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"Chief Scientist, Neikhia, get your people ready to go. We are about to have company. Do you still have those mercenaries you hired earlier?" The Resurrection Frame stepped clear of the stasis housing, its repairs completed, it glowed with power.

The Chief Scientist appeared annoyed, several tentacles flailing, with the commanding tone of the armored form. But once the Major had activated the Frame,  it was clear who was now in charge. "Yes, Major. There is still one company of thirty with a supplementary group of Corvans acting as support fire teams."

"Good, we'll need them. Get your people ready. Leave everything that isn't necessary for your research. I assume you have a plan?"

"It is not ideal, but I believe the answer can be found at the Malcanari Rift. Our intelligence operatives tell us there are a series of outposts that are used to manipulate the destabilizing quantum signal used to keep the rift closed. These stations will be found within a light year of the anomaly. It is believed these outposts were actually created by the Precursors. We would only need to take control of one, maybe two to prevent the signal from being effective."

"How many people will you need for your exploration? Our ship will not carry more than a couple of extras, assuming I still have a crew at all." The major's turned his face toward Essver, Chuntra and Wex who had not moved since the two had related their tale and he had stepped into the Frame.

"We have three ships and we will deploy them with the remainder of our forces to the other stations, the more of the signal we can stop, the better." Neikhia turned a bright orange indicating a satisfaction with his planning. The Major did not counter the order.

Having recently recounted how they came to be involved in the hunt for the Major both Chuntra and Wex looked back at the Major in the glory of his fearsome armor, Wex defiantly, Chuntra apologetically. "We are sorry, Major. We did not know what to expect once you were reunited with your Resurrection Frame. You seem so very different." Chuntra was changing colors rapidly indicating her confusion and inability to regulate her current state of mind. Wex stood quietly and let her speak for the both of them. "To be honest, we would be honored to continue to fight with you. It is clear to us now, Bogumil knew of what he spoke, when he said you were our best chance of understanding the threat of the Nox. Command us."

Essver simply nodded his assent, as he had for the decades the three of them had worked together. There was never any doubt of his support.

The Frame stood quietly for a second and then a softer, less modulated voice came out of it. "I am the same man I was before I stepped into this technology. It does not make me something different. I have come to rely on your abilities and was hoping you would stay. The weeks ahead promise to be the most challenging of our time together. For a few days, I will be remaining in the Frame, so that my neural network can be backed up, and any further repairs completed. Being without the Frame so long has compromised my health and it will be a many days before I am back to full strength. I will need you, now, more than ever."

Turning to Biyu, "Pilot, Traveling Light is enroute, repaired and restored and she will need you. I need a flight coordinator, can I count on you?"

"Of course, Major, to hell and back if need be." She continued, "Scientist Neikhia, I need one of your people to take me to the surface so I can get a place for the ship to set down and get your gear together. Teela says she will arrive in fifteen minutes and the Danikans will be right behind her about six or seven minutes. Pack light, get your crews in the air. We will work out an escape plan."

Neikhia gestures and two of the technicians begin grabbing boxes full of data crystals and leading the Pilot to the surface. "Will let you know when we are ready, Major. Master Wex, Ambassadors?" The five strode off toward the surface in a brisk fashion.

The Frame strode clear of the platform where it had sat imprisoned and walked up behind the Chief Scientist. "Now that we are alone, Neikhia, What are you not telling me? I have the distinct impression you still have secrets. I am not a patient man right now, so please spare me any further lies."

Neikhia turned toward the Major and puffed himself to his full size. The Major's lack of response caused him to immediately deflate and turned all three eyes away. "I have not lied to you Major. But I have not told the complete truth. There are many other elements to this story that I could not reveal without letting the others know the hopelessness of our situation." Neikhia turned to the Major and reflexively shuttered.

The Major leaned close to Neikhia and whispered."Tell me everything."

Onboard the Command cruiser, the Admiral, rarely seen on the command deck floated impatiently while the captain and his crew completed their telemetry and preparations to engage the Danikan pirates. In addition to the pirates, the Lorus-class attack gunship detected escaping Lorissi was detected on the same heading as the Danikans. This means their target is close. 

With the effectiveness of their last jump they were positioned to jump directly to the small habitable moon of the fifth planet in this system. With only one operating jump gate, the Danikans tiny ships could not possibly hope to out run the fleet and escape back to the empire. Their ships are only system-capable preventing them from being able to out-maneuver or escape once the fleet's smaller and more nimble frigates lock onto their signals. The age of the Danikans vessels ensure they will either surrender or flee, combat against the Corvan Fleet would be suicidal at best.

"Five minutes until we drop out of interstellar warp, Captain." The astrogation officer was recalculating the drop points against the subspace eddies trying to drop out of warp as close to the moon as possible.

The Captain depressed his comm speaker for a ship-wide broadcast. "All sentients report to your battle stations. Activate condition one defenses and ship readiness. Activate all fluid-tight seals and compartmentalizations. All weapons batteries take your targeting from your gunnery leaders. All brace for combat actions."

A young sub-commander calls up the system holograms and begins the predictive assault against the Danikens. As the Admiral expected, its outcome was a foregone conclusion to the predictive engines. Their light corvettes were converted from system corvettes left here over five decades ago when this area was part of Bel-ha space. Their weapons while powerful compared to the civilian ships they were designed to police, were no match for the armors, shields or defense systems of true military ships.

As the local conflict caused the main stargates in the surrounding space to shut down, the Bel-ha retreated from the area, deeming it simply too resource poor to bother with, despite its popularity as a tourist destination. Local police forces tended the region for a century or two until local crime corrupted the police and military station here. The Bel-ha left the region in the hands of their uplifted charges, the Danikans, but the Danikans were susceptible to corruptions and when left without the influence of their Patron were inclined toward less-than-savory behavior. As long as their actions did not cause an undue loss of life, by the Bel-ha standards, how they maintained order was, relatively speaking, their business.  Such criminal scum would have been exterminated in the Imperium but this area was outside of his jurisdiction, technically speaking. This would not stop him from destroying them if they interfered in Empire business.

"Captain," began the sub-commander, "based on the designs of the Bel-ha Police Corvettes in our database our predictive engines indicate a ninety five percent probability of success with only light casualties in our frigate fleet. We will be able to solidify those numbers once we are able to get full scans of the enemy ships to understand local variations in the ship designs. Even with considerable modifications, their hull sizes and power plant limitations still place their power output beneath even our smallest ships."

"That said, sub-commander Tha'al, we shall assume the most powerful configurations possible in our current database, and prepare for the worst case scenarios. We shall offer them one opportunity to surrender. After that, terminate with extreme prejudice. Nothing matters more than capturing the traitor, Majoris Wilks. Baring his capture, he is to be destroyed along with his ship and co-conspirators. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Captain," echoed across the command deck from all of the officers present. The Captain turned toward the Assault commander's station.  Commander Kreltan, do you have a team ready to drop to the planet?"

Kreltan was a veteran of two centuries of warfare and his body had been genetically altered for combat. Large bony ridges covered all of his tentacles and his gripper arms were larger and stronger than most. His eyes had hard nictating membranes that covered them all the time, giving him an even more menacing appearance to the common Corvan. The most unnerving thing about him was his lack of color transition. Kreltan maintained the same color no matter what answer he gave, no matter what kind of conversation he had. He was completely immune to the Corvan skill of color-interpretation because he never changed color. Even his voice seemed colorless to anyone but another extremely ancient Corvan.

The Admiral listened intently. "The team is prepped to fast-drop to the surface. Transit time, four minutes. Each Elite is super-gravity trained and wearing heavy armor. Each has had experience in combat against the various species of the Humani, the Subaki and standard Mercenary tactics. If any of the Danikans are there, they will be factored into our combat predictions and annihilated. I will be leading the assault. If the rebels are there, we will capture them. If they resist. We will destroy them. We await your orders, Captain."

The Admiral thrummed the water in approval of Kreltan's report. Then he added "Commander, if it possible, we would prefer the traitor alive. Stress this to your team. He, and his sponsors of the Resurrection Program, need to be taken to task. The program is a violation of our spiritual beliefs and has only been allowed since the Humani have the support of their reptilian brethren. If we can show signs of duplicity on their part, that program can be halted politically." 

Kreltan paused for only a split-second, just long enough to let the Admiral know he did not like the idea. "Your will be done, Admiral. To Serve the Empire!"

"To Serve the Empire, Commander. Carry on."

Third eyes were all focused on the interaction between these two veteran warriors of the Empire, each having served longer than almost any others in the fleet, and each commanding the loyalties of their troops with fanatical zeal. But there was no love between them personally. Each did their best not to interfere in the dominion of the other. All ground operations were under the control of the Commander when he was on the ground. Commander Kreltan was a legend amongst assault teams in the entire empire. A warrior dedicated to battle above all else. He was assigned to the Admiral's fleet nearly one hundred years ago and they were friendly once.

 
Battle-brothers, they destroyed enemies of the empire for nearly seventy years. Narrow escapes that became the stuff of legend are still told in quiet corners when either of them are around or especially when the two may be in the same room. Their friendship had become strained when an Imperial world infected with an alien parasite had to be destroyed by orbital bombardment. The Commander believed the world could be saved and attempted to redouble his efforts to destroy the parasite which painfully consumed their hosts from the inside.

The Admiral did not agree and forced the Commander to leave the world. Unknown to the Admiral at the time, this world held the entire clan of Kreltan. The Admiral could not allow the infestation to spread. They had already lost two dozen worlds before finding the latest spawning point of the alien horde. It was the right thing to do. It was the humane thing to do. Kreltan hasn't changed color since that day nor spoken again to anyone outside of their duties since that time. He vows to never allow a world to fall to Extermination again.

The Admiral hoped that would never be the case as well. But he still missed his old friend.

The battle against the Danikans in space lasted approximately one hour. They had maximized the output of their Bel-ha corvettes. This made them the equal of only the smallest of frigates in the fleet. Eighty percent of the pirate fleet was destroyed. The remainder surrendered and powered down their shields, armor and weapons. The Admiral dropped with the Commander and his crew, both wearing Relic Armor covered with numerous campaign badges of their adventures together. In their armors, it was almost impossible to tell the two of them apart.

 
The conflict with the mercenary force took another hour, as they were well dug in and had terrain on their side. Once the Imperium forces began to do considerable damage, the Mercenaries surrendered, as was their right under the Galactic Military code. They would be treated fairly with dignity and after being ransomed by their Mercenary Guild, returned to service. In the meantime, their contracts would be purchased and they would fight for the Empire. Standard delaying tactic on the part of the rebels.

The Admiral moved through the remnants of their headquarters which aside from the rushed nature of their departure, showed no sign of fear or distress. As if the fleet had been expected. 

Two communications technicians were reviewing the outgoing transmissions attempting to figure out who the rebels were in contact with but all message logs were destroyed. Only one message remained in the queue. The Corvans began to listen to the message and after a few seconds deactivated the message.

"Admiral, begging your pardon, you will want to see this. I recommend a classified status immediately."

"Send it to me, I will be the judge of its status."

"To the commander of the Imperial Fleet, I greet you and salute you, by the standards of our Imperial Treaty between Empires ratified in the Sjurani Accords. This information is classified and can only be accessed by using your Imperial codes, unique to command officers of fleet vessels. I have encoded it in this way because I believe this to be a threat to the Empire at large. You will require two command officers to access this datastream."

 
"All of you, out. Kreltan, I require your assistance and your command key."

Both of them strode to the command holo-display in the station as their subordinates grab any remaining technology and returned to the surface. Neither has stood this close in nearly a decade and their discomfort would be noticeable to any who knew them. But they were both professionals and as they entered their command signatures and used their command signet bracers, neither was prepared for the horror of the recordings of transformation of normal Corvans into the atavistic monstrosities created by the alien quantum signature. 

