"Little fly
Thy summer’s play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art thou
A man like me
For I dance
And drink and sing
Til some blind hand
Shall brush my wing"

"My god makes me strong so I can live my life!" raged High Clerist Kyrill.

"God makes us strong only for awhile, so that we can help each other," the rebel leader Zell commented quietly.

The High Clerist’s eyes stormed, his family well aware of the temper their Clerist had. The High Clerist’s eyes shot fire, it seemed.

"You will not be rewarded for your involvement in the War of the Workers. You are of this day banished from my realm. Know now that I am the law!" raved the enraged leader of the ancient Chilkit Coalition.

The man had led the Coalition from the Days of Dark into the Age of Light, and from there into the Age of Might. Such were the days they were in. War had been declared against an enemy who refused to acknowledge the conduct laws of the Greater Galaxy, and the peace was begged and given by the enemy. The word of the High Clerist rang forth across the Galaxy, condemning the abuse of animals. The glorious light that was the Chilkit Coalition blazed like the brightest of suns in the minds of all its citizens.

But, like all light, there comes a time when even the most righteous among us shall fall. It happened to the famous Captain Moroni and Lehi in the ancient days before the Coalition even knew the world was round. It happened when the first High Clerist took power, then allowed the government to weaken. Spies and terrorists burrowed like beetles into the greatest oak, effectively killing it in months. That government had collapsed after High Clerist Kyrill’s father, the Fourth High Clerist, had totally destroyed the entire surface of a planet, leaving the biosphere and its people in total starvation. Young Kyrill had risen up then and cast his father and the nobles from the highest point in the Hall of Ancestors into the slums below. There, the bodies had been torn asunder by hordes of diseased and starving people.

Kyrill changed all this. For a long time, during the Age of Light, Kyrill was being labeled as the Savior of the Chilkit race. Then, as his power increased and the Coalition made contact with the Greater Galaxy, Kyrill became more and more power-hungry. As he helped found Bastion and formed alliances with almost every empire within his sector, and trade started becoming a way of life, Kyrill sought to extend his authority over others.

Thus began the Age of Might. Kyrill declared war for no respectable reason on the Saurian Defense Pact. He sent bounty hunters and mercenaries into Sector H to seek out and expose the United Anarchist Collective. He then reached the height of his madness, as he threatened death, war, or economic blockade against any and all who abused animals.

All this Rebel Leader Zell reflected on in split seconds.

"The fate of our people rest with you tonight, High Clerist," cautioned Zell.

"The people are in very capable hands. We know what’s best for them," retorted the argumentative Kyrill.

"They want peace between our factions. We have been warring with each other since the Worker Rebellion. What happened between us then?" asked Zell.

Kyrill and he had once been generals together in the Worker Rebellion two years ago.

"There is a peace that is only to be found on the other side of war, and if that battle with you must come, I will crush you like the bug you are!" shrieked the enraged Kyrill as he leapt from his chair and pointed a single claw at Zell.

"Your fine words are talking you out of peace and into war, Kyrill," Zell cautioned again, still seated as calmly as when he had first sat down with this titan of raw power.

Ironic, he thought, my thoughts compare to beetles and wood, and Kyrill insults me as one would a lowly insect…

"Get out of my house, and out of my country. You are banished. Take your followers with you, as they will all be killed like the Inetist priests of days past were; dragged into the street and slain," ordered Kyrill. Zell, with the grace and dignity that is inherent in all Fabrini, stood from his chair and strolled from the palace grounds and into the city. A few minutes later, a lone shuttle left a blazing trail of fiery glory as it left the atmosphere of the planet that housed the pearly city where he had just sealed his fate, and the fate of a nation’s in.

 

In a dank ship, in the space between star clusters that is relatively free of debris, a form huddled in a cloak too big for him. He sat in a dark corner, and within the room with him were two other men.

"I have a favor to ask your governments. Or rather, your rings. Both the United Anarchist Collective and Sildrake will likely vie for this offer," the dark one in the corner bespoke.

"Quit your sniveling, worm!" cursed an agent of Sildrake as he spat onto the hood of the dark stranger.

"As you will. I want to offer your two organizations the opportunity to collapse a government. A government in the midst of hidden chaos, a government in Sector G," spoke the hooded stranger. "I want you to kill the High Clerist Kyrill of the Chilkit Coalition, and take out as many members of the High Conclave as you can."

The man from the UAC looked at the man curiously. "And you would be…?"

