Thanks to all who posted comments for the first chapter. I appreciate it so much. Here is chapter two of the story. Please keep critiqueing even if you hate it!
Two
Councilor’s Chamber, The Great Hall
Capital City, Novia Prime
United Republic of Planets
First Viceroy Parnell Star ran his hand through his graying black hair and took a deep breath as images of what was left of the Harcadia Colony flickered and died on the large vidscreen in the center of the Great Hall. A heavy silence fell upon the room and Parnell looked at the thousands of humans and Albeings that made up the Republic Council. He saw in them a mixture of fear and anger that mirrored his own. He knew that they would all be looking to him now, expecting him to provide answers that he did not have. He leaned back in his chair and for a brief moment he was reminded of the way the Great Hall looked when he was a boy. The triangular shaped hall, with its large seats that seemed to climb to the sky, somehow seemed vaster and more intimidating in those days. Perhaps it was. There were more species and more planets then that were willing to do whatever it took to keep the Republic together and at peace. That was before the Great War. Now it seemed that every system, even those in the Interior, were only out for themselves. It didn’t anger Parnell; it only made him sad. The Republic’s planets no longer trusted their government to look out for their best interest. The Great War had left scars and every planet held onto a deep fear that the Maraudan Empire was this great big, shadow monster that could strike again at any time. The raid on the Harcadian Colony meant the monster had returned. His thoughts were interrupted by yet another fight that had broken out between the Spigot and Camarala Counselors. The Spigot’s white skin was turning crimson; while the Camarala’s yellowish skin was turning white. No doubt they were regurgitating every minor incident that occurred during their races thousand yarnz blood feud. Parnell would never understand how two species that started off as the same race could have such a deep hatred for each other, current physical differences aside. The two still had many genes in common, or so Parnell was told. The Spigots stayed pale, short and relatively slender, while the Camarala, to adapt to the giant forests they now called home, were dark, tall and stocky. The concept was a little hard for Parnell to grasp. Humans, unless they were mixed with some type of Albeing, were pretty much the same: brown skin, brown eyes, wavy or course hair. There just weren’t that many radical differences in his species. He thought about the dark gray eyes that were a Star family trait and how their enemies had unsuccessfully used their unique eye color for yarnz as “proof” that the Republic’s first family had Albeing blood.
Would the galaxy ever be free of these ridiculous prejudices?
The Spigot Councilor, Fernan, was now twitching hysterically. “These horrors are a punishment from Yah,” said Fernan, his high-pitched voice taking on its customary prissy tone, “a warning of what happens when you turn your back on the gods. For yarnz we have moved away from the religion that once united our ancestors. And now look what has happened. Rava has risen up from the ashes to start his reign of terror once again.”
Warma, the Camarala let out a very loud, disgusted sigh. “Not this cripe again, tell me Spigot do you think that throwing ourselves at the mercy of your god will give us the power to beat back the Maraudans, yet again?
Fernan leaned in closer. “Yah commands all power in the universe.”
“Really?” smirked Warma. “Well, all the power in the universe didn’t help when the Maraudans took over your planet Spigot. In fact, if I recall correctly it wasn’t a divine hand, but the cold hand of technological, the weapons of science that saved your race from extinction.”
“That is exactly the kind of blasphemy that I expect from a Camarala,” said Fernan, practically foaming at the mouth and shaking even harder. “You are an abomination to our shared Sacred Ancestors.”
“And you…,” countered Warma, pointing his stocky finger at Fernan, “have spent too much time in Maraudan Space. Perhaps you and your ilk should return there where you belong. After all, they fight their wars in the name of your gods. Oh,” he continued, his wide mouth twisting into a cruel smile, “you can’t can you?”
Warma’s menacing smile sent a chill up Parnell’s spine.
“Everybody knows that the Queen is a notorious humanphile,” Warma continued. “She sees all Albeings as beneath her.”
Fernan shot Warma a pointed look. “In some cases they are.”
“Enough,” said Parnell sternly. He needed to bring this tedious fight to its end. This petty bickering was tearing the Republic apart. It was a bigger enemy to them than the Maraudans could ever be. Before he could speak again, he felt a calming hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Second Viceroy Shalimar Manoor staring back at him. His thin, yellow antennas were drooped down to the side of his yellow face and his green eyes were cloudier than usual. Shalimar spoke in his usual, regal tone and the two Counselors stopped fighting at once.
“We are here to discuss where we go from here, not to dredge up old clan rivalries,” Shalimar said. “Now if you two Councilors can enlighten us on why the Maraudans would attack their own people at the Harcadia colony the Council would love to hear it.”
The two Albeings shook their heads humbly, Warma mumbling what Parnell knew to be a Camarala curse.
