Marcellus - Goodreads
Marcellus: The Mantle Alex James Copyright 2015 Alex James (Prologue + First Chapter)
Prologue Marcellus gazed out at the twinkling stars. Beams of white light flashed back at him somnolently. He had his arms folded. The straps of his black suit, and the silver pieces of armour attached to it, rustled and tightened in anticipation. The air around him in his private chamber was still. He could hear a very faint whistling noise, but he could not accurately pinpoint its source. Perhaps it was the vacuum of space, permeating through the viewport. It was time for the Tekromuns to find their salvation. Too long had they waited in the shadows of this Marcellan warship, biding their time, and performing routine duties. The voyage from the ruined remnants of the Nebulou Galaxy had been arduous, if only because it drained the patience and integrity of the troop discipline. Marcellus stretched his senses further. He could hear the very faint sound of the engine propulsion systems. It was reassuring to know that there was such unity and discipline on board the warship, even if for just a moment. Marcellus swiftly turned his head to look behind him, where he felt a faint flicker of consciousness sharply intersect the invisible air. ‘Come in!’ his deep voice boomed. A second later one of his troop pressed the admission button, which channelled through to light up a bright lime-green indicator inside Marcellus’ chamber. The indicator flashed, too brightly for Marcellus’ acute senses. The door swooshed open, and a typical Tekromun soldier walked in with a tight controlled gait embodied by thickly plated dark-green armour, which encouraged rigidity. The Tekromun had his arm up in a salute. Marcellus nodded to permit the Tekromun access. Marcellus could see so much, beyond the purely physical. But he instead focused on the purple, splotched, thick leathery face of the soldier; an appearance typical of the Tekromun race. It was Martesui. Names were less important to Marcellus than the fine details of souls. However, Martesui was a name that had stuck with Marcellus recently. Physical appearances were very deceiving in a universe where there was every kind of race imaginable. But Martesui was not an ordinary Tekromun soldier, of this Marcellus was becoming convinced of. Decades ago, at least it seemed, Marcellus and the last Marcellans boarded their stealth warship and escaped from the implosion of the Nebulou Galaxy. Marcellus had the image in his memory of his one-hundred thousand Tekromuns racing up the boarding ramp in organised files. That
was when Marcellus had perceived a glitch, or alteration, regarding one of his troops. And that glitch was Martesui, Marcellus was certain. ‘Commander, I have come to report a series of anomalies surrounding the ship. There are red nebulous gases and clouds converging to the rear. They have unknown properties…’ ‘They are nothing to worry about. We are in unexplored territory. The universe is a big place, and we have to expect that our technologies will be unable to understand all of it. There are anomalies, clouds, and elements that we may never have come across, or will ever again come across. Where are we? The truth is that we are nowhere. I do not know how large the universe is. We could be lost in the bowels of the universe forever; but that is the risk we all took. That is the risk we had to take!’ Martesui bowed his helmeted head in recognition. He wasn’t wearing a weapon, Marcellus noticed. The incompetence was not something Marcellus had seen before in Martesui. The twitches and the physical discomfort were commonly seen on the alien. He always did appear as if he wore the skin of a body he wasn’t comfortable in. ‘Where is your weapon? And why are there brown sludge marks on the back of your legs? Have you been down in the engineering levels?’ Marcellus imperiously demanded. Martesui looked lost for words, and very guilty. Marcellus could feel the aura of frustration and shame coming from Martesui. ‘You are dismissed’ Marcellus declared. The door slid closed, and Marcellus was left alone again. Nothing is as it seems!
