The Orion Wars: Sirius

The Orion Wars: In the Beginning – Lord Delos

by Eliza Ayres

This is a story of Sirius A, once the ancestral home of many souls who currently reside on Terra or Earth as she is called.  The culture of the Sirian home worlds is one of extremely ancient antecedents.  One daughter of Sirius claimed their written history is zillions of years old, while the Sirian pre-history is much older yet.

Long ago, thousands of Earth years ago, there lived an ancient people of the great Solar Isle of Sirius A.  On this huge isle, the higher castes always had a very white skin with white blonde hair.  It is said that their complexions were so white as to shine with a soft blue hue.  The eyes of these beautiful beings were always a bright light green color when of pure blood, except for Lord Krishna, who had large bright blue eyes.  All the people, male and female alike, lined their eyes with kohl.  Married women all tied their hair up into chignons or buns and dressed in saree-like garments.  The males all had white blonde hair worn shoulder length and loose.  The men often ringed their earlobes with golden earrings.  In the capital city of Sirust, men of the city wore loose fitting pants with a shirt usually worn open with a long scarf or shawl of a different color draped over their shoulder.  Most Sirians were 7 – 8’ tall and slender, never weighing more than 200 pounds.  The people of Sirius A wore a great deal of gold jewelry, gold braiding, and golden thread interwoven into their garments. To the Sirians, gold represents Christ Consciousness, peace, and abundance. The great Solar isle of Sirius A was blessed with an abundance of gold and many people of all castes wore some gold jewelry as part of their daily costume.

The Last Patrol

This story of the Orion Wars begins with an incident that takes place during the first Sirian life of Delos, as a son of Lord Chananda Gia, one of the Sons of Krishna.  His grandfather, Lord Krishna, was the religious leader of Sirius A, and indeed, of all the worlds of the Sirian star system.  The ruling secular family of Sirius was the Kavioush Family.  Between the two leading families, the great Sirian civilization was ruled.

Sirius is a male ‘universe’, a concept that is new to most Earth humans.  It was originally conceived to be an outer reflection of devotion to the Masculine Aspect of God.  This deeply rooted belief system reflected in the daily cultural mores of the people, as you will witness.  And I will say, the ancient Sirian culture has not changed much through the long ages since this story took place…

The vessel was a new model, built on Ashtar and presented to the Sirian Fleet as a gesture of friendship from their ally Lord Ashtar, the Head Commander of the Ashtarian Fleet.  Today, they were traveling in a lesser populated area of the Constellation of what is now known on Earth as Canus Major.  The command crew could see their brilliant home star and isle, Sirius A, just to the right of the star field ahead of the vessel.  This voyage was meant to be a short one, a test run for the new vessel, as well as a shakedown cruise for the new crew.  Many of the crew had worked together on other vessels, but not with their new commanders, Tazo and Delos Gia Kumara.

Occasionally one or another of the crew would surreptitiously steal a glance at the two commanders, for they were twin brothers, with the white blonde hair, seafoam green eyes and pale complexion of the highest caste of Sirius A.  The crew knew who the twins were; they just couldn’t believe that they were traveling with this legendary duo.  Although young in years according to the long-lived Sirians, the duo had already made a mark within the Sirian fleet with their navigational skills, as well as an uncanny ability to decipher coded messages intercepted from enemy vessels.  The Sirian Fleet was amid a combat situation with a relatively new enemy, interlopers who had recently invaded the mid-belt region of the Orions, and now seemed determined to invade the Sirian star system, as well.  Yet, it was unknown whence this elusive enemy would strike first.  Resources were already strained, so, this vessel was sent out, although the crew was relatively untried with the handling of this new vessel.

When the crew first boarded the Silver Phoenix as the large scout ship was known, some of them had made note of a small group of three standing to one side of the landing platform.  It appeared to be a father saying goodbye to his tall, slender sons.  The father was also very tall although more broad-shouldered than the younger men.  The Lord had a dignified Presence, dressed as he was in a long white tunic, with a golden sash across his right shoulder and wrapped around his slender waist.  Upon his white blonde head, there was a golden turban, from which dangled a portion of a peacock feather pinned by a large brilliant jewel.  The older man’s bearing alone spoke volumes to the watching crew members.  This was one of the Sons of Lord Krishna, Chananda Kumara, a high lord in Sirius.  The younger men were evidently his sons to whom he was now bidding farewell.  In contrast with their father, the young men were dressed in the standard form fitting blue Sirian flight uniforms, with short cloaks.

As one of the crew gazed upon the unusual sight, he felt a shiver of premonition run through his body, a chill of foreknowledge.  He knew that the father would never see his sons again in this life.  What that meant for the rest of them, he wondered.

The crew of the Silver Phoenix was all male.  Sirian females, especially high caste ones were not allowed to join the Fleet.  It was a matter of age-old custom.  Sirian women could perform duties such as being an ambassador along with her mate, but many high-caste Sirian women chose to spend much time in the great temples, devoting hours to the chants, mantras, and prayers.  The Sirian culture was extremely ancient, its unwritten history extending millions of years back into the mists of time. It was the original motherland for humanity within this quadrant of Creation.  It was not a civilization acquainted with aggressive negatively polarized races, so the present situation of edgy awareness of a potential invasion had the people quite alarmed.  That alarm, however, was carefully tamped down as people performed their daily tasks, yet the stress of the present situation was wearing on even the most balanced of the population, the priests, and priestesses of the High Temple.

Two days into the voyage, the Silver Phoenix reached the vicinity of one of the smaller, outer planets of the Sirian star system.  Even then, the isle still was inhabited by at least three million Outer Sirians.  These individuals were Sirians who wished to live away from the strenuous demands of the Sirian caste system.  While not regarded as being rebellious by Central Sirians, the people on this isle were considered odd, with a freer outlook on life.  Some of these Sirians had even married into other human species, including some Lyrans and Pleiadians.  Yet the crew of the Silver Phoenix regarded the inhabitants as Sirians, to be protected as if they lived in Sirust, the great central city of Sirius A.

The designated communications officer was monitoring interspace noise as they approached the planet.  Then, suddenly, there was a loud screaming noise that emanated from the crewmember’s earphones. All the crew “heard” the involuntary gasp, as the officer jerked off his phones.  He sent an urgent telepathic message to both commanders to get their attention.  They were already there, listening and watching the viewer screen as the starship began to circle around the isle.

There!” Commander Tazo followed the pointing finger with his eyes as another crewmember spotted a large strange ship which suddenly materialized out of hyperspace.  The cylinder-shaped vessel was a dark green, hard to see against the starlight skies.

The twin brothers looked at each other in dismay.  They recognized the frequency of their enemy from reports given by other officers, for it was the same enemy encountered on the other edge of the star system by larger vessels.  Their own small ship wasn’t armed or manned with enough defenses to deal with the strange vessel.  Then they noticed they hadn’t been sighted…yet, as the stranger moved off in the other direction, towards the planet and away from the Silver Phoenix.  Apparently, the new cloaking shields were working, yet this close they would have to be careful while observing the actions of the strange vessel.

The two brothers were burning with curiosity and a mounting sense of foreboding.  They could “feel” the energies emanating from the strange green vessel.  They “knew” that it did not have friendly intentions towards the planet below.

Then the enemy vessel…for the two commanders knew intuitively that this strange vessel contained evil intent, as the yet unknown vessel turned its prow towards the planet.  The crew watched breathlessly, as they “saw” the enemy vessels powerful forward weaponry being directed towards the unsuspecting planet below.

The officer monitoring communications warned, “They’re powering up, sir!  And they’re aiming for the planet!”

 If it was possible, Commander Tazo’s translucent white skin blanched even more, anxious for the unsuspecting population on the planet below, “No!”

The enemy vessel opened fire, directing a powerful beam towards the planet as the Sirian crew of the Silver Phoenix looked on helplessly.  Tazo and Delos, especially felt the enmity and dark intent of the strange vessel, a feeling that penetrated deeply into their sensitive beings.

Oh, no!” Commander Tazo looked at his brother, Delos.  He suddenly “knew” the intentions of the enemy.  He “felt” more ships enter nearby space and follow suit, aiming their weaponry at the planet below.  They were going to destroy the planet, to use fear of destruction as means to conquer Sirian space.  The commanders had heard of such tactics being attempted in Pleiadian space, too.  Now, this new invading force had reached the outer boundaries of Sirian space.  The long-threatened invasion had begun, here, on the edge of Sirian-controlled space and it was up to the brothers to let their superiors know at once.

The two sets of intense green eyes stared at each other as the brothers communicated rapidly to each other.  Delos said: “We need to inform Sirust and the main fleet!”

Yes!” agreed Tazo.

The brothers knew that if they broke radio silence that they would be detected and probably destroyed, but they didn’t have any honorable options.  They could flee, but other worlds might be attacked before a suitable defense could be mounted by the main fleet.  They knew what they had to do… and were not afraid of the consequences of their mutual decision.

As the enemy fleet… it was now a fleet of vessels, large and small, was focused on their target below, the Silver Phoenix edged slowly and silently away, while the crew looked on with horror as they saw the planet below begin to break up under the barrage of the attack.

Commander Delos took over the communications chair and began sending a code to the Sirian Fleet.  He flinched as he “felt” the implosion of the planet and the silent cries of the dying people below, as tears streamed down his pale face.

Then he “felt” the loving Presence of his great Father, Lord Chananda, fill his heart. “What is wrong, my son?”

“Father, the enemy of which we have been told by the Pleiadians is here!  They are destroying M—!”

“I feel it, Delos,” his Father replied.

“Tell the Fleet!”

“I will, Delos!”

Even as he had this inner conversation with his Father, Delos worked to formulate a clear message on the danger posed by these strange ships.  Finally, he managed to contact the communications officer of the great Sirian Flagship, The Golden Lily.

“Commander Delos!  What is a matter?”

“The Isle of M— has been destroyed!  Sirian space has been invaded! Tell my brother, Lord Jychondria!”

Then the Silver Phoenix was hit with a massive wave of energy. “We’ve been detected!  We need to get out of here!”

Commander Tazo was already at the helm directing the small patrol ship out away from the enemy fleet when another strange ship appeared nearly on top of them.  The Silver Phoenix shuddered from another blow.  And then their shields went down.

Brother!”  The two young men eyes met across the small command deck, knowing they and their crew were about to die.

The Sirian vessel turned to run, but it was too late.  The enemy was upon them.

Then the final blow came, sending shards of the small Sirian vessel raining through space like silvery stars.

Far away in Sirust, the huge capital city of Sirius A, their Father Lord Chananda and his Brother, Sanat Kumara, knew that the young men and their crews were gone.  There was nothing to do now but to order the Angels to gather up their light bodies and have the healing angels take the fragmented souls of the crew to a place where they could be healed of their trauma.  Knowing that his sons would reborn comforted their Father slightly, but even He, a great Light Being, deeply felt the grief of His people as news was relayed throughout the great city.  The talented and brave young men and their crew would be deeply missed by all Sirians.

