Chapter 16
Vulpin dropped out of hyperdrive and I looked out upon a green planet. A wide river flowed through a peaceful valley. An ordered colony, set straight out of a page from history—Old Earth? with its Oriental peaked roofs, red and white pigments, stucco and wood, set on the lush bank of the winding river? Rice paddies loomed farther back at the base of the hills from what I could see, dotted with workers in the fields, both men and women who clutched hoes and carried baskets.
We banked low and settled on the wide tarmac at whose near end rose a complex control tower prickled with antennae. Several other Warhawks sat docked. A giant hangar loomed about a half mile away, likely harboring a fleet of warships of similar menace to Vulpin.
We debarked and several figures met their leader on the landing ground. All wore curious helms of bronze and robes of various ornamental dress, reds, yellows and gold. He waved them off and strode on, beckoning his henchmen to take me and others from the ship, and what looked like several selected prisoners. Balt and Hadruk personally attended to the amalgamator, handling it with utmost care, under Mong’s critical, watchful eye.
My step landed lighter here than on other worlds, so I assumed Othwan to be a smaller planet than the more earth-like worlds.
We passed an armed gate and entered the colony, or whatever it might be, and strode past a towering bronze statue: of Mong with forbidding face and arms crossed on chest. We hustled down a main avenue of flawless asphalt flanked by transplanted palms and rare, ancient banyan trees then headed toward an edifice with a red-tiled roof of many dips and valleys mounted with turrets and spires.
I blinked under the warm sunlight, not used to the stark dissonance cooped up in starships and space stations, to this ordered greenery of an unexpected oasis.
What was this idyllic place? It seemed incongruous considering Mong’s brutish character. Could it be a haven of his?
Mong seemed to read my mind. He turned his heavy smile of amusement on me. “Not what you expected, eh, Jet Rusco? This is the only settlement on this planet. I discovered it years ago, wild and pristine. Perhaps you’ll revise your opinion of me. Every man can have his many faces, and alter ego—mine is one of the aesthete.”
I grunted and shrugged. I had no use for scum mass murderers like Mong.
Othwan then, was a private planet he had made his own. An oasis amongst the stars. Lush forest on low-domed hills of green firs mixed with ancient yellow and rust-colored banyans, sheltering a temple community nestled along the banks of a slow-moving river. Odd and surreal. A haven too bucolic for warmaster Mong.
We passed some rock-strewn gardens with fountains, trickling rivulets of water purling through a maze of exotic plants and flowers: cacti, succulents, azaleas, daffodils, bergamots, a myriad of unnameable wildflowers in yellows, reds, oranges, blues and whites. Several pagodas lurked off to the side, decorated in orange and white plaster and wood with eastern motifs patterned after Old Earth architecture. A quiet, hushed atmosphere ran among the trimmed lawns and the manicured bushes. Monkish figures, dressed in violet robes, some trimmed in brown, others in white, moved in respectful gaits. Some from building to building, carrying supplies, foodstuffs, or what looked like prayer books. All tuned to order and perfection, much like Mong’s military mind. Though I struggled, given the man’s barbaric proclivity, to comprehend how he had the aesthetic impulse to mastermind such a complex.
We came upon another open iron gate, straddled by large sculpted heads, mean-looking, eighteen feet tall, staring down at us from the corners of what appeared to be a grand temple. Not Mong’s face, these heads, but some related figure, possibly an avatar, with a look of rapture in his big, bulging eyes.
The temple, raised on low pillars, proved an awesome sight indeed. The mere gravity of it was enough to instill awe in the casual spectator. Perhaps a hundred and twenty feet high, speckled with stained-glass windows. The massive double doors were open. Mong marched up the steps and ushered me inside, as if I were an honored guest. I blinked, stared at him in cold contempt. I inquired about Blest but he ignored me.
The peaked ceiling was eighty feet high, carved and paneled in what looked like rosewood. Pale light shone from both clear and stained-glass windows high above. White marble floors led across a great open space—an auditorium, I guessed, to a raised altar. Cushions for some audience to kneel or sit on and listen to discourse, ranged in piles to the sides. The massive stone altar near the back wall of the temple stood flanked by square columns rising high to support the peaked roof.
Mong strode in with authority. I took reluctant steps after him, that or suffer the painful jabs of his guards.
A fresh balmy air blew from artificial air circulators. Palm trees grew inside, along with other potted plants sporting green and yellow leaves. All in all, a pleasant environment, but the reek of depravity hung heavy. I could taste it, smell it, feel it in my bones, as I paused to absorb it all.
“How do you like my victory shrine?” Mong inquired with a leer.
I could only shrug. I saw men and women coming in through the door to bow before the altar, monks or nuns or some mindless worshipers.
“Don’t look so surprised, Rusco. These residents are just showing their respect and allegiance to the new order—the Power of the Light of Ages. As custom dictates, they obey without question. In fact, it is customary for all visitors to bow before the great altar. I don’t recall you having genuflected yet.” He lanced a meaningful glance my