Chapter One – Deception Marcellus was in his private chambers. He was doubled over, coughing and spluttering. His back arched, which made his black cape swing wildly. Fluid painted the inside of his boxy silver helmet. He choked, and reared his head up. His hands clenched into fists, and he felt feverish. This was the first time he had been ill … for a long time. Marcellus was up again. He adjusted his cape, programmed his internal computer in his helmet to carry out a clean-up, and then strode out of his chamber. He bounded through the straight dimly lit corridors, past entrances and exits on both sides, all the way to the Communications Centre. The sound of his black boots was heavy on the hard floor. Some of the lights flickered. He would get somebody to fix them. The appearance of problems was a relief because it gave the troop something to do, something to focus on. Marcellus emerged, after traversing through a network of straight corridors, to the Communications Centre. Marcellans were hard at work at communication consoles, which were arranged in the pattern of an inner circle and an outer circle. The inner circle was for highly trained officers, while the outer circle was for those who performed more specific and routine duties in this centre. Every officer had on the characteristic armour of a Marcellan; thick green armour plates and a helmet with a transparent visor. Every Marcellan on board the warship was a Tekromun; of the race of purple thick-skinned brutes whose home planet had long been dismissed on the tremendous voyage from the ruined Nebulou Galaxy. They never aged. For them, only war changed appearances. And war was what they were made for. Marcellus surveyed the readouts on the miniature screens stationed above the control panels of the inner circle. Everything seemed to be satisfactory. Some of the Marcellans saluted, or nodded their heads in acknowledgement of his presence. They would never forget his legacy in the Nebulou Galaxy. The mission was what Marcellus set, and they would carry it out. It was like that, ever since he had conquered the galaxy. He had earned the respect of all of them. And the decision to leave the ruins of the galaxy had been a difficult one; it had been ripping itself to pieces, and those Marcellans who stayed were doomed. The cause of the destruction, or implosion, was not known. Marcellus received a message on his silver gauntlet. He slid back the smooth silver panel on his left wrist. The face of Martesui appeared. He must have been in the engineering levels again. He should have been taking orders from the Logistics Centre, but Marcellus was sure he was about his
own business. For a Marcellan, Martesui was incredibly independent, or insolent… ‘Commander, I have been monitoring the engineering levels, and have come across some strange readings.’ ‘Did anybody authorise you to be in that area of the ship? I thought it was clear that those areas of the ship are out of bounds.’ Martesui nodded guiltily. ‘I have reason to believe there is a Marcellan down here.’ ‘That is an incredible statement. I assume you are not referring to your own presence. What Marcellan would have a reason to go in those areas of the ship?’ ‘A desperate Marcellan would, Commander.’ A few of the nearby Marcellans looked up from their consoles. Marcellus looked at them, and they swiftly went back to their duties. Marcellus checked the screen of his gauntlet again. ‘You are never to go there again, is that understood?’ intoned Marcellus quietly, with barely constrained anger. ‘Yes Commander’ Martesui abruptly replied, a little too easily. This was not good for discipline, Marcellus thought. An independent Marcellan could threaten the entire troop discipline. All it took was one incident of disloyalty or disorganisation, and the ship’s morale would tumble, and chaos would replace everything. Marcellus had to handle this situation very delicately. ‘You are to meet me in my chamber, immediately!’ Marcellus slid the panel on his gauntlet closed and stormed out of the Communications Centre, feeling the glances of the Marcellans behind him. They knew this was very unusual. Already the alien had infected them with its eccentricities. Marcellus would have to do something about it. Marcellus waited in his private chamber. He even had another coughing fit, which displeased him a lot. Two hours later and there was no Martesui. Marcellus waded out of his private chamber and stamped down the corridors, his black cloak billowing in his passage. Two more hours and Marcellus found him. At the end of the dark-purple corridor, based at the rear of the ship, was Martesui, handling an interface terminal with a dexterity his fellow Tekromun soldiers lacked. He didn’t look back, though Marcellus knew he was aware of his superior’s presence. The insolent nature of the alien continued to appear more and more on this never-ending voyage. He was becoming bolder, more independent, and more eccentric. He was losing his mask.