Since both Tazo and his twin brother, Delos, were mated (married), age-old custom required their widows and those of the crew, to also end their lives through the practice of suttee, immolation of widows.  Many reading this account would naturally regard this practice as being barbaric, yet it was initially intended to give those souls choosing to be reborn into Sirius the opportunity to reunite with their soulmates, particularly their former mates.  This ancient practice did not, however, consider the ravages of this savage war and the destruction of great families.  The commanders and leaders of Sirius mostly came from high caste families.  The loss of both parents left the remaining family members with orphans to care for.  Tazo and his mate, Shaliya, left behind a young daughter, Lina.  Delos and his mate, Jalaiya Poondabi, left behind three children.  Jalaiya was pregnant when her mate died in space and gave birth to a daughter, Fendra before entering the fires long after her mate’s death.  A younger sister of Tazo and Delos lost her betrothed in the conflagration, but not having mated, Reyea was not required to commit suttee.  Instead, she chose to dedicate her life to raising up the children of her two brothers.  She was joined in this endeavor by her eldest brother, Lord Jychondria, who was also Head Commander of the Sirian Fleet.  For his part, Jychondria also chose to forgo getting mated as it hurt his great heart deeply to witness the loss of fine women to the fires.  He did not want a woman to die if he also perished in battle.

Sirian Dreams

Fifteen years later, Delos was reborn into Sirius A, again as son of Lord Chananda.  His family was happy to greet the newborn into the family.  His brother, Tazo, also rejoined the family about five years later.  During their younger years, their elder brother, Lord Jychondria, and Lord Chananda sent the children to Venus for safety where they lived with their Uncle Sanat Kumara and His Divine Complement, Lady Venus. 

The tall gracious lady with brunette hair watched as her young Sirian visitors played with her beloved birds in the great aviary.  A mother and grandmother herself, the lady fondly observed the two precocious white-blonde lads as they wandered around the aviary, allowing birds and butterflies to land on their hands and then laughing as they released them to fly again amongst the tropical flora. The amazing structure was large enough so whole flocks of birds could fly together in unison. The boys were delighted by the lush tropical setting, the colorful birds and butterflies present, and the cacophony of bird calls. There were also dragonflies that danced above the sheltered pools wherein gold fish swam.

One of the lads ran up to her, the oldest one, “Lady Startuckus!  Your birds are so beautiful!”

The lad’s green eyes were wide and sparkling with life and vitality.  He didn’t wait for her to reply but dashed off to join his younger brother.

A while later, the lad’s father quietly strode through the aviary and joined the lady where she was watching the boys playing with the birds.  He was a striking man, tall, broad-shouldered, dressed entirely in a colorful open-neck tunic extending below his slender hips, with comfortable long full pants covering his legs. There was a bright gold silk sash around his slender waist and a gold turban covering his shoulder-length white blonde hair. A bright contrasting long scarf was draped around his neck and hanging down over his shirt.  He was Lord Chananda, a son of Lord Krishna and brother to her lord, Sanat Kumara.  Lady Startuckus felt honored to sponsor his visit to her aviary.

Echoing her thoughts, the tall lord looked at the lady and bowed gravely, “Thank you, Lady Startuckus, for putting up with my young sons.”

Lady Startuckus glanced into those green eyes that so looked like his son’s, “Lord, I am honored.”

She smiled as she detected a twinkle of amusement in the man’s green eyes and a ghost of a smile on his rosy lips.  She thought it was remarkable just how pale the complexions of the high caste Sirians were with their white skin, white hair and bright sea-green eyes.  The delicate skin of the boys was almost translucent enough to have a slightly bluish cast.  She, herself, had a delicate soft peach complexion and the light brown hair of most Venusians.

The boy’s father was visiting Venus to collect the children and return with them to Sirius A.  Their visit to Venus was to be able to enjoy a world without war, if only for a short time.  Soon both, especially the oldest boy, Delos, would be starting full-time instruction.  Currently, Delos was being tutored in preparation for entering university in Sirust.  Then he would enter the Sirian Space Fleet, to be further mentored by his elder brother, Lord Jychondria, who was currently the Head Commander of the small fleet.  Lord Chananda wanted his boys to have a memory from their childhood that was filled with joy.  This visit to Venus was to see family and to enjoy the beauty of the tropical planet.  It was as if Lord Chananda knew there would not be much joy in the lives of his sons once they were old enough to enter the war effort.  Sirius was under attack and the times were perilous at home, especially for those who stood on the front lines.  Lord Chananda expected nothing less from both his sons given the gifts they had both brought into their present incarnation.  He knew they were both meant to be warriors.,

Many years had passed since that short visit to Venus.  Both boys had become men.  Delos had mated his long-time soulmate, Lady Anya, who had formerly been called Jalaiya.  After the passage of several years, Delos and Anya were blessed with a son whom they named Aman.  Despite this, Delos continued to work and study under the mentorship of his elder brother, Commander Jychondria.  He had progressed in his training to the rank of a second level commander but requested an opportunity to widen his horizons.  He had heard about a new Pleiadian commander whom he felt would give him additional training that would prepare Delos for his future position as Head Commander after his brother Jychondria retired.

It was not long after the boys had returned to Sirius A that Lord Jychondria had incurred a significant injury during battle.  A portion of the commander’s pelvic girdle was crushed during an explosion and although healed, gave him great pain while walking and sitting.  Lord Jychondria had indicated that once Delos felt prepared to take on the full responsibility of command, he would retire and return home to Sirust to help his family raise Delos’ children, Aman, and the others.  Jychondria approved Delos’ desire to study with another mentor and had his young brother sent to the Pleiadians.

Lord Lyonell

 (At this point, the ‘voice’ of the story passes to Delos…)

I have begun to remember my time studying with a great Pleiadian leader, Lord Lyonell.  Lyonell, who was not born a Pleiadian, was king and lord over the Suriya Star System, his own small solar system, a system consisting of five moons and three isles (planets).  When the Belial forces from the lower Orion system began to attack the system, Lord Lyonell appealed to the Pleiadian fleet for protection.  In return, the little system became a part of the greater Pleiadian territory, although Lord Lyonell retained his lordship over his own system.  Most of the Pleiadian isles retain their sovereignty so this arrangement worked well for Lord Lyonell, his people, and their new Pleiadian allies.

What was unusual about Lord Lyonell or so it would seem to some Earth humans is that he was a Feline humanoid.  At the time of our meeting, Lord Lyonell was an impressive figure, standing slightly over nine feet tall, his powerful leonine frame towering well over my slender eight feet.  Despite the differences in our physiques and cultural backgrounds, we instantly took to each other and became great friends. 

At the time I was a son of Lord Chananda, a great Lord of Sirius A.  My name (as far as I can remember it) was Delos’anda’Ra.  It was my second lifetime in this quadrant being a son of Lord Chananda, who was, in turn, the second son of the religious leader of Sirius A, Lord Krishna.  Lord Chananda was (and is) related to Sanat Kumara, who is still the Lord of Venus along with his beloved Divine Complement, Lady Venus. Both brothers are considered Ancient of Days by their people.

In meeting with Lord Lyonell and training under his direction, I was completing my training to become the Head Commander over the now impressive Sirian Starfleet.  During the intervening years between my previous death and subsequent rebirth, under the stewardship of elder brother, Lord Jychondria, the Sirian fleet had grown, in size and strength.  We had learned much from war whether we wanted to for we were determined to survive.

It was from our Pleiadian allies that we learned about Lord Lyonell.  When the Suriya System, as his solar system was then known, entered the Pleiadian Star Federation, he requested to be allowed to enter the Command, as well.  Within a few short years, he proved his value as he began to teach the Pleiadians how to turn the tables on the enemy.  With his natural feline hunting skills, great courage and intelligence, Lord Lyonell taught the Pleiadians the art of space guerilla warfare or how to outflank the enemy.  The Pleiadians no longer merely defended their home territory; they pursued the enemy relentlessly from their skies.  It was still a tough time for the Pleiadians as they had many more isles and star systems than the Sirians and vast regions of space to protect.  Lord Lyonell is honored even today as being instrumental in aiding the Pleiadians in their ultimate defeat of the Belial forces.  We of the higher worlds do not forget.

For over a year, I spent training under Lord Lyonell and actively participating as a crew member aboard a Pleiadian ship.  I found the company very refreshing and different from the stricter Sirian protocol, but I never lost sight of what I was trying to accomplish by being on board The Golden Lion, as Lord Lyonell’s mothership was called.

From Lord Lyonell I learned techniques of hunting and attacking without being detected by the enemy until the last minute, when it was already too late.  It was determined by the Pleiadians that the enemy was determined to destroy their isles by utilizing different tactics.  We had to return in kind while keeping ourselves in alignment with the Laws of the Universe.  We had a duty and right to defend our people and territory, to protect our cultures and way of living.  We had a right to take the war to the enemy, even if that meant taking it to his territory, as well.

Lord Lyonell was magnificent, sharing his stories, and making sure that all the people under his command were battle-ready, but also healthy and strong.  His generosity with his time and knowledge impressed me, as well as his great wisdom garnered from a long life of leading his own independent people.  His people were admirable, tall, strong, their long, lean bodies covered with short golden fur, covered now by the standard issue Pleiadian silver-colored uniform and calf-high soft boots. 

Some of the Pleiadian felines wore tribal markings; beadwork braided through their tawny manes, as well as tattoos on their sculpted angular faces with the distinctive high cheekbones and lined golden eyes.  Lord Lyonell wore none of these, only a small badge on his chest giving his designation as a Commander and a tiny crown indicating his rank on his home isle.  It was enough; we all knew who he was anywhere on board the gigantic mothership; it was enough to listen for his booming bass voice carrying through the hallways and on the command deck.

Besides battle techniques, Lord Lyonell also augmented my own already considerable abilities to discern energy signatures.  Sometimes we practiced well after quitting hours to allow me time to learn to recognize a different signature and to track down the source.

In the early days of my apprenticeship with Commander Lyonell, he had me accompany a scouting/clean-up team that was going to visit one of the isolated Pleiadian isles after an attack.  Understand that the Pleiadian star system has thousands of isles within it and since the beginning salvos of the galactic wars, several smaller systems like that of Lord Lyonell and his feline people had entered under Pleiadian jurisdiction as their fleet was one of the largest in this quadrant.  Still, the ships couldn’t be everywhere at once and so there were casualties.

As we flew over the isle in question at low elevation, the team could see indications of violent fighting, houses and out-buildings on fire, crops destroyed, trees and shrubs chopped down, but there was very little evidence of survivors.  We wondered about this…until the scanning tech indicated to the captain of the crew that he spotted some life-signs a short way from the last group of buildings we had passed over.  We circled back and seeking an open space, landed.  The crew wisely used precautions, placing guards at the ship as the rest of us scattered in twos to search out the survivors.

What we saw made our stomachs clench… a woman was sprawled out on the ground.  Her clothes were torn, her face and what we could see of her body bruised and swollen.  She had been raped and brutalized viciously…that was obvious. 

She was barely coherent but managed to grab up a hidden knife and aim it at the first man who walked up; she knew how to defend herself.  The officer kicked it away and bent down, speaking to her softly, moving closer.  She tried to crawl away and then stopped and stared directly at me.  Who are you?  These are Pleiadians…but who…what are you?

Most of the men I was with that day were pure blooded human Pleiadians, solid, tall and dark-haired for the most part.  I stood out as I was slender in build, tall with white blonde hair and pale white-bluish skin of a high-born Sirian…something not seen often in these parts. 

I signed to the other men, wait there, and then approached her slowly, carefully, with my weaponless hands fully exposed in front of my body.   I directed a thought, “Friend”, and sent a stream of calming energies towards the woman who was now endeavoring to sit up.  I saw her sense the energies and intent of my greeting and began to relax.   It was a trick, a skill that my Father had taught me, mostly to use around frightened animals, but it also worked on people in need. 

