Lord Darkoth

Lord Darkoth was not amused.

"They got away?" he fumed, lifting one black-gauntleted fist in the air to emphasise his fury. His permanently-obscured face made emoting difficult, necessitating a great deal of gesturing when he wished to convey strong emotions to his lackeys. This usually had the desired effect; the fist in the air was a sure sign that he had moved directly from calm to enraged and that his inferiors should adjust their behaviour accordingly.  Occasionally, however, his exaggerated sign language could prompt amusement, especially in the case of new recruits to the Galactic Alliance. The gigglers never got the chance to become old recruits.

"I'm.... I'm sorry my lord," the unfortunate messenger stammered, his composure breaking down. "Our scouts tracked them as far as the edge of the Wisteri system, but they managed to get away. We are still searching..."

"They were within our grasp," Darkoth roared, his synthetic tones conveying a universe of wrath. "And yet you allowed them to escape, you bungling fool! How has this happened?"

"We can still pick up the trail," his lieutenant, Jarood said. "It might yet be possible..."

"I will take control of the pursuit myself," Darkoth interrupted. "And you, Commander, are relieved of duty."

Before the unfortunate Jarood could react, Darkoth's right hand shot towards his throat, detaching itself from his lord's wrist and propelling itself with miniature engines. Jarood was lifted off his feet as the black-gloved hand closed around his neck and began to squeeze.

"Gyuk..nghuer!" the Commander cried as he left the floor, his master's dismembered member choking the life out of him. Just before his vision faded to black, Jarood had time to regret not finishing his sandwich and cup of tea before Darkoth's summons.

As the body of the Commander dropped to the floor, finally released in death from Darkoth's service, the Scourge of the Galaxy twisted his hand back into place with a loud snap. This done, he whirled upon Jarood's next-in-command, General Zoompf.

"Where were we?" he asked, his synthesised tones sending a shiver down Zoompf's spine. "I believe, Commander, that you have a group of dangerous terrorists to apprehend."

The general had hoped that this day would never come.

Sooner or later everyone serving in the Galactic Alliance gets promoted to death, he thought, recalling the words of his predecessor, the same man whose body was now being dragged away by a pair of growth-stunted maintenance clones.

"Right away my Lord," he croaked.

-

'How,' Lord Dag'rath asked, his tone level. 'Did they get away?'

The commander of the fleet stood before his superior, quaking visibly despite his training. There were only two things he feared: failing in his job and being caught.

'The rebels blasted their way to freedom, my lord,' he answered, perspiration running down his face despite the chill breeze wafting down from the ventilators. Dag'rath liked it cold. He had experimented with making his throne room excessively hot and excessively cold to induce discomfort in his subordinates. It didn't affect him either way; his environment suit had its own internal temperature, but he enjoyed watching underlings squirm.

'They were outnumbered,' he said, the voice modifier in his mask betraying no emotion. This too helped to keep his men from ever relaxing in his presence. 'And your last report told me that the situation was "contained". How then did this small group of mostly civilians get away from you?'

'Their guns were set to kill,' Commander Lief replied. 'While ours were set to stun, on your instructions.'

-

‘Why are you so hell-bent on capturing this group of rebels anyway?’ Janeena asked as she massaged her husband’s feet. ‘What do they have that’s so important?’

Having finished intimidating his lackeys into renewed efforts to carry out his bidding, the Slayer of Worlds had retired to his private quarters. They were located in the heart of Darkoth’s flying fortress, the dreaded Spikeweasel of Fnarb, a very handy mobile home that also doubled as a planet-smashing super-weapon. Darkoth’s apartment was entirely decorated in black - black walls, black floor, black ceiling and black furnishings, which looked impressive but made it very difficult to find your way around the place without walking into things. Darkoth had once lost the door and had to radio for help in order to leave his quarters, although he immediately executed the lackey who had rescued him in order to preserve his dignity and reputation. On another occasion Darkoth had sat down on his privy to relieve himself only to discover that he had soiled his favourite comfy chair.

‘They have the location of the Fasthold of Flistflorb,’ Darkoth replied. ‘Once I have entered that edifice, all the secrets of the universe will be mine. Mine!’

‘And what secrets would those be?’ Janeena asked.

‘The secrets of the universe,’ Darkoth answered. ‘Did I not just say that?’

‘You really don’t know what’s inside that building do you?’ Janeena asked. ‘We’ve talked about this a hundred times, darling, and you’ve never been specific about what is so important about that silly building that you have to keep depopulating planets and crushing rebellions and building super-weapons in your pursuit of it. I’m beginning to wonder if the only reason you’re so obsessed with it is because you can’t have it.’