The recording continued. "Officers of the Imperium, my name is Major Thomas Wilks. I am an Elite and in service to the Resurrectorum, part of the branch of the Corvan Assault Military. I understand I have been flagged as a rebel and likely a traitor, but I promise you this: what is being done here, is being done by your government. I do not pretend to understand what it to be gained by it, or who is perpetrating it, but I am duty-bound to stop it.  Analyze any data you find here, as best you can. I have ensured all of it has been left behind for you to study. The Chief Scientist and I are on our way to stop it. Knowing the Corvan Military as well as I do, you will be focused on your honor and serving the Empire. Do so. Prove what this data says is true and there is only one way to do that. Understand, this signal will affect nearly every Corvan in the Empire.  I have included the recording of the signal as well. Once you verify it, you will have no choice but to follow me and stop this from happening. We are not hiding from you. You will know where to find us."

The hologram of the Major grows larger and the camera zooms in close on the face of the Major as he makes the armor transparent. "Do not try to stop me. The lives of billions will hang in the balance. You will have another completely different mission. When the signal is activated, it will destabilize the program that has closed the Rift for millions of years. Preliminary data from the Rift monitoring system shows thousands of ships held in flux by the program. You can figure out the rest. You have two choices, hunt for me or stop the enemy from coming through the Rift. Choose wisely. Either way, if you come after me, I will not hesitate to kill anyone or anything else that keeps me from destroying the quantum array that will emit the Atavistic transformation."

The camera goes off and a stream of visual information, including coordinates, shield variances and gene sequences are displayed along with a variety of other information neither officer can decipher.  And then the audio continues. "Now, I know what you are thinking. Why am I telling you this? It is not because I have any particular love of the Corvan Imperium, because frankly, I think you could do better. But you could do worse, and this would be much worse. The truth of the matter is, I would hate to be wrong and fail and allow millions of enemies to flood into our space from what arguably may be another more technically-advanced universe."

There is a long delay before the Major continues. "I am telling you this because I need support and there is no one else I can turn to. I need your help. I cannot force you to help me, but I will do what I was trained to do; stop all enemies of my Empire, foreign or domestic. Yes, humans have not been members of the Imperium for long, but I believe in what the Imperium stands for in theory, even if we don't always live up to it in practice. Humans have simply wanted to give back to the Imperium and now it appears we may have more to offer than you thought. But we don't have much time. Within the data pack are favorable shield calibrations against the Q-signal. If you have time, I would suggest you experiment with others, the rebel scientists believe it may help offer your crews resistance against the signal. I would implement them if I were you, unless you fancy spending the rest of your life as one of those things. The Rift is fifteen days away for me and about twenty for those massive beasts you fly around in. Hunting me, or helping me, don't be late."

There is a momentary pause. Then the Major speaks one more time. "Oh, and if you call the Corvan Homeworld hoping to get support, remember this, The Corvan homeworld is the closest star system to the Rift in the Empire. Our scientists believe anyone who is living on the homeworld in the last six months has already begun their transformation since they were within the range of the test signal. Since the first test signal, the government has only stepped up their efforts to expedite the progress of the Q-array. So if you call for help, you may find yourselves branded traitors, as well. Good luck, in whatever you decide to do. End transmission."

End of Part II

'Revenant: Resurrection' © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved

Bighead Scientists here again to announce Episode 1 Part 2 of Matty's Rocket.  We are getting well into the first episode which will be about 4-5 parts in total.  What is interesting is that as we think we are done, suddenly possibilities for narrative expansion appear. 

Please join us as we continue on the Journey. 

I hope you guys will consider helping us out. We have Black History Month to raise the funds for BLVD. WARRIORS to be completed properly: http://kck.st/hlqpaE

Here's a synopsis for the documentary:

Inspiration can come from many places: from traditions developed thousands of miles away and thousands of years ago; from movies with dialogue we don’t understand; and it can come from within. But what’s important is where inspiration takes us.

Whether it’s community centers, world-class competitions, music, or kung fu cinema, the martial arts have been a tremendous influence on the culture and aspirations of black and urban Americans for decades. Blvd. Warriors tells the little-known story of how Asian fighting arts and the movies that feature them, pierced the lives of those in communities struggling with parallel issues.

Through a series of interviews, movie clips and historical documents, the documentary tracks a history that evolved from a combination of natural ability, the desire for change, societal exclusion, and basic human instinct. The search for power, hope, identity, haphazard entertainment, reflective heroes and respect, triggered a confluence of events that have lead to a standard in American culture. That standard has transcended race, politics, cultural stereotypes – and in some cases – the very limits of human endurance. Blvd. Warriors shines a light on experts of the martial arts, trailblazing entertainers, pop culture references, and everyday people whose lives have been permanently impacted through their exposure to, and ultimately their respect of, this unique way of life and its cultural origins.

Thanks so much.

Rene

The satellite circled the world in a decaying orbit, its purpose long fulfilled. As it became a fireball over what was once Kansas, its re-entry fire showed a land long unvisited by man. Destroyed by radioactive fire when an outbreak of Chin-dromeda appeared before the Last War on Earth, no humans had lived here for decades. And that was just as well, for now no human could.

Kansas, destroyed in radioactive fire, had been avoided by humans for decades. And it was just as well, for while no trace of deadly radioactive poison would be found, if there were geiger counters to account for it, a creature unlike anything known to man, had spread across the landscape, with an intellect, cold and unyielding and a body mutable and nigh-invulnerable. When the Oligarchs returned to Earth in terror of the creatures beyond, one returned with them. They assumed it was unintelligent, just a beast of the field. It was the dominant life form on its planet.

The creature caused the ship it was on to crash in the radioactive ruins of Kansas. The Plutocracy sent forces to destroy it and were no more successful on Earth than they had been on its home planet. They even made the mistake of trying to use nuclear weapons, but the creature absorbed the energy and grew larger, much larger. After feeding on the radioactivity, the creature grew sluggish, perhaps from so much rapid growth, and during that period of torpor, the mighty Oligarchs opted to contain it and created, the Barrier.

Stretching into the sky, crystalline towers resonated with powerful electron fields of energy between them for thousands of miles. Drawing its power from the nearly limitless energy of the molten core, occcasional bursts of electricity shot between the towering spires, illuminating the blasted landscape. Bordered by this terrible wall of destruction, the Other waited and slept. The Barrier was build almost entirely by machine. Those humans who were involved in its creation, save for the Oligarchs themselves, were accused of Heresy and put to death.

In the calculations of its distributed intelligence, spanning thousands of square miles, the Other decided the fate of a species, corrupted by power, by fear and by its lusts. There was no redeeming this species. The barrier allowed it time to contemplate this world and its riches. Already its tendrils were in the soil, penetrating rock and mantle and drawing up both minerals, metals and energy.

The Other feasted on the satellite, absorbing the energy of its re-entry, hot, bitter and metallic, molecule by molecule. In its prodigious mind, it rebuilt the device down to the parity of its atoms. It decoded the satellites information, stored on data medium designed to survive direct nuclear attack. Reading its logs of communications, It learned about humanity and its plans, hearing only the occasional whisper in the secret spectra, that few humans remembered, and it knew the lie of the Theocracy. Once space was safe, those who worked would die, poison coursing in their very genes. The Other had access to computer networks that were still active on the planet and monitored all communications whose security could not keep it out.

Very few networks could withstand its distributed intellect and a new one fell every week. In its latest conquest, it found information about a genetic experiment using alien genetic material with a series of humans. There was one survivor. While the Other could sense itself everywhere it was on Earth, it could feel this new Hybrid, but only faintly. The Other could control all aspects of its molecular identity no matter how far away it was, except for this, new thing. There was a wrongness about the Hybrid, something from a time distant in its memory;  something that could not be allowed to spread.

The Other realized it would need to seek out and eliminate the Hybrid, before it could spread. There was a threat greater than all the military machines of this world. To complete the claim, there must be no challengers, that was The Way.  Once the Hybrid was removed, Man would be next. Most would starve, some would resort to the natural order and consume their neighbors, and when they were weak and fractious, the Other would consume all but those needed for breeding to feed its young, and return Humanity to its proper role on the food chain, making way for a new, wiser ruler of the Earth. And when the off-world Oligarchs returned to Earth, it would lay claim to their worlds as well.

The creature comprised of both plant and animal genetics slid up to the barrier and touched it with a woody tendril. Arcs flew from it and the tendril withdrew. Nearby, a rumbling began, and another larger limb, calcified with minerals touched the barrier and neatly slid through it. It gathered a portion of itself on the other side, and then slid back into the ground. A slight rumbling could be felt as the creature moved away from the Barrier. The creature stopped, felt the diminishing power of the field and the earth shook, staccato, as if laughing at the futility of trying to stop it. The rumbling continued for several miles.

Jump to Part 12 - The Outpost

'Metal Organism Designed only for Cuddling' © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved

A satellite from an earlier age circles the quiet Earth. The Earth was not always this quiet. Once she communicated in thousands of languages across hundreds of tiny spectra, a rainbow of communication shouting out to space, that we are here, we are here, we are here... Those voices spoke with no unity and the fears and loneliness which allowed for retail therapy eventually gave way to wholesale slaughter. South America was the first to feel the sting of Envy.

Now the Earth sits quiet, its communications by directed cold beam or submerged fiber-optic keep random signals to space to a minimum. Mankind's exposure to the stars, has left scars, not easily healed. Remnants of First Contact has left humanity with a fear of the stars, but a need for them. The cradle of humanity is aflame, set afire by Earth's greatest and most terrible creation, Man. But fear or not, dangerous or not, humanity must ascend or starve to death on a world too hot or too cold, whose air is too dry and rainfall far too rare, whose people are still too numerous, even with fratricide practiced all over the globe, with infrastructure just barely strong enough to keep its tortured billions working around the clock for a future most will never see. And these are still better times than mankind has seen in nearly five decades.

This satellite hailed from a time when the world was changing and it looked as if mankind had learned the lessons it needed to mature and not a moment too soon. Scientists placed it in orbit to monitor the ever increasing and erratic world-wide weather patterns of the time. And for fifty years, it had an eye on the world and took photos of the world as it changed mostly for the better. Those photos were collected and studied by men and machines until the year 2073. And then the world was silent. 

This satellite saw a happier world, prosperous beyond anyone from the early 20th century's expectations, those predictions of Malthusian doom would wilt under the bloom of the early twenty first century's super-economy of Brazil. Under the leadership of one of its first, in a line of female presidents, caused the country to soar to a level of economic prosperity never seen in its modern history.

Preventing the last of its rainforests from being destroyed, Brazil capitalized on the rainforest's biodiversity with a new explosion of science, genetic engineering and pharmacology. In the year 2021, a viable cure for cancer cell development was synthesized from the seeds of a barely known plant found in a tiny fifteen acre section of the rain-forest, that was slated for demolition before the forest was saved. This plant was found nowhere else in the rainforest and its benefits caused nations all over the world to reconsider their primal forests and an explosion of planting and reforestation began. The world was rife with cancers from rampant industrialization and a lapse of standards due to the profit-mongering of the greediest of the world's remaining superpowers. This panacea was literally in the nick of time and made Brazil the envy of a world growing sicker by the day.

The cancer cure was tightly held by the Brazilian government and scientific community and once the clinical trials were over, the Brazilian government created an agency to oversee the management of the drug, its licensing and distribution. Overnight Brazil became one of the most important destinations in the world. This caused South America to grow both in population and world-wide importance.

Central America benefited from this overflow of popularity and these nations of the southern hemisphere finally achieved prominence in the world, befitting a country that had placed biodiversity higher than raw profit and easy exploitation of the rain-forest. Lamentations of what other cures might have been lost were shouted around the world, but Brazil's latest crop of scientists and explorers would canvas the remaining rain-forest for any insect, venom, genome, or bio-plasm that might have another amazing offering.

