“Osirians would try to invoke fear into each other for pleasure,” Maxtin says.
“Such primitives.” Thierry shakes his head in disappointment.
“Those primitives reduced one of the greatest militaries to a clan of bounty hunters,” Maxtin affirms. “Those primitives will keep the Mokarran from controlling the known galaxy. They have come a long way in the last thousand years.”
“They still don’t know their inception among the stars predates the Iphigenian invasion—annoying insects,” Thierry spits.
“They are worthy of study despite how many species feel about them. I’ve pieced together what I think happened.”
Before Thierry objects, Maxtin continues. “Osiris was a military ruler spreading his might over a large section of the galaxy. No species could stop him. He was elevated to a god status among his own people, then something toppled his throne, and those responsible executed all of his people some million years ago.”
“Then why are there so many Osirians? Not all of them came from the Iphigenian Civil War.”
“The few history text footnotes that spoke of Osiris said little else of the events. Interestingly, the Symballmum speaks of a denounced god who gave away his greatest power to save his people. Exiled to a fertile, but untamed prison, his people marched with most dying along the journey, forced to give up everything from the old life to embark anew. Knowledge of repairing flying craft was of no aid to these people when the only tool was the rock and the stick.”
“That had to be some power to give away to save the scourge of the galaxy.”
“The phrase ‘dying along the way’ could also be translated as lost.”
“We know the fate of the people. What of the weapon he gave up?”
“It wasn’t a weapon. It was something else,” Maxtin says.
“How do you know that?”
Thierry’s interest in the subject has created the dialogue Maxtin hoped for.
“He would’ve used a weapon. In the end, as your kingdom fell and your people were slaughtered, even the kindest of rulers would launch their deadliest of weapons to eliminate their enemies. He gave up something else.”
“Even for a cryptic Zayar explanation, it makes no sense.”
“My exordium to the Symballmum has many stumbles over many translations. Most of the tome takes place in what we considered the unknown sectors of our galaxy. A few constellation descriptions only seem to line up if you view them from the far side of the galaxy.”
“They were sent to a planet beyond the reach of any species wanting Osirians extinct, and with no tools they would not be able to construct a return,” Thierry says.
“I speculate many more died just achieving basic shelter and food.”
“It took a species who once ruled the galaxy a million years to return.”
“The Osirians had only begun to return to their planet’s moon when the Iphigenians invaded,” Maxtin says.
“It makes for a good bedtime story, but why are you so interested in it?”
“As a religious tome, the Symballmum ends with the destruction of the entire universe—annihilation will be marked by the return of Osiris’s children.”
“They returned a thousand years ago, and we’re still here.”
“Measured units of time don’t exist within the infinite range composed in such documents.”
“God doesn’t own a watch,” Thierry translates.
“Or need a spaceship, but one forgotten child of Osiris will face a malevolent form beyond the confines of reality.”
“Prophecies are written so vague they could fit anyone, Admiral.”
“I use the research of the text as a distraction. Osirians call it a hobby. It releases stress. What I found interesting is the oldest version of the text is a copy of a copy. At least dozen copies of the Symballmum is even found on many planets with altered translations. I’ll spare you the boring details of linguist work, but I uncovered a copy where the root word for forgotten shifted. Some changed the translation accidently, or on purpose, because they didn’t understand the meaning. Why ever they did it we’ll never know, but this version became the one copied from then on, and the new word changed ‘one forgotten child of Osiris’ will face a malevolent form beyond the confines of reality to ‘frozen child of the Osirian.’”
“The significance’s lost on me,” Thierry admits.
“During the Iphigenian invasion of Osirian, a planet the people called Earth and themselves human, the Iphigenians collected every last person, tested them and took billions of those they deemed viable to fight for them on their home world. For some reason, a select few Osirians were cryogenically frozen and found five years ago.”
“You’re reaching, Admiral. You’ve worked so diligently on translating the parts you want to find it to be true.”
“Your logic, sound as it may be, doesn’t account for the fact Commander Reynard was one of those recovered from the derelict Iphigenian ship.”
“You have too much faith in a simple species. They’ve lost their identity,” Thierry snaps at Maxtin.
“Even having traveled far from Zayous VI, you’ve learned nothing about the species you interact with.”
“I don’t want your stigma of being universally contaminated by off-worlders.”
“I am only contaminated by understanding and acceptance of others.”
“It doesn’t matter. You have no home world to return to.”
“TELL ME HOW you got out of parading yourself half-naked in the wedding precession.” Amye slips off the jumpsuit portion of her uniform.
“You’re used to parading yourself completely naked before the male population of Tartarus, so half-dressed will be a step up for you.” Kymberlynn dangles her legs from atop Amye’s dresser.
Amye keeps her response calm. “You keep harping on my life choices—I didn’t realize you find me so interesting; maybe your life is just that boring.”
“I’ll pilot the Dragon while you abduct the princess and steal her dowry.”
“Important work if you can get it. My contribution to this play is slightly more significant, especially since I’m the one stealing the princess.” Amye slips on snowy silk robes.
“I wouldn’t want to be you—if you smerth up.”
“I’ve proven myself useful to Reynard. I haven’t seen you perform any fancy flying of yours for him.” Amye
