BLOGS

“The old woman laughed out loud, unbuttoned her calico shift and let it fall to her ankles. Annabelle kicked free of it, and pulled the pins from her hair. Naked in the moonlight, she whispered his name… “

They thought it was over. The werewolves, Joan, Consuela, José and Mark fought to save Tundra. Now they sit on Topaz’s High Council where they’re feeding the hungry, tackling race riots, rebuilding their world. But come nightfall a daemon walks the streets. He knows all about the young woman with the chilling secret. He knows about her mirror and of the ancient evil that’s awakened. History has been rewritten and a new war has just begun…

“Portrait of Annabelle” sketch and design by Quinton Veal

A fourth of a mile beneath the surface of Sirius, directly beneath the evacuated Project
Illusion base, Craig occupied a bunker with two other spotters. The spotters
sat around a table staring at monitors
that displayed video footage of different regions of the planet. Three more
underground bunkers were scattered across Sirius, each hideout containing
spotters perched in front of monitors, plagued, no doubt, by eye strain.

Craig’s station was a little larger than that of his fellow spotters. In front of him
rested a monitor. On the monitor’s right was a scanner showing the exact
positions of the inbound Uit ships. To the left of his monitor was the control
panel to the surface-to-space missile launcher embedded within Sirius’ tallest
peak, a mountain fifteen times higher than Earth’s Mt. Everest.

Uit bombardment of a planet was more surgical than it appeared. Their priority
targeting pinpointed areas their sensors
detected as densely populated. Nothing in their operations profile indicated that
they targeted mountains. In this case, Craig hoped the Uit’s modus operandi
held up and they didn’t target the one mountain housing humanity’s only defense
against the invaders.

Twenty-five blinking pinpoints appeared on Craig’s scanner. Dr. Hecht had launched the
suicide vehicles. They would be breaking atmosphere in ten seconds. Craig
realized that by this time, Dr. Hecht had returned to Earth. With the German
engineer gone, the wormhole link was most certainly cut. Craig tried not to let the disappearance of
their lifeline pull down his spirits. He distracted himself by checking the
clarity and precision of the periscope video pickup his monitor was connected
to. He swiveled the camera control, rotating the camera at a three-sixty angle.
The surface of Sirius showed up on the monitor as a vast monotony of dust and
rocks. Craig could access the other spotters’ footages, but there was nothing
worth seeing on their monitors either.

“Jesus Christ, Craig. This is like that spotter mission I did in Northwest Pakistan
coupla years back, only weirder.” That was Owen Wheeler, former British SAS,
current contractor/advisor...whatever the situation called for. The Englishman
looked up from his monitor, rubbing his eyes.

“And more boring?” Added Jessica Reyes.

Craig smiled as he studied the woman who occasionally freelanced for the CIA. He and
Jessica had recently done an op where they posed as husband and wife. It
involved a high level and ultimately successful assassination.

“Boring is good,” Craig stated very sincerely. “We don’t want any action on this one. We
just want the bad guys to look around and get out as quickly as possible.”

Jessica stood, stretching her long, lithe body. “That being said, I’m going to take a
break. Let me know when the bad guys do show up.”

“That won’t be for six days, three hours, forty seven minutes, give or take a second or
two,” Owen recited smartly.

Jessica pranced out of the main room toward her rest cubicle. “Like I said, let me know
when they show up.”

Five days later, the suicide vehicles met the Uit ships. The battle was painfully short and
laughably lopsided. The suicide vehicles fired off their missiles. The chemical
fueled, slow moving missiles were picked off by gleaming licks of Uit point
defense fire faster than a rattlesnake could lunge. A single Uit ship directed
a pair of guns on the suicide vehicles and unleashed a hell stroke. All it took
was a broad sweep of fluorescent fire to clear the Uit’s path of feeble
opposition.

“Jesus bloody Christ,” Owen hissed incredulously as he witnessed twenty five friendly
pinpoints vanish in rapid succession from the scanner. “The least those damn
aliens could have done was act like our little greeting party was a nuisance.”

“The Uit are not known for their social graces,” Craig commented with cynical humor. “Jessica
do a bunker check. In twenty two hours the Uit are going to be within terminal
range of this planet. I want everyone on their toes.”

Jessica nodded. “You got it, boss.”

Twenty two hours later.

Cameras from the satellites above Sirius captured footage of the Uit ships that was as
vivid as it was terrifying. Twelve Uit ships approached to within 90,000 miles
of Sirius before fanning out to surround the planet. The Uit vessels were
long-bodied, like fluted tubes, with bulbous teardrop-shaped rear sections.
Linear indentations covered the hulls of each ship in unremarkable lengthwise
patterns. There were no signs of guns or missile batteries or any type of alien
contrivance denoting weaponry. Certainly nothing that just blasted twenty five
automated spacecraft to smithereens could be detected.

Suddenly, simultaneously, forward sections of the ships retracted, revealing diamond shaped apertures.
Massive oblong projectiles ejected from the holes to soar toward the planet.
The projectiles picked up speed, reaching near relativistic velocities by the
time they breached Sirius’ atmosphere.

From frigid poles to broiling deserts, to temperate valleys, the projectiles struck ground.
Each individual impact was magnitudes more powerful than the combined yield of
Earth’s entire nuclear arsenal. Mega mushroom clouds boiled heavenward, marking
points of impacts. Daunting plumes of dirt and dust were thrown up to color the
sky with a dirty brush of fallout. Blast waves howled across continents,
reshaping landscapes in a blistering, hammering maelstrom.

The few bodies of water dotting Sirius writhed in wind-lashed furies of turbulence.
Mountain high tidal waves drenched previously parched lands hundreds of miles
from their shorelines. Daylight turned to the bleakest of nights on Sirius’
dayside as layers upon layers of ejecta adumbrated the sun’s radiance to
blackness. The nightside became darker than the most star deprived region of
space, a condition not far removed from an epoch long before God uttered the
divine command that brought forth light. Devastation was complete. Even for a
world that was desolate to begin with, the catastrophe visited upon Sirius made
what it once was but seconds earlier a verdant paradise in comparison.

Other than some mild flickering of overhead lights, none of the high level disturbance
wracking the surface seeped into the still calmness of the bunker.

Craig was fixated on the monitor,
absorbing the unbelievable scale of destruction playing out on the multiple
screens before him. He heard Owen whispering obscenity-laden oaths.

Jessica sat to the right of Craig, her face paler than usual, eyes fixed unwavering on her
screen.

Craig decided to do a bunker check. Conventional communication would not suffice
under current conditions. The Project Illusion researchers knew that, which was
why they developed communication via tachyon spikes. Tachyons were light enough
to be undetectable, with the capability of penetrating any surface.

“Bunker One checking in. All is well,” came the first response. The audio was frayed at the
edges with static, but comprehensible.

“Bunker Two checking in.”

“Bunker Three checking in. No problems here.”

Satisfied, Craig returned his focus to the screens, sat back, and waited.

“Craig, are you getting this?” Jessica asked.

Craig took Jessica’s question to be more rhetorical than actual. She knew he was watching
the exact same footage from the satellite cam as she was. So, he responded with
a rhetorical reply. “Yeah, I’m getting it.”

The Uit robot ships remained stationary in the forty nine hours since they toasted
Sirius. But now one of the screens was showing movement. A much smaller vessel
flew into the picture, and it was heading for the surface. The observer ship.
Maroon in color and shaped like a bullet train car, the observer ship
disappeared into the black murk of Sirius’ tortured atmosphere. Compared to the
gargantuan robot ships, the observer vessel was a fly on an elephant. But if
Craig were to judge its scale against Earth craft, he would have compared it to
a C130 military transport plane.

Craig switched to the periscope cam. The picture was not as crystal clear as the
satellite view. A windstorm raged on the surface, whipping up swells of dirt
and dust. He managed to cut through the soup with enhanced visuals far in
advance of any night vision optics currently used on Earth, providing him with outstanding
clarity. Craig got a sustained shot of the observer ship’s descent toward the
continent where their bunker was located. The ship’s location elicited a bit of
concern from Owen.

“Boss, the bloody buggers are right over us.”

Not really. The ship was about two thousand miles out and coming down fast. Additional
smaller vessels emerged from the observer ship’s enormous hold. Each craft was
probably about the size of an Earth RV. The vessels dropped like rocks before
attaining flight capability. They darted off to other parts of the planet.
Craig’s monitor screens, in conjunction with the scanner, tracked the movements
of the smaller craft. Soon, the mother ship and the smaller vessels made
landings in various parts of the world.

Craig checked the control panel to the surface to space missile launcher embedded in
the mountain to make sure the weapon was still online. The massive relief he
felt barely registered on his face. The weapon was online. Hopefully, he
wouldn’t have to use it.

One of the screens on Craig’s monitor focused on an Uit observer landing party closest to the
bunker…which actually placed them at about four thousand miles away.

Four Uit observers, dressed in environmental suits, wearing bubble helmets with dark
visors, emerged from their half light bulb shaped vehicle.

“They move and walk like humans,” Jessica commented.

She was right. The Uit, in their suits, were almost shaped like humans as well. Almost. A closer look revealed some divergences in
their human-like outlines. Unusually long arms. Legs that bent sideways at the
joints instead of forward. No feet. Craig couldn’t out anything like ‘normal’
human feet. They appeared to balance themselves on stubs. They did have hands,
though. Craig counted six fingers on each hand, but no thumbs. Interesting.
Their helmets were small, indicating that a Uit’s head was tiny in proportion
to the rest of its body.

Two Uit began venturing away from the landing craft. They each held a flat device which
they waved in front of them.

“Must be some type of hand held scanners,” Owen surmised.

The Uit left behind unloaded equipment from a storage hold at the rear of the landing
craft. They removed six glossy metal crates and placed them on the ground about
twenty feet from the vehicle. They lifted the tops from the crates and unloaded
pieces of something which they promptly began to assemble. The finished result
was a bronze colored box that looked like an antique radio resting on a tripod.
The box rotated slowly, a red blinking light radiating from its center.

“What is that thing?” Jessica asked.

Craig shrugged. “I don’t know specifically, but I’ll assume it’s a life scanning
device.”

“It looks like one of them is taking soil samples,” Owen pointed out.

The screen showed an Uit filling a transparent tubular container with dirt. He carried the
container to the vehicle and climbed inside.

“What’s he doing? Examining the dirt for microorganisms?” Owen derided. “And if he finds a
live microbe-which is extremely unlikely-then what?”

“Another bombardment,” Jessica replied gravely.

Craig wanted to take what she said as a joke. He couldn’t. The Uit were thorough in
their genocides to the point of insanity.

Craig studied each display screen to see what the other Uit observers were doing.
Each landing party had set up equipment and was appearing to be taking
atmospheric and soil readings. After nearly an hour, the Uit closest to the
bunker began packing up their equipment.

“They’re leaving,” Jessica declared with a sparkle of hope in her voice. She met Craig’s
neutral gaze. “I think we just might have succeeded in selling them a bill of
goods.”

“We’ll see,” Craig said, not ready to claim mission accomplished just yet. Suddenly,
his screens went blank.

“What’s going on?” Owen tapped the side of his monitor. “I’ve lost visual. What the
hell?”

