The Gilgamesh Path

By Michael Drakich

One dead man's body reveals a startling secret. Every cell has been corrupted by a micro-organism that gave him eternal health. The thing is…no one knows where he contracted it as it must have been millions of years ago.

So begins the hunt throughout the galaxy for the micro-organism by two opposing individuals, Calain de Longee of the Galactic Core Amalgamation, and Princess Warkis, second in line of the Pataki Dynastic of the Harkardi Empire. Other forces are also at play. The Guardians, a race of super robots who ensure the peace between humans and the Harkardi, warn against the dangers of the micro-organism, and the Forty-Two Steps, a criminal organization, who wish to claim it for themselves. It's a contest of wills between Calain and Warkis with galactic implications.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Drakich
• Release date: Jun 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9781778254185

Michael Drakich

A new and exciting author in speculative fiction, Michael brings a repertoire of science fiction, fantasy and thrillers to readers everywhere. Michael lives in the quaint neighbourhood of Olde Walkerville in Windsor, Ontario, Canada. Father to three, the family home is an historic Albert Kahn design built in 1895. When not writing, you can find Michael walking down the majestic trees lined streets. Writing is a passion of his that has led to the books you see featured here. It is his hope you enjoy his works. If you buy a copy of any of my works, please, visit again to provide a comment or a review. Thank you

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Prologue

Home. After all these years, I’m home.

Although not exactly my original house, it’s as close to it as I can remember. The house where I first lived with my family. Where, long, long ago, I shared it with my wife and raised our two children. Right now, it stands in the middle of nowhere. Millennia ago, my home was one of many in a quiet neighborhood of Cleveland, U.S.A. This is exactly the same spot. Now, nothing but wilderness abounds in all directions. So much has happened since then.

To recreate the place took a very deep mind probe. Thank God my AI was careful and meticulous. So many memories she located within the recesses of my mind. Stuff I was certain was long lost.

It’s funny how the mind works. It’s possible nothing is ever truly forgotten, merely misplaced within. It takes the right trigger to recover it. Whatever the process, I’m glad it worked.

Standing in the living room remade from my memories brings tears to my eyes. The same sofa, the rocking chair, even certain pictures on the wall, all so poignantly correct as to weaken my knees, forcing me to sit down. How long has it been since I cried? A hundred years? A thousand? A million?

Though no one is in the room save me, in my mind’s eye I imagine my kids, the only ones I ever had, romping around, and my wife and I laughing at all their cavorting.

Finding the strength, I rise and go down the hall to the master bedroom. Gazing at the bed, the love and lust I shared with my partner is a warm memory that brings a sad smile to my lips. It’s been so very long since our parting. I miss you, dear.

Finally, my home office. At my desk is the old computer I used. It must have been something to recreate this device—a history lesson for those who did.

As I sit in the worn leather chair before it, I hold my hands out and examine them. Firm strong fingers. It’s good because they have something important to do. Like the rest of me, every part is in perfect health. The health of a thirty-nine-year-old man. It’s been that way forever. I’ve lost track of the years, so many have passed.

Before I begin, I pause to gaze out the window. Twilight is in the sky and the first stars are shining through. How many of those have I visited? Another figure I’ve lost track of.

I’ve no time to reminisce. My mind is made up and I intend to follow through...tonight.

Turning on the computer, I bring up a program to write a note for whoever discovers me.

I, Ben Williamson, being of sound mind and body, leave this record to tell all of my decision to end my life...

CHAPTER 1 – CALAIN

Why me?

Because, Calain, you’re half Earthling. No one else in the Galaxy Core Amalgamation is. Besides, your graduate education has trained you for this job.

I can always tell when my mom, Leela, is getting angry. When her cheeks flush, the rush of red blood shades her bluish-tinged skin purple. Something I don’t do. Unlike her, my skin tone is more of that of my father. He was born on Earth, the same planet my mother is dragging me to serve as emissary. I know, I know. It was a lot better than the military schools I went through in my youth.

It’s not like I don’t covet the job. In fact, it sounds amazing. But the possibility I might run into my father there makes it a position unwanted. Although, I’m now twenty-seven years old, in all my life I’ve only seen him once, and that was when I was a child. I can barely remember him.

Not that I would ever forget what he looks like. The infamous Adam Spenceworth. His image is in all the history records. Galivanting around the cosmos in his custom spaceship, bringing his vast scientific knowledge to planets everywhere. And his inventions, the Guardians, a vast army of powerful robots, patrolling the entire galaxy enforcing the peace. Pah. What a joke.

