Water Harvest – Synopsis

Though once the wellspring of ravaging warlords, the Great Houses of Kast’ar have grown complacent. The ruling powers are lulled secure by technological adaptation to ecological crises—patches, not solutions. Efforts to constrain the pillaging of natural resource fall short; the viability of the planet’s biosphere remains at grave risk. Moisture is plundered by Harvest orbiters—over time, the planet is drying.

Now they’re caught unawares when a lunar enclave launches an invasion to wrest control of the Harvest. House Alar, the greatest of the planet’s bloodline Keeps, falls before the predatory warlord. The invader’s technology is superior and they’re aided by the Guild—wizard-like practitioners whose hallucinogen-induced evocations bend the norms of nature to their will.

It falls to Cairn, Legion pilot and displaced heir to Alar, to persuade the House Alliance to intercede. His father and his true love are taken hostage, and a battered Cairn is dispatched to carry the vile overlord’s edict. With few resources at hand, he and boisterous comrade Dirc Cutter are thrust into a strangely changing world, where little is what it seems and coalitions change on the breeze.

The Alliance falters, and Cairn learns how little he truly knows of his homeworld.

Prologue

Kronon’s voice cracked the brittle stillness.

“What you would ask of us, then, My Lord… is a mass genocide.”

Lord Kal sa’n Alar, Zemplar of the House Alliance, stood glaring out the window, his back to the gathering. Kronon, Second of the Council, stood high center. The Council Advisors sat in silence, the Zemplar’s grim expression reflected in the sweeping pane of glass.

The Zemplar stiffened and a secret smile played at Kronon’s lips as he allowed his gaze to wander the scrub outside the chamber. Scattered clusters of trees, stunted and misshapen, crouched in a grimy shroud of haze. Two moons festered dirty-grey on the horizon, their dull auras fading across the murky sky.

Kal turned to face the assembly and his gaze came to rest on Quor Kronon—a fleeting darkness, near indiscernible, crossed his face.

Kronon didn’t miss it.

“Council… Advisors…” Kal drew the words long, his voice ringing cold off the stone walls. “The time for vacillation is long past. A consensus must be reached, and we must take decisive action.” He smiled thinly and nodded grudging acknowledgment toward Kronon. “Though the Quor exaggerates his point, there is some merit to his warning, if not to his purpose.”

Kronon leaned forward, combing fingers through a scraggly beard, his expression at once fiery and grim. Kal looked back to the Council.

“We have no choice, gathered Advisors, but to come to terms with hard reality. Severe casualties are inevitable.” He swept the gathering with his hard stare. “Quor Kronon advises that we do nothing but decree more stringent restrictions. Surely you realize? What might we expect should the Council merely advise the lunar colonies that, from this day forward, all harvest is forbidden?”

The Zemplar began to pace. “Some of the lunar collectives are little more than loosely-bound gangs. Misfits—pirates, even—those who follow no code of ethic. Many have developed an exceptional talent for misappropriating technology and resource to suit their purpose—there is no question that the harvest has long exceeded all quota. Agreed?” He paused to scan the bank of bobbing heads, and he nodded sadly. “The truth of it is; the colonies’ need for water looms as desperate as does our need to deny them. One faction must fail—I would sacrifice the colonies to spare the home world.”

Kronon squinted, watching the Council stir. This was the crux of it—whatever decision was made, some harsh consequence would ensue. Kal continued his paced argument, the hollow thud of his heels echoing in the tense silence.

“Know this, Advisors—once apprised of our intentions the colonists would scatter like leaves on the wind, their harvest fleets secreted away beyond our grasp. The vessels would be fitted with armor and armament, and they would become the dire enemy that we have not the time, nor the resource, to endure. I see no option but to destroy as much of the fleet as we’re able—and with no warning.”

Kronon swiveled to watch short, bulbous Pakat come to his feet.

“But what of the recent findings, My Lord? Do they not suggest a plausible alternative?”

Kal clicked his tongue. “We have read the studies, Pakat—we know what this theoretical purification procedure would entail. Do you truly believe that a process so extreme in nature might prove viable?” He stared blankly at the squat advisor. “It’s but another denial of reality, Pakat—I see nothing but a phaery veil of fantasy.”