“Same here,” confirmed Jessica. “Could be the effects of the Uit barrage is playing havoc
with our signals.”

Craig fiddled with the monitor controls in an attempt to regain visuals. No success.
He punched the communication button. “All bunkers come in. We’ve lost visuals,
what’s your status?”

The answering silence was deafening in its own right. Craig tried again to contact
the bunkers. After five minutes of fruitless attempts a low hiss of static originating
from Bunker Two came in, followed by a warbled voice. “…compromised…repeat, we’ve been
compromised…!

The transmission cut off with the finality of a decapitating sword stroke. Cold
shock surged through Craig. He rose slowly, trying to wrap his mind around a
word no operative ever wanted to hear when on a mission: compromised.

Jessica
and Owen cast disbelieving stares Craig’s way.

“Did I just hear right?” Owen muttered, cocking his head.

Craig dashed to the arms crate in the corner of the bunker. “Yeah, you heard right.
It’s time to bail out of here. Let’s go, let’s go!” He threw open the crate,
took out a pair of pressure detonators and stuffed them in a supply pouch
attached to his belt.

The three operatives snatched their
helmets and assault rifles and headed for the bunker lift that would catapult
them to the surface.

“You won’t be able to launch the missiles!” Jessica realized as they boarded the lift and
the door slid shut.

Craig held up a flat hand size device. “I can fire them off with this. My uncle is too
devious to not have thought of a portable missile control mechanism.”

“This is not going according to plan!” grumbled Owen, slapping an ammo clip into his
modified M-16.

Craig grunted. “Blame it on that son-of-a-bitch, Murphy.”

After a harrowing five minutes of extreme upward acceleration, the lift reached the
surface.

Craig was the first to step outside when the door opened. Fierce winds nearly shoved him
backwards. The surface was a dark, storm wracked scene of utter, ruinous,
devastation. A mad prophet could not
have envisioned this screeching tumult. The operatives’ EHGV (Enhanced Head
Gear Vision) rapidly adjusted to the deficit of natural eyesight, pulling
fluorescent green outlines of detail from the surrounding blackness. The bunker was directly below Project
Illusion’s base. Now, it was as if what little imprint humanity left behind in
this small area never existed at all.

A craft swooped down upon the trio. An Uit landing vehicle.

Craig raised his weapon and opened fire.

Jessica and Owen followed suit, filling the disaster-churned air with crisscrossing bursts
of graphene-tipped rounds. A broadside
of sparks from bullets striking hull lit up the bottom of the craft. Executing
a roll, the Uit craft knifed upward a few hundred yards, paused fractionally,
then soared toward the surface for another pass. It screamed overhead, but not
as close as the first time.

The operatives again fired on the craft.

Craig spotted something dropping from the vehicle’s rear. Whatever it was the object was too
slow and too dumb to be a missile. Which left only one viable possibility…

“Hit the dirt!” Craig yelled through his helm mike bare seconds before the bomb impacted
the surface, detonating upon contact.

WHOOMP! Craig was lifted off his feet. It felt like he was levitating…like he could almost
control the duration and direction of his elevation. Gravity disabused him of
any notions of intrinsic flight capabilities. Craig plowed like an errantly
thrown football into the ground, rolling multiple times, each tumble a mallet
blow to his body. Friction, combined with countering wind currents, slowed his
flailing progression to a grinding halt.

His head clamored like a city full of tolling bells. Craig let out a ragged groan of
pain as he urged his battered body along. He foisted himself to his feet,
looking around, searching for his companions. His helmet display’s visor
alternated between blurry resolution and normal clarity.

Craig noticed Jessica at least thirty yards away. The woman was on her back, alive,
but clearly wounded from the blast. She tried to stand, but could only manage
to twist onto her stomach. Owen was
down, too. He was farther away and not moving at all. Craig couldn’t determine
if the Brit was dead or alive.

The appearance of the Uit craft snared Craig’s attention. The craft landed some
twenty yards in front of Craig, like an enormous Jurassic avian setting down to
roost.

Craig couldn’t find his weapon. He
lost it in the blast. No time to search. Craig pulled out a combat knife with a
hair thin blade forged from graphene, a substance harder than diamond. He
skulked toward the Uit craft.

No Uit had yet exited the landing vehicle. Craig rounded the back of the craft, slowly
gliding his way toward the cockpit. He never made it. An unseen force swept
Craig’s feet from under him, slamming him hard against the vehicle. Craig sank
to the ground, the wind knocked out of him.

An Uit approached Craig.

The human could not tell from which direction the Uit came, or if the alien was even on
board the craft to begin with. All Craig
knew was that the Uit was looming above him, pointing some kind of cylindered
object at him. Undoubtedly, the cylinder was the source of the teeth gritting
paralysis that prevented Craig from sinking his knife into a vital Uit artery.
Craig could not move despite his most exhaustive efforts. His muscles felt
heavy as cold lead.

An even colder aura emanated from the Uit. Up close, the alien was not as imposing as
Craig expected. But what the Uit lacked in the physical, was more than
compensated for in the genocidal horror the being represented. Craig could not
shake off the sensation of being nothing more than a lump of corruption beneath
the Uit’s unfeeling, helmet-shrouded scrutiny.

A deep resonant sound, like rushing waters, filled Craig’s audio. It wasn’t static or
feedback. The flow was too smooth, tranquil even. If Craig were to close his
eyes he could picture himself strolling along the beach of his island retreat.
Craig was tempted, but managed to keep his eyes open and focused on the
nightmare before him.

The sound grew louder, higher, elevating to a mournful keen. A throb of discomfort coiled
through Craig’s head, congealing into an aching knot behind his eyes. Words
suddenly materialized across Craig’s helmet display. English words.

The alien had hacked into Craig’s
helmet, somehow dissolving the language barrier to establish communication.

WHAT ARE YOU?

Craig overcame his surprise to respond verbally. “Human.”

WE HAVE DETECTED NO RESIDUALS DENOTING A PREVIOUS EXISTENCE OF LIFE ON THIS WORLD.

“That’s because you murderous bastards destroyed every trace of life on this world!”

UNLIKELY. I STRONGLY SUSPECT THERE WAS NEVER LIFE HERE TO BEGIN WITH. THE UNDERGROUND
ENCLAVES WE HAVE NEUTRALIZED HAS NOT YIELDED ANY DATA TO CONFIRM MY SUSPICION
NOR WERE THERE ANY HUMANS ALIVE IN THOSE PLACES TO INTERROGATE.

A spike of anguish drove through Craig’s heart at the loss of his fellow operatives.
Instantly, he stifled his emotions, adopting a cool, mission oriented poise.

WHERE IS YOUR HOME PLANET? The Uit stepped
closer, gently prodding the human’s chest with the cylinder.

Craig forged a smile that the Uit could not see, and probably would have been unable to read
if it could. “This is my home planet.”

A cutting, constricting pain erupted in Craig’s chest, rapidly flaring to his extremities.

I AM NOT CONVINCED.

Foamy spittle seeped from the corner of Craig’s mouth as the agony subsided. The
human heaved for breath. “Humans are indigenous…to this world…this is…my…home
world…”

Another pain-burst so mind consuming Craig could barely hear himself screaming.

“Stop, please! Please! I’ll talk…I’ll talk…you’re right…humans aren’t native here…”

YOU WILL PROVIDE US WITH THE COORDINATES TO YOUR HOME SYSTEM.

“Please…don’t do this. We…are not a threat to you!”

The Uit stepped back, lowering the cylinder. ANY SENTIENT EXISTENCE OTHER THAN OUR OWN
IS A THREAT TO US. NOW, GIVE ME THE COORDINATES.

After a short pause, Craig uttered an alpha numeric string.

Another pause ensued as the Uit linked to its observer ship astronomical computer to
confirm the acquired data.

YOUR DATA IS ACCURATE, ENSURING YOUR EXTENDED SURVIVAL UNTIL YOUR DEMISE FROM LACK OF
SUSTENANCE.

“Well thank you kindly. Your mercy is much appreciated.
In the end, you’re going to lose. You can’t wipe out every single pocket
of life in the universe. It can’t be done!”

WE WILL ACHIEVE OUR OBJECTIVE IN TIME. WHILE YOUR COOPERATION IN THIS MATTER IS MOST
HELPFUL, IT IS NOT WITHOUT TREACHEROUS INTENT. YOUR MOUNTAIN TOP MISSILE
LAUNCHER HAS BEEN DESTROYED.

The Uit turned away and boarded his landing craft. Seconds later the craft lifted off.
A black tornado of sand and dust whipped around Craig in the vibratory wake of
the craft’s ascent. The paralysis holding
Craig in place dissipated as the vehicle gained distance. But a paralysis of a
different, mind-numbing sort kept the human rooted in place as he visualized
his plan flushing down a toilet. After all, Craig was counting on the missile
launcher to end the Uit threat. Revealing Earth’s location was a ploy to get
the observer ship back into space so it could be targeted and destroyed.

Craig looked up in the direction of the departing landing craft. He adjusted his EVHG
to maximum range and spotted the Uit observer ship hovering in the sky just
short of reaching orbit. The ship was receiving all the landing craft that it
had dispersed across Sirius. When the final craft entered the observer ship’s
hold, the vessel resumed its flight toward space.

Craig took out the portable missile launch control and thumbed the launch button. A tiny
strip of a display screen at the top of the launch control read OFFLINE. Craig
slammed the control into the dirt, whispering a curse. The Uit wasn’t lying.
The mountain top launcher really was neutralized. Now, Craig was forced to fall
back on Plan C…might as well have been Plan D. This was about as last minute a
gamble as he could come up with, something he pulled out of his nostril in a
flurry of desperation.

All he had to do was wait and see if the gamble was going to pay off.

He waited…

The observer ship was seconds from reaching orbit, becoming an ever-decreasing speck on his
EVHG display.

He waited…

Perspiration trickled down his face.

He waited…

Anxiety applied a strangle grip to his heart.

A flash of light blossomed on the side of the observer ship like an emerging sunrise.

The breath Craig was holding gushed out in a triumphant cry of relief.

The observer ship spiraled out of control, spewing hot gas, smoke, and debris from
a flame-throbbing hole in its hull. Down to the surface the ship plummeted, the
friction of its reentry converting the disintegrating vessel into a blazing
contrail.

Craig tracked the ship’s fiery descent until it struck the surface no more than fifty
miles from where he stood. The blinding fury of the Uit ship’s demise splashed
a patch of radiance across a half square mile of complete darkness.

Before Craig’s encounter with his Uit tormentor, he managed to place a pressure
detonator on the landing craft. He set the timer for when he estimated the
craft would rejoin its host vessel. He had three concerns: was the length of
time he programmed into the detonator long enough? Would the explosive produce
a powerful enough blast to cripple the observer ship? And would it be
discovered and deactivated?

Well, Craig didn’t have to worry about those concerns anymore. His gamble had paid off big.
He stared at his raging victory pyre in the distance for a few gratifying
minutes. Then he turned, trudging back to check on the status of his
companions.

Uncle Reese was all smiles as entered the infirmary to visit his nephew. The infirmary was
located somewhere on Earth, deep inside a secret installation. Craig was being
treated for an assortment of cuts, bruises, and sprains. He was not at all
happy to see the man who got him into this predicament.

“Exemplary job, Craig. You saved us all.”