Marcellus was at him in an instant, wrenching his shoulder around and slamming him against the wall beside the small interface terminal. Marcellus tightened his hands around the throat of the Marcellan. ‘There is one way. There is only one way I can see we can succeed’ Marcellus hissed. ‘And that is where you die!’ Marcellus grasped the alien’s throat very firmly, perhaps choking off most of his air supply. The alien struggled, but it was no match for Marcellus’ infinite strength. His legs kicked futilely. Marcellus let go, and the alien dropped to the ground, landing on all fours, knees pointed up and hands behind its torso. It would have been too easy. And … Marcellus couldn’t bring himself to do it. It would increase the chances of successfully completing the mission, and it would prevent further insubordination. They were not good enough reasons, however furious Marcellus was. Martesui was breathing rapidly. He rose to face Marcellus. And behind the Tekromun body Marcellus saw insolence so blatant and obvious that he almost flinched from it. Marcellus’ right arm twitched with indecision; should he strike? ‘You’re not a Tekromun, that much I have inferred. Was it your plan for me to know?’ Martesui shook his head, a mere six inches away from Marcellus’ tall aspect. Martesui was silent. Marcellus was still tempted to strike the alien. What was it about him that made him so repellent? ‘Speak of your intentions, for I am not sure I trust them. I do not detect a plot to destabilise the mission, but that doesn’t mean I believe you have a right to be on this ship.’ Martesui looked up fiercely at Marcellus. He was seething, which was obvious. There was some incredible rage bursting inside the alien, and Marcellus found himself wondering why. ‘I am … a Marcellan’ he rasped. He stood up straighter and stuck out his chest. ‘You are an imposter! There is only one way you can save yourself, and that is to admit to it. Denying it will lead to you being stripped of rank, and perhaps thrown out of an airlock.’ ‘I am … a Marcellan’ the alien pronounced, with more vigour. Marcellus waited and watched. The alien twitched characteristically. ‘We’re at a deadlock. You can speak before me, or you can speak before the troop. I suggest you make that choice now, before I make it for you.’ ‘I am no traitor.’
‘I didn’t think you were a traitor, though you are not what you seemed at first to be. It was easy to overlook in the midst of galactic war and the implosion of our galaxy. Now…’ ‘I am carrying out my duty, to the Marcellans.’ ‘You do things differently to a Marcellan. How do I know that your aims coincide with ours?’ ‘I am not a Tekromun, as you say. That does not change my loyalty to you and your cause. I can not hide my race any longer, not in front of your discerning eyes. I am concerned for the welfare of the troop.’ ‘What are you referring to? Do you mean to say this has something to do with the Marcellan that lives in the engineering levels?’ Martesui nodded carefully. He had calmed down a lot now, which was a start. He had been very close to being killed by Marcellus mere moments ago. ‘You were rerouting the surveillance systems using that interface terminal. Why?’ ‘I have not seen this Marcellan, but I sense him.’ Marcellus understood that Martesui was hunting this Marcellan, which was unusual, to say the least. ‘You saw fit to report this to me, but you failed to comply with my order to meet me in my private chamber. I need to be made aware of the situation.’ Martesui looked cautiously at Marcellus, as if weighing whether he could trust him. It was very apparent that Martesui was adept at working alone. He feared reprisals if he allowed Marcellus to know too much. What was it Martesui feared? ‘There is a Marcellan lurking in the engineering levels. He has been there for a long time.’ ‘Since we ventured forth?’ Martesui nodded. ‘I don’t believe this’ Marcellus replied frankly. ‘He is not to be trusted.’ ‘If he is not to be trusted then he is not a Marcellan!’ Marcellus stated. Martesui nodded. Marcellus’ eyes widened. His muscles tensed and his heart beat faster. He shook his head in denial. He then planted his fist inside the palm of his other hand. ‘This can’t be!’ he growled. There was an intruder on board. The intruder wasn’t Martesui. It wasn’t a Marcellan. It may not even be a Tekromun. But it must have come from the Nebulou Galaxy!
