In this sequel to Final Solution, the Alastor, a cabal sworn to re-establish the old republic, is in trouble. The oppressive Council, masters of the tyrannical New Order, have cracked the rebel leadership and the insurgents are forced to accelerate their plan to topple the Dominion Empire, but they’re not ready. Their forces are outnumbered a hundred fold. The freedom fighters have one chance, to exploit a gathering of Nabra-like sky disks discovered in the temple of a race slaughtered by the Council in the name of the common good. Within the strangely alluring emblems, a trail of crumbs lies buried across the tablets. Cryptic codes and symbols hint of supreme knowledge, clues that the subliminal whispers haunting all civilizations when they ponder the heavens, are waiting inside. The catch: only one human possesses the telekinetic ability to pierce the alien relics and stitch together the final cosmic truth.
“I said enough!” The Consular Prime’s tone turned aggressive. “What we do, we must for the common good. You and your Alastor Brethren are a handful of naïve relics, dreamers from the past. Your concept of liberty, the destructive freedom that ran amok before the great upheaval of old Earth society, what did it achieve? Chaos and anarchy. The beings you covet, citizens of the New Order, creatures across Dominion space too primitive to wipe their ass without guidance, that’s who you’ll die for.”
“At least we stand outside the darkness. Warriors, men of honor—we choose our fate rather than cower within steel walls guarded by a brigade of I Corps and shock troops.”
“And you call us feeble minded. People have never been capable of ruling themselves. That responsibility falls to the enlightened few, those willing to take charge and meter out direction to the masses, weak of spirit and insight. History illuminates that very truth—democracy, free will; it is but a dream and must falter. Our founders, their philosophy of collectivist control, that vision taught us the path to salvation. They gave us the will to pull out from the rubble of economic collapse when the gluttony of the rich drove us into hell. Our progressive leaders, they’ve provided a beacon for the next ten thousand years, not the disorder of the old republic touted by the rebels.”
The captive in the cage behaved not as a meal to be devoured, rather a man clear of purpose, with an unwavering spine, regardless of the odds. Stone leaned forward, as if preparing for a battle. “You sad pitiful insects. You don’t get it, the inevitable truth. Your reign is measured in the heartbeat of a cockroach, and when it comes, not tomorrow but soon, I’ll be watching. All my fellow patriots, the Brethren of the Alastor revolt, whether in this realm or the next—they’re waiting to piss down your collective throats as you descend into hell.”