"I am a friend. My name is too important to be remembered. But if it helps you, I am Zell of the Workers Rebellion," stated Zell, draped in space’s night shadows. "There is plenty of booty involved, and whichever organization pulls this off will be famous galaxy-wide."

"Sildrake is perfectly happy where he is. We will not be coming into Sector G for any reason any time soon," hissed the agent of Sildrake.

The UAC man seemed thoughtful.

Zell continued: "Fine then, be that way. Is this the position of the UAC as well?"

The UAC representative paused for a moment. "I believe your Empire may serve our cause well… Discordia is within reach."

The day dawned bright and early, the twin suns rising to greet the horizon of the world. Their radiant light flowed across the landscape, banishing the pale, sickly moons, and burning away the depressing clouds in a flurry of vapor. The capitol yawned as one, it seemed, and the inhabitants began to stir. Today was the High Holy Feast of Deliverance, celebrating the end of the Days of Dark. Everyone would be there. The High Clerist himself and his High Conclave were expected to greet the people. The festivities were to be held in Glory Square. It was several miles wide, bordered on three sides by fortresses.

Through the gates of the fortresses the people passed. On the fourth side was the Tower of the High Clerist, coated in crystal, reflecting the light the twin suns poured onto it. The tower gleamed like a heavenly body, a messenger of the gods from the Celestial Shrine come down upon the Coalition.

Where the greatest of the fortresses met the walls of the Tower, there arose a large pavilion. Under this pavilion the Throne of the High Clerist, and seating for the High Conclave and the Clerist’s many children, was placed. The crowd poured through the gates.

A Chilkit stands from seven to nine standard feet tall. They walk on four back legs, using the front two as defensive claws and hands. Their bodies were covered with an exoskeleton. As they jostled through the gates, several of the people had to be detained as they snapped their claws at the eyestalks of other passing citizens.

The first in a long line of security breaches on any given holiday Galaxy-wide.

The people were feasting when, from the four walls around the square, there bellowed a single clear note from a trumpet. This was echoed all along the wall, and choirs raised their voices, singing hymns to the glory of the High Clerist and his Conclave.

A gleaming gold door of the Tower swung open, and Kyrill strolled out to take his Throne, followed by his train of servants, wives, and children. Then the choirs lowered their dynamic level, since no one is acclaimed higher than the Clerist.

The High Conclave, 25 members strong, spewed forth from the innards of the Tower. The people roared their approval, and hats, flowers, even money was thrown into the air in celebration. In one grand sweep of his clawed hands, the High Clerist began the feast. From the same doors the Clerist and his Conclave had just passed through came herds of servants bearing huge vats of soup, platters of vegetables, fruits, meat, fish, and other delicacies so varied that one would not be able to taste them all. The platters were so large, so heaped with food, that four servants were needed to bear the burden of one such plate.

Similar things were happening all around the Square, as doors on the fortresses were opened and food brought there. In this way, the Feast was more efficient since even those in the back were fed. Then came entire shuttles, hovering over the Square, dropping hoses from which issued a steady stream of the finest wines, water, fruit juices, and other refreshments.

The Feast was going well. Suddenly, from behind the High Clerist’s throne, where no one was earlier, there sprung a man, clad in battle armor and decked with weapons. He was followed by a troupe of similarly dressed humanoids, spreading out to target their weapons on the High Conclave.

The terrorist leader applied a weapon to the head of the Clerist, who rose slowly.

Armed guards rushed into the crowd who had suddenly become violent as they saw their lord and savior threatened. Other men appeared on the walls around Glory Square. They leveled huge weapons at the crowd, who were surging this way and that, finding places of refuge or, as most were doing, strategic places to mount the walls and slay their attackers.

"Nobody move or Kyrill dies!" shouted the man with Kyrill as his hostage. He was joined by other troops. Around the Square there now seemed to be about 7 attackers, holding around 15,000 Chilkit citizens and guards at their mercy through the High Clerist.

"My people are unarmed. Let them go. From whence you come? Whom do you serve?" questioned the Clerist, who was being targeted by about 4 different weapons.

"I am a representative of the United Anarchist Collective. We serve justice and freedom." The troupe leader glared at the Clerist, disgusted at his posture. "You force your people to kneel. Now, as I speak, kneel before them," the man hissed. His voice boomed across the Square.

The crowd roared a single word "Never!"

Kyrill hesitated. The man continued: "Perhaps you could better serve your people dead."

"Wait. I yield. Let me make a final decree to my people," begged the High Clerist. His voice showed no emotion, but his face looked beaten.

