Slave Empire - Prophecy
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Authors: T C Southwell
Tags: #romance, #science fiction books, #scifi, #space opera novels
Slave
Empire
Prophecy
T C
Southwell
Published by T
C Southwell at Smashwords
Copyright 2010
T C Southwell.
Smashwords
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Table of
Contents
Prologue
The lurid
light of the temple's sputtering torches illuminated the high
priest's grim face. A sleek white animal writhed on the
gem-encrusted altar, its slender legs thrashing as its life drained
out in a scarlet stream. Its grey eyes closed, and its head
drooped.
The priest
glanced at his audience of Draycon nobility before he slit the
animal's belly with a deft motion. Red and blue entrails spilt out,
and he thrust his hands into the bloody mass and spread it on the
sacrificial slab, bending closer to study the offal. Several
minutes passed before he straightened, his eyes bright with
triumph.
"She has come.
She has been born on Enthos." He raised his hands, the wide sleeves
of his crimson and gold robe sliding back to reveal withered arms,
and shouted, "She must die! Her destiny cannot be fulfilled! She
must not stop the great one who will vanquish Atlan. He is our
saviour! He comes soon, to aid us in our fight against those who
would oppress us!"
Empress
Drevina Ranshan stepped forward as he lowered his arms, her eyes as
hard as chips of green ice. "What does she look like?"
The priest
shrugged. "She is the Golden Child, Empress. Something about her
must be gold. Her hair, eyes, or skin."
"So you don't
know. How will we find one miserable girl on this Enthos? We don't
even know where the planet is!" The Empress' voice rose.
The priest met
her gaze. "I know not. I have done my duty and given warning of the
coming danger. Follow the Atlanteans. They will go there to find
her, or wait until they have her, then take her from them."
"Take her from
them? They are the most powerful people in the galaxy. How easy do
you think it will be to take her from them?"
The priest
nodded, his haggard features impassive. "You'll find a way,
Empress. That's why you were born as our ruler at this time of
danger. You've been chosen to stop her, and you will."
The Empress of
Drayconar snorted, then smiled, revealing sharp pink teeth. "Yes,
I'll find her, and she'll die. Your ranting cannot stop the wheels
of destiny, but I can. All you can do is fondle the guts of dead
animals and prophesy, but I'll ensure Drayconar rules the
galaxy."
She thrust her
angular face closer to the priest's. "You had better be right. If
she's not on that stupid planet, it will be your blood on this
altar next. So you must be quite sure before you send me off on a
fool's errand. Do you understand?"
The high
priest licked his lips. "I am certain, Empress."
Drevina turned
away, casting her gaze over the bevy of loyal subjects gathered
within the temple's blood-red walls adorned with gold inlaid
carvings of grotesque gods and demigods. The torches' green-shot
flames fluttered and dipped, sending monstrous shadows across
strained faces. Thick, oily smoke gathered in the temple roof's
grimy carvings, the noxious fumes adding to the planet's already
foul ammonia-sulphur atmosphere.
With a cold
smile, she announced, "Then we will find this Enthos, and kill the
Golden Child."
Chapter One
Rayne woke
with a start, as one who sleeps lightly does. Sitting up, she
rubbed her face and glanced around, then yawned, squinting at the
bloated, angry-looking sun on the horizon. Thick, sooty clouds
almost obscured it, dimming its glory to a weak gleam beyond the
polluted atmosphere. The distant muttering and shuffling of
thousands of human beings and the pungent smell of unwashed bodies
and excrement wafted to her on the chill morning breeze.
Throwing off
her ragged blanket, she stood up and stretched, ridding herself of
the kinks acquired from sleeping curled up. She studied the
countryside, on the lookout for roving police patrols or the
furtive movement of a fellow raider. Ruined buildings huddled in
groups, surrounded by the remains of roads and walls the tanks that
had rumbled through here in the days of the rebellion had reduced
to rubble. Only the hardiest weeds struggled to grow in the rubble,
their yellow leaves blotched with brown. Rusted or burnt-out cars
lay in ditches and on kerbs. Most of the trees that remained were
dead, but a few bore sickly, withered leaves.
Her gaze
drifted to the feeding station housed in an ugly building at the
bottom of the valley. Thousands of thin, filthy people stood around
it in a never ending fight for survival. Their only ambition was to
reach the food dispenser and push their battered tin plate under it
to receive a meagre helping of sludge-like food. Then the crowd
pushed them to the back, sometimes stealing their share along the
way. More often they gulped it down, growling at would-be thieves.
They would then find a warm hollow or deserted building to sleep
in, curled up in the ragged blankets they carried with them. Those
who failed to reach the front often enough grew too weak to ever
make it, and died where they stood.
There were
only a few women in the, so it was an old feeding station where the
weaklings had already succumbed. Once a day, a meat wagon came to
collect the dead and deliver the next food supply. The police,
using shock sticks and batons, cleared a path and dragged out the
dead and dying, loaded them onto refrigerated trucks and left. Some
bodies remained to add to the stench, however.
