Star Trek Prometheus - in the Heart of Chaos
CONTENTS
Cover
Also available from Titan Books
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Appendix
About The Authors
Also By Bernd Perplies & Christian Humberg
IN THE HEART OF CHAOS
Also available from Titan Books
Star Trek Prometheus:
Fire With Fire
The Root of All Rage
IN THE HEART OF CHAOS
BERND PERPLIES CHRISTIAN HUMBERG
Translated by Helga Parmiter
This edition published by arrangement with Cross Cult in 2018
Based on Star Trek and Star Trek: The Next Generation created
by Gene Roddenberry, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine created by
Rick Berman & Michael Piller, Star Trek: Voyager created by
Rick Berman & Michael Piller & Jeri Taylor
TITAN BOOKS
Star Trek Prometheus: In the Heart of Chaos
Print edition ISBN: 9781785656538
E-book edition ISBN: 9781785656545
Published by Titan Books
A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd
144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP
First Titan edition: November 2018
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
™ & © 2018 CBS Studios Inc. STAR TREK and related marks and logos are trademarks of CBS Studios Inc. All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
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Without them, this trilogy wouldn’t exist…
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PROLOGUE
10,000 YEARS AGO
City of Hestaon, Iad
With the ardent passion of gods—their wrath easily provoked, their favor to be solicited anew time and again—the Ancient Reds looked down from the heavens above Hestaon onto the gathering of the Renao, their faithful worshippers.
Bharatrum, the Bringer of Doom, shone particularly brightly during this night. Radhiri felt chills running down her naked back, despite the oppressive heat that lingered in the city. Disaster was looming on the horizon when Bharatrum’s eye glowed fiery within the mists.
It’s good that we have gathered to make a sacrifice, the young woman thought. An offering will surely propitiate the gods. Only if they were appeased—her birth mother had taught her this canon when Radhiri was a little girl—would they spare the Renao from storms, white rot, and Giaku swarms.
Radhiri fixed her gaze on the broad, natural stone slab outside the Big Temple of Hestaon. Six high priests had gathered on the platform, all richly adorned in their robes. During rituals such as this, the priests wore the ceremonial masks that transformed them from ordinary mortals into avatars of the gods themselves: Bharatrum, as well as Acina, the Giver of Life, Coaraston, the Giant, and all the others. The priests walked as gods among the Renao, and their deeds, their words, and their bidding were binding.
The evening ceremony devoted to making sacrifices to the gods hadn’t started yet. The high priests stood silently in the background while four strikingly handsome Renao were busy at the front of the stone platform. Two young women were sweeping the floor with long wooden sticks that had fronds tied to their ends. A pair of men held small bowls with incense in their hands, swinging them from side to side. Their joint task was to clean the site for the ritual—the floor as well as the air.
Slightly envious, Radhiri watched the four young people going about their work. Cleaning the ritual site was one of the most honorable tasks, but she had never been assigned it, although she was one of the most beautiful girls in the city. She believed that one of the high priests, Jamous, had his lustful eye on her. But Mheron, Hestaon’s best sponge diver, had been courting her, and she had finally yielded. One year from now, when Radhiri reached maturity, they would become a couple. Even a mighty man like the High Priest of Coaraston wouldn’t change that. However, the young Renao woman had to admit that she found Jamous’s interest flattering, and the thought of being intimate with the man with the mask of the gods had provided her with two or three nights filled with frivolous dreams.
She felt a hand on her naked shoulder, startling her out of her reverie. When she turned her head she saw Mheron, who must have approached her from behind, and she felt a pang of conscience at her thoughts of another man.
“Mheron,” she said, surprised. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to dive for glowing sponges?” He made a negative gesture. “We’ve given up on that. Yesterday’s hefty tide has ripped most of the sponges off the rocks. There were hardly any left.” Mheron’s skin was dark red like that of most other men who worked outside all day. His broad chest and shoulders bore witness to the fact that he swam a lot in the nearby ocean. His black hair had been close-cropped, as was traditional among the sponge divers, and it was hardly more than a dark shadow on his scalp.
Looking at Radhiri, his golden eyes glowed brightly. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
The smile he gave her made her heart beat faster. “It’s also wonderful to see you.” Radhiri raised her hand, stroking his bare chest with two fingers. She forgot about Jamous and his mask of the gods. She wanted to spend the next few days with this man.
A gong sounded, opening the ceremony. The four chosen with their fronds and incense bowls withdrew humbly.
Muahadha, the High Priest of Bharatrum, stepped forward, raising her hands imploringly. The six high priests took turns to preside over these ceremonies, and today, it was hers.