The terrorist leader walked out onto the stage in front of the Throne. The High Clerist followed, beaten.

"We of the UAC have heard the pleas of the masses. Though the gathered here may not represent the consensus of this system, or even that of the galaxy, the oppression of freedom that you, a dictator, have created shall end on this day. For your crimes against liberation, for your decisions to condemn those of the galaxy, for your unjust laws and hostile actions, the true laws of the galaxy shall prevail. Today, the voices of those liberated shall ring in the ears of those who would become you, and tomorrow, they shall echo throughout the reaches of all space. Let this be a message to the galaxy: No government, no organization, no structure in this galaxy shall prevent the flow of freedom. Every sentient has a right to its actions, be they tradition or heretic practices. Know that the arms of freedom are inherent within all sentients, and as their weapons, we of the UAC shall target and destroy all oppressors. Those who hinder the rights of all beings are exempt from these laws, and we, the executioners of these laws, will serve freedom until the end. Look now, upon your High Clerist, noble leader of the Chilkit Coalition; a man waking from a dream. Know that all dreams must end, and that now, his law is no longer!"

There was silence for a moment, then the Clerist pulled from a sheath at his side the Sword of Laban. It was at least six feet long and almost six inches wide. He stuck it into the floor of the platform, point down, and knelt behind it. A gesture of submission. The crowd seemed on the verge of tears as two of the terrorists kept their weapons trained on him. He addressed the people: "My people, this is my last act as your Clerist. Do not be afraid, all things change. I am Kyrill of the Chilkit Coalition, and I command you one and all; man, woman, and child. You of every species. Every religion, kindred, and tongue. I command you all to..." he let the words slip from his mouth and be absorbed by the people. In one, incredibly swift move, he leapt to his feet and swung the Sword above his head and shouted: "...FIGHT! Fight, fight, fight! NEVER surrender, never surrender! The Coalition lives inside you! Fight!"

Three laser beams blasted through Kyrill’s royal garments, cutting through flesh and exoskeleton, and knocking him to he floor. A fourth laser blast beheaded the Chilkit leader, the crowd roaring and scaling the walls, rushing the platform and screaming for blood. The family of the High Clerist ran to his fallen body and lifted him, shuttling him away from the battle and into the Tower. The crowd had reached the platform, and the High Conclave had ordered the square sealed. The terrorists took members of the High Conclave hostage, using them as body shields. The three men on the walls had killed hundreds of citizens, but the number of Chilkits was their undoing. The four bodies were now being torn to pieces. The crowd continued coming at the terrorists, and were now rushing over the platform and across to kill the three remaining terrorists.

They saw them take the Conclave hostage. They kept coming. Nothing more mattered. Their lord was safe. The terrorists, bewildered at the Chilkit’s undying faith, killed their hostages immediately, silencing the government of the Chilkit once and for all. They leveled wide-range guns at the rushing tide of Chilkits. They fired, and the entire Conclave and hundreds of citizens fell to the ground, their fronts charred to a crisp.

The four remaining men leapt from the platform and into a tunnel. They followed it to the outer sections of the city and into the slums. Police were rushing the Glory Square, which had become a riot as the crowd found that the terrorists took the Holy Crown of the High Clerist from his head as he lay dead, and made off with it through the sewers. Riots were breaking out as the government collapsed. Portions of the city were on fire. The terrorists made it to their shuttle, a small stealth ship disguised as a merchant vessel. Two were wounded, one seriously. The third was none the worse for wear. He stashed the Holy Crown in a safe-box and blasted the shuttle out of the atmosphere, engaging the stealth engines as he fled the planet. The Fleets of the High Coalition had been dispatched to planets around the Coalition who were having problems with rioters demanding the High Clerist be avenged on those who were guilty, and if they could not be found, on anyone. They were looking for scapegoats. Martial law was declared, and ground forces had to move in and tranquilize rioters and looters.

The Age of Might had ended. In an emergency broadcast, the son of the High Clerist announced his father dead. The government was toppled, there was no way for the High Clerist’s eldest daughter to assume the Throne and choose a mate to become the next High Clerist. The capitol was under the blanket of fear. Anything could happen.

And it did. The Fabrini race, almost exterminated by High Clerist Kyrill, marched into the capital city and surrounded the planet with ships. High Commodore Zell took command of the Coalition and set about replacing the old, tyrannical government with one of kindness and diplomacy. The Age of Might had ended, the Age of Rebirth had begun.