Page 1 of Clan and Command

Prologue

The Kalquorian Empire is a civilization of great importance to the Galactic Council of Planets. The fierce but intelligent species has been at the forefront of technological, medical, and scientific breakthroughs for millennia. Their military might has never been in question. Even their ancient enemy, the opportunistic race of Tragooms, hesitates to attack a Kalquorian force half its size.

However, Kalquor’s survival is in jeopardy. The force that has threatened this mighty race is not one that wields weaponry. It cannot even be seen with the naked eye. It is a virus.

Centuries ago, this virus struck the home world of Kalquor. It wiped out a substantial number of its people, particularly the females. Symptoms included massive bleeding of the body’s major organs, along with those of the female reproductive tract. Damaging the X-chromosomes of the Kalquorians, the virus’ effects went beyond death. The majority of women not killed outright were rendered infertile. Daughters born to those who could bear children were not guaranteed the ability to do the same. The virus altered the very DNA of the entire race.

In an effort to keep their species from going extinct and prevent fighting amongst the men, family groups called clans were formed. Each clan was made up of one female known as the Matara (childbearer) and representatives of each of the three breeds of male: the Dramok (leader), Imdiko (caregiver), and Nobek (protector).

Clanning could not prevent the race from continuing to decline. In desperation, the Kalquorian Empire turned to another race, one biologically compatible to their own species: Earthers. Too much enmity existed between the two cultures, however, and a brutal war ensued. Hostilities decimated the Earther population and brought Kalquor closer than ever to devastation. After the war ended, however, peace brought a new beginning for everyone. The tide at last began to turn against the imminent extinction of the Empire’s culture.

Yet there are Kalquorians committed to seeing their race die off pure, without the ‘contamination’ of Earther genes. After a violent revolt led by ‘the Basma’ Dramok Maf, the traitors’ rejection of Earthers and their hybrid children has turned into civil war. The Kalquorian Empire is being torn apart from within, with innocents dying every day.

Now a new threat has arrived. Old enemies join forces, determined to finish the Kalquorian Empire once and for all. With defeat looming ever nearer each day, the highest-ranking officers of Kalquor’s Fleet Command have come up with a desperate ploy to defeat the Basma. All they need now are the right men to carry out what is almost certain to be a suicide mission; men willing to sacrifice not only themselves, but those unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire.

Men for whom “honor and Empire” is not just a battle cry, but the only way they know how to live.

Chapter 1

Fleet Admiral Dramok Hobato never failed to impress Rear Admiral Piras. Though the man was over two hundred years old, he stood as tall and strong as men half his age. His muscled body cut a fine figure in its sapphire blue uniform. The fleet admiral’s face, lined with the many years of life and service, remained square-jawed with determination. His purple eyes could skewer an underling into absolute stillness, freezing junior officers like prey under the stare of a hunter. In complete disrespect to his advancing years, Hobato moved with grace and speed. Even his hair remained mostly black in the bright task lighting. Only a little iron gray dared to streak the long waves that reached to the middle of his back.

It was the vid displayed rather than his commanding officer that commanded Piras’s attention at the moment, however. The footage playback hovered over Rear Admiral Tranis’s massive wooden desk. Hobato, Tranis, and Piras all stared with grim concentration at the awful scene depicted on the hovering holograph.

The free-floating screen displayed a multitude of Earther battlecruisers in space. The awkward ships were a cancerous mass on the edge of the Kalquorian Empire. They had gathered near the border intersecting with Joshadan and Galactic Council territories.

The vessels were leftovers of a horrendous war that had ended a few years before. To Piras, the sight of so many ‘cruisers was like the recurrence of an awful nightmare.

Piras scowled at the swath of space depicted in the vid, at the vessels blocking out the stars and a nearby reddish-brown planet. He knew that sector well, had patrolled it as a destroyer captain years ago. That it had fallen into the rebellion’s hands was bad enough. Now this unbelievable evidence of further treachery floated like a derisive taunt against those who remained loyal to the Empire. Piras heard the dull sound of his teeth grinding and forced his jaw to relax.

Hobato’s tone contained no anger. It evinced no emotion at all. “The spyship watching Batya Colony and the Basma’s concentration of ships there sent this in two days ago.”

Tranis sat back in the office hoverchair he occupied. His handsome, bearded face filled with the despair Hobato refused to show, and he rubbed his eyes. “Earther battlecruisers. That’s a lot of them. Hundreds. Maybe a thousand.”

Piras managed not to roll his eyes. Trust Tranis to state the obvious.

He let go of the irritation that always came in the younger admiral’s presence. Instead, he forced himself to attend Hobato’s report. As usual, the fleet admiral cut right to the chase.

“We believe this is what remains of the ships that still answer to Earth’s former leader, Browning Copeland.”

“So many.”

“Not really. Not compared to what they had at the start of our war with them.”

Piras finally spoke, offering his own obvious observation. “It’s still a lot considering the firepower on those monstrosities.”

“Indeed.” Hobato’s calm regard flickered to Piras for a moment. “I don’t have to tell you what this means to our side of the current conflict.”

Piras paced on the opposite side of Tranis’s desk. His feet made no sound on the padded flooring, as green as the ocean surrounding the island that housed Fleet Headquarters. Even inside, the sea-salt smell permeated the building, giving one thoughts of lounging on the sand…unless one was grounded by the endless catastrophic events that had descended on Kalquor as of late.

Tranis’s office made it hard to concentrate in any case. The walls were a functional gray, the furnishings utilitarian. Yet the personal mementos kept the atmosphere casual. The room was dotted with commendations and pictures.

Piras avoided looking at the still vids of the other man’s clan, even though several were hung on the walls right at eye level. They were hard to ignore, but he managed it for the most part.

To himself he thought,mind on task. Out loud, he said, “It means the renegade Earthers who didn’t surrender have joined Dramok Maf. The Basma now has enough of a space force to match our fleet. Perhaps even overwhelm us.”

Ugly as they were and of a lower technology than the streamlined Kalquorian destroyers, the Earther battlecruisers were nevertheless brutal machines. With weapons that could take out entire cities from space, they had pushed Kalquor into near defeat during the earlier war. Earth had been defeated in the end, but remnants of their fleet had gone into hiding rather than surrender.

Now they were back. Throwing what they had left on the side of the Basma Dramok Maf was bad news to the fleet. It meant Kalquor’s civil war had shifted in the enemy’s favor. The loyal among Kalquor’s fleet had been the one advantage the Empire had held over the Basma’s revolt. That advantage was now gone.

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