Chronicle 42: RetroStar Chronicles, #2

By R.D. Ginther

Chronicle 42 began with the Atlanteans plotting their next move to take over Earth, taking into account Wally, the Red Star and of course FC. The Atlantean commander Electra too was facing her own issue as she was beginning to fade and needed desperately to regenerate. With her strength  weakening, she paid little attention to Wally and FC but was focused more on the elusive Red Star.

In the meanwhile, Yosef fully took charge of Potiphar's estate allowing Potiphar to spend his time on the Ibbathans' retaliation and the reallocation of certain taxes into his treasury. At the same time, feeling the desperate need for attention, Zenobia, the wife of Potiphar turned her romantic advances upon Yosef. After plotting ways to trap Yosef yielded nothing but despair for her, she sought revenge instead which left Yosef in a very dangerous predicament.

Wally tried to make sense of the Atlanteans and happened across some documentation about them from a relic from the distant past. Hantsbo was able somewhat to defeat the Atlanteans gaining some information about them without their knowing. Wally also came up with a devious plan of his own hoping to buy time and to learn more of these two entities, (the Atlanteans and the Red Star), and their weaknesses. He had been keeping a keen eye on FC and understood that this entity is an ally working against these two.

The scene changed to another pair of heroes who, despite their contrast in ages, and genders proved to be wonderful allies. Bildad and Kezia are quite the odd couple as their adventures thus far had led them through some very murky waters. Starting in Babelen, one cannot miss the similarity of this city to that of Babylon, even the final outcome perfectly mirrored that city. And although Kezia experienced some collateral damaged due to the war in Babelen, she still remained obedient to do what they were both commanded to do.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.A.Edwards
• Release date: Aug 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201012786

Book preview

CHRONICLE 42

ANNO STELLAE 5926

1   War

Atlantis II—compliments of the Red Star!

Behind the Moon, words flew thick and fast between the commander, Elektra,  and her subjects.  One general had been so tactless as to suggest that a human-produced computer called Wally might present a threat, and there was something it identified as Forbidden Category too that might be a factor in complicating the take-over.

Since the commander, like all the governing classes, who were atheist-atomists, believed exclusively in science and technology,  the question of  FC as God never really entered in—so the suggestion that something powerful in that respect might affect plans of invading and ruling Atlantis II was absurd in her estimation though she would never think it was necessary first to investigate the question before taking that position.

As for Wally, he was real enough, but the commander saw no real threat.  She would handle him when the time come. 

It will be war if he interferes with us. I’ll smash him out of existence like a wretched fly. Let him continue to meddle with humanity all he likes. It won’t make the slightest difference in the end. 

Saying that, the commander sank down on her throne,  gasping for breath until she recovered herself and ordered the conference ended for the time being.

She had reserved her last strength for the act of regeneration. 

What body would she choose?  She had difficulty making up her mind, like most of her sex.  If not for that, she would have been in her new body by this time. 

But she wanted to make the right choice.  Once made, once a new body was entered, it was irreversible.  She would have to be whatever she became, for a long, long time to come!

The Red Star?  That intruder too, they would have to deal with as the situation demanded.  Knowing already it was too elusive and powerful a foe to ignore, they had to wait to see what best be done, rather than go after it offensively. 

Lord Potiphar was more than happy to let Yosef take total charge over his estate, since Ibbatha had lately proven more than a match for the Per-aa's aging, Hyksos soldiery. 

Preliminary  skirmishes  had  not  shown  Khian's  customary superiority in weaponry and training.  To Potiphar's  dismay  increasing  numbers  of  costly, iron-plated  chariots  began  showing up in the battles being fought at various points from just north of Ibbatha and all the way  to  the  first  cataract  at Tammu.

He  suspected the chariots had been built and outfitted in temple work-shops, but there were so many temples, it was impossible to attack them all and destroy the hidden Ibbathan arsenal.