“Not in the mood for celebrating,” Craig huffed, sliding off the med pallet. He examined
the dressing wrapped around his cracked ribcage. “I came out of that goat screw
of a mission with two wounded operatives and the rest, dead. It wasn’t supposed
to go down like that.”

Uncle Reese’s good cheer dimmed slightly. “Craig, you know as well as I do that no
mission projection is written in stone. Project Illusion put together the best
possible plan that it possibly could, based on the best data at its disposal.
The Piron provided us with excellent, detailed information that tried to factor
in likely future advancements in Uit technological capabilities.”

“But no one could have known that the Uit would acquire the ability to detect detection
proof underground bunkers, or missile launchers hidden in mountains,” Craig admitted,
reaching for his shirt.

Uncle Reese nodded in sober agreement. “I did my part to try to anticipate ways this
mission could go wrong. But for every scenario that I came up with and
countered, more negative scenarios sprang up to keep me awake at night. That’s
why I called you.”

Craig paused, fixing a skeptical spotlight upon his enigmatic relative.

“You’re good at what you do,” Uncle Reese elaborated. “There’s no doubt about that. But
beyond being good, you have a knack for yanking success out of the gaping mouth
of disastrous outcomes.”

A grin was pulled out of Craig, followed by a wince of pain as he eased into his short
sleeve polo. “I’ll bet you were itching for a time and a place to use that
metaphor.”

“I’m serious, Craig. Thinking outside the box is something you do exceptionally
well. Using a pressure detonator to bring down a hostile alien ship when all
other options had failed. Brilliant. Simply brilliant. I probably would never
have thought of that one.”

“Thanks for the accolades, but it doesn’t make me feel any better,” Craig griped.

Uncle Reese put an earnest hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “I’m not trying to make you feel
better. I’m trying to make you see that for the price of a handful of brave,
dedicated warriors, six billion lives have been saved. Six billion. What a
small price to pay for the continued survival of our species.”

Craig reluctantly accepted the wisdom of Uncle Reese’s words. “Yeah. We dodged a
bullet this time. Of course something tells me more bullets are on the way.”

“Well, if or when the next bullet arrives, I think we’ll be far better equipped to repel
it.” Uncle Reese brought his hands together in a topic-ending clap. “Now,
enough talk of proverbial little projectiles. Whether you like it or not, I’m
treating you to dinner and all the alcohol you can consume. Lord knows you’ve
earned it.”

“And when we’re done,” Craig announced as he headed for the infirmary exit, “you can drop
me off on my island and not bother me ever again.”

Uncle Reese put a hand to his chest. “I promise I will not be calling on your services
anytime soon.”

“I didn’t say anytime soon, I said ever again.”

“Now, now, Craig, let’s not think
in such…final terms.”

“Uncle Reese…”

“I know this wonderful little restaurant in Tokyo. I think you’ll like it…”

Recent Amazonstudios screenplay contest.
I'd like to make the panel take notice so if you guys can at least go on... Maybe download & read the script go to the site it's free! to sign on and only takes a minute then go read my work... become a follower. this is also a popularity contest so if the judges see activity it can only help. Need more followers and mabe a few reviews

Here's the add:

One of the other projects I've undertaken is the retooling of an original Screenpay called VINTAGE VAMP... Let's just call it my intense psychological thriller in the vain of Twin Peaks meets Hitchcock.
Well with the completion of the screenplay I've decided to enter the Screenplay into the freshly announced Amazon Studio contest. I'm hoping that you guys will go and read the script tell a few friends and comment giving the panel of Judges something to think about. Here's the link to the Contest: http://studios.amazon.com/scripts/339?ref=email

Chapter 7

"They are all asleep," Biyu said to Chuntra. Biyu was finished strapping Master Wex down and checking for his vitals from the medical chair. He was well within the parameters for his species and was resting comfortably. His armored quills were growing in quickly replacing those lost during today's challenges. His natural regenerative capabilities were bolstered by an amino acid feed which fed his body's need to replenish his proteins lost rebuilding his body. He was also the least injured of the three males onboard the ship. "We have five days until we reach the Trinary Expanse. I hope to be able to pick up a clue once we arrive in system."

Chuntra stood with the support dome of her Corvan Regular armored suit open and water pooling around her neck. Her three eyes were above the water level focused intently on the three very different soldiers breathing with labored but quiet breaths. She noticed the smooth but alien shapes of the ship and realized that she was not in a human designed ship. She touched a variety of surfaces and noted exotic materials. "This ship was made by the Bel-ha, wasn't it? How did a human end up with a ship created by an Old Galactic Race?"

Travelling Light, a starship of Bel-ha design moved through subspace by folding the distances between the destination and their previous location. The ship was fairly unique as was most Bel-ha designs in that it was customized and created to specification. The designer of the ship was Silver Death-Singer, a Sjurani Prince, ninety years ago, commissioned as a deep insertion vehicle.

The Bel-ha had commercial ship facilities where they created their standard warships and commercial starships. Travelling Light was not one of them. She was created with a particular need in mind and as such had capabilities other ships her size simply did not have. She was created as a gunship, her firepower, disproportionate to her size. She was also created to be a stealth ship, undetectable except by the most sophisticated of electronic warfare vessels. She was designed to operate deep in enemy territory, drawing energy and fuel from the stars. She had limited self-repair capacity to continue operating behind enemy lines with limited resources.

She was designed as an intelligent starship, complete with a neural network, capable of learning, adapting and even flying herself. In her own way, she was a living starship, capable of learning as well as any sentient organism. She came into the possession of Thomas Wilks over three decades ago and has worked as his primary support ship during his time as a covert operative and later as a Resurrection Soldier.

"This ship and I came into the Major's employ nearly thirty years ago," Biyu began. "A newly minted Resurrection Soldier, one of the last of his generation and unbeknownst to us at the time, the last to be made, was brought online thirty years ago. He was code-named "Majoris" after the starship Majoris Selkar that brought Pan-humanity to Galtan II, all those years ago. He chose his call-sign in tribute to that great ship, which was later lost in the battles against the Nox during the years of the First Galactic Wars."

Biyu came around to the Major and extended cables from her fingertips which sought out access ports on his body. As she plugged into his body, she became aware of several diagnostic displays in her visual field. The diagnostics indicated his biomechanical systems were functioning within the expected parameters but there were signs of degradation due to his recent traumas. His nano-machine count was down and would continue to degrade as long as he had no contact with his Frame. She also noted without his image, she would have to maintain certain support algorithms which kept his body functioning at peak efficiency. As long as he did not strain himself, he would be fine.

She sat down and looked over at Chuntra. "Come and sit with me, Ambassador and I will tell you how Thomas and I first met. I will have something synthesized that you will be able to enjoy while we talk away the hours. The boys won't be getting up for quite some time."

"Ship, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Ambassador," the ship began, "we have a limited menu of Corvan delicacies but I am certain we can find something you like."

"Thank you, Ship. I will trust your judgment."

The ship slid the medical chairs of the injured crew members back along the wall and created a depression on the floor. The floor began to glow and soon water began to float in the air between the floor and the ceiling. The water continued to fill the area until it was a ball approximately 3 meters in diameter.

"Do you have a preference for salt water or fresh water. We have seventeen different water worlds on record, if you have a particular preference, we can configure the water with the salt and chemical makeup of whatever world you choose from our database. If you know the chemical configuration of a particular world, we can provide that as well," the ship announced.

Chuntra stopped for a moment to consider. "To be honest, I have never been to Corva Prime, the world of my people. Is that in your database?"

"Of course, this vessel has carried over sixty Corvan delegations in its time. Please stand by, it will only take a moment. I have taken the liberty of heating the water gently past your internal body temperature. There will also be food made available shortly. I will take your suit in the back and begin making modifications, so that it is more comfortable and still as useful as it can be."

"Thank you, Ship." Chuntra slid out of her suit and reached into the bubble of water. She pulled herself up into the bubble and enjoyed the freedom of movement. She extended her tentacles and noted the field extended as well. "I'm much more comfortable now, Biyu. I guess it storytime."

Biyu's Story

I met the Major on the two hundred anniversary of humanity's arrived in the Twenty Moons region of Toranor and thirty-five years ago.

I had recently decided to leave the employ of Danarius Flen Hall, callsign, Coda, a Resurrection Soldier or Revenant of some skill and renown but very questionable morals. He had been employed in a variety of insertion missions during the first Galactic War and his tactics and problem solving capabilities left much to be desired. He was well regarded in the Triune Council and Corvan Military as an effective operative. His last mission required he infiltrate a splinter colony of humans who were engaged in rogue genetic engineering experiments.

Those experiments used a variety of alien species and were attempting to reverse-engineer genetic patents used to modify certain species to live in specialized environments. These exclusive environments were bonded at the genetic level and if you lacked the proper gene structures, you could not enter, or as we found out later, leave without disastrous results. They were using these gene-patents to create a slave ring of aliens who could be forced to work in gene-engineered environments and would die if they left them.

Coda and I infiltrated the core facility with the orders to capture and return the scientists to the Triune Council. Coda decided to destroy the facility and all the unfortunate creatures living within it. There were tens of thousands of innocents trapped within the facility. I was unaware of his true intentions and by the time I realized what he had planned, there was nothing I could do to stop it. The Imperium considered it good work, but I believed there was more to the operation than he did, but he was unwilling to follow up and the case was closed.

I decided after five years of working with Coda, I was done. He and I had done two dozen or so missions together but I never felt close to him despite the nature of the psychographic manipulations required to keep him sane. I sometimes wondered if he needed more psychographic therapy than I could give him. We parted ways and I did not see him again for a number of years.

When I next saw him, he was working on Galtan II, as a research specialist, dealing with advance genome manipulations. I heard through the Vine he was specifically assigned to investigate, infiltrate and destroy any genetic aberrations found in the Imperium.

I had been working as a Pilot for almost forty years at that point and considered leaving the line of work. I had plenty of money and could have retired to a life as a researcher, which I preferred. Many Pilots died early in their careers because their Soldiers did not take their relative fragility into consideration when they are working on operations. I recommended a different training regimen to the Magistrorum, with more emphasis on combat operations and training, in addition to our technical duties. It was considered to be a burden but after two years arguing, I became a trainer at the Magistrorum and trained other Conscientia in both their technical duties and their basic military duties.

That is where I met Lieutenant Thomas Wilks. He was assigned to the facility as a new assigned Revenant, and he would be teaching with me, helping the new Pilots to understand their strengths and limitations in the field and how they could best help the Revenant they were assigned to. This ushered in a new training program that increased the survivability of new Pilots. Having worked as a survivalist, insertion, reconnaissance and covert operative, his extensive training was perfect for the types of environments Pilots found themselves in.

We worked together in this fashion for five years before we were called on to rescue a Sjurani starship downed on a Breeder world. The first Breeder Wars were dirty and violent and the Breeders attacked many early outposts and took over those worlds in the early stages of transformation and habitation. The Sjurani were sent to investigate a Subaki colony that had been overrun with Ebuntun, an insect-like breeder which had destroyed the primary base colony, and were spreading to other facilities on the planet. A group of Sjurani strike cruisers had been assigned to intercept and stop the Ebuntun fleet and rescue the colony. There was considerable investment in the terraforming technology in use there, so the Imperium was interested in protecting it.