Meanwhile, Africa under the guidance of Communist China began to change and its tribal wars began to be diminished. Unfortunately, there were several full scale wars that ended in the complete annihilation of one side or the other. Once those wars were done, the victors welcomed the Communist Chinese and their offers of factory development, manufacturing, food, resource management and wealth for anyone willing to work. But the Africans were canny. Too often before, they had been exploited and would not allow the Chinese to do what had been done in the past. All deals were made with strict legal management and the unified armies of the African continent ensured no one would ever take advantage of the Continent again. 

China with its billions, closed its borders to immigration and built its Second Great Wall, surrounding the country's borders with an impenetrable barrier to protect itself from the rapacious powers scouring the world for resources. Building the wall concentrated the populations of China and helped to spread a slow viral disease for which there was no cure. Mutations of this new virus spread across the world and did not act the same as it did with the Chinese populace. Outside of China, the disease acted more like Ebola, spreading fast, killing quickly and without mercy. Accused of creating a bio-weapon designed to attack non-Chinese, the remaining superpowers rattled their sabers weakly but did nothing. At least, for a while.

The only area of the world apparently immune to the rampant effects of Chi-dromeda (as it was called in the West) was much of Russia. So China and Russia combined their resources and became a new world power. This benefitted Russia more than China, who was nursing an aging populace with a corrupt government. The Communist Chinese, executed the current Russian government suspected of corruption and annexed Russia. Russian and China scientists developed a medical scanner that could detect the virus and only allowed the serum-negative to leave the country. Those that chose to leave were never allowed to return. Taiwan became a Mecca for China's dispossessed but many fled to the factories of Africa and were welcomed for their skills and training. China lamented the loss of talent, but the country was still powerful, vibrant and with the union of Russia, they still had access to the last great stockpiles of petroleum left on the planet and had the manpower to expend to reach it. Millions died for the next five decades reaching those oil stockpiles further cementing China's worldwide supremacy. Prejudice against the Chinese, mostly from fear of Chin-dromeda, would last for decades and would eventually erupt into the Last World War.

This infusion of the Chinese immigrants displaced from China, many who were forced to come with the factories, gave Africa an infusion of highly educated, willing workers to work on one of the greatest projects on the Earth to date, the Solar Pavilions of the Sahara Desert. Eight hundred square miles of the Sahara, a relatively tiny portion was covered with a newly discovered quartz matrix created by Chinese and African scientists allowing them to harness nearly fifty percent of the energy from the sun, storing the energy in a treated silicon slurry below the desert acting as a battery, storing the intense solar heat of the day into an energy to power the United Nations of Africa, which included the Muslim Alliance nations of Saudi Arabia, Iran, Iraq, and Yemen. 

The Solar Pavilion was a project that provided power for India, Greece, and the southern parts of Europe as well. With a nondestructive form of energy being focused into the continent of Africa, for the first time in millennia, the people could devote themselves to lives free from warfare and now spent their time harnessing the natural beauty of their country, replenishing the land, caring for the genetic diversity of the remaining wildlife that had not been hunted into extinction. As the Solar Pavilion employed millions laying the power cables, crafting the Pavilion itself, maintaining the cities near the edges of the Pavilion, raising families, creating schools, moving resources, the continent was buzzing with activities, each vying for which would continue to transform this collection of nations seeking redemption from the ravages of the nineteenth century. Africa was poised to be the power-plant of a world in desperate need for a solution as fossil fuels grew more scarce, more irreplaceable, and the tensions over how the remaining fuels would be used, escalated. India also formed relationships with Africa and the combinations of manpower, resources and education, turned Africa into the worlds, second greatest potential superpower.

The West, now called the Old Men of the Century, suffered greatly under the new prosperity of the Southern Hemisphere. A brain drain of their best and brightest fled the country seeking opportunity in the new stock markets, new scientific communities, new construction works that sprung up virtually overnight all over the world. China, now the world's premiere superpower and super-economy, was in economic control of the direction of the world's development and while it paid lip service to the Old Men of the West, the US and the European communities, their power was more of a figurehead than actually possessing any real say in the current direction of the world.

The last of their powers were waning under the weight of their overburdened economies saddled with ridiculous debt from their maintenance of militaries they could no longer afford. The nations of Mexico and Canada realizing they were burdened with the United States did what they could to prop up the US's fading economy and became the United North America Alliance (UNAA) in 2034 right after the Black Monday, in December 2034 when the NASDAQ collapsed for the last time, driving almost all but the richest American corporations into bankruptcy. This collapse restructured the West for what would later become the beginnings of the Oligarchy. Corrupted later by the blood-wealth and power of the surviving nations of a European Union, shattered by treachery and the destruction of the poorest nations of the EU to become the Plutocracy. The Plutocracy armed with super-advanced technologies created in secret labs practiced greed at its purest and most destructive. They were believers in commerce before all other things and would use whatever means necessary to further their goals.

The Plutocracy appointed the remnants of the world's religions as the tenders of men's souls, creating the legendary and apocryphal, Theocracy who would lead the desperate masses of the UNAA in what would be known as the Last War on Earth. Every religion was asked to join the Theocracy and send their representatives to create the last great religion, humanity would ever need. Those that refused were exterminated by the Plutocracy's mighty and alien-derived war machines. Those religions whose members still practiced their religions did so in secret. When discovered, the Theocracy's Inquisition was brutally effective. There was no word that inspired fear like Inquisitor, except for, Proctor, the War Dogs of the Theocracy.

Proctors lead the war which would kill billions. Nearly as many people died in the Last War  as had ever died in every war ever fought on the planet. The aftermath would cause plague, madness, and psychological dysfunction on a planet wide scale. The advances of the last seventy years, and they were many, those that could run automatically continued to do so until they failed or the Plutocracy's Technical Services restored them. The rest disappeared into history. Countries and superpowers retreated into themselves and waited for the storm to clear.

In this vacuum of technology, in this vacuum of society, a cabal of scientists would discover the secrets for faster than light travel and offer this shattered humanity, the stars. Except the Plutocracy decided who would go, and they did not vote for any of the wretched refuse. They sent themselves to the stars instead. And eight years later, many would return, but not all. It would seem Space was too dangerous for just the rich and a new plan to offer the rest of humanity an option to build ships and head out to the safer worlds and with the manpower of a determined humanity take over those worlds.

But Humanity was not told of the secret war waged by the Plutocracy against an enemy who had made it to Earth and while held in place by the Technology of the Plutocracy, could not be destroyed. And so mankind began its race to escape its cradle before the new inheritors of the Earth could escape their prison.

The Theocracy rallied the souls of men while the Plutocracy provided the resources for the Great Ships of the Diaspora to be built. And for a while the world was quiet. But that quiet couldn't last. There were too many secrets. The Theocracy learned early, the best way to keep secrets was to sanction anyone who knew too much. The dance for the leadership was always to know just enough to do your job, and not enough to be considered unwisely knowledgeable. 

Proctor Grimaldi was such a man, vicious, but not savage, intelligently but not too curious, callus, but not completely unfeeling, he walked that line of cruelty required by this new world of extremes. Powerful, yet appearing beneficent, he lead the Scavengers of the West toward their ultimate goal, the completion of the Great Ships. The three ships under his leadership were nearly seventy percent complete. His successes led him toward his real goal, the head of what remained of the UNAA as its Theocrat. Once his ships were completed, he would gather only the most sacred of his flock and return to the stars, leaving the rest of these unfortunate souls to whichever terrible fate would claim them first.

The Proctor's ambitions while carefully measured, still suffered from the vagaries of fate. He had no wife, nor any interest in one. But the Theocrat must be married, so he arranged to acquire one. The woman's husband was a heretic and the records will show that. His home will be destroyed in a fire, ensuring no one will be able to disprove that. His son will die a tragic death, a disease of the brain stem. Incurable. And once he was Theocrat, he would imprison the wife in a corporate apartment and maintain his catamite in the lifestyle to which he would grow accustomed. It has been said, Man Plans, God Laughs. The Proctor did not believe in God, so he might be excused for not knowing the expression. 

MODOC - Part 11 - Dining Out

'Metal Organism Designed only for Cuddling' © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved

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Peace and love.

My name is no longer important. You have received this email or document depending on who you are because I believed you would be a person who would take what I have to say seriously and that ultimately you would see that this information would be released to the public.

I have spent months chronicling my adventures and I know that I will not live to see the results of my work. But you must not think I am crazy. You must look at what I have to say with a critical eye and ask yourself. Could this be true? But enough of this, let me tell of you the last day of my life. I knew what it would be and have included it in the documentation you are about to view. Some of it is recorded, some of it is a vid feed.

No matter the form, you will be able to substantiate three things. No feed, whether audio or video has been altered in any way. You see it or hear it the way it was recorded. It is important to stress that because without that information, nothing else matters. Once we record any video or audio, it is locked and cannot be altered. It used a triple encryption sequence that none of us could break, nor wanted to. The only thing the encryption sequence will reveal to people with the correct skills, is that the information gathered here is unaltered and has never been changed.

The second, is that we did not make any effort to hide or disguise or faces or voices. We understood that for you to take us seriously, we had to be serious and we understand our lives would ultimately be forfeit. The third thing, and for you the most important, is that we made every effort to hide what we were doing from the prying eyes of the Powers That Be. I capitalize that so you understand I mean that they are literally Powers, they control every aspect of our lives and yours.

By engaging this report, you are opening yourself to every Power of the world today who will kill to keep this secret. Let me repeat. If you engage beyond this point, you will likely die. Put your affairs in order. Take a few days with your loved ones. Spend any savings you have. Do anything you think is important for you to do. Because once you read this and likely distribute it the same way I did, in a week to a month, depending on how well you hide your tracks, can move from place to place and can live off the grid, you will be dead. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

With that said, I will show you the feed of my last day and let you decide for yourself if what I say has any merit at all.

It is cold this time of year. For the last ten years, we have known nothing but bitter cold. But this winter is unlike any before it, because it will be my last. I know this as sure as I draw breath. I have packed up everything of value and have already made all of my mail drops today. I have given my cat, Sasha to my old neighbor in the flophouse I have been staying at. She has been a good mouser and kept my place clear of disease-carrying vermin and been a good and warm companion during the night. The flophouse has no heat, nor hot water so a day there is a choice between stinking or freezing. I must admit I have chosen stinking on especially cold days. My thin blankets and pitiful rations have also been donated with Sasha, my neighbor Demitri, is old and cannot bear the cold as easily as he once did. I know that he loves Sasha as much as I do, and will take good care of her. Sasha is a strong cat, in her prime and liable to serve him for many years to come. I trained her to catch rats and bring them back to share during the lean times and it looks like those times are on us again. He will need her skills. I am beyond their reach now.

The sky is bright and I am in good spirits despite myself. I am filled with a sense of purpose and feel that all of the work that we have done in the last few months have been good and valuable and I feel there will be much done after I am gone. The neighborhood I live in is dirty. The walls are covered in graffiti, layered like sedimentary rock, over each other, each layer more garish and more desperate than the last. Each layer shows the hopelessness of each group as they wrote their names, trying to immortalize themselves in a world that did not count them at all. Blood decorates some of those walls as well, as earlier generations kill the next who would cover their bid for immortality.

I see the hookers and drug dealers selling their particular drug of choice, knowing that only the desperate would seek any solace here. Yet, there are no lack of customers for either of their particular crafts. The worst part of it all, is that I can see from where I am standing spires of gold, stretching into the heavens. Narrow buildings like spun glass reach into the heavens and tiny streams of vehicles streak between them on innumerable errands, each a sparkling grain of sand against the sanguine sky. I hate them. I hate them because I was once one of them. And because of a twist of fate, an accident of my genome, I learned of a thing so terrible, I could only be cast out from heaven, lest the secret destroy it. The secret is known as The Carrier.