I got down on my knees at her side when I sensed that her mind was now opened to receiving help.  She then startled me by abruptly reaching out and placing her hands on either side of my face.  Instinctively I attempted to pull back but then stopped the motion as she began to send a series of relentless images directly into my consciousness, searing images:

Night, they came in the night…burning, shooting at people… (Sob) they grabbed the children, all the children and some of the women, killed the men…

The images she sent into my consciousness were far more graphic than I care to share here.  Then she drew my face down to hers.  Dirty, streaked with tears, bloody with scratches, she looked wildly into my eyes…I saw what they were going to do with the children; I saw it in their ugly minds…!

With the last horrible images etched across my consciousness, she sighed, and then fell into a faint.  I signaled to one of the other men to bring a stretcher.  The woman would need immediate care.

The men were horrified that these things were happening to their people, to the innocent ones…to anyone.  I conveyed my thoughts to them, although I wasn’t in command and not Pleiadian.  Let us survey the rest of the isle and see if there are any other survivors.  Then we must take this woman back with us to the mother ship so she can receive medical care and healing.

The captain looked at me with amusement.  You’re not one of us…

Does it matter?  She is a human being and needs help.

The captain nodded in agreement.  Do as the Sirian says.  Take the woman on board.  If she wakes, give her some liquids and keep her warm; she’s in shock and is badly hurt.

The isle was small, so it was a quick trip.  I wondered if the woman we rescued was the one who managed to send for help.  Yes…came the faint telepathic reply.  I am the only one… I couldn’t save them!

Fortunately, the woman survived her wounds.  She was a tough one, a farmer’s wife.  At least as a Pleiadian female, she would not be subjected to the ordeal of suttee, a realization that appealed to my senses.  Then, with some guilt, I admonished myself for questioning the ancient beliefs and customs of my Sirian people.  Still, the idea stuck in my head, filed away for consideration later…

As she recovered on the return trip, I proceeded to quietly make friends with San’ai as she called herself.  She had an excellent talent for observation, was quite intelligent and possessed a strong will to live.  She described what she termed the slave ship that had landed smaller shuttles on her world.  The population was small on this simple agricultural isle, just three or four large families working huge extended acres.  This information amazed me; our farmers used many more people, but it did seem that some of the isles were very sparsely inhabited, indeed.  No wonder it was hard to defend these isles…

When we returned to the mothership, I spoke personally with Commander Lyonell after he had been briefed by the Pleiadian crew.  The lord was standing in his conference room, next to the large chair that he usually sat in during planning meetings.  He stretched his long arms up, much like a smaller cat, yawned, and then gave me a penetrating look with his golden eyes.  So, what did you think about that little trip, Sirian?

In a swift flood of images, I conveyed what we had encountered, the woman and her story, what I thought should be done to better defend these more isolated isles… and finally, to recommend that the woman be given the option of joining the Command as support crew (women were not allowed on the ships as crew members in those days).  She was tough, a fighter, intelligent, and well suited to be of use…and her family was gone, her way of life destroyed.  When I was done with my report, I added, Now, I see why I need to continue this fight and do whatever is necessary to keep my people safe!

Lyonell was silent for a moment, and then he yawned, again… Sorry, I need some rest; I’ve been on this since 0600.  He paused, looking at me thoughtfully, and said: You know…the captain was right about you.  You have a natural air of command and a degree of compassion and understanding that not many warriors possess.  I foretell that you will go far in your Sirian fleet; that someday, you may even be its head commander!

He was right… a mere twenty years later; I was the head commander…until the day of my last battle.

Tazo

Some weeks later, the young Sirian commander was in the process of pondering a puzzle put forth by his mentor.  For a moment he allowed his gaze to fall upon his companion.  As a Sirian lord he had seen many of the Sirian feline species as they visited the palace of his grandfather, Lord Krishna.  He was fond of these people… for he and his people considered the feline species as humanoid and hence by definition “humans”.  They walked upright, and were in every way highly intelligent, strong, and dedicated Sirians.  Due to their great size and fierce appearance, the leonine people especially were utilized often as guards for the temples and the palaces of the great although the Sirians did not fear violence from their own people.

However, this adopted Pleiadian who now stood nearby, gazing out a window into the dark skies beyond, was different.  Commander Lyonell had taken the entire Pleiadian fleet under his spell through his dominating personality, commanding wit and intelligence.  His psychic abilities were extraordinary.  His memory was astounding.  His entire being exuded tremendous power and ability, and yet, there were moments of extreme tenderness and concern where the Commander reached out to aid and comfort a crew member when they learned of a death in their family or an incident on their home world.  The man was not without a deep and abiding sense of compassion for all who came within his sphere of influence.  And so, it was when the young Sirian commander gasped in surprise and grief, the Commander moved quickly with his characteristic feline grace to the man’s side.

“What is wrong, Commander Delos?” It was months since Delos had arrived on the Pleiadian ship, The Golden Lion, for training alongside Commander Lyonell, but the Pleiadian commander retained his formality when it was required.

The commander’s great golden eyes studied his Sirian companion.  The young man… young in terms of Sirian years… was tall and slender.  His pale skin was blanched, his green eyes bright with tears and shock.  He whispered, his voice taut and strained with emotion, “Tazo… my brother… his ship is under attack!”

“What do you see?” asked Commander Lyonell.  The Pleiadian commander knew of the Sirian’s deep connection with his family, especially his younger brother.  Apparently, the young men had spent many lifetimes together, often as twins.  In this life Delos was the elder, their ages separated by some five years.  Still, the soul connection ran deep and powerful between the two siblings.

II…, “ Delos blinked, again, tears splashing down his cheeks unheeded.  He looked within and saw

The ship was jolted by another barrage, sending debris everywhere.  It was hard to see through the dust and confusion.  Tazo grabbed onto a railing to pull himself upright and was thrown again against the bulkhead.  His ears were streaming blood from the impact.  As he stumbled down the passageway, he bumped into another crew member. “Carlos? Are you okay?”

Carlos looked up at his commander, and then looked down towards the command deck a short distance away.  “The ship is going down?”

Tazo nodded abruptly and turned back to his command post, striving to steady himself on nearby stations.  The view monitors were no longer functioning, but the trajectory of the ship was obvious; they were about to crash into the isle below. 

He scanned the isle with his extended senses.  It was only lightly populated, a moon on the outer fringes of the Sirian star system.  He could sense the ships attacking his vessel were coming in for the kill.  No!  He would land this ship if it took all he had within.  Telepathically he connected with the Command Mothership, the Golden Lily, “Comrades, we are under attack!  We are now entering the atmosphere of J___ a moon of Satus.”

The reply came swiftly, “Commander Tazo, we are aware of your situation.  An attack squadron is on the way!”

As Tazo turned his attention to the navigation post, he felt his brother tuning into the situation.  “Brother…”

Tazo felt Delos nod as their minds melded in their own unique way.  He felt his brother’s strength and determination flow into his bruised body.  He focused on the controls in front of him and took control of the faltering vessel, bringing her back into alignment.  He knew that damaged as she was, they could not escape via hyperspace and needed to land on the moon.  Whether or not any of his crew would survive depended on how quickly help arrived.  The ship was too damaged to go far.

The ship shuddered as another barrage struck the outer hull.  Tazo began to cough.  He sniffed the air as the air quality sensor began to sound off.  He scanned the ship.  Fire!  He attempted to contact other surviving crew members.  One familiar mind contacted with his own, “Jon, there is a fire on board!”

“I know, sir,” replied Jon, one of the navigation staff. “It’s in the engine room, sir!” 

Unlike the more sophisticated Pleiadian vessels who utilized crystalline energy, some of the smaller Sirian ships still required fuels.  This scout vessel was such a one, not outfitted for long distance travel outside the star system.  The Sirian fleet was in the process of building ships like the Pleiadian design, but that took time, manpower, and many credits.  Under attack from many sides by the enemy, the Sirians could ill afford to lose even this small vessel.

“Take care of it, Jon!” Tazo ordered telepathically, knowing his loyal crew member would do what he asked.  He felt the assurance and determination as the crew member went off to gather others to repair the ship’s engine array.

Tazo gritted his teeth and concentrated on the controls.  As he passed his hand above them, the dials glowed.  With his strong mind he guided the vessel towards a likely landing spot on the surface of the moon.  Fortunately for the Sirians and their ship, the moon was primarily an agricultural isle, mostly flat or gently rolling country broken up by low fences or scattered farm family compounds.  Dividing his consciousness between the rapidly approaching planet surface and the controls, he guided the ship towards a landing spot.

Just before the ship landed, it shuddered once again.  This time the blow sent the vessel into a spin.  Tazo was thrown against the bulkhead.  Dazed he tried to concentrate on the task, when the vessel came to an abrupt halt on its side.  Tazo crawled to his feet.  The smoke from the fire was stronger now.  He sent an order to evacuate the vessel, “Now!”

As Tazo and a few other men stumbled out the landing ramp, they came under fire from an enemy vessel that was above strafing the ground around the vessel.  As he glanced up, Tazo felt something strike his leg, sending him crashing to the ground.  Smoke billowed out of the Sirian vessel.  The men needed to get clear, but the attack drove them closer to the wounded vessel as they sought cover.  Tazo was now coughing hard.  He covered his mouth with his hand only to pull it away in dismay.  His hand was covered with blood.  It was internal bleeding from some wound that he had not even registered in the flight.  He swayed and then pulled himself upward as another crew member reached out to support his weight. 

A sudden piercing mind scream crashed through his sensitive consciousness and he managed to peer skyward.  A dazzling light broke through the dusty atmosphere and hit the attacking enemy ship.  Help had arrived!  The drone of other Sirian ships began to fill his ears.  His men were going to be safe!

Tazo crumpled to the ground, exhausted, bleeding from internal injuries and coughing from heavy smoke inhalation.  Just as another Sirian ship landed beside his wounded vessel, he fell into a coma.  He died later of his wounds.  His men and his family grieved for this loss.  His brother, so far away from home, grieved also.

Commander Delos broke off contact with his dying brother.  He cried out silently, “Father!”

“I AM Chananda.  My son… you know?”  Delos felt the presence of his great Father surrounding him with a blanket of warm love and concern.

“Yes, I saw everything…”

“Ah… of course you would.  The binding ties of love are strong between the two of you.”

Yes!”

Delos felt another presence intrude into his inner dialogue, “What has happened, Commander Delos?”

The Sirian looked around in confusion for a second or two and then regained his composure.  He nodded to the Pleiadian Commander, “Lord Lyonell, my brother has been wounded in battle.”

Lyonell’s golden eyes rested upon his Sirian companion with compassion. “Is he gravely wounded?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the younger man. “He is dying.  They are taking him home to Sirust even now.”

Lyonell rested his heavy paw-like hand upon the Sirian’s slender shoulder, “Then you will be going home now?”

Delos looked up at the pale violet sky outside the viewing screen with its two pink moons and thought for a moment.  Then he turned to the Pleiadian, shaking his head fiercely, “No, sir… my Father will understand.  I must complete my training here with you.  I will honor my brother later.”

The shrewd golden eyes of the Pleiadian searched the young commander’s pale determined face.  He thought to himself, “Hmmm, our mutual enemy has made a mistake in attacking a member of this young man’s family…”

He was right.  Within twenty years, the young Sirian became the Head Commander of the Sirian Star Fleet and never looked back.

