How could she convince him? It didn’t matter. She was armed and ready to present all that her ruler needed.

She forced a smile and commanded the guards to bring the slave woman closer. The old woman -- dirty brown hair, graying at the temples, wrinkled face and hands -- trembled beneath the yoke’s weight.

Betha-busa came down the stairs and stood before the slave. “Speak, old woman, and tell us about your prophecy.”

“Why should I tell you now? You already know.” The woman lifted her chin and tightened her lips to a thin line.

“We know where your family is.”

“You’re an…abomination to our God’s creation! Though your armies captured and enslaved us -- though you stole our Watchman’s title…our proud title of priesthood and kingship -- though you rule with a tyranny we can’t escape -- you, freak of nature, won’t prevail!”

The slave’s words stung Betha-busa. One nod of her head and the old hag would die shamefully, in filth and pain. But no. Her ruler needed to hear these damaging words.

The Dignitary waved a finger, the guards pointed their wands at the yoke, and the old woman screamed in agony.

“And you believe someone can hear you? Your faith says that you’ll be rescued, but how can you be saved when we’re cloaked and shielded from neighboring star systems? Dementia must have set in! Listen very closely, old woman. We’re hidden by a defense weaponry system. You can’t even leave this world. So why the animosity? Accept your fate. Live in peace with us. And our king and ruler, the Watchman of Araidia, will have a treaty prepared. What do you say to that, slave?”

Orange lights on the yoke's buttons grew brighter, warning of incipient heart failure. The slave was near death. One more use of the yoke would probably kill her. If only the old woman could live long enough! A few more minutes of life was all she needed.

“Accept our Watchman as your God,” Betha-busa said, circling the slave, “and we will accommodate you, treat with you, and let you live. You can side with us.” The slave’s breathing slowed. “The Watchman is who you need. Denounce this God of yours and receive our Watchman into your heart and you can go free. You must be free. You must live.”

Betha-busa reached out to the slave’s forearm and caressed it as if to comfort. The unkempt, dull pinkish skinned woman shrunk back and finally spoke, with foul breath. She spoke as if her own words would save her.

“There is a prophecy that the One with the eyes of fire will set us free. He will ride on a great white steed and destroy all those who oppose him. But first, one will rise within your city, he will be strong and at your side with a shadow. And your subject and shadow will become your scourge and bite you.”

The old hag lunged forward with glaring teeth on the word “bite.” Betha-busa jumped back.

“I’m free,” the old slave cried out. “Free, you freak of nature. Either you side with our God or die. We…will…never surrender!”

Betha-busa nodded, the guards pointed their wands, and the yoke’s buttons blinked and flared red. A familiar stench rose from the slave woman, flesh burning from the final electrical current, only five milliamperes. The lights ceased. Weighted by the yoke, the corpse crashed to the marble floor.

Silence, intimidating as the screams of the slave, overtook them -- not a word, not a sigh, not a yell -- only silence.

Her temples stung from the stress and she swiped back a stray hair. “Will they serve us without question?” Betha-busa asked the Watchman. He shook his head in reply as the light glinted from his headpiece.

She glided back up the stairs to the royal platform.

“Will they willingly give their babies to us for DNA reconstruction?” Betha-busa spoke softly for effect. “Would this renewed treaty allow full surrender of an unfit, stubborn, and foolishly self-righteous people?”

The Watchman stared past her, tapping his bottom lip with his forefinger’s nail. He paused for a few moments, looking at his chronometer on the table and then replied, “A convincing display. And from what the slave said, we need to squash her prophecy. We have a minute before it’s two hours past noon. Anything else before I decide to press this button?”

A smile curled up at the end of her lips. “Then what is the wisest method of control to assure victory?” Confidence swelled in her bosom. Though the Watchman taunted her with his finger close to pressing the communication button, she had no doubt of his unbending support.

It seemed like forever while she held her breath. Ten seconds passed and Eyetna, the Watchman of Araidia, stood up, impressive in his royal purple robe, lined in golden discs. “Counselor, take Lady Busa’s advice and gather my generals. Upon our agreement, two over one, I’ve made my decision. We attack today.”

The Watchman walked gracefully down the steps, past the two guards and dead slave, toward the door. At the door, he turned briefly. “Quick,” he said, in a low and menacing voice, “Quick and without mercy.”

Attack! Without mercy…

●

Level Two Hangar Deck

The terminal room on the hangar deck was isolated from all the hustle of maintenance technicians, energy fueling of the ships, and foot traffic made by Araidia's elite army. The terminal room spanned the width of the hangar and was positioned higher than the docking area. Sub-officers stood at a row of consoles running along the length of the terminal room and two Generals talked quietly behind Dignitary Betha-busa and Counselor Yal.