Once heavenly bound but no earthly good, I trod along the dirty streets of New Haven, the industrial complex of Kenopoli, one of the major cities on an Earth-like planet, lightyears from where we were born. But Kenopoli was so much like Earth, mankind flourished here just like he did at home once. And here he made the same mistakes. Separated by generations and the barriers of space-time, we landed here, a one way ticket into space and two thousand years separate us from our ancestors and just like man of old, we grew, we prospered, we lied, we cheated, we stole, we killed. All of our great achievements fell away when our old ideas and old ways came back to us. Our utopia became a dystopia and greed became the order of the day.

Robots were how mankind escaped Earth, but there was something in the atmosphere, or the magnetosphere, no one has ever been sure, but for whatever reason, this world that did not allow robots to continue to function or new ones to be made. Factories made them, but they simply would not function. Their higher functioning brains simply did not process information. For a while they were dumb laborers, then even those functions died. They worked for one hundred years and when they died, they could not be replaced. Thus the Second Age of Man began. Men were no longer able to manipulate matter as easily and the great cities could no longer be made. So the lesser buildings like New Haven were made in the shadows of the Last Great City of Kenopli.

Then came the stratification of Man. We decided that some men were better than others and soon a new caste system appeared. It was not spoken. It was not written. It simply was. And soon our society segmented and those that were less were cast out from the Spires and sent to the New Havens around the world. But work needed to be done without robots and thus manpower was required. So men were forced to work in factories and those factories would darken they skies with their coal and other burnings but those dark clouds never rose into the Spires and those people never knew the dirt and darkness of our mean and cold lives. But a mistake was made. Our economies were mixed and things created in the Spires were needed by the Workers. And the Spires needed resources and manpower from the Lowland, and so trade and corporations and guilds were created and this was momentarily good. But it did not last. We were not vigilant.

The came media, new media, all consuming media designed to give us hope, make us feel beautiful, keep us blind to our suffering, inured to the hopelessness of our tasks, unconcerned about our diseases, unaware of the lower quality of life we were leading. And it worked. We consumed blindly, we sought opportunities whenever we could, we joined the corporations in the Midworld between the Spires and the Lowlands and we thought it was good and that it would last forever. And then people like me were born. A few at first but then there were others.

They called us damaged, they called us mutants, but in the Old World of Earth, we were called autistics. Humans with subtle genetic variations that kept our minds, every so slightly different from the normal minds of our people. Sometimes you could see the difference. They could not function in society; they had no speech, no capacity for learning beyond the most simple of tasks, their lives were filled with suffering and the State did not acknowledge them as viable members of society. In the beginning they were tolerated, but as time progressed and their numbers increased, they were persecuted because they placed an inordinate drain on society's resources.

It was not as if those resources could not be spared, it was simply one more indignity to heap upon the masses, one more shame they were forced to bear as if, they had not enough to deal with. It was claimed there was no known cause of autism, or of any of the myriad of mental issues that began to plague our people in greater numbers than ever. We had lived on this world now for over two thousand years and had a population of two billion people. Strict controls on birth and death kept populations manageable and ultimately the severely autistic were eventually put to death. But there were other autistics whose minds allowed them to do amazing things, to see and hear and think of things no norm ever could. To be aware of patterns within patterns. To be aware of new ways of seeing and hearing and understanding numbers in ways previously unconsidered and that is where I became aware of the Carrier.

All of this, you already know, I only restate it so you can understand what you are dealing with. As a child who was only mildly autistic, I became aware of a particular sound I could sense in my environment that I noticed no one else could hear. I did not know that as a child and my issues prevented me from telling anyone about it. Whenever the radio was playing or a datafeed was being broadcast, I could hear this sound and it made me sick to my stomach. I burned inside, my head was on fire, my stomach would void and it would last as long as the media was available to my senses. I could not hide from it, and covering my ears offered some limited relief. I learned it was not all music or all datafeeds and things my parents considered Old Music did not cause me that sickness. So my parents catered to my needs and we only played old recordings of music. It was only when public feeds were available did I get terribly ill. I eventually learned to grit my teeth and bear it, and only occasionally threw up in the presence of music or live datafeeds.

By the time I learned to speak effectively, I could not tell anyone because no one I knew could hear it but me. I knew my parents did not condone such silliness as imaginary friends or imaginary sounds, so I learned to keep it to myself and would have never thought anything of it until I reached high school and met my first friend like me. His name was Kenneth Watson. He was the first person I knew to die when he made his teachers aware of the Carrier.

The Carrier - Part 2

'The Carrier' © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

I am GIVING AWAY one paperback edition of ‘Veterans of the Psychic Wars’. Read the first 8 chapters FREE from Amazon, Smashwords or fReado. More information here.

Answer the following questions for a chance to win the novel:

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5) Tie breaker: Who is your favourite character and why?

Use this link to send your answers via the official Red Moon site.

The winner will be announced 6th February 2011, here on this website. All decisions final.

CALIF

By

 DERRICK L. HAWKINS

CHAPTER ONE

     “Fucking Marines,” Emperor Sol the Fifteenth grimaced. Thirteen ships of the line left gutted, almost literally stripped to the frame, crews put out in life pods while those vile creatures looted and pillaged the empires hard work. He forced his fingers to relax on the kindle even though there was no way to damage one that he knew of. Save his strength for things he could do something about.

“How many this time.” He spoke to the large robed figure that slipped into the room behind him. Inquisitor General Kalmar was his most trusted aide but the man still gave him the shivers sometimes. The dark eyes, bald pate with the lights of his enhancements flickering gave him an otherworldly aura.

          “Thirty three are unaccounted for and presumed to have gone over to the other side.” Kalmar stood the proscribed distance behind and to his left but not at the required position of attention. Sol smoothed the frown from his face with a soft sigh, after so many years the man was entitled to some liberties, as long as he did not take them too far.

     “Have we been able to find any relatives, friends?” He already knew the answer. The Marines planned their strikes with precision and careful planning with not a lot of wiggle room. They would have already collected all ties to keep them from being used against them.

“Despite knowing what to look for we were unable to get to them in time. A brilliant misdirection if I-“

“You may not say so. You said you could squash these bugs in a few years Kalmar.”

“Every attempt has been and is being made my lord. Unfortunately every successful incursion into the empires affairs makes them that much more the hero.”

“It probably doesn’t help our cause that they go out of their way not to kill anyone,” Sol muttered.

“Whereas our forces are not as selective.” Sol glared at the taller man in the reflection of the armorplas.

“I’ll give you that,” he agreed reluctantly. “The empire cannot be seen as weak, Kalmar. You of all people should know this.” He got the nod he expected. “Now tell me of this replacement for my fleet commander.”

      “Captain Dyvid Westy. From a loyal, if not notable, EAF(Army)family. The private first came to notice taking command of a destroyer when the bridge crew was killed in the Marines exodus eleven years ago.”

“I assume that since he is now a captain that went well?”

“He is credited with the destruction of five enemy ships with his own barely operable.”

“And the reason I’m just now hearing about him?”

“He was promoted to second lieutenant and placed in command of the ship-“

“Serious?” Sols eyebrows rose in surprise. “A boot in charge of a ship of the line?”

“It was expected, I can only assume, that command expected him to fail. To that end he was exiled to the Third Revenue Enforcement Service.”

     “Nothing like being punished for out-performing your superiors,” Sol chuckled.

“Unfortunately for them he turned the Third into a feared unit. He has a long list of successful raids against both pirates and Marines. His intel has helped other forces bring thousands of Marines to justice.”

     “Discipline?”

“He runs a tight fleet-“

“Fleet? Since when does a single destroyer constitute a fleet?”

“Fleet command occasionally lets him have a ship or two that is scheduled for the scrap yards. Generally, he simply confiscates pirate and Marine ships as they come along. At last count he had thirteen but as high as thirty.”

“Loyalty?”

“To you? Total.”

“That too but I mean his men. How far into deaths lair would they follow him?”

“They’ve been well into the lobby several times,” Kalmar assured him with a tight smile. “Integrating them into the new fleet would buoy those that may be disheartened.”

     Sol called up a screen on his kindle that looked into a cell deep in the bowels of the emperial palace on Earth. The former commander of his new fleet was stubborn and well trained to resist interrogation but even the stoutest man wilted when his family was put to the same methods. Surprisingly the man only caved after his youngest daughter was gang raped. He keyed in the order. In another five minutes the signal would reach its destination and soon after the traitor would be introduced to the recyclers. Good riddance.

     “I’d like to see my newest commander before I send him out.” Kalmar’s expression went vacant for a moment as he accessed the network and sent the order.

“He should be here within the week.”

     Sol reached down to rub the head of one the Rottweiler’s he kept with him but remembered he'd left them on Earth as too conspicuous for traveling incognito. As much as the best known and feared face in Sol space could. The Rotties were his true friends, they wouldn't turn on him. Inquisitor Kalmar was a Rottie in human form, vicious and loyal but he never let it slip his mind that the man had his own goals not even the Emperor was privy too. He'd have to do something about that upon his return.

     “A penny for your thoughts your highness?” He turned fully to the Inquisitor and leaned against the armorplas port.

     Inquisitors were first designed by Emperor Sol the Seventh as his personal bodyguards. They were specially designed with mental abilities that allowed them to make the best use of the hardware nano-grown into their bodies. Not everyone could handle those kinds of changes; there was a substantial failure rate even among Inquisitors who have made it through the incubation and training. Each death natural or man-made was several million credits gone to waste. Unfortunately the once secret cloning facility had undergone a change in ownership when the SyHu's commandeered it fifteen years ago, rather than go all out he simply directed Kalmar to make sure they had eyes and ears. So far so good.

     All Inquisitors were gene engineered to be at least six feet tall, Kalmar was six feet nine, not unheard of in this day and age where families had their genes engineered for whatever qualities they desired. But with ship space at a premium there was no need to have a crew six feet plus when average had a better fit. Kalmar was a large man, muscular by his own rights and probably the single most dangerous man in the empire as far as Sol was concerned. Those types of people Sol did his best to eradicate before they became a problem. Kalmar would be a challenge since it was he the empire went to take care others. Might be best to have him as far away from the upcoming trouble as he could, deal with it when he returned. By then there would be some one to take his place.

     “The fleet is prepared to depart Kalmar?” He made a show of looking at the kindle. “Have you seen these reports?”

     “It is,” the large man was at his side in the blink of an eye. Sol looked up in annoyance. “I’ve seen the reports. As usual Sector Governor Talbot appears to be on the warpath.”

     “I think its time there was a new Belts governor. Production has been on a steady slide while the number of pirate outposts in his area has risen the same amount. If I didn't know any better I'd say Talbot is in bed with the enemy.”

     “He’s complaining hard about captain Westy’s invasion of his territory. Obviously he has something to hide.” Kalmar gestured at the kindle in Sols hand, the screen flickered and Commander Westy's file came up.

     “You think he's mature enough for this kind of responsibility?” Sol scrolled thru the file noting all the complaints lodged against the man, lately from Talbot and those under his command, and the long string of successes. “Looks like the good captain has had some help.” He frowned at the inquisitor, some of the exploits listed he could hardly believe had been accomplished with the resources of the Third RES. The entire Third should've been sent to the scrappers decades ago, personnel and all. Fortunately it was a convenient place to send undesirables to keep them out of the way of progress. Lieutenant Commander Zant for one.

     “Lieutenant Commander Zant. Now there’s a man who deserves to spend the rest of his career in the farthest outpost we have. How do they get along?”

“My sources say its strained at the best of times. Zants applied for ten transfers since Westy took command; all refused of course, no one wants Zants’ stench on their command.”

     “You’d think the man would be grateful to be part of something good. By the time you return the empire will be cleansed of people like him.”

“Back?”

“I’ve decided to send you along with the fleet, Kalmar. I need eyes and ears and a steady hand.”

