Hevun's Gate

By C M Weller

Sahra Johnston started as the lowest class of slave. Then at six, she accidentally joined the rebellion against her masters and gave her new allies more than a few nefarious ideas. By the age of nine, she'd turned five systems on their heads and faced down people who could literally eat her alive. And now she's toe-to-toe against the united forces of the Galactic Alliance.
Hevun help THEM.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C M Weller
• Release date: Jun 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310948770

C M Weller

C M Weller has decided to keep their full identity a secret until such time as one of their works becomes a bestseller. They share a house in Burpengary East with two children, two cats, and a spouse who sometimes thinks they're insane.Every October, C M Weller releases a free short story, in honour of both their birthday and All Hallow’s Read.Unfortunately, this author has managed to avoid doing all the things that make author bios interesting reading. Sorry. However, ze has been publishing stories via Smashwords since 2012, and has an Amazon-exclusive novelette titled Free Baby.This writer is allergic to almost all forms of alcohol (long story), too asthmatic to indulge in tobacco, and in possession of a body chemistry that makes the more interesting drugs problematic at best. Thusly, their chief addiction is their own imagination.

Book preview

Hevun's Gate

C M Weller

Published by C M Weller at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 C M Weller

ISBN: (pending)

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Other works by this author:

RTFM

Nor Gloom of Night

Good Boy

Blowing Bubbles

Scavenger

It Happened One Wednesday

Hevun’s Rebel

Hevun's Ambassador

Hevun fell

Thaose words could not be censored out of existence because they passed at the speed of panic. From mouth to mouth. By filthy human trader and pristine Tu'att military vessel. Whispered in hallways, shouted at deaf grandmothers, passed in code by those who feared it being read by other eyes.

Even by flickering human fingers behind their Tu'atta masters' backs.

Hevun fell to human rebels.

They had the Majestrix.

Undisputed ruler of six systems, five of which had habitable planets. The only royal whom everyone supported. And an heir-egg on the way!

That word carried just as quickly. Sycophants, loyal to the five already causing strife on Tu'att, carried it quickly to their masters. They then spread it to their loyal followers, who, in turn, shared it with those still devoted to the Majestrix Tarqa.

The humans had the Majestrix and her unlaid heir captive!

It spread to domesticated humans on every planet, in every Tu'atta household and some homes of the native elite. And from there, the gossip mutated.

The Saviour had come.

Their God had awoken from his long slumber and answered their prayers for freedom.

The Angel of Death was eating Tu'att military vessels as they entered Hevun's space.

The Saviour was a brown-skin who was eight feet tall!

The Saviour was a little girl wrapped in gold!

The Saviour was a mighty warrior who feasted on the corpses of his -or her- enemies.

The Saviour was an ancient taskmaster bought back from the dead by the finger of God, on an unstoppable quest to free those who she once ruled.

They could command an army of Angels! They could send Tu'atta soldiers mad! Words of fire appeared on the walls! Weather was under their control! God visited plagues upon the Tu'att! the Saviour bought pestilence among the guilty!

Survival pods filtered through the wormhole between Hevun and Vanel. The Vanellus did their best, but the Tu'atta kept coming.

All completely whole and unharmed. All in varying stages of madness. Even the females muttered things that didn't make sense.

Fear spread through the Vanellus forces like a virus, and when a large, dark shape approached the supervisory station, half the Tu'atta forces fled it in terror.

Then it turned on its running lights.

It was three times as large as the largest Tu'att war-cruiser. It transmitted a message for all to hear. The words of a brown-skin man who had never borne the marks of a Tu'atta master. I bring you the words of the Lord my God, the God of all Gods. He says: Let my people go!

Almost a quarter of the Vanellus population attempted to convert from that one data point. Riots broke out in the cities. Slaves were liberated from elite palaces, only to find themselves surrounded by eager converts desperate to hear the word of their God.

Fields burned, planet-wide.