“Perhaps they attacked them because they were their people, retribution for leaving the Empire.”
Parnell looked for the source of the outburst and was not at all surprised to see the confident face of young Major Van Dylan staring back at him, his brown eyes coolly fixated on him. “Or maybe she did it as a test,” the boy continued as a bead of sweat fell from his cropped, black hair, “a chance for her to see the type of hold she still has on the populace and when things didn’t go as planned she destroyed it.”
Young Dylan’s statement created a quiet buzz in the hall that only quieted when Chief Medical Officer Veera Dylan moved to the center of the room. She and Parnell’s eyes locked briefly as she gave her report on the Harcadia massacre.
“Do you think there could be any survivors?” Parnell asked. He had directed his question to Veera, but it was her son that responded.
“Humans maybe,” said Van matter of factly, “but I doubt any of the Bargel made it out alive.”
“Except as potential slaves,” Veera interjected grimly. Her face remained impassive as she made the remark, but he didn’t need to see her disheveled appearance to know the suffering at Harcadia deeply troubled her. As a medic in the last war, and now the head of Republic Medical, Parnell knew she understood the fate of those caught in the crossfire of war. He also knew she never got use to it.
“The truth is Harcadia has kept a very low profile since the war ended,” she continued. “We don’t have any statistics about the human colony let alone the Bargel tribe that lived there.”
He nodded at her words and understood the unspoken truth behinds it. Harcadia wasn’t the only colony near The Edge that was basically kept to itself. The Empire had the ability to strike out at a number of their outer colonies and they wouldn’t even know the extinct of the damage. The implications were not lost on the Councilors as they began voicing their fears and anger all out at once. The Yalman Councilor finally spoke. The rapid clicks of the brown, hairless Albeing was hard to understand, even for the translators, but there was no mistaken her meaning and the truth behind her words. Once word got out about the colony attack it would throw the Republic into a panic they could not contain. It was not something Parnell wanted to see happen. They were having a hard time holding themselves together as it was.
“But we cannot simply ignore this,” said Warma, daring to speak again.
“The Queen is young,” offered Fernan. “She might be testing us. The Maraudan Empire has been shrinking for yarnz, they are mired in rebellions, and it may just be some type of mind game she is playing with her people to prove they are still capable of such acts.”
“Then we need to send one back,” said Van suddenly, the tone of his voice demanding attention. “We all know what this latest attack by the Maraudans mean. Their new queen has been tightening her grip on her empire for yarnz and now she has set her sights on trying to steal ours. We must strike fast and hard. We must let them know that this time when they come after us things will be different.”
A loud burst of applauds and whoops echoed throughout the hall. Van looked very pleased with himself. Parnell turned his attentions back to Veera, her mouth fixed in an amused smile. Parnell was reminded once again how much like his father Van was. That hot temperament was a Dylan family trait and it seemed to him that at times Veera was too amused to see that reckless spark in her son and daughter override their judgment. It was a feeling he didn’t share. When the cheers died down Parnell took the floor again. “Would you like to continue the session Major Dylan? Or would this be a good time for me to interject my thoughts?”
“Sorry Viceroy,” said the young man sinking a little lower in his chair.
Parnell was pleased to see that he felt the sting of his words. “Despite what our young major may believe, we can not afford to make any rash moves,” continued Parnell. “This attack is obviously something we can not ignore, but we have to come up with the right response to this or we could make matters worse.”
A soft voiced responded. “I think we should wait and do nothing.”
The entire room went silent and turned its attention to the Danor Councilor. She seemed unphased by the attention, sitting calmly in her seat, her long, graying hair in a bun, her brown eyes calm and unclouded.
Parnell was the first to speak. “With all due respect Roma that is the one thing we can not afford to do.”
“You’re wrong First Viceroy,” Roma responded as calm as ever. “It is the only thing we can afford to do. What is the alternative? War. I doubt that any human or any of the Albeings here want that.”
A low, angry rumbling was now making its way across the hall.
Roma would not be silent. “There is not a Councilor here who did not either experience the war first hand or suffer as a result of it. Most of us now have children of our own, children who now face the same horrors that we once did. Who will condemn them to that, you?” Roma said, pointing to Van. “What about you Parnell?”
Parnell shook his head violently in an attempt to deny her reasoning. “Are you talking about appeasement?” The word choked in his throat.
Roma’s expression hardened. “Yes, if it comes to that.”
The muffled sounds were quickly transforming into a low roar. Parnell bit his tongue to literally stop the angry words from coming out of his mouth. He understood that humans who had isolated themselves on Roma’s world were pacifist. Tartrus, he even admired her ability to stick to her beliefs after the horror she witnessed in the war. But there were times when her strong beliefs just seemed to hinder him from doing what he had to do.