Rayne and her
brother scorned the sludge-eaters and their stink. They were
raiders, and they took whatever they could from whoever was
vulnerable. The people at the feeding stations ate the ones who
died. There was nothing else they could eat. All the animals, wild
and domestic, had long since been slaughtered to feed the starving
billions. Other species had succumbed to pollution or
deforestation, the rest had been judged expendable and wiped out.
The autocrats, remnants of the political and social elite, had
retained their power and prosperity by taking control of the
massive food stores that the government and army had hoarded over
the decades.
Raiders were
too proud to work for the autocrats. Those who did were virtually
slaves, paid only in food and shelter. They served as police and
store guards, but for more unpleasant jobs the autocrats had real
slaves. Rayne and her brother, Rawn, preferred to live by the gun
and die by it, if necessary. Many years ago, Rawn had taken a .44
automatic from a dead man, and it had given them the means to
become raiders. Without it, their destiny might have been quite
different.
Rawn had taken
care of her since their parents had been killed in a riot when he
was twelve years old and Rayne eight. She was twenty-two now, and
the last fourteen years had been tough.
A fallen
tree's roots formed the dry hollow in which they had slept. Rawn
had dug it deeper and filled it with bracken and leaves. The canopy
of roots had protected them from most of the stinging, acidic dew
that fell each morning.
Rayne glanced
around at the sound of footsteps, relaxing when she recognised her
brother’s familiar figure approaching. Evidently he had answered a
call of nature.
Rayne stood up
and brushed leaves from her fawn shirt and brown leather jacket.
Like her ragged suede mini skirt and stretch pants, they had been
scavenged from abandoned shops. Leather afforded protection from
injury and rain, making it the material of choice, although
difficult to find. Rawn's black leather trousers bore the scars of
many violent encounters, as did the suede jacket he wore over a
grey shirt. Their pseudo plastic boots would last for years, unless
the pollution ate through them.
At six foot
four, Rawn was unusual in a world where most were stunted and
malnourished. Exercise and hunger had honed his lean, muscular
physique, but his size and strength allowed him to stave off
malnutrition. His strong jaw, straight nose, piercing tawny eyes
and dark gold hair streaked with silver made him handsome, she
thought.
She said. "I'm
hungry."
"You're always
hungry."
"That's
because you don't feed me enough."
"Bullshit! You
eat as much as you want. You're just a gannet."
"You're always
hungry too," she shot back.
Rawn pulled a
face and shrugged. Hunger was the driving force of their never
ending struggle for survival in a world gone mad. They had grown up
in it, and knew its dangers well, which was perhaps the reason they
had succeeded where so many had failed. They were a remnant of the
last generation to survive, old enough to fend for themselves when
they had been orphaned, but young enough to adapt.
"Come. Let's
go."
Rawn led her
down the hill past the sludge-eaters, secure in his advantage of
youth and comparative health. The people watched them pass with
bright, envious eyes, some finding the energy to throw of few
stones in their direction, all of which fell short. Rayne followed
Rawn at a steady lope through the desolate, ruined suburbs towards
the city.
Rayne hated
the city, but they had to go into it for food. They always left as
soon as they had supplies for a few days. They paused on the crest
of a hill, but when Rawn started down it, Rayne stayed behind,
forcing him to stop and turn to her.
"Couldn't we
raid the country store again?" she asked.
"We raided
that last week. It'll be crawling with guards."
"I have a bad
feeling today."
"It'll be all
right. Come on."
Rayne glared
at the distant cluster of shining towers that sprouted from the
tumbled ruins of lesser buildings, crushed in the rebellion or
fallen foul of pollution later. The decaying buildings formed a
complex concrete jungle whose dangers included collapsing walls and
crumbling sewers. Broken glass and twisted, rusted reinforcing
littered the streets, where bands of hostile vagrants roamed,
preying on anything that could not defend itself or run. Packs of
giant rats infested the sewers in an army of disease-riddled
vermin. She caught a glimpse of herself in a piece of broken glass
as she passed it, averting her eyes quickly.
The harsh life
and lack of food had taken its toll, giving her a gaunt, elfin
look. Her blue-green eyes burnt with hunger, and soot smudged her
creamy skin. Her mane of silver-streaked blonde hair, which she had
hacked off in a thick fringe, was a little grubby. Her unusual
beauty made her a target for raiders and autocrats. Rawn was too,
not so much for the autocrats, but the mistresses, their female
counterparts.
Only the
autocrats' towers, which their slaves maintained with cannibalised
parts from unused towers, remained intact. They clustered at the
city centre, known as the Inner City. A leaden grey sky hung above
it like a dirty shroud, and black smoke belched from the power
plants that provided electricity to the towers, fuelling its filth.
To Rayne, who preferred the country, barren and dead though it was,
the glittering buildings represented all that was evil in the
world.
She glanced at
her brother. "We've been lucky until now, but one day our luck's
going to run out."
"Do you want
to starve?" He turned away. "We have no choice. Come on, let's get
on with it."