Statues to the Majestrix or her ancestresses toppled and were strewn with garbage. Planetside troops were barricaded inside their facilities by angry mobs.

There was civil war on Tu'att.

Five factions split and split again. Alliances between them came and went like sunlight reflecting off motes in the air. Betrayals and murder quickly became everyday occurrences and only the Majestrix, long may she reign, could put a stop to it all.

But humans had the Majestrix and her heir-to-be.

All this, the blue child read out loud to the one in gold. Sahra. From a reader like the one she had once handed over to the Majestrix Tarqa. Sahra sat and stared at her, bare legs and feet dangling from the seat of a chair made for a species much larger than hers, and an adult at that.

Tarqa stared back. The cell was comfortable, as far as cells went. They kept it warm, gave her cushions and blankets and hot food that was surprisingly varied.

They had also stripped her of her jewellery and anything sharp, to the point of filing down her talons and foot-claws. They took care to feed her food that was soft, so she could still show sharp teeth to the cameras they pointed at her on occasion.

The child watched her, and she watched the child.

These newcomers were different. No-one had kept their bloodlines clean or definitive. It was difficult, at least, to tell which stock they belonged to.

The subtle under-hum of the station altered in pitch again. It had been happening more often, lately.

The news droned on from the lips of the blue child. Rebellions had sprung up in Trudai and Maq'eck. Assisted by human smugglers, the Trudai were making weapons and, instead of dutifully handing them over to the superior Tu'atta troops, were hanging on to them and sending them around the five systems to their allies.

What is the point of this? Tarqa demanded. What have you done with Nani?

We're free, now, said the child. The one you call Nani belongs to herself. She makes decisions for herself. If she wants to visit you, we'll let her. She swung her legs like pendulums as she leaned forwards. As for the point... your subjects don't love you as much as you say they do. With weakened armies and civil war on Tu'att... your empire's kind of falling over.

I am still empress of five systems, she said.

Four, corrected the child. Hevun fell. Vanel is going to follow. Trudai will probably go next, and Maq'eck is going to be tricky, what with Heq'tak in the way. We might have to take it just to help those poor folks on Maq'eck out.

They aren't your people, Tarqa sneered. You have no need.

Anyone who suffers under the claw of Tu'att is my people, said the child. Anyone who lacks, because your kind takes, is my people. I want to see all humans free. Everwhere. That means the humans on Vanel, the ones in Heq'tak station, the ones on Trudai...

I get it, Tarqa snarled. And what of my other systems? Would you rob me of them, as well?

The child stared at her. Rob you? I don't own anything. I don't claim Hevun as mine, I don't possess the station. I definitely can't say Vanel is mine... but I can say the Vanellus had it first. If they want to take it back from you... why can't I help them?

And when will you stop helping them? asked the Majestrix. When they rise up against you? When they tell you they don't need you any more when they clearly do? It never stops. You step in to help, and they need you more and more and more... until all you're doing is helping, and then they hate you.

I plan to show 'em all the ways they can help themselves, said the child. And stop when they stop asking.

She sneered at them. "We helped you rise up from grubbing in the mud."

Did we ask you to? Or did you just barge on in and start helping yourselves to everything we had?

Enough, said the blue child. She'll never give up until there's nothing left to do. It's her nature.

It's her nature. Only one being explained her that way. She heard them so often, when he was her toy.

Eon? Can that possibly be you, back from the dead again?

Neither reacted. This was a secret that had already come out, and the girl in gold was not impressed.

And you hurried so hard to rescue me, he snarled. That a rat found me and took me in as her own.

She smiled her special smile at him. The one that showed off almost all of her carefully-maintained sharp teeth. Have you shown her your special games, yet? O, how we used to play... until neither of us could play any more.

"No. And I don't plan to. Your 'games' were always for only your pleasure. You didn't care about anyone else's."

The girl sighed. All right. That's enough and more than enough. We'll start again in a few. Ugh. Such baffling abuse of her native tongue. A few what? Hours? Days? "We'd best see what's up with Himself. It's about time he was getting mad again about something."

