In truth, there is hardly anything that can effect the orbital duration of a planet. Moons can slow – lengthen – it’s day. But nothing less that a planet can change its course.
Her Imperious Condescension had left Alternia more than 612 sweeps prior to rejoin her army. To dominate aliens scrambling across the shells of these hunks of rock.
It was, perhaps, this distance that saved her. It saved no one else. From Janitor to General to Pilot.
~
One might ask how one stays sane in total isolation for 612 sweeps. One doesn’t. Even in society, one frequently parts with sanity – for moments, for lives, sometimes happening back upon some form of it, occasionally not. And those that do rarely happen back upon exactly the same sort.
It was a dim season before the Battleship Condescension, adjusting to an system escape orbit, latched onto another ship of the troll navy. The food salvaged was enough to extend rations, and to bring a realization that bodies were not decomposing as one might expect – more like desiccating. The frustration of halls not sized for someone of her blood gave the once empress a new goal, besides her attempts to reproduce the psychic feats of record.
Three Sweeps had passed before the Battleship Condescension came in viable orbit of an almost conquered world. The war had fallen silent. The unweathered corpses were, in many places, glued to the ground with their dried blood. But the bunkers – The battleship was converted almost completely to larder, the stores suffering from nothing but staleness. The trolls theory was met with practice.
100 sweeps had passed before a planetary encounter gave the troll any new feeling – there was a moss. Some extremophile species. It was working its way into sterile soil. She was not… she was not the only life in the universe.
160 sweeps passed before she tried to power the FTL engines on her own. Knowing they would take more than she could offer – the challenge was to give them as little as she could manage. The charts said she lasted 5 seconds before her body shut down, the link was cut, and she was automatically revived.
162 sweeps passed before her second attempt. Her diet and training had almost transformed her into an Olympian bodybuilder – not that her former empire had any need for such a thing. 8 seconds and 2 days later, looking like a balloon deflated, she decided that her efforts in contortion should be the priority for a while, to see if her “bone bag” build could yield any new results. Her skin did eventually recover.
312 Sweeps had passed – it was an algae. The instruments seemed to indicate several types. Inedible – but she defiantly felt them in some way. She tugged at that feeling, a thread she knew to call psionic – and the whole sample died. Suddenly. And she was… not better. Relieved. In a way she could almost place. Wishing she had kept more living samples, her eventual conjecture was that she was manipulating the treads of life in some way that the old records hadn’t revealed trolls doing.
472 Sweeps had passed – and while the planet’s weather had scoured most of the evidence of once being inhabited by anything other than bacteria – she firmly believed she had successfully killed a planet.
612 sweeps prior, Her imperious Condescension had left Alternia to rejoin her army. To dominate aliens scrambling across the shells of these hunks of rock.
The monster that returned was a troll because there was no other word available. Who had trained, broken, and healed her body into somthing Known. Who could move or devour planets.
And the cue-ball headed puppet that appeared behind her as she considered her final destination below was, immediately and by more senses than she realized, unfathomably more powerful.
“You have arrived. Excellent. I was looking for a new assistant, and as you know, the whole sentients situation lately has been horrible. One never could find good help, but especially not these days,” The white emptiness didn’t bother congeniality in anything but words and poise, “I’m looking for some help with a universe. An entirely separate one, without the whole niney-nine point nines percent dying part, perfectly suitable for an empire. Unfortunately I still have my duties in this one, and no counterpoint over there. I would happily fix this for my master, but a certain bitch irrevocably messed up normal procedures. So I’m looking to put in an assistant as a representative. A position I believe you can handle.”
The Condesce had talked. Many times over the past centuries, to herself, as an audio log, instructions to shipboard systems. Over the Millennia previous, as she conquered the other sea queens to become sole empress, as she had spread her empire to the stars.
She had never had the words ripped from her mouth, “If ya insist. Shore, I was wonderin’ what would happen next.”
“Then there is one final point, consider it the other half of your interview. You have perhaps heard of ‘The Handmaid’? Or, perhaps, ‘The Demoness’? My current assistant. You would be in charge of dismissing her. She lives down there in that green mansion-“
The Condesce glanced back through the window. Besides the green moon having just popped over the horizon, she had no idea how this thing expected her to see a house of any size below.
“- but you need not worry about that. She should be arriving shortly with instructions to kill you.”
“On My ship?”
“Yes, yes. There’s no good reason to make you go hunting for her. The time powers can make things so inconclusive, and I’d just like to get on with things. So. Find me at the mansion once you’re done – I’ll need to send you for damage control a bit earlier than I send your ship. Good hunting.”
The figure started to turn, and disappeared. Perhaps spacetime stitched itself back together where he had formerly presented himself.
She allowed herself to sag. Breathe. That thing had knocked any sort of pretense from her mind – a thing that trolls categorically had no idea how to do with psionics. Sure, she had realized centuries ago that there was no reason to come back to Alternia other than confirm everything was dead – but that was not how she expected to converse, if it ever happened again.
A fight. A fight with a troll. She should probably get out the 2x3dent. It had been more than 1000 sweeps since she’d been in a serious fight – and with someone who could control time? It had better become obvious how she was supposed to handle this quickly.
Another psionic thread presented itself. A life thread. She tried to follow it – and the troll appeared. Out on the deck. A green dress, large needles. Not even trying to suppress the aura of psionics giving her breath in high atmosphere.
The Condesce stepped out on the deck. She had been crazy enough to do this several times in almost-vacuum over her return trip.
“Handmaid. Do you not Know your Empress? It’s appropriate to bow,” She stood tall. Boastful. Did she recognize the form before her? No. But generations were on the edge of her memories. The mere fact that a time traveler could navigate to a ship in orbit was proof enough of significant planning and power.
“Flagella-minder. Are you looking for your lusus? It is long dead. These worlds are long dead. Join them,” The Handmaid had not moved. She certainly had not announced herself.
“At least claim you want my title.”
“Your fork has more use to me.”
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