And what did Per-aa Khian, his royal master, think about this development?  It was clear, from certain twitches in the royal visage in a cheek muscle and at a corner pulling his lips to the left side, that he was thinking hard.  That was an ominous development just as alarming as the Ibbathan revival, in Potiphar's estimation.  He was sitting on millions in stolen gold Khian would have his head for if found out.  It was money desperately needed now that Ibbatha was on the rise against Khian’s control.

This time the king must have thought too much, perhaps.  Losing the last shred of composure over the Ibbathan revival,  Khian tore  his  royal  headdress  off before all his shocked and  ashen-faced courtiers. 

Then he cursed in a Semitic tongue after  a spy's report that the nobility of Nathasta (though not the priesthood) were plotting secession and calling Khian a greasy,  Semitic usurper whose tail had been a rat’s but he had it cut off.

His rage over the recent reverses was  made more understandable when it became common knowledge the Ibbathans had officially crowned the rival Per-aa, Per-aa of the Two Kingdoms. 

Yet,  formidable as Ibbatha had become, the civil war bogged down and finally came to an inconclusive  stage,  when both  the  Ibbathans  and  the  Per-aa in Avaris were too exhausted to continue hostilities.

Anather, Yakobaam,  Sequen-pher Tao—Ibbatha’s kinglets had not been strong enough and had all met violent deaths in the power struggles round the throne of the southern kingdom.

Neither side was powerful enough to resolve the issue.  Upper and  Lower  Kingdoms remained  divided  and  antagonistic,  though  both lacked the critical edge in number of iron chariots to seize and unite Mizraim by force of arms.

In both  camps  frustration was immense.  Khian, who had begun the war by a lightning charge of his  chariot  corps on Ibbathan lines outside their capital,  was most put out.  He had determined to avenge the stinging  slight  he  had  suffered  when  they refused to pay tribute to his envoy, Captain Potiphar;  only to lose many times over the tribute money  in  a  ruinous,  pell-mell  retreat. 

Hearing  of  Khian’s loss  of  half his army and several hundred chariots,  Avaris  was growing restive.  The nobility and common people viewed his dynasty's  swiftly  declining fortunes as divine disfavor and looked forward to his being thrown out and a legitimate Mizraimite Per-aa installed on the throne Khian had, in their eyes, usurped.  Besides that, a Mizraimite Per-aa was held to be a god, and the Mizraimites could not but suspect Khian was one of the Hyksos’ dog-headed, donkey-hindquartered gods in their pantheon. 

Down on the estate,  Yosef knew virtually nothing about the war.  And as for politics, he certainly would have cared nothing as he was a foreigner, without one inch of Mizraim to his name to fight over. 

Life and work  continued  routinely  on the  estate,  and  the  struggle  took  place far off up the River.  He noticed tension at times in the house when Potiphar returned steaming with  frustration from  some  fruitless  campaign;  but Yosef went about his duties and kept the machinery of the estate running smoothly,  and Potiphar always relaxed after  a few days of peace and calm his overseer's quiet efficiency generated. 

Week by week,  while  the  war stalemated,  the revenues from the estate increased and added pelf and ease to Potiphar.  His friends at  court,  hearing of  Potiphar's  marvelous  overseer,  began  paying  visits  just  to  see  for themselves if the reports were true.  They came  amused  and,  after  observing Yosef and the estate,  went away impressed and envious,  offering any price if Potiphar would give him up. 

Potiphar  was  offered  a king's ransom for Yosef,  but he was no fool and always politely declined to risk his wife's displeasure—or so  he  told  them. 

What’s Zenobia got to do with his decisions anyway?  What could she do to him that could cow a military commander? one disgruntled, disappointed purchaser said to another on their way from Potiphar’s house to their sedan chairs.

Ask him that, my friend, for he dares not to displease her! replied the other party.

It  was  true  Zenobia had come to appreciate Yosef more than a bit.  She was not blind to his worth,  nor was she blind to his physical attraction,  and  had  observed  how  everything  improved  markedly under his administration.

Sell him when he is such an asset here to me—ah, to Lord Potiphar and the estate? she remarked to a lady who attended her parties.  Why, darling,  I would sooner sell my jewels and my river villa and my pleasure barge on the river—  she did not finish, as she was thinking of her husband, but who would want to buy him?