‘How dare you?’ Darkoth roared, outraged but not so much so that he rose from his bed or withdrew his feet from Janeena’s caressing hands. ‘I could… should… kill you for that.’

Janeela sensed that she had gone a step too far.

‘Have I told you what happened to the last wife I had who spoke to me so disrespectfully?’ Darkoth asked.

‘Many times,’ Janeela answered, sighing heavily. She was beginning to wonder, not for the first time, what she had ever seen in this strange and curiously tedious man that had induced her to agree to his marriage proposal which had been so clumsily delivered to her on the Moon of Awn. She had been sunning herself, minding her own business, and this imposing figure, surrounded by a crowd of faceless troopers, had loomed over her and told her in no uncertain terms that he considered her to be a “fine specimen” and “suitable” to be his consort. Most girls would have called for hotel security, but Janeela, in truth, had just felt a bit sorry for him.

Also, if truth be told, she had seen union with Darkoth as a way to take a step up in life. She was from a nowhere planet and a nobody family and her mother had always told her to avoid making the same mistake she had and marry a man with a proper career. Janeela’s father would have been heartbroken to hear his wife being so dismissive of his line of work, but inventing was not working out for him.

And now, here she was. She had been waiting for Darkoth to finish his day at the office and return home so she could ask him the question that had been on her mind, but as usual all Darkoth wanted to do was talk about his problems. And there never seemed to be a solution to this galactic supervillain’s problems, no matter how many constructive suggestions she made.

When can we move out of here? Was what she wanted to ask him. When can we leave this completely black environment of yours and move somewhere with some windows? Somewhere with some daylight. Some birdsong and flowers? This was no place for a lady and he surely must have been able to see that. Occasionally, when Darkoth was in one of his better moods, he could be persuaded to turn the lights on, but the lights were all red and floor-mounted and made the environment even more depressing.

Even a bit of redecorating would make a difference.

‘One day,’ Darkoth declared. ‘One day it will all be mine!’

‘Of course it will,’ Janeela said, trying to sound like she meant it and smiling sweetly at her husband. ‘You’ll get there Darling. Those rebels will be in your grasp before the week’s out and you’ll be the most powerful man in the universe and we’ll all tremble in fear at the sound of your name. Why don’t you get an early night?’

‘That sounds… agreeable,’ Darkoth agreed. ‘I’ve had too many late ones this week. This chase is wearing me out, it really is.’

There was an awkward half hour during which both Darkoth and his wife tried to find their bed. Eventually they gave up and decided to do their best with the dining table. This was bad enough in itself, but Darkoth’s habit of hogging the tablecloth (the closest thing to a duvet available to them) induced Janeela to give up on the table and retire to the couch.

I wish he would at least take his helmet off, she thought as she twisted and turned on the couch, which was as severe and angular and ungiving as her husband. I’m sure it would do wonders for our sex life.

Chapter 2

‘I KNOW!’ Lord Darkoth announced over breakfast. The outburst was so sudden that Janeela nearly choked on her Jewelfruit smoothie.

‘I know,’ the Slayer of Worlds repeated, withdrawing the feeding tube from his helmet and spilling pureed toast, eggs and coffee all down his front. ‘I will consult the Warlock Grimloth of Angmong. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner.’

‘Who’s the Warlock Grimthing of thingy?’ Janeela asked, having never heard of the fellow but suspecting from the sound of his name that he wasn’t nice. Most of Darkoth’s associates were anything but.

‘He is a seer,’ Darkoth explained. ‘A great mystic and a Wielder of the Unseen. The mightiest of his order, a man to be feared.’

‘If it’s unseen, how do you know he’s wielding it?’ Janeela asked. She thought this might be a silly question, but couldn’t help herself; it was early, she had slept badly, and she was in less of a yes-woman temperament than usual.

‘The Unseen is the very power that binds our universe together,’ Darkoth told her, wiping his breakfast off his front as best he could with the hem of his cape. ‘You do not see it, you see what it does. Grimloth devoted his entire life to mastering it, and, it is rumoured, made great sacrifices too. His family. His loved ones. His very soul.’

‘Sounds like a lonely chap,’ Janeela said. ‘So where does he live?’

‘In his fortress at the edge of the Dreaming,’ Darkoth answered. ‘That is where we will go. He will tell us where the rebels are and how we can extract the location of the Fasthold.’

‘Couldn’t he just… tell you where the Fasthold is?’ Janeela asked.

‘Do not be foolish!’ Darkoth snapped, his helmet amplifying the sound into a hideous thundercrack. ‘If such information were his, do you think I would not have known?’