Prologue Marcellus gazed out at the twinkling stars. Beams of white light flashed back at him somnolently. He had his arms folded. The straps of his black suit, and the silver pieces of armour attached to it, rustled and tightened in anticipation. The air around him in his private chamber was still. He could hear a very faint whistling noise, but he could not accurately pinpoint its source. Perhaps it was the vacuum of space, permeating through the viewport. It was time for the Tekromuns to find their salvation. Too long had they waited in the shadows of this Marcellan warship, biding their time, and performing routine duties. The voyage from the ruined remnants of the Nebulou Galaxy had been arduous, if only because it drained the patience and integrity of the troop discipline. Marcellus stretched his senses further. He could hear the very faint sound of the engine propulsion systems. It was reassuring to know that there was such unity and discipline on board the warship, even if for just a moment. Marcellus swiftly turned his head to look behind him, where he felt a faint flicker of consciousness sharply intersect the invisible air. ‘Come in!’ his deep voice boomed. A second later one of his troop pressed the admission button, which channelled through to light up a bright lime-green indicator inside Marcellus’ chamber. The indicator flashed, too brightly for Marcellus’ acute senses. The door swooshed open, and a typical Tekromun soldier walked in with a tight controlled gait embodied by thickly plated dark-green armour, which encouraged rigidity. The Tekromun had his arm up in a salute. Marcellus nodded to permit the Tekromun access. Marcellus could see so much, beyond the purely physical. But he instead focused on the purple, splotched, thick leathery face of the soldier; an appearance typical of the Tekromun race. It was Martesui. Names were less important to Marcellus than the fine details of souls. However, Martesui was a name that had stuck with Marcellus recently. Physical appearances were very deceiving in a universe where there was every kind of race imaginable. But Martesui was not an ordinary Tekromun soldier, of this Marcellus was becoming convinced of. Decades ago, at least it seemed, Marcellus and the last Marcellans boarded their stealth warship and escaped from the implosion of the Nebulou Galaxy. Marcellus had the image in his memory of his one-hundred thousand Tekromuns racing up the boarding ramp in organised files. That
was when Marcellus had perceived a glitch, or alteration, regarding one of his troops. And that glitch was Martesui, Marcellus was certain. ‘Commander, I have come to report a series of anomalies surrounding the ship. There are red nebulous gases and clouds converging to the rear. They have unknown properties…’ ‘They are nothing to worry about. We are in unexplored territory. The universe is a big place, and we have to expect that our technologies will be unable to understand all of it. There are anomalies, clouds, and elements that we may never have come across, or will ever again come across. Where are we? The truth is that we are nowhere. I do not know how large the universe is. We could be lost in the bowels of the universe forever; but that is the risk we all took. That is the risk we had to take!’ Martesui bowed his helmeted head in recognition. He wasn’t wearing a weapon, Marcellus noticed. The incompetence was not something Marcellus had seen before in Martesui. The twitches and the physical discomfort were commonly seen on the alien. He always did appear as if he wore the skin of a body he wasn’t comfortable in. ‘Where is your weapon? And why are there brown sludge marks on the back of your legs? Have you been down in the engineering levels?’ Marcellus imperiously demanded. Martesui looked lost for words, and very guilty. Marcellus could feel the aura of frustration and shame coming from Martesui. ‘You are dismissed’ Marcellus declared. The door slid closed, and Marcellus was left alone again. Nothing is as it seems!