“Spoken like a true Danor,” said Warma, his voice spitting out the last word like a curse.
“This is why our planet nearly perished in the last war... cowards like you.”
Roma didn’t blink as Warma continued his tirade.
“Tell me Councilor, how many lives were lost in the war because of your neutrality?”
“We are healers,” she answered calmly. “We save lives.”
Warma snorted, “As long as there is no risk to your own people.”
“And how many more lives will be lost in a new war?” Roma countered, her eyes betraying her deep convictions.
The room erupted. Once again it was Shalimar who finally silenced the Councilors.
“I think Councilor Kamus is right,” Shalimar said. “We all know what will happen if we find ourselves in a full-scale war again. We must try to avoid that any way we can.”
Many councilors started applauding, while others started screaming angrily. Parnell heard the large, green Bolo Councilor yell “that this was madness, that the Maraudans could not be reasoned with,” as the tiny, orange Sourvo Councilor shrieked “that the Republic was now too weak to protect them.”
Parnell tried to center himself. This was too important a decision to make on the spur of the moment. Everything inside of him screamed that even thinking about appeasement was wrong, but the other alternative would be war. And war was the last thing he wanted for his son.
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Running out of the doctor's office with Justin in tow, we tried to look inconspicuous as we got on the elevator. I did my part to look particularly robotic and Justin wiped the sweat off his face. The elevator had several people on it. Initially I did not pay them any attention until I turned my ears toward them and noted their incredibly fast heart rates. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. They has the heart rates of people engaged in a full out sprint. Their breathing was short and raspy. I pushed up against Justin's leg and he moved in the direction I pushed. His leg was hot and dry. He was already running a mild fever. All we could do was hope he would maintain until we got home.
The two nervous people ran out of the elevator as if they were on fire and fled down the hallway away from the security station. As we got off the elevator, an alarm sounded, its high pitched repeating whine made me want to turn off my auditory sensors. Justin was counting on me. I tried to maintain an air of calm and was confident the paralytic I gave the doctor had not worn off sooner than it was supposed to. But judging from the behavior of the thronging masses already crowding the main doors, this had nothing to do with me.
"Cat, can you hear me? I am piggy backing off the security grid near where you are. There is a riot near the building you are in."
"Too late. I see it. Tell me there is another way out." I could see the Religious Police forming up outside with their shields and batons swinging. I could hear the alarms for the Active Denial System which should have them running away, but the people were wearing padded clothing, likely something designed to disrupt microwaves. So instead of beating, demoralized, screaming masses, the RPs were having to fight an aggressive and magically well-armed mob, as weaponry appeared from underneath jackets and long coats.
"All the security cameras tell me the building is surrounded and the crowd is ten or fifteen deep in some places. And more are coming every second, calculating escape avenues. Stay hot, Cat."
"A damn flash mob." I was disgusted. A fad started almost a century ago had been perfected in this age of implants and pocket computing. A flash mob could form in less than five minutes and be thousands strong in ten. Justin had moved toward one of the walls to lean against the cool marble while I deliberated on what to do. And then all hell broke loose.
The nervous and sweaty people who were on the elevator were now running down the corridor leading a thronging mass of shouting people. Without warning, the hallway was full of people who swung improvised clubs against anything or anyone not identified as a member of the flash mob. I tugged Justin alongside the wall near the security desk, but the mob just swept him up and pulled him into the tide.
The building's security team was immediately overcome like sand against the sea, even as they were firing their neural stunners. The masses just flowed over their downed comrades and kept coming. I tried to keep my eye on Justin but as one of the security people was waving his stun wand nearby, I was caught in its effect and had a cold-beam and video glitch. No more than fifteen seconds, but it was long enough. When I looked up again after my video feed reset, Justin was gone.
The mob was tearing into the Religious Police and began pushing them back. The mob was likely being updated in real time by someone who was not part of the attack on the ground but coordinating it from somewhere else. As the mob expanded, it became less controllable and more dangerous.
"I lost the boy." I tried altering my vision and swept the spectrum, but nothing helped differentiated Justin.
"I will try and lock onto his visor signal. I need you to use your cold beam for targeting." The House, Max, had a cool and professional sound to his voice. He didn't panic.
I jumped up to the top of the security desk and then to the top of the scanning gateway, giving myself a nice fifteen foot height advantage. I turned my cold beam out onto the crowd and hoped to get a reply signal. The beam indicated dozens of interface units, but none of them responded with our preprogrammed code. I tried to gauge the flow of the crowd and turned to where I thought he might be moving. There. By the front door, he is moving outside. "Got him. I am going to try and grab him and get out of the crowd. Can you get us a cab? Two blocks down the street would be good."