Early in the operation, something had gone wrong and the Sjurani were requesting half a Revenant team to investigate and recover any of their lost operatives. They were also expected to complete the original mission of the Sjurani and destroy the Ebuntun and save the colonists. Unfortunately, there were only five Revenants available, including Thomas, and it was deemed that the they, two squads of heavy regulars and two dozen mechs would be assigned to the planet. Thomas had never been assigned a Pilot since he came directly from his Bonding to the Magistrorum, so I agreed to be his Pilot, even though I had promised myself, I would never again work in the field. I must admit to being intrigued by him, he was very much a model soldier, even though he had seen combat from a variety of fields, he still retained a very human, very well-centered carriage.

Thomas and I were assigned a small squad of light mechs, who would provide support for the five other Revenants who would be leading the primary assault. We would offer fast attack services only when necessary to help hold a line. The mechs were equipped with jump packs, I used a glider-wing and Thomas's Frame has an anti-gravity thrust array, so we were able to arrive on the scene with minutes of being called. I am happy to say, that the early days of that campaign did not see very much combat and I got to spend time with Thomas as we drilled with the mecha pilots on tactics against their enemy.

This was not the first time I or Thomas had dealt with the Ebuntun but our mech pilots were young and inexperienced in combat against non-human adversaries. It was important they understood the difference. The enemy was not human and they should not subscribe human ideals, behaviors or morals to them. That would get them killed. The Ebuntun retreated, at first, from the one thousand Corvan Regulars, the two hundred Pan-human Mechanized Assault group and the five Resurrection Soldiers who were assigned to this task force. There were several Eagles, providing air support and our light mecha squadron of twenty-four heavy mechs. Their retreat was short-lived.

One evening, a month into the campaign we received a call from a Corvan Regular group that was approaching a downed Sjurani vessel. The ship was surrounded by the Ebuntun and they were using a heavy weapon unfamiliar to the Corvan Regulars. The shield arrays on the Sjurani vessel were working but it was estimated they would have only six hours before their shields failed. The Force Commander requested heavy mech support along with the Mechanized Assault tanks because the initial stealth foray using two Revenants did not go well. The Revenants did not die, but were gravely injured and temporarily removed from the battlefield.

It was decided, with a heavy barrage of tank fire as well as a lightning strike of heavy mechs, we could take down the remaining five projector towers. One tower had been destroyed by the earlier team. Each tower was in line of sight of the others, as the Sjurani ship was half buried after its crash. As we suited up we were given a special directive by the Fleet Commander, whose order superseded any other authority on the planet.

We were to rescue that flagship and see that the crew and any survivors are to be evacuated to the Fleet Command ship. We indicated that we understood and would gather all survivors. The heavy assault was a success. Between the tank fire and the heavy mechs we were able to destroy the projector towers. We did try and capture the technology intact, but it simply cost us too many men. The weapon was unlike anything we had ever seen. Once the beam struck an unshielded target, the target simply stopped moving as if frozen, ice formed on the shell and within minutes, the target crumpled to dust. It was as if, all of the energy from the target had been stolen away, down to atomic structure. We could no longer risk losing men and destroyed the weapons. But neither of us had ever seen anything like that before.

Once we drove the Ebuntun away, we surrounded the ship and got inside. The ship was already infested with the Ebuntun and they were trying to take key sections of the ship but the Sjurani had managed to hold those areas, including the engineering area where the shield management had taken place. Approximately one third of the crew was dead or injured, the rest were intact and defended their ship admirably.

Then, all at once, things went to hell. The soldiers outside had set up picket stations, which included tanks and their support teams, pulse turrets, mortars and mecha beam platforms. The Ebuntun had returned but this time, there were thousands more than earlier. Whatever they wanted, they intended to get. We killed them by the score. We used our beam lasers until the focusing crystals shattered and overheated. We shot pulse rifles until we ran out of ammunition, dropped multiple warhead mortars and they still kept coming. We eventually were forced to go to hand to hand and everyone pitched in. The battle lasted hours.

When we found the Sjurani prince, he was talking to a group of younger Sjurani who were wearing the finest battle-armors and weapons money could buy. They were surrounded by a group of older, very scarred, very frightening looking Sjurani with a variety of ancient ceramic weapons with mono-molecular edges. They glistened with the unstable monomolecular matter used to cleave apart any matter this weapon touched. We indicated that Thomas and I were the Prince's escorts. His name was Silver Death-Singer and these were his clutch, they were on their first mission and eager for combat. We let him know we had an avenue set up for escape and our troopers were keeping it secure. We moved through the ship and as we exited we realized our lines were not holding. The Force Commander had initiated several planetary bombardments to push the Ebuntun back, and had begun dropping weapons and ammo onto the scene. The heavy mechs were supporting the Corvan Regulars and tanks and were barely keeping the enemy at bay. The flanks were collapsing so we needed to get the prince out of there.

There was a heavy tank transport ready a thousand meters from the ship and we were meeting only minimal resistance until a heavy contingent of the Ebuntun erupted from the ground beneath us. Thomas was confronted with a creature of immense size and speed and it grabbed him with its heavy front pincers. The rest of us were swarmed by smaller creatures about the size of a fist. The grabbed on to us and overwhelmed us with their armored weight. The older Sjurani and the heavy mech soldiers, used flamethrowers to clear the creatures but they just kept up their assault. Once I was able to get back into the air, I gave Thomas cover and the two of us dealt with the heaviest creatures allowing the Prince's Sjurani Escort to handle ground bound enemies.

Within fifteen meters of the personnel tank, corrosive explosions landed amidst the escort and everyone was wounded as our armors were being eaten away. Only the Resurrection Frame was unaffected. In the confusion, two of the Prince's brood were picked off and dragged away underground. Thomas leapt after them and followed them into an underground series of tunnels that covered the entire area. That was how they were retreating and recovering during the battle. He was gone for several minutes. We had our hands busy just covering that last bit of ground to the armored personnel carrier. As we got to the tank we were surrounded and the Force Commander had called for a measured withdrawal. We got the prince into the tank along with his surviving son. Thomas had not returned so we assumed he had been overcome by some of the larger beetle-like Ebuntun that had attacked him successfully earlier.

We started driving away and Thomas came bounding out of the burrows with a horde right behind him. He was carrying the younger daughter, but the oldest son was not with him. He managed to fight his way to the tank, electro-blasters, and flechette darts cutting through the remaining Ebuntun and ran alongside the tank until we could safely stop. We provided cover and he kept pace with the tank. He explained to the Prince that his son was likely still alive, they seemed to be making an effort to not injury him, he simply could not reach him through the crush of bodies. The Prince seemed unhappy with this news but was pleased to have his daughter returned to him. When we reached our base, the Prince indicated he would be staying on the planet in an effort to find his son and would be interested in working with the Heavy Division and adding his own Heavy Troopers to the squad.

We worked this campaign for three years. We eventually drove the Ebuntun off the planet and returned it to the Corvan and Subaki colonists. The Subaki had been under the leadership of a Praetor Wex, who helped us several times during that campaign. We were appropriately rewarded but were never able to find the Prince's son. For saving the Prince's other children, Thomas and I were given the Sjurani Prince's personal gunship, Travelling Light, a custom-designed ship purchased from the Bel-ha homeworld. The Prince hired us to work for him on a variety of missions for the next sixteen years. We travelled the length and breadth of the Imperium working missions for the Sjurani on a number of their colony worlds, sometimes covertly, other time with the Pax Sjurani, a special peacekeeping force, on missions vital to Sjurani security. The prince retired after a particularly terrible mission. If he wants to tell it, I will let him.

She looked at Essver fondly and continued her tale.

The Major and I continued working together and did so until two years ago, when he was sent on a mission, but I was unavailable. I was working on a paper discussing the current Image erasure protocols. At the time, I was promoting research that indicated a potential for development for the AI Complexes that work with the Resurrection Frame AI and the neural network of the Soldier. The current process erased images as soon as they developed anything that resembled independence or began to register on the sentience scale. This was to prevent the occurrence of rogue AI. I protested this due to built-in safety protocols already designed into the software. I felt true intellectual development might create a tool or support device of far greater utility than the current dependent AI Complex.

My paper was heard, and subsequently ignored. No policy changes have taken place since my last dissertation, but since I have made several major changes to the policies of AI in the Triune Government and Ministries of Conscientia Sciences, I am confident I will be able to make change over time. I will use the behavior of the Major's last image as a potential indicator of what free willed Complexes might be capable of.

She was standing over Essver and checking his vitals. They were slow and steady and his injuries would leave him stiff and cranky but alive. She would work on him after she checked the Major's biomechanical systems.

"Biyu, do you have an actual military rank?" Chuntra had listened closely and intently and was trying to decide if she would ask her next questions. While she was swimming, the Ship introduced a variety of foods into her bubble. Each was authentic tasting and quite delicious. Some were even quite swift. She decided not to ask how the food was created or made ambulatory. She noted the colors of some of the fish appeared to be as true to the foods she had eaten on Lolikai's Command Cruiser.

Biyu had sat down near the Major and extended several other tendrils which plugged into other ports across his body. "I do not have a military rank as such. In any operations with the military, however, I am treated as having an army rank of Captain."

"I have worked with only a few dozen Humans, and I find them to be a strange species. Don't they resent your manufactured nature? Most Humans I have worked with have had little love for any form of mechanized life."

"My experiences with the military offers me a slightly different group of Humans to work with. Most military people accept the idea that machines make it possible for Humanity to compete in a Universe with a variety of creatures, stronger, faster, and in some cases, so much smarter than the members of Pan-humanity. In most cases, they may reluctantly accept my machine nature as a tool to give them opportunities they would otherwise not have access to." Her voice seemed a bit distant as she stared at the Major.

"I have to admit to having very little experience with uh, um, what do you prefer to be called? Mechanical sentients? Artificial intelligence?"

"The term used technically is 'mechanized sentience' or 'non-human sentience.' When housed in an android or synthezoid body, we use the term 'Conscientia' from the Latin, a dead human language, from which many scientific ideas are standardized, for 'consciousness'."

"Thank you for talking with me about this. Does working with the Resurrection Corp have any other advantages for the Conscientia?" Chuntra was starting to warm to Biyu and was feeling less self-conscious.

"Being a Captain allows me to effectively work with most military officers without too much rancor. I have created a variety of weapons, armor and other medical technology since I have been assigned to the Corps so I do have a reputation for being a supporter of military troops. Most are happy to work with me once they find out who I am. I have created my own line of non-powered light ceramic armor using a new mesh construction making them lighter and tougher than the previous Corvan designs. I also created a fully-automatic recoilless heavy pulse pistol design favored by many of the Resurrection troopers, called Biyu's Best."

Biyu was checking the burns and scale damage of Essver. Several of the burns had penetrated both layers of his outer scales. Reaching up, she grabs a regenerator and it emits a purple radiation that begins to slowly repair the cellular damage. The primary benefit of the purple radiation was its ability to speed healing and prevent infection. Once his inner tissues were repaired, the purple ray would enhance the growth of his outer scales, which normally took some time to be replaced naturally.

"You seem to have some level of celebrity amongst the soldiers. Fascinating."