There’d been no wars since the treaty with the Harkardi twenty-eight years ago. It’s where my mother, as admiral of the GCA fleet, met my father and signed on to a deal that many, to this day, do not agree with. It’s not like she had a choice. Sign up or be ganged up on by the Harkardi and the Guardians. As far as I am concerned, my father is nothing more than a self-centered egotist who abuses his power and abandons his family.

As to my plea to reject the job, I knew it to be futile. Mother and I are already here, walking through the lobby of our embassy on Earth. The entrance is cavernous. I’m guessing the ceiling is twenty-five feet or more and the room has at least a couple thousand square feet of floor space. Furthermore, the place is opulent deluxe. Chandeliers hang everywhere, lounging furniture is abundant galore, and in the corner is a morning courtesy beverage station complete with a barista.

My steps echo as I walk. Only two more to meet the receptionist and Mom identifying me as the new ambassador. It’s not like I can turn around and run out the door. To where? A world filled with giant robots. I guess it’s time to face the music.

If I’m going to do this, at least I should show up as someone knowing he’s in charge. Before Mother can say anything, I step in front of her and hold out a hand toward the receptionist. Good morning, I’m the new ambassador, Calain de Longee, and with me is my mother, Admiral Leela de Longee of the Galaxy Core Amalgamation.

The receptionist smiles and accepts my proffered hand, shaking it vigorously. Good morning. Welcome, Ambassador de Longee and Admiral de Longee. Your arrival is expected. Minister Garca has asked I escort you to the Reception Room. He has guests there also anxious to meet you.

Great. I’ve barely got my foot in the door and I’ve got duties to attend to. You’d think they would have given me a chance to get acquainted with the staff and building before throwing me into the fire. I suppose that will be fine. Lead the way.

As I followed the receptionist, my mother tapped me on the shoulder. Be polite. ‘That will be fine’ is not professional. You can do better.

I sigh and roll my eyes. Thankfully, she’s only here for a few days. I can just imagine her standing behind me, trying to coach everything I do. I served in the embassy on the planet Jarfax and also as an assistant to the ambassador on the planet Domingo. It’s not like I don’t know the job. I’m just not happy about getting this one. Okay, Mother. I’ll be nice.

The room I’m led to has massive double doors leading into it. I’d guess they’re twelve feet high and six feet across. I know there are some peoples among the GCA who are tall, but twelve feet? That’s stretching it a bit.

I can’t help but chuckle at my own lame joke. A groaner, if I said it out loud, but I still find it funny.

The receptionist opens the door and ushers us in. Waiting inside is a portly fellow whom I know to be Minister Garca from reading his portfolio, but what stands beside him is what really grabs my attention.

It’s a Guardian. Although I’ve seen pics of them, I’ve never met one. Ten feet tall. He’s an imposing figure. Although configured like I am—two arms, two legs, and proportionally similar— he’s massive. His legs are as thick as my waist and his arms are thicker than my legs. Then there’s his external appearance. Every picture or video I’ve seen of the Guardians is one of a solid steel exterior. Seamless. The metal flows like skin. The only exception is his visor where one’s eyes would normally be. Now open, a single laser light flickers back and forth inside it. I’d read somewhere that my father fashioned them after some old movie robot named Gort. Whatever the truth, he’s impressive.

I would think if this one was like those I’ve seen pictures of, I might even find him a bit frightening. But, for whatever reason, I’m not. He’s painted from head to toe. Not some simple color. No, his body is covered in intricate drawings, hieroglyphs, and pictures. I have no idea what any of them means and I’m not about to ask. Mother asked me to be civil and I’d hate to question his appearance.

As we come to a stop before the pair, the receptionist waves a hand at the two. Ambassador de Longee, allow me to introduce Minister Garca and our esteemed guest from the Guardians, 8675309, their spiritual leader.

Not covered in paint, on the Guardian’s right shoulder, is a small plate with his number embossed on it. My guess is that was his position when coming off the assembly line. Considering his number and guessing he wasn’t the last one, I’m betting there are more than ten million of these big guys roaming the galaxy. Heck, for all I know, there could be more than ten billion. No one has an exact count. Though, it could be much less. I heard, before my birth, that they had quite the civil war between the Adamite Guardians and the rest. Their numbers may still be severely depleted.

Do these Guardians shake hands? I’m about to find out. Looking at the size of his hand, I hope mine doesn’t get pulverized in the process. I hold out my hand in greeting. It is a pleasure to meet your eminence, 8675309.