Potiphar only used her as an excuse, reserving his real motive for himself alone:  he had grown dependent on  Yosef and would sooner part with Zenobia,  from whom he had grown increasingly estranged as his former high standing in  the king's favor waned—whether from Khian’s suspicion about the Ibbathan tax monies and the ransacked Ibbathan temple treasure or because Potiphar hadn’t been coming up any crushing victories over the Ibbathans.

Yosef, as Zenobia said, was an asset for varying reasons, they were both loath to depart with.  Whatever attraction had  bonded them as man and wife had departed.  Both realized the fact,  and when it happened neither felt any regret.  Zenobia had  her  friends and  boating  excursions  on  the  River  for amusement.  Potiphar had grown so disillusioned with his career he would just as soon sit at home,  enjoying  the peace  allowed  him  between  campaigns and letting the excellent Yosef do for him.  As for his retirement fund—the stolen tax money and temple treasure—it was more than safe as long as he held control of the Sohar fortress and its secret vaults.

And the estate's wine was also superb,  produced from choice vines Yosef had trained to grow up over the garden walls.

Unknown to Potiphar,  foreigners and passers-by often availed themselves of the refreshing fruit from vine boughs that hung over the walls; as they went on their  way  most  gave their blessings to the compassionate master of the house who obviously cared for  the  faint  and  hungry.

Consequently,  the  name  of Potiphar  was  spread  far and wide as a name of charity and benevolence toward wayfarers.  Strangers honored his name in foreign lands,  not knowing the vines belonged to a savage man of blood and iron. 

For Potiphar it was an easy arrangement of life; without even discussing it he and Zenobia began living separate lives under the  same  roof.  Though some servants had begun to whisper, Yosef did not listen to tittle-tattle and  served both lord and lady with cheerfulness and aplomb.

Meanwhile,  the  already  enormous  revenues  of  the  estate  continued to increase,  and the household treasure box overflowed with electrum  ingots  and gold  and  jewels,  so  that  it  was  replaced with three large trunks kept in Yosef’s private room.

Khian’s spies reported to him that Potiphar daily grew richer while Khian knew he grew poorer. 

Now when Lady Zenobia wanted her jewels or gold pectoral necklace for appearances at court or items of equally great value such as  Tyrian  glass  goblets  for  her fashionable, new pavilion by the River, she called Yosef.

Potiphar too always knew  whom to call when he desired anything.  Yosef even paid them out regular amounts for personal needs,  and if they needed more for  certain  luxuries  or expenses  they  came to him.  An elegant pleasure boat was purchased by Zenobia and soon provided more excuse for her to part company with an increasingly dull and seedy spouse.

Rising  on  account  of  her  husband's  wealth,  Lady Zenobia was at first besieged by a crowd of noble ladies but rapidly lost what true friends she  had by an increasingly arrogant and colorful display.  For the first time, noble Mizraimite ladies in Avaris began reminding others that she was of foreign extraction, which proved to them she had no right to lord it over them as she did. 

Yosef was no longer an overseer or steward;  in time he  governed  as  the effectual master, or taty, of Potiphar's house, goods, and property.

Not even Potiphar was greater than the Favorite, and Potiphar kept back nothing from his taty, except a splendiferous spouse whom he had ceased to love.

Much land in the delta was purchased by Yosef, and hundreds of farmers and artisans and linen weavers were employed by him to work the estate and  fashion all  manner of things in estate shops. 

Yosef bought a seagoing ship by letter of credit and it was delivered to him,  made of cedar of Lebanon in Tyre and driven by a lanteen sail  and  oarsmen.

This  was loaded  with  grain,  fine linen,  perfumes and scented oils and sent as far as Keftiu,  returning a profit a  hundred  times  the  value  of  Lord  Potiphar's captain's  salary.  This  he  did  repeatedly,  so  that  his  name,  even  the particulars of his story and the name of his God,  came to the attention of the king  of  Keftiu  after he had received special gifts of scented lotus oil from Potiphar's estate. 