Remembrance – In a Pool of Light

The young priest was sunk deep into a meditative state.  He was sitting on floor with his legs crossed.  A shaft of light illuminated his pale features in golden light.  He was dressed in a simple short woven brown robe, with loose white trousers, a white loose shirt beneath his open robe. Head bent in thought, one gold earring glinted from his left ear, peeking from beneath his white blonde shoulder-length hair.  His long slender feet were bare, a gesture of humility as he sought to clear his mind of the emotions that arose from his last meeting with his oft-absent father, the head commander of the Sirian Fleet. 

He fought to suppress the anger and frustration that seemed to rise like an angry snake whenever he confronted his father.  Ironically, he was tired of feeling this way and so he sought to reach deep into the depths of his being, seeking out the gate to the sacred space that his mentors spoke of with great awe.

Like a drowning man, he sunk deeper into meditation, breathing slowly, his consciousness gradually losing touch with his physical surroundings… the towering hall outside the smaller side chapel, the massive golden columns, the sweet smoky scent of incense…the distant chimes marking the hour…the soft repetitive chants of pilgrims who were visiting the great Temple.  Gradually, a golden light surrounded the focus of his awareness and carried his attention beyond his body, out into the skies above the vast city, and beyond.  He floated in a sea of light surrounding his light body, bathing him in warmth like a mother’s love, filling with strength from the divine essence of the Father. 

His consciousness was guided on by unseen guides until he floated above Sirian space.  He could see all the worlds, the great central sun of Sirius A, his own home isle; the smaller solar presence of Osiris (Sirius B) and beyond Ganat (Sirius C) the smallest of the solar isles.  Like tiny pearls the lesser isles and moons followed their great stars like glittering necklaces. 

As he gazed upon the sight, his attention was drawn by flashes of light and the feeling of grave danger; a battle was taking place on the periphery of the system.  His father’s fleet was engaged in yet another confrontation with their relentless enemy from the lower Orion system. 

In his neutral state of observation, he wondered what he could do to assist his father and the many sons of Sirius who fought these battles day after day.  He admitted to himself that his father was right; he wasn’t suited for war, but as a Son of Light, surely he could accomplish something.  He could feel the surety of this knowledge within his entire being.  There had to be a way.  He knew it, just knew it. 

Feeling the slight but insistent tug upon his silver cord, Aman hesitated for a moment, gazing upon the star system, the home that he loved.  And then he let go and swiftly returned to his body that was slumped over in the quiet chapel.  For a moment he kept his eyes closed, relishing the visions he had just experienced within his meditation, and then breathing out a deep sigh, he opened his green eyes and looked around.  Dusk was swiftly falling; it was time to attend to his prayers.

In the middle of the night, Aman awoke from a disturbed sleep to see a golden figure standing at the foot of his bed in his modest quarters.  He sat up and watched the golden fingers of the figure draw geometric shapes in the air, the patterns remaining visible for a few moments and then disappearing.  Then, the shapes reversed upon themselves.  A few minutes later, the shapes reversed yet again.  Aman recognized a pattern, a rhythm to the process.  It was an oscillation forcefield…would that protect their worlds?  How could it be reproduced to be large enough to encompass the entire Sirian star system?  The nameless figure smiled and pointed to its own heart and made a circle with its hand that lingered in the air as the figure itself disappeared into the gloom. 

In the morning, Aman was inpatient to complete his priestly duties so he could visit his grandfather, Lord Chananda, who he regarded as one of the most intelligent and compassionate individuals in Sirius.  He often visited his grandfather, sometimes to confess his confusion over his father’s activities in the fleet.  Lord Chananda always simply looked deep into his eyes and stated, “Your father is doing what he came here for…”

This time he was excited to have something else to speak of with his grandfather.  Late in the afternoon, he was finally released from his last duty and headed down the hill from the great Temple where he served towards the House of the Ancient of Days, where the head of the Gia Family resided.  Lord Chananda, as a Son of Krishna, resided in the vast complex in a comfortable dwelling filled with several generations of Gia family members.  He enjoyed spending time in his personal gardens when he was not attending to official events and duties; however, today, the Lord was not present in the fragrant garden.  A servant told Aman that his grandfather was attending a gathering of dignitaries in the great audience hall of the House.  Disappointed, Aman nevertheless headed in that direction, first making a stop at his own quarters that he used when visiting to change into more suitable garments.  The court was very particular about dress.  Everyone except his own father, Commander Delos, obeyed these strict rules and protocols.  Delos seemed to follow his own inner piper and continued to dress simply when off-duty, primarily in white garments that were more suitable to a working man.  Aman found that peculiar trait of his father’s to be particularly irritating, feeling that it was an insult to his mother, the Lady Anya.  Still, the source of the chronic irritation was far from his consciousness today; he wanted to share his vision with Grandfather…

Following a long gallery above the great Court, Aman joined his uncle Jychrondria and aunt Reynea, who were observing the audience taking place below.  These relatives were related to the first lifetime of Lord Delos, but both being long-lived were still present when Delos returned to them in a second incarnation.  Aman understood that reincarnation into specific families was a trait in many Sirian families, but especially in the higher caste.   His aunt and uncle were honored for having raised the children of Tazo, Delos and their mates when they died in the explosion in the early part of the Orion war and the females walked into the fires of the pyres of their deceased mates.

Aman halted near his relatives and made a simple obeisance to his uncle and aunt and then turned to survey the crowd, leaning on the railing and watching the scene below.

Lord Chananda was standing to the right side of his Father, Lord Krishna, who was speaking to some dignitaries from the Pleiades.  One or two of the men were dressed in their silvery white metallic Command uniforms, covered with long formal white cloaks.  The insignias of their rank and family were emblazoned above their hearts.  A ranking member of the secular branch of the Sirian government was also present, one of the Kavioush Family, who had ruled Sirius from time immemorial.  Aman was curious as to what was being discussed, but there was a seal of privacy around the discussion.  Telepathic speech could not interfere with the presentation until a certain degree of secrecy was no longer required.  Aman had a sense that the visit involved the desire of the Pleiadians to recruit men and perhaps even ships for their Command. 

The Pleiadian Fleet was one of the biggest in the galaxy, but their territory was also vast, and encompassed thousands of isles, big and small.  It was almost impossible at times to protect them all so there had been many villages preyed upon by an assortment of raids, from slavers to vicious military operations.  There did not seem to be any logic to the way the enemy operated save an intention to create the utmost in fear and outrage.  Many outlying smaller star systems had joined the Pleiadian Star Federation to gain protection.  All these worlds had their own ships, but those were mainly for private use or as freight carriers, as all the isles shared intersystem commerce at some level.

Aman knew so much about the Pleiadians as his father, Lord Delos, had spent one-year training under one of their top commanders, the famous Lord and Commander Lyonell.  From Delos’ shared impressions, Aman knew the commander was quite prominent in instructing even his adopted Pleiadians on how to fight this strange enemy, the Belial forces.  Perhaps it was something in the Feline bloodline that assisted one in coming up with the unique and innovative techniques for searching out their quarry and scanning the space frequencies for disturbances.  The priest shook his head as if to clear it of all references to his father and returned his attention to the scene below.

Since the faces of the Pleiadians conveyed some disappointment that even he could discern from above, Aman knew the plea for men had been denied.  The Sirian fleet was maxed out with all the smaller attacks coming from multiple directions these days.  Aman knew that his father worried about the possibility of a large attack being directed against the great city of Sirust itself, a thrust to the heart of the star system and its government.  Despite himself, Aman felt for his father, the heavy weight of command that he had exercised for so long with little respite.

A movement below caught his eye…the tall Pleiadians were bowing to the Sirian leaders, Lord Krishna, and the representative of the Kavioush Family.  They turned to leave the audience chamber.  As they came parallel to where Aman was standing, he met the up glance from one of the taller Pleiadians, a brawny and bronzed individual with golden hair and great blue eyes.  Aman stepped back in surprise when the man winked at him and then continued walking with his companions towards the exit door to the great hall.  Who was that? He wondered to himself.  A shiver ran through him for the man looked familiar even though he had never seen him before in this life, yet he knew him.  He didn’t have time to wonder as he saw his grandfather moving towards a side door that would lead him to the private family quarters within the great dwelling place.  Again, making a sketchy obeisance to his elder relatives, Aman dashed off along the gallery as fast as his feet would carry him without injuring his priestly dignity and pride.

Aman reached his grandfather’s private rooms just after the older man had settled into a comfortable couch to rest.  Lord Chananda looked up as his grandson strode in without being announced; his flustered housekeeper tried to stop the young man, but the lord smiled and waved her away.  What is it, Aman, that you can’t wait a minute?

Pardon me, Grandfather…I…I have had a vision!

Aman—men of our family have many visions; what is so special about yours that you come barging in when I’m about to rest a while.  Standing in the audience hall isn’t the most entertaining of activities!

Aman blushed at his audacity.  His grandfather was a scion of one of the highest houses in Sirust and a man of great learning and wisdom, highly respected by all.  He bowed, and made his apologies, but the vision still had him in its thrall, so he blurted his message out. “I have seen a way we can protect our worlds!”

For what seemed a long moment, Chananda regarded his grandson with a skeptical look, his lightly colored brow raised over one green eye.  He studied the lad’s face and posture and deduced something out of the ordinary had gripped him, indeed.  Tell me!

Aman conveyed the vision to his grandfather in a series of pictures, outlining the shapes traced in the air by the mysterious hand, their shape and motion.  His grandfather looked on with interest as his grandson endeavored to communicate the consequences and potential of his vision.  Finally, he completed his tale and looked over at the elder man.  Well, what do you think?

Impertinent imp!  I must think this over!

Aman looked with astonishment on his grandfather… who by his looks was not beyond his mid-thirties, but whom the boy knew was well into his 600th year and beyond.  Still, with the sensitive nature of his lineage, the boy intuited a growing sense of excitement in the older man.  When Chananda felt Aman staring at him impatiently, he waved him out of the room.  Go, Aman… I must speak to my Father about this discovery!”

“Aman… thanks to you for this.  I just hope it isn’t too late…”

The young priest heard no more as he walked slowly down the corridor to his own quarters so he might change into his priestly robes before returning to the Temple and his duties.  What did Grandfather mean when he said, “too late”?

It was only in a place that he did not want to acknowledge that he knew and dreaded the answer to his own question – too late for his father, the impetuous and intense defender of Sirius, Lord and Commander Delos.  Soberly he walked down the long marble corridor, ignoring the gorgeous inlaid tiles and paintings of the beautiful palace.  His conflicted feelings about his long-absent father returned, dimming the vision of the great meditation.  While he was seldom comfortable in his company, Aman secretly admired and deeply loved the brave warrior who was lauded throughout Sirust, who did not let the praise go to his head, but focused on his mission, day in and day out, with little respite.  And if he was more honest, Aman felt a tiny bit jealous of one who was so sure of his purpose and did his utmost to carry it out no matter what.  It was the phrase “no matter what” that sent a shiver through his body, as Aman looked through the window in his room, his inner eyes seeing that distant fire fight, one of many in which his father and his forces participated.  He could only hope to emulate in some small way the accomplishments of this man who had molded the Sirian star fleet into a great intergalactic fleet, with the latest technology and training from both the Ashtarians and Pleiadians, despite the tendency of the Sirians to want to cling to the old ways. 