He takes my hand and applies a nice, easy pressure while shaking it. My brief panic, when my hand disappears inside his, passes.

Please, call me Tommy. It is a name of friendship given to me by your father, and it is my pleasure to meet you, Ambassador. As the leader of the Adamites, to be in the presence of any offspring of the creator is a great honor.

The Adamites. That explains a lot. I’ve heard how a large block of these Guardians belong to this crazy cult. Calling my father the creator doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. He’s just a human. Flesh and blood, nothing more. He’s not some god. You would think intelligent robots would be above such medieval thinking.

I shake my head. Don’t expect genius from me. I’m just your everyday human, nothing more.

Tommy chuckles. Perhaps not today. But you have it within you. It’s in your genes. The time will come when you apply that genius and all will be better for it. I have faith in that prediction.

Okay. So now I’m wondering if Tommy might be slightly crazy. After all, considering his paint job, his belief in my father as some kind of deity, and now this out-of-the-blue holistic prediction makes me doubt his circuits are in order. I fear I may disappoint you. Living up to my father’s standards is not a personal goal. I only want to do a good job as an ambassador.

Tommy nods. I have no doubt that you shall. Knowing this is your first day, it is not my intention to take up all of your time. I simply wanted the opportunity to meet you and to inform you that the Adamites will answer any call for help you need.

Tommy turns his head a little to my left and I detect a slight nod. What’s he nodding at? Curious, I turn to look in that direction, but I see nothing. Just the corner of the room. Weird. Then again, considering my earlier prognosis as to Tommy’s mental health, perhaps not so. Well then, I want to thank you, Tommy, for the visit. It’s nice to have a warm reception from those whom we are here to maintain relations with.

We shake hands once again and Tommy leaves the reception room. As he passes through the doors, I now understand why they’re so big. It would be embarrassing if we had designed them where one such as he would have to stoop or turn sideways, or both, to get through.

Once the doors are closed, I sigh and turn to Garca. I’ve yet to properly greet him. After all, if he is to be my right-hand man, I’d better make sure to establish a cordial relationship. I offer my hand. And, my apologies, a pleasure to meet you as well, Minister Garca. 8675309 is such an imposing figure, it’s hard to recognize anyone else in the room.

Garca takes my hand and gives it a robust shake. No problem, Ambassador de Longee. I know when I’m upstaged.

His smile is warm and, I believe, genuine. I can tell he has no misgivings about someone as young as me being given such a role as his superior. Although my meteoric rise in the world of emissaries can be partly attributable to my powerful mother, I like to think I had a little to do with it. When I try, I’m good at the job. I can schmooze with the best of them. Otherwise, I would have read it in his face—a scowl, a frown, something. I think I’m going to like this guy. I’m glad no insult was taken. And as to formalities, when just us, I’m Calain. Keep that whole ambassador title stuff put away except when formalities call for it.

Not a problem. My friends call me Chak.

Chak. I saw that in his profile. I’m glad he’s willing to share it with me. Alright then, Chak. What say you give me a tour of this place then perhaps we might be able to relax over a libation or two.

He puts one hand on my back and holds the other toward the doors. An excellent suggestion. After you.

We wander the halls and Chak introduces me to several people and different rooms, including my personal office. I like the space. It’s a suite. The living room, bedroom, bath, and spacious den, are all attached.

It’s in the den where we finish. Behind one door is a fully stocked bar. I’m not much of a drinker, but I know Chak is. It’s in his profile. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t get promoted. Nevertheless, I decide to play bartender and mix a couple of highballs. I hand him his and then pick which wingback I wish to relax in as there are two. I take the one to my left and Chak perches on the edge of the other. So, Chak, exactly how busy is this embassy? I’ve read up on all the expected duties but I never got a feel from the file as to what level of activity goes on here.

"That’s the thing. There’s almost nothing to do. Every once in a while, one of the Guardians will show up like how 8675309 did today, but they never ask anything of us. In case you didn’t notice, they spy on us as well. In the corner where Tommy looked, we believe there’s a Guardian stationed there...invisible. They have that ability. Our sensors would pick him up if he tried to further explore the embassy, but we have no problem letting him hang out in the conference room.

As to things to do, sure, we get reports of problems involving the Separatist Zone. Mostly pirate stuff. Also, from out in the galaxy, we hear of minor disturbances between the GCA and the Harkardi Empire. It usually means having to go to their embassy and file a complaint. You’ll get to meet the Harkardi ambassador soon enough. I understand they’re getting a new one as well. Formal introductions will be required."

