The 13th Star: An Action Adventure Sci-F Apocalyptic Novel (24 page)

“So, has anything interesting happened today?” asked Thor.

“It’s been a nightmare…and it’s still not over. A huge nightmare.”

The officer didn’t turn his face away from the screens. “If you need the toilet, it’s to the right, with the orange door.
Tell me, is anything interesting at least happening out there?”

“No, nothing’s going on,” said Thor as he approached the officer’s back, “but something interesting will happen here soon.”

“What do you mean?” asked the officer. Before he could turn around, Thor shoved a Rodem-soaked handkerchief into his face.
The officer collapsed almost instantly. Thor moved away, trying not to inhale the Rodem. He knew it would spread quickly through
the air, but it would also dissipate within eight minutes. The strongest concentration was on the handkerchief, which Thor
left next to the officer. The man would sleep well. Maybe that’s the sleep he hoped for, thought Thor.

“What are you doing here?” asked a member of the royal guard dressed in holiday attire. Zoi, the alleged mechanic, stood before
him.

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you here.” Zoi ignored the guard’s tone. “I need help. You see this?” He patted his heavy bag. “Fireworks,”
he stated with great importance. “It’s all fireworks and I have to lay them throughout the Temple.”

“What?” The guard was surprised.

“Don’t ask! And I have to finish quickly, as I was told everything must be in place by ten thirty. And I so wanted to stay
home and watch the wedding, you know?” He winked at the guard. “There isn’t a celebration like this every day.”

The guard was not very patient. No one had mentioned this person coming to set up fireworks—who’d suddenly appeared in front
of him out of nowhere. “Well, show me your bag for a moment. Open it.”

“Certainly,” said Zoi, opening the bag.

“I don’t know what you were told exactly, but watch out not to disturb the snipers. And you should keep an eye on the time
and leave as soon as possible.”

“Don’t worry,” called Zoi as he entered quickly. “I’ll be done sooner than you think. I told you, I don’t want to miss anything.”

There was a galaxy-wide order on the day of the wedding to wear white clothing. Galactic residents knew no one would enforce
the order, but they were very happy to comply. So the entire galaxy, except the royal guard, wore white. Falconite trees had
been painted white, and vehicles were also painted white with a silver stripe. Huge speakers positioned in major intersections
played a recording of “The Celestial Creation,” a famous sonata that no musician except one could play properly—Matison, a
pianist with short arms. He was brought to the Temple specifically to play during the arrival and departure of the new couple.

Wedding planners knew that the participation of Short-Armed Matison would be grounds enough to watch the whole ceremony. Beyond
the high esteem for his extraordinary talent, his appearance was particularly intriguing. Indeed, a large crowd waited for
the camera to focus on Short-Armed Matison, if only to measure the distance between his shoulders and his knuckles. No one
understood how the man played with so prominent a lack of proportion in his limbs. Still, no one could argue about the quality
of his playing. Some defined it as divine.

Dozens of prisoners were pardoned on the morning of the wedding, David among them. According to Coldor’s expressed order,
all wore white festive clothing brought especially for them.

A special suit was prepared for David with a long, particularly elegant cloak, since Tula had managed to convince Coldor to
bring David to the center of the Temple. “The person who married my parents will marry Coldor’s son,” she demanded decisively.

Coldor didn’t understand why she insisted on the crazy old man, but he wanted to avoid any unnecessary quarrels, especially
now. He confirmed David’s pardon and had no choice but to approve his role in the ceremony.

The Temple shone with such bright white light—eighty times stronger than normal daylight—that it could be seen from other
planets. Tula felt heavy-eyed due to the bright light, but said nothing. In general, once David’s attendance at the ceremony
had
been approved, she felt a sense of joy mixed with discomfort, but she couldn’t identify the reason and convinced herself it
was simply pre-wedding tension.

“The audience is asked to stand up,” the announcer said. Heavy silence descended on the galaxy.

“The audience is asked to welcome the great commander,” the announcer said. The crowd bowed and then straightened. Tula and
Bergin entered with measured steps. Tula felt the hand holding Bergin’s was damp, but she didn’t know which of them was sweating
more. They sat near the enormous canopy. David sat at the corner of the canopy, alongside three other religious leaders who’d
been selected in advance. According to the plan, the royal couple would slowly make their way past
transparent, flat, cloud-like skiffs
and thus reach the canopy.

Short-Armed Matison began to play his song, “Eighth.” The tune contained the sounds of distant bells, reminding all the listeners
of his father’s home. Addictive nostalgia enwrapped the galaxy.

Only Short-Armed Matison didn’t continue playing, as five figures dressed in combat gear suddenly approached. Floating and
permanent cameras captured their sure walk toward the canopy area. The audience’s breath was swept away, not realizing that
the entrance was a surprise for everyone, including the event organizers.

The floating cameras approached and caught the figures more clearly. Viewers couldn’t yet determine who they were, but it
was clear that each carried a Roll in one hand and a Jorash in the other.

Unseen by the viewers, the snipers froze. They weren’t sure if the entry of the five was planned and didn’t know exactly what
to do.

Coldor stopped in his tracks and all the blood seemed to drain from his body.

Bar trembled uncontrollably.

The five approached the priests’ seats. Rettoul’s gaze met his father’s and they nodded at each another as a scream pierced
the air. “Eliminate them!”

It was the terrified voice of Coldor, but the guards and snipers weren’t quick enough. Rettoul bowed slightly toward the crowd
and, with a swift motion accompanied by a smile, clicked a remote control.

