Epilogue

Epilogue

Fighting continued for some time, but the conflict had already passed its climax. Rebel camps became more and more scarce, even as the member nations of the UGC voted the unified government more and more power. Within eighteen months, the Execronian Confederation was completely extirpated. Other international outlaw organizations were dismantled one by one. The galaxy never became a perfect place. Utopia remained true to its Greek meaning.

Irene was not absent in Sean’s life in the following months. The companionship was certainly good for him. The two met with increasing frequency, until finally, when it was clear the fighting was near an end, the Augustonian commodore proposed to the Feraustan princess.

The wedding was grand. Naturally, the father of the bride, Emperor Tullius, had been present, and so had Emperor Priscus. Markus had also come, along with some of Sean’s navy friends. The absence of Commodore Stewart, who surely would have been present, was saddening. Both extended families were in attendance. I had been the best man. Well over a hundred people celebrated in the reception. I think the best part was that Sean was authentically jubilant, even after all we’d been through in the past year, rather than disgusted by being injected into such a crowd.

I could never have imagined the man as a very uxorious husband until he actually married, although his affliction – err – affection may not have gone quite far enough to justify the use of the term. But he did not start so.

Following the ceremony, he and Irene Tullius Kent were staying in his cabin. I tried telling him how ridiculous this was, of course; how silly it was to stay at home for one’s holiday, but he explained to me that it really was vacation. He’d spent more time at war than he had at home, so home really was a vacation from war. Irene had loved it. I suppose she had more tolerance of the cold than I did. After the wedding, the ecstasy had left Sean, though he says he was more sober than somber. During this time of peace in the wilderness, he relived the last year of war in a sort of melancholic state. He was coming to terms with it all. During all this, he spent a lot of time alone. It was a brisk November night, and there was snow on the ground. He was sitting in front of the cabin looking up at the remarkably clear night sky.

Irene walked over to him and, quoting Kate from Shakespeare’s Henry IV Part 1, asked, in so many words what may be troubling him.

He silently motioned toward the vastness of space above them.

The galaxy was stretched out across the sky. I may wrack my brains for a simile, but there is nothing to which such a comparison can be made. The sight was singularly beautiful and unique.

“Those distant, cold lights in the sky?” she mused. “Let them be such. They’re pretty ornaments decorating the celestial canopy.”

“They’re battlefields.”

“What you’re looking at? No, not what you’re seeing.” She pointed to a star most of the way across the galaxy. “See that? When that star emitted the light you see now, people were living in caves. They were concerned with who had the sharper spear, not the more powerful interstellar warship.” She pointed at another. “And that one? That star ‘shuffled off our mortal coil’ since shining that light, before the first war between humans even happened.”

Sean leaned over and put his arm around her. She continued. “You know, when I first met you, I heard the entire conversation between you and Captain Yachovich. It was kind of prophetic, wasn’t it?” Then, idly changing the subject, for the atmosphere was no longer grave at all; she gestured toward the scene around them, drawing attention toward the terrene beauty of the setting, and quoted her husband this time. “‘In the morning those three cottonwoods in front of the cabin will be covered in ice, and that little creak around the side that’s so noisy in the summer will be frozen in its bed. The early morning sun will reflect off of it. Across the flats a few miles, the glaciers on the mountains in the west will be catching the golden light of dawn.”

Sean nodded. “That was one year ago today, you know.”

Irene smiled. “You described it so beautifully. I’m glad I could be here the same time of year to see it as you portrayed it.”

Commodore Kent continued to serve in the Augustonian Imperial Navy, but, happily, most of his adventures were behind him. After marriage, he changed much. He remained an introvert, but was more sociable. He not only attended but enjoyed more public events, and performed more with his violin in art music ensembles. He wisely decided not to trouble himself with the intangible darkness he formerly saw everywhere. He was not thoughtlessly optimistic; he was healthfully rational.

I speak in general terms. The old, brooding, passionate, brilliantly caliginous part of him never vanished. One night, coming to visit him, I found him alone, sitting in his living room, Shostakovich’s String Quartet no. 8 playing, as he stared into the blazing hearth.

