrapes, minor cuts, and bruises from the earlier altercation. You have some news for us? Did your chancellor approve the deal?

Frustrated, Mycelia poured another pink drink. Unfortunately, I have some bad news.

Chapter 2

The white ships moved steadily towards their target. Automated drones identified them but ignored their presence. Alarms flared, and workers bustled about on the defense platform. Commander Agrippa looked down at his viewscreen, which usually presented nothing but a boring glimpse of space.

Command, we have a problem.

What is it? the command center replied.

Unknown ships have been detected, but our scanners can’t lock onto them.

Defend this capital. If anything happens to the homeworld, it will be your court-martial. The transmission ended.

Agrippa gripped the railing, observing the command center of the defense platform. Hail those ships. Give them ten seconds to respond and then blast them out of the sky.

How are we going to destroy the ships? asked Castor, a young ensign. He’d just started his first rotation on the planetary defense platform, and he was clearly overwhelmed. We can’t get a lock with any of the weapons.

Fire blindly if you have to. Alert all the other platforms that we will have to give them everything.

Ten … nine … eight … seven … six … five… Castor began, and then he interrupted the countdown to deliver the message: All the other platforms are out of range. Looks like it’s just us, sir.

Agrippa nodded, and Castor continued: Four … three … two…

The ships started to respond. A strange clicking sound played over the platform’s stereo.

The room was plunged into darkness for the faintest couple of seconds. Then emergency lighting filled the void, generating a harsh, shadowy atmosphere that matched the situation. We lost power to the main cannons. We won’t be able to fire, Castor stated.

A burst of light seared through the dimly lit room as an explosion deafened the crew. Agrippa abandoned his post, racing with crewmates to find a spacesuit. There weren’t many available, but the repeated bombardment made sure there were fewer and fewer people to compete for the ones left. Agrippa grabbed a headpiece and some gloves. He didn’t bother with the rest. After stopping to help a few of his subordinates find and attach their gear, he went back towards the panel opposite the guide lights.

He found his command chair and then rebooted the viewports. The monitor showed that the white fleet had left, but a long, cylindrical white ship was cruising past the platform. Dozens of black spots began to appear. Missile launcher, he thought. Slowly, warheads marked with a nuclear symbol began to emerge.

Agrippa primed the launch system and loaded in the codes to get the platform ready to fire. He was as excited as a little boy, his palms sweaty inside his gloves, when red targeting circles lit up on his monitor. He squeezed with no hesitation, firing on the cylindrical ship.

Too late. He watched the missiles from the other ship trace their way to the imperial capital of Emortono. His eyes trembled when he saw the mushroom clouds rise from the planet below. Mixed emotions flowed through him as the enemy ship broke apart while, behind it, the planet glowed from the nuclear blasts.

Chapter 3

Devante watched the news broadcast of the trial of Agrippa Sagot. Images of the devastated imperial capital were replayed with a warning of their graphic nature. Only the leaders of a few minor factions were there. Most of the great imperial leaders had stayed in their fiefdoms. The loss of the capital had not created a leadership void, but the bureaucracy was a pain in the ass. The loss of life numbered in the millions. Turning the monitor off, Devante’s eyes teared up. That’s enough of that.

This tragedy still hurts me as much as the first day I heard it, sir, a councilman offered.

We all have lost family, pride, and so much more, Devante replied.

It’s only been three days. We all need time to process this, to contact family and loved ones, said Commander Kai. He was sitting in the corner of the room, looking at pictures of family members who would never contact him again.

Devante stood up, puffing out his chest while letting the tears recede from his eyes. Quickly, he glared at the empty seat of his greatest commander. The others followed his eyes, but they quickly returned their focus to Devante again. This is obviously an attempt to punish me personally. To break my resolve. The CDF won’t be allowed to continue these attacks on our civilians, our family, our children—

But we don’t know if it is the CDF, said Kai. The ships were unmarked, and they did not show any trace of the clone’s forces.

That changes nothing! exclaimed Devante. The timing suggests this is an attempt to punish us because of our resolution in the Galactic Planetary League to ban cloning. This won’t stop my resolve. This won’t stop me from getting justice for our fallen compatriots, our fallen citizens.

Commander Kai’s face was red, his eyes filled with passion. That won’t bring my family back. My wife and my two beautiful daughters. They were taken away from me by those bastards.