The Harkardi. Until the treaty, mankind’s number one enemy. The war between our peoples lasted millions of years. I will give my father credit for ending that. Although there are a lot of senior people back home who think the conflict will resume sooner than later.

I’ll have to put on my best face. They killed an awful lot of us during that time. Will I be able to be friendly with their ambassador? It’ll be interesting, to say the least. From what I’ve read about their culture, dealing with them will be much different from my experiences with other humans. Well, that doesn’t sound too difficult. Is that really all there is to do?

Chak shakes his head. No. It’s amazing the number of complaints we get from our own people who are either visiting here or relocating. The Guardians run a tight ship. Despite being the birthplace of humanity, this is not a tourist stop. Access to where one can go is limited. They want to see the sights. You must remember that humans haven’t lived on the planet for a very long time. Despite the passage of so much time, there are still a few older human places that survived the war.

Too bad. I was thinking of wanting to see some of those places as well. I’ve heard the underground base of Area 51 still exists, as does the military installation in Antarctica. The cities were pretty well all wiped out, especially with the volcanic flows that covered much of the planet after the heavy bombardment it received at the hands of the Harkardi. Still, there was one interesting piece of information I was unaware of. Did you say relocating, like, in settling here? I didn’t know that was possible. I must have missed that in the reports.

Chak chuckled. "Privacy. These few settlers are the ultrarich. They want an extra home here. It’s a status symbol. ‘I own a house on Earth.’ None of them actually live here year-round. They pop in for a visit now and then, complain, then head back out."

I can just imagine the pompous few who are doing this. Clearly, by his use of air quotes when telling the story, Chak is not impressed by them, either. Here’s hoping I don’t run into any. I can’t help imagining they’d be just like my father. Private spaceships. Unlimited wealth. Expectations of being treated like a god. Sadly, with my father, the Guardians and their Adamite cult already give him that. We don’t need more.

CHAPTER 2 – WARKIS

Why me?

The question irks me. Banished to serve as an emissary to, of all places, Earth and those horrid Guardian robots.

There could only be one answer. Penance. I am being punished. Not for anything I did but for who I am. My mother, High Princess Branjolia, challenged the current ruler, the Eternal Queen, to combat. From what I heard, it had been no contest. None can beat the Eternal Queen in a knife fight. In an instant, my mother was dead. At the time, I was but a babe. Now, that makes me, Princess Warkis, Second in the line of the Pakati Dynastic, a potential threat.

My grandmother still lives, luckily. When word arrived the Eternal Queen returned after missing for thousands and thousands of years, there were many who did not believe it. Despite all outward appearances being identical, the challenges were many. My grandmother, in her wisdom, never did.

Oh, to be sure, she let others try in her stead. And, one by one, she watched them die. The concept the Eternal Queen lived forever and never aged was a hard enough one to swallow, but the history records verified there were none faster or more lethal with a dagger than her. Considering the only way disputes between females are decided is by knife fight, the trail of dead bodies on the Eternal Queen’s way to the resumption of the throne was extensive.

Sure, some tried to cheat. Traps were laid. Bombs deployed. Somehow, she always eluded or survived them and then made the perpetrators pay with their lives.

I heard how even males were actually used. Males. How comical. Half the height of a female and one-third the weight, what chance would one have against any female, let alone the Eternal Queen? Males serve their purpose—serving us, and servicing us—nothing more.

Thinking of the males, I shall make good use of mine. But later. There is business to attend to. I need to go into our embassy and establish control. The existing ambassador has yet to be relieved of duty. No doubt, she has received her notification, but things don’t always go as planned.

From the outside, the place looks like a fortress. No decorative block or stone as in the other visible embassy in the area. Solid steel walls. Cannon, gun, and laser turrets. You’d think we were still at war. Should I give the order, I could probably decimate every building in eyesight. Wouldn’t that be fun.

Enough ridiculous postulating. That’s not going to happen. It’s time to go inside. After both a facial scan and password, the double doors open, allowing me entry. The foyer is a kill zone. Opposite corners, both at floor level and ceiling, are manned by males, laser cannons aimed and ready. On a command, nothing in the entry would survive. Even shielded bodies wouldn’t stand a chance against the concentrated fire.

Nothing alive anyway. Not those blasted Guardians and their ability to phase. Laser blasts would pass right through them without harm. Then, once inside, they would phase back to normal and the killing would begin. But not them...us.

Another skill they have is the ability to go invisible. They can’t phase when invisible. At that point, I could kill them. It’s taken a long time until we developed the technology to spot them when they’re invisible. Although, they would still be shielded and it would take concentrated fire to kill one.