Aman headed back to the Temple, climbing the grand steps of the huge golden building and turning to admire the view over the sprawling city below, with each of the sections separated by high walls until reaching the outer grounds of the temple hills, the most sacred places in all of Sirust and Sirius A.  Climbing the steps slowly, he made the resolution to do something of great value, if only to emulate his great father…

Again, in the middle of the night, Aman was wakened by his golden visitor… this time he looked at the glowing figure more closely.  There was a distinct familiarity to its features.  The being smiled sweetly and spoke to Aman: “Child of Light, due to your diligence, prayers, and concern for your people, you have been granted a dispensation that will benefit all; it will protect your worlds permanently from further threats of invasion and outside interference…”

“But how so, oh mighty One?” Aman now felt he had sufficiently identified his golden stranger… his own great, great grandfather, the Lord Vishnu, who had gone into the Light years ago.  “Lord Vishnu?”

“I AM Vishnu, grandson.”

“What must be done?”

“Speak to your Grandfather and Great Grandfather and the great Council of Sirius.  A great meditation must be given forth for all the people to participate within, as all will be affected by the forcefield that is co-created through this great effort.  I will communicate myself with your kin to prepare them.”

For a moment, Aman was stunned…and then another thought interfered…his father and the fleet.

“What of my father and the Fleet?”

“For your father, we can do nothing; his fate is sealed at his own hand, but the great Fleet will survive what is coming…”

Despite his priestly hard-won self-discipline, Aman felt tears start in his eyes at the judgment against his father.  Vishnu, sensing his distress, continued, “Do not fret about your father; what he is about to do is brave beyond measure; foolish, but brave.  And he will be taken to a place of healing, where he will be without remembrance of this land and people for many years to come until such time when he is again at peace.  Then it will be time to release this hidden burden of his heart…”

“I do not understand, Grandfather…”

“Do not worry for those whose time is nearly done here in this world; there are many more before them.”

Vishnu appeared more concrete for a moment, his golden clad form glittering in the moonlight, emanating a soft auric glow.  “Now for the meditation…watch!”

Using his highly trained ability to memorize and observe, Aman carefully watched the motions of his grandfather’s golden hands as they traced the mudras that would activate the great forcefield.  And he absorbed the incantations and prayers to repeat to set the forcefield into perpetual motion, a great oscillating forcefield that would reverse on itself every few hours and would do so as long as the great Star Nation of Sirius retained its alignment to the Will of the Father God.

As soon as he could, Aman conveyed the finer details of the great meditation to both his grandfather and great-grandfather. Now, it was up to the people to save their home worlds…

The Departure

In the years that followed the death of my younger brother Tazo and the completion of my training under the auspices of the Pleiadian Commander, Lord Lyonell, I had become a tough and canny warrior, succeeding in surprising our enemy many times.  Thanks to my training in the “art” of war, I became hardened to its necessities.  It was only when I visited my Father, Lord Chananda, when he took me aside to visit the grave of my brother, Tazo, that I allowed any emotion to overtake me.  I made that pilgrimage every year on the day when my brother and his ship were shot down.  Tazo died.  I didn’t.  I was far away and couldn’t save him.  Any soldier would tell you that I was suffering from survivor’s guilt and they would be right… but we were too busy fighting to pause to think and consider what this seemingly endless war cost us personally and as a people.

One day my Father took me aside.  I was on a well-needed break between campaigns to drive the enemy out of Sirian space.  As I gazed upon my Father’s serene face, I knew that he had something of great significance to tell me.  We were standing in a quiet garden, filled with the blossoms of pear trees and wisteria.  I realized that spring had arrived and that I had been too preoccupied to see it, so much had I changed from the little boy who used to play in this same garden with his younger brother.  I blinked back tears and concentrated on my Father’s compassionate sea-green eyes. 

“You still miss him, don’t you?” came my Father’s soft voice.  

“Yes…and the others who have been lost to us,” I added, choking down my emotions. I was a commander and could not take the time to fully mourn all of whom had been lost in the years since the first enemy attacks had commenced over 400 years ago.

It may surprise some to know that at this moment it had been 300 years since my brother had died.  I was a man full-grown, with two sons and daughter of my own.  Due to our war status, Tazo had decided not to take a mate until after his 125th birthday.  He died at 118 years.  Depending on our caste, status, and life plan, our people lived typically from 300 to 700 years of age.  Few made it to old age in these days, but I managed to preserve the family line in the persons of my sons.  My Father was ageless, extremely long-lived, but such were the Sons of Krishna, of a high spiritual evolution.  I was honored to be his son, but personally felt I fell short of his high ideals and dedication to service and the people.

“Delos… your mind wanders…” Father’s deep resonant voice broke through my thoughts, once again.

Again, I looked into those sea-green eyes, “What is it, my Father?”

Lord Chananda smiled, startling me a bit. I stared at him closely.  Yes, I detected a faint smile on his full crimson lips.

 “My son, we have discovered a way to protect our world.”

How is that so?” I queried.

The tall lord smiled, again, a bit wider: “It was through your own son, Aman, that this idea was conceived.”

Delos thought, “Ah, my son… the priest.”

The green eyes twinkled as my Father looked at me. “Yes, the priest… who may have found a way to protect our world…forever!”

How so?” Okay, now I was curious.  I had not seen my son for months.  He spent most of his time in the great Temple that stood at the highest point of our great city, Sirust.  This was the Temple dedicated to Lord Krishna, Son of Vishnu, the great religious leader of our people.

My son and I were often at odds and lately I had not attempted to see him at all.  In turn, he avoided me as he did not understand my motivations in going to war.  It wasn’t that I loved war; no true warrior loves war.  Yet, when my people were faced with certain annihilation, I had little choice.  I wanted, needed to protect them in the only way I knew, by being a warrior. I had been born with certain gifts, skills, and talents — I was just good at fighting and leading men, strategy, tactics, outguessing the enemy, tuning into the frequencies, knowing when and where to strike.  I was doing what I could do where and when I was needed. I didn’t fear death — that was obvious especially in my last moments.  I had incarnated into Sirius for a specific mission – that much was clear to my Father and Grandfather, so they were understanding, even if there were those within my own family who did not fully approve or understand what it was I felt compelled to do by a deep inner need to serve.

There were other matters that created friction between my son and me.  For instance, the way I dressed at home that bothered my son and insulted his finely tuned sense of decorum.  As Head Commander, I pushed aside a lot of what I regarded insignificant issues in my fierce determination to focus on the matters at hand, keeping the people safe.

There was simply no time now to heal the emotional wounds between my son and me.  I was forced by circumstance to move on, to the next battle, the next alarm, the next thing that had to be done to prepare the fleet.  After my elder brother, Commander Jychondria retired, I inherited his position and proceeded to make it my own.  I was the Head Commander, in charge, and so everything in my life including my long-suffering but patient mate, Anya, was relegated to the sidelines.  Any warrior will understand this driving need to protect and serve those he loves in the best way s/he knows, but unfortunately for the health of our relationship, my priestly son was not a warrior and so was repelled by what he judged was wrong, ungodly behavior.  Even as war divides families today, so it did long ago in those early days of the Orion Wars, when the Sirian star nation faced an extremely dangerous enemy.

It is my understanding now, in retrospect, that perhaps my son, Aman, was confused by the thought of war, of death, and the destruction that it wrought.  I sensed this disquiet within him in those days when he angrily refused to attend the academy to which I wanted to send him to prepare him for entering into the space force.  Instead he threw into my startled face his desire to become a priest and devote his life to praying, fasting, and asking forgiveness for his killer of a father.  I was stunned at his outburst, but knew well enough what was behind it, so I let him pursue his desires.  He became a priest, a good one… and one day he too would serve the people by engendering the idea of the forcefield that would eventually protect the Sirian isles from invasion – but I didn’t know that at the time, didn’t have time to argue, and so I let him go.  I sensed the inner core of my son’s fear and understood.  Warrior though I was, I also knew fear everytime I went into battle. Yet, I knew compassion for my son and my men.  I learned that, in part, from a great one, Commander and Lord Lyonell, of the Pleiadian fleet, one of my early mentors.

Delos –?” My father’s voice penetrated my mind’s perambulations.  “What do you think?”

I backed away from Lord Chananda and wearily asked him, point-blank, “How can we protect our people from these enemies of ours?”

The tall lord stepped away from his son’s side and pulled down a branch of a blooming pear tree so he might smell the flowers. “We will collectively bring a forcefield into being using the mantras given to Aman by his great-great grandfather, Lord Vishnu.”

I was astonished at his answer.  It was true; our people were powerful psychics, but to collectively bring such a forcefield into being?  I could not fathom it but felt my Father’s sincerity and belief that such a miracle could be achieved.  I was dumbfounded, speechless.

For a moment, I pulled at a wisp of wisteria bloom that dangled in front of my eyes, staring blindly out at the garden I no longer saw in front of me…only seeing the countless dead who had died as a result of the attacks of a relentless enemy, the destruction of some of our minor planets, the devastation to untold lives.  I was appalled at what I regarded to be pure foolishness.  In that moment, I had even lost faith in my beloved Father, who had ever been the source of wisdom and comfort for me, especially after the loss of my brother and the death of my mother a year later.  My heart felt cold, removed… distant.

My voice…my telepathic voice…was cold and distant as I spoke to my Father. “I do not understand and now I must leave and say good-bye to my mate, Lady Anya, who awaits me in our quarters.”

I bowed abruptly, turned and nearly ran from the garden. I could feel my father’s disappointment in my rejection of the plan.

Before I reached our rooms, I slowed down, thinking, I should go back and apologize to my father. 

Still, I continued, soon reaching the suite of rooms I shared with my mate, where we had raised our three children during the times when I was home between campaigns and battles.

Anya stood there quietly.  Her long white-blonde hair was gathered up into a matron’s bun, with one light tumble of curls resting on one shoulder.  She was dressed in a beautiful white sari embroidered with tiny blue flowers, with a minimum of jewelry, and her golden earrings dangling beneath her fine light hair. 

She intuitively knew my different moods and so she spoke softly now. “You are leaving, again, my love?”

Yes, my love,” I replied, tenderly, wondering at the sensitivity of this lovely woman who had shared my life for so many years.  I traced her strong cheekbone with a forefinger. “We have had numerous reports of enemy ships near our outer defenses.  Since I am the Commander of the Fleet, I must go out myself and investigate.”

Another pair of green eyes gazed intently into mine, bringing up the memory of my recent encounter with my Father.  My mate, Anya, caught my thought, “You saw your Father today?”

Yes.” She knew from my tone that the subject was closed for now, but still she ventured a question, “Did he tell you of our plans?”

I stared at her somewhat sharply.  She started back and then regained her composure.  Anya had been brought up with the most exquisite of manners.

Ah,” was all she said. She understood that I did not approve, but then she would.  She knew me well.

“When do you leave?” she asked, changing the subject. 

I replied, “Tomorrow morning.”  I continued on relentlessly, “The Golden Lily is returning from its latest cruise to Sirius B and C.  They’re going to pick me up by shuttle at the star base outside of Sirust.”

Anya nodded; her delicate face subdued.  I knew that she suffered whenever I was gone long and for that I was sorry, but I was a warrior and knew my duty.  Or at least I thought I knew it… As a high caste Sirian woman, Anya also knew her duty.  I was sorry for what she was about to go through, but I knew that she would do so with all the grace and dedication to our customs that she could muster.

What I did not tell my relatives, what I could not tell them were my plans for an all-out offensive against our enemy.  The plan was to remove their presence from our star system forever.  I knew I was going into battle, yet I hesitated to share the knowledge that I would not be returning, ever again to these people I loved.  I was going to my death.