Tarqa fumed, but only for a moment. Her great-great-great-great grandmother had birthed an egg in the middle of a vicious war and mothered the greatest Majestrix known to history. She could do no less.

She visited the bare, sterile amenities again and found herself staring at the grate. The rose pattern. She'd approved that drain grate... for... her... yacht.

Those insolent monkeys had locked her up in her own yacht! They'd stolen her personal vehicle of state!

They would pay, O yes. They would pay in full. In packaged parcels of their meat, served on golden platters.

*

Django would, when he was cross, throw his weight around. Raven often complained, when he wasn't prone to parody. And right now the prospect of becoming the Saviour of five systems worth of humans was making him fairly angry indeed.

Do you have any idea what my people did to me? he demanded. "They gave me a golden crown of thorns! They made me king of an island that nobody wanted! They had me... organising things. Things I never wanted to care about. I just wanted to free my people and tell the Tu'atta to go rot! What business have you to tell me that I have to be here and watch freedom happen through five systems?"

People need to see their Saviour, said the very calm Othersider who had become more than used to listening to his daily rants.

I am Lord High Admiral Django Ali, King of Cursedland, Saviour of Hevun - for my sins... I should be able to go where I want, when I want.

Ideally, yes, said the captain. She had been selected from a surprise stash of captains who worked with Wapun on survey missions. Unlike Wapun, she was a tall and bulky amazon with close-cropped red hair and a dragon across her face. But your people need a symbol, and what better symbol than their own Saviour?

Sahra appeared, Simy in tow as always, by some spontaneous magic. Reckon we aughta send home fo' the crown? she asked. Crowns is pretty impressive.

You wear one, then, growled Ali. Why do you keep sneaking around like that, all the time? I can never tell where you are, let alone where you're going to turn up.

Sahra gave him a snaggly grin. I got where I is by stayin' quiet and outta notice. Now you want me to change?

And don't play stupid, we both know better.

Sahra toured the screens. She ignored the words they threw up, just divined meaning from the pictorial displays. Reading, for her, was an effort. She had to line up the letters and figure out the word from there. All the time. It took her a subjective age to wrestle through, The cat sat on the mat.

Ali found himself wondering if he could use it to his advantage, some time down the road.

Probably not. This child was the real Saviour. For all she knew, God was on her side and might feel Himself inclined to get back to the smiting.

Tide's turning in our favour, she noted. Do we whip out the big guns?

The amazon approved, her smile made the dragon dance. Transmitting feed from the Majestrix's cell. You're on, Lord High Admiral King Saviour Ali.

Ali stepped up to what he knew was a microphone. This is the voice of freedom, he said. "We have the Majestrix herself captive aboard one of the vessels fighting the Tu'att fleet. I call upon all Tu'att to throw down their weapons and surrender. I call on all those opposed to Tu'att tyranny to take up their arms and fight for what's rightfully yours!"

The little light went off, signaling that the transmission was done. There was no way to tell if it had any effect whatsoever. He was used to cheering. He should have heard applause. Instead, a group of Othersiders calmly went about their jobs as if there had not just been an impressive speech given.

Even one of Eva's sarcastic 'woot's would have cheered his heart, right now.

But no. He had amazons who were head and shoulders taller than him. People who were neither man nor woman and somehow both. People who were more machine than human. People who marked themselves voluntarily.

And Sahra, who was not impressed by anything or anyone.

There, she pointed out a dot amongst hundreds of others like it on a display. That 'uns got an uprisin'. They're follerin. Three... five... nine... twen'y. She turned to smile for him Now that's some good talkin'.

The whole formation collapsed. Ali watched in amazement, reminded of an old rhyme his Gemma taught him about wanting a nail.

For want of a ruler, the humans were lost. For want of the humans, the cruiser was lost. For want of a cruiser, the fleet was lost. For want of the fleet, the battle was lost.