“Now see here!” Pakat spluttered. “We are well beyond the theoretical stage! We’ve conducted innumerable simulations, and we’ve performed the Rejen procedure in a controlled environment.”

“Your controlled environment is but an artificial contrivance maintained inside a synthesized force field. A fraction of a fraction in size. How comparable to the full planet and its biosphere might that be?”

“We can hardly conduct the procedure in planetary proportion before we’ve proven it on a lesser scale,” Pakat replied stiffly. “That is scientific procedure.”

“And that is all well and good. But we haven’t the time for your group of learned men to ramp up their science project.” Kal’s tone took a steeled edge. “The blight that has wound its coil around Kast’ar must be loosened. We have attempted genetic and biological attacks on the microbe, but it has proven capable of sufficient mutation to survive our best efforts. It recovers, ever more resistant. Our only hope is to reverse, or to at least control, the environmental change that instigates its spread. We know that a drying atmosphere, resulting from a continuous harvest, contributes to the microbe’s ability to propagate.”

Pakat opened his mouth, and Kal raised both hands, palms outward.

“Enough. As Zemplar of the Council, I call for a binding vote.”

Bloody mothers! Kronon smacked both palms against the railing, his long mane swirling as he shook his head in mute fury.

Kal stepped back to address the full gathering. “On the morrow, at first light of day, the Advisors will meet here to cast lots. Converse amongst yourselves now. Argue your points, decide your votes. I will take my leave. You have heard my argument—my vote is long decided should it be needed to break a deadlock.”

Kal departed and Kronon swiveled in his chair, his narrowed eyes scanning the assembly.

Which way would the vote go tomorrow?

He could not say. Kal wielded considerable influence—some would follow just because he was Zemplar, others because he was Elder of House Alar. Kronon exhaled a deep breath, his eyes fixed unseeing on the dais. In truth, he had separate issues with regard to the colonies. If the Zemplar prevailed, he was certain that his life’s work would be finished. Kronon had little doubt that the fledgling Guild, situated on Suaron, would be quashed. It would be trampled over incidentally, even—like a beetle under a hiker’s boot. The Suaron settlements were, after all, the most developed of the lunar depots; they would surely be a primary target in a military purge of the Harvest fleet.
And that would rob Kronon of all he had labored so long to achieve.
That would simply not do…

With his robes draped loosely, Kronon's hand beneath was unseen as he probed a pocket within. He drew forth a small emitter, turning it in his fingers, seeking the recessed trigger. His finger idly circled the button as he sat frowning some moments, and then a slight smile crossed his face.

With the release of a breath unknowingly held long, Kronon pressed the button.

He sat long minutes, silent, introspective, and then his communicator buzzed. With a puzzled expression he drew it out and held it to his ear, and his eyes went very wide.

* * *

Guron’s eyes darted to his receiver—a faint light flashed there, its silent green throb vivid in the dark. He cursed silently and stifled a grunt as he pushed himself up from his squat position—he’d crouched motionless too long in the chill shadows. He shook looseness into his limbs as he crept forward to peer round the corner of the alcove. A string of bulbs spaced widely down the center of the corridor cast a spotted pattern, and Guron squinted down the fading trail of light. In short time he became aware of faint footsteps echoing up the dim hallway.

Kal’s head was bent forward as he approached, his brow furrowed. As he drew nearer Guron could see the Zemplar’s lips moving silently, and he smiled to himself.

Deep in personal discourse? That is good...

The hollow thud of Kal’s heels carried past the spot where he crouched hidden, and Guron silently began to move in the Zemplar’s wake, shielded from view by the thick columns lining the shadowy corridor.

At that moment short, rotund Zalar, prime scientist on the Rejen project, rounded the corner in front of the Zemplar. Zalar bustled purposefully forward, his billowing white coat flapping wide with each hurried step and a wild briar patch of reddish-brown hair waving foolishly atop his head. The scientist carried a large green folder.

“Lord Kal! I must speak with you!” Zalar positively beamed. “We’ve recorded a very significant success today—a major breakthrough!” Zalar stopped a few paces away from Kal, his expression of exuberance fading to puzzlement. “Zemplar? You are not attending the Council? I must present my findings to the gathered Advisors.”