“Confrontation”

When Lord Delos devised his last strategy, it was more out of desperation and lack of time to prepare the people for what was about to descend on them within a space of days, a full-out invasion force of the Belials with the intent to kill or conquer our people completely.  After so long, he knew the energy frequency and patterns of the enemy, how they thought, where they were stationed, what planets they had managed to conquer, and what planets they had managed to destroy, rape or pillage in their goal of ultimate conquest of this galaxy.  As Delos, he did not understand or comprehend the source of this unbridled lust for conquest, but, thanks to his mentors and his people’s faith in his abilities and skill, Delos did his best to counteract the infection given his people’s resources.  After so many years of attrition in the population, so many needless deaths, the Sirian people were exhausted and traumatized by the senseless onslaught.  So, the exhausted commander pulled one last trick out of the basket and played it, by a selfless loving sacrifice, acting as the warrior he was to use what tactics he could to draw out the enemy and by doing so, destroy them.

The young second commander looked at the stern pale angular features of Lord Delos’ countenance with some concern.  He had known the head commander for some time, and had known of him for longer, the brilliant tactician and strategist, his uncanny way of knowing exactly where they would find the enemy ships; yet he knew better than to idolize his complex self-contained superior.  Still, something was off…he feared for his commander’s sanity as he quietly observed the head commander sitting on a bench staring at the floor and lost in thought.  He…he was so somewhere else

Jon? His commander’s deep telepathic voice resonated through his mental body.  It was the quality of the voice and presence that defined Lord Delos from every other member of the large crew.

Aye, sir? The second commander waited patiently until the other man’s attention returned to the room around him from wherever or whenever he had been in meditation.

Then he braced his legs to steady his body as the head commander’s orders flowed like a great overpowering river through his mind.  What?  Why?  Where?  He shook his head at the audacity of the plans.  You want me to take command, sir?

Yes!

Where will you be, sir?

Commander deAir, I will be the bait!

Sir!

Then young deAir stepped back involuntarily as Lord Delos looked up, two intense green eyes fixed on him intently.  There was a steel will behind that quiet set face.  Jon could feel it.  There wasn’t time to argue; the fleet was approaching the disputed edge of Sirian space.

You are well-trained, Jon.  You’ll know what to do!  There was a pause as the head commander looked down at his slender hands.  His long white fingers were gripped together tightly.  Lord Delos slowly pulled his hands apart and shook them gently.  Guess I’m a little tense!

A little tense, thought Jon, carefully blocking his mind to the Head Commander. Ah… I would be too if I were going where he was…

Jon?

The young commander almost blushed, but he was too well-trained…trained by the very man who was now standing up and moving across the council room towards him.  He stood at attention, hoping his nervousness didn’t show up on his pale face.  Lord Delos merely nodded at him, gave him a penetrating look, reminding Jon of the eyes of a mountain eagle his brother had brought home long ago.

Yes, sir!  I will see that your orders are carried out.

Good.  Now I must get ready!

Jon stepped out into the passageway behind Lord Delos.  Sir, what ship do you plan to use?

An ironic smile briefly crossed the stern pale face.  My brother’s old scout ship will do for this trip.

Jon was appalled, once again.  That old wreck?

Yes, Jon, that old wreck; it will do nicely for this journey. I don’t expect to return…

Jon was embarrassed that his thoughts had leaked out of his highly trained consciousness, but Lord Delos had his ways of deciphering frequencies that still baffled the young man.  He snapped to attention as the lord turned to walk towards his private quarters.

By the way, Commander DeAir, I have been honored to serve with you!

With those last parting words, Jon saluted his head commander’s back, knowing Lord Delos would feel his emotions without any effort.

And I, you, sir!

And the young commander spun quickly on his heels and strode off towards the command deck to convey the wishes…last wishes…of Lord Delos.

Delos entered his apartment.  It was sparsely furnished, just a single bed, a shelf for personal belongings, a small closet, and an extra blue uniform hanging from a hook on one bulkhead.  There were no personal mementos, no photos, and no images of the gods.  There was nothing to indicate that this was the quarters of the head commander.  Delos liked it this way, simple, clean, unadorned.  All that he owned was at home in Sirust.  All that he loved and cherished… was at Home.  Would he ever see it again? He knew the answer.  No.

He sat down on the hard bed.  Long ago, he had learned to sleep anywhere, even on cold, hard ground; the bed didn’t bother him.  If he had needed physical comforts, they would have been provided him.  He was letting everything go…

Entering a deep meditative state, Delos reached out to his Father, Lord Chananda in Sirust, the great capital of Sirius A.  Distance and time made no difference in this in-between place; there was no time or space here.  Father…

I AM Chananda.  What can I do for you, Delos?

Delos felt the comforting Presence of his Father surround him and relaxed slightly.  You know I love you, Father…

Yes…I know what it is you plan to do, Delos.

I knew you would.  I just could not say anything that last day…

Tears began to fall down the pale stern face as his Father’s great love softened his resistance…

You must do what you need to do.  I know you do it for the people, for the survival of our worlds.

Delos paused a moment.  Father, please send the Angels to me.  I feel that I will have need of them today…

They will come on the Wings of Eagles, my son.  I love thee!

Some hours later, the preparation was ready.  The slower old scout ship moved out away from the cloaked fleet.  It was headed to an old outpost on a tiny isolated rock of an isle in disputed space.  The only person on the scout ship was Lord Delos.

Commander Jon deAir watched anxiously as the old ship moved across the dark depths of space.  And then there were explosions of light as an entire flotilla arrived simultaneously out of hyperspace to surround the aging vessel! Jon’s jaw dropped in astonishment, and then he pulled himself together.  It was time for action!

Uncloak and attack, all ships!  Uncloak and attack!

It was a complete surprise as the Sirian fleet attacked the enemy for Lord Delos had seen to it that every ship in the Sirian fleet was updated with the latest cloaking devices from the Pleiadians and the Ashtarian fleets.  All except the old scout ship, that is…

The Sirian fleet had surrounded the area of the old outpost and immediately proceeded to burn their way into the opposing vessels with laze guns and cannons.  It didn’t take long until the dark sea of space was glinting with burning hulls of enemy ships floating aimlessly around.  It had been a complete rout!  And the Sirian fleet had only lost a few men, fewer wounded…except?

The crew on the command deck shouted aloud in triumph.  The uproar silenced when the commander stepped forward to the scanning station, signaling for quiet.  Where is the scout vessel?

Everyone knew he was really wondering, Where is Lord Delos?

Sir!  There it is!  The scanning tech zoomed into the viewer bringing an image onto the large screen in front of the command deck.  The scout vessel was listing.  There was a great hole in its outer hull.

Any life signs?

The medical monitor looked up from his instruments and shook his head. No, sir…sorry, sir!

Commander deAir straightened up, his jaw tightening even as he felt tears starting up.  For the first time, he felt the full weight of command heavy on his shoulders.  It would be his duty to report to the Head Commander’s family, Lord Chananda and his son, Aman Gia Kumara.

It was a victory, a great victory, sir!

Commander deAir looked at the man who had spoken up with a hard glance.  We lost a great man here today.  Never forget it!

He turned away and strode out of the command deck.  Let the Fleet know we’re going Home!

A couple of days after the recovery of Lord Delos’ remains from the old scout ship, the new Head Commander of the Sirian Fleet arrived at the sprawling home of Lord Chananda, situated on one of the holy hills of Sirust.  He wanted to personally announce that Lord Delos was being ceremoniously laid in state in his favorite temple so that the people of the city could properly mourn the loss of this great man…my friend.

Guided by a servant the newly assigned Commander found himself standing in a lovely private garden taking tea with Lord Delos’ father, Lord Chananda.  Jon found the older man quite imposing despite his slender build and quiet demeanor.  He sensed a powerful Presence behind the physical façade of the lord.

How did it happen, Jon?  Lord Chananda was casual in his address; he had known Jon for all his life and was quite determined to put the man at ease.

He set a trap, my lord, and…and he was the bait.  He knew they would come if he was alone.  And they did.  They could not resist getting their collective dirty hands on…

Jon clenched his fists trying to control the emotions that were fighting to the surface.

Lord Delos loved you like a son, you know.  The soft inner voice cracked his disciplined outer shell; Jon sunk to one of the benches, tears flowing down his pale angular cheeks.

Why did he do it, my lord?

The answer surprised Jon.  To give us time…

Time?  Jon looked up at Lord Chananda with a mixture of emotions crowding his features, disbelief, grief, and a touch of anger?

Yes, Jon…time.   Lord Chananda got up and began to stride around the garden.  You will see…it’s in the planning stages.

Planning…?

Jon, you’re tired.  The older man strode up to Jon and shook his shoulder lightly.  Go home now…to your mate and children.  You haven’t seen them yet, have you?

No…I wanted to speak to you first.

Lord Chananda nodded and with a wave dismissed the commander out of the garden.  Go home!

As the commander entered the portico to find his way through the huge mansion to the entry hall, he nearly ran into Aman…the priest son of the Commander.  Aman.

Commander deAir.

Jon could sense a deep underlying current of mixed emotions in this man; like himself, the son did not understand his father but for very different reasons.  He did not know his father or appreciate the heavy weight he had carried for so long without respite.  Jon sighed, missing his old mentor and friend… There was an empty place in his heart due to the loss of his former commander.  He began to address the priest, again, this time to explain his presence.  Aman… What are you doing here?  I thought you would be in the Temple with your father…

The other man turned, startled, and stared at the commander with alarm in his eyes; his mind clearly preoccupied with other matters. Commander deAir?  Where is my father?  What happened?

Do you not know? The commander’s green eyes were hard like serpentine.  “Your father is dead.  Even now his body is being laid to rest in the family temple.  We just arrived home from the battle site at the edge of Sirian space.”

The priest’s finely boned aristocratic face became frozen with shock.  “I…I didn’t feel it, his death.  How did I not? There was a battle?  How many other casualties were there?

Jon couldn’t understand the disconnection between father and son that he didn’t feel the moment of his father’s brave death, but it wasn’t his place to judge the man now.

Only five of our men died.  Your father was one of them. Jon surged on… If it will help, the Commander…Lord Delos knew that the enemy was massing a great fleet on the borders of our space.  They were planning a huge attack, even on this city…

The priest’s face was filled with disbelief, astonishment.  How did he know?

Jon shrugged.  He had his ways.  He just knew…With that terse reply, Jon snapped a salute and marched out of the front door passing a startled guard.  He was glad to leave that house of mourning.  He felt the priest staring after him, but he didn’t look back.  Aman may have been Lord Delos’ son, but he didn’t know his father well.  And now he would never know him.

Sacrifice

The tall, slender young man strode defiantly into the garden where his Grandfather was waiting for him.  Lord Chananda ignored him for a moment, instead putting all his attention on the colorful male peacock that was strutting against the white wall of the enclosed private garden.  A secret smile crept across the older man’s strongly defined features.  Then he turned and surveyed the young man from head to toe, the guarded mouth, the tension in his jaw, the stiffness in his shoulders.  Lord Chananda shrugged and then let out a sigh, thinking, “So like his father…”

The grandson, Aman, stood quietly as his grandfather’s light green eyes passed over him.  Yes, he was angry, upset, confused… his father had left the city days ago intent on committing a dangerous act of entering enemy territory with a small fleet of ships. And now Commander deAir had just informed him his father was dead.  He felt numb, with both grief and anger at his father’s death.