For want of the battle, the whole damn planet was tearing itself out of Tu'att's sharpened grasp.

All because of his words. And the captive Majestrix, long may she atrophy.

He fell into the guest seat and scowled at the readouts that only Othersiders and Sahra could read.

'S'matta? chirped Sahra.

We still need her, he growled. "Even as a bargaining chip, we need her. I fought this revolution so we could get rid of her!"

Well, you might be rid of her, but I ain't neffur, said Sahra. She's Ambassador to her people. That means, every time there's a meeting, I has to go and argue wif her an' eff'ryone elts on top o' her. I mean, I mighta had a bit o' practice if'n nobody'd tole me hush alla the time... Netta'd be dang good at it. She can argue wif water 'n' win.

In spite of himself, Ali laughed. So you think being an ambassador is all arguing?

Why not? You thought bein' in charge was sittin' onna throne an' doin' what'cha liked.

I'm learning from my mistake, he said. Maybe you'll learn from yours.

Sahra gave him a long, slow glare that no child her age should have been able to manage. Not accordin' to the ambassadorin' lessons I'm gettin' on the comms... She made a washing motion with her hands. Sign for, I don't want to talk about it. You sendin' anyfink home?

No comms until the battle is won, said Ali. Those are the rules. So the enemy doesn't intercept any intel.

They did tell ya how their comms work, yeah?

I don't care. If the Othersiders can talk to each other instantly, they can also leak intel instantly. No comms. End of argument.

Sahra perched in a chair and glared.

*

Graak glared at the pirate. A pale-skinned human with a mop of curls that the others called Smiley for reasons beyond his current logic skills. He knew that his survival depended on keeping secrets, and also on letting them loose to the humans slow enough that he wasn't a traitor, and fast enough that the humans would not give up on him and kill him anyway.

He was one of the pirates. Graak could not forget that unruly mess of filthy curls.

You... were one of the freight captains from Hevun... weren't you?

Yeah, I pulled hauler duty once or twice, he said. The astonishing thing was, that he no longer spoke halting or broken Tu'att, but a near-perfect approach to it. Carried things in and out.

You were a smuggler, he growled.

Yes. That too, the human didn't even bother to deny it.

Graak tried to focus his thoughts. He was no longer in charge. The human had no real reason to answer any question. Maybe the human was bored. They did many, many things because of boredom. "I know you were smuggling something. You and your other pirates."

Of course we were, said Smiley.

What? What were you smuggling?

Smiley, for once, lived up to his name and wandered out of Graak's sight.

Graak went back to picking at the grate that lay hidden under the minimalist bunk in this cell. This vessel was huge. There had to be other prisoners. If he could find a way out... if he could find others...

How strange for humans to make ventilation ducts large enough for a prisoner to escape...

*

Toq did not understand. He understood being held with the other Tu'atta children his age. The humans were kind to children for their own reasons. He understood the adults trying to gain their favour with food and shiny objects. He didn't understand the performance.

They were... showing all of them how to do things. Explaining things three times. Once in Tu'att, once in Yoomin creole, and again in a language that had patches of Yoomin, but other words that made little sense to his ears.

But, since it was the tongue the humans used to talk when they wanted him to not know what they were saying. He still wanted to report the truth to Om'r Jeshi'ig. He owed the man.

And here came another human. Speaking in Tu'att, Yoomin and... babble. They had clothes. Little uniforms on varying sizes. Made for Tu'att bodies. Some, who were captured naked, were eager to put them on. Others debated within themselves before lining up to accept the humans' largesse.

Only Toq held back.

You are not getting dressed, Mister Toq?

He stood up straight and glared into their eyes in pure contempt. "I already have a uniform."

They looked him up and down. Not critical. Observing. So I see. Would you like a clean spare?

"Not. From. You." He put in all his hatred for them into that 'you'. They were invaders, taking the children and turning them into hostages so that the adults would stay in line.

Anything that came from these interlopers