“‘Look not too long into the fire, Oh man!’” I quoted Ishmael.

He turned a dark smile toward me. “See how the flames dance with the music!” The string quartet was midway through the second movement, and indeed, the fire was darting as frantically as the music seemed to dance, and it did dance. It was horrible, mad, blind, sensless, raving, desperate, crazesd, and most of all primal, but still a dance. It was the last remnant of sanity screaming as it was consumed by the blaze of insanity. And then it was gone, and the fire, having depleted its fuel, died down. The embers smoldered in the third movement.

The Milky Way had seen the last of its large scale wars, but the Milky Way was not all there was to the universe. At the conclusion of the wedding, I heard Priscus and Tullius talking. Priscus was jokingly referencing the feat Tullius had accomplished in uniting the galaxy.

“So, my friend, what next have you planned for humanity?”

The response: “Andromeda.”

Chapter IX

IX

Later

“Evidently, the planet is in a general state of chaos. Weapons are distributed unevenly throughout, and a number of warlords control the majority of the surface. There is no real hierarchy. And beneath the chaos, these rebels have been able to establish a POW camp, and Philbrooke possesses a laboratory.”

Later

“Play Markus and me the raindrop prelude, if you will Alexei.” Sean requested as we set off.

“The Chopin piece, you mean?”

“Yes.”

I was happy to acquiesce.

Markus knew most about what was happening, but he’d barely managed to adumbrate his plan by the time we’d arrived at the planet. Markus was completely recuperated, so we aligned our descent with the correct surface coordinates, landed, and followed his lead. It was a brisk night, and mildly cloudy. The land rose and fell in gentle slopes throughout the area. We were only five kilometers from the site of the main prison camp.

We moved like wraiths through the fields of rye. A gentle breeze made the grains tremble under the harvest moon. To the east, the clouds Over the rise we moved. There was frost on the stalks of the plants. A military camp lay below us. It looked like any other rebel camp, but it was not so unexceptional.

Later… or not… Somewhere? I’ll just stick it here for now. I guess I do want a real space battle somewhere.

Up we soared, through the stratosphere, the mesosphere, the thermosphere, and still farther. The Ad Astra and Laureola stayed together, still accelerating. Both ships activated their shields to full capacity and began deploying fighters. The other five branched off to deal with the numerous rebel forces closing in on us.

The second movement, dark, sinister, brooding, tragic, and yet hopeful and determined, of Beethoven’s seventh symphony boomed throughout the ANS Ad Astra.

The commodore was again almighty. “Scramble the fighters! Focus them on neutralizing enemy fighters. Laureola, intercept those two Execronians on the right.” The massive warship moved to destroy two incoming Execronian attack ships.

“Captain, move us toward Ortiz’s ship. Organize our fighters into groups. Focus them on dense target areas. Begin firing plasma torpedoes. Clear out the straggling enemy fighters. Single out the more isolated ones with our particle beams.”

“Sir, there’re three skirmishers coming toward us from different directions.”

“Don’t bother the fighters. Blast them with the normal three-wave attack.” At once a barrage of plasma torpedoes sailed forth from our hulls toward the three targets, smashing into their shields. A second, reduced wave was fired, accompanied by beam weapons at two thirds power, and then, finally, the beams at full power, unaccompanied by the torpedoes. The ships were obliterated, but some power had been diverted from our shields.

The second movement ended and the bright third movement began.

“Not this. Jump to something else,” Sean commanded.

“Bruckner!” I suggested. “Symphony no. 8, IV.”

At once the twenty three minute finale of the composer’s “Apocalyptic” symphony began.

The music was fitting. We were now in the middle of a swirling chaos. The ship was continually being buffeted by debris from destroyed fighters and skirmishers. It had destroyed one attack ship and was on the verge of finishing off the other. The rest of our division was out of sight. Torpedoes raced silently toward us. Fighters traded bursts of particle beams. We had only slightly lessened the energy expended on acceleration. Our speed was approaching a hundredth of the speed of light, absurd for combat. We were gaining on Ortiz, but were certainly outgunned.