"I have been to over twenty campaigns and as many insertion operations. My military experience rivals most experienced military officers." She paused for a second and made some adjustments to the Major's sleep monitoring systems. "I am more often called Doctor, since I have three medical degrees and two scientific doctorates as well. My preferred title is Pilot, since that is the work, I value the most, because it gives me time with the man I value the most."

"Biyu," Chuntra had begun to turn darker colors, a Corvan indicator of embarrassment. "I understand you have more than some basic affection for the Major. He is a human and you are not. Does that factor into your relationship at all?"

She stops working for a moment, then replies: "To be honest, sometimes. He is very human and despite my appearance and full physical functionality, to him, our relationship is still something less than desirable. And to complicate matters, the AI within the Frame is also female in nature, and somewhat possessive. The poor man is surrounded by numerous women, but none of them are human, all are sentient, and all love him deeply. I think he resents it because despite our sentience, he feels less capable than any or all of us. He is dependent on machines to live, and dependent on all of us in one form or another. Ship to move him, house him, protect him from his enemies, dependent on me to fly the ship, maintain his health, his sanity and sometimes remind him of his humanity, and the Frame has the most difficult job of all, keeping him alive or returning him to life if he is killed. It is no wonder he wants very little to do with us sometimes. We control his entire existence.

"There was a woman on the planet."

"We know. There were chemical traces on him when he returned to the ship. We don't think about it much because he also seems to understand that being with Human women is always temporary with him. He travels too much and his life is far too dangerous for anyone who cannot protect themselves from this life."

"What if he has feelings for this female?"

"What of it? He is a human nearly a century in age. And if we do our jobs right, he could live as long as we could. Ship has a expected lifespan of six hundred years or more. The Frame is based on a technology with a lifespan in excess of one thousand years, and I will function baring being blown to bits or destroyed in a crash, at least four hundred years." Biyu turned toward the Corvan and looked at her. Chuntra noted her peculiarly colored irises, remembering she had never seen a human with purple eyes before now. "We worry about his humanity and what he will be like after two or three centuries. We do not worry about human females, because they keep him connected to his humanity in ways we, even with psychographic manipulations, virtual realities, and hard light holograms, cannot. We love him, but we do not own him. He has always returned to us."

"Biyu? You keep saying us? Who is talking?"

"Sorry, sometimes the ship and I will share a consciousness when we are together. If it would be easier, she can manifest a hard light hologram instead."

"Uh, no. I think I am okay with it this way. Is there anything else I should know about you?"

"Child, I am nearly a hundred years old as well. There is plenty for us to talk about during the next five days. And we will have at least a week or two before the Ship can be completely repaired. We have plenty of time to get to know each other. I understand you are young by Corvan norms. Your records indicate you are only about 35 standard years. Very young to be a diplomat."

Chuntra began, "I came into the diplomatic Corps because my fathers were diplomats and I could not see myself, staying at home as a scientist on Shai, where I was born. Shai was near the other edge of the Empire and had numerous interactions with unaffiliated aliens. I was fascinated by them when my fathers would bring them home and discuss politics. I knew there was no other life for me and I studied hard from that point onward."

Chuntra had begun to settle into the organic coral construction that was slowly being built in the corner of her floating habitat. The field was slowly being extended allowing more water to be added to the area, essentially filling the entire movable area of the command bay. The expanded water field was slowly being manipulated to include other organic matter constructed by nano-particles also suspended within the water.

"We can maintain this environment for you behind a hard light force wall on the bridge. I can also extrude a control interface within to allow you privacy and access to ships services. In case of emergency, the HL field will be maintained with the structural integrity fields. I can also make sure your suit is within the field, just in case." The Ship's voice resonated inside the water field but was perfectly modulated so that it barely tickled her cochlear chamber.

"Thank you, Ship, I appreciate all that you have done for me. Will I be able to stay near Master Wex?"

"The control globe being dropped will allow you to manipulate the field to be where you want it." A slivered globe with control studs in a Corvan configuration, usable with the Corvan gripping arms floated into the watery bubble.

Chuntra played with the sphere for a moment and recognized the interface as a water environment manipulator, standard on Corvan battleships. She moved the field closer to Master Wex and floated over him. His face was contorted, as if in pain. She reached out of the water sphere and touched him, smoothing water onto his facial quills. His face lost some of the tension and he seemed to ease into a more restful sleep. A few minutes later, she too fell into a silent repose.

Biyu smiled, recognized that touch and turned away to finish her diagnostics. "Goodnight, Chuntra. Sleep well."

Uncle Reese returned four hours later. During his uncle’s absence Craig absorbed more information from the alien laptop, learning a lot about the Uit. He knew their
tactics from which he gleaned a general idea of the mindset informing their
genocidal behavior. He knew that against strong enemies capable of resisting
them, the Uit were fiercely relentless. The Uit would not stop attacking an
enemy until they either achieved total victory, or were themselves destroyed.
Against weaker opponents, the Uit were no less driven to victory. Stone Age
cultures they happened upon had been as mercilessly scoured from existence as
advanced civilizations.

Craig had a difficult time suppressing the cold disquiet creeping through his body. Human enemies never invoked the clammy fear coating his gut. Maybe it was because
humans, in general, were not mass murderers.
Craig wondered if the Uit predilection for killing was hardwired in
their DNA. Was it cultural? Or perhaps something in the Uit’s experience
drove them down this horrific path, something frightening, unspeakably
malign. Was there a time in the distant
past when the Uit did not perceive a universe of adversaries to be slaughtered
when they looked up into their night sky? If the human race survived this
juggernaut from the stars, would it end up like the Uit? Interestingly, the
possibility of humans emulating the Uit was more frightening to Craig than the
prospect of annihilation at the latter’s hands.

“Just received word that we’re going to have to accelerate our timetable,” Uncle Reese declared upon entering the lab.

Dr. Ling and Dr. Hecht stopped what they were doing to take in the unsettling news.

Dr. Adu barely glanced Reese’s way before returning his focus to the incomprehensible glyphs populating his computer screen.

“The Uit are moving faster than previously estimated, according to our most forward tracking data. We’ve had to revise their ETA to five months, twenty one days.”

Dr. Hecht sighed deeply. “I cannot say that I am happy that we will be meeting the Uit much sooner than anticipated. On the other hand, I am in a hurry to get this
over with. I do not like having a Damocles Sword hovering over me.”

“Agreed. Craig, you’re going to lead the spotters. Get a team together, no more than a dozen or so operators, people you have the utmost confidence in. Your job will be to
observe the Uit observers. After their robot ships attack, the observers will
scan this planet for life signs from orbit and on the ground. Your spotters
will set up surveillance posts on each of this world’s four continental
landmasses. We will also have three low orbiting satellites monitoring the
Uit’s observation craft.”

“Won’t we be detected?” Craig asked.

“Fortunately, the Piron were very generous in giving us the template that has enabled us to develop the means to shield ourselves from Uit sensors.”

Craig turned to Dr. Adu, visibly surprised that the Nigerian scientist actually talks.

Adu’s fingers did a frenetic dance across his computer keyboard as he elaborated.

“My team and I have created a detection-proof composite metal with a metamaterial outer layer.” Adu looked up, meeting Craig’s gaze. “Do you know what a metamaterial is?”

Craig shook his head. “No, but I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.”

“Metamaterial is a light-bending solid that renders any object it covers invisible to the naked eye. The satellites in orbit have metamaterial hulls.”

“And you’re iron clad certain that the Uit will not see the satellites?” Craig asked with a concerned frown.

Adu’s expression sharpened. “We have followed the Piron’s specs to the tiniest detail. The same composite metal that the satellites are made from will
insulate the bunkers that you and your spotters will occupy. You will also be
wearing field gear woven from detection proof composite fiber. Neither Uit eyes
nor Uit machines will know you exist when they descend to sweep this planet for
life.”

Craig accepted Adu’s assurances, for now. He looked at Uncle Reese. “OK. So my team is to watch the Uit observers. What are we to watch for?”

“Nothing in particular,” Uncle Reese replied. “I imagine that their sweeps will be an extended, tedious affair.” The intelligence director raised a finger of
emphasis. “It is when the observers depart that you and your team should be
most vigilant. In your bunker you will have access to an electronic
astronomical chart that shows Earth’s exact position. When the Uit’s observer
ship departs, watch it closely. If the ship’s course puts it on a heading
toward our solar system, chances are, it will inadvertently stumble upon Earth.
If that happens, Earth’s satellite blanket will do it absolutely no good, and
all of our efforts here will have been for naught.”

“And if the Uit observer ship heads in that direction then what?”

“You will have to destroy it.”

Craig blinked once, twice. “Destroy it. With what?”

“Don’t worry, Craig. The means will be made available to you. The important thing is that you keep your eye on that chart.”

Craig grinned, pinching the bridge of his nose to sooth the sudden throb between his eyes. “You’re telling me not to worry, which always means I should be plenty
worried. You realize that you’re putting the fate of Earth…the entire goddamn
planet in my hands.”

Uncle Reese slid his hands into his pockets. “To put it succinctly, yes.”

“What will the robot ships do if we have to destroy the observer vessel? Will they stop dead in their tracks or something?”

“No. They will turn around and head back home. A robot fleet without observers cannot operate without direction. The Uit high command will assume that the observers
were killed in the course of the attack. Observer casualties are not uncommon.
The Uit will accept these observer losses as par for the course, send
replacement observers, and look elsewhere for signal-emitting planets.”

“According to the Piron data.” Craig was uncomfortable having an operation rely on a single source of intelligence.

Uncle Reese sensed his nephew’s wariness and understood. “If I could have given you more to go on, I would have. I wish there were more than just the information the Piron
has provided us. Perhaps, one day we’ll be able to build the means to gather
our own intelligence first hand and unfiltered.”

Craig relaxed, panning the lab. “Judging from what this project has achieved so far, I have no doubt about that. You people have built things that are supposed to
be on the drawing board. You’re costing tax payers a fortune and they don’t
even know it.”

“This isn’t all coming out of tax payers’ pockets. Multinationals have pooled a hearty share of finances and resources into this effort as well.” Uncle Reese
snickered at the disbelieving wrinkling of his nephew’s brow. “Don’t be so
surprised. Executives are humans, too. They don’t want to die in a blaze of an
alien-wrought bombardment anymore than the average joe. They don’t want to lose
their markets, either. That would be equally devastating.”

Craig readily agreed with the last sentence.

Five months went by. During that time, Craig read and reread the Piron’s data. He familiarized himself with the dazzling technology churned out by Project Illusion’s R&D section while assembling a
team of spotters.

The civilians in the project adopted a dim view of the daily target practice and drills Craig was putting his people through. They didn’t understand that his
soldiers needed constant activity to take their minds off the fact that they
were on barren world millions of light years from home. Craig’s eighteen
operatives were a mix of private contractors and detached duty Special Forces
personnel from five countries. He worked with them all at some point in his
shadowed history. He trusted them implicitly and they trusted him.

Craig also made sure that his spotters were very well armed. Again, the civilians were perplexed, but Uncle Reese didn’t bat an eye when he acceded to his nephew’s
request for a crateload of pressure detonators.

“Explosives? What ever do you need with explosives?” Dr. Hecht queried in gape-eyed amazement. “You’ll only be watching the Uit not blowing them up.”