     “I’m sure you have plenty of those in various-“

“This is not a discussion, Inquistor General. Be prepared to depart with the fleet when Westy arrives.” Kalmar gave an abrupt bow and floated out without so much as a by your leave.

Third Revenue Enforcement Service

Commander Westy. Dragons Breath

     Commander Dyvid Westy was bored. He slouched unprofessionally in the captains chair while the quiet work of the ship went on around him. He had them on a dull patrol route previously cleansed of pirates and other traitors to the empire to give them an easy go of it after three grueling months clearing out pirates nests in the Belts Sector. And constantly doing end runs around that sectors governor and the rest of the bureaucrats who were making a mighty fine profit from catering to the very people they were suppose to be eradicating. Still, he sighed, governor Talbot was a powerful if annoying man, his sector supplied over half of the materials the emperor required to build ships. No doubt his report to the emperor wasn't going to be glowing. He didn't dare think just because there wasn't any word in the last two weeks that he forgot to complain.

     Besides adding another crossed out pirates graphic on the hull he added five former pirate vessels to his ragtag fleet of obsoletes bringing the grand total to seventeen. Let every one spread out from close quarters a little bit. He for one could use it. He should've posted his exec to one of the ships-too late now.

     Every one except lieutenant commander Zant considered this a posting that signaled the end of their career. Most made the best of things since it beat hell out of simmering in one of the emperors gene-tanks. Zant was still under the impression that those glowing fitreps were a true glimpse into the man that was him. They were at odds for a number of reasons the least being Dyvid wrote honest fitreps.   

     Zant had extraordinary skill in avoiding the heavy lifting while making it seem like he was doing it all by himself. Maybe now that the Third had a name people wanted to be associated with they all might have a slim chance at decent postings. Or maybe the emperor would send them to the recyclers, ships, crew and all and start over fresh.

     “Hopefully I'm not stabbing us all in the foot,” he chuckled out loud. “Just thinking how nice it'd be to have a ship that works most of the time,” he answered Zants questioning look.

     “I second that. People are putting in requests to move to one of the new ships in droves. They might be lowlifes but their equipment is first rate. And in case you hadn't noticed, the main viewer is down for good. We might be able to hack out some repairs from one of the other ships.”

     “I had wondered about that but I was too comfortable to ask. You know, I've been thinking about splitting the fleet. Eight and eight with an overall  command ship. I think its time you had a couple of ships under your direct command. Give you something to do besides hassle people about your fiancée.”

     “Well, I finally made some headway in that,” Zant jumped on the subject like a lifesaver. “One of my contacts finally came thru,” he paused for dramatic affect. Dyvid put on his 'I'm the interested boss' expression. “Turns out she's among those people that got caught up thirteen years ago when the Marines went rogue.”

     “Son of a bitch.” This was the most interesting thing Zant had ever said about his fiancée “That means she got dragged off to the Calif System with them. I can only imagine what kind of barbaric things they've done to her and all the other hostages.”

     “I can imagine,” Zant shivered. “And I don't like it. Unfortunately there's nothing I can do about it.”   “The only thing you can do is rid this system of the scourge.” He waved a waiting comtec over.

     “Sir, com from headquarters,” he handed him the stik and stepped smartly back. Westy looked at the personalized design on the cylinder that showed the messages origination. He sat up from his slouched position abruptly with a sharp curse. Zant mumbled a what now.

     “Is this right?” The tec nodded somberly. “Thank you, I'll read it right here.” He slipped the small cylinder into the chairs data slot and entered his private code to unlock the message.

     The image of the Inquisitor General himself dissolved onto the small screen. For some reason his pleased look scared Westy more than a scowl would have. He instinctively sat straighter as if the bald imposing figure could see him. You never knew with Inquisitors, especially this one.

     “Commander Westy you are directed to these coordinates at best possible speed. Message ends.” The stiks colors swirled and settled to bright white to signify its contents had been erased.

     “Get right to the point why don't you.” He keyed the coordinates into his console. “Helm plot a course for these coordinates. Best speed.” The comtec acknowledged the order as well and notified the rest of the fleet of their new destination.

     “I don't recognize those coordinates,” Lieutenant Commander Zant checked them on his own board. “Its going to take us at least two weeks with those ships in tow.”

     “Then that's the best possible speed. Personally I'm in no hurry to be any where near Inquisitors ” he said loud enough for whoever hadn't been whispered to by now. It wasn't usually a good thing to be summoned by the emperors right hand man.

     “He looked like he was in a good mood if that's any indication of anything.” Westy chuckled.

     “That's probably because we've been ordered to the recyclers,” Zant sighed. “The emperor finally got tired of all the complaints you've generated over the years.” He looked at Westy. “On the other hand it'd be nice to finally have some ships up to date- at least more recent than these relics. Any hint what he wants us for?”

     “No doubt the debacle with Sector governor Talbot has finally reached the highest levels,” he chuckled softly. “But, I think the rest of the fleet is in the clear mister Zant. I gave the orders. You, however may be standing beside me on the carpet as my second.” He thoroughly enjoyed the panic on Zants face.

     “Be that as it may sir? Perhaps now you'll listen to me when I speak about annoying people we need to be friends with. Considering the condition of the Third and the availability of parts-”

     “We can get parts and pieces from the pirates. They seem to have a better supply chain than the empire, certainly better than we get. Hell we've confiscated ships from them. We don't need some annoying fat ass sector governors supplies. If I were you I wouldn't stand too long in his corner. We found enough pirates operating unchecked in his sector that it wouldn't surprise me if he's standing next to us.”

     “You have made quite a lot of enemies in your time  Dyvid. Maybe its finally caught up to you.” His expression said he was praying hard. It was going to be a long two weeks.

     Sleep wasn't coming, he was anxious to get the days events over and done with. He never was good at waiting for punishment. He looked over at the time, they were do at the IG's coordinates in the next few hours, may as well get a start on the day.

     He rolled out of bed, gave some thought to his best uniform then went with the everyday one. He was a soldier and he'd look like it even on his death march.

Lieutenant commander Zant had the down shift, he always had on a sharply creased uniform, somehow he never managed to get it dirty no matter what was going on.

     “Anything interesting to report?” He settled into his chair and logged into the system. “This is the day of reckoning, Zant. Are you up to it?” He knew the man wasn't by the stressed look he had on his face the last two weeks. The closer they got the greener he seemed to get.

     “The viewers fixed, who knows how long that’s going to last, all the back ends scrapped out. Nothing that needs your attention. Just a few scrapes, every ones nervous to be getting close to the emperor. You never know what he knows about you.”

     “You can bet your ass if he doesn't know it there's an inquisitor nearby happy to give him any particulars. Whats in your closet, Zant? Anything else I need to worry about?”

     “I've performed my duties admirably. I have nothing to fear.”

     “Your face says other wise. Commander Zant, I relieve you,” he said formally. The ships ancient AI transferred command systems to Dyvid and brought up the illumination and systems for the day shift.

     Zant put his boards in standby and stepped from the dais, “We're a few hours a head of schedule. We'll be arriving within an hour-”

     “Sir, sensors are picking up a ship on approach,” the sensor-tec broke in. Westy swiveled his chair to face the man. “The configuration isn't in our database and their coming in hot.”

     “Red alert, all hands to battle stations!” Westy swiveled his chair back and locked it in place. All over the bridge others secured their own chairs for combat. “Weapons?”

     “At your command, sir.”

     “Well, lets see if they're willing to talk. Open a ch-”

     “This is Captain T'Shan of the Razorfist. This is a restricted area. State your business or be destroyed.” Westy and Zant exchanged glances.

     “Sir, I'm detecting more ships-” The sensor-tec snapped.

     “How many?” Zant asked.

     “Fifty eight.”

     “Seems the odds are in Captain T'Shans favor,” Dyvid sighed. “This is Commander Dyvid of the Third Revenue Enforcement Service ship Dragons Breath.”

     “Please proceed. Any deviations will be destroyed.”

     “Thank you Captain T'Shan. May I inquire about your ship?”

     “Yes.” The channel closed.

     “She needs some work on her conversation skills,” Dyvid muttered. “Helm pass the word and tuck us in behind her.” On the screen Razorfist wheeled around gracefully and began picking up speed.

     “What class do you reckon that is commander?”

     “We've been out so long I wouldn't begin to hazard a guess, sir.” Zant typed rapid-fire at his console trying to come up with something but gave up after a few minutes with a shrug.

     “Lets just hope they stay on our side,” Dyvid worked his own console. “That one ship outguns three-quarters of our fleet. She'd barely break a sweat putting us out of our misery.”

     Razorfist set a leisurely pace, sensors didn't show any other RES ships but he knew that could change at any moment so he set his fleet to making ready for the inevitable inspections. He dreaded inspections the desk jockeys used to justify their continued existence. They were so damn nit-picky, even with the stack of operational fitness waivers, maybe especially.

     “Maybe we're finally getting new ships,” Zant sighed. “I bet this is one of the emperors secret yards. He has them all over the system you know.”

     “I'd be surprised if we're allowed to keep our captures. Some higher echelon barnacles will end up confiscating them for official use.” Dyvid made an easy-come-easy-go gesture.

     “I can just hear the tall tales now about how they wrested the ships from the biggest meanest two hundred pirates and Marines there ever was.”

     “Do I detect some animosity mister Zant? That's very unlike you.” Dyvid chuckled.

     “I'm like every other fighting man, sir. I hate uptight self-important desk riders who take credit for others hard work.” He was so intent on his rant that he didn't notice the looks of disbelief on most faces.

     “Be that as it may we still have to be on our best behavior.”

     “What? I'm going where?” Selby stared slack jawed at her uncle not sure she just heard what she thought she just heard.

     “I'm sending you with the RazorFist to the Calif system. I need a representative.”

     “All those ships and people and you don't have any one to represent you?” She squalled. She hopped out of her seat and began pacing swiftly. “I have a life here, uncle, in case you hadn't noticed? Me and Sparm are engaged!” Sparm was her third love interest, she was looking serious about this one though.

     “I've noticed and I have a bit of bad news for you in that regard.” he cleared his throat and spoke quick. “Lieutenant Sparm-” He didn't have the heart to tell her he'd been implicated in the sabotage of the fleet and subsequently given to the genetecs. He really should have at least given her the evidence, he mightn't let the young man off with exile in a solo-ship headed out-system. But he didn't and had to cover his actions with another elaborate lie. He really shouldn't give a care but he was very fond of his only niece.

     “I had to promote him into a vacant slot. You know how fond I was of him, Selby. He had the skills I needed so I used him. Don't look at me like that. The needs of the empire always come before the needs of the individual. You know that.”

     “I know,” she sighed. “But, I really liked him.”

     “I know you did, sweetie,” and therein lie the problem. “He promised to keep in touch. After he works out the issues the previous commander couldn't.” Her eyes lit up.

     “You made him a commander?” She leaped into his arms. “Thank you uncle Sol!”

     “I do what I can favorite niece.”

     “I'm your only niece unless there's something your not telling me?” She stood back with fists on hips.    “Your the only one, still. But, down to business. I want you to keep an eye on Essie.”

     “I know there was a catch.” She smiled “Why didn't you just say that in the first place? Of course I'll keep an eye on him. I do that anyway. Have you told him?”

     “He's not talking to me. As usual.”

     “No wonder with all the stuff you have him doing to 'prepare him for his destiny',” she intoned with a deep voice that made him smile.

     “He has to be ready, Selby.”

     “I know, uncle. I'll let him know. You know him he probably already knows. If he's learned anything from you its how to 'cultivate sources'.” She laughed at his stern expression. “How long do we have until you ship us off?”

     “Razorfists new commander is enroute-say five hours?” She gave him a pout and gently shoved him out the door complaining about all the things she had to pack in the amount of time he gave her.

     “That went well,” Sol whispered to his bodyguard who'd personally escorted the understandably reluctant  lieutenant to the stations genetics. “Lets pray she never finds out.”