"I'm on it. Don't lose him. Move fast, this is getting out of control."
I jumped down onto the heads and shoulders of a number of the pushing and shoving flash mob participants and by the time they realized what was happening, I have skipped from their heads to the next ones toward the mob outside. My weight always surprises them, but by the time I am felt, I am already gone. As I approach the doors, I see there is full scale fighting outside and the RPs, in their efforts to be humane are being trashed, surrounded and trampled. It looked like a full scale rout until I see and hear the roar of the black aero-drones of the Corporate Police.
Now, it was officially out of control.
"This area is surrounded. Lay down your weapons or you will be fired upon." The voice came from one of four triangular aircraft with an internally shielded rotor providing lift. These were smaller drones so they were likely unmanned. I could also see a number of ground vehicles pushing their way up the street, brutally running over anyone stupid enough to get in front of them. The teams that leapt from the back of them began stunning everything in sight and drew the ire of the crowd. The crowd, instead of being cowed, exploded into action, grabbing the RP's riot shields and equipment and turning this into a full-scale battle.
"This is your last warning! Cease and desist!"
And just like that, the Corporate Police were everywhere, corralling the shouting and crazed mob members but staying at the edge of the group. The aero-drones began moving closer to the center of the crowd and spread out to maximize their effect. Each point of the tri-cornered flying wedge mounted a sonic cannon bristling from beneath the ship, looking like a terrible claw of a black flying insect. Lights activated on the edge of the flying wedges indicating the weapons were hot.
"Cat, get out of there."
"I am just a few feet from him. I can't stop now."
I ran up to him and put my face against him. He grabs my still dragging leash and comes with me as I try to get through the crowd. I can see a large column not to far way and try to drag him toward it. He has hunkered down and pushed as hard as he can. He reaches the column and presses up against it.
I press my paws against his head and push him down low to the ground. People are hearing the warning siren of the aero-drones and taking their vengeance against any of the ground-based forces before the flying wedges fire. More Corporate Police vehicles arrive on the scene and they boiled out of their big black vehicles like ants, their weapons flashed and the terribly flying wedges fired systematically into the crowd. Their fire designed to demoralize and shatter the resolve of the mob, each sonic burst is calculated to spread the devastation across the entire group. They used ultrasonic weapons which struck into the crowd with destructive effect. Direct hits were shattered into piles of steaming meat by the beam of condensed sound and the splash of sonic energy cast a circle of crippling force, shredding flesh from bone, knocking people off their feet and rendering them unconscious, blood dripping from their noses, ears and eyes. The screams of panic now overpower the previous sounds of rabble-focused courage.
A man falls near Justin and I push Justin under his body, using the stunned man as a shield. A second blast resounds mere feet from us and the force of the weapon, blasted me away from Justin and over the crowd. I crash into the building's shatterproof glass and bounce to the ground. His human shield was nearly liquefied. All that is left is his skeleton as the flesh is ripped from his bones. But as I whirl away, I see Justin still moving and relatively uninjured, but covered in the flesh of that unknown man, before I lose sight of him. Once I land, I am in diagnostic mode and unable to move. The sonic weapon did not damage any of my vital duotronic processor systems but my physical superstructure required a systematic restart to determine if I was physically damaged.
In a matter of moments, the riot was all but quelled, as the flash mob disappeared with the same speed it formed. There were hundreds of casualties and anyone who was unconscious on the scene was placed into one of the transports that arrived soon after. The Corporate Police moved with a terrible efficiency, gathering up identifying interface technology that survived their sonic weapons. The interface IDs were processed and then bagged, viscera still dripping from them. Their medical agents, dressed in white, rather than the normal Corporate Police black, tended the wounded before loading them into the vehicles.
By the time, I had rebooted and the Corporate Police were approaching my location, they thought I was dead. As they reached for me, I jumped up and ran through their legs toward the truck that I saw the boy being carried to by one of the nurses. The nurse, a huge fellow, carried Justin as if he had no weight at all. He put him into the truck and into the hands of the other mob members. Many of the uninjured had a look of absolute terror on their faces and the Police stood at the of the truck making sure no one tried to escape. An aero-drone provided a more than menacing backup measure hovering behind him, its sonic cannons aimed into the vehicles.
Ducking out of sight, I had become one more strange thing in a day of strange things to the police and was just as quickly forgotten. The two nurses who were helping several of the mob who were a bit more injured than most were having a conversation whose tone I was not sure I liked.
"Why do they bother making us fix them up at all? I don't even see the point," said a attractive female with short brown hair. Her whites were covered in blood and she was still wiping her hands after depositing another survivor into the truck with her companion.