“People of Hestaon,” she began, “we have gathered here today to beg for mercy. The Six Brothers glow wrathful at the red firmament. We have sinned, oh yes, all of us. Each and every one of you knows your guilt. And even if you did not share your guilt with the community, the gods know your misdoings. Think about it!”
She paused briefly, to give those pre
sent the opportunity to remember all the things that they had done wrong during the past four ninedays since the last ceremony. Radhiri recalled her own sins. To her mind, they were negligible. She had lied to her creators a few times in order to meet Mheron. She had wished the white rot on one of her friends because she hadn’t keep one of her secrets. And she had dreamed about Jamous one night with open eyes because Mheron had stood her up in their hideout by the cliffs. All those couldn’t possibly infuriate the gods, but who knew how the gods reached their judgment?
The gong sounded again, announcing the next part of the ceremony.
“In order to appease the gods,” Muahadha continued, “we have to make a sacrifice to them. And which sacrifice could be greater than that of our own lives? The highest honor is bestowed upon those who give themselves to the gods for the good of the community, who carry our sins upon their shoulders, offering their body, mind, and their very existence to the Six in exchange for those sins. So I am calling upon the person among us who is without fear, and who will look the gods in their faces, submitting to them so they may forgive us for going astray.”
This was an ancient ritual that had been handed down from generation to generation, repeated every four ninedays. The call for a volunteer was usually rhetorical, as the sacrifice had been selected beforehand. Oftentimes they were elderly citizens of Hestaon who felt their vitality dwindling. They didn’t want to be a burden for their families, and in order to do the community one last service they would commit the ritual suicide. Sometimes, dishonored citizens would volunteer in an attempt to redeem themselves. There were also people who were disappointed in life in general, or those who tried to prove their worth to others with this selfless act. Convicted criminals tried to purify their souls, while escaping execution (if not death) at the same time. And if they couldn’t find any volunteers to sacrifice themselves, prisoners from other towns would be led onto the stone platform. Due to incessant festering quarrels, there was never a shortage of those. They tended to appear with a silly grin on their face, caused by intoxicating herbs, which lasted until they had transcended from life to death.
“I wonder who it is going to be this time?” Radhiri mumbled. She had watched the creators of her creators, her male creator’s sick brother, and a friend who had been eaten up by unrequited love all climb up to the sacrificial altar. Death didn’t scare her anymore. Still, whenever she attended the ceremony, she was always excited when they announced the sacrifice.
The man climbing up to the stone platform was obviously of an advanced age. His shoulder-length black hair showed several gray streaks, his face and his bare chest that had been painted with the ritual body paint were full of wrinkles, and he walked with a stoop. But his violet eyes glowed with determination as he stood in front of the priests, straightening up.
“I, Hamadh, son of Ouras, am stepping forward, wanting to go to the gods. I will take on all sins of the people, and I will beg the gods for their mercy for all those living. I am willingly giving my body, my mind, and my very existence.”
Those present, including Radhiri and Mheron, applauded him by hitting their right hand onto the left side of their chest. Some of them praised the old man verbally.
“Do you know him?” Radhiri asked. Personally, she’d never noticed Hamadh in Hestaon.
Mheron tilted his head. “My creator sometimes associated with him. He lives on the edge of the city, and he has been cultivating basuudh-tubers for years. Last winter his partner died. Since then, he has lost the will to live. I knew that sooner or later he would appear on that platform.”
“Hail to thee, Honorable,” Muahadha intoned. “Through your deeds you become a paragon for us all. Your sacrifice is our blessing, and your name will be engraved on the stone of Hestaon for all eternity.” After the ceremony’s conclusion, an acolyte would engrave the sacrifice’s name into the stone platform. More than two thousand names had been immortalized there already. They told the story of several generations.
“Do you choose the old or the new way of sacrifice?” one of the priests asked Hamadh. He was Acina’s avatar, and Radhiri didn’t know him. This was yet another rhetorical question, as all volunteers chose the chalice with the quick-acting poison of the rassaris plant. Death by blade was usually only expected from Hestaon’s enemies.
So a surprised murmur rose when the old farmer gave his reply. “I have always been a man of tradition. I choose the old way.”
The priest hesitated, obviously not expecting that response. “Are you sure?”
But Hamadh merely straightened himself, and suddenly he didn’t seem quite so fragile to Radhiri anymore. Undoubtedly they saw an old man standing there, but his spirit was unbroken, and he had the heart of a warrior. Which made his readiness to meet his death even more astounding. He must have loved his partner very much.
“I am,” said Hamadh.
