Tassadar had done it. The crazy fool had made the ultimate sacrifice, using his own Channel, drawing enough power to bring her roiling armies to a standstill.
The General stood atop the cliff, looking down on the destruction that the clashing armies had rained on the land. He had seen worse, he had seen more death and destruction than he cared to remember. All those memories - C-beams glittering in the dark near the Tannhauser gate, his last desperate defense of the Stairway to Hevan, his surprise attack on the flanks of the Destroyer of Hope at the Morgul Vale - all those victories would mean nothing if he lost now. To
her. He was one the most glorified generals in the ranks of the Ever Victorious Army of the Empress, Praise Be Upon Her. An army that had never lost a battle. Never, in the history of his Glorious Land. He could NOT lose now. Not when it mattered the most.
He had done everything right. The Cankers had been deployed perfectly. He had ensured that dis-information was relayed in just the right quantities, at just the right time. He had even accounted for the wild fluctuations in the Channel, that eventually allowed Tassadar to do what he did. He knew her as a diplomat, he knew her as a brilliant tactician, as a bold opponent and as a passionate lover. Or so he believed.
And that was where he made his one fateful mistake - a mistake that would cost him his life and the lives of all those he defended. He thought he understood women.
Tassadar had done it. The crazy fool had made the ultimate sacrifice, using his own Channel, drawing enough power to bring her roiling armies to a standstill.
She stood staring at her display panels, constantly reliving that final, decisive moment - one Avalonian's ultimate sacrifice, another's brilliant strategy - reliving her defeat. In her many years in the Galactic Council, she had seen brilliance in battle, in diplomacy and in politik. Some would say she had seen more than one lifetimes worth. With her ability to always stay ahead of not only her opponents, but also her allies, she had withstood numerous coups, revolts, assassinations and lovers.
Lovers. She had had many spanning across her many lifetimes. She had met the General at the Leviathan Peace Summit and they had indulged in as doomed an affair as the summit itself. They made love, as diplomats argued, negotiators drew blood and politiks bitched. They made love, convinced that the song they sung then would reach its climactic ending on a battlefield some day.
And from the looks of things, that day had arrived. She had anticipated his every tactic, countering with such brilliance, such efficiency and such force, that she was convinced of her victory. If not for his ability to forgo what years of training had taught him, his Hja-forsaken ability to deny what his beliefs led him to understand as the Holy Word, his ability to, as he used to say, never let his morals get in the way of doing what was right. If not for that, she would have tasted his blood on her talons by now.
And that was where she made her one fateful mistake - a mistake that would cost her this campaign, her career and maybe her life - she thought she understood men.
[Some names, events and quotes have been inspired by my favorite works of science fiction and fantasy. In some cases - like the Bladerunner quote - they are identical replicas. In others vague likenesses have been used.]