Aman!” The resonant telepathic voice was like a whip hitting him, even as a wash of warm loving energy stole over his body.  The young man straightened his long open tunic and repositioned the shawl that was draped casually over his shoulder.  He missed his priestly robes, but the summons from his grandfather seemed urgent.  He pulled at one gold earring, wondering at his own nervousness.  He knew that somehow his life was about to change…

Sir,” replied the young man, slightly hesitant.  Then he blurted out, “Why was Commander DeAir here just now?  Where is my father?  What happened?

“Yes, Aman…it is your father.”

Aman was in shock and repeated: “What happened? Commander deAir just told me he died in battle.  I don’t believe it!”

The tall lord hesitated for a moment and then said quietly, “It is true what the commander told you. Your father is dead. Before he died, he promoted Commander DeAir to Head Commander of the Fleet!  He died in battle soon afterward.”

You could not feel his passing? The internal query shook him to his core

Despite his anger and upset towards his strong-willed father, his son staggered with the shock of the bald statement from his serene grandfather.  Lord Chananda stood quietly waiting for Aman to recover.  It took a while as despite their differences, son and father loved each other deeply.  Finally, Aman straightened up, again, and looked into the pale green eyes of the older man.

“What does this mean?”

The reply was a rebuff, swift and harsh, “Your mother…” There was a brief pause.

Then Aman finished the sentence: “…must enter the funeral pyre.” The young man was as pale as the white sash about his waist. 

Chananda nodded, “You of all people should know our ancient custom.”

“Yes…yes…of course.” Aman nodded slowly his eyes blurred with tears.  When were these wars and battles going to ever end?  Many of his friends and companions from school had already perished in battle, their mates releasing their lives within the funeral fires.  And now both his parents had become the latest victims. “I will send a priestess to prepare her.”

Lord Chananda waved his hand in dismissal, “There is no need.  I have sent for her.  And she already knows.”

“Where is his body…?”

“He died in space.  He will not be returning to us…alive.  The fleet just arrived at the spaceport.  Commander Jon DeAir wanted me to know before the news spread throughout the city.  Your father’s body has been taken to our family Temple to prepare his body to be laid out.  Meanwhile, there are the funeral arrangements to be made…”

For those readers who are not aware of the Sirian beliefs on reincarnation, it was felt that a soul would be reborn on the planet of their birth if and only if s/he died within the atmosphere of the isle.  Since Aman’s father had died in space outside of the atmosphere of any Sirian planet, it could not yet be determined where his soul would choose next to reincarnate.  He would not be returning to Sirius as had been foretold by Lord Vishnu. 

The Sirians regard the physical vessel as a temporary vehicle.  They are quite aware of the journeys that some souls take as they climb the ladder of soul evolution.  Some souls move at a slower pace; some move like a wildfire.  Aman’s father was one of the latter.

Aman stared at his grandfather, a man whom he regarded as a kind, gentle, sometimes distant person given his vast age and experience.  His grandfather’s face was quiet and serene, as usual, but Aman could feel the grief within.  However, Lord Chananda was not given to sharing his thoughts or emotions with his grandson.  The great lord had lived long enough to see many sons and daughters go into the fires; Aman’s father was but one of the latest, but… He was gone, dead in his last battle. 

“Aman, since your father has died and you are the eldest son, you will retire from the priesthood and find a mate!” The quiet order from his grandfather startled Aman, but he knew enough not to argue.  An order from his grandfather was due to an instruction directly from Source.  As a man of his House, Aman, too, knew his duty.  Too many young men and women had died due to the wars, especially from the higher castes that produced most of the warriors and commanders. 

It was with a shiver that Aman realized that he was now the head of his House, after his Grandfather and Great Grandfather, Lord Krishna.  He had a younger brother, but as the eldest it was now his duty and that of his younger brother to assure the continuance of their family line, especially as neither his eldest aunt or uncle had mated or had children of their own. 

Lord Chananda spoke up again, disturbing the young man’s whirling thoughts, “What woman will you select as your mate?”

“Ananda Devi Kavioush,” blurted out the startled young man.  He blushed and then realized that his parents, Lord Delos and Lady Anya had hoped that the young Ananda would be his mate.  She was of high birth, being the daughter of a cousin to the father of the present Lord Kavioush, ruler of Sirust.  He remembered with a shiver the sight of her thick white blonde hair hanging down below her waist when they used to play with the other children, the flicker of a smile across her sweet face, the long dark lashes hiding her deep green eyes.  Then he realized, with some irony, how his wily father had trapped him into fulfilling his parent’s greatest wish, to see their children happily mated and settled.  Then he remembered with a trace of regret, “Ananda… she is a priestess.”

The older man smiled briefly, “That is of no matter; she has been freed of her vows, as well.”

Aman could hear his dead father chuckle in his head.  The wily warrior had won another battle.  He knew…he knew what fate lay in wait for his eldest son with his passing!  In a state of shock and anticipation, he bowed to his grandfather and left the garden.

Lord Chananda watched his distracted grandson leave the garden and enter the passageway to the rooms that were kept for him when he visited the mansion.  He would have to remind the housekeeper to arrange for the young man’s belongings to be moved to other quarters, suitable for his new rank and position in the family.  And then he smiled gently, feeling the awareness of this indefatigable woman as she acknowledged his request…as already being done.

Dropping into deep meditation as he sat on the cool stone bench, he stretched out his vast causal body in search for the consciousness of his departed son.  There…a bright light beyond the stars… our stars, on the edge of Sirian space.  There was debris floating through the dark spaces, the remnants of a great battle.  What had happened here?  And then, reaching out, again… he felt the withdrawal…no, the protecting mantle of another great Being, Beings…surrounding the life essence of his son’s light body.  Where? He queried the silence Presences.  Arcturus…they replied, for healing. We have gathered up the pieces of his Light Body and now escort him to Arcturus for healing. Silently within, he nodded, understanding.  And someday, he knew he would again meet the one who had been a beloved, brilliant, and at times difficult son.  And he knew to the core of his being that this one would be very changed in appearance…

Lady Anya, his widow, remained in seclusion, in meditation, prayer, and cleansing rituals to prepare for the ordeal that lay ahead for her.  On the night after Lord Delos’ body had been laid out for viewing, she made her way into the temple to have one more look at her dead mate.  His body was lying on an intricately carved marble table, arrayed in a clean white tunic and pants.  A white shawl woven with gold threads lay over one shoulder.  There was a golden turban was on his head with a tiny peacock feather and a great amethyst jewel pinned to the front.  Gold necklaces were arranged around his neck and lengthwise on his long torso lay a golden inlaid sword denoting his warrior rank.  She gazed at the still white face in silence.  She knew that her love would have been embarrassed by all this fuss; he was unique in the stark simplicity of his daily dress when at home in comparison with the silks, gold and jewels worn by many of his peers.  He always preferred his simple blue flight uniform…

I am proud of you, my love.  The people will honor you forever for your sacrifice.  May you find peace and happiness in your next life!  She paused to wipe a tear away.  I miss you, Delos!

Then Anya turned and fled with a muffled sob.  As she left from a side passage, a man stepped out from the shadows behind a huge pillar.  It was Jon deAir, here, too, to say his last good-byes to the man who had been like a father to him, mentoring him, and working with him for long hours without stint.  Good-bye, old friend, Commander Delos!  I will meet you, again, someday…perhaps on another world.  As with family, friendships like ours are forever!

Two days later, the body of Lord Delos, former Head Commander of the Sirian Fleet, was escorted by a great parade down to the plaza where the funeral pyres were situated.  The highly decorated cart upon which his body lay was followed by his widow walking quietly, head down, her shawl drawn closely around her face. 

Jon stood among the crowd who had gathered to watch this latest series of suttee; besides the Head Commander, four of his men had also fallen during the short-lived battle.  And now all the widows walked behind the funeral vehicles drawing the bodies of their mates.  In the ancient custom, unique to Sirius, the five widows were to walk voluntarily into the pyre fires of their husbands in the ritual called suttee, the immolation of widows.

The carts pulled up to a halt beside each pyre; the bodies of the dead were gently laid to rest on platforms strewn around with kindling.  The plaza was a sad place, a place of sorrow for so many young men and women had died in this lengthy war.  Yet, in a city filled with grief, a good crowd had gathered to see the funeral fires of the two great ones, Commander Delos and his beloved mate, Lady Anya.

When Anya appeared in a break in the tightly packed crowd there was a distinct hush.  Jon looked around; all eyes present were fixed on the tall slender figure dressed in her simple white saree, her white and gold shawl now resting on her narrow shoulders.  There were no jewels bedecking her body, only a wreath of white flowers around her neck.  Her pale blonde hair hung loose down below her narrow hips.  She was like a virgin coming to a sacrifice…but she was not a virgin or a sacrifice.  She was fulfilling her duty after several days of preparation, fasting, and prayer.  She was already not of this world…Jon sensed in her the same determination and strength of will that he witnessed in Lord Delos. 

Lady Anya climbed up the steps of her mate’s pyre and sat down on the bench provided there, at the foot of the platform upon which the body of her mate lay.  Her face was quiet, set, still.  Anya stared out over the crowd her eyes fixed on something no one could see.  The priests approached each of the pyres, holding up a flaming torch in their right hands.  Anya ignored them and the crowd.  The priest at her pyre looked up at her silent seated figure, his face lit with respect and awe.  He bent, setting the torch among the kindling.  The fire started up, catching fast in the dry wood.  Her clothes, her body were soon alight, but still Anya did not move or make a sound.  She went to her death like Delos did to his, without fear.

Jon thought…They were a good match, this Anya and Delos, a good match, indeed.  For a moment he wondered where Delos was now…for he knew that such a man, such a courageous man would soon be born again…but where?

The priestesses began to sing hymns of prayer, redemption, forgiveness, and eternal love for the Creator as the five still figures disappeared into smoke and fire.  The people sighed.  They knew that at least some of the five women would be reborn here, among them, but what of those who died in battle?  There would be no answers today.  The crowd began to break up, returning to work or home.

And so, it is done.  Jon also strode off, heading towards his distant home where his children and his mate waited for his return.  Life continued, and he knew that he would meet the reincarnated Lord Delos again, someday, perhaps in another time and place, but they would meet, again; of that he was sure.

Two months after the death in battle of his father Lord Delos and the death of his beautiful mother, Lady Anya, on the funeral pyre, the young couple Aman and Ananda celebrated their matetation (wedding) according to the ancient customs of Sirust.  Covered with leis of fragrant flowers, bedecked in gold jewelry and pearls, and wearing bright orange and yellow robes, the young couple was paraded through the streets of the great city, past the sprawling mansions and gardens, up the hill to one of the greater Temples. 

Despite the war, the citizens of Sirust came out to celebrate the beginning of a new life for these two young people…and perhaps a new beginning for their world, as well, for this same young lord and his Grandfather, the venerable, but ageless Lord Chananda had begun teaching the populace of the great city of Sirust a special meditation that would create a unique forcefield to protect their worlds forevermore. It was truly a day for celebration.  It was a day for renewed hope in the survival of their worlds.

As Aman stood before the high altar, he felt disoriented for a moment, looking into the familiar face of one of the priests who had instructed him long ago in the sacred rituals of his former calling.  Then he glanced over at the radiant face of his lovely bride and felt a great peace come over him suddenly like a beautiful blessing.  He knew then that his father and mother approved of the union and were pleased.  With that he let go of his anger and grief and concentrated on the beautiful ceremony and the life ahead.