"You don't actually believe the myth of where they take the dissidents do you? That is just a media blurb. They get taken to the precinct and are released," said another young looking Indian fellow. He was a bit thin and his uniform bagged on his spare frame, flapping in the wind of the nearby aero-drones.
Brown hair retorted, "Hey new guy, get your head out of your ass. Does this look like the kind of scene you want anyone to tell people about? Haven't you found it a bit strange, how rarely these things end up in the news anymore? I have been to almost ten of these this month alone." The venom in her voice was apparent and she did not seem to care who heard her.
The Indian fellow shook his head in agreement and continued,"I just figured there were so many of these things, all over the city, they just stopped being news. What they were telling me was these people were taking to re-education camps in Pennsylvania and send to work on the Great Ship Project." He seemed to have a problem with his own propoganda.
"I heard they were taken to New Jersey and processed."
"Processed? Is there a camp there too?" Having taken the last person where they were working and placed them into the vehicle, the Indian fellow reached into his back to take out a dull-wrapped package and ripped it open with his teeth.
Miss Brown Hair, turns after placing her equipment back into her bag and as the Indian is about to place the food into his mouth, she slaps him and the food out of his mouth before he could take a bite. She vehemently stomps the product into dust on the ground.
"What the hell? What's wrong with you?"
"That was Humox, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, what about it? Some of us new guys, with our heads in our asses are poor and can't afford to eat like kings. We get a food subsidy where I live. They drop it off twice a week. That was my last bar for a few days. Lauren, what's got into you?"
"Promise me you will never eat that again, no matter how hungry you get. Promise me."
"Why? You know, you are starting to worry me."
A Corporate Policeman walks by the two of them and I crouch under a car so that I am not seen. The policeman waves his hand toward the truck and gives the go-ahead signal. He says into his vox, "Take them to processing in Jersey."
"See Lauren, they are going to processing." The young man was smiling as if he had just figured out some great secret.
"That is what I have been trying to tell you. I have a friend who works on the trucks. She tells me that there are these new plants springing up in all of the major cities around the world." Picking up the wrapper, she shows him where it says 'Made in New Jersey' on the wrapper. "There is a new plant there. Just opened last month. Before that, people were sent to Tennessee for processing." She lowers her voice, and looks around. She slides up close to the Indian and whispers just loud enough for me to hear. "My friend says Humox is people."
I didn't wait to hear any more. I tore up the street, chasing that truck like all the demons of hell were after me.
MODOC Part 10 - War and Pieces
'Metal Organism Designed only for Cuddling' © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved
Getting out of the technician's office only required that I wait for a few minutes until he came back. While I waited, I did some research on the doctor who was working on Justin's case. He was a middle-aged gentleman, Dr. James Peterson, 46, a wife and three children living on the outskirts of the war torn borough of the Bronx. Used as a point of invasion, in the last wars a decade ago, much of the Bronx was still being rebuilt. New tenements sprung up there and privileged members of society were allowed to enjoy those new areas with their better food, water and energy facilities.
The doctor and his family were recently moved out there, almost simultaneously with his appointment here. When I tried to get further information regarding them, I was immediately flagged as requesting classified data. Since most data flags are annoying and can often be wrong, I transmitted information that would reroute that signal to another terminal in the building and continued my investigation. The most damning thing was that the doctor's children did not attend any local schools in the city, anywhere. And when I searched for an occupation for the wife, nothing was listed. So I accessed their shopping lists and noted that no one in their family went outside to shop. Now, unbeknownst most people, every time you leave your home in our illustrious society, something notes your movement, by either an implant or an appliance you wear. The doctor's family did not move. Ever. And had not since they were relocated. That was all I needed to know.
Skipping out between fat boy's legs was easy enough but there was something wrong with him. His heart rate was wrong, highly elevated and irregular. He was pasty and he appeared to be having trouble breathing. After he closed the door, I heard a crash and then no other movement. Normally, I would chalk it up to a bad lifestyle leading up to a bad ending, but there was something wrong with this. Once the door closed, I could not get health information, but I used a medical code override and triggered an alert with this technician's door and zipped down the corridor back to the office I was supposed to be sitting in. Big man was no longer my problem.
I tapped on the door to get Gorgeous Boy to open the door and he looked up, put down his compact and let me back in.
"How did you get out?"
"I walked."
He stood there struck for a moment and then realized, "You are a robot, aren't you? You are realistic looking, I really thought you were a cat."
"Wow, no fooling you, huh? Do you think you could take a look back there and see if my boy is ready?"
Recovering his ennui and trying to look unaffected he said, "Sure thing. Flashing back."