Now,  thanks to the able Hebrew steward, Per-aa Khian was no richer than Potiphar and Zenobia, and certainly he was poorer, just as he feared.

2     The Gold Harp

The supreme commander , Elektra, finally gave in to the inevitable.  Fear of making an irreversible mistake in a choice of a new body had rendered her will almost impotent.

No longer able to exert full authority,  too weak even to play her string-less harp, she delegated some of her powers to inferiors, so that the conquest of Earth could go forward.  Given her character, it was a hard decision,  slow to come by. 

Even with less than her total power, she was still formidable in the councils of the war command.  Her word cast the deciding vote, and a single glance of  anger was sufficient veto for anything she did not like. 

Needed repairs nearly all accomplished, the fleet held itself in readiness for the right moment to strike.  That was a rather tricky  thing to determine, they well knew. With their foe and chief competitor, the Red Star,  taking such great interest in the planet,  they were obliged to go slowly and circumspectly about the invasion, so that there would be no confrontation—which they knew could be costly, even their ruin.

But what other choice did they have?  Powerful as they still were, it was useless to flee the Red Star.  Rather, they knew they must face it on its own turf and, thereby, possibly  obtain concessions.  Since they had so much in common with the Red Star, in their view of it,  that was their strategy—and though daring it had reasonable chance of  succeeding. 

Far removed from the conspiracy taking shape behind the Moon, Assah, a little Mizraimite slave girl, found herself caught up in dark threads she was unable to untangle—except she believed in a foreign god who would help her after meeting with a young man by the name of Yosef.

The  daughter  of  a  poor farmer who was crushed between the millstones of temple taxes and Khian's war levies,  Assah was taken to Nathasta and  sold  to Potiphar's household in a scene she would never forget.  Put with black-skinned people from the north, mostly older youths, the young girl stood awkwardly, stripped of her clothes,  waiting for her parents to come back  to  retrieve  her  from  the eager staring of the crowds gathering at the market.  Her mother,  who had left her standing there on a large,  smooth plate of red stone amidst strangers, never returned.  How Assah wept! 

Most  of  the men staring at her had big,  round faces and smooth heads and showed too many teeth when they smiled. 

Years after her sale,  she  still  saw the  slave  market  in  troubled  dreams.  One tormentor seemed bigger and more important and raised his authoritative finger, glinting with gold rings,  but a sharp  voice rose a whit higher than the gold-beringed finger,  and Assah found herself being taken in hand by an old man  holding  a  wooden  staff  like  the elders in her village. 

She  was  terrified  when  he  led her away between tall,  yellow mounds of fresh-picked apple-gourds to a big-wheeled  cart  with  stamping  horses.  Only because  there was a maid-servant to help the overseer was she made to climb up and ride.  The woman put her arms around her  and  wiped  her  tears,  as  they crouched down together in the chariot on the way to the house of Potiphar. 

Nu the overseer, she recalled, put her under the charge of the older women, who knew how to calm a sorrowing and bewildered child and care for her.  It had been several weeks before she grew accustomed enough to her new life and the wonders of the beautiful palace (for she  had  seen  such  places  from afar) to take an interest in life again.

Unusually favored and shapely in face and form, her soft,  fawnlike  eyes  (like  those  of a young gazelle) made her the immediate favorite of the womenfolk in Potiphar's employ and much spoiled from the start.  Nevertheless, she had been given some trivial duties, for she was after all only a slave. 

Sometimes she  was  allowed  to  carry  a  gold-rimmed  dish  of gardenias  to  the  exalted  rooms of the Mistress so that the grand lady might refresh her feet in their scent.  Or  she  might  convey  a  message  from  one authority  in  the  house to another,  then back again.  Or pluck a ripe apple-gourd in a fascinating jungle of vines and curling tendrils behind  the  house, fruit whose flesh was soft,  sweet, juicy and well-flavored.  Or feed the lyre-tailed birds in the aviary