     “I'm not much for prayer, sir.” The man said with all seriousness. “My parents are Scientholics,” he said as if that was all the explanation required. He wasn't the brightest but he was trustworthy with some of the touchier things he needed done around the empire.

     “Sir, commander Westy has arrived.” His gaze vacant as he accessed the information on his VIOD.

     “Excellent. I'll meet them in the landing bay.” The man relayed the message and fell in half a step behind him.

     Commander Westy wasn't what Sol was expecting even after reading the mans file. He was perfectly ordinary, once he left you'd be hard pressed to remember he was even there. That was the makings of the perfect spy. Maybe after he returned from Calif he'd have a new job for him. He ignored lieutenant commander Zant and stopped in front of Westy.

     “Commander Westy,” Sol nodded perfunctorily at the commanders deep bow. “I know you were expecting Inquisitor general Kalmar, sorry to disappoint you,” he tried a disarming smile. Westy nodded nervously but didn't return the smile.

     “The request was sent on my behalf. Your fleet has been out of range for quite a while, if you'll forgive me for getting right down to business?”

     “Of course, your highness,” Westy tried to stay the proscribed full step behind him but Sol pulled him even with him and put his arm around his shoulder like old friends reunited. The guards smoothly prevented Zant from joining his commander.

     “I have a mission for you commander Westy. A very sensitive and of utmost importance to the empire. You and the Third have exhibited some exceptional strategic prowess in dealing with the pirates and the Marines, that's the kind of thing I need for this. Can I count on you?”

     “I'm honored, your highness. And speechless. What's the nature of the mission, my lord?”

     “Ah,” he clapped him roughly on the back, “I like a commander who doesn't jump in unprepared! Most of my other commanders would've agreed without knowing any of the details. That just proves I've picked the right man for the job.”

     “Thank you sir, whatever it is you require I'll try not to disappoint you.”

     “See that you don't.” He softened the threat with a grin. “But you might not thank me after you hear what it is.”

     Commander Westy and lieutenant commander Zant listened intently as Emperor Sol outlined what he wanted done. Westy was all smiles while Zant seemed to have reservations about most of it.

     “That's quite a bit of responsibility for the Third, sir. There has to be any number of fleets better equipped to handle that sort of mission.” Westy leaned back in his chair running a hand thru his hair.

     “Your royal and august highness,” Zant said full of authority into the silence, “even if we were to undertake such a mission none of the Third is equipped with String Drives. Even with them a trip that long is ten years subjective time, two years ship-”

     “I am aware of the math, lieutenant commander Zant,” Sol said dangerously. He locked eyes with the man until Zant looked away. “I have a solution to that problem, captain Westy. Westy's head snapped up.

     “It just so happens that the flagship Razorfist is in need of a captain. I can't think of any one more qualified to command her than you. Congratulations.”

     “I'm speechless, your highness.” He lapsed into silence.

     “Who's to take command of the Third?” Zant straightened noticeably.

     “I'll leave that decision in the hands of Captain Westy. Effective immediately the Third Fleet of the Revenue Enforcement Service is attached to the First Army Expeditionary Force. I'm sure Captain Westy will do whats best for the Third.” As he stood the stations AI was sending out the orders. He put out his hand to Westy.

     “Well, Captain Westy, your ship awaits. I've gathered the finest people of all disciplines to staff the fleet, I expect you to make sure their ready when they reach Calif.”

     “I'll give the fleet commander whatever assistance he requires.”

     “I'm sure that you will,” Sol chuckled softly.

     “I'm not sure I liked the smile on his face as we left,” Zant whispered as they left the emperor and his people behind on their way back to the shuttle bay. “I especially don't like he left the Third hanging in limbo like that.”

     “He attached us to the fleet, that's not exactly in limbo Ulysis.”

     “He attached us to the fleet, your the captain of Razorfist and not even in our chain of command anymore.”

     “Actually,” Dyvid grinned, “he did say he was leaving the disposition of the Third in my hands. If that’s not putting me in the chain of command I don't know what would.”

     “So, who's going to be the new commander? Some one who's been with the fleet for some time I would hope.”

     “Despite the emperors edict having the word of law, he's not going to be with us on the mission. I don't want to get started on the wrong foot with fleet commander by appointing a replacement without at least his consent.” He touched Zant on the arm lightly, “don't worry though, your the first one on the list. You've been waiting long enough.”

     They paused next to the obsolete shuttle from Dragons Breath to shake hands and wish each other good luck.

     “Captain Westy,” a black woman with captains rank approached them. He was momentarily taken aback by her lack of hair when baldness had been eradicated centuries ago. “Congratulations on your appointment, I'm-”

     “Captain T'Shan. I recognize the voice.” He looked at her rank pinned to her ample bosom then back up to her face hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt. “Um-”

     “I've been directed to escort you to your new command, our shuttle is over there,” she hooked a thumb over he shoulder at a dangerous looking flat black shuttle with guards at both open hatches while station personnel loaded last minute supplies.

     “God speed, captain Westy,” Zant shook his hand then stepped into his shuttle where the pilot was beginning pref-light checks.

     “Captain,” T'Shan turned smartly and headed for the shuttle. Westy hurried to keep pace with her. “Inquisitor General Kalmar speaks highly of you, he's not one to give his blessing lightly.”

     “From what I've heard he's not the kind to give any blessing.”

     “He has his moments but he's human just like the rest of us.” She chuckled, “Mostly anyway.” She waited for him to proceed her into the shuttle then spent a few moments talking to the guard.

     He passed through the airlock, none of his shuttles had airlocks they were so old, every body had to suit up if even one person was going into vacuum.   The interior was spacious compared to what he was use to, the miracle of modern nanotechnology shrank a lot of components that other wise would have encroached. The results were mostly smooth bulkheads of metal and plastic. The auto-doc area was hard and unforgiving, and a lot smaller than he was use to but then only one of his shuttles even had one (and he confiscated that one from pirates) but at least it looked up to date and had a door to seal it off from the rest of the shuttle.

     “We're ready to go,” T'Shan came in with the guard plus several more he hadn't noticed. “Any last minute issues? Your pretty much ass out if you have any special supplies you want.”

     “No thank you, I'm good,” he made to sit in one of the chairs but she waved him to the cockpit. She sat in the co-pilots seat and swiveled to face him. He took the pilots seat and looked over the board.

     Most shuttles were laid out the same way in the cockpit even if some of the controls were smaller or touch instead of toggles and switches and levers. He was surprised that a newer model shuttle still had positive feel controls. He preferred to know when he pressed a button without having to look at it.

     “I haven't been checked out in the newer models.”

     “Then I suggest you not run into anything,” she turned to her own board and started the pref-light.

CHAPTER TWO

     “Come on Essie, the ships going to leave without us!” She tugged his arm to pull him to his feet. He was a handsome young man but couldn't keep a girlfriend for more than a couple of weeks before his bad attitude and lack of motivation ran them off. Then there was always the ever present fear of the emperor looming over any relationship either of them had. He had the bad habit of culling the herd and not being subtle about it.

     Emperor Sol the sixteenth was eighteen years old just a month ago, five feet eleven, the shortest would-be ruler by a good five inches, he had a good build only because his father insisted on a rigorous exercise routine of martial arts and physical fitness training to round out the ten hours a day of education in everything he might need in order to rule the empire. He was a reluctant student at best but absorbed every detail of every lesson while pretending not to. Needless to say he got on every body's nerves in the worst way.

     He casually pushed his hair out of his face and linked his fingers behind his head to grin up at her.

     “I seriously doubt any ones leaving without us, we're what they call supercargo.” He drolled. She rolled her eyes and kicked his leg until he grumbled.     “I'm going, I'm going, hell, you act like your in a hurry or something.”

     “We are, uncle Sol said we had five hours to pack and be on the ship. That was nine hours ago. Your lucky he hasn't sent some of his goons to help us along.”

     “You mean to help me along?”

     “Yeah, you, now get a move on already. If I hear another lecture about how I'm suppose to make sure your ready to take the throne I'm going to assassinate him myself. Besides, you know you want to go, get away from uncle for a while?”

     “Last time I checked the Calif system was more than a while away. Its gonna take us two years to get there. Hopefully by the time we get back things will have changed around here.”

     “Oh stop it, by the time you get back your probably going to be the next emperor.”

     “Yeah, right. The only reason he's sending me away is so he can hatch a replacement that's easier to get along with and train. Some one who doesn't have a mind of his own.”

     “Your going to be a real pain in the ass, aren't you Essie?” He grinned in answer, she sighed and stalked down the hall in front of his sarcastic laugh.

     “Wait up, sis,” he linked arms and matched her stride. “I can't get excited about being kicked out of the nest like you are.”

     “What are you talking about? This is the opportunity of a life time, Essie. How many people get to go to another solar system?”

     “You mean besides the hundred or so thousand Marines? Not to mention the thousands of people that abandoned the empire a couple centuries ago?”

     “Don't be a smart ass, smart ass. This is from uncle Sol,” she handed him a stik with the emperors personal seal on it. “He said the security seal won't let you open it for two weeks,” she shrugged at his questioning look. He took it and slipped it into one of the hundreds of tiny pockets he'd sewn into his favorite ship-suit. He'd have it opened and read as soon as he got a minute alone.

     “Probably telling me never to come back,” he mumbled mostly to himself. She stopped and gave him a brief hug that took him by surprise but he let out a deep sigh. “Thanks sis, your the best as usual. Sorry you have to babysit me for the rest of your your life.”

     “I'm just keeping you out of trouble until you become the emperor. So far so good, no major catastrophe's. That I know of.” She wrinkled her nose at him. He returned her expression perfectly. “Not going to confess to anything are you?”

     “Hell no!” He laughed. “First rule of emperorshipism is never confess to doing anything wrong, especially if you have.”

     “Emperorshipism? Is that even a word?” She shoved him playfully. “Knowing you you probably already put it in the official language database.” She sighed at his grin. “When are you going to put those slicing skills to good use, Essie?”

     “Who says I haven't?” He said softly. She narrowed her eyes at him but no more information was forthcoming. He looped his arm in hers and propelled them along.

     The shuttle bay was busy with people and machinery but neither one saw any sign of a royal send off. Selby was both relieved and angry that Sol would let them go without one final word or even a hug. She risked a glance at Essie but his face was carefully blank.

     As they neared the shuttle inquisitor general Kalmar came down the short ramp of an adjacent shuttle.

     “Out of all the people uncle Sol could've sent did he have to send you?” Selby frowned up at the inquisitor general. “Don't you have something else to do? This isn't the shuttle we were assigned to.”

     “I'm sure you were expecting a royal send off but his highness has other matters to attend. Besides, I convinced him you're both self sufficient enough not to need any last minute pampering. I took it on myself to upgrade you to a shuttle befitting someone of both your exalted ranks. You'll find everything you need aboard along with your belongings,” Selby recognized some of her luggage being hauled from the other shuttle as he spoke.

     “I'm sure it didn't take much to convince him to 'attend to other matters' as far as I was concerned,” Essie snapped.

     Ignoring the comment, Kalmar continued. “At the moment I'm making sure both of you make it off the station and onto the ship safe and sound. Your highness,” he made a sweeping bow that was completely unlike him.

     “Don't be a smart ass, Kalmar,” Selby grumbled. She tugged Essie up the ramp into the shuttle. She made a quick tour then stomped back to the ramp where Kalmar waited expectantly.

     “Where the hell is the crew? You expect us to run this thing by ourselves?” She stomped down the ramp to him. He grinned down at her. She put fists on hips trying not to smile. While every one in the solar system feared this one man above the emperor she actually liked him for some reason. “Jack ass.”

     “Unless my information is incorrect, and it rarely is, you and his highness are perfectly qualified to pilot and you hardly need the usual crew for such a short journey.” She glared harder.