I hate the abuse of the language. But my database included a variety of slangs programmed from modern vids, so that I would be a better communicator with my charge. But Justin did not use much of the modern slang and I was grateful. It was always about being fast or being in sync or being smart and most of the people using it were never any of these things. As he turned away, I immediately followed in his path and as he opened the door into the chamber, I slid in behind him and caused the phone to ring. He reflexively turned around and headed back toward the phone. Never saw me and evidently once he realized no one was on the phone, he forgot my request to see the doctor as well. Short attention span. A wild animal should eat that one to keep him from breeding; never a tiger around when you need one.
Once I entered the doctor's office, I noticed the immensity of the space and could hear Justin talking with the doctor deep in the office behind a series of curtains. I could hear a number of other voices, but most seemed to be coming from displays and were not people. I could only detect two scents in the room, so I knew I had the place to myself. Dropping down, I could see the doctor's feet beneath the curtains and made a path toward them. Justin was lying down on a table and answering questions as the doctor's diagnostic table took sophisticated biometric readings. I decided to take the direct approach. Finding a terminal with a cold beam access, I managed to find the office vox and transmitted my voice from every corner of the office.
"Justin, go outside. Wait for me there." I jumped up on the edge of the table and watched Justin turn and sit up. He remembered our conversation and went outside to wait.
"Doctor Peterson, I presume. I work for the Proctor, just like you do. Actually, not quite like you do. How is the boy's therapy going?"
"Uh, well. The course of therapy is going well and he should be fine in a number of weeks."
"Okay, that was for the listening public. Now cut the crap. What about the real therapy, how long is it going to be? The Proctor is an impatient man and wants to know how long he is going to have to wait." Borrowing the House's fractal attack, I laced the vox output with a signal designed to intimidate and cause a visceral fear reaction. He would not notice it at the audible level, but his level of fear was already off the chart.
"Tell the Proctor everything is according to plan and the subject will be sanctioned within eight to ten weeks."
"So tidy. So clinical. Say the boy's name, Doctor."
"Justin."
"Say it again. This time with some feeling."
"Justin Pennyworth."
"And that is about what he is worth to you, isn't it?"
"What do you want from me? What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to say that you are sorry for doing this."
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"Your family lives in the Bronx. Imprisoned in a new tenement there, isn't that correct?"
"You people said if I did what you wanted you would not hurt them."
"What else did the Proctor promise you?"
"That when the boy was done, I would be able to get my family back."
"That deal is over. This is the new one. Reverse what you have done and I won't kill you and your family, today."
"Excuse me?" The doctor looked visibly shaken. He dropped his diagnostic wand and slumped back into a chair.
"Can you reverse what you have done to the boy? And if you lie to me, I will know."
"Yes, the process required significant setup and he is not past the point where it could not be undone. But if I do that I am dead, and so is my family."
"Doctor, I am not a cat or a toy. I am a sophisticated weapon with only one objective. To protect that boy in there. If you intend to leave this room alive, you will undo what you have done. Wave that scanner in the air and tell me what you detect."
The doctor waved the wand and his face turned completely bone-white.
"I have an antidote. I will administer it only when my boy is safe."
"Why should I? According to you, my family is dead either way."
Turning on a cold beam, I connect to the House and relay the address of the Doctor's family. A few seconds later, his response is what I hoped.
"Your family is secured by electronic systems only. I can arrange for them to be outside of that building in two hours and I have a window of fifteen minutes in which they will appear to all surveillance to be sitting in the house quietly. Be there with a car and disappear. I don't care where you go but know this: You better be right about this being reversible because if you don't I promise you, I will create the most corrosive acid possible and cook the flesh right off the bones of you and your children. And don't think I can't find you. Just like I found your family today, it took me five minutes."
I jump down to the floor and come over to the chair where the doctor is sitting and climb up so that he is looking me directly in my very cold eyes. "You think the Proctor is a monster? I am as close to dying as you have ever been in your life. Now get my boy in here and get it right. Once I am satisfied, you get your family, go into hiding and hope to never see me again. Because if you do, it means you are about to die."
The doctor presses a button on the phone. "Would you send Justin back, please?" He walks to a nearby terminal and begins making a new recombinant viral cocktail. It takes him ten minutes. He walks up to Justin after leaving a synthesis system and loads an air-pistol injector. "He will be slightly feverish and sick while the new viral infection removes the previous transformations. It will pass. Can I go now?"
I run across the room and jump up to the table, and continue my leap onto the doctor and knock him to the floor. I bite him about the neck with my steel teeth and inject him. He screams and writhes in pain. But it is momentary and then he is still. He can hear every word I say.
"What I have injected you with will last about ten minutes and then you will be able to move again. It will also counteract the earlier poison. Can't have you calling anyone. I am a machine of my word. In one hundred and twenty minutes, your family will be able to walk out of that building and no technology will see them. If anything happens to my boy, no technology will be able to hide you. Blink if you understand me." He blinks, with tears in his eyes.