Chapter One – Deception Marcellus was in his private chambers. He was doubled over, coughing and spluttering. His back arched, which made his black cape swing wildly. Fluid painted the inside of his boxy silver helmet. He choked, and reared his head up. His hands clenched into fists, and he felt feverish. This was the first time he had been ill … for a long time. Marcellus was up again. He adjusted his cape, programmed his internal computer in his helmet to carry out a clean-up, and then strode out of his chamber. He bounded through the straight dimly lit corridors, past entrances and exits on both sides, all the way to the Communications Centre. The sound of his black boots was heavy on the hard floor. Some of the lights flickered. He would get somebody to fix them. The appearance of problems was a relief because it gave the troop something to do, something to focus on. Marcellus emerged, after traversing through a network of straight corridors, to the Communications Centre. Marcellans were hard at work at communication consoles, which were arranged in the pattern of an inner circle and an outer circle. The inner circle was for highly trained officers, while the outer circle was for those who performed more specific and routine duties in this centre. Every officer had on the characteristic armour of a Marcellan; thick green armour plates and a helmet with a transparent visor. Every Marcellan on board the warship was a Tekromun; of the race of purple thick-skinned brutes whose home planet had long been dismissed on the tremendous voyage from the ruined Nebulou Galaxy. They never aged. For them, only war changed appearances. And war was what they were made for. Marcellus surveyed the readouts on the miniature screens stationed above the control panels of the inner circle. Everything seemed to be satisfactory. Some of the Marcellans saluted, or nodded their heads in acknowledgement of his presence. They would never forget his legacy in the Nebulou Galaxy. The mission was what Marcellus set, and they would carry it out. It was like that, ever since he had conquered the galaxy. He had earned the respect of all of them. And the decision to leave the ruins of the galaxy had been a difficult one; it had been ripping itself to pieces, and those Marcellans who stayed were doomed. The cause of the destruction, or implosion, was not known. Marcellus received a message on his silver gauntlet. He slid back the smooth silver panel on his left wrist. The face of Martesui appeared. He must have been in the engineering levels again. He should have been taking orders from the Logistics Centre, but Marcellus was sure he was about his
own business. For a Marcellan, Martesui was incredibly independent, or insolent… ‘Commander, I have been monitoring the engineering levels, and have come across some strange readings.’ ‘Did anybody authorise you to be in that area of the ship? I thought it was clear that those areas of the ship are out of bounds.’ Martesui nodded guiltily. ‘I have reason to believe there is a Marcellan down here.’ ‘That is an incredible statement. I assume you are not referring to your own presence. What Marcellan would have a reason to go in those areas of the ship?’ ‘A desperate Marcellan would, Commander.’ A few of the nearby Marcellans looked up from their consoles. Marcellus looked at them, and they swiftly went back to their duties. Marcellus checked the screen of his gauntlet again. ‘You are never to go there again, is that understood?’ intoned Marcellus quietly, with barely constrained anger. ‘Yes Commander’ Martesui abruptly replied, a little too easily. This was not good for discipline, Marcellus thought. An independent Marcellan could threaten the entire troop discipline. All it took was one incident of disloyalty or disorganisation, and the ship’s morale would tumble, and chaos would replace everything. Marcellus had to handle this situation very delicately. ‘You are to meet me in my chamber, immediately!’ Marcellus slid the panel on his gauntlet closed and stormed out of the Communications Centre, feeling the glances of the Marcellans behind him. They knew this was very unusual. Already the alien had infected them with its eccentricities. Marcellus would have to do something about it. Marcellus waited in his private chamber. He even had another coughing fit, which displeased him a lot. Two hours later and there was no Martesui. Marcellus waded out of his private chamber and stamped down the corridors, his black cloak billowing in his passage. Two more hours and Marcellus found him. At the end of the dark-purple corridor, based at the rear of the ship, was Martesui, handling an interface terminal with a dexterity his fellow Tekromun soldiers lacked. He didn’t look back, though Marcellus knew he was aware of his superior’s presence. The insolent nature of the alien continued to appear more and more on this never-ending voyage. He was becoming bolder, more independent, and more eccentric. He was losing his mask.