“So be it.” The High Priest of Acina took a step back, turning towards one of his servants, who handed him an Acouak, a short double-edged blade with a penetrating tip and an extended hilt so it could be held with both hands. The priest handed this dagger to Muahadha, who walked into the middle of the platform where Hamadh waited.
Radhiri felt a chill going down her spine. Her respect for the old man grew. Strength and the willingness to endure pain was required if you wanted to sink an Acouak into your own heart. She doubted that she would dare to do so if she ever climbed onto that platform.
Clutching the blade with both hands, Hamadh turned it and pointed it towards himself. He looked up to the heavens. “Listen to me, Ancient Reds,” he shouted with a surprisingly booming voice. “I’m coming to join you—me, Hamadh, son of Ouras. I’m carrying the sins of the community of Hestaon, and in the name of all those present, I’m begging you for mercy. My life will be yours. May you grant me the kindness to be reunited with my partner.”
Muahadha also looked up, raising her hands into the air. “Listen to us, Ancient Reds. We’re making this sacrifice to appease you. Take Hamadh, son of Ouras, in, and acknowledge his selfless bravery. Honor be with you for all eternity.”
Radhiri and Mheron joined all the others by tilting their heads back and raising their hands. “Honor be with you for all eternity,” they repeated. Above their heads, red fires glowed in the night sky—the eyes of the gods that saw everything.
At first, Radhiri barely noticed it, but the longer she looked up to the sky, the more it seemed as if the red glow above them increased. Did the gods come to claim Hamadh? Did his sacrifice executed in the old way impress them so much that they would come and claim him personally?
The gong sounded one last time. Everyone looked back at the ritual site. Hamadh took a deep breath; all the required words had been said. Now, all that remained to do was the act of the sacrifice itself. He fell to his knees. Muahadha stood behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders like a kind mother would. The grip of his fingers was so tight that his knuckles were white.
And then he stabbed the Acouak deep into his heart. His face distorted in a grimace of pain but he still managed to tear the dagger out of the wound. Blood colored his torso red as he fell sideways, the dagger still in his lifeless hand.
Everyone present drummed against their chests, praising the gods with loud voices.
Suddenly, the red glow that Radhiri had noticed in the sky was below them, scarlet mist enveloping the entire site, encroaching on the houses and streets like fog at high sea. It was a confusing sight, both wonderful and daunting.
Several Renao began to scream and attack each other for no apparent reason! Radhiri was horror-stricken. Her eyes widened while she stared at the stone slab that was only a few steps in front of her. Hamadh suddenly scrambled back onto his feet. His chest was covered in blood but his wound seemed to have closed. With an insane flicker in his eye, he raised the Acouak in the air.
“You wanted to force me to commit suicide,” he shouted at the priests. “I should have died because of you, you false prophets. You will
pay for that!”
Radhiri wanted to observe this incredible scenario unfolding before her eyes but suddenly strong hands grabbed her by the shoulders, turning her around.
“You lewd woman!” Mheron bellowed at her. Saliva sprayed over her, while his yellow eyes glowed menacingly. “Did you really think that I didn’t know? Do you think I didn’t sense that you were lying with another man?”
“What?” Radhiri exclaimed, horrified. “What are you talking about?” She was seething. “ You are denying yourself to me. Did I not wait for you in the evenings while you were out, spending your hours with your friends?” A ludicrous thought struck her. “Or are you the dishonest one here? Isn’t it you who has a secret affair? That’s why you’re avoiding my bed!” Now that she had said it out loud, it suddenly all made sense.
“Don’t try to place your blame on me!” He shook her vigorously. “Somehow, I always knew that you wouldn’t be faithful to me, but I was blinded by love. But now I can see clearly, and I’m telling you, you deserve the same punishment as any woman that cheats on her companion.” He pushed Radhiri to the ground, reaching out for a club that was next to him on the floor.
Radhiri pulled a knife from her belt. For a brief moment she wondered why she was carrying a weapon, but then boiling rage washed over her. She leapt to her feet, emitting a deafening cry as she lunged towards Mheron. Enveloped in red mist, only one thought remained. Kill him, something screamed in her mind. I need to kill this wretched rapist!
One last time, she hesitated briefly, asking herself what, by the gods, was happening. But then she succumbed to the same violent frenzy that had taken hold of all Renao on the ritual site of Hestaon. The gods wanted blood? They would get blood!
1
NOVEMBER 25, 2385
U.S.S. Prometheus, in orbit around Iad Souhla system, Lembatta Cluster
“We must bombard this being from orbit! It is our only option!”