Hopefully, it never comes to that. I wouldn’t mind the chance to kill a few humans, but not at the risk of retribution by the Guardians.

Waiting for me across the room is the current ambassador. I see she is not alone but has her six males in attendance. A show of dominance. This isn’t good. Mine are with me as well but that’s because we are just moving in. Though they have their halberds, they’re all loaded down with my personal inventory. Hers are decked out in the traditional honor guard, halberds at the ready.

I should have expected this. Not prepared to go meekly but attempting to make me lose face. There are other females in the room, standing aside, watching, waiting. They must be expecting a conflict. I guess there’s no hope of disappointing them.

The traditional turnover would require the previous ambassador to kneel to me and for her males as well, establishing who’s in charge. I suspect that’s not going to happen. She’s going to attempt to walk past me, head held high, and ignore me as she does, her males acting as the honor guard they are, escorting her to the street. I will be officially snubbed. The question will be whether I accept the snubbing or challenge it.

There’s risk either way. If I accept the snub, it will be hard to have the other females in the compound obey. But if I challenge it, then the real possibility of getting killed exists. She’s starting to move toward the door. I need to make a decision—and fast.

Her green skin shows some mottling. Even her red crown crests have faded some. She’s definitely much older than I am, and a little heavier, too. That means youth, speed, and vigor on my side. It also means experience and strength on hers.

I think I’ll take my chances and step in her path. Besides, she may yet capitulate. Aren’t you forgetting something?

The ambassador halts, a hand on the hilt of her knife. I have forgotten nothing. I am to be relieved. Stand aside, I would go now.

The fact she has put a hand on her knife and not actually drawn it is one of a threat without follow-through. She needs to see I mean business. I put a hand on the hilt of mine. Before you go, your obeisance.

She pulls out her knife. I challenge that.

Okay, so maybe I misjudged the follow-through. Now I’m wondering if this wasn’t always the Eternal Queen’s expectation. There’s no turning back. It’s either fight or forget about having any control at all. Most likely, I’ll have to face challenge after challenge. I pull my dagger. I accept your challenge.

Her males clear out of the way. It’s the law. No male can interfere in a fight between females. Mine back up as well. Both harems begin tapping their halberds. The rhythm of the tapping sets the stage for the deadly dance I’m about to enter. There’s a nice large area for us to fight. She’s right-handed, like me. I begin to circle to the right, attempting to put her body between me and her knife, but she’s no fool and turns as I do to maintain a front-on position to me. What she didn’t take into consideration was the one step closer I moved when circling.

With a quick lunge, I spear her left shoulder with the tip of my blade before she can parry. It’s with a smirk on my face when I step away and brandish my dagger with her blood on the tip. That exchange told me one thing. I’m definitely faster than she. No doubt, she knows it, too. Usually, at this point, the fight is over. No sense in dying for a point of pride. Last chance. Obeisance, or die.

With a scream, she charges at me, flailing an overhand strike, hoping to crash past my defense and strike deep. Clearly, her intention is to kill me, not wound. This isn’t normal. I have no choice but reciprocate in passion. To the death it is. In a side step to my left, I easily deflect her blade and then plunge mine directly into her side. Her eyes go wide as she freezes where she stands, her knife falling from her fingers.

Pulling my blade clear, I bury it once more, but this time into her chest. Her eyes roll closed and she falls to the floor. A quick check for her pulse proves what I already know. She’s dead. I wipe my dagger against her clothing and return it to its sheath. Straightening, I turn to her males. Your mistress is dead. By the law, you are now mine. Show your fealty.

All six of her males drop their weapons, fall to the floor, and prostrate themselves. To complete the ritual, it is necessary to put my foot beside the mouth of each male so that he might kiss it. Such is the award of victory as I scan the room. Every other female has bowed their head. There will be no more challenges.

For the first time, I’ve killed another female. I’ve had knife fights before, but never to the death. The exhilaration running through me is high. I’m feeling euphoric and, surprisingly, after the kill, I climaxed. I’ve heard how killing can do that to a female and now I’ve experienced it to know it’s true.

I’ve also heard it stated that the whole kill-climax thing goes back to when we were just animals and a victorious female would climax to ensure successful breeding with her newly won males. So much of my system is tied to the propagation of our species that I must climax regularly to avoid sickness.

I wonder if the Eternal Queen feels the same things as I’m experiencing right now. Somehow, I doubt it. Whereas I have killed one, she’s