Kingmaker And The Scribe

CHAPTER 1 “I am Ouroboros,” the serpent told them in the time between. “The beginning is the end, as the end is once again the beginning.” Starship Conquistador c. 2500 A.D. “Are you ready, girl?” Wata asks as a chime sounds over the ship’s intercom. Not a girl anymore, having turned twenty-seven, but this is what he has always called me. I am weary to the very marrow of my bones, but I rise and nod that I am ready. My time has been long, longer than Earth’s rough mountains that have at last slumped into the sea. Now that Wata and I have arrived on this new planet, unfouled by the excesses of humanity, will my journey finally be over? Can I at last rest, my weary body prepared and tucked into the soil of this new planet so that my soul can finally be free to wander the afterlife? The door slides open to reveal King Gha, surrounded on three sides by his guards. He is grinning. “Wata, it is the first day in our new land. You too, Rulie, are you happy we have finally landed?” I bow, which is what is expected of me. Wata grasps the king’s hand in both of his. “May the heaven that has been our transport entrench us into our — your — new land,” he says and bends to lightly touch his lips to the top of our new leader’s hand. King Gha looks back at his guards standing stoically. He leans close to Wata and whispers, “Yes, of course, my land with your fine expertise. Our former leader,” this he says in even a softer whisper, “whose name has been lost to the solar winds, was not up to the task, would you not say.” “Not up to the task,” my friend agrees in the same conspiratorial whisper. A second alert sounds, this time two short chirps. “Come, my people are waiting,” this new world’s king says. He links arms with Wata and together they start down the richly adorned corridor with its walls of bright pulsing colors. The three guards fall in behind the two men. I am last in the menagerie that will be the first humans to touch feet on the ground of our new world, already engineered to have the proper composition of air, light, and vegetation. Wata, as he is named in this life, has always been the crafter of kings, the advisor to both tyrants and presidents. Perhaps, that was the task God assigned his soul but with this last — and his booted foot against the old king’s a*s in the airlock — his corruption is complete. Just like the memories of our past lives, coming to full fruition. I will record this as I have all, I pray, for the last time. PART I