     “If I find you a pilot your destination is going to be Heavens Bain.” He paused a moment to let her imagine the next two years working and studying pretty much non-stop. She let out a sigh and deflated.

     “This shuttle is equipped with all the luxuries your use to plus a few extras I hope that you never have need of. Now is the time to stop being the spoiled, protected princess. Use the skills the empire has been giving you for free the last nineteen years. Both of you.” His gaze shifted to one side of her as Essie moved to the top of the ramp. She stomped back up the ramp, gave one final look over her shoulder at Kalmar.

     “Your a jerk,” she slapped her palm on the ramp controls. Just before the hatch sealed she stuck out her tongue. Kalmar chuckled. “What?” She pushed past Essie.

     “I swear you two are like husband and wife or something. He's more feared than Sol himself but your always antagonizing him. Least he's not going with us.” He stopped dead in his tracks. “He's not going with us is he?”

     “With any luck we won't be seeing much of him the next two years. You know how the inquisitors like their privacy.” She sat in the pilots seat and mumbling it was just like that bald headed ass to send her off in a ship with cold engines. She shot a rude glance at Essie chuckling softly but at least he went thru the pre-flight flawlessly. She suppressed an angry retort several times when he rechecked her work, apparently he had some training in this configuration.

     “That's basic stuff, Selby.” He said sternly while correcting the last mistake. Get your mind off your future husband so we can get the hell off this station.”

     “Now who's anxious to go? You know uncle Sol would be here if he didn't-”

     “I know,I know, if he didn't have to run the empire. Business as usual,” he called station control to request take off clearance. Of course they went to the top of the list. “Sometimes its good being the heir apparent.” He grinned as he gently lifted the shuttle without a wobble and exited the shuttle bay at twice the recommended speed.

     “Essie!” She squeaked as he took them on a looping spin between three shuttles sending them scattering. She sighed and took her hands off the controls even though she was in the pilots seat and let him do his thing. By now every one knew he was leaving with the fleet so as long as he didn't crash into anything no one was going to complain. Not to the emperor anyway.

     She turned down the shouting from the three shuttles so as not to disturb Essie’s concentration as he weaved in and around everything he could find.

     “Okay,” he finally set the shuttle on a direct course for the Razorfist at a more sedate speed. “I've been wanting to do that every since Kalmar made me start taking lessons.”

     “I'm sure he's patting himself on the back for that,” she said more to herself. “Your going to be on your best behavior aren't you?” He smiled but didn't answer. “As much as you can please? Kalmars right about one thing as much as I hate to admit he's right about anything. Its time for us to learn to live out from under uncle Sols thumb. You never know, we might actually have a life of our own.”

     “I'm sure he's already ordered every one to make sure we continue our education. Me anyway. So for me it'll be the same life.”

     “Oh, I think you'll find some way to make life away from the empire bearable. I have total confidence in your ability to find something to entertain you. And aggravate every one else.”

     “I do believe you have a point big sis.” His eyes gleamed.

     “Welcome aboard, your Highness,” captain Westy nodded slightly, “this is captain T'Shan my executive officer. My apologies for the small welcoming party, we weren't told you were coming until you were landing.”

     “Uncle Sol keeping you on your toes,” Selby sighed. “I'm sorry we're late, some last minute things,” she shrugged and looked at Essie for input but he and captain T'Shan had locked eyes. Selby looked away before Westy noticed.

     “Of course, we're slightly behind schedule awaiting the new fleet commander,” Westy looked at T'Shan who gave a slight shrug of her own.

     “Which reminds me,” Selby pulled out a stik and presented it to Westy. “Uncle Sol said you should read this immediately.” He took the stik and went to the nearest wall console. Emperor Sol appeared on the small screen.

     “Captain Westy you are to assume command of the Razorfist fleet. By now you have met my son and niece. I expect you to take excellent care of them. I think you'll find empress Selby to be of great use to you while you prepare the citizens for inclusion in the empire. Good luck, Fleet Admiral Westy.” The image faded.

     “Well, that solves that problem,” In the back of her mind Selby thought he looked a little pale for someone who just got promoted to fleet admiral his first day on the job as ship captain. In the front of her mind she was mad that her uncle hadn't given Essie any encouragement.

     “I'll make sure the fleets brought up to speed, sir,” T'Shan stepped away briskly, turned back after a few steps to look back. She sighed visibly and continued on her way. Selby turned to Essie while Westy was still in shock and found him watching the bald womans retreating form with a grin on his face. She leaned close.

     “Essie. Leave her alone.” T'Shan went thru a distant hatch and out of view. Essie sighed and brought his gaze back to Selby who rolled her eyes. He had it bad. This should prove to be an interesting trip.

     “Well, if you'll follow me I'll show you to your quarters,” they fell in behind him while workers went to work on the shuttle.

     The VIP decks were full of activity as they stepped off the lift. There was a swift ripple effect as first one person saw them and stiffened. In a matter of seconds the the only sound heard was the soft whirring of air circulators.

     “Emperor Sol the sixteenth and Empress Selby will be making the journey with us,” admiral Westy said into the silence. He looked around noting anger on more than a few faces. He'd have to make sure to put security on the job as soon as possible, wouldn't do to have the royal heirs assassinated on his watch.

     “Seeing as this is going to be a long trip we're not going to stand on too much ceremony. The emperor hand picked each of you for this mission so its only fitting that you be prepared to impart some of your knowledge to the future rulers of the Calif System. Carry on.” He led Essie and Selby thru the parting crowd to the far end of the corridor.

     “This is going to be a long trip,” Essie sighed as Westy touched the pad on the door on the left and the door directly across from it. Both swished open to reveal spacious quarters.

     “Not as spacious as your use to but at least you don't have to share,” Westy smiled. “Of course there'll be security posted-sorry can't take any chances. I'm sure there are sympathizers even here despite the severe screening process. Well, it seems I have matters to attend. Your belongings should be arriving shortly.” He stepped smartly back thru the crowd greeting and shaking hands as word of his promotion trickled through.

“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

At Black Science Fiction Society

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project vampire

By: William Landis

he was living a vampires dream in the bad part of town

there was a flow of eagerness in his black gown

in the confines of a casket he was no longer bound

crackheads hookers and pimps he bit everything around

the taste was bitter of the bum who lost his money in spades

though all was well and dandy until he bit the prostitute with aids

THOUGHT IS MORE DANGEROUS THAN YOU THINK...

Roman Doyle is a black, twenty-five-year-old schoolteacher, happily married and anticipating becoming a father. What Roman does not know is that he is really Armon Sakara, the only son of Sakara Rey, the emperor of a distant galaxy known as The Cosmic Sea. That is, until he encounters Chi-Ro Jin, a veteran of the Psychic Wars.

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Here's an excerpt from a novel I'm working on titled Task Force Arrow.  It's about a group of warships that find themselves stranded in another part of the galaxy and are forced to fight their way home!

“Well, as you all may have noticed, we’re in a bit of a bind,” Greggory began with a little understated humor to lighten the mood.  “The Far Walker’s tunnel drive has failed.  It brought us one hundred ninety million light years across the galaxy only to malfunction, preventing us from completing our mission.  Because of the time sensitive nature of our mission, any possibility that we could have gotten the tunnel drive up and running so that we conduct this operation has effectively evaporated.  Compounding this problem is our inability to raise Upper Command.” Greggory settled a gaze upon the Executive Officer seated to his right.  “EO Lian, what is our communication status?”

The EO shook her head.  “Negligible, Commander.  A month before we ventured on this mission, five relay communication beacons were tunneled to these coordinates.”

Lian picked up a remote and thumbed a center button, bringing a holochart to life above the table.  From the center of the chart toward the upper right corner was a string of icons representing the relay beacons.  Lian toggled a side control, expanding the size of the chart, revealing the beacons’ location in relation to TFA’s mission objective.

“Now, according to our readings, the tunnel drive transit did not even place us close to where we’re supposed to be.”  Lian could barely keep the exasperation out of her voice.  “LA Hilburn, exactly how ‘off’ are we?”

“Thirty million light years from our designated insertion point, EO,” the astrogator replied crisply.

Lian pursed her lips and looked up at the commander.  “We should have still been able to contact the beacon.  Even from this distance, there is no way that we could be out of comm range.  Yet, all we’re getting is static.”

“On top of being stranded in an uncharted, unexplored part of the galaxy, we have no way of sending a message regarding our predicament back to our homespace,” said Greggory.

“We’re screwed.”  That colorfully blunt assessment came from Surface Element Commander Dorious Clanton.

Most captains and commanders would have censured comments like that.  Greggory didn’t mind, however.  He encouraged brutal honesty in his meetings.  No sugarcoating, no holding back.

“Now, we need to get unscrewed,” Greggory stated with a wink in his voice.  “Right now, we’re stationary, but we’re not stuck.  Pratsoot, give us a propulsion rundown.”

Lead Engineer Kyra Pratsoot, leaned forward, her thin doe eyed face tense with nervous excitement.  She had just been promoted to her current position prior to being assigned to TFA.  It was more daunting for her being in the midst of these veteran commanders who were now her peers than unraveling the mind numbing complexities of a starship engine.  “The Far Walker’s sublight impulse is operating within the normal parameters.  I could upgrade the impulse on all of our ships to a light speed variance which will facilitate much faster travel toward homespace. The problem is, that would only be a cosmetic remedy.  Each FTL jump would result in impulse burnout due to the fact that sublight engines are not designed for FTL velocities.  Frankly sir, the warp engine should never have been removed when the tunnel drive was installed.  A standard warp engine could have served as a backup mode of rapid propulsion.”

“But instead, we’re relegated to squeezing light speed out of a sublight engine,” Greggory summarized sourly.

“And we must do it in phases, sir,” Pratsoot stressed.  “The jumps must be short and after each one, the engine has to given a period of time in to recover from the exertion placed upon it.”

“Well, kudos to the genuiuses who removed the warp engine,” Captain Oshkinz of the missile frigate, Journey, put in with heavy, growling sarcasm.  “Anyway Lead Engineer, with your adjustments to the sublight impulse, how much faster to homespace are you talking?” 

Pratsoot cleared her throat to mask her unease at being the center of attention.  “Well, um, judging from the charts I’ve studied and the extrapolations I’ve made based upon our current position, I’d say it would take us approximately seven months to get back to homespace if we perform the modifications I’m suggesting.”

“Seven months of unhindered travel,”  Operational Intelligence Chief Grimes interjected.  Grimes reached for his own remote and detached it from a tabletop niche next to his right hand.  He thumbed a control and the image on the holochart reconfigured into a newer, denser arrangement of stars.  “I did some studying as well.  Our route home lies through this section of space.  Even without LA Pratsoot’s impulse upgrades we could potentially cut that trip down if we take this path.”

“If the travel were unhindered as you mentioned,” said Greggory.

“If,”  Grimes conceded.  “I ran some spectroanaylsis on this region.  The readings are off the charts.  The region is overabundant with oxygen-rich planets, all situated comfortably within the habitable zones of their host stars.  In addition, the region is smothered with emissions traffic indicative of the existence of multiple tech bases.  Highly advanced tech bases.”

“How do you know they’re highly advanced and not just the crude emissions of  pre-space flight industrial worlds?” Asked Colonel Goshin.

Grimes raised a bushy brow.  “Because pre-space flight industrial worlds don’t dabble in supra-light propulsion.  And there’s enough spatial distortions in the region to indicate more than significant numbers of vessels with that capability.”

“If the vessels in that region have supra-light capability then by logical extension, their level of military capability should be comparable,” Greggory commented with thoughtful consideration.

“More or less,” said Grimes.  “But until I dispatch a few recon probes into the area, we won’t know for certain what we’re up against.”

“Do it,” the commander ordered.

Grimes nodded and rose from the table. 