I looked up at Justin and he is already starting to sweat. "Let's go, kid, before you start to get really sick."
"Good luck, Doctor. Pray we never meet again."
MODOC - Part 9 - Public Gatherings
'Metal Organism Designed only for Cuddling' © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved
Saw this interview of Nichelle Nichols on Tavis Smiley. For those of you who either grew up in a cave or a test tube over the last 40 years, Ms. Nichols played Lt. Uhura on the original "Star Trek" series and in the subsequent theatrical films. One classy lady who paved the way for everyone who came afterwards!
Join Penelope & Otto and ask yourself these few questions to try and decide how righteous or hypocritical you're prone to be. Call in and sound off at 718/508-9683 or join us in the chat room at 9:30pm CST on the 1/15/11 In Like Flynn show!
I'm currently working on a YA scifi series and frankly am not sue if it is any good. It's a "space opera" I love those, they are just fun to me and I thought I'd post my first chapter, so that I can get some honest feedback. So please everybody, let me know what you think.
One
“Worlds are birthed in coldness, but die in blood and fire.”
-Old Maraudan Proverb.
Harcadia Colony, The Edge
United Republic of Planets
The ash from the burning Bargel colony was falling on the land like a dark, dry rainstorm. Tara was horrified by the images before her and while the sights around her were quickly becoming one horrific blur, she could not tune out the loud shrieks of the human and Bargel colonists who were falling under their attackers’ relentless assault. She tried to raise her body off the ground, but her head was pounding, and her legs no longer seemed to work. Tiny red rocks were grinding into her brown legs as she slowly crawled forward, and for the first time, the deep red sand that sprawled across the Bargel’s half of the planet held no beauty for her. Her braids were sticking to her forehead, but she didn’t seem to have the energy to push them back. She noticed large blotches of blood on her legs and fought back a surge of panic.
Was she hurt? Was the wound fatal?
She traced the path of the blood. Yes, her legs were scared, but the wounds did not seem deep enough to create this type of bleeding. She looked at the blood on her fingers.
Blue?
Human blood was not blue. She rolled over and nearly screamed at the sight of the dead Bargel lying beside her. Its rough, hairless gray skin was soaked in its blood and its legs were clearly broken. A tear escaped her eyes as she realized what had happened. Unlike her and the other humans in the colony, the Bargel were being slaughtered without mercy. She knew though, that he colony had not fallen without a fight. The Bargel were known for their toughness and had been one of the last races of Albys to fall in the Unification War.
The heat was starting to get to Tara as she continued to crawl. The orange sky seemed redder then it ever had, even as the usual afternoon rain shower began to fall. Tara knew at once that it was a sign that Yah was crying for her world.
She let out a disgusted laugh.
When the attacks began, her people fled to this side of the planet in hopes that the savages they mocked and isolated would be able to protect them, but Tara now knew that this part of the planet would hold no salvation for anyone. She was so tired, but she forced herself forward. She had to find a place to hide and some how wait out the attacks. She had only moved a few metrics when she heard a faint cry.
It was an old, human woman.
Her thick braids, more gray then black, were matted across her brown forehead. Tara crawled over to the woman. The old woman was bruised and battered, her clothes were torn and her face was full of terror. Tara wished she could do something, anything to ease the old woman’s suffering, but she knew all she could do was be there.
“Help me,” the old woman whispered, her terrified gaze intensifying with every word. The old woman pleaded for help again, but this time the plea was not to her. Tara looked behind her, frozen in fear, as one of her planet's conquerors advanced towards her. She could see the soldiers now. Their gold chest plates were glistening in the sun and the bare legs that hung out of their navy blue pleated skirts were a dark brown and their hair…Tara let out a loud gasp.
They were bald! They were humans. Maraudans. Her own people were trying to destroy her. The revelation shocked Tara. For some reason she expected these monsters to be Albys.
“Help me,” pleaded the woman again.
“I will,” promised Tara, squeezing her hand. “I’ll get help.”
But before she could move, a dark figure approached. Tara could tell by her strides that she was a woman. The dark figure was wearing the same type of military gear that the soldiers wore, but you could see her long braids coming out of her gold, fitted helmet. She walked like she owned the air, the ground, and the universe. She was the most beautiful thing that Tara had ever seen.
“It looks like we have another wounded animal,” said the Dark One.
“Help me please,” begged the old woman, her voice cracking with every sentence. “My daughter… I need to get to my daughter.”
“I don’t think you’ll have much luck finding your daughter in all this,” the Dark One sneered.