“Laureola [captain name here], clear your way toward us! Prepare to open fire on the enemy command ship. Richter! Michelson! How close are you?”

“Doing my best dodging these fighters,” Michelson responded. His tiny craft, equipped with beam weapons only slightly better than those of a normal computer controlled fighter, was travelling even faster than us, darting around fighters that would be a thousand kilometers away and then, in under half a second, upon him.

“Twenty thousand kilometers and gaining,” Richter reported.

Later

“John! From whence in the blazes did you come? I never thought I’d see you again.”

“I came from Sentrolia, and if at one time it was in blazes, then the flames have since frozen.”

Claudio’s eyes fell for a moment to the floor.

“I’m delighted to see you.” He was a brilliant liar. “Oh, but allow me to make the necessary introductions. You already know Alexei, there. That man to his right is Commodore Sean Charles Kent, his direct superior. I guess you saw his ships on Piaculus. As I understand it, he was arrested shortly after you left, but later received a pardon. That fellow on his left is Specialist Peter Markus Richter. Of course you know who he is, but I don’t think you’ve met.”

Richter’s gaze was stony while Sean’s was relaxed. Both were calm in their own way. It seemed I felt a little more uneasy than they.

“Well, we’ve much catching up to do, and surely you’ll be curious about the prisoners. We’ll explain everything to each other momentarily. First you’ll want a rest.”

Ortiz began leading Michelson out of the room. John paused and looked back at us.

“There’s something unattended.”

Claudio began to turn inquisitively when his body was instantly slammed into the floor. From across the room, Sean’s gravity sword flew next to Markus and worked its way into his hands.

Markus was clearly surprised by this, but used the sword as well as he could to release himself from his restraints. This endeavor met with success, and he then freed Sean, passing the sword to him. The commodore wasted no time releasing me.

“I’m no good with that thing. Get me a real weapon!” Richter yelled to John.

Sean smiled, gave the sword a twirl, and advanced toward Claudio, who had since regained his footing. John was looking for a beam weapon for Richter. Ortiz’s eyes moved back and forth between his former cohort and his former prisoners. His face seethed with an uncontrolled wrath. Michelson next was slammed into the wall with almost lethal force. An instant later, Kent’s stroke was descending upon the villain. The beam of light indicating the location of the invisible blade became oddly distorted, but nevertheless sliced straight through our enemy. He was unaffected.

For a moment I stood immobile in stupefaction. I realized what had happened. Claudio’s control of gravity allowed him to interfere with the gravity sword’s blade, which also used gravity. Still, his advantage was a limited one. He only had so much control over the force, and would probably be unable to defend himself from two simultaneous attacks. In the meantime, occupying him with our swords would be the best defense from further attacks of his. I scrambled for my own sword.

I hardly noticed Ortiz jump back from Sean, removing himself from the threat of immediate attack. Suddenly, my head was in excruciating pain. I shrieked in anguish. Then, it ended. Sean was attacking Claudio again. Claudio had been trying to crush my skull!

I wondered momentarily why I had been the victim rather than the more immediate threat, but soon realized that Ortiz had been a few steps ahead. Kent’s attack had been more instinctual than anything else, but after my scream registered in his mind, he turned toward me. That was when Ortiz tried to break his back. I caught my friend and braced him, most likely saving him from paralysis. At that point, I found my own sword in my hand, courtesy of the nearly immobilized Michelson. I quickly nodded my thanks. It had occurred to Markus how little help he was in the current situation, and he had left to search for a weapon, something that shouldn’t have been very hard to find.

It was clear that allowing Claudio the initiative would be fatal. He had to be on defense every moment.

“Michelson, keep attacking him. Keep him blocking.”

“I’ll try, but he’s better with this technology than I am, and with you jumping around like that, it’d be easy for me to hit someone else.”

I ignored him. He had to do what he had to do. Sean and I did our best, but an opportunity to injure our adversary remained elusive, and he was moving toward the exit of the room.

