Vengeance

Darkness.

The entire chamber was shrouded in darkness. Long, irregular shadows spread out across heavy floor plates like the tendrils of some living thing. The low humming sounds of massive orbital engines coupled with the barely audible whirring of a dozen computer banks almost sounded like the blood and breath of some unseen creature, lying in wait to pounce on anyone foolish enough to venture into the shadows. What little light that managed to penetrate the gloom came from the massive bay windows that formed the far wall of the chamber - or more precisely, from the myriad of stars that lay beyond it. A million points of light, shining with an almost eerie glow in this dark, forsaken place.

The apeman was understandably nervous as he stepped into the control room from the relatively well-lit corridors outside. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as his simian survival instincts clawed at the edge of his consciousness, begging him to be somewhere else...anywhere else. As he crossed the floor towards the center of the room, he tried to shake the feeling that there were unseen somethings moving at the edge of his vision. After all, he was going to have enough trouble dealing with the far more dangerous creature that occupied the central pedestal.

From his position at the foot of the stairs, just within the narrow frame of light that spilled through the still-open doorway, he could barely make out the humanoid figure seated in the single chair atop the pedestal, which towered nearly a dozen feet above the rest of the floor. Apparently, his master did not wish to be disturbed, as the overhead lamps that usually provided light for the control consoles had been shut off. Other than a faint pumping noise coming from one of the nearby consoles, there was no sound from above; the figure seemed lost in thought.

Nervously, the apeman cleared his throat and began to speak.

“Sir?”

No response.

Taking a deep breath, the apeman mustered his courage and spoke again, a slight tremor in his voice.

“Master? You, ah...you sent for me?”

After what seemed like an eternity, the figure spoke. The apeman had conversed with his master countless times, yet he was still chilled by the deep, hollow tones of the partially synthesized voice.

“It’s time.”

“Time, sir? You mean, the plan?”

Almost immediately, the apeman caught his mistake. Of course it was the plan; it was the only thing his master had spoken of for months. He reflexively cringed, expecting the flash of pain that usually accompanied such a lapse in judgement, but it never came. Instead, the figure continued to sit in silence. Apparently, his master was in an unusually good mood.

Once again, the apeman haltingly broke the silence.

“Y-yes, the plan...we’re, ah, we’re ready for execution, Master. We can leave anytime you wish.”

After a pause of several seconds (which seemed more like an eternity), the figure spoke again.

“You’ve located him, then.”

“Yes, sir. Our agents have confirmed him as having been reassigned to one of Xenon’s orbital stations.”

The apeman could almost feel his master tense with anger as he mentioned that name. He wisely decided not to speak further.

“Xenon...”

Had the lights not been turned off, the figure might have been seen to clench a bloated fist.

“Those ignorant plebeians...they did this to me. They stole my creation and exiled me from my own homeworld. But now...now they will pay...”

A faint sound...one that could be likened to the gnashing of teeth.

“...HE will pay...”

The apeman wisely waited for his master to regain his composure before continuing.

“We’ve prepped the stolen shuttlecraft for departure. We can leave as soon as we have the required security clearance codes to approach Xe—uh, the planet. The crew in the shuttle bay should be sending the information to you now.”

He watched as his master slowly swiveled in his chair to face the consoles. With a few keystrokes, a lengthy report appeared on a nearby screen, its sickly green glow adding to the eerie atmosphere of the room.

The figure studied the screen intently, then began typing with a quickness that seemed out of place for the bulky silhouette. Strings of numbers filled the screen; incomprehensible gibberish to anyone else, but a wealth of information for those who knew how to read it. With a final keystroke, the figure leaned back in his chair, his posture unmistakably that of self-satisfaction.

“The codes have been transmitted into the shuttle’s computer. Tell your men to make ready. They will leave within the hour.”

Realizing from his master’s tone that the conversation was over, the apeman responded almost gratefully.

“Yes, Master. As you command.”

He quickly wheeled about and began the agonizingly long walk back towards the relative safety of the corridor. Just as he reached the threshold, however, he heard his master’s voice once more.

“You are aware of the consequences of failure...?”

The apeman gulped audibly. He lowered his head in deference.

“...Yes, Master.”

“Good.”

The apeman practically ran the remaining few feet to the door, which closed almost noiselessly behind him.

Free of further distraction, the figure once more turned to face the panorama of stars he’d been contemplating before the interruption. His eyes focused on one star in particular...a star orbited by a planet he’d once called home.

A star that, by all rights, should be dead and gone by now.

He’d seen the news broadcasts a few days after losing contact with the Deltaur. He’d watched the holonet reports on the impending renewal of Xenon's sun...a feat only possible by the use of his creation. These had been followed by stories on the destruction of the Sarien flagship and the recovery of the technical schematics for the “Star Generator” (pah!) by the Arcada’s sole surviving crewmember.

A janitor.

The word kept spinning endlessly through his mind, seeming to mock him. His foolproof plan to recover his creation, and to wreak his vengeance on Xenon, had been foiled by a mere janitor!

He could feel it again...the familiar anger, boiling up inside him. Sighing, he closed his eyes and leaned his eternally weary body back in his chair, struggling to calm his artificial pulse. An image began to form in his mind, the same image that had occupied his thoughts for over a year - a lanky man with dirty blond hair, clad in a janitor’s uniform, holding aloft what appeared to be a gold-plated mop. Surrounding him was a crowd of onlookers, cheering for the new 'Hero of Xenon'. The man was grinning like an idiot, holding his cheap trophy aloft as though it actually meant something. He seemed genuinely proud of what he’d inexplicably managed to pull off.

Slowly, the raging fury began to fade, giving way to different emotions. Dark thoughts swirled within a warped mind as a demented smile spread across a sunken, distorted face. Dozens of minions glanced up in fear as a maniacal cackle echoed through the corridors of the fortress.

He’d waited for so long, but soon he’d finally have his revenge. His former comrades in the scientific community, Xenon, the galaxy; all would suffer his wrath. But even as he savored the sweet taste of vengeance, there was one thought that overshadowed all others.

Three words...

Three words that filled his heart with hatred long after it had stopped beating. Three words that consumed his blackened soul.



WILCO


MUST


PAY.