The hall had been surrounded with explosives disguised as fireworks, separating those sitting on the stage from the audience.
Hundreds of guards and snipers were killed instantly when the charges were activated. Zoi had been careful to place a small
charge next to each manned position so no one would remain alive up on the wall.

Within the Temple, a few dozen guards came running threateningly toward the five, who gathered in a circle facing outward
and drew their Rolls simultaneously. Members of the royal guard ran toward them from every direction. The quintet stood firm.

“No!” Coldor shouted at the soldiers, recognizing the battle stance, but it was too late. They ran to their deaths. When the
soldiers came to within range, the five drew their Jorashes in unison. Each Jorash stung two soldiers, so ten soldiers died.

They widened the circle and Zoi moved to the center. The area became a kind of chopped meat plant with four lanes and one
crusher: each of the exterior four, in their own way, incapacitated one soldier at a time and threw him into the center of
the circle, where Zoi finished the job. Rettoul combined a punch with a slash from a Roll; Thor boxed entire rows, as if moving
his arms while swimming; Mattoui combined ground work with using his Roll to slit throats; and Berez ran toward a group of
20 soldiers and didn’t miss a single weak point, kicking, punching, and every blow kill's. It was a demonstration of the most
amazing fighting seen, each in their own field.

When the center emptied of still-living soldiers, Zoi stepped out and
kneed
the first one facing him in his testicles and slit his throat, then continued with his elbow into the face of another. Mattoui
combined low kicks to the hips and quick punches of any kind. Berez simply looked into the soldiers’ eyes and they fled for
their lives.

The Jorashes they held stung guards, who collapsed one after another on the grass outside the hall. None of the five, except
Zoi, moved from his starting point as the guards attacked them in droves and
the Jorashes stung
without stopping
. The remaining guards feared the same fate and retreated out of range.

There was nowhere to run. Coldor, Bar, Bergin and Tula, as well as the other dignitaries who’d been allowed to watch the wedding
ceremony close up, also froze. Rettoul looked at Coldor. Rettoul knew that all eyes were fixed on him, but it didn’t prevent
him from saying, “I don’t know about you, but I feel pretty bad wrecking an event, and even more so, a wedding.” His words
were somewhat dismissive, somewhat serious.

No one responded. Coldor barely swallowed. Suddenly there was a noise above the Temple. A silver Kaiser with a blue stripe
landed near the canopy. Rettoul didn’t move, his eyes fixed on Coldor. One could easily assume that they froze the moment
they gazed at each other. Mattoui, standing next to him, scrutinized the honor guard without looking away.

The door of the Kaiser opened, but no one got
out.

Coldor didn’t say a word. His face was expressionless, but fury was clear in his eyes.

Moses’ head peeked out. “Do you want to wait for dessert?” he called to Rettoul and smiled at them. “It’s not very pleasant
here now. Do you want to get on now or shall I come back later?”

Interesting, Zoi thought, how he can joke now. One direct shot and they’d all be lost.

“Wait,” Mattoui said. “I haven’t closed the account here.” He advanced on Bar and punched him in the stomach. Bar folded over
and collapsed. None of the guards
approached; they were even more scared. Mattoui bent over Bar and turned him on his back. Bar remained curled up in pain.

“I don’t plan to humiliate you any further,” he said to Bar, who could barely breathe from the pain, “but I don’t plan to
leave you alive.” He put his hand on Bar’s neck. The man squirmed for a moment and then was quiet as the Jorash did its job.

A murmur of panic passed through the huge crowd who watched what was happening. At that moment, it seemed that no one in the
galaxy breathed.

Coldor looked on, unable to collect his thoughts into taking a step. The guards didn’t move, and it looked as if no one would
stand by Coldor’s side. The entire galaxy watched Bar’s death and Coldor remained still, his gaze fixed on Rettoul, who seemed
more than anything to want him dead.

“How do we resolve this?” he asked Rettoul, attempting to conceal his feelings.

“There’s no other solution,” replied Rettoul. He walked up to Coldor, took hold of his face, and commanded him to kneel.

Coldor didn’t understand why and only bent slightly.

“What’s not clear? I told you to get down on your knees,” Rettoul demanded bluntly. Coldor obeyed silently. “You should leave
here now,” Rettoul said to Moses.

“But what about you?” Moses didn’t understand.

“I’m far less important than what’s on the Kaiser. Go out now to runway eighty-three.”

“Eighty-three?” Mattoui echoed, knowing it was the most distant runway in the galaxy.

“Eighty-three,” Rettoul repeated.

The Kaiser left the Temple, taking with it the four fighters, Moses, David, and Tula. She, at David’s request, had brought
the scrolls with her to the Temple and brought them onto the Kaiser. Tamar and the two children also sat in the Kaiser, looking
out the small windows until it was impossible to make out figures, only the intense light.

“And now it’s just the two of us,” said Rettoul to Coldor even your master run away. “I want you to see something before you
leave us.” He clicked the remote control in his hand.

Coldor
shrank
away
. He understood Rettoul had readied everything well before arriving. “What do you want, Rettoul? I can give you everything
you want.”

“You’ve got it wrong, great Rod Coldor. I don’t want anything from you, I don’t need anything from you, and, most importantly,
anything I really want, I have.”

Coldor swallowed with a grimace. “I will give you more.”

“It’s not up for negotiation, Coldor. I don’t need anything. You know,” he continued quietly and calmly, “I dreamed of this
moment for a long time, and I don’t need anything.” Rettoul pressed the third button on the remote control.