Later

The grain stalks rubbed gently against our legs as we walked through the field. Our shadows lengthened as the warm light of sunset faded around us. Sean was humming the friendly Augustonian Anthem, adapted from the second movement of Beethoven’s fifth symphony. Eventually, the darkening ground around us merged with our shadows, and the straw ceased to glow.

Later

The planet rose in the window of the ship. It was a beautiful sight. Sean had Dvorak’s String Quartet no. 12 playing. We were home.

Later

Kent went off on a forty-five minute stroll through the woods. He set out fifteen minutes before sunset, so for those fifteen minutes and for a few afterward the sky would be painted by the last, most brilliant light of day. It was an astonishingly clear late summer day. I say this not meaning that the sky was clear, but rather that the day one of those on which one’s mind is clear and free as it basks in nature’s glory.

Sean was listening to a recording of Beethoven’s violin concerto in which I was the conductor. Kent probably would have done a better job than me with the piece, but he had the more important position of soloist. He had declared to me many times that it was the most beautiful and most moving pieces ever composed. In those forty-five minutes, he relived his life. Memories were accented by music, which was accented by his surroundings. The winds of the orchestra merged with the winds through the trees.

Everything was in that music. The concerto was called the Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in D Major. There was the promise and anticipation of youth in the opening. There was the joy of young life, and then it fell away to the cold loneliness of isolation. For the price of solitude – the price he had come to enjoy paying – Sean purchased the euphoria that defined him at his greatest. He could look up into the sky and see the galaxy for the stars. The euphoria was wonder. This feeling was attained a few times during the first movement. First, he looked around him, and saw an Olympus in every mountain peak; a Lethe in ever river. The joy had slipped away to sadness, and from the stillness had grown the beautiful. I fail miserably in my attempt to convey with words this quality which is no less than divine. The wonder, like all that is beautiful, all that is gold, faded slowly from the music. As it faded, though, the music grew in volume and grandeur. It assumed an august greatness. He looked up at the clouds, gorgeously colored by the descending star. They rolled across the sky. They were majestic; they were titanic; they were marvelous. Their dynamic shapes and awesome colors exuded power. And then the music faded again away to quiet. Now, under the veil of darkness and a canopy of cold, glimmering stars, he was taken back to the first battle he had fought on Piaculus, during the rise of the sun in his rescue effort. Instead of a repetition of the cycle, the movement transitioned then to the cadenza, which was relatively long, required great virtuosity, and was moving in its own solitude. I am sure that it had even more meaning to him because it was his own performance. He was listening to the expression of his own emotions in the cadenza.

The first movement ended and the second began. The second movement was similar to the slower parts of the first. It made one feel a sort of sweet sadness. It was calm, reflective, and introspective. Most slow middle movements have this in common. Most slow middle movements are beautiful. Not all of them are so uniquely beautiful. The special quality Beethoven succeeded in putting into some of his works such as this could be, in my opinion, best described as a touch of nostalgia, excepting the even more unique movement preceding this one, which is entirely individual and raises the listener to heights completely unattainable otherwise. The nostalgia can be heard in the phrasing here and there. Three simple notes played by the soloist are all that are needed to recall anyone’s halcyon days. When listening to the music, one relives the most wonderful feelings and times that he or she has ever experienced.

And then the second movement too found an end, and the third movement began. The third movement lived wholly in the present, and rejoiced in the present for what it was. At some points the joy was unrestrained; at others, enchantingly realistic, as if the listener were laying in the shade of a tree on a mostly clear summer day, breathing the sweet air, savoring the cool breeze, and exploring new worlds in the water and dust suspended overhead. There was neither nostalgia nor anticipation; only fulfillment. But the music changed. In the section to which Sean began to listen, one finds oneself enthralled, within the fantasy spawned by the music, by the smell of a flower, so sweet, but also full of longing. The listener rises from his or her seat on the trunk of the tree to seek out the origin of the scent. The music seems almost sad again, with such bitter-sweet longing. The breeze seems colder, but the joy of the trail through the meadow slowly overrides this. Eventually, the music begins skipping along again, and this is so accurate a description as to be only barely a metaphor.

To all this Sean listened as he walked through the forest he loved so well.