“Well now, I’ve always felt it’s better to be over prepared than under prepared,” Craig explained with a wink. “You wouldn’t want me to enter into a situation with my
pants down, would you?”

Dabs of red darkened Dr. Hecht’s cheeks. She covered her mouth with a hand to shield an abashed smile. “No, no, I suppose not.”

Nineteen days later. One day remained on the countdown. One day before the Uit were scheduled to appear in the skies over the planet dubbed Sirius. Most of Project Illusion’s staffers were
sequestered within the observatory building, viewing a large overhead scanner.
They waited patiently, nervously, their collective scrutiny split between the
digital time index reading at the bottom of the screen and the screen itself.

Craig entered the observatory, wearing full combat gear. Detection-proof, metamaterial fiber was woven into his gear. His weapons had been specially
manufactured from the material, rendering him practically invisible to anyone
standing within a hundred yards of him. But that was only when the light
bending optics embedded in the metal and fiber of his gear were activated.
Though tempted, Craig did not want to alarm a crowd already restive with the
fear of an alien attack…even if pulling off an invisibility prank would have
distracted Craig from his own roiling fears.

Uncle Reese saw Craig and approached him, wearing a look of concern that was genuinely familial. “Craig. How do you feel?”

“Like I should never have gotten on that copter.” Craig cracked a smile.

Uncle Reese’s grave face lightened. He gave his nephew a clap on the shoulder. “We’ll be evacuating this base when the Uit appear within range of our farthest
probe.”

“You people can leave now,” Craig insisted. “My spotters are in place. We know how to operate the surveillance equipment in the bunkers and most importantly, I’m
prepared to use the surface-to-space missile launcher if I have to.”

Murmurs arose from the staff in reaction to the sudden appearances of blips on the scanner. Craig’s and Uncle Reese’s gazes
were drawn to the screen like metal shavings to magnets.

“I guess you’re right,” Uncle Reese acquiesced. “Now is as good a time as any to get the hell out.”

Twelve black blips representing twelve Uit warships inched across the scanner grid. That those ships were actually travelling at near light velocities was not at
all reflected in the snail like progression of the blips on the screen.

Craig’s insides grew bitingly cold. For months talk of the Uit had been academic. Now, contact with those far ranging killers was real, the promise of devastation heralding
their very imminent and frightful arrival, a very sure fulfillment.

Dr. Ling broke into Craig’s apocalyptic reverie, for which the latter was profoundly grateful. “Craig, once our staff evacuates, I’m going to have to cut the
wormhole link. We can’t chance the Uit detecting any emission that they can
trace back to Earth.”

Craig saw the agony of that decision flickering in Ling’s eyes. The physicist clearly was uncomfortable with the
idea of stranding anyone on this distant world bereft of an immediate escape
route back to home.

“I understand,” Craig assured the physicist with a nonchalant grin. “It has to be done.”

“You know how to use the long range communication equipment in the bunker,” Uncle Reese reminded his nephew. “We’ll be expecting a transmission from you after you’ve
successfully completed your mission. That will alert us to reestablish the
wormhole so we can extract you and your team.”

Craig nodded in understanding.

Dr. Hecht and Dr. Adu appeared on opposite sides of Ling. Dr. Adu carried his inseparable laptop in one hand, a bulging, care worn
brief case in the other. He set the case down and extended a hand to Craig. “My
work here is done.”

Craig clasped the scientist’s hand in a firm shake. He leaned forward slightly, waiting for Dr. Adu to add more to his presumed farewell.

The Nigerian stared at Craig long enough for a certain awkwardness to settle over the scene. Finally, Dr. Adu disengaged, scooped up his case and departed
without comment.

“Right,” Craig muttered.

“I will be the last staff person to leave this base,” said Dr. Hecht. “I am going to be remote operating the vehicles outside.”

The small craft Craig saw parked outside the base upon his first arrival on Sirius was a major part of the sprawling deception that was Project Illusion. Designed by a
team led by Dr. Hecht, the twenty five vehicles were to be launched at the
approaching Uit task force. Each vehicle was armed with air-to-air missiles
modified for space use. Dr. Hecht’s assignment was to remotely guide the
vehicles into space, setting them on an intercept course with the Uit ships.
From that point on, the vehicles’ programming would take over, keeping them on
a steady trajectory until they entered engagement range with the Uit. Upon
entering engagement range, the vehicles would launch missiles, intending to
inflict no damage whatsoever on the Uit ships.

The purpose of the attack was not to halt the Uit. It was not even to slow them down. The aim was to let the Uit think that they were being met with what little resistance
a doomed planet had to offer.

The evacuation siren screamed. The staff filed out of the observatory in quick strides, each face a cloud of worry. Decades of planning and preparation to
reach this point. Yet not a single scientist and engineer could be certain if
they had done enough to avert humanity’s extinction.

“I’m going to oversee the evacuation,” Uncle Reese told Craig.

The two men were locked in each other’s gazes. They didn’t speak, but the brief embrace they shared compensated for the silence. “Good luck,” said Uncle Reese.

Craig chuckled sardonically. “Luck? My luck bailed out months ago. I’m here.”

‎>>>>> S T>>>>>>

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Extract from the first book in the DSNG Sci Fi Triliogy, posted by Author

Introduction:

Presented here are the first 14 pages of the 500-page e-book, available now for download at Amazon.com.

The entire dynamic sci fi series is set in an alternate galaxy, and it is centered upon a man of regal origins.

Prince Azzar Omenus is a super soldier, hailing from planet Avera. He is a man of renowned character, known for his incredible fighting skills and his astute strategies. Yet recently he has been quite introverted as he battles the demons of rejection and disgrace that have plagued his life in this new season. Following a string of chaotic events, it was believed that he was slain in a deep-space conflict, the same battle that eclipsed the life of his father, King Vaygon Omenus. But the Prince later returned after many months to the capital mega state of Avera within a foreign spacecraft, seemingly resurrected from the dead. And when he arrived within the familiar confines of the Imperial Palace walls, he was shocked and dismayed to find his beloved in the arms of his cousin, the same man that was now the new King of Avera. Shortly after that, Azzar was granted the rank of Senior Commanding Officer in the Centura, the Averan military - and it was a demeaning role he was literally forced to accept.

Now Azzar strives to remain focused and discover his true destiny, while unforeseen chaos looms on the galactic horizon. There is an ominous threat emerging from the dark spotted abyss of space like a lethal airborne plague shrouded by the thick blanket of the night. A clandestine villain known as the Overlord has begun to manipulate his interplanetary terrorist faction, the Gorilla rebel militia, causing them to initiate a sadistic plan that will result in wide-spread genocide across the Makuran Galaxy.

Time has been the greatest asset of the conniving Overlord, as his pawns of war have now been secretly set in place. And Prince Azzar has no idea that his very life is now in grave danger due to a devious scheme set to unfold at a starport upon the eldritch moon called Yantos...

Link to the DSNG Series Overview: http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wa5ZmL_ju48/TMocWTfPfnI/AAAAAAAAAVo/NYJOP08A-8Q/s1600/DSNG_SCI_FI_SERIES_OVERVIEW_by_DSNG.jpg

The entire series is rated M for Mature Audiences, per violence and sexuality.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Prologue

DSNGC1>>Week 1, day1

Business Class Cabin,

Starline Airbus 3502GL

En Route to Yantos

Macuran exosphere, Macur

Gamma Sector [12:20am], Makuran Galaxy

With his eyes closed, Phil Nutoko leaned back into the plush embrace of the Astro-AB TypeIII cabin recliner chair he’d sat within for the past 35 hours, as serene jazz music glided into his mind through a sleek Helios Dome5X data phone clipped onto his left ear. This Interplanetary, IP, trip had been a most euphoric journey indeed. The cabin recliner chair was encased in plush synthesized Kataran fur and the microcircuits within the endodermic layer of the chair were programmed to adapt constantly to the moving contours of his body.

Thus, as he leaned back and slightly extended his legs, with silent precision, the Astro-AB TypeIII chair adjusted its back support, gently flexing backwards by about 25 degrees from the horizontal, while the cushion Phil sat upon also tipped slightly downwards, with a similar acute angle.

All business class passengers were privileged with the same seating comforts. In their premier position, the Astro-AB chairs would each have the appearance of an extremely graceful “L,” whose horizontal and vertical parts connected at a curve, rather than at 90 degrees. In addition to having arm rests that were each 7 inches wide, the comfortable chairs’ cushions also had footrests connected to their extreme edge, powered by motion servos and dynamic relay circuits that perceived supported body movements, and simultaneously extended the adjoined footrests to accommodate the passengers’ new position.

Not only did the hi-tech chair provide extremely accurate comfort to the muscles on the dorsal side of his body, but it also gave four posterior massages per hour while subtly releasing hemorium gas unto its entire surface area. The gas engulfed its passenger in an euphoric array of sensual aromas that had a relieving effect upon the mind. As the inhaled gaseous particles were absorbed into the blood stream and gently flooded the nervous system, they erupted as gentle geysers of serenity within the subconscious psyche. The chair was welded to the floor and supported by a block-pyramid arrangement of rectangular slabs, housing an autonomous CPU, operating with a G1 processor.

About 3 minutes ago, Phil had connected to the airbus’ telecom network through his Dome5X data phone and accessed the Interplanetary Network. The IP-Net was a tenth generation Internet system, connecting the seven major planets in the Makuran galaxy in real time. This groundbreaking feat was accomplished by an intricate network established through a myriad of laser-com satellites launched from host planets and spread across the four sectors like a synthetic star cluster, arrayed in a systematic order that placed each satellite in a precise orbital node. Once their data hubs are activated and linked through multiphase, laser-generated, compound carrier wave systems—supported by IP-Net server and data-processing centers within the specific host planets—a multiple planetary data network is assembled, whose integral telecommunication boundaries are virtually nonexistent.

Across the galaxy various small hi-tech devices were currently in vogue, designed to facilitate seamless communications. These ranged from nanotech watches, commonly referred to as comlinks, to data headsets and ear pieces. Extremely expensive ear pieces like Phil’s Helios Dome5X data phone could not only give you audio access to the IP-Net, but also project a 2D-display in real time, in front of his eyes, shown as a small semitransparent screen, about 3 square inches in size.

Since it operated via a G3 processor, through audible voice commands one could access e-mails, news feeds, and download anything desired such as H-DVDs, sitcoms, or even a personal health diagnosis, via intricate IR-scans from meditech satellites. Despite the phenomenal capabilities of commercial comlinks powered by G3s, they were not the optimal product. The helmets worn by the Centura soldiers had much higher level processors, ranging from G5s to G8s.

“Good day, this is your captain speaking,” the voice of the Starline airbus’ human pilot slightly startled Phil, interrupting his thoughts with an upbeat tone.

Vocalizing his desire, Phil said, “Decrease, now.” And this voice command to his Helios Dome5X phone resulted in the diminishing of the volume of the jazz music, so he could hear the instructions being given by the informative voice projected via the overhead speakers in the luxurious cabin. Phil lifted his head slightly, as he blinked, in anticipation of the forthcoming announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please return your seats to the upright position. Prepare to have your safety harnesses automatically activated, as we’re about to descend into Yantos,” the pilot said calmly. “Thanks again for choosing Starline.”

