Valmoran Republic, Planet Kronai, Temple of the Seven

  Callum Torion, Representative Arbiter for the Valmoran Republic

  It had been an interminable day, and it was far from over. Callum couldn’t remember the last time he spent this many hours around so many people, and the emotional burden had long since robbed him of the effortless poise he so prided himself on.

  He would have preferred to go home for the evening, but that would have been unspeakably rude. Also, tonight afforded him an unprecedented opportunity to rub shoulders with the most influential people in the galaxy—and one he might never get again.

  After attempting to muddle through and recognize the various diplomats and dignitaries for several hours, Callum caved and enabled one of those CelebSpy overlays on his Hix. After all, everyone else was using them—he couldn’t very well be the only person out of the loop.

  But Callum could not wait to get home and turn the blasted thing off again.

  The group the Temple had assembled for the investiture was alarmingly powerful—a who’s who of not just planet Kronai or the Republic, but the entire galaxy. Dignitaries from the Federation, Ioria Prime, Anaris Station, and the Republic were there.

  Captains of industry, musicians, actors. Representatives from the Peacekeepers. There was even a Threllian Ambassador in attendance.

  Callum almost felt humbled to be included.

  “Representative Torion, we thank you for your support of the temple and invite you to dine with us this evening,” a smiling priest greeted him as he reached the grand entrance to the banquet hall. “Please allow me to show you to your seat.”

  The room was a grand stone hall, one of the more ancient places in the Temple, impeccably maintained despite its age. The Temple’s Hix overlay—which all visitors enabled on entry to the grounds—generated a pop-up on the side of his mindscreen, inquiring if he wished to learn about the chamber’s history.

  Not right now. Perhaps if Callum’s dining companions turned out to be dull.

  An attendant led him to one of dozens of small round tables, already set with complex dinnerware. He groaned as he enabled yet another irritating Hix overlay, this one to guide him through the etiquette of a formal Valmoran feast.

  Guests were seated in four of the six seats at the table when he arrived. He quickly pulled up his dinner companions’ details on his Hix while making himself comfortable at the table.

  Arilla Rennor, from the Anaris Station Spacefolding Syndicate, sat to his left. He turned to introduce himself, but she started speaking before he got the chance.

  “Representative Torion, I absolutely adore your vid series!” the woman gushed. Her awkward manner and inability to sustain eye contact seemed out of place among such company.

  A quick peek into her emotions showed she was shockingly attracted to him—maybe even had a bit of a crush. That explained it—nothing to worry about, just not something he cared for.

  “Nice to meet you—”

  “Arilla. I’m the administrator of the space folding syndicate on Anaris Station. I love your vids. Oh, I already said that.” She flushed and tugged a stray bit of hair behind her ear. Her embarrassment surged through Callum, and he needed to put her at ease, if only so he wouldn’t have to experience her discomfort.

  “I’m glad you enjoy them. I sometimes forget that people actually watch those things,” he replied.

  He was rescued from the rapidly devolving conversation when the man seated on her other side cleared his throat, loudly.

  “Vargus Trix, at your service.” The man bowed mockingly, ignoring Arilla as he introduced himself to Callum. This motion pointed his horns directly at Callum, and the subtle threat disguised as pleasantry did not go unnoticed.

  This was a man who needed no introduction. The unofficial leader of Ioria Prime, Vargus, was often in the news, and not a man to be trifled with. His ruddy skin and pointed horns marked him as a Vultrai, and rumor had it he was God-touched.

  His kind had the horrifying ability to influence the levels of pain and pleasure experienced by those in their vicinity.

  Callum couldn’t imagine what the Gods had been thinking, granting such a terrible power to a man destined to rule a mob planet. The man’s leathery wings curled behind him as he leaned back in his seat with a smirk. A tentative peek into Vargus’s emotions exposed simple amusement.

  Great, that’s just what the universe needs—another powerful man who views the world as a game.

  Callum returned the bow, suppressing the chill that threatened to run down his spine. “Callum Torion.”

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  “To be sure,” Vargus said, sounding uninterested. “I suppose you’ll want to be meeting the rest of the crew.” He threw a half-hearted gesture to the man sitting to his left, straight across from Callum. “This one’s just a missionary from the Federation. And that lovely creature is—”

  “—I can introduce myself, if you please,” the woman interjected. She wore sharp, formal business attire and had a no-nonsense air. “Regla Dresh, I run—”

  Callum nodded emphatically. “—Valmar Defensive Tech. Yes, I know. It’s an honor to meet you.”

  “Regla is fine. We’re all friends here. Well, except him,” she said dryly, jerking her head in Vargus’s direction. “That one’s already proving insufferable.”

  “Me? I’m a delight,” Vargus replied, and the barest eye roll was Regla’s only response.

  It made sense that a woman like Regla would be in charge of the most advanced defensive tech firm in the Valmoran Republic. She had a commanding presence, and was obviously fearless, taking jabs at Vargus Trix with such nerve.

  Regla’s firm had a reputation for skirting the definition of legal “defense tech” and flirting with more offensive weaponry. Callum had been called in on several votes involving her company during his tenure as a Representative Arbiter.