As the operational chief exited the conference room, Greggory turned to the lead astrogator.  “Is there no other course we can take, one that won’t have us cutting through a heavily populated, potentially hostile area?”

Hilburn shrugged.  “Sir I went over Grimes’ findings.  That region is our obstacle to homespace, yet through it runs the shortest path home.  If we go around it we will be years in transit.”

“Years,” Greggory repeated, curling the fingers of his right hand into a fist.  With the knuckles of his fist he tapped twice on the table.  “We don’t have years.  If that’s the only viable path to homespace then that is the path we’ll have to take.  Any thoughts?  Suggestions?”

A round of silence met the commander’s interrogative gaze.  Greggory didn’t press for a response because he knew that if anyone had something of value to offer that person would have not have hesitated to offer it. 

As it stood, the officers were as eager to seize upon the one option available to the task force as their commander.

Greggory shifted to Hilburn.  “Alright then.  Set a course.”

“Right away, sir.”

Greggory dismissed the gathering.  The officers filed out of the conference room, their faces grim with purpose.

Only the EO remained behind.

“Are you going to the bridge?”  Lian asked.

Greggory folded his arms, his brow crinkled in thought.  “No, not yet.  I think I’ll pay a visit to the Anaylsis Section.”

Lian produced a sly smile.  “Ah, let me guess.  You think he might know something about this part of space.”

The commander gave a suggestion of a shrug.  “Doesn’t hurt to inquire.”

Thanks to all who posted comments for the first chapter. I appreciate it so much. Here is chapter two of the story. Please keep critiqueing even if you hate it!

Two

Councilor’s Chamber, The Great Hall

Capital City, Novia Prime

United Republic of Planets

        First Viceroy Parnell Star ran his hand through his graying black hair and took a deep breath as images of what was left of the Harcadia Colony flickered and died on the large vidscreen in the center of the Great Hall. A heavy silence fell upon the room and Parnell looked at the thousands of humans and Albeings that made up the Republic Council. He saw in them a mixture of fear and anger that mirrored his own. He knew that they would all be looking to him now, expecting him to provide answers that he did not have. He leaned back in his chair and for a brief moment he was reminded of the way the Great Hall looked when he was a boy. The triangular shaped hall, with its large seats that seemed to climb to the sky, somehow seemed vaster and more intimidating in those days. Perhaps it was. There were more species and more planets then that were willing to do whatever it took to keep the Republic together and at peace. That was before the Great War. Now it seemed that every system, even those in the Interior, were only out for themselves. It didn’t anger Parnell; it only made him sad. The Republic’s planets no longer trusted their government to look out for their best interest. The Great War had left scars and every planet held onto a deep fear that the Maraudan Empire was this great big, shadow monster that could strike again at any time. The raid on the Harcadian Colony meant the monster had returned. His thoughts were interrupted by yet another fight that had broken out between the Spigot and Camarala Counselors. The Spigot’s white skin was turning crimson; while the Camarala’s yellowish skin was turning white. No doubt they were regurgitating every minor incident that occurred during their races thousand yarnz blood feud. Parnell would never understand how two species that started off as the same race could have such a deep hatred for each other, current physical differences aside. The two still had many genes in common, or so Parnell was told. The Spigots stayed pale, short and relatively slender, while the Camarala, to adapt to the giant forests they now called home, were dark, tall and stocky. The concept was a little hard for Parnell to grasp. Humans, unless they were mixed with some type of Albeing, were pretty much the same: brown skin, brown eyes, wavy or course hair. There just weren’t that many radical differences in his species. He thought about the dark gray eyes that were a Star family trait and how their enemies had unsuccessfully used their unique eye color for yarnz as “proof” that the Republic’s first family had Albeing blood.

          Would the galaxy ever be free of these ridiculous prejudices?

          The Spigot Councilor, Fernan, was now twitching hysterically. “These horrors are a punishment from Yah,” said Fernan, his high-pitched voice taking on its customary prissy tone, “a warning of what happens when you turn your back on the gods. For yarnz we have moved away from the religion that once united our ancestors. And now look what has happened. Rava has risen up from the ashes to start his reign of terror once again.”

        Warma, the Camarala let out a very loud, disgusted sigh. “Not this cripe again, tell me Spigot do you think that throwing ourselves at the mercy of your god will give us the power to beat back the Maraudans, yet again?

       Fernan leaned in closer. “Yah commands all power in the universe.”

       “Really?” smirked Warma. “Well, all the power in the universe didn’t help when the Maraudans took over your planet Spigot. In fact, if I recall correctly it wasn’t a divine hand, but the cold hand of technological, the weapons of science that saved your race from extinction.”

        “That is exactly the kind of blasphemy that I expect from a Camarala,” said Fernan, practically foaming at the mouth and shaking even harder. “You are an abomination to our shared Sacred Ancestors.”

     “And you…,” countered Warma, pointing his stocky finger at Fernan, “have spent too much time in Maraudan Space. Perhaps you and your ilk should return there where you belong. After all, they fight their wars in the name of your gods. Oh,” he continued, his wide mouth twisting into a cruel smile, “you can’t can you?”

        Warma’s menacing smile sent a chill up Parnell’s spine.

      “Everybody knows that the Queen is a notorious humanphile,” Warma continued. “She sees all Albeings as beneath her.”

         Fernan shot Warma a pointed look. “In some cases they are.”

      “Enough,” said Parnell sternly. He needed to bring this tedious fight to its end. This petty bickering was tearing the Republic apart. It was a bigger enemy to them than the Maraudans could ever be. Before he could speak again, he felt a calming hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Second Viceroy Shalimar Manoor staring back at him. His thin, yellow antennas were drooped down to the side of his yellow face and his green eyes were cloudier than usual. Shalimar spoke in his usual, regal tone and the two Counselors stopped fighting at once.

       “We are here to discuss where we go from here, not to dredge up old clan rivalries,” Shalimar said. “Now if you two Councilors can enlighten us on why the Maraudans would attack their own people at the Harcadia colony the Council would love to hear it.”

          The two Albeings shook their heads humbly, Warma mumbling what Parnell knew to be a Camarala curse.

       “Perhaps they attacked them because they were their people, retribution for leaving the Empire.”

       Parnell looked for the source of the outburst and was not at all surprised to see the confident face of young Major Van Dylan staring back at him, his brown eyes coolly fixated on him. “Or maybe she did it as a test,” the boy continued as a bead of sweat fell from his cropped, black hair, “a chance for her to see the type of hold she still has on the populace and when things didn’t go as planned she destroyed it.”

        Young Dylan’s statement created a quiet buzz in the hall that only quieted when Chief Medical Officer Veera Dylan moved to the center of the room. She and Parnell’s eyes locked briefly as she gave her report on the Harcadia massacre.

      “Do you think there could be any survivors?” Parnell asked. He had directed his question to Veera, but it was her son that responded.

     “Humans maybe,” said Van matter of factly, “but I doubt any of the Bargel made it out alive.”

       “Except as potential slaves,” Veera interjected grimly. Her face remained impassive as she made the remark, but he didn’t need to see her disheveled appearance to know the suffering at Harcadia deeply troubled her.  As a medic in the last war, and now the head of Republic Medical, Parnell knew she understood the fate of those caught in the crossfire of war. He also knew she never got use to it.

     “The truth is Harcadia has kept a very low profile since the war ended,” she continued. “We don’t have any statistics about the human colony let alone the Bargel tribe that lived there.”

      He nodded at her words and understood the unspoken truth behinds it. Harcadia wasn’t the only colony near The Edge that was basically kept to itself. The Empire had the ability to strike out at a number of their outer colonies and they wouldn’t even know the extinct of the damage. The implications were not lost on the Councilors as they began voicing their fears and anger all out at once. The Yalman Councilor finally spoke. The rapid clicks of the brown, hairless Albeing was hard to understand, even for the translators, but there was no mistaken her meaning and the truth behind her words. Once word got out about the colony attack it would throw the Republic into a panic they could not contain. It was not something Parnell wanted to see happen. They were having a hard time holding themselves together as it was.

    “But we cannot simply ignore this,” said Warma, daring to speak again.

     “The Queen is young,” offered Fernan. “She might be testing us. The Maraudan Empire has been shrinking for yarnz, they are mired in rebellions, and it may just be some type of mind game she is playing with her people to prove they are still capable of such acts.”

    “Then we need to send one back,” said Van suddenly, the tone of his voice demanding attention. “We all know what this latest attack by the Maraudans mean. Their new queen has been tightening her grip on her empire for yarnz and now she has set her sights on trying to steal ours. We must strike fast and hard. We must let them know that this time when they come after us things will be different.”

         A loud burst of applauds and whoops echoed throughout the hall. Van looked very pleased with himself. Parnell turned his attentions back to Veera, her mouth fixed in an amused smile. Parnell was reminded once again how much like his father Van was. That hot temperament was a Dylan family trait and it seemed to him that at times Veera was too amused to see that reckless spark in her son and daughter override their judgment. It was a feeling he didn’t share. When the cheers died down Parnell took the floor again. “Would you like to continue the session Major Dylan? Or would this be a good time for me to interject my thoughts?”

      “Sorry Viceroy,” said the young man sinking a little lower in his chair.

       Parnell was pleased to see that he felt the sting of his words. “Despite what our young major may believe, we can not afford to make any rash moves,” continued Parnell. “This attack is obviously something we can not ignore, but we have to come up with the right response to this or we could make matters worse.”

       A soft voiced responded. “I think we should wait and do nothing.”

        The entire room went silent and turned its attention to the Danor Councilor. She seemed unphased by the attention, sitting calmly in her seat, her long, graying hair in a bun, her brown eyes calm and unclouded.

Parnell was the first to speak. “With all due respect Roma that is the one thing we can not afford to do.”

     “You’re wrong First Viceroy,” Roma responded as calm as ever.  “It is the only thing we can afford to do. What is the alternative? War. I doubt that any human or any of the Albeings here want that.”

         A low, angry rumbling was now making its way across the hall.

       Roma would not be silent. “There is not a Councilor here who did not either experience the war first hand or suffer as a result of it. Most of us now have children of our own, children who now face the same horrors that we once did. Who will condemn them to that, you?” Roma said, pointing to Van. “What about you Parnell?”

        Parnell shook his head violently in an attempt to deny her reasoning. “Are you talking about appeasement?” The word choked in his throat.

      Roma’s expression hardened. “Yes, if it comes to that.”

      The muffled sounds were quickly transforming into a low roar. Parnell bit his tongue to literally stop the angry words from coming out of his mouth. He understood that humans who had isolated themselves on Roma’s world were pacifist. Tartrus, he even admired her ability to stick to her beliefs after the horror she witnessed in the war. But there were times when her strong beliefs just seemed to hinder him from doing what he had to do.

      “Spoken like a true Danor,” said Warma, his voice spitting out the last word like a curse.        

      “This is why our planet nearly perished in the last war... cowards like you.”

        Roma didn’t blink as Warma continued his tirade.

      “Tell me Councilor, how many lives were lost in the war because of your neutrality?”

       “We are healers,” she answered calmly. “We save lives.”

        Warma snorted, “As long as there is no risk to your own people.”

        “And how many more lives will be lost in a new war?” Roma countered, her eyes betraying her deep convictions.

       The room erupted. Once again it was Shalimar who finally silenced the Councilors.

      “I think Councilor Kamus is right,” Shalimar said. “We all know what will happen if we find ourselves in a full-scale war again. We must try to avoid that any way we can.”

         Many councilors started applauding, while others started screaming angrily. Parnell heard the large, green Bolo Councilor yell “that this was madness, that the Maraudans could not be reasoned with,” as the tiny, orange Sourvo Councilor shrieked “that the Republic was now too weak to protect them.”

      Parnell tried to center himself. This was too important a decision to make on the spur of the moment. Everything inside of him screamed that even thinking about appeasement was wrong, but the other alternative would be war. And war was the last thing he wanted for his son.