Through the glass walls, she observed the Retraction Team of the Watchman’s army. These men, and a few women, were highly trained for outer-shield rescue, retrieval, armed defense and combat. A glint of gold reflection shined in Betha's eyes from the sectional face masks of the soldiers' helmets tucked under their arms. The military force in black uniforms waited for the command to board the six ebony spherical scout ships.

Betha clasped her hands behind her back. She had decked herself in a form-fitting gray uniform with red piping around the collar and zipper. Her neckline plunged to expose, what men had worshiped her for, her glorious cleavage. The gray and red represented her authority over the military. She proudly wore many hats or crowns as she would put it. The first crown was being dignitary to the most frustrating and pompous Watchman of Araidia, Eyetna of the House of Ontomus Di-Antalomus. The next crown was through her stellar talent as military secretary and strategist over the highest ranking general. The last crown, sometimes her most favorite, was from her beginnings as the creator of the Court of Aspiring Cloakwomen for the Watchman’s court and army. She was not only gifted in the art of war, but also love.

At a nod from her, the generals would initiate the attack. Her bosom extended further as she stood erect. Pride oozed from her like a strong perfume and she liked it. She had triumphed over Counselor Yal’s proposition and now the Watchman's most elite force stood at her bidding. Their retraction would bring at least three hundred slaves captured from Irema to be quarantined for inspection and inoculation.

“Now you have to see my way is the only way,” she said.

Yal kept blinking, a body function that set Betha's nerves on edge. “Proving that we are a formidable force in this universe cannot be done this way,” he said. “I don’t understand why you would torment a people like this.”

“Counselor, do you think I would answer to your weakness?” He would forever remain the imbecile. Unfortunately, he needed to remain a figurehead of the past once ruled by Eyetna's father, Ontomus. The only reason Yal and his title were kept alive was to quell a rebellion on the cusp of rising. Yal and his beautiful eyes pleaded with gold flecks coalescing in his sclera.

“This is why I'm in command of the military and not you. Remember what happened to Eyetna's father, Ontomus, whom you once served?” she said, shaking her head as her hand gently touched his cheek. “He is no longer with us. You know it's in our nature to prevail, conquer and rule.” She held out her arms, taking in the entire hangar deck. “All of this is a testament to our strength.”

“It’s wrong.” Yal blinked again, rubbing his hands as if to wash them of this act.

“'Wrong'? Is a word. Our forefathers were criminals! We were exiled from our homelands by our own people. Do you have any recollection of our history? While in transport to a penal planet, we collided with an asteroid, taken over by a hostile subspecies? No?” Yal had shaken his head. “To refresh your mind, they destroyed our ship, our people, even the records of our flight from the penal planet. Instead of us giving into being 'wronged’ or victims, we fought. We took over their ship; and we headed out of that brimble part of the universe. Don't you see?” She stroked his light brown face and his eyes closed.

She continued. “See, all our hard work has come to fruition. Notice how everything has come together for this expedition. We have extracted energy from Irema to fuel our ships, not once, but twice! Thanks to my expertise, Araidia hasn't had one iota of power drainage. Our men have even demobilized most of Irema through a magnetic pulse run through their shuttle train. This will be sweet, sweet victory.”

“I am very unsettled about this.” His brown eyes blinked again. Just a few inches taller than her, he could be intimidating. A lean, handsome face, and a muscular build beneath the gray uniform belied the mental weakness she found so insufferable.

“Yes, yes.” She left it at that, shutting off the conversation.

From the main console overlooking the hanger, the sub-officers locked in the coordinates. Blue flashes of lights appeared hovering above the middle of the console. A ghostly image of Irema formed, giving them an accurate map of the skyscrapers, streets, and the outskirts of the city. Compared to Araidia, it was tiny place; yet it possessed so many rich resources. A voice blared over the intercom, bringing Betha from her musings: “Scout Leader One and ships two through six are at one hundred percent power cell status. Stand ready for command.”

Betha turned away from the glass to the two Generals behind her in the gray leather uniform with black piping. The powerful scent of leather had always refreshed her. She nodded.

“Power up engines and take off,” a General commanded.

Betha turned back to the view of the soldiers on the deck below. They saluted high, put their helmets on and marched up the ramps into the round black ships, four to a ship. The ramps closed seamlessly.

A red light volleyed around the circumference of each ship. Scouts One through Six lifted and hummed, and the hangar doors opened.