  As a student of military history and theory, Callum would have loved to pick her brain for hours and get her thoughts on the Peacekeepers, de-weaponization, and the role of defense in maintaining peace.

  Instead, he remembered his manners and returned to the quiet missionary Vargus had dismissed as unimportant. “And you are?”

  “No one of consequence, although you may call me Priest Ollem.” The man bowed his head and smiled. When Callum reached out to the man’s emotions, he found a placid sea of calm tinged with a hint of sadness. Why he was here in such illuminated company was an intriguing question.

  But it was soon forgotten, because their last companion was joining the table.

  None other than the Threllian Ambassador. As far as Callum knew, no Threllian Ambassador had visited Valmoran Space in over twenty generations, not since the Valmorans caused their near-extinction—horrifically and decisively ending the Threllian Wars.

  Callum burned with curiosity—how was it that the Temple managed to re-open communication with them when all Republic attempts at diplomacy had failed?

  Yes, this was going to be a fascinating dinner, indeed. Callum wouldn’t need to entertain himself with the hall’s history, after all.

  The Ambassador rolled up to the table in his adaptive apparatus, a robotic contraption that adjusted as he approached so his seat was at table height. Threllians were nothing like Valmorans, but Callum had never seen one up close. Before today, he’d never seen one outside of ancient recordings.

  Threllians were small creatures with a large head and a mass of tentacles at their base. They were rumored to speak to one another through their color-changing skin.

  Right now, the Ambassador’s skin was a muted brown, morphing and changing with the minor undulations of his body.

  Threllians were supposed to be hardy little creatures, proving nearly indestructible during the wars. Well, until the Valmorans unleashed a virus on their population and killed almost their entire race. The Republic and Federation were still paying reparations for the accidental near-genocide.

  “If I may please have your attention,” High Priestess Valtrellin’s voice rang out as she addressed the gathered dignitaries, and Callum turned to the table at the front. She was next to the High Priest and Matthai, and the Council of High Priests sat along either end of the table with them.

  “Our deepest gratitude to you for making the journey to honor the investiture of Matthai Valtrellin, now Ordained Scion of the Temple of the Seven. We appreciate your support and patronage and are delighted to host you for this momentous occasion. Please know that you are among the most indispensable allies of the Temple.”

  Callum noted the genuine pride radiating off the High Priestess as she gazed at her son, applauding his new role in the Temple. But there was something strange, something wrong with Matthai. On the surface, his face was a mask of serenity as he nodded his head in acknowledgment of the High Priestess’s words. Inside, he was ... disturbingly blank.

  When Callum left their meeting that afternoon, Matthai radiated a tentative sense of hope. He had exuded chaotic turmoil beforehand, but his emotions had always been visceral and real.

  Now, Matthai’s emotions, previously so vibrant as to be overwhelming, were muted, as if someone reached inside him and diminished the very essence of who he was. The stark contrast between Matthai’s earlier emotional state and his current emptiness set off alarm bells in Callum’s mind.

  What could have changed in just a few hours?

  It grated on Callum in a way he couldn’t fully grasp. Something had corrupted the deep ocean of feeling that was Matthai Valtrellin.

  Callum wished he could find out what was wrong and correct it, but this was neither the time nor the place.

  Matthai accepted his mother’s invitation to address the room, his appearance the perfect simulacrum of a gentle, humble, and gracious Ordained Scion.

  “Thank you for being here with us today. As Ordained Scion, I assure you I will approach this role with the humility and sincerity it deserves. Those in this room are cherished allies of the Temple, and I look forward to meeting each of you over the next phase. Please, eat, drink, and celebrate.”

  Even as Matthai smiled and greeted everyone, to Callum, it was as if Matthai locked his own emotions away so thoroughly that he could not even experience them.

  Callum’s suspicion grew as he watched Matthai, searching for any hint of the vibrant emotions he sensed earlier, but finding only a disconcerting emptiness.

  He watched the boy out of the corner of his eye, still trying to get some hint of the issue, but there was not much to go on. Matthai was barely there, emotionally.

  Callum absentmindedly took the tiniest sip of his wine with the other guests. It was excellent, and doubtless cost a fortune, but there was no way he would deliberately dull his senses at an event like this. Not that he was much for intoxicants.

  “Well, this is all very posh, now, ain’t it? They even have Iorian fare on the menu,” Vargus said.

  Priests carrying trays began circulating through the room, bearing delicacies from across the galaxy. This was not your typical temple food, simple and healthy. No, this meal was the most ostentatious display of wealth that Callum had ever seen.

  He had always known that the Temple was prominent, wealthy, and connected. Heck, his sister Zalila had been telling him forever that the Temple was more powerful than they let on, that they had secrets. He should have believed her.

  As one of the galaxy’s foremost researchers of the Obelisks, she would know. But Callum had not accepted the full extent of that truth until now, sitting here among these people, dining on the most exquisite cuisine the galaxy had to offer.

  The influence of the Temple of the Seven transcended the lines of government, subspecies, and philosophy.

  Their direct control was only over their own land and priests, but Callum was beginning to suspect that the true extent of their power may as well be absolute.