Another commander in the opposite corner looked up and said, What about our families who are still living? How do we keep them safe?

The chirping of an incoming transmission stopped the conversation. Five large monitors lit up in a widescreen view of Emperor God-Reign. We keep them safe with peace. Peace is the only answer for limiting needless violence, which we have already seen. I order you all to de-escalate this meeting at once. There shall be no more talk of revenge and how you will strike this or strike that. The Intelligence Bureau has been analyzing the wreckage but has not come up with anything. Devante, as my firstborn and heir, I want you to lead the investigation. We will root out who did this to us, and we will negotiate peace. The transmission ended swiftly.

Devante gritted his teeth. Feigning a smile, he turned to the room and said, Justice will be served. Do not worry. He looked at the seat of his missing fleet commander and smiled.

Chapter 4

His tongue swirled, enthralling his mistress. The chancellor moaned, telling him to go faster or slower. The muscular hunk grabbed her hips with a firm but gentle grip. She appreciated the delicate care he took with pleasing her. She looked down to make eye contact, but her gaze drifted to his tattoos, lingering on the XXL5496 that ran across his face in bold, horizontal letters. His two duplicates waited with their backs against the wall, their heads down. The only difference between them was the last digit of their tattoos. A beep interrupted her pleasure.

Chancellor. You are needed on the bridge, one of the crewmen said.

Unmute… I’ll be there shortly, she replied as her clone stopped his licking.

The duplicates of XXL5496 quickly grabbed some clothing for the chancellor to wear. They seemed relieved as she got dressed. She knew they were going to the private gym in her quarters. Although they were naturally muscular, they enjoyed working out to maintain their physiques.

***

Hovering above Planet VFA-T10, the chancellor’s flagship monitored the communications and tactical positions of the local inhabitants. The chancellor entered the bridge, eyeing the ship’s name displayed overhead: Freedom Fall. It was a newer ship but made to be disposable. She remembered the days when the Clone Defense Force could have afforded dozens of these. The recession, brought on by investor nervousness due to the recent resolutions in the Galactic Planetary League, had changed all that. It was truly remarkable how coffers of credits could disappear. Not that she cared about money, but you couldn’t defend a republic on a tight budget.

Glad you are on the bridge, Chancellor.

What’s the situation, Lieutenant Anderson?

Things are changing fast on the ground. The sultan of this third-world planet supports us, but he has lost the support of his governors. His castle is currently under siege by rebels. Should we bomb them and prop up our ally?

No. The tide has changed. Let’s change with it.

Are you sure? Sultan Trajan has been one of our oldest allies. He supported us in this hostile region when no one else would.

Unless you want to lose your job, I suggest you give the rebels air support, the chancellor commanded.

Lieutenant Anderson turned to his corporals. Their clean, matching gray uniforms reminded him of the white uniforms the clone soldiers wore. Launch the fighters and two squadrons of bombers, he ordered. Level the sultan’s castle and destroy all military targets. You have twenty-four hours to complete this task.

Yes, Lieutenant. The clones will get this done, one of the corporals replied.

The viewscreen displayed the departure of the clone fighters.

The Congress has requested a meeting, Lieutenant Anderson informed the chancellor. They want to go over our plans for the Acolytes.

I bet they do, Lieutenant. We won’t allow the Acolytes to disrupt our cloning any longer. The Clone Defense Force will not be at the mercy of religious zealots. If you perform well, Anderson, I might even get you and your wife some clones to celebrate our victory.

Lieutenant Anderson grinned. He seemed to be thinking of all the money that would be saved if he got a pack of clones as a gift.

The chancellor entered the conference room. Holograms of important ministers sat across from each other, and representative of her political party and opposition parties sat staring at the monitors in the room.

Why haven’t we declared open war on the Acolytes yet? her party’s chairmen asked. The room broke out in a mild murmur of agreement.

Gentlemen, this is why none of you will ever be elected chancellor. You lack the finesse that is needed. I’m glad I’m grooming future leaders who can handle these kinds of problems if anything were to happen to me. We don’t need and cannot afford a war with the Acolytes. That’s why we shall continue our clandestine campaign. She took a deep breath, giving herself time to read the room, looking for signs of unsettled men and women. I have plans for the Acolytes. Let me get everyone up to speed.

***

XXXL5496, or Ninety-six, as he liked to think