In response to the calm orders, Phil sat up and his Astro chair returned to its primary state. Then he hit a smooth button upon his left armrest, which activated his safety harness, a remote controlled seatbelt mechanism operated by mag-lev motion servos. The metal-tipped connectors ejected from four points on his chair, two on the edge of the seat and two more from the vertical support, and met just in front of his torso, as if drawn there like BlackhawkTZ26 missiles following a precise, curved, laser-com guided trajectory. He could have waited to have this harness automatically activated by the captain’s copilot, but he opted not to.

At first, Phil wondered what the verbal notice would have sounded like, if it had come from the copilot, an intricate AI, responsible for monitoring all the secondary functions of the airbus, such as sequential nitrium combustion, exterior micro-cathodic protection and cabin pressurization… then he shuddered at the thought. The hi-tech minds of sentient master AIs operated via G8 processors, giving them the ability to reason and react at rates that virtually appeared to be FTL. And actually, military grade AIs were outfitted with G10 processors.

Nevertheless, Phil really didn’t trust talking, thinking, sentient machines and he personally preferred the human touch, in all his daily endeavors.

Ah yes, the human touch. Phil took a deep breath and exhaled with a smile. And then he laughed calmly to himself, his relieving gestures remaining insignificant and unnoticed by the other nineteen passengers within the business class cabin. As he felt the huge craft begin to slightly dip in its trajectory, Phil also dived into his mental archives, reminiscing upon a very pleasant recent memory.

About 3 hours ago, Phil had felt the touch of humanoid hands… actually four hands, as he’d made love to an alien air hostess within one of the large luxurious lavatories, located at the extreme posterior end of the cabin, situated behind his seating area. She was a Scalatan, a four-armed busty beauty from planet Scalata, and her unique phenotype was extremely exotic.

She had a skin tone that appeared to be an eloquent blend of crimson and carnation pink. Her facial features were all neatly arrayed, and her alluring eyes were as equally enticing as her sensual full lips. She was bald, except for a grouped mohawk strand that commenced at the frontal part of her head in a “V” formation, and dropped down to the rear of her neck as a bound ponytail. Various circular apertures were arranged on the lower part of her forehead, and she possessed a unique nose that had what looked like horizontal markings painted across it.

This female humanoid didn’t have ears. Instead, like most Scalatans, she had two tentacles which extended from the side of her head, bearing the same color as her skin. They were each about 6 inches in length and had what appeared to be small egg-shaped bulbs at their tip. These bulbs were extra eyes, having eyelids around their entire circumference and opened slits at their apex. As the tentacles glided gracefully, they gave Scalatans the advantage of a panoramic view, allowing them to even have rear vision.

Phil smiled, as he blinked, and then he kept reflecting upon the eldritch female that had taken his breath away and undoubtedly satisfied his lascivious desires.

She wasn’t fat or overweight. She was just… thick, having slender appendages, a small waist, a gentle athletic butt and a large bust. Yatzat… yes, Yatzat… that was her first name. Phil remembered it from the Holographic Projected—HP—nametag that was affixed to her blouse, just above the left half of her huge bosom. He had focused intensely on her voluptuous chest as he’d held her, during their passionate exchange.

And while they’d made love, Phil had noticed a series of three extremely small, dark holes on the inner curve of each of her breasts, which he pondered about. Were they merely aesthetic, or part of her phenotypical make up? Or did they serve a purpose, such as respiration? He wasn’t sure, but he noted that Yatzat had panted constantly during their semi-nude torrid session, often gasping with pleasure, as he moved his hips back and forth, while she whispered pleasant words into his ear, like the popular Scalatan word “kita,” meaning “faster.”

She’d sat on the edge of the large cubico crystalline sink while he stood in front of her, locking her in a close amorous embrace. Cubico is a material that’s similar to marble in composition, but with fifty-times the durability.

Her heels had pointed downwards at her discarded miniskirt and his slumped slacks. And his lips had painted her throat while he’d probed her crevice with his might. Yatzat had passionately woven all her arms across his back, almost like an octopus gently engulfing its prey. It was a moment that filled Phil with excessive excitement and rapacious desires, as he actually felt like he was the octopus and she was his prey.

Phil reflected on how he’d been extremely aroused by the touch of her four arms; she had two regular human-like arms and two others that were smaller—which protruded from her sides, adjacent to her lower ribcage. Each arm had three fingers, yet they displayed the same dexterity as a five-fingered hand. Even after the pair had concluded their lovemaking, Yatzat held onto him and kissed him repeatedly, refusing to let him go. Her constant sensual caress had caused the hairs on the back of his golden-skinned neck to stand.

Like Phil, all true-born Averans have variations of golden skin tones and their anatomy is identical to those of humans, but it’s their genotype that is completely unique.

“Please, don’t leave me yet!” Yatzat had said, yearningly. “I do not wish for this sacred time to end!” her passionate voice was extremely soothing.

Phil simply couldn’t resist her feminine charm… and he’d stayed a while longer. As they kissed deeply and fervently, intermittently pausing to draw in deep breaths through their mouths, he’d found himself calling out her name, in a whispered tone. The “T” at the end of her name was silent, as most female Scalatan names, yielding the pronounced form of “Yatsah.”

There were about twelve Scalatan hostesses onboard this flight, four of whom served within this business cabin. Adorned in matching cream-colored, waist-length suites and miniskirts that fit their contours as tightly as latex gloves, the hostesses all looked professional, while exuding sexuality. They all wore open-toed 3-inch heeled pumps and some had fancy designer chokers, while others wore hats, displaying the Starline logo. Their phenotypes were as diverse as the tastes of the men and women present—some had extremely small waists and curvy butts, while others had large perky breasts that appeared to be yearning for liberation from the tight tube-top blouses beneath their suit’s coat.

But Phil hadn’t noticed any of them, except the one that had winked at him, right after she’d leaned in close to give him a refill of his second glass of Zesto beer, shortly after the flight commenced. That was the first time he’d caught a glimpse of Yatzat’s voluptuous chest, which was gracefully displayed before him as she’d leaned forward. Phil, a young man in his early-30s, was shy and slim, having large eyebrows, a mustache and a singular strip beard, running from the base of his bottom lip to the smooth tip of his chin. He worked as an administrative assistant for the Minister of Alien Relations, back on his home world of Avera.

Geeks like him never got excessive attention from women and it was rare that he would even look at a female, human or alien, directly in the eye, for an extended period. But Yatzat seemed different… she was different. Phil felt like she admired and desired him, or perhaps it was what he chose to believe. She was 5 feet 6 inches tall and he was about 4 inches taller. They appeared to be a perfect match, in terms of their physical size.

He believed that her elated mannerism during their erotic copulating session could not have been something she formulated, solely with deceptive or venal intent. After all, she was the one who’d casually sent him an e-mail through his Dome5X data phone, with her picture and an invitation to meet her in the lavatory for some complimentary mutual fun, if he so desired.

Prior to this trip, he’d heard his boss, Juriah Blaine, occasionally joke with some of his comrades about how easy it was to have intercourse on IP-flights, with fellow traveling diplomats and air hostesses.

“They practically give you anything you ask for on those trips, at no extra charge!” Juriah had bellowed, seated in his Astro hoverchair, while speaking to a fellow Minister seated across from him, on the other side of his broad C-shaped desk.

“But hey, when the female is hot and the sex is free, you really can’t beat that!” Tomi Cantur, the fellow Minister had replied, as both men leaned back in their chairs and laughed in unison, roaring almost uncontrollably. Yet they were oblivious to the fact that Juriah’s elbow had hit the comlink button on his hoverchair’s armrest 3 minutes earlier, allowing Phil to hear the most graphic portions of their conversation.

“Damn…” Phil said to himself in a low tone, “…Just wish the girls back home were as open as these Scalatan chicks.”

Phil kept pondering to himself, silently. At first he tried to deny it, but he couldn’t overstep his conscience, as it dictated to him that “open” wasn’t the best descriptive word; “unchaste” seemed to be a more appropriate term. After all, a complete stranger had just made him an offer for sensual intercourse and he’d received it, without question.

Phil was an Averan, and although he wasn’t a member of the Centura, his people were generally referred to as blood warriors, for their phenomenal combat abilities and relentless fighting spirit. As a military force, the Centura were greatly respected throughout the four sectors of the Makuran galaxy, which was roughly spread over a distance of 20 light years. King Titron Omenus, Prince Azzar Omenus and the other high ranking members of the Centura were literally superhuman soldiers… formally categorized as higher beings, as they possessed the powers of flight, energy shield generation and unique energy pulse projection from their epidermal surfaces.

Phil couldn’t jump more than 3 feet off the ground, let alone fly. However, he did have a striking facial resemblance to Lord Azzar Omenus, a potent member of the royal family.

He wished his phenotypical similarity with the Prince, who was much older than him, would’ve been an incentive for Averan females to desire him, but that was not the case. Phil remembered how he’d attempted to date a female soldier named Asia Avorus, back on Avera, several months ago. After seeing her picture on the IP-Net, he’d envisioned having sensual intercourse with her several times and his lust had driven him to meet her in person.

He’d imagined that she would be his first, and they would live a placid, serene life together. But Asia was in a foul mood the day he met her at Rockfort base and she’d leveled him to the ground with a lighting elbow to his jaw, because he’d kept following her around, still attempting to gain an audience, after she’d given him a verbal rejection.

His vision of intercourse on a bed of silk sheets mounted upon an open terrace within a hovering garden encircled by waterfalls, had come crashing down that day. Only now did it dawn on Phil that he’d just lost his virginity in a restroom, while traveling amidst the cold vacuum of space… to a total stranger whom he would probably never see again. This was not the way he’d envisioned his first time, but it had most certainly exceeded anything he’d experienced in VR-sex rooms, online.

The nighttime flight continued. The Starline airbus was currently breaking through the unseen atmospheric gravity waves of the mesosphere and into stratospheric semitransparent cloud cover, as it approached its dwarfed destination, the Yantos Central Starport. As the craft zoomed closer, the starport would obviously appear to grow larger, like an expanding mighty cobweb with lighted button nodes.

Phil felt a sense of ease and tranquility, as the airbus descended towards Yantos, one of the primary satellites of planet Macur. The observed view of the terraformed moon was a panorama of diverse lights, flickering neon projections and webbed networking transit lines. It was late at night, but the major city below and its residents were definitely awake.

Macuran airspace was not the place to be without the appropriate IP-transit e-code. This code was a type of electronic interplanetary visa, uniquely issued by each planet in the Makuran galaxy. Through the Starline’s telecom system, the pilot has sent the IP-transit e-code to the starport on Yantos, and to the Zarchon United Military HQ on Macur, as a precaution. The eldritch Zarchons who resided on Macur were notoriously renowned for blasting unidentified cruisers out of their airspace, under the directive of their questionable code for “maintaining planetary safety.”

Had the Starline’s master AI not began communicating with the AI located within the Yantos Central Starport dispatch mainframe during the initial take off, the Zero-pods located in Macuran orbit would have sought out the airbus like flies drawn to raw meat within seconds of approaching that airspace and detonated upon the vessel, resulting in a violent collision that excluded any explosions or brilliant arrays of blinding photonic beams.