Within three months of the passing of Lord Delos, the great meditation was successfully performed when the great collective of Sirius joined their heart flames, sang the mantras, and performed the mudras.  After many hours of concentrated meditation by the populace of all the isles, a miracle happened. With a mighty flash of golden Light, the forcefield was activated, one which still exists today, protecting Sirius and all worlds contained within its star system. The great meditation was dedicated to the memory of Lord Delos’ selfless sacrifice, giving up his life so that his people might live.  And for his efforts in saving the people of Sirius, his son, Lord Aman Gia was highly honored and given the honorific, “Treya” to add to his soul name, to be carried into other lives.

Even today, thousands of years later, only native Sirians can live within this forcefield.  Visitors can only usually stay a couple of hours before they get begin to sicken from the effects of the powerful forcefield.  And low-frequency beings cannot enter the forcefield at all.  The activation of this great forcefield effectively resulted in protecting all the Sirian worlds from further invasion from the Sons of Belial.  This new development allowed selected members of the Sirian fleet to work with other allies like the Pleiadians and Ashtarians on operations to free their worlds of the threat.

Two years later, the young couple, Aman and Ananda, were blessed with the birth of a son.  As a proud grandfather bent over the cradle holding the newborn, Lord Chananda felt a familiar essence… the boy was Tazo reborn.  At least one of his sons had returned, but where was Delos?  His people looked for his return in vain.

As Lord Vishnu had predicted, Lord Delos never returned to his beloved Sirius again.

Arcturus – The House of Healing

Due to my choices, my incarnation as Delos was over. There will those who question my motives and state of mind, but I knew what I was doing.  I was not afraid of dying.  I had given up my soul to God, everything I owned and loved, for the protection of my people and world.  And the sacrifice was accepted and acknowledged. And now we return to the battle scene in space where I breathed my last…

Upon leaving my body behind after the battle, I was escorted in Light Body to Arcturus by a pair of Eagles, members of an elite force of Angels and Archangels under the command of Archangel Michael who assist in protecting lightworkers and members of the Family of Light.  The Eagles are chosen for their strength, size, and qualities of character.  One of my Eagles seemed vaguely familiar to me.  He was a tall, brawny fellow with great twinkling dark blue eyes and golden blonde hair curling around his shoulders.  At the time, I wasn’t really in any shape to inquire further into his identity, but intuitively knew that I had known him before…somewhere else.  The other man was also very tall and broad shouldered, but with darkly bronzed skin, blue-black hair, and brilliant blue eyes lined with violet.  They both wore simple form-fitting silver uniforms that reminded me of the ones worn by the Pleiadians whom I had met earlier in my life while training with Lord Lyonell in the Command.

Our journey was done in Light body since my physical body was not in any shape to be moved; it had to be left behind for whoever would discover it lying sprawled below the control board console of the old shuttle.  As we traveled, I only had the impression of a great rush of air against my face, glimpses of stars and large worlds rushing past my dazzled eyes.  The Eagles kept a firm grip on my light body as I kept fainting from the pain of my wounds.  Yes, your light body can be damaged during physical, mental, or emotional trauma.  Did you think it was impervious to being damaged?  Think, again.

Where are we going? Curious to the last breath, I had to ask the Angels (as I knew them) that my Father had sent me for my last journey.

There was a chuckle and a deep baritone voice tersely replied, “Arcturus!”

Why? I asked.

I got the impression of a highly amused consciousness that enveloped me in warmth… For healing, you fool!  Don’t you remember?

A stream of images cascaded through my consciousness, bits and pieces of my now former life, my training with Lord Lyonell, the loss of my brother and so many others, my wife and the birth of our long-awaited son, my involvement in the fleet until reaching the position of Head Commander, the endless years of fighting and witnessing the depredations of a deranged and dishonorable enemy … and the final crashing chord, my decision to act as bait in a desperate move against a strong and relentless enemy.

I didn’t want to die, but I knew that the enemy would not let go of the opportunity to capture me alive…so I used some of their agents to let them know when and where I was going to be alone.  They were too stupid and arrogant to wonder for what purpose the head commander of the Sirian fleet would be visiting a deserted outpost in disputed space, especially alone.  Such was their hate for me that enraged they brought what they thought to be an overwhelming force…for one man.  Yet, I was the commander of the forces that had thwarted so many of their attacks upon our worlds…since not long after the death of my brother, Tazo.  I had trained my men thoroughly so any one of them could replace any officer, including me, should the need arise.  Jon deAir was the most senior of my officers, well-respected, and the most brilliant of any of my students so I selected him to take command if I did not return… After so many years and surviving one battle after another, our force was very tight and bonded; my word was not questioned or my plans, but all was perfectly executed to accomplish a stunning defeat of the surprised enemy forces.  I was not wrong about Jon and my men; they did what needed to be done and so did I.

“Ah, a warrior”, replied the deep baritone voice with just a touch of irony.  “It is time to let that go and sleep…”

A great hand rested on my fevered brow radiating heat; I found myself drifting off, surrounded by light, warmth…safety…and knew no more…

Later…much later I swam out of a hazy light-filled sense of being not quite here or there, floating on a sea of consciousness.  Or should I say unconsciousness, for I could not remember – anything.

Where am I?

An intense light surrounded him, and he could feel strong arms firmly grasping his body.

You’re dead; don’t you remember?  The deep voice had a hint of laughter in it.

Ah

All he remembered was floating high above his prone body that was sprawled out on the deck, within the same ship where his brother met his fate so long ago.  Like his long-dead brother, he had been hit by one of the enemy ships before his fleet could reach the scout ship.  He knew it was risky, but it was a chance he had to take…for the sake of my people.

The ironic voice cut through his thoughts once more: It was a foolish thing to do…What should I call you?

Delos!  He replied with a snap.

Laughter greeted him.  Not anymore.  Delos is dead.  Delos is no more…

Do you remember?

Remember what? He snapped again. And then he saw a vision… When Jon and the crew came aboard to fetch my body, they found it laying on the deck.  The brittle glass of the viewing window had been broken by a direct laze shot; he could see a gaping wound in his chest where it was hurting right now in the worst way.  There were other wounds, but the chest wound was the worst.

Ah, now you see Truth.

I must have been hit by a laze gun…

Yes.  A direct blow, but your enemies will not be celebrating.  They lost a third of their complete fleet in that battle.

A third?  He was startled, amazed, delighted.  That will slow them down; cut them down to size…!

Like they did you, Commander?

Delos could sense the irony and amusement in the deep voice.  He repeated his first question.  Where am I?

Arcturus, in the House of Healing,” replied another higher voice.  Delos could sense a tiny bit of irritation in the second person, a different presence, and female.  He felt a small gentle hand rest on his brow. “You are awake now?”

He wasn’t sure.  He felt dizzy, weak, and small.  His hands ranged over his body and then he went rigid in shock. “What is this?”

“For now, Delos; we had to place your Light Body into an avatar to stabilize it.  Your light body sustained great damage.  It will take time to heal.   It’s time to open your eyes, now, Delos…”

When Delos opened his eyes, he found himself in a small plain room.  It was simply furnished, a small bed, a chest for clothes, a washstand with a bowl, a small mirror… and a blue vase sitting in the casement of an open window.  Through the window there came a light breeze and with the breeze the scent of sweet flowers.  He sniffed the fragrance with pleasure… he had forgotten about the simple joys in life with his preoccupation with fighting the enemy.

“Ah…you are now beginning to heal.”

A small dark-haired woman was standing next to the bed as there weren’t any chairs in the room to be seen.

Who are you?” he asked… and then remembered his manners, “I am Delos, of Sirius.”

“No longer Delos…or of Sirius”, replied the brown-haired woman. “You are my patient and you will be with us for some time. Your wounds are great and require healing. At your passing, your Light Body shattered.  It will take time for our medical teams to regather up the pieces and reblend them into your Light Body here.  You will remain with us until your Light Body is fully healed and you are ready to reincarnate.  Do you understand that officially you are dead and between physical lifetimes?”

Yes, ma’am,” he replied, chastened, watching as the woman stepped away and returned carrying a glass of some pale rose-colored liquid.  She handed him the glass and then proceeded to prop up his pillows so he could sit up and take a drink.

No woman had ever treated him like this since he was a toddler in his father’s house.  Ah, Father…tears started…

“Drink up…and get some rest now.” The woman watched him as he drained the glass and handed it back to her. “I am called Suree.  I am a healer. Again, welcome to the House of Healing.”

She bowed to him, turned and walked out of the room without closing the door.  Delos felt the presence of someone outside his door; a guard?  Apparently, he was being watched intently.  He lay back down on the pillows and tried to relax.  This body felt wrong, different; it would take a while to adjust to it.  He lifted a hand to examine it.  The fingers were small but well-shaped and the wrist finely boned, the skin a light bronze…very strange, indeed.  Still, if he had to remain here for a while, so be it.  He didn’t have the strength to protest anyway.

During the days, months, and years that followed, Delos continued to heal.  After the first month, when he was deemed strong enough, he was taken to the light chambers and laid within one of the apparatuses there which were designed to work on the light body.  He mostly slept and dreamed while in the healing bed.  He shared these dreams mainly with people from his previous lives, familiar faces, old haunts, dark visions of silver ships falling through an endless space spattered with distant stars.  In time the images began to change, to morph, to include new faces and places, ones he did not immediately recognize.

When he was strong enough, the one who had been Delos spoke with a great Light Being, Lord Arcturus himself, who came to visit with him.  After their first conversation, the great lord came often to speak with Delos, interested in hearing about his past life and Sirius. Their conversations were very companionable, like old friends.  Delos knew the great Lord, but not from where.  Still, he enjoyed the long conversations.  The days seemed endless on Arcturus, blending together and dreamlike.  It was hard to tell whether it was day or night.  He spent much time sleeping, dreaming, and healing in preparation for beginning another life.  He knew his work was not yet done, although what it was, he had no idea.

One day he woke up, finally feeling completely healed and whole, once again. As he attempted to focus his eyes all he could see was golden-white light.  A radiant figure stood at the side of his bed.  He could not see its face but could sense it was male.  There was a familiarity to its essence… The singular figure was joined by another, this time feminine…of that he was sure.  He heard voices talking about him, but he could no longer remember his name, just impressions, fragments of his most recent life. What?

It is time for you to be reborn, dear one.   Where is it you would like to be born?  Sirius is closed to you.  You have completed your mission and purpose there and must move on…

He thought for a moment and remembered the time when he spent with the Pleiadians.  It would be very different than the ancient culture of Sirius; some of the inhabitants of the Pleiadian isles were still rather fierce and wild.  The more civilized Pleiadians called these people, “tribal”, for they preferred to keep their ancient ways of living as nomads.  Still the rugged simplicity of their lives appealed to some inner need…He nodded his head… Tribal Pleiadian.

So be it. You will again be a male and born into a tribal people, on the Isle of Morova.

Before he lost consciousness once more, a deep voice echoed through his head, “We will meet, again, my friend.”

Then a great hand descended, and another deep voice said, “For the sake of your continued healing, you will forget for a time that you ever lived on Sirius and were called Delos.”

And he knew no more…

Thus comes to an end to a strange interlude wherein the soul essence of Delos was reblended with his light body, a form of soul retrieval as the parts of his fragmented soul was gathered up and brought back to his light body so he might go forth into his next life whole and healthy…

Copyright 2019 All Rights Reserved, Eliza Ayres, http://www.bluedragonjournal.com