Marcellus was at him in an instant, wrenching his shoulder around and slamming him against the wall beside the small interface terminal. Marcellus tightened his hands around the throat of the Marcellan. ‘There is one way. There is only one way I can see we can succeed’ Marcellus hissed. ‘And that is where you die!’ Marcellus grasped the alien’s throat very firmly, perhaps choking off most of his air supply. The alien struggled, but it was no match for Marcellus’ infinite strength. His legs kicked futilely. Marcellus let go, and the alien dropped to the ground, landing on all fours, knees pointed up and hands behind its torso. It would have been too easy. And … Marcellus couldn’t bring himself to do it. It would increase the chances of successfully completing the mission, and it would prevent further insubordination. They were not good enough reasons, however furious Marcellus was. Martesui was breathing rapidly. He rose to face Marcellus. And behind the Tekromun body Marcellus saw insolence so blatant and obvious that he almost flinched from it. Marcellus’ right arm twitched with indecision; should he strike? ‘You’re not a Tekromun, that much I have inferred. Was it your plan for me to know?’ Martesui shook his head, a mere six inches away from Marcellus’ tall aspect. Martesui was silent. Marcellus was still tempted to strike the alien. What was it about him that made him so repellent? ‘Speak of your intentions, for I am not sure I trust them. I do not detect a plot to destabilise the mission, but that doesn’t mean I believe you have a right to be on this ship.’ Martesui looked up fiercely at Marcellus. He was seething, which was obvious. There was some incredible rage bursting inside the alien, and Marcellus found himself wondering why. ‘I am … a Marcellan’ he rasped. He stood up straighter and stuck out his chest. ‘You are an imposter! There is only one way you can save yourself, and that is to admit to it. Denying it will lead to you being stripped of rank, and perhaps thrown out of an airlock.’ ‘I am … a Marcellan’ the alien pronounced, with more vigour. Marcellus waited and watched. The alien twitched characteristically. ‘We’re at a deadlock. You can speak before me, or you can speak before the troop. I suggest you make that choice now, before I make it for you.’ ‘I am no traitor.’
‘I didn’t think you were a traitor, though you are not what you seemed at first to be. It was easy to overlook in the midst of galactic war and the implosion of our galaxy. Now…’ ‘I am carrying out my duty, to the Marcellans.’ ‘You do things differently to a Marcellan. How do I know that your aims coincide with ours?’ ‘I am not a Tekromun, as you say. That does not change my loyalty to you and your cause. I can not hide my race any longer, not in front of your discerning eyes. I am concerned for the welfare of the troop.’ ‘What are you referring to? Do you mean to say this has something to do with the Marcellan that lives in the engineering levels?’ Martesui nodded carefully. He had calmed down a lot now, which was a start. He had been very close to being killed by Marcellus mere moments ago. ‘You were rerouting the surveillance systems using that interface terminal. Why?’ ‘I have not seen this Marcellan, but I sense him.’ Marcellus understood that Martesui was hunting this Marcellan, which was unusual, to say the least. ‘You saw fit to report this to me, but you failed to comply with my order to meet me in my private chamber. I need to be made aware of the situation.’ Martesui looked cautiously at Marcellus, as if weighing whether he could trust him. It was very apparent that Martesui was adept at working alone. He feared reprisals if he allowed Marcellus to know too much. What was it Martesui feared? ‘There is a Marcellan lurking in the engineering levels. He has been there for a long time.’ ‘Since we ventured forth?’ Martesui nodded. ‘I don’t believe this’ Marcellus replied frankly. ‘He is not to be trusted.’ ‘If he is not to be trusted then he is not a Marcellan!’ Marcellus stated. Martesui nodded. Marcellus’ eyes widened. His muscles tensed and his heart beat faster. He shook his head in denial. He then planted his fist inside the palm of his other hand. ‘This can’t be!’ he growled. There was an intruder on board. The intruder wasn’t Martesui. It wasn’t a Marcellan. It may not even be a Tekromun. But it must have come from the Nebulou Galaxy!