This is because Zero-pods contained dark vortices at their core: an artificial black hole, mystically embedded within these nano-engineered asteroids. Their impact usually resulted in implausible implosions, rather than phenomenal explosions.

Phil turned his head to the right as he glanced towards the center aisle of the cabin. They were on the third floor of the Starline airbus and the seating arrangement here, within the business class cabin, was extremely well spaced and adequately sparse. The cabin possessed seats for thirty passengers, although only twenty had boarded it. And there were six rows comprised of Astro-AB TypeIII cabin recliner chairs, which were separated into two distinct halves by a 2.5-meter wide aisle. The entire floor of this luxurious cabin was adorned with a carpet of plush, gremoran fur, which almost made you feel like you were walking upon a gentle meadow, with grass as soft as wool.

As Phil looked towards the aisle, from his seat at the rear of the left half of the cabin, he saw two hostesses walking casually from the front to the rear, one behind the other. They both held out warm facial towels, which they were offering to the passengers. Phil’s eyes widened with excitement as the first Scalatan stepped out of his line of sight, to hand a towel to a gentleman in his mid-50s, giving the young Averan a chance to behold the hostess that was forthcoming behind her—the very female he’d recently known, intimately. As their eyes met, Yatzat tilted her head to the side gently, and smiled. Then she winked again and continued on her calm routine, offering towels to the other passengers. She soon approached Phil and a casual conversation began.

“Warm towel, sir?” she asked, in an inviting tone, leaning towards him.

Phil wasn’t used to hearing the term, “sir,” issued in reference to himself. That was what he always used to address his boss, Juriah Blaine, and the other members of the Averan Ministries Executive Board. He briefly pondered what really would make him feel like he was worthy of the noble salutation of “sir.”

“Sir?” Yatzat said, breaking his trend of thought. “Are you all right?”

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Yes, yes I’m fine Yatzat, thanks,” he said. Then she instantly handed him a towel in response.

“Oh, no, no thanks!” he replied, in an upbeat tone. And he wondered if she knew that he still felt quite nervous around her. Yet at this juncture Yatzat had a puzzled look on her face.

“But sir…” she stated, while still extending the towel, “You first said ‘thanks’. Don’t you want the towel?” Yatzat asked, slightly bewildered as she held forth the folded item.

“Oh no!” Phil replied as he waved her off gently. “I meant thanks for asking if I was all right! I don’t want the towel!”

Phil noticed that the pretty hostess was struggling to keep from giggling, amused by his gentle mannerism. Once again, he was captivated by the tempting view of her bountiful cleavage, accentuated by the wonder bra she had on. While still leaning forward, Yatzat was keenly aware of the trance her chest was inducing on him per the focus of his eyes. Yet she didn’t mind.

Then while smiling, she nodded, turned around and walked back to the front of the cabin, where she glided through a hexagonal shaped door, which slid open from left to right, as she returned to the chamber where the four Scalatan hostesses on this level of the airbus resided.

After about 7 minutes, the Starline airbus was descending upon the colossal Yantos Central Starport, on runway H-T12. The brilliant low-end G-thrusters howled in the wind as the large craft descended gracefully. The giant turbines located on the ventral side of the chisel nosed, cuboid-shaped vessel roared; this provided a cushion of turbulent air, which conversely resulted in the stabilization of the airbus, as it struggled against gravity. The six giant-sized laser floodlights whose hubs were seamlessly engrafted into the surface of the runway provided the parameters for the vessel’s gradual descent onto its designated landing position, H-T12.

The Starline’s master AI used refractive laser beams to determine the exact angle to bring in the vessel, providing key assistance to the human pilot, who was maneuvering the large craft downwards via several motion cameras embedded on the crafts ventral side, which focused on the runway, while giving him numeric readings such as distance, avionic balance, current velocity and tangential angle of descent.

The airbus was about 90 meters in length and 20 meters at it highest point. On the port and starboard sides, there were no wings or weapons, just two giant cylindrical thrusters affixed towards the rear of the craft, on either side. In place of giant rubber wheels, the airbus had what could be best described as a trio of massive skis on its base—one at the apex of its ventral side, and the other two located at the rear in a twin-like array. These skis were usually concealed during flight and protracted only when landing sequences were initiated.

Airbuses were advanced IP-vessels, capable of landing on almost any terrain, even aquatic ones. In terms of their size, they were much smaller than armadas and dropships, as their focus was more on the transport of cargo and passengers, rather than payloads of mega blasters, large photon cannons, guided AAMs, advanced Duo-Nukes and Antimatter warheads.

As the airbus met the reinforced concrete surface of the runway with its protruding landing gear, Phil reflected briefly upon this landing experience. In his opinion, the entire descent had been flawless, except for the ten-seconds in which his Dome5X data phone had howled a harsh static blast into his ear, which sent unpleasant sensations into his eardrum and up into his brain. It had occurred during the transition from the lower mesosphere to the stratosphere, roughly 30 miles from the surface of this colonized moon.

Perhaps it was caused by a surge in electromagnetic waves, or an IP-signal overload? Phil wasn’t sure, but he didn’t care.

Right now, he was beginning to refocus upon the reason for his IP-flight to Yantos, as he was scheduled to have a meeting with a member of the Scalatan firm, Mujikkron Inc., to personally present the terms for reestablishing a recently terminated trade agreement between Avera and Scalata, pertaining to various rare, pod bearing eldritch plants, with medicinal properties. Corporate meetings requiring secure communication lines could easily be arranged over the IP-Net, but this small caucus was more of a summit, a 3-day affair, full of leisure events for Phil and the Mujikkron executive, Hong T-khon. It was a common belief that pleasurable times provided the best setting for the delivery of arduous proposals to an obstinate business partner, who would have otherwise displayed an adamant demeanor during a mere comlink call.

“Never trust a Scalatan!” Phil’s father had said repeatedly to him, years ago.

But that was a phrase commonly echoed by the members of the previous generations, when they narrated tales of corruption, venality and duplicity in regards to business ventures that involved Scalatans. Phil believed in the equality of the Averan race with all other races in the Makuran galaxy. He did not support the notion of judging the sons based on the actions of their fathers and he was not one to engage in conversations that derided other humanoids, simply out of ignorance or prejudice. He ardently believed that his 3-day interaction with Hong would verify his beliefs.

But at that moment, as Phil deactivated his safety harness and rose from his comfortable chair, things suddenly started changing.

Instantly, two fairly loud beeps were echoed through the overhead speakers within the business class cabin, followed by a stern stoic voice that made Phil feel extremely uneasy. It was the dry, emotionless voice of the vessel’s master AI, issuing a word of caution that sent thoughts of chaos into the minds of all the affluent passengers present.

“Warning, Warning!” the AI stated. “We have just been boarded unlawfully, please proceed to the front of this business cabin, in a single file, where we can generate a photonic shield to separate you from any…. Gzzzz!”

The robotic voice was drowned in static, and Phil recognized that his Helios phone that hung on his left ear was now off-line…. And from the confused voices that erupted throughout the cabin, the other dignitaries were just realizing the same thing, as they began hustling towards the frontal area, in front of the automated hexagonal door. At that instant, Yatzat rushed out through that door, breaking through the crowd and dashed towards Phil, who was at the rear of the room.

“Sir!” she desperately bellowed and waved frantically, as she approached him. “Please wait! Be still! Just be still!”

The shrillness of her voice implied a sense of desperation and she held a small purse in one of her larger hands. Confused, Phil paused in his steps, as he watched what appeared to happen next in almost slow motion.

Yatzat reached him and attempted to pull him further back, towards the rear of the cabin, which housed the lavatories and two exit doors. Phil was filled with bewilderment as he kept glancing forward, longing to join the rest of the passengers that were converging at the frontal area of the cabin. His lustful desires for Yatzat had held him in place till she reached him, but now he desired to flee with her towards the area he believed would ensure their safety.

But suddenly, the hexagonal door at the aft end of the cabin slid open and a menacing 7-foot giant emerged, clothed in a combination of chest armor plates, bulging shoulder pads, gauntlets and black pants, with several rectangular pouches strapped to his thighs. The glare from his four eyes was cold and ruthless, as he surveyed his targets without moving his head. He was a trained killer whose face was concealed behind a metallic, menacing Gorilla mask… and he held an item in each of his four arms—he was a Scalatan. His left and right gauntleted arms held VWS450 laser riffles, while his smaller hands held a bloody, 6-inch laser-edged dagger and the head of a young man, respectively. That kill was fresh, as crimson blood still dripped from the neck to the ground.

Chains of fear paralyzed the assembled host of passengers that stared at the arriving antagonist. And half a second later screams of terror erupted like sirens.

“My God! Is that the head of the human pilot?” Phil muttered fearfully to himself. “Or is it someone from a lower deck of the…?”

There wasn’t enough time to think as anarchy ensued in the anterior section of the cabin. Suddenly the promised semitransparent photonic shield was activated—barring the crest of the cabin by the hexagonal door from the rest of the stretched enclosure—and Phil watched in complete horror as a mass slaughter ensued. Amidst the yells of pain, the young man watched as heads and limbs exploded in irregular showers of blood and internal organs were spilled to the ground like raw bloody meat tossed out of a crate. The assassin had unleashed a merciless assault upon all of the passengers before him, within the uniquely confined shielded area.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Phil yelled in horror, uncontrollably, while paralyzed with taut cords of fear.

He wasn’t a soldier—he’d never beheld anything like this, a violent bloody massacre of innocent people. Perhaps it was the terror of the moment, but Phil could have sworn that the screams of pain and panic from the victims merged to form a crescendo of unfathomable fear and trepidation. Within seconds, the floor within the section of the cabin demarcated by the photonic shield was a swirling pile of charred, repugnant, bloodied flesh and bone.

The towering assassin had done his job and as the shield dissipated into the air, the giant Scalatan set his merciless gaze upon the lone Averan survivor, standing about 30 feet away at the opposite end of the cabin. When the massacre commenced, the shield had prevented the laser pulses from reaching beyond the kill-zone.

Now the shield was gone and with it, all hope.

Awakened from his trance of dread, Phil turned to run out of the cabin but was shocked to come face to face with Yatzat, who had tears flowing from her eyes.

“What the f…?” Phil gasped, but his words were interrupted by the sound of a small laser gun with a 4-inch long barrel that had just been fired. He felt a surreal pain in the lower left side of his gut, between what was probably his colon and small intestine, just above the intertubercular plane. He glanced down in shock, to see the slightly bloody cavity upon his polo t-shirt that had been made by a bullet not from the assassin but from Yatzat. The purse she’d carried as she raced towards him seconds ago had obviously concealed this compact silver weapon.

Reasoning at a dynamic rate, Phil wondered to himself, “If that’s a laser propelling weapon, why was I struck by a slender bullet?”

“Sir, I’m so, so sorry…” Yatzat whispered sorrowfully, with watering eyes, “…please forgive me!”

Phil barely heard her utter those last saddening words in an emotionally burdened tone, as he dropped lifelessly to the ground. But one final thought flowed through his mind, as he slipped away into what felt like a living realm of utter darkness:

Never trust a Scalatan—never.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Here is the link to the complete 500-page e-book:

http://www.amazon.com/DSNG-CHRONICLES-PRINCES-PRIDE-ebook/dp/B003UHVIDI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1290643655&sr=8-1

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