Guron was taken aback at the appearance of Zalar; he wiped a sheen of cold sweat from his forehead. Could this be a chance foul–up? He would have expected another of his allegiance, Kronon’s deep-cover Security Guard, to be his foil on this blind-operations action. Certainly not the pompous and bungling Zalar. Unsure of himself, Guron crept closer.

“The Council is formally adjourned for the evening, Zalar.” Kal’s voice sounded barely tolerant. “Some of the Advisors have likely departed by now. What is it that you wish to present?”

“I must present to the entire council, My Lord.” Zalar spoke in a wary tone and Guron nodded to himself—it was known well that the Zemplar was no ally of the scientist’s project.

“Ahh, Zalar. I suspect you are exaggerating your claim? I’ll not reconvene the Council without good cause.”

From the shadows Guron watched the Zemplar straighten to his full height; he spoke in an officious tone. “I should advise you, Zalar, that a vote will take place at first light. It’s my intent that our decision will mark the end of your project.”

Zalar’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped a full span. “M… My Lord!” he spluttered. “No! What I say is true! I must present to the Council! Look! I will show you a summary!” Zalar motioned frantically for Kal to join him under the modest light of a hanging bulb.

This is it! Guron was suddenly sure. There was to be a diversion to allow me to close unnoticed.Even inept Zalar is capable of diversion.

Zalar began to scrabble with his paperwork while Kal, his back to Guron, bent forward to look on. Guron surged forward from his spot in the dark shadows. As he closed swiftly, silently, Zalar chanced to glance up. Sudden remembrance flashed in Zalar’s eyes, and he screamed “NO!” just as Guron pounced.

Kal started to turn and Guron slammed the injector hard against his neck and fired. Kal stiffened but caught Guron’s right arm in both hands. Guron stifled a cry of pain as the larger man sank to his knees, his fingers tightening like bands of steel. Guron was pulled down, and his mind reeled.

How can this be?No man can withstand such a toxin!

Kal’s grip forced Guron to his knees, hunched over, his right arm held to the floor. Guron scrabbled desperately at his right side with his free hand, snatching loose the darkblade sheathed there, and in an off-balance lunge he swung the blade in an arc toward Kal’s neck. Zalar, who had been standing motionless with a horrified expression, chose just that moment to intercede. The scientist darted in, shouting “It’s OFF! I—” but his words choked off as the misdirected blade sank deep into his belly. Guron spat out a curse as Zalar peered down at the protruding weapon, his eyes wide in astonishment.

With arms flailing to either side, Zalar screeched and fell backwards as Guron wrenched the blade free. Kal held Guron’s right arm pinned to the floor at an odd angle—there was a distinct snap as the bone finally yielded. Guron screamed and thrust his darkblade forward.

Face to face on their knees, his plunging blade just inches from the Zemplar’s chest, Guron saw the briefest glimmer of acceptance in Kal’s eyes, and the Zemplar’s head snapped forward like a steam-driven piston. As the blade took Kal below the breast bone, Guron’s face burst in a spray of blood and his vision exploded in a flash of dark colors. He collapsed limp to the stone floor, one of Kal’s hands still clamped tight around his ruined arm. Guron willed his fluttering eyes to see, and through blurred vision and blood he saw Kal tottering, head drooped forward, blood coursing around the slender dagger.

And then Guron felt the living strength of the Zemplar’s grip go limp as he toppled forward, pinning Guron beneath. Guron screamed as the hilt of the darkblade rammed into his thigh and the blade shoved on through. Struggling to draw breath, Guron raised his head to peer blearily over the lifeless bulk that pinned him. He blinked at the blade, gleaming dull red, protruding from the dead Lord’s back.

As Guron’s vision faded to black the corridor fell silent—save the faint hammering of boots approaching at a dead run and the soft blubbering of Zalar, who lay splayed against the wall in a spreading pool of his own blood.

“I... I was to tell you…” Zalar murmured softly as he sobbed. “It…. The plan… It was changed…. Rejen…………....”

* * *

The assassination of the Alliance Zemplar threw all plans for military intercession into disarray, and the Council was further fractionated when Quor Kronon was implicated and sent into exile on the blighted Flat of Galtar. Zalar recovered from his grievous wound and was allowed to live in confinement—from whence he worked to further develop the Rejen project.

Ultimately, and to the astonishment of almost all, Rejen was a resounding success.