Eternal Horizon: The Chronicle of Vincent Saturn (Eternal Horizon: A Star Saga Book 1)

ETERNAL HORIZON: A STAR SAGA

THE CHRONICLE OF VINCENT SATURN

Copyright © 2008 by David “Roman” Shakhramanov

All Rights Reserved.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is purely coincidental.

Cover and interior art by David Shakhramanov

Printed in the United States of America

Copyright Registration# TXU001578974

ISBN:
978-0615914589

The Chronicle of Vincent Saturn

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

EPILOGUE

TERMINOLOGY

CAST

MACHINERY

TROOPS

MISC.

The Chronicle of Vincent Saturn

Planet Urtan is in a state of rebellion. Throwing a bloody coup, its natives wrested the planet from their overlords, the Order of Cosmos, a vassal state of the star-spanning Imperial Republic that’s in charge of more than forty planets in the Dahanburg constellations. Galadan Dox, the self-proclaimed King of Urtan and leader of the rebellion, has declared his planet’s secession from the Order and demands the Imperial government’s recognition of their independence. Following several attempts to achieve a diplomatic solution, Gaia Ferra, a prominent Imperial Senator, personally involved herself in this conflict and went missing after paying a visit to the rebel planet, but not before she managed to get the Galactic Council to hear Galadan’s plea, where the Urtan King hopes to find salvation.

Time is of the essence—the dreadful armies of the Order are gathering to crush the puny rebel force and restore their territories. As Galadan despairingly makes his way to face the Council without Gaia, he seeks the help of a man who can find her and help him with his uprising, a man whose name is told only in legends, a man by the name of Oryon Krynne…

PROLOGUE

Oryon’s footsteps echoed along the corridor as he quickly made his way to the surface. The walls of this cold passage were constructed of tarnished metal that had been neglected for thousands of years, rampant with rust and illegible markings clawed into it by whatever inhabitants this barren planet still sustained. Contraptions that stopped working centuries ago were stacked alongside the walls, covered in inches of dirt and dust. Some of the ceiling lights were still miraculously intact, dimly lighting the floor beneath his feet.

He was not as agile as he’d once been, for as he ran, his panting became heavier, and wave after wave of throbbing pain assailed his bones with every step.
Age
, he thought. It was finally catching up with him. There had been a time when he could’ve run through this passage fast enough to evade a sensory droid. But now even his light armor seemed heavy. His metal boots became a burden, affecting his pace, and his signature black vest which was practically weightless forced him to slump.

The eerie silence didn’t make it any easier. He’d rather hack his way through an entire army than to run with the knowledge of the dastardly enemy being out there, prowling in the tunnels and besetting his partner.

The quietness paved the way for random thought and some resolution. Finally, he knew what to do, how to end the madness that devastated the universe. But with that same vision, he foresaw the bitter twist of fate. They were ambushed. A shattered dream—decades of a grueling quest crumbling down before his eyes in an instant. If they could only get away…

Oryon came to a halt and took a deep breath. He could already see the daylight at the end of the tunnel. He was almost at the ship. He sighed and looked behind for any pursuers. It was clear, but he knew they were there, all around him, in hundreds, in thousands. They brought an entire legion after the two of them this time.
Fair enough
. Now, the dreariness of the tunnel and the twisted carvings on the wall seemed to be signs set in place to forewarn him that his end was imminent.

“So weak of you…” he muttered, brushing off his thoughts. He straightened, pushed the button on the device that was attached to his ear and called, “Duell?”

No response.

“Come in, Duell!”

Yet again, no answer.

“Where are you…” he whispered, glancing back at the surface exit. Suddenly, he felt a dark presence behind him. Oryon instinctively drew out his blaster, swiveled around, and dropped to one knee, aiming in the direction of his assailant.

“We have him,” a hoarse voice whispered as a figure stepped out from a side tunnel. He was clad from head to toe in gunmetal armor that was thoroughly engraved with intricate designs. A spiked helmet with a T-shaped visor topped his head, covering his face and extending below his jawline. His arms were clad in red leather gloves with metal knuckles. Hanging from his shoulder plates was a purple cape that trembled slightly in the chilly draft that wafted through the tunnel from the surface.

“Zeth,” Oryon pronounced the name resentfully as he got up and holstered his weapon. Seeing his old enemy was clear evidence
that he wasn’t going to make it off this planet alive. He’d come in close contacts with death many times, yet this time it was different. He knew by some presaging intuition that this was it. Nevertheless, his unmatched discipline forbade him from showing any signs of defeat. “I knew you were behind this…” he added with an appearance of a smile. “And I also see that you still conceal your repulsive face.”

“Fool,” his enemy growled, clenching a gloved fist. “Seems age hasn’t affected your bold and idiotic confidence, even at such
dire
moments as this.” He took a small step forward, slowly lowering his hand and pushing aside his cape, revealing the hilt of a large sword.

Continuing to stare at his armored enemy, Oryon calmly reached down to his own scabbard. He knew Zeth feared him; he could read his enemy well after decades of rivalry. It was the sort of fear that’s embedded in the brain long after a shameful defeat.

“I’ve been anticipating this day for a
long
time,” Zeth seethed, simultaneously pulling out his two-handed sword. The dazzling metal of the blade lit the hallway with its ghostly-blue tint. “You should’ve killed me when you had the chance!”

“How significant this reunion must be for you,” Oryon returned without losing his temper.

At that second, Zeth remembered what he hated most about Oryon: his composure. “You haven’t the slightest idea, my
old
friend.”

There was a moment of silence as the animosity boiled between the bitter rivals.

“You’re willing to challenge me?” Oryon asked.


I will have my vengeance!
” Zeth snarled, stretching out his sword arm.

Oryon pulled out his blade and stepped back. “Then come and get it!”

As he took stance, a horde of troops appeared behind Zeth, armed with enormous rifles. They positioned themselves and took aim at Oryon.


Leave us!
” Zeth yelled, slicing the air in an arc. He then turned to Oryon and added, “I shall settle this myself.”

The troops lowered their weapons and took several steps back as commanded.

Oryon looked down the tunnel. It was quickly filling with more soldiers—dozens, hundreds of brainlessly devoted youths, all eager to do the bidding of the sociopath before them. Although it was completely improbable, Oryon felt a scant thought as to whether some of these soldiers might have served under him at one time.
Old fool,
he then told himself, chuckling at that thought.
Anyone that was ever loyal to you has died a long time ago…
He suddenly recalled one of his grandson’s poems.
How did it go?
He couldn’t remember the exact words, but it was something about facing death and defying it. But this time, death was here to stay. And he was not afraid…

He threw a quick glance behind. The ship was so close… he could make it… he could run away. But he didn’t come to this planet alone…

“Where’s Duell, Zeth?” he asked.

Zeth smiled beneath his helmet.
Oryon’s worried after all
. That incessant caring for others was his weakness. Zeth always said it would lead to his downfall.
Such irony.

“He’s alive,” Zeth replied and stepped forth, “for now. But I can’t guarantee the same outcome for you, my old friend. As you must certainly know, treason is punishable by death.”

“So is genocide.”

“Enough banter!” Zeth took another step. “Your pitiful attempts of rebellion have come to an end. It is over, traitor!”

“On the contrary, it has just begun. For now I know the truth about
his
power. Now I know what must be done…”

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