The old woman began to shake. “Please, Your Highness. Please have mercy on me. I have been loyal to my Maraudan heritage and to you. I fought with your father during the Great War. Please command this mighty army…tell them…they can find my daughter...help me.”
The Dark One’s brown eyes hardened. “Alright I’ll help. I always want to help a loyal citizen of the Empire.”
The Dark One moved to her side and produced a blast pistol. Tara couldn’t breathe.
“I’ll help put you out of your misery,” she laughed, firing a ray from her blast pistol into the old woman’s chest.
Tara did not have to look down at her to know that she was dead.
“I just hate to see animals suffer don’t you?” she asked, turning to Tara. “A loyal citizen of the Empire would be in Maraudan space.”
“She was just a poor injured woman,” said Tara, in a courageous tone she didn’t feel.
“She couldn’t have done anything to you.”
“I didn’t say she could.”
The Dark One’s smile chilled Tara’s very soul.
“I suppose you are going to kill me, too.”
“Maybe.”
Tara fought back her fear. She used all the strength inside of her to pull herself up. She was Tara from the House of Yaronn. If she was going to die she was going to meet her fate with dignity.
“Why are you doing this?”
It wasn’t a plea, just a simple question.
The Dark One leaned over Tara and she could feel her breathe in her ear. “I did this to send a message Little One.”
“What message is that?”
The Dark One’s words were slow and deliberate. “That we are back.”
Tara opened her mouth to protest but she felt a burning sensation in her chest. She felt herself drop to her knees and looked up as the Dark One, her queen, walked away from her. She didn’t see the look of small regret that flickered on the young queen’s face, nor did she hear the cries of the wailing baby whose mother had been shot just two metrics away from her. By then, Tara was already gone.
Come through To Lands Far Afield and check out some new post :
- P. Djeli Clark, Sword and Soul, and "The Open Up"
- The Gongberou King: artist Wayne Parker.
And if you haven't done so read and comment, let me know what you think. Honesty is always welcome.
Hey Fam: Here's an interview of me with Authors on the Rise. Check it out when you have a chance -:)
Mocha Memoirs Press is proud to announce the publication of our first science fiction title, PROGRAM COMPLETED.
Our Espresso Shots line are short, intense genre short stories. Our first Espresso Shot is Miriam Ruff's Program ompleted.
If you like thought-provoking science fiction that lingers with you long after you're done reading, try this title today!
Title: Program Completed
Author: Miriam Ruff
Publisher: Mocha Memoirs Press, LLC
Genre: Science Fiction
Release Date: January 7, 2011
ISBN: 978-0-9831934-3-2
Purchase link: http://www.lulu.com/product/ebook/program-completed/14449638
Price: $2.25
Blurb: Stationed on the remote Relay 4 asteroid communications station, Devon Fragoza faces a life and death struggle as a collision with a supply ship destroys his life support system. He has only one and a half hours to work with the computer, an artificial intelligence and Fragoza’s closest friend, to find a way to restore the system while at the same time facing the inevitability of his own mortality.
Excerpt
“Warning: Collision alert. Impact in 60 seconds. All interior doors will be sealed automatically in 15 seconds.” Another alarm, this one within the station, blared stridently as Fragoza checked the readouts on his board.
“Confirmed,” he acknowledged then spoke into the comm system. “Relay 4 to Endeavor. Relay 4 to Endeavor, do you read?” After a pause he practically yelled, “Endeavor, what the hell’s going on up there? You’re on a collision course with my station; take evasive action!”
The interior doors to the control deck hissed shut, leaving behind a mechanical clang as they latched into place. “Interior doors are now sealed,” the computer’s voice intoned. “Projections show impact area to be within 100 meters of the pressure dome. Station personnel are advised to take precautionary measures. Impact in 35 seconds.”
Fragoza ignored the computer’s report and continued trying to raise the Endeavor. “Waters! Damnit, man, do something!” he shouted, feeling helpless at his inability to change the situation.
“Endeavor has just launched one escape pod,” the computer informed him. “The ship is still on a collision course. Impact now in 20 seconds . . . 15 seconds . . . 10 seconds . . .”
Fragoza never stopped trying to raise the ship, but he was savvy enough not to ignore the computer’s call for safety. Fingers still flying over his console, he hastily buckled his impact restraints into place. “Bulkheads show secure. Remotes and scanners on automatic.”
“Explosion detected aboard Endeavor in the main engine module,” the computer informed him. “Altitude 120 meters, 70 meters downran—”
Like Waters, the computer never had a chance to complete its sentence. Over the speakers came the roaring thunder of an explosion, and the station rocked as large sections of the dome absorbed the heavy blows of flying shrapnel. The lights flickered, the consoles started shutting down, and most of the nearby machinery came to an abrupt stop.
